#white silkie hen
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#plushie#cute#agere#age dreaming#age regression#agedre#system little#little#stuffie#stuffed animal#brown#white#hen#chicken#silkie#png#transparent
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stsg x angel
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒
snippet: measly 0.5k of an insight into my poly!stsg brain. reader is neutral!
warnings: stsg it it's own warning. suggestive language, suggestive dom/sub behavior and dynamics. reader being a pouty angel ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ also, proabably poorly edited
author's note: dawg i just had some inspo and had to put thoughts to paper. and i must share! please enjoy my brain rot, my little clan of followers and those who will be searching in these tags.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒
“Would you suck the strap?”
“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru. Please don’t start right now.”
“But I’m serious!”
“Shut up, Suguru is still sleeping.”
“I’m not.”
You palm your face, glaring at Satoru through your fingers, “You woke him up.”
“I doubt me talking about your sexual tendencies woke up the household princess.”
“Can you just flip the pancakes?”
“Oh, you’re making pancakes?” Suguru murmurs, gruff and syrupy. His hair is haphazard, yet silky and smooth. The frizzled strands frame his angular, gaunt face. It’s too cold for there to be color in his face, kissed by late moonlight instead.
“Yes, like the mother hen I am.”
Suguru has a sleepy, languid smile on his face when he watches you roll your eyes. You’re in the prettiest pajama set- cozy and warm and accentuated, eyes still riddled with sleep, head of hair a little out of place. But the light flooding the kitchen makes your cheeks glow.
“We don’t need a mother hen in the house.”
“Oh, please,” Satoru snorts, waving around a spatula with chunks of gooey batter threatening to splash against the back of the kitchen wall, “‘Toru, please make me some breakfast. Toru, I’ll give you a kiss if you-“
“I didn’t say that.” You bark, brows furrowing. Placing your hands on your hips, you frown.
Satoru beams. “You might as well have- it was with your eyes.”
“My eyes?” There’s a pout on your face when Suguru has the audacity to smile. “They were half closed when I walked into the kitchen this morning-“
“They wouldn’t have been if you drank the tea I made you-“
“I did drink it.”
“Oh?” Satoru’s lips quirk, satisfaction apparent in his shrewd smile. “You’re such a good pet for listening.”
Your cheeks burst into flames, mortification further trailing into the deep lining of your gut when the little, white haired freak has the audacity to coo. Suguru holds a hand up, and both of you quiet. Submission is a small word compared to what authority he can pull from the two of you.
“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru.”
And you smile, looking at the man who might as well have hung the moon and stars and sun himself. Shit, he might as well be the sun. The gravitational pull of the planet of you and Satoru that make it bearable living together.
That shatters briefly when he murmurs slyly to Satoru as he flips a partly burnt pancake, “Give it at least an hour or two before you start making her look like that.”
“Suguru.” You whine and he smiles the type of smile that melts your insides.
Huffing a breath, he tells you about going to get ready, to be good before he leaves the kitchen- abandoning you and Satoru in a vice like silence. There’s a pout on your face, laboriously crawling onto the kitchen counter to swing your sock-covered feet while the devious little shit continues to stack up pancakes as though there were four more of you in the house.
But they have an insatiable appetite, so it's a comment you hold with a bite of your tongue.
#thank you to the babs i follow who post this#you've inspired me!#i think i wanna make a tiny like small little series who knows!#lol i love posting all my little ideas#it's my baby diary#anyway#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen#satosugu#satosugo#satosugo smut#satosugu x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#my works
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Hi! 😁 I might soon have the chance to have a garden and I've always wanted to have a few chickens, and I've started some online reasearch about keeping chickens but since you're an expert and I don't trust some of the online sources, do you have any tips for absolute beginners? 😅
I do! You can have a garden, or you can have chickens, but the two are diametrically opposed forces that do not coexist peacefully without fully enclosing one or the other. Chickens can and will obliterate gardens and landscaping if they have access to it, including absolutely destroying mulch patches by helping you spread it all over the yard.
I'll put the rest under a cut ^_^
When you acquire chickens, don't get them from a hatchery, get them from a small breeder you've looked into and spoken with about their actual birds. Hatcheries have poor quality animals, so while you may be getting a "black copper marans," they're not gonna necessarily look very nice, and they're almost certainly not going to lay that nice, deep chocolate marans are known for.
Vs straight from one of the bigger hatcheries pages, photos of their eggs:
You also are NOT going to get the breed qualities of any given breed except maybe some of the production breeds. For example, a Jersey Giant from a reputable breeder will get up to 10-13lbs, which is as big or bigger than my peafowl. Same with Brahmas and Cochins. Hatchery stock you will be lucky to see 6-8lbs, and people are OFTEN disappointed about this kind of thing. Silkies, as another example, can look WILDLY different from a hatchery vs a private breeder. A show quality silkie is a puffball:
Hatcheries also pull skeevy moves like calling easter eggers (mutts that lay blue, green, pink, brown, or white eggs) "americanas" hoping that you mistake it for "ameraucana" the pure breed that lays stark blue eggs. Then they charge you ameraucana prices (like, $25/chick) when they should be charging more like $3-5 a chick. They'll do things like call a marans/barred rock mix a "mystic marans" as if it's a new color morph of a marans chicken instead of a mixed breed mutt they invented to be able to sex their chicks at hatch easier. People get these guys expecting MARANS eggs, and they get tan barred rock eggs. Same can go for temperament and behaviors. You go anywhere that has a group of chicken owners and ask them what their favorite breed is, you will get a range of answers with reasons like "my X is so sweet" while the next person will go "mine's the devil" and if you ask, 9 times out of 10, it's hatchery stock birds. Well bred private breeders often have MUCH more stable temperaments.
vs hatchery stock
Getting from a private breeder also lets you get eggs, which can help you dodge a LOT of disease bullets. There's very little that transfers through the egg, strangely, and some of that is transferred on the surface of the eggs (like mycoplasma) so a quick santizing dip before incubation gets rid of that. I know that hatching them yourself is more of a hassle, but so is losing your flock to newcomers that came in with something entirely avoidable if you'd hatched instead. If your breeder is NPIP certified, they're getting tested for the major egg-traveling problem (pullorum) and a dip will take care of most anything else unless you're super SUPER unlucky.
Lastly on acquisitions, be prepared to get roosters. If you can't have roosters, be prepared to get them processed for yourself for food, or let the roosters go to food homes. Please please please please. There are so many, many excess roosters. They cannot all go to homes. The rooster to hen ratio in a flock is like 1:9. The rooster to hen ratio in hatching is nearly 1:1. Let someone make use of them. EVEN if you order from a hatchery, and order all pullets, they can make mistakes and send rooster babies. It's not a guarantee! Have a plan in advance! Mentally prepare yourself! Don't be one of Those People making posts in local groups about how you don't want/can't have this rooster but also no one else can eat it either. Chickens are a lot of things. Sometimes food is one of those things.
BEFORE actually acquiring the chickens, locate a vet that will see them. You are GOING to have an issue at some point in their lives, and that's not the time to start looking for a vet, that's the time to already have a vet on hand. In fact if you can support a yearly wellness check on at least one of the birds to test for communicable illnesses (like mycoplasma) and have a good relationship with your vet in advance, that's even better.
As for care, if you plan to contain the chickens, the minimum recommendation for a backyard coop and run varies wildly. For stress purposes, most chickens will find 4 feet of floor space per bird inside the coop adequate, accompanied by 10 square feet of space in a run per bird. Unlike peafowl, it doesn't matter how big the run is, the chickens will be turning the entire thing to bare soil, which is one of the reasons most people don't keep both in the same pens. I literally attempted to keep 2 standard chickens in a 1200 foot pen and they systematically went about destroying everything they could get to.
Most layer feeds are 16% protein; most layer feeds are also /production/ layer feeds, meant to feed production breeds in a space where they get NO other feed except this. If you plan to feed anything other than layer feed to them, like treats or whole foods or scratch grains, then you need to find a higher protein feed for them, because most treats are lower protein than layer feed. Avoid anything produced by Purina or Dumor (which is purina but TSC brand), except MAYBE the organic dumor 5-grain scratch grain, it's well-known as one of the worst quality fowl feeds out there. Check out your local mill and see if they have any options that are better than the big box farm stores. Kalmbach makes good feeds, as does Belstra.
Possibly counterintuitive, but stick with a smaller waterer over a larger waterer. You can keep a larger one around for if you go away for the weekend or something to make it easier on a sitter, but a smaller waterer like a 5-quart or gallon waterer will be easier to clean and make sure that you're giving fresh water more often, plus avoiding mosquitoes growing in it. Waterers can slime up really easily in the summer, so just be prepared to give it a quick swish clean every time you change the water out. Smaller waterers also make it easier to give them medication if you have something that goes in the water, especially since a lot of the water medications are "make fresh daily." Personally I don't bother with heated water bases anymore in the winter, I just have enough waterers to exchange them for a fresh one a couple times daily, while the old one thaws inside the back door on some plastic. The galvanized ones you have to use with the heated bases always got gross fast, with rust and discoloration and the stopper in the bottom always dried out and eventually cracked over the summer when we weren't using them.
Try to avoid straw bedding unless you REALLY trust the source. Straw is mostly for livestock, not poultry. It cannot catch the droppings of poultry the way shavings or sand or other beddings do, meaning the wet gunk drops to the floor under it and/or collects into grossness. It also molds easily, can carry in field parasites (since it's not treated the way shavings are often kiln fired before packaging), and breaks down into shards. I'm not saying you can't ever use it for any reason (I use it in some fashion, and have for over a decade, but not exclusively, and I trust my source, we've never gotten mites or anything, and I'm very careful about which bales I pick out), but if you have a choice, go for the wood substrates, or even for sand. A lot of people put sand in their runs because they can then rake it like kitty litter.
Look into what plants chickens can't have, and check your yard over thoroughly for them before adding chickens. Things like lilac bushes are toxic to them. Tomato and potato plants are nightshades so while they can have the fruits, the leaves and stems can be toxic. Stuff like that.
Lastly.... if anyone ever makes a claim about what something does for a chicken (example: diatomaceous earth, apple cider vinegar, pumpkin seeds, oregano, red pepper flakes, lavender, etc are all things I've seen people claim do all sorts of things from worming birds to curing respiratory infections), ask them for their source. If it's a blog post, ask them for a scientific article. If they can't provide it and you can't find one that backs up what they're saying, maybe reconsider the value of that particular advice. The thing is, the BIG production companies are VERY invested in finding cheap or organic or tricky ways to do WHATEVER it is (treat endo/ectoparasites, treat illness, make bigger or more eggs, change egg yolk color, etc), and they pour money into trying to figure out which old wives tales actually work and which ones don't. And if they haven't been able to prove it to a point where they'll spend money on it as a solution, then chances are REALLY GOOD that it's not a solution at all actually.
Things like how to clean coops, what feeds to get, what items to use for care, where to source birds, behavioral information etc, that's all stuff you can ask advice on in general public spaces. You'll still get a range of answers, and some of them will be garbage answers, but hardly any of them will do harm to your animals to do or not do. Like, for example, you can use a big waterer or a small waterer, as long as it's clean. You can vary coop and run size and still be fine. You don't have to feed exactly what someone else is feeding for your birds to be fine. You're probably going to try a few breeds before you find the one(s) you like best.
But when it comes to medical info or any kind of "treatment" type stuff? Consult a vet and/or at least look for scientific papers.
And lastly.... chicken math is Real, yo. However many chickens you think you want to get, plan on having the space for double that amount so you don't gotta rebuild anything when you ultimately decide wait, you need a couple more. The bigger space won't hurt them if you don't get more, but it'll be so much easier on you if you do ;)
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I really miss Twinkle today. Most of yall probably don't remember him, I lost him in 2020
He was just so big and cuddly, he was bright white and so clean all the time. He was really sweet with little hens and young cockerels. I used to think he choked or something but since both his sons also had issues I think it was just something related to his own genetics and stuff. Silkies are just really fragile due to their vaulted skull as well and I had an aggressive large fowl hen at the time so I think that might have contributed. I don't think it was his breeders fault and he offered to replace him for free but who could replace my Twinkle?
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There is an ongoing argument about what breed Darrel is that just will not die. Soul is dead-certain he's a Rhode Island Red. He's a chicken, he's red, what else could he be?
Mind argues that A. there's so many goddamn breeds of red chickens and B. Darrel's feathers aren't nearly dark enough to be a RIR. His tail feathers are white for fuck's sake, he's clearly a Red Ranger. Soul maintains that Darrel is nowhere near heavy enough to be one.
Heart honestly doesn't have much of a genuine opinion on this, it's not like he can really judge what Darrel looks like. He will, however, set the argument off on purpose for fun. For extra chaos, he sometimes "decides" that Darrel is CLEARLY (insert chicken breed here). The breed in question almost never looks anything like Darrel, Heart just picks the longest/most complicated name and/or what sounds most likely to piss off the other two. The "Darrel is a Splash Frizzle Satin Silkie" incident nearly ended in murder and Heart would do it all again if he could.
All three of them are entirely wrong. Darrel is a simple Red Sex Link cross hen. He's a very pretty one; vibrant red with a white tail, white-mottled wings, and white-tipped hackle feathers, but he's not of any specific breed or "designer" crossbreed. Heart, Mind, and Soul are literally never going to figure out the truth.
Headcanon #328
#chonny jash#submission#cj mind#cj heart#cj soul#cj darrell#chonnys charming chaos compendium#i love learning about chickens :}#he is darrell breed to me
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Seven Deadly Sins - III
PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader
Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.
Warnings: Smut, Violence, Low to Medium Honor Arthur (and all that entails)
Greed: a selfish and excessive desire for more of something than is needed.
➵ AO3 Link
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The champagne burned on the way down. He would never get used to that. He would also never get used to this stupid outfit, trussed up like some prized hen, hair slicked back with pomade and clean-shaven. The lack of weight on his hips where his gun belt should have rested was perturbing.
Fireworks, of all things, burst above him as high-society men and women marveled at the display.
But Arthur is concentrating more on the white-clad servant talking to the Mayor. Dutch also listens over his shoulder.
“Did he just say something about Cornwall?”
Arthur nods at Dutch, whose magnanimous face hardens briefly.
“Find out what. And take her with you,” Dutch tilts his head over to where you stand, watching the fireworks with a few other women, “She’s good at distractions, should you need one.”
Arthur waves off, placing his now empty flute on a tray of a passing butler, ducking away from Dutch, keeping an eye on the white-jacketed servant who was slowly making his way back to the house.
He makes his way toward the group of ladies, where you look positively bored along the outside of the circle, having just downed the champagne in your flute, twirling the glass between your fingers.
Arthur makes eye contact with you as he walks by, and you immediately straighten your posture, placing down the flute on a table behind you and excusing yourself from the other women. You move between onlookers to catch up with Arthur’s quick gait, and as you catch up to him, he grabs your hand, leading you toward the side of the grand mansion.
“What we doin’?” You whisper, and suddenly Arthur stops, grabbing your waist and pulling you against him as he spies over his shoulder up the trellised walkway.
He motions toward the servant from before, who is stepping up the stairs towards a side door of the stately mansion.
“That feller there - he’s the mayor’s man - he was talkin’ bout some dealings with Cornwall and documents. Dutch wants us to look into it.”
The man steps inside the house, and Arthur takes your hand to hurry after him.
“Hol- hold on, not so fast.” You retort with a harsh breath, “I ain’t used to wearing heels like these.”
Indeed, much like how he is dressed to impress feckless men in a tuxedo, clean-shaven and hair slicked back, you were obviously brought along as a piece of eye candy. Your long hair was pulled into an elaborate updo by Mary Beth earlier in the night. Hosea had insisted on bringing you into Saint Denis for a dress, a crimson gown that left your shoulders bare and your décolletage adorned with a fancy necklace stolen from some old woman’s coach outside of town. You frown, gathering the voluminous skirts that flavored from your waist, the silky crimson sheath of your gown laying over white petticoats.
You’ve been trying to keep your white opera-length gloves clean all night, which was more than obnoxious enough for you.
You wince, rolling your ankle slightly, and Arthur offers you his arm, which you take as you curse these fancy heels that Mary Beth insisted you wear tonight to the bottom of Flat Iron Lake. That’s where you’re sure they will end up, chucked from the coach on the way back to Shady Belle.
Arthur leads you into the side door of the house, hiding behind a doorframe, you listen to the white-frocked servant yell at a scullery maid before he moves toward the stairs up to the second floor.
Arthur nods down at you, and taking your hand, you quietly follow up to the staircase and bound up the first few stairs. Turning the corner, Arthur quickly pulls you against him, and you gasp as he maneuvers you into the corner of the stairwell, glaring down at you in an obvious attempt to silence you.
He leans down toward your ear, “Stay here.”
You nod, letting go of his coat as he turns to quietly ascend the stairs to the top of the landing, his hand staying raised toward you, beckoning you to stay. You hear movement on the floor above you, fast steps moving further away. Arthur waves down for you to join him, and you tiptoe up the stairs and duck into the first room where Arthur stepped into, slowly and quietly closing and latching the door behind you.
It is a large and ornate study, filled with art and books, a writing desk and couch decorated finely and lit with electric sconces. You groan lightly, looking around, thinking to yourself that the amount of finery in this room alone was more than you’ve seen in your life. Probably more than you could steal in your life.
You move closer to the bookshelves, eye on a glint of gold on the shelf. Begging to be touched.
“You heard what Dutch said. Keep your hands to yourself, little thief.” Arthur drawls as he leafs through papers on the ornate writing desk. He has an amused tone as he glances up at you before resuming his search through the documents on the table.
You snort under your breath, rolling your eyes at him. He saw you reach for the gilded letter opener on the shelf, of all the ridiculous things to cover in gold.
“Here we go.” Arthur pulls a document from the desk drawer that he jimmied open. He tucks it into his vest and closes the drawer.
“C’mon, let’s get back downstairs.”
You don’t move. Arthur scowls impatiently as a wicked smile starts to cross your features, your dark lips stained with rouge and eyes darkened with powder. Looking all the bit of a courtesan in some Parisian salon. The low dip of your neckline highlights your cleavage, normally hidden underneath workshirts and jackets.
“Mmm, let Dutch simmer some more. Down there’s his type of game.” You whisper, stepping closer to Arthur, who continues to scowl.
“We don’t have ti-”
Arthur’s voice halts immediately as his eyes widen, and your impish smile grows.
“Yes, we do.”
He lets out a deep breath, stuttering, as his eyes shoot downward. Your white-gloved hand palms his rapidly hardening cock in his trousers.
It takes him a few moments to pull himself together, far too long, in his opinion, but your fingers wrapping around his cock, even through layers of fabric, completely wipes clean the slate of thoughts in his mind.
Arthur blinks, groaning softly as he looks up to the ceiling for a second before looking back down. You're huddled against him, the fabric of your dress rustling against his suit, staring up at him with a satisfied smile, one hand pressed against the hard muscle of his chest, the other fervently stroking his cock.
You lean your head against his shoulder as he shudders, closing his eyes tightly.
“Oh, you’re so good , Arthur.” You whine softly, and he cannot stop a groan from escaping his throat, as one of his hands curls around your hip to take purchase on your rear, squeezing tightly. The other leans back against the built-in bookshelf, holding on for dear life, as if his legs were going to give out beneath him.
“ Jesus -” Arthur spits out, and cannot help put to thrust his hips forward, pressing hard and catching your hand between your bodies, “ Fuck , woman.”
You giggle, pushing back at him and your other hand traces down his chest, down his stomach, to his hips, and pulls at the buttons of his trousers. He squeezes your rear again, as your hand leaves his cock and joins your other one in opening his trousers. Damn this fancy suit and high-society trappings.
Arthur pants, breath coming out in loud huffs as you finally open his black pants, hiking up his starched white shirt to his stomach with one hand as the other encircles his cock.
Christ , he thinks he's seeing stars as you begin to pump your hand, stroking him with increasing pressure with your little fingers wrapped around his length. His hand moves from the bookshelf behind him to cup one of your breasts, squeezing lightly and eliciting a moan from your colored lips.
Despite your talented hand around his cock, Arthur finally seems to get his bearings, rubbing against the fabric of your dress, pulled tight and fitted around your bosom, and circling his other hand on your rear as he regains his footing, leaning over and taking your lips with his.
“Ah-ah.” You tut, allowing him to kiss you for only a moment before you swat his hand from your bosom, “Stop being greedy. This is my show.”
“ Shit .”
He cannot help but to swear as you start to sink downward, to your knees in front of him. The fabric of your maroon dress rustles as you slowly slide to the floor, keeping your eyes on his the entire time.
You take the length of his steel-hard cock in one of your gloves hands, the other pressed against his hip, and the small amount of skin visible from where his open pants hang.
Arthur groans aloud, his mouth hanging open as you stare up at him, your lips pursing for a moment before you take the blunt head of his cock into your mouth. You suck, softly at first, and one of Arthur’s hands flies to your head, and you narrow your eyes in warning, not to destroy the elaborate coiffure your long hair was styled into. The outlaw immediately retracts his hand, chided.
Your other hand floats to his other hip as you push your head forward, taking him further into your mouth. Arthur lets out a deep breath through his nose, eyes trained on your lips as inch by inch of him disappears into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth.
Your eyes flutter closed, breathing in through your nose, and push your head closer to his hips. He sucks in an audible breath, exhaling with a needy whine that you had no idea the man was capable of making. Arthur’s hand moves to gently cup your jaw, the slightest pull forward. You push past the discomfort, taking his entire length, your nose pressing against his pubic bone, dusting the chestnut curls at the base of his cock.
“ God almighty”, he grits out, watching you start to bob back and forth, his cock glistening with your saliva.
He cannot help but to thrust his hips forward slightly, groaning aloud as the head of his cock comes into contact with the back of your throat.
You continue for several moments, wrenching more sweet stuttering sounds from him before squeezing his hips. You pull back and Arthur’s eyes nearly cross when he can make out the faintest ring of lip rouge around the base of his cock.
You retreat, and for a fleeting moment, Arthur watches a thin string of saliva stretch between your wet lips and the glistening head of his cock, groaning as it breaks. You’re climbing back up him, hands at his hips, his waist, his chest, anchoring yourself to him as you stand from your knees.
“C’mere-” you grab one of his hands and pull him away from the bookshelf, and he follows, one hand holding his opened pants up, as you lead him to the fancy couch in the middle of the room. You push him down, and both he and you know that you can only move him with his permission - your small frame against his own.
Arthur grunts as he sits on the couch, spreading his legs as you stand in front of him. His hand automatically moves to his erection, stroking it handily as you lean over, pressing your lips to his.
A soft laugh escapes you as you lean over him to nip at his bottom lip, and he notices your hand starting to hike up the voluminous skirts covering your legs. Higher, higher, above where your black stockings end below your knees, to the swathe of your pale thighs, and the lacy trim of your bloomers.
With a grin, you straighten up, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your bloomers and pulling them, sliding them down your thighs to your knees, where they fall in a puddle on the floor at your feet. Arthur’s left-hand reaches toward your newly bared skin, toward the soft thatch of hair at the jointure of your thighs.
You swat his hand away, and he scowls.
“I told you, Mister Morgan. Stop bein’ so greedy.”
“Woman, I swear,” Arthur grits his teeth as he strokes his cock there on the couch, “if you don’t get o’er here-”
You cut him off by climbing onto his lap, holding your skirts up with one hand while the other finds purchase on the wooden trim of the back of the couch, behind Arthur’s shoulder. Bracketing his legs between your thighs, you lower yourself down, skin pressing to his, as your skirts fall to cover both of your lower bodies. You roll your hips, letting his cock slip between your folds, finding wet warmth there as you slide it between your legs.
Arthur growls, jutting his hips upward, seeking more pressure, heat, and wetness on his cock. His jaw hangs open as he pants, his hands firmly on the globes of your rear as you grind down on him. A needy, breathy moan escapes him, and you smile and coo in response.
“You want somethin’ there, Arthur?”
He has no idea where your sheer audacity came from. Maybe you’ve always been a spitfire and the times you’ve coupled he just overpowered you. Maybe you’re getting comfortable with this arrangement. Either way, he’s into it.
“I told you before, we don’t have time for you to be drawin’ this out…”
“Alright, alright…” you laugh, and with a mischievous glint in your eye, you shift your hips upward, reach under your skirts with your gloved hand, and line his length up before slowly sinking down onto it.
That needy, breathless sound he made before bubbles to the surface again and spills from somewhere deep in his chest as you take him in, inch by inch within your tight warmth, and he’s forced to wonder how he could ever be parted from this ecstasy for long. How he wasn’t inside you constantly. How this is only the third time in months that he’s been enveloped in your hips.
What the hell has he been thinking? Wasting time as he has been…
Arthur is brought back to the world within this gilded room as you bottom out, a high, gasping sigh reaches his ears and he cannot help but to grasp tighter at your rear and push his hips upward, trying to push himself deeper into your cunt, if at all possible. After a moment, you roll your hips, gripping the trim of the couch with both hands, and slide your cunt so he is almost out of your body, only to resheath himself as you push back down.
“ Fuck , Arthur.”
“Keep goin’, keep goin’ girl.” He pants as you repeat the motion. And repeat it again. And again.
You shove your mouth against his, and he opens his with a throaty moan, his tongue pushing inside your mouth as you continue gyrating in his lap.
He coaxes a wail from you as he meets your thrusts, hands moving up to your hips and helping slam you back down onto him.
Thank god you had the wherewithal to close the door, as the heavy panting and groaning from the two of you fills the air, along with the rustling of your dress over his suit.
You’re panting, whining , throwing your head back as you stutter over him. Arthur’s hands are true on your hips, keeping them in rhythm as he meets them with short upward thrusts.
“Tha’s it, c’mon-” he pants as you keen, your eyes screwed shut as you feverishly grind down on him.
He would be damned if he found his end before you did. Even with you sucking him off like a whore on your knees, it was everything to keep him from spilling down your throat before. But as you get closer, closer to that point of no return, he realizes he needs to send you over that edge. For his own pleasure.
Your hips roll and your head is thrown back and you sigh in ecstasy as you tighten around him, he leans forward, hands on your lower back, pushing you down on him as you ride out your orgasm.
Arthur’s hands move your hips slowly over his, a smug grin spreading across his face. Finally, for the first time since you ran your little fingers down his cock, does he feel like he’s gained back some semblance of control.
He leans forward and nips at the shell of your ear before his hot breath upon it makes you shiver, “C’mon, we ain’t done yet.”
You whine, oversensitive, burying your head into the crook of his neck. He juts his hips upward in a half-hearted thrust, and the noise escaping your mouth verges on desperate.
“Up, wanna fuck you on the rich man’s desk,” Arthur grunts haughtily, and you pull back with a laugh, a sly smile on your face as you regain your bearings. You pull off of him, both of you gasping softly at the loss of him in your core. Standing up from his lap, his hands remain on your hips as your legs shake from your release. A mirthful chuckle bubbles from his chest as he stands up as well, one hand back to his pants to keep them up. Arthur moves his hand from your hip and playfully swats at your rear, urging you back to the writing desk that he had been rifling through at the beginning of this escapade.
Your skirts rustle, and you bend over quickly to grab your bloomers from the floor and tuck them into your bosom, between your breasts. Your heels click against the lacquered floor as you walk toward the desk, and you begin to turn around to face your outlaw until his hands find you again. He pushes you until your hips bump against the table, and your hands fly to the desk’s surface to stop yourself from falling forward.
“Arthur-!” You gasp in surprise, but further complaint is cut off as the man presses himself against you, forcing you to bend over, his arms encircling your shoulders and his breath against your neck as both of you bend over the table. He rolls his hips shortly against you, and his hardness hasn’t abided at all.
You’re guided down to your elbows, and one of Arthur’s large hands starts gathering the bottom of your skirts, crumpling them in lustful fists, the maroon gown and hidden white petticoat drawing upward.
The back of your legs are slowly bared to him, black stockings ending above your knee, and the paleness of your thighs as he flips the fabric up. He grunts as he draws your skirt clean over your hips, allowing it to collect at your waist, fanning out over the desk you’re sprawled out on.
His hands are greedy, moving to squeeze at your pert rear, and you shiver as one of his rough hands works downward, a finger trailing down your goosebumped skin to the folds of your cunt, obscenely wet from when you rode him on the couch.
“A-Arthur, don’t-”
“Don’t what ?” He replies harshly in your ear, laying on top of you again and taking that finger to press shallowly inside your swollen opening.
“T-tease me.” You grit out, unable to do much more than push your hips backward slightly onto his hand, but cruelly, he pulls his hand back from your core, and you whine in frustration as he places it back on your hip.
“Whatchu want, darlin’? Y’want my cock again?” Arthur grunts, and you feel the blunt, hot head of his cock press against your skin. You buck against him weakly.
“ Please. ”
He acquiesces to your plea.
Arthur slides his hard cock in between your folds and snaps his hips forward to bury himself within your cunt. He cannot help the groan that spills from him and is egged on by the high gasp you give as you place your cheek down on the desk as he begins to rock his hips back and forth.
His hands, rough and calloused and warm, encircle your hips as he drives into you, the wet noises of your bodies coming together would be embarrassing if either of you had any semblance of dignity.
Of course, you didn’t. Arthur has you bent over a writing desk in the mayor’s office, fucking you as if his life depended on it, your skirts hiked over your rear, and his pants falling to his knees.
He yanks on the stupid white bow tie constricting his neck, letting it fall open as he grunts. He leans over you again, moving one of the hands on your hips down, down, pushing skirts aside and reaching for the nub just above where he pierces you. He quickly finds it, and you keen .
“There we go.”
“St-stop… A-Arthur, it’s too much.” You cry, your legs shaking against his as he slams his hips hard against yours. His hand underneath your skirts circles your clit and you feel like you could die from the pleasure.
“Nuh-uh. Need another one from ya.” He grunts in your ear as you whine. His other hand moves from your hip to your lower back as he continues to grind his hips into your rear, the desk shaking with the movement.
Arthur covers your mouth as you scream, your cunt clenching so hard around his cock that he slams himself forward once and wrenches himself from you, throwing his head back in ecstasy. He grasps his cockhead in his hand, coming in sticky globs over his fingers, trying to save both your dress and his suit from the mess.
As the two of you pant, he gently places his large hand on your hips as he stands up, rubbing softly. He gently extricates himself from you, pulling your skirts to cover you as you lay panting on the table, utterly wrecked. He pulls a handkerchief from his suit pocket, wiping his spend from his hand. He stuffs his softening cock back into his pants as he pulls them up and retucks his dress shirt in, trying to look more dinner party and less debauchery.
“Enough for you, Arthur?” You chuckle between heavy breaths. You push yourself to your elbows before looking back at him with the mischievous glint in your eyes from before.
He works at retying the bow tie at his neck.
You swipe the ornate letter opener from before and tuck it into your voluminous skirts. He doesn’t see you grab it.
“I dunno. You did say I’m a greedy man.”
#rdr2 fanfic#rdr2edit#rdr2#rdr2 fandom#red dead fanfic#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan x female reader#red dead redemption#rdr2 smut#arthur morgan smut#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#ao3#seven deadly sins#twolafic
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“Hungry For Something New”
Werewolf!Dabi x Female Reader
*vampire!tomura*
part 1 * part 2 * part 3 (COMING OCTOBER 2024!)
word count: 13,000+
(During a trip through the woods to your grandmother’s house, your journey takes a rather unusual and horrifying turn. Because you’ve heard the rumors about the monsters that roam between the trees, the things that exist between man and beast, and it just so happens one of them has set their sights on you. But, even at the end of it all, you still can’t quite determine whether Dabi is truly the enemy that the village paints him as— the villain he seems so intent on trying to prove to you he is— or just a lonely outcast who needs some company from time to time. Who knows though… perhaps, you’ll find yourself running into him again on another outing in the future.)
disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! red riding hood au, smut, loss of virginity, mention of a dead sibling, predator/prey dynamics, references to church/religion, dubcon, angsty and manipulative (but lowkey soft) dabi, title taken from “i want you” by george barnett, happy halloween everyone!
*ao3 mirror*
***
The brisk chill of mid-fall snuck in through the crack of your bedroom window, and from beyond the latticed glass, the next gentle gust that swept by stirred up little whirlwinds of orange and brown leaves in a short, wispy waltz.
As you rose from your bed, shrugging off the layers of quilted blankets, a shiver skittered through your bones. You rubbed your eyes, felt a yawn rising in your chest, and once it had passed you caught the faint sounds of two familiar voices muttering beyond your door.
“What’s going on out here?” you’d asked with a cheery kind of curiosity as you’d entered into the quaint living area, the fireplace already lit and a neatly wrapped box adorned with a silky crimson bow placed perfectly on the kitchen table.
Your parents had exchanged knowing looks, both of them wearing mischievous smirks at sharing the secret, and urged you to go and find out for yourself.
You sat in one of the rickety old chairs, the hand-sewn cushions placed upon them having flattened over time, and adjusted your thin nightgown over your lap before scooting in closer to the table and sliding the box towards yourself.
At first, you just wanted to stare at it, mesmerized by how much care had been put into the wrapping alone, but then, once you felt the pressure of your parents’ eyes watching over you, waiting to experience your reaction, you gave the bow a gentle tug, undoing it before gingerly pulling apart the pretty paper of the package.
You gasped when you first caught a glimpse of the vibrant red color through the layers of white tissue paper, looking over your shoulder at your parents as if to ask, “Is this what I think it is?” and your mother gave you an encouraging nod to continue.
Once you revealed the contents of the box a little more, lifting it from its pristinely folded place, you still almost couldn’t believe it.
“This is—” you’d begun to say, eyes sparkling with admiration as you studied the craftsmanship— everything from the evenly sewn stitches to the silk lined interior and the shiny gold clasp to fasten the crimson cloak shut.
“I know how much you’ve been wanting a new one,” your mother cut in, drifting closer to your side and urging you to stand up and try it on. “Your old one was starting to look a little tattered, and I figured since you’ve been helping out so much by taking those deliveries to your grandmother every week…”
But then, as you ran your fingers through the fluffy fur trim of the hood— black with sporadic yet distinct speckles of grey and white— your smile dropped and you looked to your father.
“It’s the one from last year,” he answered before you could ask, expression solemn, already knowing you knew just as well the exact animal it had come from.
At first, the wolf had managed to sneak in during the night and kill off what little livestock your family had— all five of the hens, the turkey, and both of the goats— only, even after it had claimed the final one of its prey, it hadn’t stopped there.
You’d had a baby brother, a little over a year ago.
He’d almost been five.
Your mother still had a trio of nasty, jagged scars slashed through her arm at the failed attempt made to defend her son.
You’d been away at your grandmother’s that day, running another delivery, only to return home to be met with the blood and the horror and the terrible loss.
Once word of the tragedy had reached the nearby town, the church had called it a work of a demon, the head priest coming by to sage and salt your little cabin on the edge of the forest’s clearing.
But your father had never believed in the hellish lore spread by the bishops and believers in town. He knew the creature was living, breathing, mortal.
Though, he’d vowed as he’d taken up his gun and started out the front door back then, not for much longer.
He’d caught the culprit a couple weeks later, tracked the beast further into the woods and shot it dead as it devoured a deer, carnage dripping from its maw, bits of raw flesh dangling from its fangs, lips curled back in a vicious snarl when its amber eyes landed on the hunter for but a moment before the trigger was pulled and the bang sent all the crows fleeing from the trees.
That gunshot hadn’t brought your brother back, and the pelt of the animal would never heal your mother, but having dragged the monster back and stolen its skin did ensure that it couldn’t hurt anyone else.
And you hated wolves. Hated them. Had hated them even before the incident.
But now, seeing the remains of the creature decorating your pretty red cloak was…
Well, it was unsettling, to say the least.
Before you could determine whether it was morally wrong to wear the coat of your brother’s killer, your father added, “With this, no other creature will dare harm you…” He approached you, took the cloak from its grip in your trembling hands and slung it over your shoulders, your mother buttoning the clasp, both of them standing back to take a look at you, their oldest and only remaining child. “It’s your shield now. Wear it with pride.”
You stroked the fur again, closing your eyes for a moment as your brother’s smiling face flashed through your head, an image that seemed to fade more and more by the day.
You’d never seen the wolf— never seen any wolf while venturing through the woods, thank god— but from the damage it had done and the way your father had described it in the moments before the creature became a corpse was enough to give you a clear picture of how terrifying and ferocious it had been.
You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady your mind before looking back to your parents with a sadder, softer expression. “Thank you…” you said, fighting to bite back tears. “Both of you, really…” You reached up to put an arm around each of them, pulling the three of you into a hug. Then, into their shoulders, you muttered, “I’ll take good care of it.”
But today there wasn’t much time for an emotional moment of bonding, for you had a rather important delivery to make. Your grandmother lived alone, insisting on staying in the cabin her own father had built back when he and his wife had first settled on this land. It was the house she’d grown up in, had gotten married in, wanted to die in when her day came to pass, and the journey there and back would take you half a day, getting you home right before dark so long as you stayed on track.
While your mother packed some last minute things into a wicker basket, you got changed, choosing your favorite white dress and hickory brown corset, the one that laced up in the front, your boots— worn from the consistent travel over rough terrain— a similar color to match.
Your old cloak had been a lighter shade of brown, constructed using the leftover scraps of fabric from an old winter coat your mother had made for your father, and had started fraying and tearing at the edges a few years ago, unlined and undecorated and plain.
As you fastened the billowing cloak of crimson back around your shoulders, the black fur popping against the brilliant burst of color, and gave yourself a look in the mirror, you couldn’t help but admire not just the garment’s beauty, but your own.
This shade of red gave you a rather sophisticated air, but also alluded to something dangerous.
You couldn’t help but smirk at your reflection, liking the confidence glinting in your eyes, looking more like a predator than prey for once. You felt like, even if you did encounter a wolf, it was a fight you could win.
“Absolutely gorgeous, darling,” your mother complimented as you emerged from your room, ready to depart as soon as she handed over the basket to you. She adjusted your cloak, fidgeted with the bow tied hastily on your corset, and then lovingly smoothed down your hair. You leaned into her touch, her warm palm pressed to your cheek.
“Be careful out there,” she reminded you, as if she ever gave you a chance to forget.
“Aren’t I always?” you responded with a playfully devious raise of one eyebrow.
But then, before you could give your final farewells, your father beckoned you back into the kitchen, seeming to have a gift of his own to bestow upon you.
“Just in case,” he said as he handed you a silver dagger, the blade freshly sharpened and shining under the white morning light that flooded in through the window above the stove, the rays cutting through the thin veil of fog that had started settling over the land at dawn.
You gripped the hilt, testing the weight of the weapon in your hand as you began, “But I thought you said—” the wolf’s fur would be enough to protect me.
“I know what I said,” your father cut in, closing his hands around the one of yours that held the dagger, a silent plea for you not to fight about it and just comply, even if only for his own sake. “But there are more than just wolves to worry about in those woods,” he warned, the way his stare shifted from stoic to stern making you swallow down any remaining objections you had. “If you ever find yourself in a situation that you can’t outrun…” His grip around your hand tightened a bit, and you were sure that, in that moment, he was being flayed by the guilt at not being able to save your brother, his son. “Promise me you’ll fight.”
You didn’t know what to say, could only stare up at him with big, terrified eyes before blinking away the hesitation and forcing a firm nod, replying with a low and hopefully convincing enough, “I promise.”
Your father kissed your head, ran his fingers through the black beast’s fur on the hem of your hood, and then reminded you not to stray from the main path.
You never did, never had, would never even dream of it…
Or, at least, that’s what you’d told your parents time and time again.
Truth was, you were often tempted to traverse a little further into the trees, wind through the maze of dense forest in hopes of finding some rare wild flowers or a ripe berry bush or any other amenity the land would be generous enough to lend you.
But you’d been scared stiff by the echoing shouts of hunters, the sharp bark of their dogs, the eerie howls and cawing of the crows that rippled through the air as the sun sank closer to the horizon. Sometimes, you jumped upon hearing a twig snap only for a rabbit or squirrel to scamper out from the brush.
And, even though your family had assured you there was nothing besides humans or animals to fear lurking in the woods, you’d heard others in town— both believers and skeptics alike— whisper rumors about shapeshifting monsters that lured in naive travelers only to eat them alive, leaving their carcasses split open with splintering ribs and missing hearts.
There was one old woman who claimed to have survived such a creature in her own youth. Most people considered her mad, gone crazy after her husband’s gruesome death, or, as some more sympathetic spectators of her stories believed, the result of escaping a wolf attack that left her traumatized and therefore believing the culprit to be more fiction than fact.
But you’d heard her recite the tale before— seen that look in her eyes, a wild, feral kind of fear unlike anything you’d ever experienced— and if she wasn’t convinced she was telling the truth, then she sure was one hell of a storyteller.
The church thought her riddled with dark magic and demons, the altar boys encouraged to shoo her away from the front steps of the cathedral with their brooms as they swept if she migrated too close and, a few times, you’d heard some of the older boys making cruel jokes about how the town ought to tie the old woman to a cross and do away with her the same way they did to those suspected of being witches or devil worshipers— the accused swallowed by vicious flames and charred down to black ash. They said perhaps she’d be put out of her babbling misery then, but you didn’t think the old woman was crazy or afflicted by something evil.
You knew she was just scared.
Scared like your mother had been in the months following your brother’s death, afraid the creature, though deceased, would somehow call upon its brethren to seek revenge against the hunter’s wife who’d escaped, though not entirely unscathed.
“That’s another good thing about this new cloak,” your mother interrupted your morbid daydream, smiling at you in that tender, loving way of hers, despite everything. “With this color, the hunters will be able to spot you more easily. I used to worry about you accidentally getting mistaken for a deer and shot with your old one…”
“Easier for hunters to spot,” your father agreed, but then added with his usual bout of cynicism, “and predators too.”
Your mother gave him an unamused glare, not wanting this day to be spoiled more than it already had, before turning her adoration back onto you, reminding you once more to stay safe and hurry back before dark, promising to have your favorite soup ready for dinner upon your return. That got a smile back on your face.
You shared one last hug with your mother before heading out the door, waving behind you as you trekked up the hill, occasionally glancing back until your house disappeared through the fog.
And then it was just you and the forest that lay ahead, nature’s ambiance quick to surround you on all sides, sometimes making you stop and wonder if you’d just heard your name being called from far off in the distance or if it were merely a mix of your imagination and the ravens’ croak.
But when you heard the distant, eerie echoes of what you could’ve sworn was a howl, you didn’t question if it was just in your head. You knew, that time, it was real. So you adjusted the basket slung over your arm and picked up the pace.
***
By midday, the fog had only grown thicker, and you didn’t dare stop for your usual afternoon snack break, too afraid you’d lose sight of the sun’s hazy, blurred position through the misty clouds and end up running late, causing you to get caught in the dark on your way home— something to be avoided at all costs.
But it wasn’t only the fog that had you on edge, barely able to see more than a few yards ahead of you with each step, but the fact that a distinct pang of paranoia had settled over you not long after losing sight of your house.
You felt like you were being followed, being watched, and for all the trips you’d made over the years running these deliveries, you’d never quite felt something as strong and unshakable as whatever this feeling was.
You couldn’t stop glancing over your shoulder, quickening your step when a low growl or— even worse— an almost human sound echoed through the curtain of pine. You kept finding yourself short of breath, heart skipping a beat then hammering behind your ribs when you took off in a short sprint, racing to the next turn of the path before repeating the cycle of paranoia, perception, perplexity, and panic.
At one point though, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself, shaking your head at how utterly ridiculous you were acting. Because why, with all your experience traveling these woods without incident, would something choose to change that now?
Maybe it’s demons, a traitorous voice in your head hissed, or maybe it’s the monster who traumatized that old woman. Maybe it’s finally awoken from its long slumber and is hunting for a new victim.
To distract yourself from your less desirable thoughts, you started humming a familiar, calming tune, one your mother used to sing to lull you to sleep as a child. You finished the melody once through, going to repeat the phrase a second time, only halfway through stopped short when a low, smoky voice began harmonizing with your own.
You froze midstep, sucking in a short gasp as your eyes went wide, searching the scene before you as if you expected the owner of the voice to come into view like a ghost through the fog, silhouette shifting behind the veil before stepping into sharper focus.
However, when it finished the song for itself, it let out a low, sinister chuckle, a growl laced throughout the husky sound.
You whirled around, expecting to see the figure standing behind you, yet was only met with more emptiness. You went to reach for your knife, but your hand never even made it to the hilt.
The moment you spotted two sapphire orbs glowing through the mist, you turned and took off running.
***
With the path long abandoned and the forest growing even thicker with every panic-stricken stride you took, the wicker basket and its contents scattered long behind you in a trail of bread and cheese and berries and herbs, you didn’t even have time to comprehend just how lost you really were.
All you could focus on was not tripping over the uprooted trees and thorny underbrush as you dashed and leapt further into the fog.
There was a moment when you thought of that horrible black wolf— the one that you knew to be dead, the fur around your neck a solid and sure reminder of that— and the mental image of the devoured deer it had been feasting on when your father had finally found and shot it dead.
You were the deer— you realized as you leapt across a shallow stream, nearly stumbling and falling upon your landing, scrambling to stay upright and keep going— soon to be consumed by whatever was giving chase, your pursuer not far behind from the sound of fast, heavy footsteps catching up closer and closer by the minute.
But you were being played with, your terror utilized as amusement.
Because, if he really wanted to, he could’ve caught you before you’d even had the chance to take one more step down the path. He could’ve leapt out and pinned you to the dirt and the leaves and sunk his fangs into your throat before you even had the chance to scream.
But that would be no fun, Dabi had thought to himself as he gave chase, tormenting you even further as he howled and cackled behind you, wanting to remind you that, even if you couldn’t see him, he was still there, still closing in and soon to trap you, quick little rabbit that you were.
And it was so cute, how hard you were trying to escape, thinking you stood even an iota of a chance when up against him. Adorable, how you kept letting out little whimpers and whines whenever the toe of your boot caught under a rock or a vine and you nearly went tumbling forward, breath catching with the first signs of sobs when you began to realize you just couldn’t shake him.
When he finally did decide to catch you, he was going to have so much fun, absolutely savoring the way you would writhe in his grip, trying so hard and failing to get free as the reality of the situation dug its claws in deep and made you shake with terror.
“Oh little rabbiiiiiiiit!” he sang, forcing you to glance over your shoulder once more, this time causing you to take the crucial misstep that finally ended this chase, sending you tripping and tumbling down to the ground, rolling a few times and collecting some brittle leaves inside your cloak which was now smudged with dirt.
You tried to get up but winced when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle, having twisted it on your way down, leaving you to struggle and try to crawl away, pulling yourself towards the nearest tree to help yourself stand upright again, pathetically attempting to limp further away.
But then, from behind the next tree you were about to pass, out stepped your pursuer to bar your path, tall and thin and far too smug for anyone’s good, his cobalt gaze cutting through the fog before the rest of him could. Dabi stood before you, arms crossed as he leaned against the trunk of the pine, declaring through a barely amused drawl, “Caught’cha.”
You went to dive away from him, yelping when he caught your wrist in one of his fists and yanked you back, his fingers digging painfully into your hammering pulse and making you grit your teeth and whimper, holding you up by your arm and trying to get a better look at you.
“Hmm…” he hummed in contemplation. You could feel his breath on your face as you squeezed your eyes shut and turned your face away, too afraid to stare directly into that smoldering sapphire, knowing you’d only be met with cruelty and a sadistic sort of satisfaction that he’d caught you— caught his prey.
“Well, would you look at that…” he went on, taking your chin in his other hand, forcing your face to turn forward again. You were crying now, tears leaking through your tightly shut eyes as every breath you exhaled shuddered more than the last. He let out a puff of a laugh, grip on your jaw tightening until you had no choice but to look at him, pleading with your eyes for him to stop, that he was hurting you, begging for him to let you go. “You’re a lot prettier when you’re not running away from me, y’know.”
He squeezed your jaw hard enough until your mouth was forced open, flashing a sharp-toothed smirk when you let out a terrified and slightly embarrassed little squeak.
You’d never seen a man with teeth like his before, incisors sharp enough to tear through flesh and bone and tendon, sharp enough to rip another’s throat out as easily as tearing off a chunk from a loaf of fresh, warm bread.
More tears welled in your eyes, spilling down your dirt-smudged cheeks and meeting under your chin, dripping down into the fur of your cloak.
“Why ya cryin’?” he asked, cocking his head slightly to one side, faking innocence. His smirk returned though, hooking one of his thumbs into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue as he concluded with a dark and threatening, “I haven’t even done anything to you yet.” When you tried to pull your head free, his grip on your jaw only increased, using the pain to hold you in place.
If you ever find yourself in a situation you can’t outrun, your father had said, promise me you’ll fight.
You’d nodded your head, accepted the knife as you made the promise.
And you’d tried running. It hadn’t gotten you anywhere good.
Perhaps it was time to consider the alternative.
“What’re you doin’ out here all alone, little lamb?” he cooed, slipping his thumb back a little further, nearly making you gag, and pressed down firm on your glistening pink tongue, mesmerized as your spit began to collect and pool, licking his lips as his own mouth salivated. “It’s dangerous for a girl like you, y’know…”
Then, you bit down on his thumb hard. Hard enough to make him swear and pull his hand back from you, giving you just enough time to reach for your dagger and take a swing at him, cutting a slash through his wrist, albeit shallow.
He hissed and growled, flashing a feral kind of fury your way as you inched back, pointing the end of the blade out before you and ready to strike again if he dared get close enough. Dabi knew you couldn’t get very far running with an injured ankle, probably couldn’t even walk without too much pain, so it wasn’t you getting away that he needed to worry about. You were aware of this too, but you couldn’t let him onto your own self-doubt.
You thought back to your reflection in the mirror that morning, the red cloak that covered you reminding you of a rose— beautiful from afar, but if reached for would be quick to prick you with its thorns.
That’s right, you thought to yourself with malice, I can be dangerous too.
You slashed the weapon through the air, trying to lunge forward half a step as an intimidation tactic, but that air of confidence fell from your entire being the moment you took his appearance in full, enough distance between you two now for you to see the whole picture, the unmistakable ears and tail that could only belong to a wolf perched upon his spiky black hair and swishing irritably behind him.
But it wasn’t just those characteristics that caught you so off guard.
It was his scars too. So many of them pressed under his eyes and jaw, his neck and chest and in discolored blotches trailing up and down his arms, his hands, skin melted and marred by what you could only guess were burns.
But what— or who— could have done something like that to him?
You realized it was likely only one person— one group of people— on account of how often the church liked to remind the public how they dealt with things they deemed inhuman.
Maybe if this man (if he could be considered as such) weren’t trying to kill you, you’d feel sorry for him…
Dabi let out another one of those sinister chuckles, proving himself to be anything but amused as he waded back into the fog, speaking as he disappeared into the mist, “You really shouldn’t’ve done that…” And then he was gone. Out of sight, but not retreating.
You turned in small, stuttering circles as you tried not to shift too much weight onto your sore ankle, dagger held out before you and ready to draw more of his blood if you so much as thought you saw his form shift through the mist.
But he was merely toying with you again, hiding out and letting your own terror unravel you, letting it wear you down enough so you lost some of your fight before he would strike again.
And it was working, the more adrenaline you lost, the more your injury began to ache, the looser your form became, and then, just as you were beginning to think perhaps he really was gone, that now your biggest problem would be making it out of these woods alive, forget about before nightfall, you backed up into something— someone.
“Why don’t you put the knife down…” Dabi’s voice sounded right beside your ear, his fist once again latching around your wrist, squeezing until the pain caused you to unclench your fist and drop the blade, your last hope at fighting swallowed up by the thick ferns by your feet. “Wouldn’t wanna hurt yourself.”
“That’s rich…” you retorted with scorn, wincing as his grip pressed in harder, merely for the sake of drawing more of those pitiful whimpers from you, “coming from you…”
Dabi let out a sardonic scoff, pulling you back against his chest, holding you in place even as you twisted and writhed against him to break free. “Yeah, well…” he murmured, grabbing your other wrist and twisting it painfully behind your back, nearly causing your knees to buckle as you let out a yelp, “I think I wanna be the one to hurt you.”
You kept trying to fight, even tried to scream, but Dabi didn’t seem to be concerned with being overpowered or overheard. Eventually, he even seemed to grow bored of the whole thing, as if this wasn’t a matter of life and death.
Well, for him, you supposed it wasn’t.
“What are you gonna do to me?” you eventually gained enough courage to ask, trying to spit the question out with more fury than fear. “Gonna eat me alive and leave my corpse for the crows to pick at?”
He seemed to freeze then, as if confused, before letting out a real laugh and saying, “Oh wow, so they still spread those kinds of rumors in the village, huh?” He adjusted his grip on you, flipping you around so you were facing him now, though was quick to back you up against the nearest tree, taking both your wrists in one fist and pinning them above your head, bark scraping against the tops of your hands, caging you in as he leaned in towards your face and spoke in a voice just barely above a whisper, those glowing sapphires narrowed in a sick, satisfied kind of cruelty, “Bet they scared all the kids stiff with stories of the big bad wolf, huh?”
You winced and turned your face away from him again as he drew nearer, his lips ghosting over your neck as he nudged his nose into your hair, taking in the scent of you, memorizing it.
And, god, if he’d been drawn in by your pathetic little sounds of struggle before, so weak and helpless against him, then your smell was enough to drive him crazy.
He had half a mind to sink his fangs into you right then and there just to save himself the trouble of keeping you compliant later. Or, he then figured, perhaps he’d like to hear you gasp and yelp once he finally got a taste of your blood.
But you were still insisting on playing the bravery card, or whatever little of it you had left, stuttering out in response to his taunting, “Y-yeah well, if what they describe in the stories really is you, then I’m afraid they’ve severely over-exaggerated.”
Another one of those patronizing chuckles, the tilting of his head as he pulled back to stare you directly in the eyes, his cerulean glare burning through you as you forced yourself not to look away. You gulped, your entire body trembling, and he brought his free hand up to your neck, lightly tracing the line of your throat, almost as if admiring it, your skin soft under his calloused fingertips.
When you tried to tug away, his grip on your wrists only tightened, the pain continuing to keep you obedient, and the scariest part was quickly becoming how unpredictable he was, so set on tormenting and hurting you one moment only to touch you like you were the first human he’d come across in who knows how long the next.
Well, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you probably were the first human he’d come across in a while…
“I’ve seen you out here before, y’know,” Dabi then admitted, his voice soft and soothing, a stark contrast to the way he was crushing your wrists in his palm, your bones grinding together and making you grit your teeth. “But today…” He took the fabric of your cloak between his lithe fingers, tracing the line of the hem up towards where the black fur bordered the hood, tufts of it tickling your cheek when you tried to turn further away from him. “Today this caught my attention.”
Again, your father’s warning came back to you with horror, like ice settling in the pit of your stomach, a sinking realization.
Easier for hunters to spot, and predators too.
Even with the dagger, you’d been nothing but helpless prey.
“It’s new…” he remarked, carding his fingers through the fur, gazing at it, almost with a hint of recognition, maybe even fondness, before flicking his stare back to meet yours. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s from the wolf that killed my little brother!” you snarled, eyes brimming with tears again, though this time it was all resentment. “That’s what we do to monsters around here. We end them. Then we wear the remains to warn their friends that they’ll be next!”
Your frightened shaking had turned into enraged quaking, gaining some of your fight back despite now being unarmed and outmatched. Because you had teeth and claws of your own. They might not’ve been as sharp, but the intention behind the attack would land regardless. The moment he let you go, you’d show him.
The scarred man— wolf— whatever he was— narrowed his sapphire glare, clenching his jaw, clearly displeased with your commentary on his kind, but then, to your own surprise, he actually released you.
You were so shocked you nearly forgot about attacking him, just stood there, waiting for him to move impossibly fast again and pin you to the ground and stain your white dress to match your cloak with your own blood.
“It’ll be sundown soon,” he then said, voice calm yet still warning. “You don’t wanna get caught out in these parts after dark.”
You scowled at him, wishing you still had your knife, trying to search through all the fern and reddened flora touched by fall for a glint of silver without being too obvious, and replied, “What I wanted was to be at my grandmother’s by now and already headed home!” You adjusted your cloak, fidgeting with the gold clasp, not daring to take your eyes off him. “But even if I wanted to get there at this hour, it wouldn’t even matter because you destroyed my basket!”
“Oh, I was the one who destroyed it?” he asked, lazily faking offense. “Actually, I think it was you who dropped it back there when you veered off the path.”
“Only because you chased me!” you bellowed, sentence upturned towards the end with a frustrated shriek. “So if this is all fun and games for you, I hope you’re satisfied! But, if you don’t mind, I need to find my way back to the main path.”
You went to take a step and walk past him, suddenly feeling more inconvenienced by his antics than anything, but he grabbed your arm, yanking you back and making you hiss and shoot him a venomous glare. “You think you’re gonna make it home before dark with that injury?” He glanced at your ankle, which was surely a little swollen inside of your boot with the way you were still limping on it.
You shrugged him off then, not keen on accepting any of his favors, if that’s what this was leading to. “Well what choice do I have?” you asked rhetorically, frustrations fading back into fear.
Because he was right.
You wouldn’t make it home before dark going half the speed that having two working feet normally lent you, and you most certainly didn’t want to be caught out here without a way to run if things turned south, especially in this unrelenting fog.
He cracked another one of those sly smirks, eyelids drawn down halfway over his entrancing blues, the points of his incisors poking out from behind the crooked, scarred smile. With his ears mischievously perked, he said, “I know a place you can stay the night,” and a part of you was starting to wonder if it just would’ve been better if he’d killed you like you’d thought he was going to do before.
Because wherever he was taking you, whatever was to transpire, would be a lot harder to explain away than the gruesome death of a girl devoured by some beast on her way through the woods.
If you were lucky enough to live to tell the tale, that is.
Bending down, you reached into the tufts of fern until your fingertips brushed against the dagger, taking up the blade with your eyes still trained on him, only placing the weapon in its sheath once you felt he wasn’t going to attack again.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” you asked, trying to inject some authority into your voice despite your distrust in him and the situation you were willingly walking into. “Lead the way.”
***
His cabin was nice, all things considered.
It was nestled between a shroud of thick, prickly pines, deep in the woods— deeper than you ever dared even think about going.
“Did you make this?” you asked, scoping the place out as you turned in slow circles about the room, your injured ankle still throbbing with a dull pain but, so long as you kept a majority of your weight off of it, wasn’t too bad.
As he stoked a fire in the hearth, Dabi replied with a disinterested drawl, “Found it abandoned a while back. Before, well, y’know…” You didn’t know, actually, but you didn’t ask any further questions, were too focused on the collection of miscellaneous items that decorated the place, the chilling thought that perhaps they’d once belonged to lost travelers just like you setting you back on edge. “Anyway, I came back and claimed it once they ran me outta town.” He stood with a quiet groan, studying you with those glowing eyes from across the room, his ears going flat against his head as he saw you about to touch one of his trinkets, snapping at you to keep your hands to yourself.
Like he could talk.
“Sorry…” you squeaked out, hands pulling back into your chest and away from the multi-colored scarf you’d been hovering by. But then you perked up, his prior words seeming to register to you suddenly. “Once they ran you out of town?” you repeated, voice upturning with the question. “Who? The village? Did you used to live there?”
Dabi crossed the room, stalking near, arms crossed and gait lazy, yet his ears perked forward, a dangerous kind of inquisitiveness flaring in his cobalt glare. You took a few steps back, keeping the distance the best you could, but wincing when you put too much weight on your injury.
“You mean you really don’t know?” he asked, one inky brow lifting.
He was so close now, caging you against the wall with his presence alone, and again, with your hand resting on the hilt of the dagger, you found yourself examining his scars, all the scorched flesh that wrinkled and pulled in what looked to be such a painful way every time his face made even the slightest expression.
“I really don’t know…” you admitted, terror filling your body. You gulped, hoping to swallow down as much fear as you could stomach, but Dabi didn’t miss the way the confession quivered slightly towards the end.
Now he smirked, that cold, cruel grin tugging at his scars and making the smile spread crooked. “Huh… Well, I guess by the looks of you, you would’ve been just a kid, too,” he began, his tail lifting a little, the black fur of it catching the amber firelight around the edges. “You don’t live in the town, do you?”
You clenched your jaw, unsure whether you should answer truthfully or not. Because if you lied, maybe it was a trap. He clearly held some disdain for the nearby village. Perhaps he’d been waiting to get his hands on one of its citizens so he could punish them for the crimes of their church accordingly. But, adversely, if you admitted the truth, he might be able to track you down back to the little log cabin your father had built out in the clearing on the edge of the woods, the village just a tiny collection of steepled roofs from down the slope.
So, instead of risking either outcome, you opted to answer with a question as well. “They were the ones who hurt you, weren’t they…?”
You found your hand leaving the safety of the weapon secured at your hip and slowly reaching up for his face, the darkened scars patching along his flesh beckoning your sympathies, begging to be tended to. All the while, images conjured from the darkest parts of your imagination depicted him crucified, flames licking at his feet before catching on his clothes and setting his body ablaze, his raspy voice breaking with a blood curdling cry.
You were surprised that he actually allowed you to touch him, your fingertips merely ghosting over the scars on his jaw, and then you asked him, your voice barely above a whisper “How old were you…?”
Dabi’s eyes nearly fluttered closed at your gentle touch yet he clasped his fist around your wrist, lowering it from his face, denying himself your silent sympathies as his eyes opened again, though they couldn’t meet yours as he answered, voice a little hoarse, “Sixteen…”
Your heart was breaking for him, the boy who’d been condemned as a monster and burned at the stake. He shouldn’t have survived— it was a mystery how he had— but he’d managed to get out alive, even if just barely.
“How did it happen?” you breathed, trying to blink away the mist of tears that welled in your eyes. “I mean, how did you become…”
Dabi let go of your wrist, flicked his gaze back to yours now. With his jaw set and glare steely, he clarified, “You mean how was I turned?” You nodded, chin quivering with both sorrow and fear.
But Dabi sighed then, his dangerous expression dropping back into something weary. He took a few strides over to the table, pulled out two chairs, sat in one, and nodded at the other. “Have a seat,” he offered— perhaps ordered. “It’s a long story. And you should be resting that injury anyway.”
You did as you were told, feeling relief upon sinking down into the chair that was surprisingly comfortable, despite the fact it looked like it was close to falling apart. Before he began, he asked you one last time if you actually wanted to hear the story, saying it wasn’t a pretty one, and you just nodded.
And he wasn’t kidding.
It was horrible.
Tragic.
Gruesome.
But amidst all the gorey details there was one crucial piece of the puzzle revealed. Dabi nodded at the fur lining your cloak, nose scrunching a little with distaste, and said, “I knew it was him the second I saw you. That fur… He was the only one who had a coat like that.”
You sat there, in shock and unable to read whether his disdain was more for you or the animal you were wearing around your neck.
Because, despite the fact that the creature that had damned him to this life and killed your only sibling was dead, Dabi still held him in some kind of high regard. Back when he’d been turned, the speckled wolf was all he’d had. It had been the only one like him, the only one who could understand his pain. So now, with the creator dead, what was the creation to do?
Perhaps become the creator himself, already having a candidate sitting pretty in one of his chairs, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
“You two were… friends?” you hesitated to ask, once again preparing to reach for your dagger.
“No,” Dabi scoffed, looking at you like you were stupid. “But after what he did to me, what choice did I have but to trust him? To do what he said?”
You were just about to tell him how sorry you were for that having happened to him— both with the turning and the town— but he cut you off with a slightly biting, “Don’t be. It is what it is…” He sighed, his ears twitching a bit and his blue eyes gaining a far away look, like if you gazed into them for long enough, you’d see the fragments of the memories rippling like coins shining from the bottom of a deep well. But then his smirk returned, even if it was still flickering with a little melancholy, and stated, “They created their own monster anyway. It’s them who’re still afraid of me, not the other way around.”
You supposed he had a point, even if it was still sad.
“So, you’ve lived out here in the woods all by yourself since then?” you asked, glancing around at his knick-knacks again, this time focusing on what appeared to have once been a child’s stuffed animal, a rabbit— once white— turned brown and grey with time and torment. One of its eyes was missing, the remaining black button slightly pulled free from its stitching. You wondered if any of these objects had once belonged to him, had been recovered from his human life, or if he’d had to start from scratch and pick up scraps just to make his house feel more like a home.
“Let’s not do this,” he replied, which caught you a little off guard. Your head snapped back to him, wearing a confused look.
“Do what?” you asked, a nervous smile tugging at one corner of your lips, gaining a terrible feeling that your time in his good graces was finally up.
“You know what,” he insisted with a bit of a sneer, giving you a look that was both exhausted and annoyed. “If you know what’s good for you,” he pointed one of his long, bony fingers lazily your way, “you’ll forget you even met me.”
You knew he was right— knew that the town might burn you at the stake for even mentioning having seen the wolfman, forget about having accompanied him to his house— but you also couldn’t help but be curious.
It wasn’t every day that you met a real, live myth. And a myth that might hold more answers to your brother’s death, if you could bear to hear them.
But before you could try and pry even the most trivial of answers from him, a loud growling erupted from you, both your hands instantly wrapping around your belly, your eyes going round with embarrassment.
By now, you would’ve eaten lunch and dinner, but you hadn’t stopped for your afternoon break on account of the fog and you’d lost your basket during the chase. If you’d made it to your grandmother’s house late and ended up staying over, as you often did when the sun set early in the winter, you and her would be sharing some homemade tomato bisque and dipping in soft chunks of bread torn off the loaves your mother had packed.
So, in other words, you were starving.
You gave Dabi a guilty look, but before you could start to explain, he just waved off your worries and stood from the table, saying as he began to walk towards his cluttered kitchen, “Gimme a sec, I might have somethin’…”
He returned a few minutes later with some bread and jam. The bread was halfway to stale and the jam was hardly sweet, but you were too hungry to complain. Plus, just because he was being nice to you didn’t mean he still didn’t intend to do you harm later. Insulting his offering might just speed up any ill-intentions he had planned. And this would buy you time to think too, discover an escape route of some kind.
However, once you both had eaten your fill, night fully blanketed over the sky and the fog dissipated just enough to show a hazy orb of the nearly full moon glowing through the clouds, you asked him if what they said about full moons and monsters was true.
“The closer it gets to a full moon,” he explained, ears twitching a bit as if the mere confession of his affliction agitated him, “the closer I get to fully turning. Y’know…” he rolled his eyes and lazily swished his tail, “in case you couldn’t tell.”
Your hand twitched, wanting to brush your fingers over the fur lining your hood again, but you fought back the urge. The thought of the beast that had killed your brother once again flashed through your mind and you wondered how closely he’d resembled a human just a few days before. It raised a very important question in your mind then.
“Do you…” You gulped, trying to steady your shaking hands, your quivering voice. “Do you remember what you do… When you transform fully, I mean?”
Dabi slouched back in his chair a bit, admitting, “No… During full moons, we lose all our human memories, and when we wake up the next day, we can’t remember what we did as wolves either.” Then his ears perked up, curious. “Why?”
You asked him if he knew any others like him— others who’d been changed, could transform— and he said he didn’t, not since discovering the one who’d turned him was dead nearly a year now.
He could only assume that, on nights he fully transformed, he lurked and hunted and howled just like the other wolves that lived in these woods, the real wolves, that is. He then made a comment that perhaps he could be guilty of killing innocent women or children just the same as the wolf decorating your hood and he’d be none the wiser.
Needless to say, you didn’t much appreciate that bit of commentary.
You wanted to cry again. You wanted to hit him. You wished you’d let yourself draw your blade so you could drive the blade through his heart. Because even if he hadn’t been the wolf that had killed your brother, the fact that he knew that wolf— could one day be that wolf for someone else— was enough to rile up your need for revenge.
“And what?” you asked, your voice dripping with venom. “You just think you should be allowed to live this close to the town? To even exist at all, if you pose such a threat?”
Dabi’s eyes widened a bit then, a little shocked by your accusation, but clearly not as worried about your fist curling around the dagger’s hilt as you wished he would be.
“And where else do you suggest I go?” he taunted, grinning at your failure to do what you thought was the right thing— to take him out like any other hunter would, like your father should’ve raised you to do.
Only, you weren’t a hunter. Not even close.
In that moment, you were just a girl. A scared, weak little girl who couldn’t do the right thing, even if it meant sparing others from such a gut-wrenching fate.
“How did you find me?” you asked, the question half a demand. But then you rephrased your query, changing it to, “Why did you find me?”
“I smelled the food in your basket,” Dabi lied, boring his malicious stare into you until you backed off a little. But then that playfully mean streak swooped right back in as he added, “But once I saw you, well, guess I just couldn’t help myself.” Your scowl deepened but that only made him snicker. “No, but really. With that red cloak, you stood out even through the fog. You know a hunter could spot you from a mile away, right?”
“Well, yeah, that’s sort of the idea,” you corrected him, pure hatred in your tone. “The last thing I need is one of them mistaking me for a deer and shooting me dead.”
“Well with those doe eyes of yours I’d say it’s still an easy mistake to make.”
You froze, once again finding yourself unable to predict his intentions, you brows still slightly pinched but in a way that was more worry than rage now. His stare stayed steady, waiting for you to react in some kind of way.
You cleared your throat, feeling the nerves skittering around in the pit of your stomach.
You knew that look. Had seen it directed your way at least a dozen times on every one of the rare outings you made into the village to procure more provisions. It was half hungry, half arrogantly hopeful. You were used to averting your gaze though, hurrying past the men whose eyes trailed after you like hungry dogs salivating over a piece of meat. Though, with those piercing blues shining through the dark at you, even with the quickly rising terror, it was hard to look away from him.
“I…” Your voice cracked and you tried to swallow again, the lump in your throat only growing. “I think my ankle has probably had enough rest… I think I should get going, I—”
“Oh, c’mon,” Dabi said, rolling his eyes. He pushed up from his seat at the table, chair legs scuffing across the uneven wooden floors. He cocked his head at you, flashed those sharp white teeth, and said, “We both know you’re not going anywhere.”
***
Maybe the priests had been right.
Maybe demons really were real.
If they weren’t, then how had Dabi bewitched you into his arms so easily?
What had possessed you to let him kiss you, to not back away when he’d leaned in and pressed his rough, mismatched lips to your soft, trembling ones?
Even when he’d disarmed you, grabbed up your knife for the second time and slid it far out of reach across the kitchen table, why hadn’t you tried to pull away? Begged him to stop? Plead for mercy?
Maybe because your insides had twisted in a painfully sweet way when his big, slender hands had started tugging at the strings on your corset until it came undone, slipped up under your dress and touched you in places you’d never felt before, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin and your breath to hitch as the sensation traveled up your thighs, your hips, your stomach, your ribs.
Surely this must be the work of a devil, you thought, giving yourself to him so willingly as if he wasn’t going to use you and then do away with you like monsters were known to do. Because it felt too good, sinfully good, when he sucked dark bruises into your neck, nipping at your tender flesh with sharp incisors and chuckling darkly whenever he pulled one of those helplessly adorable whines from you.
“If only you knew how long I’ve waited for this…” you thought you heard him mutter as he pressed his nose into your hair again, savoring your scent like it was honeysuckle sweet. “How long it’s been…”
You thought maybe you ought to stop him before things went too far, his strong hands gripping you a little tighter, pulling you harder against him, settling you in his lap and making you squirm when you felt the hardness of his length pressing against your most intimate areas.
You tried to push against his shoulders, create a little distance between you two, but when you saw that feral desire burning in his eyes, you knew even if you asked— even if you begged— there was no way, not in any hell he’d come from, that he was going to listen.
“I…” Your voice broke, the confession stuck in your throat.
Dabi was hardly listening, too occupied with running his hands up and down your form, making you let out a startled squeak when he grabbed your ass, clearly enjoying the way you looked so shy— so embarrassed— at being in this situation, legs spread over his lap and throbbing little clit searching for any pressure, any relief, when you settled a little more over his growing erection.
“God, if you could see yourself right now…” he sighed, as if in awe, combing his fingers through your hair, smoothing it back from your burning face. “Fuckin’ beautiful… Gorgeous… Almost makes all these years of isolation worth it…”
He was working on trying to slip his fingers beneath your chemise, get to the parts of you hidden beyond all those undergarments, and you felt your heart leap into your throat.
“I… There’s something— I don’t think we should—” you’d tried to explain, but Dabi stopped you short as you let out another quiet, caught off guard gasp, his thumb once again finding the plush of your lower lip, mesmerized by your pretty little mouth whether you were speaking or silent.
He should’ve just kissed you again. That had gotten you to shut up and do what he wanted the first time.
“Oh, c’mon…” He gave you a disappointed look. “You really gonna deny me now that we’ve come this far? I mean, what?” he scoffed. “You’re not gonna sit here and tell me you’re a virgin, are you?”
Turns out you didn’t even have to answer that time. Your face turning beet red was enough to tell him he’d been right.
“Oh…” His expression morphed into that playful deviousness again, something only a little evil swimming beneath the surface. His smoky voice hummed out a note of amusement when you looked away, your body starting to tremble again. “Well, now ain’t that somethin’? I snag me a pretty girl and she’s a virgin? I guess that priest was wrong when he said I was goin’ ta hell, ‘cause I’d say this is as close to heaven as it gets.” You shot him a glare that you hoped was angry, but with the fresh tears misting in your eyes, knew looked more ashamed and scared than anything.
When you tried to shrug free of his grip, he held you still, not letting you budge more than an inch. He took your chin between his fingers, forced you to look at him as he asked, like it would make a difference, “What? You betrothed or somethin’? Savin’ yourself for marriage and all that? Like a good girl?”
“No,” you shot back with scorn, though you wished instantly maybe you’d made up something along those lines. “But that doesn’t mean I—”
You hated yourself for crying, suffocating on the sobs that you tried to swallow and stifle, and Dabi wiped away your tears with the rough pad of his calloused thumb, clicking his tongue and cooing at you. “Don’t worry…” he muttered. You met his eyes again, naively thinking maybe he’d let you go afterall. But when that greedy, dangerous glint reignited behind his glare, you knew you’d been wrong to assume. “I’ll make sure I go easy on you, at first.”
Suddenly, your position was shifted and Dabi was the one on top of you, pinning both your wrists above your head on his tattered, patchwork sofa, one knee between your thighs to nudge them further apart as they attempted to clench shut.
“Just be a good girl for me,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “Just be a good little lamb and I’ll treat ya real nice…”
You were just about to try and convince him that, if he let you go, returned you home safely, you’d find a way to cut a deal where you brought him weekly deliveries as well, maybe some freshly baked bread and homemade jam that was actually sweet, roast turkey, your mother’s delectable, spicy gingersnaps— anything he wanted, aside from yourself.
But Dabi was impatient, if anything. And after humans had tried to take so much from him, he was done waiting for them to give him anything.
Because why debate a deal when you were already holding the prize?
“Please—” you choked out, your last resort at trying to garner any of his sympathy, if he were capable of such an emotion. “Just… Please just be careful. I— Please don’t hurt me…”
Dabi smiled then. A real smile, not one of his crooked, malicious smirks. He lightly brushed the back of his knuckles along your jaw, admiring how soft you were, how perfect, how pretty, how delicately human. “Don’t worry, doll…” he murmured, nudging your knees a little further apart, though that time, you didn’t try to resist as much. “I’m not the one you need to be afraid of.”
With one fist still securing both your wrists above your head, he used his free hand to tug down the neckline of your dress until your breasts were exposed to him, the light of the fireplace dancing over your bare skin and turning it gold in the dim light. You let out a shuddering exhale, never having felt so vulnerable in your entire life, and instinctively took a try at pulling your hands free from his grip, but his hold on you only tightened.
You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a whimper, tits bouncing a little with every panting breath, the anticipation searing through you like a red hot branding iron, making you jolt.
You expected him to be rough with you regardless of your pleas and his promises, so you were surprised when he lightly brushed his thumb over the sensitive bud of your nipple, watched it harden from the teasing ministration, only edged on by the way you mewled at the sensation of it, even if it was partially against your own will.
After he pinched and rolled the bud between his rough fingers, causing you to arch up into his touch, he pulled your dress further down to expose more of your torso to him, taking in each new inch of your skin that he saw like it was holier than the last, his mouth beginning to water, his cock aching with how hard it was straining against his trousers.
“I’ll tell ya what…” Dabi muttered, his voice right beside your ear while he stripped you of your dress, tugging down your chemise along with it, tossing them to the floor where your cloak and corset already lay. “Whoever you do end up marrying… He’s gonna be one lucky bastard.”
You were about to snap out some begrudged response to that, but lost your confidence when his mouth latched onto one of your breasts, his tongue laving around the pebbled bud to further tease you— further torture you.
You were trying to stay quiet, as if every single sound of pleasure that escaped you was admittance to defeat, but it was hard when he was so skilled at making you melt, as if he already knew exactly what made you tick.
You bit your tongue and whimpered when he nibbled at you, heat spreading across your skin when you felt his hand cupping your sex, one of his fingers gliding across your slit, spreading you further open, your arousal making you slick and warm for him.
“Come on now…” he half chuckled, half growled, lifting his head only enough to meet your eyes. He gripped your cheeks between his fingers, squished them in his hand, forcing your lips open just a little bit. “None ‘a that… I wanna hear you.”
Then, unexpectedly, he slipped a finger into your tight, fluttering hole, curling it inside you knuckle deep, and when you let out the most delicious little moan, he swallowed the end of your pleasure with another kiss, his tongue working its way into your open mouth.
“That’s it…” he muttered, his lips still against yours, drinking in as much of you as he could. “Keep on doin’ that for me… Just like that… Such a good girl…”
Not daring to defy him, you didn’t try to mute your mewls and moans any longer, crying out in a way you’d never heard yourself sound before when he slipped in a second finger, slowly beginning to pump in and out of you while his thumb massaged firm circles against your swollen little bundle of nerves, more of your slick dripping into the palm of his hand.
“S-stop—” you choked out, wincing at the sting of his fingers scissoring you open wider, trying to arch away from his touch while your cunt only sucked him in further. “P-please— ‘S too much!”
But Dabi wouldn’t relent, could tell by the way your breathing became erratic, your stomach muscles tensed and your legs began to stiffen that you were getting close, just from his fingers alone. With an unamused drone, he replied, “I think we both know you don’t want me to stop, doll. At least, not yet…”
And the worst part was, he was right.
Because it felt so good. And you were so close. And you were starting to fear that you’d purposefully stray from the path again the next time you had to make a delivery, just to chance running into him again.
When your orgasm finally washed over you, Dabi worked you through it, letting the high linger as he kept collecting your arousal, spreading it around to keep you slick for him, continuing to tease you until you were all worked up again.
But he’d done you enough favors already— more favors than he’d originally intended to— and it was his turn to take what he wanted. And how could you blame him? When he could’ve just taken you in the middle of that foggy forest clearing and killed you afterwards, he’d made things nice for you— even made you dinner, if stale bread and barely sweety jam could be considered as such— and was even planning on releasing you once all was said and done, how could you blame him for taking a little something for himself?
“God…” he sighed as he pulled his aching cock free from the constraints of his trousers, the tip blushing red and already leaking copious amounts of pre-cum. He gave himself a few languid strokes, hissing a little and already imagining how good it would feel once he was inside you.
You were staring at him— at it— with wide, terror filled eyes, unable to tear your startled gaze from his length until he was settling back over you, forcing your thighs further apart.
“C’mon…” he urged, taking your chin gently in his fingers, lifting your gaze to meet his glowing sapphires again, a faint attempt to put you at ease. With his voice fading into what, for him, was supposed to be a soothing coo, he said, “I made ya feel good the first time, right? Well this is only gonna make it better. Just trust me…”
As he stripped himself of his remaining clothes, leaving the black fabric in piles before the fireplace to tangle with your pieces of white and red, you thought to yourself how you weren’t so sure about that.
You’d never seen your own anatomy in that way— never even seen a picture or a drawing, since any books containing such vulgar images were confiscated by the church— but you were pretty sure, given by how just the intrusion of his fingers had stung, that a cock as girthy and long as his wasn’t going to hurt any less.
As he began to line himself up with you, you went to grab his wrist, as if you had even half the amount of strength it would take to fend him off, and he quickly flicked his wrist to turn and take hold of your own, capturing you once again. But you didn’t try to fight. You just looked at him through your lashes, almost as if you were guilty of something and had just been caught in the act.
“Just… go slow, ok?” you whined, a pout pulling at the corners of your pretty little lips.
Dabi flashed a wolfish grin, the points of his incisors catching the amber firelight and reminding you that he wasn’t quite human, as if the ears perked forward amidst all that spiky black hair and the fluffy tail swishing— dare you consider it wagging— eagerly behind him wasn’t reminder enough.
He let go of your wrist, stroked your cheek in a way that, if not for his nature, might’ve been considered loving, and promised to take good care of you.
And that time, your better judgment be damned, you believed him.
So you lay back for him, surrendering yourself fully to the beast, and tried not to push him away when you felt his velvety tip nudge at your tight little entrance.
But he abided by his promise— went slow with you— the best that he could.
As much as he wanted to sink into you with one harsh thrust, fist wrapped around your neck to feel the cry of pain vibrate through your throat, sharp teeth biting down into your tender, unclaimed flesh, he didn’t.
He tried to call upon his past humanity, think to himself that, maybe, in another life— one where he’d never been turned into a monster and condemned for a title that had been forced upon him— he would’ve met you weaving your way among the village crowds, that wicker basket slung over your arm. Maybe you would’ve given him a smile and wave when you saw him perched at the corner. Maybe he would’ve been the one to ask for your hand, gotten to have you like this in the way that you’d probably envisioned.
Back before he’d been branded by these scars, disfigured to resemble an animal that was loathed by the townsfolk and the church and the hunters alike.
Back before he’d been imprisoned by a life of isolation and solitude, cursed to roam between the pines until an unsuspecting, yet perhaps easily coerced, traveler crossed his path.
Carefully, Dabi rolled his hips into yours a little further, feeling you wince as he sunk in a few more inches, your body already constricting tight around him and making him wonder just how long he would last. He let out a stifled groan, his attention shifting to where his fingers were interlocked with yours, pressing your delicate little hands into the cushions of the couch, not recollecting having granted you such means of intimacy and comfort yet unable to pull away.
“Hurts—” you whimpered, fingers flexing against his scarred hands as you shifted a little, hoping to find a more comfortable position.
Dabi tried not to feel too guilty when he ignored your plea, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder so he could settle in even deeper. You squeezed his hand tighter, little nails biting into his skin, and let out a pained whimper as yet another inch of him carved out a home inside you.
By ways of feeble comfort, the wolf in him nuzzled his cheek against yours, his forehead coming to rest in the crook of your neck until he was fully inside, stilling himself for a moment as you adjusted to the stretch of him. He pressed gentle kisses along your shoulder, one for every shuddering exhale you breathed out through your stifled sobs.
“That’s it…” he tried to praise you, raspy voice a mere whisper. “That’s a good girl…”
He started moving then, keeping you close to him, trading body heat with you like, after this, he’d be damned to an eternity of biting winds and freezing nights, and endless autumn fighting to frost over his bones until his corpse was reclaimed by the earth.
And, god, you felt heavenly, angelic little mewls mixing with the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, the crackling of the fireplace, his thrusts picking up speed and that low growl vibrating in his chest.
Right on the edge of your next release, Dabi pulled out of you, repositioned you to lean over one arm of the couch, most of your weight resting on your elbows as he gripped your hips and pulled your ass closer to him, causing you to arch your back and let out a worried little whimper.
But that time, when Dabi nudged his tip back into your leaking little hole, it didn’t sting nearly as much, to your relief. He nestled inside you with a little more ease, stroking a hand down your spine and making you tremble as he began again with the slow, rhythmic, rolling of his hips.
You felt the pleasure tingling through your body, blood feeling heavier in your veins every time the curve of his cock nudged a sweet spot deep inside of you.
But before long, his thrusts regained their previous vigor, pounding into you until you were crying out and your cunt was clenching down on his cock, your silky walls forcing a long, low groan from him as he filled you with hot, sticky cum— so much of it your belly felt heavy with it by the time his cock stopped twitching inside of you and started to soften.
Even then he remained inside you, greedy for your warmth, draping himself over your back, his scarred chest blanketing your helpless little body, not so much caging you against the couch as simply resting with you there.
You didn’t try to shrug him off, not only because you didn’t have the strength, but because you liked his warmth too. It was different from yours. Yours was like the glowing embers of a dying flame, still hot enough to feel with yours hands hovering over it but not enough to burn. His was like a humid day in summer, the heat radiating off of him, touching everything around it, an inescapable, smothering kind of warmth.
Eventually, when you were just beginning to doze off, Dabi lifted his body from yours and pulled out of you, leaving you feeling empty and uncomfortable, cold air rushing in to latch onto your sweat sheened form.
“At least this still feels the same as when I was human…” you thought you heard him mutter, your consciousness slipping a little further. He gently turned you onto your back, brushed some of your tousled hair from your forehead, tiny strands sticking to your temples.
With all your senses dulling, the pleasure lulling you into a deep, sated sleep, his voice began to sound far off, a mere muffled echo of that smoky tone even as he lifted you into his arms and began to carry you upstairs.
“‘S shame though…” Dabi spoke softly, now only to himself. “Cause I have to let you go…”
He lay you across his makeshift bed, the bundle of old, frayed blankets stolen from nearby hunting camps, and just stood and watched you taking in slow, deep breaths, so pretty, whether you were running from him or fighting him or fucking him, falling asleep afterwards.
He didn’t really want to let you go. If he wanted to, he could keep you. It wouldn’t be hard, not when he’d also procured several chains and shackles used by the hunters to keep their hounds secured to the posts when they were waiting out a herd.
But if someone like you went missing, people would be sure to notice. The last thing he needed was to give the church a real reason to come looking for the one demon they couldn’t condemn. Besides, he could still track you, follow your scent back to your cabin and wait out your next delivery, coax you off the path and maybe even convince you to accompany him back to his secluded little place between the pines.
For now, though…
For now, Dabi just curled up beside you, nudging his nose against the softness of your skin and hoping for dreams of a time when maybe he could’ve stayed a man instead of turning into a monster.
***
The following morning, as day broke over the forest, thin rays of light slipping through the cracks in the trees and climbing up to the dewey windowsills, you stirred.
You felt something soft tickling your skin, blinking open your bleary eyes to see Dabi’s fluffy black tail draped over your legs from where he lay next to you, splayed out on his stomach with his face half hidden in a pillow and still sound asleep.
A strange part of you was tempted to reach over, scratch behind his pointed ears like you sometimes did with the stray dogs of the village who weren’t too afraid to approach you, but caught yourself and silently retracted.
The weight of last night quickly returned to you as you shifted and moved to sit on the edge of his bed, a distinct ache pulsing between your legs as you searched for your clothes, remembering they were downstairs by the fireplace before tiptoeing down the creaking stairs to gather them and slipping off to a more private part of the cabin to redress, fastening the red cloak back over your shoulders and trying not to dwell on the fact that you’d just done something that could never be undone.
You glanced behind you at the stairs, gaze following them back upwards to where you could just barely see the bedroom door left slightly ajar, your traitorous sympathy causing you to almost regret leaving him like this— leaving him all alone for who knows how long. But what choice did you have?
You grabbed up your dagger, which was still on the kitchen table, wincing as the old floorboards whined under your feet, and carefully crossed the room to the front door.
You only made it ten feet from the cabin’s entrance before you heard his smoky voice call out behind you, causing you to turn and see him leaning crooked in the doorway, “If you wanna get back to the main path,” he instructed, pointing a finger in the direction opposite you were currently headed, “you’re gonna wanna go that way.”
You hesitated, gaze flicking from him to the vast expanse of forest in the direction he was guiding you, wondering if he were telling the truth or not.
“Don’t worry,” he assured you, waving a hand at your worry. “Just go straight that way and you’ll find it, but I’ll warn ya…” You met his eyes then, catching that glowing sapphire gaze narrowing into something preparatory once more. “If I catch you in my territory again,” he teased, “I might just decide to keep you as my pet.”
With that, you simply swallowed, gave a nervous nod, and went on your way.
By the time you made it back to the main path, it was late morning. The fog had cleared, and you were beginning to recognize your surroundings.
It would only be a few more hours until you reached home.
In the meantime, you worked on coming up with a believable enough story to cover up what had really happened. But you knew one thing for sure…
You were going to remember the infamous wolfman— the one with entrancing cerulean eyes and inky black hair and all those scars— who lurked those woods for the rest of your life. And, for better or for worse, it was a myth you were going to take to your grave.
***
(Aaaaaaahh!! Sorry this turned out so long! I sort of ended up abandoning my outline and just going more stream of consciousness halfway through, but I’m pretty satisfied with how it turned out :)
also sorry for getting carried away with the lore lol
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed and have a wonderful halloween!
Thanks for reading! <3)
((Part 2))
#ugh i really went through the five stages of grief with this one but it is what it is...#i don’t hate how it turned out i think?#sorry I got so carried away with the lore lol#boku no hero academia#boku no hero academia fanfiction#my hero academia#my hero academia fanfiction#bnha#bnha x reader#bnha x you#bnha x y/n#my hero academia smut#boku no hero academia smut#mha smut#bnha smut#dabi mha#dabi bnha#dabi x reader#dabi x you#dabi x y/n#dabi smut
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Day 15- Monsters and Mana
I could take this seriously. I could be serious about this but....
PRINCESS KEITH!
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS QUEEN SHIRO. AHHHHHHH
(Also mom-queen Adam.)
I’m just using the characters, I know nothing about dnd so I’m not gonna attempt to write a game play through.
Was this my excuse to write royal Keith? Possibly…
---------------------------------------
”Presenting, His Royal Highness, Princess Keith.”
Keith has gotten used to that line, he’s heard it almost daily for the past three months.
As a kid, he was lucky enough to be trained with a knife and taught anything he wanted to learn. But he should have seen this coming.
He’s sitting upon a throne high above the head of their visitors. The Queen Shiro sits in the middle of the three seats, with Queen Consort Adam at his right.
Keith knows if Shiro had any say in this matter, he would stop it immediately. Thaur doesn’t stop Keith from being mad, though.
The minute he turned 18, the royal court insisted that Keith must be married as soon as possible. Having an unmarried princess of that age is frowned upon, of course.
So Keith is being forced to watch fluffed up princes with fluffier words try to ‘woo’ him.
Spoiler alert: it’s not working.
He’s gone through a whopping 43 princes, including this one, because he can already tell this guy is more obnoxious than the chickens in the farm down the road.
You would think they’d run out at some point, huh?
The visiting prince is going on about his disarmingly attractive features and Keith tries his very best to look as unattractive as possible. If he makes a weird face, maybe he can scare this guy off.
He pushes his tongue into the space between his top teeth and lip and rolls his eyes as far back in his head as they’ll go.
The prince makes a choking sound.
Adam snickers.
Shiro pinches him.
The prince keeps on hung with his Narcissistic speech after a moment, which means Keith won’t be getting out of this one that easily.
-
Keith just wants to sleep. He’s stuck at the ball thrown in the visiting prince’s honor, and it’s about dead o clock in the morning.
His gown poofs out around him, deep ruby red and covered in sparkling gems. There’s a silky scarf wrapped around his shoulders that does nothing to sheiks his otherwise bare arms from the cold night (morning?) air. He has a knife strapped to his thigh as well. (Adam helped him hide it there.)
He’s in the middle of plotting his escape hen a dark blur flashes in the corner of his vision.
When he looks in that direction, there’s nothing but the tall white pillars that line the edge of the ballroom.
Nothing except…
He walks forward slowly (mostly because he’s wearing heels and would rather not faceplant) until he’s close enough to identify the brown smudge peeking out from behind a pillar as a tail.
And as any sensible person would, he decides to poke it.
As soon as he does, a tanned hand shoots out to grab his own. Another slaps over Keith’s mouth.
He’s tugged face to face with a man a few inches taller than him with tall animal looking ears and stripes down his cheeks.
The guy next to them is much taller with pointed ears and heavily built. He has soft brown eyes and eyebrows creased with worry. His eyes widen as he takes in Keith’s indignation.
“Pike! This is bad, really bad. That’s the princess.”
‘Pike’ looks at him closely and his jaw drops too. He quickly unhands Keith.
“Are you a princess? Because I’ll treat you like royalty.”
What?
Pike is pointing finger hind at Keith and looks absolutely notified. He places his hands on Keith’s shoulders and says, “I am so sorry I just said that, I panicked. But are you the princess? And the name’s Pike, and that’s my buddy Hunk.”
Keith stares at him blankly. “Like the fish?”
Pike scowls. “What? No! Like the cool weapon!”
That’s kind of dumb, but Keith has decided to go with it. This is the most entertaining thing that’s happened in forever.
“Why are you here? You’re clearly not here for the party. And yes, I am the princess.”
Both of them gasp. Hunk looks a bit faint. They both squeal and flounder around a bit.
Keith’s wolf chooses that moment to teleport in, his aim off just enough so that he lands heavily on Pike. He immediately starts licking the strange man, which takes as a good sign.
Pike pushes the canine off of him and stares at Keith. “This is gonna sound bad, but hear me out. We may have broken into the castle to steal some things to pay this guy in a tavern a few miles from here who might also be a witch. I already made friends with your wolf when we first got in here.”
That was too much information at once.
Honestly, Keith can’t even be mad, because that all sounds absolutely wonderful. Instead, he starts laughing, loud and bright.
He fixes the 2 thieves with his intense purple stare. “I’ll lead you straight to the treasury if you take me with you.”
Pike grins at him. He has sharper teeth in the front of his mouth that make his smile look sharkish. “Can do, princess. Lead the way.”
That, Shiro will find a note on his bed that reads, “Later, sucker -Keith,” with a middle finger drawn on it. He’ll laugh wryly at his little brother’s free spirit and tell the council the next morning that Keith is long gone.
And he is. He’s already ridden off into the sunset, sitting behind Pike on a horse stolen from the royal stables, and bag of riches and a wolf by their sides.
———————————-
That was fun. Princess Keith is the best.
#vld#voltron legendary defender#voltron#keith kogane#lance mcclain#klance#keith vld#lance vld#vld keith#2023keithtober#day 15#tawny post
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DCA Info Part 41: Meet Ru Khan 🐴
Twisted from: Khan from Mulan (1998)
Ru Khan (ル・カーン, Ru Kān) is a 1st year student affiliated with the Dragonstone dorm.
History
Ru was born and raised in an eastern village, but her family constantly moves from place to place due to business and other circumstances. When she was around 5 to 7 years of age, she moved to the town of Harveston. Ru used to play with the kids in her previous homes, but the only friend she fondly remembers is Epel who she played rough with from time to time. At some point in her life Ru moved again, this time to the Sunset Savannah and was left in the care of her uncle and grandmother at a noodle shop they run while her parents looked for work in the city. Despite the fact that Ru's parents come home late she understands their circumstances. She is homeschooled and often has to help her uncle run the business. They live in a place with open fields and quite far from the city, but it was a walk away from a slum area where Ruggie resides.
Personality
Ru is rather bold and won't hold back in what she thinks of people, but she won't blindly say it when it starts a fight. Ru calculates when she can say her harsh truth. When someone wants to fight, she would always start it with an agreement, asking them if they REALLY want to fight, usually the opponent backs off when she dares them. She has this sense of courage where she will outright fight anyone who dares to mess with her. It was normal in the towns she previously resided in but her mom always tells her to just tell an adult, while her uncle and grandmother ask her if she won.
She hopes to make life better for her family so that her parents don't have to work in a faraway place. Though she finds it difficult to follow etiquette and being feminine.
Appearance
Ru has fair skin, green eyes and black hair with a white streak in it and is commonly kept in a braid. She also has a "tail" of black hair behind her. A pair of horse ears can be seen on her head.
First School Uniform
Ru wears a black tunic with a green outline and red string and gem details. The tunic is worn over a brown top with the sleeves having black cuffs. She also wears green pants, white stockings, and a pair of black flat shoes with gold soles.
Ru accessorizes with a red flower hairpiece with a maroon gem in the center and a green sash with the gold circular buckle having the Japanese Kanji for the word horse "馬".
Second School Uniform
Ru’s ensemble is more flowy and while she looks tough, she has some sense of class because of her braid.
Ru’s ensemble consists of a muted green tunic with the top portion having a black collar outline and three red bow shaped knot buttons while the bottom of the tunic has flowy pants that resemble a skirt. Over the tunic is a dark gray vest with black trim and under the tunic is a brown top with black cuffs. For footwear, Ru wears a pair of black flat shoes with white leggings.
Ru accessorizes with a red flower hairpiece with a maroon gem in the center with a red ribbon shaped knot with a tassel underneath, a red necklace with a gold coin shaped pendant and a black sash.
School Statistics
Ru is classified as Student #12 and is in Class 1-D. She is a member of the Horse Grooming Club and her best subject and favorite subject is Marathon Run due to her constant need for running in the wind. Her least favorite school subject is Basic Etiquette due to having no sense of grace due to her upbringing.
Relationships
Family
Ru appears to have good relationships with her various family members and even assists her uncle with farm work or making noodles.
Pet
Ru has two pets. A Silkie Hen named Bailong and a Ferghana Horse named Cheung. They were gifted to her when her uncle won a horse during a fair and the hen was won by her grandmother from mahjong gambling match with one of the neighbors. Bailong likes to chill on places and is overall quiet while Cheung is rather energetic and is in tune with Ru's emotions, he can always tell what she's feeling.
Night Raven College Students
Ru was a childhood friend of Epel and fondly remembers the time she spent with him.
Powers and Abilities
• Magic: Like her fellow students, Ru can do magic.
• Speed: Due to having the attribute of a horse, it��s safe to assume that Ru is very fast.
• Cooking: Due to Ru often helping her uncle out either with farm work or with making noodles, she developed a talent for cooking noodles. Though she prefers to make dumplings since they're easier to make.
Unique Magic
Ru's unique magic is called "Bronco Stampede" (名馬の強さ/ブロンコ・スタンピード, Buronko Sutanpīdo; lit. “Strength of the Great Horse”). When in use, she gains a strength boost and speed boost for a short period of time. Whenever she uses it, her arms and legs glow jade green with runes.
Trivia
• Her birthday is on May 17th, making her a Taurus.
• She is 175 cm tall.
• Her favorite foods are ramen and other similar noodle based dishes as well as dumplings while her least favorite food are garlic and onions. She dislikes fancy restaurants and thugs.
• She enjoys running in an open field, eating noodle based dishes and roughousing.
• Her preferred Styling Jewel Outfit Styles are Cultural and Cool.
• For her casual attire, she would wear athletic clothing since it allows for more movement and track shoes.
• She is dubbed "Little Seahorse" (タツノオトシゴちゃん, Tatsunōtoshigo chan) by Floyd due to her horse attribute despite seahorses ironically being slow.
• She likes running through a fields occasionally.
• In the future, she would be a professional athlete.
• In terms of desserts, she favors traditional eastern desserts.
• She would smell like freshly picked
produce.
• Her signature scent would be a metallic smell with a hint of dust from training.
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WereMiraculous- Science Kid Pack
Hey hey, Weeby's back on her werewolf stuff! Meet the second of the four packs of DuPont, the Science Kids! @imsparky2002 @artzychic27
Denise:
Role: Alpha
Bio:
Mated to Simon
Will die to protect anyone in their pack
When they speak, everyone listens
Often does too much trying to take care of everyone
Has alpha workout sessions with Kim
Wolf Form: Huge and bulky, curly dark brown fur, bright brown eyes, indigo mountain marking on forehead
Simon:
Role: Alpha's Mate/Pack Dad
Bio:
Mated to Denise
Loves his 'kids', but they also make them want to bash his head into a wall
A total tech geek
Freaks out when someone goes missing
Would rather not talk about his parents
Wolf Form: Large and somewhat gangly, short ginger fur, bright green eyes, yellow three-spark marking on forehead
Lacey:
Role: Beta
Bio:
Will speak up if she feels like Denise is wrong
Loves to go mountain climbing in her wolf form
Provides backup for Jean during his storytelling
Can and will fight anyone
Always lands on her feet
Wolf Form: Small but athletic, short and choppy blonde fur, Mint green eyes, mint green boomerang marking on forehead
Jean:
Role: Pack Storyteller/Historian
Bio:
Mated to Austin T
The most dramatic wolf you will ever meet
Turns every werewolf legend he tells into an unforgettable show
Will skin you if you hurt his mate
Can howl Broadway musical songs perfectly on key
Wolf Form: Medium-sized and lean, wavy auburn-brown fur, amber eyes, violet music note marking on forehead
Mireille:
Role: Medic/Caretaker
Bio:
Mated to Aurore (and maybe Sabrina...?)
Quietest and gentlest member of the pack
Bit of a mother hen when people get hurt
Wants to wait for Sabrina to approach her and Aurore
Loves to run in the rain in wolf form
Wolf Form: Medium-sized and lean, thick but smooth blackish-blue fur, gentle dark brown eyes, seafoam blue cloud marking on forehead.
Aurore:
Role: Navigator
Bio:
Mated to Mireille (and maybe Sabrina...?)
Likes to always have a plan and a backup plan and a backup backup plan
A bit of a perfectionist
Thinks she and Mireille should make the first move with Sabrina
The Responsible One
Wolf Form: Medium-sized and graceful, well-kept blonde fur with streaks of warm brown, sky blue eyes, sky blue umbrella marking on forehead
Cosette:
Role: Pack Stylist/Groomer
Bio:
Mated to Zoe
Always experimenting with different styles in human and wolf form
Had a rough time with their family before joining the pack
Will go feral without mussing her fur
Tries SO hard to get along with Chloe for Zoe's sake
Wolf Form: Small and stocky, poofy black fur with patches of white, pale grey eyes, pink sparkle marking on forehead
Reshma:
Role: Tracker/Ambassador
Bio:
The Mom Friend, mediates conflicts in the pack
Seems aloof, but is actually just kinda shy
Loves to shop when in human form, spoils her friends
Keeps Ismael from getting into too much trouble
The other Responsible One
Wolf Form: Large and slender, silky black fur, warm brown eyes, magenta gem marking on forehead
Ismael:
Role: Hunter
Bio:
Being of pure chaos
Always pranking his packmates and the other packs
Can track a scent for miles and days at a time
Snarky lil shit (We love him though)
Will protect Reshma with his life
Wolf Form: Small but fit and athletic, shaggy chocolate brown fur, dark brown eyes, orange flame marking on forehead
Leave thoughts in the comments and reblogs!
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Hello~ I umm.... what should I wear to ummmm... Pride Prom? I um... like flowy things but I ummm.... would like long gloves tha umm.... go over my elbows. Maybe something longer to ummmmm.... hide the bandages on my legs?
I'm sorry if ummm... this is a hard ask
@hello-from-nrc-infirmary
It's completely okay, knowing how to make you feel more confident is what's important.
(OOC: I'm having like a weird hit of nostalgia from this. You were one of if not THE first NRC blog Fionn interacted with...look how far all of our rp blogs have come 🥺)
If you prefer an outfit with pants:
In white, and if it makes you more comfortable a white sleeveless undershirt is completely acceptable to have it layered on top.
If you prefer a dress:
In Coral Rust!
And you should accessorize with a LARGE necklace, matching your jewelry type. Even better if the jewels are rainbow. I hope this helps!!
#mod:🐀#twst rp#unreality#twisted wonderland roleplay#twisted wonderland rp#twst roleplay#roleplay#twst oc rp#twst ocs
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Hawthorne Chickens. the rarest ones.
So this is a continuation of the first head cannon, but it is the rarest breeds that they own.
Nash: As I said, he doesn't care for chickens, and he only likes the normal kinds, but there is one breed which he does like. The Campine is a small breed. Dating back to the 1400s it is Europe's oldest chicken breed. Nash favors the beautiful plumage and non-broody temperament of the breed. Because they like to take to the air, he has to keep them in a confided space which the chickens don't really like.
Grayson: Just like his love for the small breeds like the silkies, Grayson also owns and is very proud of his little flock of Egyptian Fayoumis. The small breed is very active and rather lovely in appearances. Having been raised by the Nile for centuries, the breed is very scarce anywhere else. When Tobias knew of his grandson's love for the chicken, he surprised him for his 14th birthday with a breeding pair and several chicks. Grayson was overjoyed, and he has been expanding his flock ever since.
Jameson: Of course he would go for something out of the ordinary. Though not the oldest, the Ayam Cermani is one of the rarest chicken breeds. Originating from Indonesia, the breed is known for it's all black body: Including feather, beak, and organs! Known for their cock fighting abilities, Jameson owns several prized roosters. He doesn't make them fight, but he loves showing them off for anyone who will see.
Xander: Just like the Polish, Xander finds a fascination with the Sultan breed. An ornamental breed originating from Turkey, these beautiful chickens are a sight to behold! With soft white plumage and a V comb, it's no wonder Xander fell in love with them. He has his own personal flock and enjoys giving them a bath and then fluffing out there feathers. His favorite chicken is a hen named snow flake. (Don't ask me why!)
Some other rare breeds that grace the Hawthorne estate are Modern Game: A breed that haled from Britian between the 1850 and 1900s. The Hedermora breed with Swedish decent of over 500 years. West Indies Erminette with their gentle and docile nature and white and black speckled plumage.
There are so many more that they own, but those are a few.
This was another collaboration with the lovely @riddles-n-games. She will be doing her own head cannon later on rarer species of poultry the Hawthornes would own. So please go read it when it does come out!!
#the brothers hawthorne#the inheritance games#grayson hawthorne#jameson hawthorne#nash hawthorne#xander hawthorne#chickens#rare chickens
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My chickens and ducks
The big handsome rooster is named Edith. The grey fluffy silkie rooster is Itty save only 1 hen really likes him. He also absolutely hates my husband @weenie-extraordinaire
And the white hen is Pearl, the one who almost died earlier this year. She's doing great.
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good freaking morning 🌄!
That's Domino up there btw she's one of my hens, I just wanted a picture on this post. For some reason I feel like rambling abt general life today so that's what I'm gonna do.
Recently I've been gearing up on looking into college and I feel like a lot of people I know expect me to go into school for art or something, but I've been eyeing up a biology degree so hard it's unreal and I'd be sooo excited to go down that road. To find a job some day that involves biology / science / animals / medicine, that's the dream right there.
Everyone in my household right now is working at home for my father-in-law's business but oh my god I do not want a computer job if I can help it. I briefly designed some graphics for one of their sites and I quickly realised that I really, really do not want my career in life to be art related. It is a hobby, a creative experience, and even with commissions I detest having to sell my art. Does anyone else feel this way? idk.
Anyway unrelated, spring time is coming and that means the local farmer's supply outlet has new baby chicks for sale, and since a lot of my hens are older and not laying as much anymore, I was thinking about getting a handful some time soon. If any of you guys read this far, and like chickens especially, you should let me know what kinds of breeds you think would be cute to see grow up. I'm looking for high production eggers but I'm also just a sucker for pretty breeds.
I am soooo over silkies though for real. Half if not more of my chickens are all silkies, because I made the mistake of getting two, where one ended up being a roo, who then proceeded to mate only with the other silkie (because he is so small he can't actually mate with any of the larger hens), and now I have like, 7. They're like rabbits. I don't even really like silkies?? I just got them because a friend wanted me to.
I love my frizzles though, you can see them in that video from yesterday-- the white and the brown one. They're insane and twisted and little freaks with too much energy, they're awesome.
I have a lot more I wanna ramble about but I don't think it fits the mood of this rather positive post, so perhaps for another time. Grumble grumble annoying sp au shit -_-.
If you've cared to read this far, let me know how your day or week has been going. Things have been clearing up/warming up around here finally, and my pet cactus is happy about that, so I've been in a pretty good mood lately. I'd like to know how some of you guys are doing.
#I feel like an old fuck I've been getting up at like 6 am#to make my partner breakfast but still#oh man my birthday is coming up soon#I'll be an even older fuck soon. o_o
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hi there!! i received a new and exciting rooster today, but no idea what kind of strange boy mix he is. he was advertised as "white leghorn" and "mean," but he is neither lmao. only VERY afrightened. my best guess is maybe altsteirer × yokohama / cubalaya from the crest, neck feathers, tail, and colouration? his face does look a bit leghorn-y tho... maybe leghorn × silkie, but doesn't seem right with the plumage. he is a mystery! i figured i'd letcha take a crack at him 'cos you seem more knowledgeable about chicken genes by far lol. i'd be very interested to know whatcha think, please and thank you!! 💕
He is definitely dominant white so I believe the Leghorn ancestry but he is definitely not pure. He likely isn't any of those other breeds because they are quite uncommon unless you know his owner had those breeds in their flock. He is likely just a silkiexleghorn multigenerational mutt like maybe his sire or mother was a direct cross like above then bred with a clean legged bird. Its his comb, crest, body type/size, and leg color that is telling me this. I would just call him a barn yard mix.
Hookless (silkie feathering) is recessive and so is yellow legs and so are single combs which both are easily lost in mixed breeds who aren't being selected. The bearded gene is dominant but it is also quickly lost if your not selecting for it
This was Cosmo. He was still in his lanky teenage phase so he hadn't filled out yet in his body or tail, he also did have a crest like your boy but he suffered a scalping injury by his brother when he was young.
I want you to notice his coloring and leakage on the wings, his sparsely feathered legs, nonsilked feathering and his white legs. Imagine taking him and crossing him with a clean legged hen and how that chick might look like him. Cosmo combs all funky because his Silkie father didn't have the best comb either.
Wouldn't be difficult for a rooster like this to produce a boy like yours 😁
Of course this is all guesses and he is just a mixed breed either way.
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next spring i'm gonna be adding one of these girls to my flock!
i also have the chance to add one more hen. i haven't decided which sort, though.
i could add another bantam (options are: cochin bantams including frizzles, silkies, mille fleur and white crested polish) or i could add a breed like a blrw, brahma, langshan, bielefelder, turken, or a welsummer.
that'll be all we can have so it feels like a big decision!!
#i really am just chicken posting here lately but!!#i'm getting so many eggs. i'm selling quail. <3 i'm doing great. i'm loving being a poultry keeper <3#loyal talks about stuff and things
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