often you will see things online where you just have to be like "what a strange thing to say" or "i don't think that's true :)" to yourself and try to move on or you will lose your mind
shoutout to bi ppl fr. bi women, bi men, bi nonbinary people. blows a kiss to masc bi women and fem bi men in particular. fat bi people, bi poc, aspec bi people, trans bi people, i love all you guys
Warnings: 18+, Spiders, sex in later chapters (with oc no. 3)
OC x OC
Word Count: 1.9k
Banner by @jiyascepter | Chapter 1
It's still early, not yet midday, as Crysta tends the flowerbeds on either side of the solarium's outer door. The sun shines golden above, drying any dew remaining on the grass.
A flutter of wings and bright chirping catches her attention as a pixie rushes over and tugs at the hem of her cape, trilling something about mortals.
"What do you mean? Now?" She asks, letting the small creature guide her into the wood. To the untrained ear, the forest sounds like any other, but to Crysta, she can hear the creatures within buzz about and the trees trembling with anxious energy as they trek deeper into the trees.
Sure enough, in a small clearing a mile or so from the cottage, there are two mortals, a young couple, the man carving something into an ancient Oak.
She doesn't think before speaking out and rushing toward them, "Stop that! What in the world do you think you're doing?!"
The man startles and nearly drops knife as they both turn to see the strange young woman coming from the brush.
The mortal woman stumbles back when Crysta pushes between them, her palm glowing green as she passes it over the half-carved heart, the engraving vanishing beneath her touch, "This tree has been here longer than your families have been settled in this part of the land. Harming him like that was rude and uncalled for!"
"Johnathan, it's a witch!" The woman shrieks, causing Crysta to roll her eyes.
"Of course, I'm a witch," She scoffs, "Do I look like a lichling to you?"
As she turns to face them, the man lashes out with his blade, catching her palm, "Stay back! Don't you dare come any closer!"
"Ow!" She yelps as blood begins to seep from the wound, "Why would you do that?"
While she seems confused, the forest around them quivers with anger and magic. Roots begin to shift beneath the earth, and branches twist unnaturally toward the unwelcomed visitors who dared harm the Wood's favorite being.
Terrified by what they think is the witch's display, the man grabs the woman's arm and they flee from the clearing, in the direction of the mortal village.
"Oh," Crysta sighs, gripping her wrist and peering down at the cut in her palm, she doesn't have much experience mending human flesh, so she'll need to ask Volous for help when she returns home. So, for now, she wraps her hand in one of the spider silk bandages she carries with her.
The wood around her begins to quiet with the threat of outsiders now gone, roots return to the earth and branches resume their previous positions as calm washes over the clearing.
She doesn't flinch at the snapping of a twig, or the soft rustling of the brush, the wood is full of creatures, most of which she knows, she hasn't been truly frightened here since she was small.
Then, a dire wolf more than twice her size, and black as a shadow, comes stalkingout of the thicket. It's uncommon for these creatures to come so far south of the Broken Mountain, though, it's not unheard of, but never before the dead of winter.
Crysta freezes as it's yellow eyes pierce her body. It looks malnourished and haggard, but that only makes this encounter all the more dangerous for her, as she would he seen as an easy meal.
"Oh no..." She holds out her hands in a placating gesture, "N-nice pup. Please don't eat me."
Her voice elicits a growl from the beast as it takes one step closer, then another, before it suddenly lunges at her.
She screeches and recoils inward, but the snapping clamp of his jaws around her throat never comes. A light, blinding and gold wraps around the wolf before bursting outward, and a sudden weight slams into her, knocking her back to the leaf-littered ground. What lands atop her doesn't feel like one would expect a massive wolf to feel like. Less fur, and more like a hard mass of skin and muscle that lets out a human-like groan before two hands grasp her forearms as it pulls back.
"What did you do, two-legged?" A deep voice growls and she looks up to see, not a wolf, but a man, a very large, very naked man with long, black hair falling down past his scared face and the same, piercing yellow eyes glaring down at her. A black fur cloak drapes across his back and shoulders, matted and heavy. He looks confused for a moment, brow furrowing as he gazes down at his new form before anger washes it away. One hand shifts to her throat, fingers clumsily tightening around it, cutting off the airway. "Change me back."
She tries to speak, tries to tell him she didn't change him into this in the first place, that she would transform him back in an instant if she could, but his hand makes it impossible, and her hands, much smaller than his, claw at the one choking her, blood from her wound seeping through the bandage and across his skin. She kicks and struggles beneath him, tears pricking her eyes, but he's far larger than her and it seems useless.
Just as he's about to speak again, an unseen force throws him off her, the newly transformed wolf rolling to a stop a few yards away with a groan.
Crysta rolls onto her stomach, coughing as she gulps down air. She looks up to see her father rushing over, his hands pulling her to her feet.
"Are you alright, sweet girl?" He fusses, looking her over. He gently holds her wounded hand, unwrapping the bloodied spider silk, "Did he do this?"
"No," She croaks, shaking her head, "No, there were mortals, they-"
"Mortals?"
"They ran off. Papa, the forest…" She glances back to the man who was once a wolf as he tries to stand, stumbling from an unbalanced stance, back to his knees. "The dire wolf."
"A dire wolf?" Volous looks over at the near-bare man he just rescued his daughter from. "This far south? Unlikely. A shapeshifter would be-"
"I'm no moon slave!" The man snaps from the ground.
"The forest changed him," She explains, "The trees saved me."
"Yes, well, now we're going home, there's been enough excitement for the day, come."
As Volous leads her away, they hear the wolf tripping and struggling to follow, unfamiliar with his new body, and Crysta, bleeding heart she is, stops, looking at her father with pleading eyes, "Papa, we can't leave him, he'll die."
"Crysta, we-… You can't possibly…" He sighs, his head dropping in defeat, "Fine."
It takes some light coercion to get the man to let them help him to his feet, and after the cottage, but the father and daughter manage. Still, the man refuses to go any further than their doorway, stubborn and untrusting, he spends the next few days outside the cottage, learning to walk- learning to pace like an animal caged as Crysta spends hours upon hours and restless nights poring over every scroll and text related to transformations in the library.
She feels responsible for him and what happened, though she knows she did not choose this for him, the forest did.
The skies open up one night, a week past, lightning flashes and thunder cracks as it downpours over the wood. Crysta is, of course, still awake, reading by candlelight in the solarium, failed experiments scattered across her desk.
A loud bang, the sound of a fist against glass startles her, and she looks over to see the wolf-man- who had refused to give them a name- his silhouette, nearly seven foot tall, taking up the doorway.
He ducks inside when she opens the door, his matted, dirty cloak and hair dripping on the tiled floor.
"How much longer must I endure this?" He growls, rain water splattering against the glass when he spins toward her, "It's been more than seven suns and I'm still in this damned two-legged form."
"I'm doing my best- would you stop? You're tracking mud everywhere!"
The man snarls at the command and grips her arm, pushing her up against the wall, "I'm not some pup you can control, witch. Order me around again, and I'll rip that pretty little throat out."
The threat rubs her wrong and she frowns.
"You are a guest in my house, one I don't have to help." She snaps, "Now, be a good dog and go wash the mud off."
He stares at her, impressed? Slightly. Scared? Absolutely not. Aroused? More than he probably should be.
He huffs as he lets her go, his gaze following her pointing finger toward the door just outside the inner doorway.
"The blue tincture is for hair, and the yellow is for the body. You smell like a dead dragon."
He glares at her, but doesn't fight. His eyes keep hers as he shrugs off his cloak, leaving him bare before her. He drops the fur in a heap by the fire as he walks off.
He admittedly enjoys the warm of the water, especially after being soaked from the storm. His wet feet pad across the floor toward the glass room again, to find his cloak properly laid out to dry, and a simple set of two-legged clothes set out, presumably for him.
Crysta is slumped forward at the desk, having fallen asleep while reading again. It doesn't look comfortable, and the man, despite himself, finds amusement in it.
She startles when his hand, broad enough to span near most of her back, settles between her shoulder blades.
"Oh." His back straightens at her small, sleepy voice, "Did I fall asleep again?"
He grunts in acknowledgement before he turns back to the fabric she laid out for him.
"If they don't fit, I can resize them." She yawns. She fumbles about with the books, quills and potion ingredients on her desk.
"I don't wear human clothes."
She shrugs and stands, raising her arms to stretch, her shoulders popping, "Are you hungry?"
His brow quirks. He's over seven feet of brute strength, of course, he's hungry.
"My father's cooking can leave you… wanting." She chuckles, "I can make us something more palatable, if you want."
And so, he finds himself at a table too short for him, his knees bumping into the wood as he devours an entire side of bacon with two large goose eggs. It's not a pretty sight, but, a starved wolf never is, and he hasn't eaten properly for one his size in months.
His hair, while almost properly washed, is still tangled and constantly falling into his face, getting caught in his mouth as he tries to eat. He huffs in annoyance, as he tries to flick it back again.
"Here, let me," Crysta chuckles, stepping around behind him, and he freezes at the feel of her hands trying to work through his hair. His shoulders lose that tension when she gently takes a brush to the mess, and he leans back into motion.
The soft spider-silk garb she'd made suddenly feels suffocating and he fights the urge to nuzzle into her hands at her unwitting engagement in such bonding behaviors.
"Stratton," He hums contentedly, letting slip the name he's kept guarded, My name is Stratton."
Sorry to be contrarian but I really fucking like TVL. I like what they're doing. I like the writing. I like the pacing. I am excited for more. I can't wait to see what it's all leading to.
And I am tired of all this complaining. You're throwing away a meal you snatched before the cook was able to add all the ingredients.
John Edwards hitting it from behind, but you're both on your sides and he's crushing you against his body, pawing at your tits before rolling you bogh over so he's pressing you into the dirt/floor all the way inside as he grinds against your ass, groaning and huffing and growling as he cums.
wearing two cursed amulets to manipulate them into competing with each other for ownership of my soul and unintentionally improving my life in their attempts to seduce me
