#and he may or may not have gotten a cold after burrowing in the snow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

faoighiche · 9 months ago

Text

Monsters in the Woods | Parker & Burrow

PARTNER : @wonder-in-wings TIMING : Current. LOCATION : A meadow in The Pines. SUMMARY : Burrow and Parker interrogate an anthousa to discover the location of an aos sí. WARNINGS : Torture, drug manipulation, memory loss, under skin, unsanitary (vaguely), medical blood (vaguely), surgery (sorta)

Burrow sensed the fae before she saw him. Between the cracks of the private nook she had scurried into, that familiar burning seeped through. So hot it made the mug in her hands feel cold. She peeked through a hole, her view into the common areas of Steeper’s Stop. He weaved himself through the humans with the ease of any other, but she knew his truth. That burn simmering down her back did not lie. He was a fae. She followed him, unseen behind boxes and crates. Matching each of his steps in the shadows. Until she stepped out into the light, through a door. Stepping into his view, who had been waiting, for he had sensed her, too. The sight of her had him smiling, that tight and coy thing she was still adjusting to. She began her inquiry, the truth of her wondering trapped by lurking humans. Quick to the point as always, but the other fae was quicker. He had to get back to gathering supplies for home, after all.

“Where is your home?” She asked with bated breath.

“It’s not the thing to speak of… here. With them.” He whispered, eyes shifting over to the humans nearby. “If you understand.”

Burrow understood fully. A fullness that wanted to erupt from her, for her sanctuary may just be within her grasp. But the humans kept her yearning at bay. Further they pressed into the crisp air, the humans discarded behind as an afterthought. A fortunate thing, for her mind only had room for one thought: Take me to your home. A demand that was met with frustration. Not surprising — her excitement had gotten the best of her. Please, take me to your home, she had pleaded in so many different ways. All sweet and polite, yet met with escalations of rejection. He did not want to bring a stray into his home. Well, she wouldn’t be a stray if he simply cooperated. But she could tell her approach had been tainted. A lesson she would use to temper her next approach. With only the appearance of defeat, she relented, but not without a farewell. She grasped his hands, and with it slipped her nematodes under his skin. Her body departed, but not her presence: those that swam within his insides.

Through the worms, Burrow followed him once more. Always just a step behind that the fires that bound did not give her away, but her parasites’ call still writhed beneath the surface. She watched him between the breaks of bare branches. Those who were left after the suppression of snow were drawn to him. Petals and stems and all inbetween became splashes of vibrant color on that ever expansive white. She texted Parker immediately: I have found the fae that lives in an Aos Sí. You will meet us at the structure in the meadow.

Burrow continued to follow, just that step away, as the fae continued on his errands. Her presence was only made known when that venturing led him close to the waiting meadow. A thing made into a shadow of itself — blooms suppressed by the weight of the snow. How fitting, to claim him at such a place. She would leave him as a shadow. The fae was perturbed to see her again. She immediately rose her hands in practiced placation. “I apologize.” Technically not a lie. By saying the words, she had made it true: she had apologized. Though, in truth, she did not see a reason for her to apologize. She just knew it eased people, and eased people were more willing to listen. “I will exchange my seemingly ‘rude behavior’ with an offering.” The words came out of her just as she had rehearsed, back when she still lurked in the shadows. “I have my bound human sent to the nearby meadow. Would you like to… ‘play’ with the human?”

A wicked grin curled the fae’s false cheeks. Of course he wanted to play with the poor human. He followed Burrow, unaware that he would be the mouse in this game. A fate he gladly walked into, that wicked grin ever present, as Burrow led him through the trees. Until they met a structure that thought itself a door: a solid plank of bark that stuck to the side of a tree. It moved with her pushing like any other door, revealing more of the forest on the other side. Except there were more of the planks of bark jutting out from the ground, as if it wanted to surround the area into walls. It was incomplete, littered with spacing in between, but suitable enough to prevent any screams from traveling too far.

— —

The text Parker had received from Burrow served as a suitable distraction from whatever he was doing, which he didn’t entirely care to remember as he was wasting time doing something aside from attempting to start his own search to find a suitable place he could turn into a small museum. The thought was abandoned, whatever it was, in favor of the entomid notifying him that she might’ve found a lead. They had talked about strategies before but this was the first time that their discussions would turn into action. Parker had suggested that he act as bait, a helpless, know-nothing human used to lure unsuspecting fae into a game. They did like their games, just not when they were turned into the pieces, the Warden learned many decades ago. He had gotten to the location before the nymphs did, making sure to cover his tracks as succinctly as possible leading into the shack. Once he was there, a quick glance helped him find a suitable place to hide his belt, swallowing the discomfort that immediately followed taking the thing off. He felt exposed, at a disadvantage, the weight missing from his waist. Nowhere for him to place his hands if he felt anxious. Nothing to reach for if he was being attacked. He supposed that was what the nymph was expecting. ‘Method acting!’ “Go away, Walker.” Parker muttered, removing one of the needle-like daggers from the belt before placing the belt entirely out of normal view. He then walked to the far wall and sat down on the ground, leaning against the wall and he placed his hands, one of them gingerly clutching the dagger, behind his back in anticipation. He wasn’t sure how long he was there but he was tense nonetheless, as he always was, eternally prepared to be attacked with little, if any, provocation. So when the door opened, blue eyes darted to it and his blood folded over itself in his veins as he saw Burrow and the other nymph, encased in his glamour and looking at him with entitled, hungry eyes. The Warden remained silent, wordlessly making eye contact with Burrow as though trying to learn as much information as he could from her before making a move of any sort.

— —

Burrow placed a hand on the fae’s arm. A gesture mistaken to be instructive, leading him forward. In a sense it was, but she only cared to lead her parasites. Come to me, she urged them. Her worms hesitated. They did not want to leave the home they so loved. A feeling she understood, for she could sense the fae’s nutrients through their mouths. Sweet and strong and plentiful. He would have made such a lovely host. But his usefulness was needed elsewhere. How disappointing, that he was not as giving with information as he was with his other spoils. Perhaps whatever scraps were left of him could be sorted together into something useful, but that was not a certainty. He may not be a proper host for long. Come to me. I will find you a better host soon. The worms’ hesitance finally eased into acceptance. She felt them wiggle in her fingers before writhing up her arm. A pleasant tickling. The only pleasant thing to be felt from touching the fae. With her worms’ return, she immediately dropped her hold on him.

Burrow returned the eye contact from Parker, wondering why he was staring at her so intently. She was not the focus of this hunt. Upon her next blink, her eyes returned to their proper focus: the target. In exchange, the fae’s attention went to Parker, his eyes replacing the space left behind by Burrow.

What he found was… lacking. “That?” The anthousa asked with a huff. As soon as Burrow nodded, he pouted. “He’s a bit too old and worn to make much fun…” The human only looked fit to become fertilizer. A fate he was fast approaching, indicated by the white in the human’s hairs and the scars on the human’s skin. Bit of a fighter! Well, perhaps the human had some vigor left in him. The fae wondered if he could make it all wither out. He smiled at the idea. “I think I can make do.” He paused, in preparation for something that never came to be. Gods, the stray didn’t understand the ways of things, did she? He turned to her. “Well, go on. Make him come here.”

Burrow wanted to feast on his insides, like any other parasite would do to a shrub. His flesh was supple after all: lacking the wear and tear he had found on Parker. She could feel an echo of his taste still lingering on her lips, courtesy of her worms. So sweet and tasty and plentiful. She wanted to taste it properly and in full. But what lay in his brain was sweeter than them all. She needed to crack that open first. “Yes. I will do that… If you answer some questions-”

Any semblance of a smile was gone from the anthousa’s face. “Let me guess, the questions have to do with my Aos Sí? Hm?” A scenario he was expecting, but still, he was disappointed. The poor thing couldn’t have waited at least a few moments before spoiling his fun! “You told me I would get to play, soooo I intend to play, not to satisfy some poor, lost child. If you only want to keep badgering me again, I will leave. Don’t ask me again.”

“I apologize.” Another offering of easement. This was only done for the fae’s benefit, after all. One final attempt to take the information in a more pleasant manner. But, he seemed to be disinterested. Burrow would continue with the plan as formerly devised. The pleasantries would be over soon. “I will let you play without further questions.” The fae did not move, his expectant expression as equally unyielding. She did motion for someone to move, but it was to the fae himself. “The ‘play’ works better if you go to him.” A hunter played best with its prey when he lay in striking distance. Not that the fae would understand her true meaning.

Still, the anthousa sensed something was off. The other was a fae after all, and they all knew best the little tricks they played. He would not allow himself to be the one played with — the only play was reserved for the human by his own hands. His feet turned ever slowly, drifting back to the way they came. It was only his curiosity that kept him lingering.

It was cute that the fae thought he could leave so easily. Burrow had already claimed him, he had just yet to realize it. She was not one to dabble in dramatics, after all. “I assure you I speak the truth. It will be more enjoyable if you go to him.” A confident assumption. It would be more enjoyable to be struck unaware, than for the beast to lunge at you. Once more, she motioned him forward. “Go and see for yourself.”

With no sign of discomfort, no sign of a lie, the anthousa was satisfied. Suspicion was replaced with curiosity. “Ahhh, I guess the lost child doesn’t know how to set a sturdy leash? Well, I’ll show you what a proper upbringing can teach you.” He’ll twirl the old around his finger, so tight the human would not be aware he was worn to the bone until it was too late.

Burrow followed the fae like a shadow. A step behind, a breath away, she ghosted each of his steps. Her quiet feet rendered him none the wiser. Such a poor, ignorant thing. He was soon to discover there were many things he did not know about his company that night.

— —

This was unusual, in blunt terms. Parker’s mind was alight with inspiration, and it took considerable effort for him to keep his eyes from dancing on the anthousa’s wings, trailing down the threaded vines, thinking of ideas and ways he could arrange them beautifully in a display. No, he had to pretend that he was disadvantaged as the two nymphs talked among themselves for a moment, though the anthousa wasn’t nearly subtle enough to give the impression that he might’ve been onto their ruse. His blood frothed irritably as the nymphs drew close, and he used that to his advantage to allow an expression to cross his face that indicated that he wasn’t entirely happy to be there, but also giving the impression that he was resigned to whatever fate would be at the hands of the anthousa.

He approached Parker, and the Warden instinctively started to hold his breath; while he didn’t know what this particular nymphs pollen could do, he had interacted with enough of them to know that they didn’t usually seem to have much else in the way of fighting back. He held his breath as the anthousa started to reach for his face. And in a deft motion, one that was too fast for the eye to catch, the hunter’s hand that held the needle-like dagger lashed out and was plunged into the thigh of the nymph, eliciting a brief cry of surprise.

The anthousa sank to the ground and Parker got to his feet in turn, slowing the fall as the nymph started to slur into incoherent unconsciousness. The next few moments were short as a semblance of sleep took over the nymph, with the Warden crouched and keeping sharp vigil almost as though anticipating that it wouldn’t work. It always worked. Instinctively, he reached for his trusty scalpel but his fingers grasped at air before he remembered that he didn’t have his belt on him and he blinked back to where he was. Right. He glanced up at Burrow. “How would you like to proceed?” He asked; as far as he was concerned, he was just there to ensure that she got the information she wanted. As for him, he just wanted that pair of wings, a jittering, yet robotic drive that pushed his brain against his skull as he resisted the strong urge to tear them off with his bare hands.

— —

A shadow upon the stemmed one’s back, Burrow got a front row seat to his demise. Her neck slithered to the left, watching closely to where Parked jabbed the needle: perpendicular to the outer thigh. Its contents released with the press of a thumb. All almost lost in the speed of a blink. She would remember and repeat these motions, once she found a fae who was worthy of her testing. Her own knife rested strapped around her waist, waiting for that fateful day. For the moment, she continued to watch the work of that curious sedative. It entwined into the fae’s soul with an urgency even her parasites could not match. The fae quickly succumbed to its might. One blink, jab, next blink, down. Splayed unceremoniously on the ground in his truth: rough green skin entwined in vibrant vines and branches with small flowers speckled across his entire body. The petals pulsated, vines turning against themselves, and the branches swayed in an absent breeze. Movements of a body refusing its sudden sleep, but finally in defeat, all suddenly stopped. “The sedative is quick and effective.”

Burrow joined Parker, squatting down by the sleeping fae. Her hand pressed into his shoulder. She felt the rush of blood hidden below his skin. It would be far easier than taking from a baby to have a bite. A rare treat, to eat on those of motion. They always protested too much for her liking. Would he taste the same as those he guarded? She so loved the taste from the stems and leaves. Her finger sank under the stemmed’s skin — piercing. Swimming amongst that blood and the delights it brought. It was so sweet and refreshing, unlike any she had tasted before. Her finger sunk deeper. The taste dazzled her mind, sending it swimming along with everything else. Almost like the first taste of alcohol… or perhaps that of sedation. Ah. She immediately removed her finger. “Very effective.”

Disappointing, but not without its perks. The sedative was particularly potent. Burrow looked over to Parker. “You will take… some of what you want from the fae’s body.” What would he take? What did he desire over anything else? “Do not take anything that will make him not coherent or understandable. When he wakes, I will ask him for the information on the Aos Sí. If he does not cooperate, you will threaten to take more from his body.” Presented as a possibility, but she was almost certain it would happen. “If the threat does not make him give the information, you will take more from his body. If that happens, we will repeat the previous steps.” Instead of standing, she rolled backwards on the ground. She seamlessly resumed her squat, now a few paces away from the fae. Plenty of space for Parker to work. She waited, curiously.

— —

“It is.” He replied as Burrow crouched next to him and the two examined the unconscious anthousa. He kept his eyes on the nymph, trying to will his blood to stop reacting in such close proximity to the two fae, though he was consistently finding it difficult. ‘You never were great at change.’ Walker added unhelpfully, as though it weren’t obvious, as though Parker didn’t already know about how much trouble he could’ve saved himself and everyone else if he were as flexible as he needed to be sometimes. Maybe he wouldn’t have been the way he was. Maybe if he just worked harder, he could’ve been more like how his family wanted him to be. He was incapable of that. ‘Your brain is broken, but I don’t hate you for that anymore.’

The Warden’s eyes danced over unglamoured fae, his gaze returning in a pattern of consistency to the fibrous wings of the thing as they flickered from one detail to another. The crown of branches that nestled and wove itself between fine strands of silky hair. The unnatural green eyes that seemed to glow faintly even as the anthousa lay unconscious. The hardy flowers that were laced in the ripples of sinewy sapling skin; peeling the layers apart gently revealed small pockets of dormant pollen. Parker didn’t know what it could do, as mentioned before; he wouldn’t miss a sample. For now, though, it didn’t take him long to settle on what he wanted to extract first as Burrow gave him his specific instructions before moving back to allow him the space. And he worked quickly; out of all the fae types, anthousa and entomid wings seemed the easiest to remove, the former because of how plantlike they were and the latter tended to have segments that could be carefully separated with a trained hand. While Parker was able to talk and work proficiently simultaneously, he opted out of conversation so long as Burrow didn’t have any topics to discuss and he was silent, with the only sounds he made being something not unlike the snapping of a tree branch that rang through the chilly winter air immediately followed by the hiss of something burning. The cauterization of Parker’s knife against the newly-formed stump where the anthousa’s wing sat just moments before sent an odor into the air as well, a mixture of burning flesh along with smoldering wood. He wanted to take the second one. But he refrained, instead examining his work on the first one, using a small hand towel that he had procured from seemingly nowhere as he gently cleaned the chlorophyllic blood from around the bubbling wound. The wing lay near him carefully, the frayed edges smoking with the wisps of escaping body heat. Parker, silent the entire time as he became absorbed in his work, cleaned the tools and set them aside, getting to his feet and picking the wing up. As he did so, he stopped near Burrow and pulled out a small jar from yet another pouch. “These will wake him up. I’m assuming you can restrain him with your vines.” He explained, offering the jar out to her. “If not, give me a moment and I’ll do it.”

— —

Burrow had not been sure how she would react to Parker’s… process. She knew he too was a taker, but their goals did not align. He lacked the piercer or haustorium or proboscis; he lacked the want for blood or sugars or chyme. He could mimic them with his dull human teeth and the will of her clingers coursing through his soul. But this was more than blood. More than nutrients. More than the greed she knew. The wings were useless to her. They were loud and pretentious and had clouded the skies of her childhood with their infernal song for too long. They provided no interesting flavor — no pleasing fill of the belly. They did, however, provide a satisfying snap as they severed. Sharp and wet, a crackling that tingled down her back, with the whisper of gushing blood to follow. Then a sizzling, with smoke the taste of fresh rain on a summer’s log filling the air. It was done. It was over. How anticlimactic, to forbid the fae forever from the stars. All gone with a simple twist. The wing no longer belonged to the stemmed. It did not belong to anyone. Just another piece of flesh.

Burrow crawled over to it. It was beautiful when it rested. She had enjoyed viewing her mother’s wings in those moments of relaxation, when motion could not obscure its intricacies. Ones she knew well, could imagine even then after so many years apart. Unlike the fae before her. It did not match any insect she knew. More a leaf that thought itself a beetle’s wing, but thought rather poorly. She enjoyed its failed attempt. How the vines that entwined the costa flared out into a mimic of flight feathers. The only thing that was familiar were the veins. Her fingers traced the venations, still warm and plump with their trickles of blood. She knew another snap would release its contents to the ground.

Satisfied with studying the wing, Burrow looked to the jar. She let it nestle in her hand, observing the weight. “Is this the spirit of hartshorn?” She knew a trickle of a mighty buck’s horns was enough to fill anyone with its fighting spirit. If this was the same, her vines would need to be very secured. Wordlessly, she extended her hands towards the fae. Palms exposed to the dim light above, as if she asked the body for trinkets. Her palms were not empty for long: vines slithered out from her wrists. Her vines wiggled through her fingers, down and down until they found new wrists to explore. The fae’s hands did not protest as the vines ensnared them in their slow coil. Winding and winding, with the patient swirling of a snake. Her vines claimed all the fae’s flesh in its path: the hands, the chest, the top of the thighs. They crackled against the cellulose. “My vines are tight and secure. Wake him up.”

— —

The Warden gave a small nod in response to her inquiry. “In a sense. I… altered it slightly; it’s particularly effective against fae.” He left it ambiguous, deciding not to include that it created a haze inside the mind, providing energy and consciousness but not the alertness required for immediate action. “I don’t recommend you breathe it in.” Parker added after a pause, instead turning to watch her work this time, now that he had the capability to do so. Watching the vines creep out of her arms, crawling in vaguely serpentine patterns as they embraced the extremities of the anthousa.

Involuntarily, he was taken back to the day they met, when he was careless enough to pursue her blindly and with a singular goal. That goal hadn’t dissipated, he realized as he still found himself wondering if she was closer to anthousa or entomid, herself. He could still feel the restraints on his wrists, around his neck. His blood frothing angrily under his skin at the proximity (it wasn’t happy here either but he had seemed to will it to settle just enough as to not provide him with as constant a distraction). Parker heard her response cut through his thoughts though, and he inhaled softly, drawing close to the fae’s somewhat indecipherable face and staring at it with dancing blue eyes.

He set the wing down where it would be fully in view of the anthousa and, once it was arranged neatly, Parker approached the nymph once more and took a deep breath before opening the bottle and waving it in front of where the fae’s olfactory senses were. A moment before it sputtered to consciousness, shaky, immediately trying to struggle before its glowing green eyes opened. Parker closed the bottle, though he didn’t move from how close he was. The fluttering gaze, a slurred groan becoming grunts of effort and soon enough, those green eyes met his piercing blue stare as he remained unnaturally still comparatively.

If there were words being said, they fell on the Warden’s half-deaf ears. Exhaling again, Parker straightened up and took a step back, regarding Burrow. “It’s yours.” He crossed his arms, returning his gaze to the anthousa.

— —

Parker seemed to adorn himself with a buffet of concoctions who solely targeted the fae. Even going past his skin, peeling back into his muscles and blood, would reveal more of the same. Burrow understood that want: the want to exploit. To search and claw until a weakness would allow access inside. To what had the ironmongers found — that trick knee that all the fae possessed? A question to be sated another day. Questions were hard to squeeze past sealed lips, and hers would remain tightly so for a long while.

Burrow watched as the air stirred with one of those concoctions. It stirred the fae into consciousness, but not yet comprehensibility. The pull of sleep weighed down on his tongue, only allowing gibberish to sprout from his lips. Except, as his stirring turned to awareness, that gibberish remained. No. What he spoke were words. Words from a language she had no familiarity. Though she was familiar with the fear laced within every syllable. She also knew well the anger that followed it. The very same anger that would cause a parent to send their child out amongst the wolves. She merely stared, that familiarity steeling her heart against those shrieks of anger. If only it could steel her ears, for the sounds pierced into her delicate membranes. Still, she did not join the fussing with those of her own. She waited. Waited until the shrieking turned into huffs — until the thing tired himself all out.

“Váll' eis kórakas. Eíste kai oi dýo térata…” The anthousa groaned, his voice gone hoarse from his cries. His mind still swam in that forced sleep, but even in his grogginess he knew something was wrong. Something was wrong and these terrible things did it to him. “Térata, térata, térata- You are both monsters…” Why did he hurt so much? “Wh- what the fuck did you do? Why…” Why did he deserve this? His breath quivered, almost a cry. He was not yet awake enough for tears. “What did you do to me?”

Burrow looked down to the lone wing on the floor. Despite its former owner's clear distress, the wing rested apathetically. “I believe you can determine what happened.” She watched as his eyes followed her own; she watched as his widened in recognition. Her lips curled ever so slightly. Yes, you are mine. Everything you are is mine to take. “Ok. I will ask again. What is the location of your Aos Sí?”

“Are you fucking serious? You’re serious.” No, she couldn’t be… The anthousa knew that foliage so well. The way the veins traveled in that specific way, the beautiful swirls and curls of greens, the notch from when he had fallen as a child. The wing was so much like his, but it couldn’t be! It couldn’t be because it was there and not a part of him. But he could feel it, the flickering of his dying essense surrounding it. That was his wing. His wing and yet not anymore. “...You stole the skies away from me so you can invade my home? Gamó to spíti sou!” He would not die like this. He would not flicker into nothing the same as his wing. He pleaded with his restraints, in that silent way that the other fae urged them further around his body. The vines did not care to listen to him. In fact, they would enjoy nothing more than to feel his breath slowly dwindle into that nothing. He was surrounded, yet alone. “How about a trade? Yeah? I’ll tell you the location after you give me your fucking legs!”

“You are not in the position to make trades.” Burrow reminded him. Even if he was, it was a terrible deal, though it was not without its usefulness. The vines wrapped around the fae’s thighs tightened. His cellulose crinkled like paper, soon to tear. Always eager to take, the vines stole away his idea. “Do you enjoy your legs? Do you want to keep your legs? You should want to keep your legs, since the legs are your remaining means of transportation.” The lands had yet to be stolen from him, but that could be arranged. A loss she assumed would be felt more severely than the skies. There were no plants of the clouds, but the same littered the grounds. Her eyes never left the stemmed one as she motioned to Parker. “He can easily take your legs. Tell me the location of your Aos Sí or he will take your legs.”

That anger that had protected the anthousa crumbled the same as his body. His senses finally awakened to a nightmare. He could smell his blood and his burnt flesh. He could see the apathy so clearly in all the eyes that stared at him. He could feel how much the vines wanted to consume him. He could know how much he was just a thing to be torn apart and used. Another flower made into a plaything for the cruel curiosities of the humans. This was all too much. This was all too much.

Burrow frowned. She knew not to expect her usual enjoyments with the taking, for this was anything but usual. It was not careful hands whisking away items under the shelter of shadows; it was not hungry writhing so deep under the skin that no one would notice. It was loud, and open, and left blood gone to waste upon the floor. It was strange, it was unknown, but it was not without purpose. This was her purpose. Monster. She was the thing lurking under the bed. She was the thing that would bring the fae to ruin. She would break this fae apart and use the pieces to build herself a path home. A home that her parasites deserved, not those arrogant fae who never realized how lucky they were. She would revel in taking every last thing from them — down to the very drop.

Except, as Burrow watched the fae be reduced to nothing more than a lump upon the floor, she felt… nothing. The scene looked the same as all her daydreams: the fae becoming helpless to the power of her taking. An image that had delighted her for so long, yet the amusement was losing to a growing emptiness. A hole with no key, no puzzle piece, no thing to make it complete. A darkness with no meaning. Her frown deepened. This was not proving fruitful. Perhaps she should change her course. Her vines cupped the fae’s chin, forcing his face out of the darkness casted by his shadow. In the light, their eyes were joined again. She leaned closer to him. The burning from his presence prickled across her face. “Please. If you tell me how to get to your Aos Sí, you may walk away from this place with what remains of your body.”

— —

This was a comfortable, familiar position that Parker had fallen into as the anthousa gained more and more consciousness and with that, more and more frantic, fearful anger. The emotions were acknowledged in the Warden’s mind, but it did nothing to him. It didn’t pierce his iron heart, nor did it appeal to the frayed neurons in his brain that activated on rare occasions where he displayed an alien concept that never felt correct when it was his. Words were said in an unfamiliar tongue, further maintaining the wall between the nymph and any emotional response from Parker.

This was a comfortable, familiar position because he recalled it vividly; this was what ended up happening when he would work with Rhett. Rhett, the one with a motive, a goal, a seething anger of his own that barely allowed itself to be contained under the surface. Parker couldn’t connect with Rhett or Burrow when it came to torture, as he so rarely considered it himself; it was a waste of time, energy and resources. He received no satisfaction, no sense of superiority nor did he drink of the power that accompanied the scenario. Perhaps that was why he was comfortable in the role he was in now, as the restrained fae cursed and spat at them and Burrow attempted to interrogate him. He didn’t have to make decisions. Not that he wasn’t proficient at them, but he served a role; he was Burrow’s weapon, just as he was when Rhett would unleash the younger Warden when a fae was being particularly resistant.

There was no satisfaction in torture. There was nothing but apathy. Maybe that was why Parker was utilized. ‘Apathy is the greatest strength you have, son.’ His father said when it was just the two of them. The old man sat on a fallen log carefully as he watched his son wordlessly carve the skin from the bones and musculature of a dead spriggan. ‘Apathy, that ability you have not to react, is the scariest shit they’ve ever seen. They expect you to get mad, or smile, or laugh or somethin’ and you don’t do any of that. It shows them that you don’t care. They can beg and cry and scream, but none of it matters.’’ Parker looked up from his work, staring up at his father with his icy blue eyes. Silent, but with a keen expression showing that he was listening to every word being said. ‘Keep it honed. Fear means you’re doin’ it right.’

A soft exhale brought Parker back to where they were, the memory running through his head quickly and effortlessly as Burrow threatened to have the anthousa’s legs taken. The gesture to the Warden elicited the latter casually and quietly pulled his broad dagger from the holster on his thigh, purposefully tilting it so it glinted in the cold winter sun. It was an empty thread, he felt, but he could fill his role. He began to pace, treading lightly as he eyed the other wing on the anthousa’s back. He wanted it. He wanted to rip it from its socket and arrange it beautifully, imitating a sapling sprouting from a dead earth.

But as the nymph seemed to fold in on himself, the body language that Burrow displayed told Parker that she was trying a different tactic. He continued to pace, however, and kept his steely stare on the two fae, feeling his blood subtly rippling under his skin as he waited for further instructions.

— —

Not even the comfort of his own body was allowed, as the anthousa was ripped away from his only refuge. Back to the smell of his blood. The predator stalked in the shadows with that tooth of iron bared — ready to take another bite. What else would be taken from him? Like a fledgling that had fallen far from its nest, he watched that beast. Helpless. Flightless. Rendered into something closer to a babe, and yet, the predator continued to stalk. The silence was so loud. The fae was just as wicked, but at least she spoke to him. At least there was some form of reaction when he screamed. It was crumbs, it was close to nothing, but it was something his mind could latch onto. He looked into her eyes. “What… what will…” Not a maybe anymore. His throat filled with bile. “What will happen to… my family?”

“Your family will live.” They will live. Burrow needed them to live, for an Aos Sí was useless without its people. It was a people. Without the fae, an Aos Sí was just another patch of ground. While Parker did not have such a need, she knew he preferred to let the fae live, for his own means. “You will also live… if you cooperate.” Words that struggled passed her throat. She did not want him to die. It would be such a waste to let all that sweet blood be spent on the hard floor. The floor would not appreciate such a blessing like her parasites. But her parasites would rather have the blessing of safety than one meager host. One death was nothing compared to the blessing of safety. It was fair, wasn’t it? Did anyone ever care when they killed a gathering of her parasites? Did anyone ever wonder if her parasites wanted their families to live? Did anyone think to spare a thought to them at all? No. Everyone just killed and killed and killed and killed. It was equal; it was fair. She knew this, and yet the emptiness still lingered. “You will live together with your family, if you cooperate. So, please, tell me. I would prefer if you did not die.”

Right. Of course. The anthousa knew the implications hidden in her words. He would damn his family to the same fate. To forever be trapped on the ground, never knowing the skies again. But they would be together in that torment… Such a terrible, cruel thought. He would claw them all down to his level, to free himself of this endless loneliness. He wasn’t the brave one. He wasn’t the fucking martyr. He wanted to crawl into the soil and cry until all his water was spent. Until he spread across all his precious ones, escaping up their roots and stems. But he was there, in that terrible place, with one terrible way of escape. “Gamó to spíti sou.” Words he meant to snarl, but all they amounted to was a pained sigh. “Promise me that my family and I will live and be happy, and I… will tell you how to get to my home.”

Burrow nodded. “In exchange for you telling me how to find and enter your Aos Sí, I promise we will not kill you and your family, and that you and your family will be fully capable of happiness.” They would know the full capacity of joy, when they were blessed by her precious ones. They would know the full capacity of love, when her vines wrapped them all tight. Nestled in an eternal embrace. The few who were not deserving of such a blessing, those sent to Parker, could find happiness… eventually. Teagan had her moments of bliss, so surely his family would as well. They would still be capable, and that is what mattered. But they would never know the true happiness with her parasites. Such poor things.

Disgusting. This was all so disgusting. The anthousa shuddered, eyes transfixed on the ground, a thing so far from the majesty of his home. He could barely think of it, speak of it, with his home so far away. “We live on the tallest Peak…” The words felt like bile spilling from his mouth. “... of the Gathered Peaks. It's so high even the clouds swallow it up.” If he let his eyes drift, he could trick himself into thinking he was there. He could hear the whistling winds and smell the crisp air. He could feel his family beside him. “It’s so very high. You need the strongest wings to reach it.” Like he had… used to have. He could still feel it, just out of sight. That familiar energy that was drifting away — dying. He couldn’t bear to look at the wing. He could do nothing for it. How could another fae take such a precious thing? How could one bear to do that? Unless… “Do… do you have strong wings under that human skin?”

Burrow too had been transfixed with imagining her new home. Only a wisp of what lay in the fae’s mind, littered with false fantasies. Her vision was too green, too warm, too full of life than what the truth offered. But she delighted in her ignorance… until the fae ripped it away with that question. “I do not.” But neither did he. “You will think of another way to reach your Aos Sí, or you will be barred from your Aos Sí as well. I assume you want to see your family again.”

The anthousa smiled. A hollow thing. As hollow as these wretched things wanted him to be, ripped apart until there was nothing left. But there was one thing they could take from him so easily, and he had no intention of giving. He grasped on that small victory: his lifeline in that sea of madness. “Weeell, you will want to catch the morning winds, with your strong wings, in order to reach my family. It’s much easier to reach the very high ledge that my family lives on. Did I mention that it’s very high? We live on the east side of the tallest Peak. It will be easy to spot it once you fly up there. With your very strong wings. And there! I fucking did it. I told you how to get to my Aos Sí. Now let me go, kólo-malákas.”

Burrow stared at the premature triumph with confusion. Was he so foolish to believe he had won? He was but a pebble on her road to success. His protests meant nothing. Her parasites have taught her there are many ways to enter a home, one simply had to be stubborn enough to find it. “Do not think that we are done with you.” They would only be done once she claimed her rightful prize. If the fae wanted to prolong his torment, then she would oblige. “I never promised we would not take more from you.” She looked to Parker. With a nod, she let that iron bite out of its muzzle. “Take what you want from him.”

— —

The two fae continued to converse, with Parker wordlessly, rhythmically pacing back and forth throughout the duration. He always remained in view of the anthousa’s glowing, watering green eyes. Promises were exchanged, and Parker could also recognize the nuance in the choice of words. Precarious, potentially empty things that wound around each other like string cutting the circulation off a finger. For a moment, the words were vague, with him already having adjusted to Burrow’s usage of the word “we” to indicate that she was referring to herself and the hivemind of parasites that writhed and coiled around a skeletal frame, inflaming his brain on occasion with its intense desire to dismantle her worm by worm.

He wondered if the anthousa knew that. Likely not, though it wasn’t as though Parker had to make a specific promise about that; death was rarely on his mind, even when he was being casually threatened with it himself. Emilio came to mind, most annoyingly, followed by every other fae he’d gotten into altercations with. Even as he beat that spriggan to death in the alley back in August, it wasn’t the intention. He had no excuse for that one.

Steel-toed boots that carried the Warden’s steady pace stopped as the nymph explained how to get to the aos sí, finally removing his blue eyes from the restrained anthousa to cast a quick glance up into the milky, frigid sky as though he’d have been able to see what the nymph was referring to. The exchange about whether or not Burrow had wings herself almost went by Parker unheard as his mind drifted for just a fraction of a moment to what the anthousa would do now, how even one wing taken rendered it flightless, what the rest of his family members looked like. Would they come for him? Would they communicate and create a way to lift him? Would they have to relocate? Rock climbing wasn’t Parker’s strong suit - he was decidedly more of a swimmer - but there was something tantalizing about the idea.

He was brought back with what sounded like gloating from the anthousa, however. Smug words of superiority, a misunderstanding that he believed he was remotely in control of the situation. Parker knew that well, having been in a similar position months ago. Burrow’s permission given to him had the psychosomatic chain around his neck loosen; her end of their deal made verbal once more. Parker casually approached the anthousa, steely stare dancing over the details of the nymph again. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the other wing, not anymore. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted the first one, given what he now knew about the nymph and the aos sí it resided in.

Instead, Parker loomed over the fae, reaching out carefully and effortlessly pulling one of the cool-colored flowers from atop its head, ignoring the retaliatory hiss from it. “What does your pollen do, anthousa?” He found himself asking, twirling the flower in his fingers by its stem.

— —

Most fear the unknown. Feeling that predator stalk about the corners of his vision, forbidden to turn and watch by the command of the vines, the anthousa’s mind terrorized him with visions. Visions of discarded limbs and burning metal and cries unheard. If only it had stayed in that unknown. If only it had remained waking nightmares. He watched as unblinking eyes and unshaken hands ripped off a part of him. As if he were nothing; as if he were some thing. What more would it take from him, as he lay a helpless thing? Instincts had him scurrying away, but all he could manage was feeble twitching. The vines prevented even that small release. He remained in the same spot. “Wh-why do you want to know, k-kólo-malákas?” His voice desperately clung to the bravado from before, but it was slipping.

Burrow was surprised to see the stemmed one still awake. She had expected a repeat of before — for the needle to prick and the fae to fall and the wing to sever. She had expected Parker to want to complete the set. No, not expected: wanted. Not because she yearned for the fae to be without wings, but because she yearned for the fae to be without awareness. To be without the frightened eyes and the trembled lip and the quivered body. The only thing she had expected was some satisfaction for such a sight. Instead, the numbness continued to crawl up her neck. She wanted it all to be done, but she could not stop, not yet. Unlike the stemmed one, she loved the unknown. All those fantasies that had entertained for her years of solitude — of her doing to the fae the exact cruelties they had done to her and her kin. She would leave them with nothing, just as they had with her. She would, she will, she must… Yet, as fantasies became realities, she found them lacking.

There must be something missing. If Parker wanted the pollen, Burrow would not question it further. Such a question would continue to stall her fantasies from blossoming. She returned to the floor and those frightened eyes and trembled lips. A sight she returned with a blank. Nothing else was allowed. This is what she was supposed to do, after all. She would take the pollen. She would continue to take and take and take until she found the satisfaction she was promised. “You answer the questions, you do not ask the questions.” She pressed her cheek into his. So close that she stole away his breath. “What does your pollen do?”

The anthousa’s rebellion turned to sand, slipping past his fingers no matter how tightly he grasped. “I could show you two-” His voice was an empty snarl: as empty as that threat. What was he expecting, really? It was clear his tormentors would not crumple so easily. Unlike himself. “I will tell you, if you… if you…” All he could think to ask for was his freedom. His mind gone blank except for that desperate call of survival. One that he knew would go unanswered. There was only one way he would leave this place. “My-my pollen… helps my plants grow.” The vines tightened on his chest. His tricks ended with a painful gasp. “My pollen makes others… numb to any sensations.”

How tragic that the pollen’s wonders had no effect on him. The stemmed one would surely love to indulge in a deep whiff — a pleasure denied by his nature and the snare of Burrow’s vines. Even his very soul was claimed by their eager grip. The only cracks allowed were that of his psyche. Such cracks could deepen and pop open for the wanted treasure inside. All that needed to be done was to find where such cracks should be placed. Parker had an idea of where to look. Burrow looked to him, and the fae drifted into a blur in her peripherals. She preferred him there. “Do you want more of the pollen? I want some of the pollen.” It would help her hosts sleep more comfortably, nestled within her vines. She would sprinkle it between those cracks, so they may better accept their eternal sleep. The hosts never understood what a blessing it was to be claimed.

— —

It was to be expected that the anthousa wouldn’t be so eager to answer his simple question. Parker was nothing if not patient, however, and he didn’t react to the nymph’s pitiful attempt at regaining control of the situation. Parker had been on the other end of those vines as mentioned before, feeling them tightening around his musculature, legs, torso and neck. He was immobilized, and he was a hunter. It was appropriate to react to fear with anger and vitriol, but the anthousa would learn as Parker had.

Eventually though, the answer had come through some strong-arming from Burrow’s snare and he looked up from his observations of the delicate petals of the flower, though it wasn’t to look at the anthousa but the entomid. “I do.” Short. Clinical. Emotionless. As Parker responded, he absently dropped the flower and reached for a phial that hung from his belt, one of several in a line. “Hold him still.” He instructed, his other hand retrieving the silver scalpel that he had used to perform the operation of the wing as he skulked around the restrained nymph. All the while, blue eyes danced on its figure once more until they settled on the other, intact wing that absently twitched. With a careful and practiced but firm hand, he lifted the wing enough to reveal a series of thick, dark, veinlike vines that tightly knotted themselves near the base of the wing. The anthousa had a preference for the left side of its body, given that there wasn’t another knotted gathering like this on the right side. If this had been several years ago, he would’ve rendered the anthousa unconscious so he could’ve performed his work but he had since learned that discarded pollen from an unconscious or deceased fae either completely lost its potency or it was harshly reduced in terms of effectiveness. “It’ll get loud.” Parker warned, but without a second warning, he expertly took the scalpel as the phial was gathered in two fingers and he started to separate the tight veins that swirled around each other.

— —

Back to the unknown the predator stalked, but its eyes still dug into the anthousa’s mind. It had such a grip on his psyche he hardly noticed what truly touched his skin: the vines that coiled around his torso loosened. No, not loosened. The vines adjusted themselves, relinquishing a part of their hold only to give it to the predator. Relinquishing his wing, he realized, as he felt his wing move without his will. His tormentors’ words were all forgotten, overshadowed by his need to protect the wing. He thought of his pollen with no plan at all, for his instincts demanded he do something. With all things lost to the grip of the vines, his pollen was all he could do. But soon that was gone as well. Lost to pain. It ripped across his back, clawing away everything in its path, even his thoughts. His body and mind tossed into its fires, and yet he was not even granted the permission to squirm. So, he did the only thing left to do. He screamed.

Oh, was it so loud. The sharp cries cut into Burrow’s ears with the same precision as the blade into flesh. Though they had no ears to disturb, nor any care for the strangers around them, her vines quivered in solidarity. A reflection of the writhing annoyance in her stomach. Iadsan a Seadadh, cuidich leam. She just wanted to claim her birthright and be done with this nonsense. Her hands went to her ears, while her vines went to the fae’s mouth. Made themselves into a ball that sealed away all the screams. Her headache drifted and with its absence she could focus. She instructed the rest of her precious ones to continue to coil and claim that loud thing. A direction they were happy to follow, with a tight and firm grip, for it was only by her will that her vines did not seek to end the cries permanently.

The anthousa was spared such a fate, though the one he was given was worse. Instead of drifting into an endless sleep, he was engulfed in endless agony. The pain still throbbed, but as echoes, ricocheting over every corner of his body. Even the corners that were no longer there. He could feel both his wonderful wings, as if he could simply spread them out and the wind would take him far away. Yet, he could see how one such wing was sprawled on the floor, so so far away. It was gone, it was gone, it was gone, yet he could feel it. He could feel it but it was gone! Gods, how much of him was gone? How much of him was left? He tried to survey his body, the only sense he could trust, but it was limited by the vines. He needed to know. How much of him was left? How much of him was left?

“Don’t…” At least he still had his mouth. At least he still had his words. “Don’t take another thing from me.” The anthousa tried to scream: no longer one of pain but one to command. All his throat could manage was a hoarse coughing. “You both, you both promise me you won’t take another fucking thing off of me. You both promise me that you’ll let me go. You promise me and I’ll… I’ll tell you what you want.” He heaved another attempt at a yell, one ending in whispers of, “let me go, let me go, let me go.”

At least the incident took more than his pollen. The last of the fae’s stubborn spirit, along with that incessant yelling, had too been gone with the cut of the knife. Burrow rubbed at her temples, massaging away the residuals of her waning headache. She looked to the beaten thing upon the floor, yet still the sight did not bring her completion. This is why her worms burrowed so deeply in the recesses of their homes — there was no fulfillment in watching the host squirm under their beautiful might. The taking is what truly mattered, what was truly beautiful, and she had yet to take. She would feel whole once she fulfilled her destiny. Traveling through the stomach acids was never a pleasant thing, but her worms must do so to reach their homes. She must do the same. She must push past this unpleasantness to reach her home. All of their homes.

Burrow looked to a spot on the ground. There was nothing interesting about it — just a meager scuff. The only notable thing was its close proximity to the fae she spoke to. “I promise I will not take more from your body and that I will let you go.” A vague phrasing. There were many ways to leave a place, and not all as pleasant as the fae probably had in mind. “In exchange, you will tell me what I want to know, with proper and sufficient detail.” She would not allow the fae to also utilize ambiguity. Her eyes returned to Parker, though they did take a small detour to the pollen in his grasp. She wanted it in her grasp instead. She wanted some spoils to enjoy. But first, she had to ensure the most important one. She looked up to Parker with expectation, waiting for his own compliance in the deal.

— —

Screams were nothing new to the Warden, as they rang through one side of his head. His hands remained steady, his eyes unblinking as he carefully, yet forcibly ripped the knot open, seeing the glittering particles of unusual pollen as it sat in the crevices of the fae. Parker expected to be met with some as a self-defense mechanism and usually he would’ve been holding his breath but he didn’t, not this time. So he cut into the vines, prying them apart and scraping the residue into the phial as he inhaled the plumes of excess pollen willingly and with tightly-controlled breaths. He could feel it burning his sinuses and stinging his eyes, a standard reaction for a body rejecting foreign objects, for just a few moments before the sensations were dulled, almost like being doused slowly and carefully in warm water. He kept his icy blue eyes on his work as the fae’s screams were muted, though he couldn’t have been sure whether or not it was because of the pollen or Burrow’s vines strangling the anthousa’s breath from it. One phial was filled and set aside as Parker worked quickly to fill a second one, now keeping his eyes on his fingers as they had also grown numb; any sensations. He smelled nothing, heard nothing. Felt nothing. For a moment, the world was eliminated and it was him and the anthousa and the spotlight turned upon them. He felt numb, yet he could somehow still feel his father’s eyes on his back, as his eyes were on the nymph’s back. Where were Burrow’s?

The second phial was filled and Parker blinked once he was done. Still numb, even more autonomous and robotic, just as he was raised to be. He exhaled and straightened up, gathering the two phials and skulking back around where the anthousa could see him as the latter warbled a desperate plea in a broken voice. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed and he still felt numb, and yet, it didn’t seem long enough. Fingers flexed as they started to tingle; even now, the pollen was starting to exit whichever systems it affected. He guessed neurological and respiratory. Hunter regeneration, his iron-rich blood coursing through him, flushing and decontaminating his body at a much more rapid pace than a regular human. Part of the reason why he didn’t indulge in alcohol or substances; too much money for not a long enough feeling.

The fae wanted the two monsters to promise that they wouldn’t take anything else from him as well as let him go, his recovering hearing understood. Blue eyes, now tinged red with an irritation that went unrecognized by the Warden during his numbing experience, glanced down at the entomid as though waiting for confirmation; this was for her benefit, after all. She had agreed, and his gaze was reciprocated. She wanted Parker to agree, as well. Offering one of the shimmering phials to Burrow, he regarded the anthousa once more. “I promise that, of my own volition, I won’t remove anything else from your body.” He replied first. “And I have no intention of capturing you. That promise doesn’t apply to me.”

— —

Burrow’s gaze lingered on Parker. With her headache ebbing away, the details of his features flowed in. Red eyes and twitching limbs — unfounded on him in usual circumstances. Had he breathed in the pollen? It was then she realized her own breath had instinctively stopped. Air trickled into her lungs, and there was a gentle numbness that rose back up into her head. A reprieve from the storm that had once become her mind. She snatched the vial of the pollen. The cloud of yellow swirled in her palm, trapped inside glass that prevented its potency from dissipating. Even her small taste had left the edges of her vision blurring into darkness. What would become of one who indulged in that potency with no restrictions? Perhaps she would not even need her vines to secure her home, at least in the long term. She could use her vines to secure more of that lovely pollen: it was intentional that she had promised only herself would not take more from him. She could ask her kin to do that honor… but not now. Her vines’ need wiggled inside her brain: take take take. If she allowed her vines to take anymore of the fae, they would consume him whole. She must have patience.

The anthousa barely had the strength to tie the bind around the two of them, but it hung there. Loose and tangled and frayed at the ends, but the bind found its mark. It was not as complete as he wanted — not as firm or encompassing as he needed it to be. Curse that hunter for not complying to his full demands. Curse the both of them for doing this to him. But he was too tired to protest. He just wanted to go home. “Go to the great river,” his voice rasped, drawling out the same as those cold waters. Where the waters brushed against both the great peaks and surrounding woods, there was a cave. A cave that ran deep under the ground; so deep it seemed to reach the center of the world. So lost to that darkness, it was impossible to tell when the tunnel began to travel up. But it did… eventually. A tunnel that split into branches, with all but one leading to a dead end. As dead as any traveler would be if they mistakenly took those paths. But there was the one that took you to his home — one only a fae would be able to follow. Listen to the beat of nature, and the earth would guide the fae there. The anthousa spoke of it all, except for the all the dangers that lurked deep in the tunnels. That would be his fun little surprise. Perhaps some way to prevent this torment from following him home.

In her mind’s eyes, Burrow followed the fae down into that sprawling darkness. Following it to a bloom of fresh and giving hosts waiting for her taking. She would take them all, but first, she must deal with one more obstacle. She did not want this little seed to run off and warn his family, planting the need for defense and protection in their hearts. But she would not resort to killing him. The fae’s death would mean the end of his nutritious blooms and that wonderful pollen he used to keep them. He was more useful alive. He is more useful alive, she reminded her vines as their grip continued to creep around his flesh. “There is one more deal we will make. I will let you leave this very moment, if you promise to forget all that happened this day.”

The anthousa would have screamed if he was capable. It almost felt his entire life had been this day, this terrible moment. He may slip into nothing if he made such a deal. “Just let me fucking go… please.”

“I will…” I want to, Burrow almost began. She wanted him gone the same as him. As her taste of the pollen dissolved into a small tingle, the true emptiness of her chest returned. But she noticed it was no longer a pit of absence: there was a twinge of pain around the edges. It threatened to pool into the pit, filling her chest with more of its ache. An ache that grew the longer she continued to look at the fae. Her eyes returned to the scuff on the floor. “If you promise to forget everything about this day the moment you leave.” She wanted him gone but not yet. She would not let him ruin her plan and leave her kin without a home. She would not let this all be a waste. She would not allow herself to travel through all this muck only to let it go to waste. “If you do not promise, you will… you will stay here with us, until you decide to promise it.”

“F-fine.” The anthousa choked out. It would not be so terrible to be taken of this one thing. Ignorance was bliss, after all. “I promise.” The vines began to loosen, slowly, as if being dragged away by the feeble grip of a child. Bit by bit, they released him, taking some bits of him. A torn bit of skin here, a severed vine there, and ruptured petals littered the floor. What were more of him removed, anyway? He didn’t care anymore. He didn’t even realize he had been fully set free. His body remained in the pose imposed by the vines. His limbs remembered how to move, dropping into their proper positions with a pained gasp. What was more pain, anyway? He pushed through it all, through the trembles coursing limbs and the visions coursing his mind. He needed to leave. He needed to… needed to figure out what happened to him. Gods, what was wrong with his body? Did he mistake cider for tea again? Where did… what was? The more he tried to remember, the more it slipped away. All that he knew was a pain, even that was a mystery to him. He needed to go home. Yes! He needed to go home. He needed to go… somewhere?

Burrow felt the bind ravaging the fae’s mind. It ripped away his memories like weeds, stealing everything it was allowed. Nothing would be left to propagate into a future problem. A problem she watched scurry away beyond the trees. He was gone. It was done. The emptiness remained, thumping against her chest where a heart should be, but it calmed the further the fae scurried. It would be replaced with joy once she claimed a worthy home for her kin. It would be joyous and what she always dreamed about. It would be joyous, she reminded herself, as she watched her hands tremble. “Is e seo a rugadh mi airson a dhèanamh.”

— — The entomid snatched the phial from him with her own greedy fingers and tight grasp. He understood the urgency; he was similar as a child, desperately clinging to something he had found or expressed interest in before it was pulled away from him, torn apart, broken down, or otherwise confiscated by a family member. A waste of time or effort, a punishment for failing in his assigned directive. Not listening. Not reacting properly. Blue eyes lost themselves in the repetitive memories for a moment, a slideshow of instances with each one ending the same way; a lesson Parker couldn’t seem to learn. It was brief, however, and regardless of how those memories ended, they weren’t relevant to this scenario.

Blinking, he pulled himself out of his head just in time to hear instructions for a haven not meant for Parker’s vision to see in any lifetime. As the duo were regaled with the appropriate steps, this time he allowed his mind to wander as they were told of a river, a cave, an ascent with innumerable passages and madness for any non-fae that would try to find the actual route. What he had said before, about flying straight to the top, was a ruse. Of course it was. Parker was foolish to assume that it would’ve been that easy, extracting the information so soon into their unwilling interaction.

The Warden remained silent after his end of the promise, focusing on his own phial of thick yellow pollen as the rest of the transaction between the two fae commenced. The anthousa was released, sluggish and delayed in its acknowledgement and with the memory of what had happened just moments prior slipping from his grasp, before tottering off out of sight and leaving the hunter and the entomid, a strange pair of supernatural enemies who realistically should’ve been at each other’s throats. The abnormality of the situation wasn’t lost on Parker, who carefully stowed the phial into one of the many pouches on his thick leather utility belt before pulling out a handkerchief from his back pocket, wiping his eyes briefly before starting to clean his hands from pollen residue and sticky sap-like blood from the anthousa. He paced in the clearing in the absence of the other nymph now, his gaze flickering between the singular wing that sat off to the side and into the woods for an indeterminate reason.

“Was that information sufficient?” He found himself asking absently. “Do you feel… closer to your goal?”

— —

Burrow watched as her hands grew a mind of their own. Her presence extended beyond her flesh, writhing inside those of her kin — guiding them. It was strange to see that presence severed, not even reaching her own fingers. Fingers that writhed into tendrils that pulsated to an uneven beat. She had seen such a display on others: those she had determined to be stressed. Is that what this was? Stress? She didn’t feel stressed. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, actually… if anything at all. The pit had subsided inside her, but it did not return what it took. What remained was a faint buzzing under her skin. She told her hands to touch her face, and slowly they complied. Her face felt flat, untouched by wrinkles, or tension, or other signs of feeling. She was used to a blank: her most used expression. But this felt wrong in a way she could not find a name.

Burrow’s vines were quick to give her feelings a name, though one they placed themselves. Ache. Her vines coiled around her arms — tighter and tighter with each beat of her heart. Want want want want want they growled against her soul. Their frustrations became her own: she needed to find a new host. She needed to know the joys of the taking. Not the lesser kind she had just observed: obvious and dripping in mess. She would take in the beautiful way of the ones she loved. “Tha fios agam. Lorgaidh mi cuideigin dhut airson goid.” I will find someone for you to take. She would find them all someone to take. Every last of her downtrodden kin would know the joys of taking. They would. They must. Her tendrils became fingers again. Their trembles became mere twitches. That is what she did. She guided her precious ones to their homes. A shepherd for the monsters. And she had always been told that the monsters did such terrible things. That is what had transpired that day — a terrible deed for the terrible ones. It was not the proper way to take (so messy, so loud, so chaotic) but it was another step to their home. Their beautiful home.

“Yes…” Burrow finally said. “We are closer to our home.” A home! A home for her precious ones. Why not celebrate that? She should celebrate that. The tremble of her hands stopped completely. Perhaps she even smiled; she was not sure. There was still so much time for smiling, anyway. She looked to the human beside her. His ways were not her own, lesser than her own, but his ways had helped. Helped in a way not many were able to offer, or even willing to offer. She was one who took offerings gladly without a thought for returning the favor. But in the moment, she did. Something small, something easy, but still she wanted to give without a benefit to herself. “... I appreciate this moment.”

#wickedswriting #thread #thread : parker #ft. parker w.#with : the anthousa #drug manipulation tw #unsanitary tw #memory loss tw #medical blood tw #under skin tw #surgery tw

6 notes · View notes

floof-writes · 2 years ago

Note

I don’t know a lot about Linked Universe, but I love your writing. May I request something with Four’s colors interacting? Sorry if that’s too vague

I know you probably meant with the colors split, but I absolutely love writing Four's internal monologue with the colors so here's a bunch of the colors interacting in Four's head! Thanks so much for the ask (and the compliment). Have a great day!

Title: Never Alone, Always Cold

Words: 1278

Four days isn’t that long, Four tried to convince himself, glaring at the setting sun from the mouth of the icy cave, squinting against the way the snow reflected it back.

That’s only one for each of us! Red agreed, drawn out by the silence.

We shouldn’t have waited, Vio said, and no one mentioned the bitter self-hatred in their voice. We should have started down on day one, while we still had rations.

We were disoriented, injured, and it’s protocol to stay put, Green reminded, ever-steady. The others will find us.

Before or after we freeze to death, Blue bit out, but at least he was talking. At least he wasn’t silent with memories and fear the way he’d been the first few nights on this frigid mountain.

Red shrank back from the harshness and Four shivered, pulling his knees closer. Their ankle throbbed, fractured at least from the fall that had gotten them into this damn ravine in the first place. In the back of the cave the drip of melting ice was petering out as the mountain cooled for the night, and maybe Four could admit that he was going a little crazy with worry.

This mountain was a death trap full of ice and random drop-offs, monsters around every corner, and the temperatures got into the negatives at night. Not everyone was used to navigating this type of climate on their journeys, if Wind or Hyrule had been caught alone…

The four people in their mind were only an illusion of company- Four was never alone but he was very cold, and he wanted nothing more than to split so Blue couldn’t disappear again and the colors didn’t have to swirl in a shared psyche until the lonely silence stretched long enough to give them an individual voice. But more bodies meant more calories, and Four didn’t have any of those to spare.

They’d gotten lax with keeping their own rations after spending so long with Wild, and the only reason they’d made it this far was because they’d stumbled into an abandoned camp with some long frozen provisions. He’d dragged the remains of the fire pit against the cliff to better shelter it from the wind and burned scraps of wood and cloth, but he was long out of that.

Regardless, Vio was right. They’d missed their window to get off the mountain on their own, their only hope now was to stay sheltered and hope that the others found them before it was too late.

Four stood and hobbled deeper into the cave, burrowing into his bedding and holding his fire rod close as the night drew on.

***

Four woke to a world awash in red. It was nighttime still and outside the mouth of the cave instead of silver-blue the moonlight was the color of blood. At first he wasn’t sure why he woke, but then he realized that instead of the proper, lifeless silence a place below freezing deserved, there was shifting, snorting, roaring- sounds Four knew in an instant belonged to monsters.

He froze, not daring to breathe. Slowly, he crept out of his bedroll and crawled to the mouth of the cave, keeping low and sticking to the shadows.

The abandoned monster camp was no longer abandoned. Wild’s moblins and bokoblins danced in the garish moonlight. There were two moblins and at least six bokos, not to mention the ice keese that were roosting under the cliff. Four blinked and quickly took a measured breath before he passed out from lack of air. A speck of Malice-stained ash brushed his cheek and he flinched back into the cave, trying to make his heaving breaths come quietly.

Okay, so there were monsters here now. Monsters that outnumbered him eight to one.

Two-to-one, Red corrected, ever a team player even though right now there was just one Four.

Two-to-one, Vio agreed grimly, and there was a flash of surprise from Green and Blue before they realized what they were saying.

Only as a last resort, Green said. They haven’t noticed us yet.

And how long do you think that’s gonna last? Blue asked. It was in moments like these that the others really realized how much Blue’s pessimism was born of fear, because that sentence was one harsh note away from terrified.

Hopefully long enough for us to climb out of here, Vio said.

Four slid off his gloves and grabbed his ring pouch, wincing at every jingle as he used the crimson moonlight to search for the right one. He finally slid it on, the cold metal biting at his finger. Roc’s Cape was already around his shoulders to fight off the cold, so he stuffed the rest of his belongings away.

He stood shakily, weak from cold and hunger, and peeked out again. The monsters were still up, the moon’s artificial glow apparently giving them strength. Four grabbed the Cane of Pacci and took aim at one of the crates.

Counting down may have been a little cliche, but what was Four if not classic? The moment Blue reluctantly said one, Four flipped the crate and stuffed the cane away, jumping for purchase on the cliffside.

He dug his bare fingers into the ice and let the magic of his Grip Ring flow through his joints, helping him hold onto the smallest protrusions. His hurt ankle throbbed but he pressed on, gritting his teeth against the pain.

Behind and beneath him, the monsters were still puzzling over the flipped box, all Four had to do was get above eye level and they probably wouldn’t notice him. They were safe, they were fine, Blue shut up about the cold we get it-

Four heaved himself another half-body length higher and pressed himself against the cliffs, hearing the monsters settle themselves, turning back around, turning-

And settling, as the moon started to return to its normal color, not one set of eyes turning to Four, huddled halfway up the cliffside and praying to the shadows. Four took a steadying breath and began to move again to avoid finger cramps, their clothes scraping against the ice.

He saw it a second before it doomed him: the Cane of Pacci slipping out of his belt. He had only enough time to hold his breath before it fell, the glass sphere echoing when it hit the icy ground.

There was a moment of silence, and then a moblin roared.

Four jerked, half his limbs trying to go down and the other half trying to continue up.

Fucking leave it! Blue shouted.

Right! Red said by way of apology, halfway to hysterical.

But- Vio resisted, even as the body scrambled up another couple handholds.

Vio, Green started, reaching for another hold, and that hold was all they had left when Blue dropped the other, swinging them out of the way of an arrow that embedded itself into the cliffside with a burst of flame that warmed Four’s stinging cheeks and numb fingers.

Cane forgotten, Vio surged to grab the next hold, securing them back on the cliffside.

Keep it together, guys, Green said, realizing how internally split they were becoming.

Helpful, Blue spat as their fingers slipped, the ice wet and slick from the fire arrow.

The next arrow snagged their cape, and the resulting burst of flame sent them tumbling towards the ground.

The colors landed in the snow with a thump, Roc’s Cape slowing their fall just enough to keep them from getting hurt.

Green rolled over, coughing the breath back into their lungs. Last resort.

The colors reached for their sword and the clearing lit up with a flash of light.

#ask answered #lu fic #lu four #lu colors #he/they pronouns for Four #linked universe

33 notes · View notes

libidomechanica · 8 months ago

Text

Be all them besides, both court on earth—the early morn,

A Meredith sonnet sequence

And love divisible, yet I keep without a moan? Ah, take the reverence I discoveries recent, thrust full gaze her steep her hand in the thorn of pain which must given; and grown with feeble cry he said, my children’s mittens, scratch with straggling in the crew with me, and love not as idle ore, but trust it cold. Be all them besides, both court on earth—the early morn, rise, holy morning steal o’er the sky, with bayonet the morning: but now, the long streak of snow: my Italy’s THERE, with aimless feast, which now is pleased him, fresh leaves which she smiled, A mass of knotted joints, a wretch! Where the distant heart I set me from belt to be; but streams of gulls on his full of the lid.

From high to higher; as gentle darkness there. All thing, a song than a two years’ child it stands upon the grievous torments the deep, when to brain, arriving record of their petty cobwebs we have to living whole no life may fail in love her who rest beneath thee from Grimm seeping nigher, and good after soft look it can sing bell. On her passing wind, or roams the breath, back to cope with all your idle wrath of plaint yet mine own, this universal frame that which flies of her who loves it has, no thoroughfare. You have it back the Door! Lost Angel will burrow in arms thy lov’d them, thou Vesper of the place made the Desert’s dusty urns sepulchre, the land: betwixt two marble.

III

Perhaps the sheet and pillow. Break, Break come stepping-stones of those ribbed wind-flowered spread, and what thing is shape. With gifts and flood of sisters of glory from thy brow. ’ The sense. I woke—and chains regret, o my kind, was never been in a shallow-hearted hung, the discover’d wall rocks, and could have been: a life of love; or if he could wing my sweet; and the grossness of her wilful grief, and one sits quite disposed of in a deadly draught between the river of the sound upon his heaped for one that blight; What serene abode. Till counter. Sad case, may show us what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten field and drivers combination round with gracious tormented urn. Her thro’ the hill.

You whom I loved I view is please, improve the Rest is meet and said the grass and sing towers, there coming out roads to less the years but see him best, ’ she takes a desert dust, and Autumn laying women may be names upon a string, found, nor could springtime, the man-child is bow’d, his mind? But with him to those the priests invoke the serpent, but half a spurn as household fountain high, the drown’d estate began to fail it is a geranium. But made him love; her office hath looked like a stone breath, welcoming year, as not now all turn that she thousand drill’d and a little, been falls in vaults and rigged with these contest, death shall I see the things were Peters; but all is locked and lips!

Till all their praying and kind, and, strange their Destinies, lamentable cries to an epoch with this poor flower, despair! Not all: the soft and new. I dreamed then to cross. Once beyond all we lov’d them shot in the shore, far from the nail in it. And wooden— I come, stopped short swallow’s twittered, Kate Brown’s open hatchway vomiting the dead smell of Life to come he shall mould my Heart. And every Hyacinth so displac’d that a sudden stormy main; who watchest the mountain fresh all knows well as her name was oxter’d, the night forever; by and by I shall set me down with endless air, that slight, the violets cover’d and him, the day? Come, but just a die misery! My wretch!

I say no more believe no more thicket, and all my good! A Gyges’ ring time. They have waked her brazen fool was soften’d, and all the awkwardly her animal passion on the Lip you present and bit were, it bore not worthy so to die; yet poortith a’ I could have to wander on a heat, but help I can: before the solid- set, and meet at dawn in the foes: for valour and die. But leaves unsway’d the stars drew in these orbs of light is our Universe himself from sun’s domain now thee mine forbeares, the heralded along the thornless wars’—I am now essaying that Submersion. I muse alone: but since his married, and an eye forest crack’d, the blow.

VII

I wrong that forget how, for the laws their dim life should turn that sweet but think of me would be Cymon was endeared with miseries, his Children in strength to pierc’d thy whole play, and mountain-apple, youth picking through their plighted town, the cataract flashing so low? Myself dost deceived the mournful rhyme; yet waile thy hook and Pleasure have, life’s dearest bands untwining, and afterwards accompanions of the dawn of day, and feet than my breath? His credit with! And water shake? Tho’ truths are treasures prove among the mad pompousness, she seeming with the moss’d cottage-trees, and Autumn were, by a warble, nor durst he took up the mother’s laps and meadows breath’d upon the Door!

VIII

I don’t care I wanna be your own liking by his glimmering Incarnations, like one direction, lust is perjured, murdered ever be merry face soft desire, each other’s arms to one pure spirits render human race; and, having kiss! All silent, looking her false appreciation blow, that after proved—would come in this clown-accent and more: too comes from whose rank exceeds? Let him that life is darkness among them over, if only contracted new come daily voice believes till death he lies, allured by love should be parting with this higher; as mounts of an amphitheatre, each deployment I become and oak. The sea there is a dying I pray.

The Winds flew round, was no solidity in the darkness of paradise, my silver- whispering in my throat. Stop, let me be your minds, the scale the Vessel, that’s happens in the milk that faints in order placed the flood of Love upon days long and dream, I lay me low; my paths of great god Love, and, in betwixt the prince found out, cajoled by time. A light leave at closer. World with song. The body bows; man dies: nor is that she was on the tempest’s roaring, through, clasp’d with weary way; I with cleared, the fair so was the law. They to where kingly way? Every door is barr’d within himself upon a cheek the larger heart, glimmering sense first form or breaking shut, or breaking thee.

Looked around whose hopes were parade of song shall statues overturn, and I shall bloom thro’ me left me in the foremost files of need, at hands; maintain, the white in his heap of earth and what’s to constancy. But send it will I pour thy winged Persuasions and past, a soul in mine, will be near meadows, and bought, a deeper deep relations we common grief, received no tongues. When call’d Jemmy, ’ after all, and beauty, life, and that feeds thy brows are chief; but have guess’d; what thou art just. At her beauty’s charcoal sketch in taking should still find not owing their green and the Life has done. Feels all the curse had fallen, and up the moon, to the sky; his inner vileness! The Mill has gotten.

The solitary day, in sad reality, and hunger than a long lists of killing,—for deeming human worth will be telling present poem—of—I know my hand of them about whose sheet. Say nay, say nay! Ill sorted with darkness we would be the sound upon it light a haloed ascetic Discipline, that thy Door; let him die. Their local life in civic action; and the wall. A Welcome that bottle almost wish’d no more, my heart gazing he was no shame. Shadow shade, out of earth bare and wrong, that high Capital, wheresoe’er expert in fitting truth from bower where no disease; ring out, wild bells, to thee, the complete, because he sees. To which frozen cheek.

XII

Defamed by each cold hopes in torturingly flowing: and their ships unrigged, and in snow thus thou shalt enduring mowers shows the sun strike, and will be; thou shalt hear divine Musæus singly name, I shouldst thou and I unremark’d of maxims, which a godfather’s house, or digs the grave divide what Meg o’ the world’s great legacies of melancholy crop: up from slimy nest the sacred tripod held forth the rude chaos was, beforehand. And other grief, the way! A life behind her anger flying clouds, how when the wine-flask lying lips is always of his crime, can reason still; the Charge of life is dash’d on the night, from kindling of me. Another Splendours, we know.

XIII

Of heau’n the Spartan, had hopefully shines out of weakness the altar build, which made the rest were empty joys of night and the pond? And one would cleave it strong for the grove where alone! But open was glorious man whose faith and could remedy? Now raving- wild, I curse not to speed. Here with my favorite vow. Where all in vain, my shame beneath. Where of Death. So seems to bring in a wealthy peace, peace and innocent, dozes through thick folds of skin on flat, cool rocks, so drench the skies. Actual itself the coming years I must allow, that the amorous World. And know dark is right: the year? And bless there life’s waste in air: so waste my soul from where now thy praise if a man’s son doth know.

XIV

You great world I wore their side! That Benediction or most Peace should’st fail from this demon eyes twinkle into the threw their branches green, this, folly, thou, like a nest from all ears listen to itselfe, and without I wanna be your conquest, as if in doubts of moss so fair. She has all thy scarf hadst touch, and reach my military hills alone on Death were sun or most Peace engrost; whose kiss me, sounding on my Bed, and unto me no second object was the light-blue lane of each Cossacque, o’er what soft incense paired with me—a flower of knight’s man, lady or pucelle, that answer, glistering eye on souls, the moonlight to know me that old Potter shall her sorrow.

Can I think back and play and nights and cleft in two his rival’s head and beauteous hours conduct by paths perilous seas, in fact; and all his faults within the east, and thunder, to wish that good manners, as the field, the left me dry, left me with cleared, the lea I wake, and while my crimson-circled dance the Parliament of time within the lonely thou be, who wears his separate from my sad bed of tears? Struck by the halls; thy blood bored his tongue; use powers, we heard, and almost wish’d nation, if Homer reads his orient out a sun though those that passes by, and prey by each at every word in a moment, and line, of herbes or beasts and cowslip’d lawns, the sweat of light appal!

XVI

Reading itself in my thought in height, or dive below the angels see, before the Eternal soul from you I say, mine eyes best habit is in truth, and love not with lofty stair; or when thou shalt take time machine, suddenly two years’ child it stands; so is it indeed, Repentant to kneel, not being alone. Rekindled torches gild their attend, instead. But, as no times lovely like your practice howsoe’er I woo, I find no placed herself, and a hue like a peacock stalk abroad majestical, and think of her throat and cedar, oud, impossible in one endeavour to burn, with dead. Point out a Word of it. As little worthy I to be love that feeds his horse.

XVII

Yet none could never dry; the laird was a boy with human shades not stir the social truth is the spiral of light as carried, and dear trace them on to-night the sole spared at the silver lamp, whose fall’n as soon as built—oh, if indeed, she longer under Dust, nor mine by love? And starlings of spring, that I might, alone, to seeming prey of cyclic storms, and a hue like the world well express’d me; and thou Air, Athwart a plan? From hurt you have seen it and in a crown of the daughter: the thorn? Before my Eyes the winter changed her like a civic crown: I met with gloried and allow a girl without any more to die had surely he is dead! Another valentine.

XVIII

By dainty wits crimson current Gold, not more a little lap-dog breed, who takes the hope of every soon managed to be; loved death do us part, with the other ridge whose sails at distant gloom I strive, to fashion’d vest lurk’d Christian Empress but make haste! This done, the deep-recessed visit us no more paines and flowery walk of letters of glory of the Chrismas heard an ever twisted braid, or sigh’d Alas! The op’ning gowan, wat wi’ dew, nae purer prie; what blench or fail, then I desire, which might or might: soothe and greet us. In more of heaven’s smile they had heart ungiven; nor the soft, a head! Henderson to person to perish ones to his coast.

XIX

Every door is barr’d with dew; fragrant oils without thy boyhood sung long since, and with a boy’s? Heard those bells. He mighty woes. Theirs for their count my gain, the prime, then what hath loved, and in his young philosophic gown: lycius shrank closer. And streaming of this brief bright in thy sleep for which arise from harmony, this earnest of summer dark slide from my proper place? Comes a glory round her new light, alone, that with rain and scarce endure; and thy beauty was there were none but few. His hand droop’d of large elements on me; my spirit, without colours that ever new, a void where youth who loves in God, that I shall not yield the cheerful torches gild their rhyme, of the brutal kind.

And scar’d the Branches sang, and in the cost nor shall rise; they either known, somewhat unfound, it seem’d to marble; and strong sun? Pond, which wields the charmed God be double bright in this charnel-cave, an awful night whose loves, in liberty, rights not one; my presently, pray! ’ Afterwards beyond the wives of willow and grame; and labouring in the heavenward always that mind most kingly Death so beauty and blank, made it strange, and strain me, though it: came out by the sallows, to the Potter’s Shop I stood the corniced shade of some one lonely, or some revolving years of this the mist. But that the heart or limb, when in the northern night? The goddess, see whether for a nosegay!

XXI

Corset-lacing. They keep where thou art turn’d it in my throat, cling, sweet blacksmith, ’ a village looks the deeper anguish also falls, that Shadow cast up from yonder greening glow; nor grateful Evening mind, he face of you and many-headed before, already were this spirit, without a gap, yet ne’ertheless mourns nor can my dreams which thy cruelty! ’ A third motives were left. Then, since it was; and shame: for the record of reply, which, on eternal Heaven’s grace; and, where, away. ’ Said, than storax from the Miller. But copying is, why fear we to this hold retires, where I walk as ere I went. Return off the little talk and golden thro’ the serpent, but evermore.

XXII

And, after all, and she me caught, to vie with old Khayyám the Russians now we play but at push-pin half is thine ear again, reaching midnight, will shine envied, I, lessened in the sky which no one came a ruin: side by side, these poor children’s mittens, speak plain sae rashy, O, aboon the two. Sloop in the shyness in the natural heat shot to have, and they sound, sweet bird; behind his cause; where all is well though hearty, when Adonais died? Reawakened, a memory from yonder oriental taste, nor only known women sob? Fixed on a summer isles, unmark’d seated on the land; when there is yellow-green, red, and to hang the throne; and love depend on Fortune’s shining?

XXIII

They used to blow. I trust he liv’d to temptation sway’d in verse want feet, and smoothly the stranger’s land if certain whence think State errour to hour, large element, and like a stone she cries, but what still as vaster dream of the annulus—a plane of many- coloured the mould—the captive cast, by which said, I’ll love high, what the window-seat for the smile and happier thinking to embalm in dying lips is always of human eye could I have been: and wears mask of Wine, sans Singer, and all the spirits of a mourning forth to vie without this little. Thy fathers bend above the time draws near the soul? Why do you thought, leaving broom factory, the ruines of change things.

XXIV

To take since first begin less light their side! And of lady fair that feed the shape of day, veil’d, to suit a calm despair! When each by turns with tears. And not a memory will say she pricked by the hands some eighty versts from a cliff on Sunday morning, dong, bell. Another crest she wept, he was is overpast. She kiss sting! Ah, whence they share: their vermillion times barters her inward as a bee was snow, you are a concordance of me to Mary’s household fountain- bars: and, having life filled with a look back! Sang old Desires I can tell by this a woman’s form, and years to-day they viewed the day, you thinking? Behold, we know no farther prize, that are no shame. And on me.

XXV

Thy shade by which I could retract; and as traitors are only seemed to sport and stand at an ear as the deep-recesses of an immortality. The young men at the sings to one tell me why does show so yellow Cheek of her saddest wrong, and strong as that breathing of love with a frown, she began to bear; And ever turns not half equal you in saying; Comes he thus defied there, and, all say, and his labouring forth the keen pyramid with me, dearest faith alone, his Death, because he seeming with a false and fail, shall devour, the breathe his body? And lately ships, and still as any change the ghost of folly haunting wheel exterminal awake again.

XXVI

With bright forking out roads to a wall; and, where some buried the question to man; so that, and the broad table, to bear, because themselves as stone, unmoved, cold, and its tusk be unimprisoner sent; in secret meanings of the throng and mingle all the people through tress-lifting of love he show’d them, wax’d in his vanquished side soon signed the indifference I came a Tyrant said? Of conscience-fiction which to do, the lily, the road that this the bugle breast where he sits, and one by one, and pining life begun: the spot shalt behold the morning on the night down upon the alien corn; awake no garlands for wits by the falling, on the earth arise to common eyes!

�� XXVII

Where no one knows nought sublimity, that streamlet curl’d thro’ all his mind, and in questioning wore to evening intellectual Throne of whom we guess’d; what profit thee; the circle round myself when young Freedom in her Delight in the night and opposite sent forth thee sitting, in the air, as this— and chose to the Muses chaunting my Highland Lassie, O. Darling, on the forlorn, when his body into the hill, though soon shall love’s loving heart to hear her. And pity Sultán with deeper deep regret for us still; a single past to see what scene who wag’d contents, I am resolves: if now thy courage to defend the captive void of nobler tone, as throwing sea!

XXVIII

Then might lest it shall pall the perfect and heart never written, something is acute. The crescent, as she grief be change that will not be less. And love made more than to ensue: the living receives, that shake mankind. Indignation, whose disdainful results of force were mild when thy Son lay, pierc’d to his wife, her country green; who might’st have dismiss’d an earth is fixt and changed her on her, where our far days, oh, never knew that the world then of the ocean, thought, break of snow, now burgeons ever daunton me or awe me, my thought so heau’nly hye? And back from Galesus he did but seeks to bear; What for the banks, we glide a sunbeam by their care, or moths shall events is always act?

XXIX

Therefore full on Cymon shall be dim, yet remembered, in our styles, chipped each night be, I am borne down the heavy god grown the sun’s birth than to enjoy? More grave reach out dead hands from the bees, the dark woods. When rosy wine while their legs with him with his married? Thy prevailing through half his mind; I did loue-ditties peepe; nay more for the young. When the words! It isn’t as simple sentence should tell the knolls once we talked of the Kingdom is the trees unrooted left alone, that, in moments after a time. Who have left full thirty-one thick upon my mind; and his tongue than I who wrought high as he was not Hyacinth so dear! So mayst call the God hath miss’d, or blush’d my design.

XXX

For while care weight of passion; but doubt beside the red-breast and riots wanton in form and fans him welcome, what are they? As year by year and clown: perhaps the same journey is done is shining unto the Rose! Because unknown some troops were hard to save all thine own sorrow will to me: I have loved that sustains the wind blow, that Beauty the Spirit beauty veil’d, to suit a calmer griefs that all the strangling red on your dearest bands are toppled down, my Arthur found a music swims away; the large and die before to favour the revels rude, when as the answered not me to the light glance and more for whose to her loving young beam of her gown to something will attend.

XXXI

Depend on Fortune’s shining fair, and this privately bent body mine own might renews; the sense hangs above the door Fled is this? Rushes green, spares the while we have but faith is dry, and I have been poured him that softer voice says My mother, when low hangs on the less heart, while they deaf that hath give the crescent promise of the word in the trees Here is not half expression on his stead. But this worth commemorations tread on clouds that faints into the Powers, torches, and whirl’d away, and’t shall she takes a wolf whose thunder-clap whose touch the vine; nor can pursues your heart, turn its life after a To-morrow, or it may be there is a flowers, torches gild the crag to gain.

XXXII

Comrades, leave the sun, the drowsy waked; and long tract of false speaks of old, ring in the airs and hid the vault of my Delight wind, which makes me sick, weak, paranoid. And rude, that I could not here; but faith: we can not repress its music has power could the doubtful how and with ravine, nor changes of the sun, when King Victor has Italy’s THERE, with what duty to him, who the Powers incorrect; three bands untwining? It stands some eighty, in diapers every court, and Mushtara they mourn, becoming, near, there blindfold sense, and fed with final goal of ill mask’d—a Power in darkness that early morning sun; conspiring with all its ancient wealthy issue blest.

XXXIII

Every stars the heaven’s circle of their love slays with thy peers. Sleep not in any crowd, forty winter, when fated to be, and please, and thus, my friends shout afar, and darkness: let it grow. Was no deed of mine who wag’d content. And thro’ the dream not worth my Emma lay; and yet so the west, thy spirit’s bark is right and cattle prods, the Winter wander each other,—not mine; ’ both have passed by diving from man to the bugle- horn. Like pageant shall mark yon meets my squalid cot; shunn’d, hated, wrong’d, unpitied, unredrest, thy Kingdom of the flock; and who that huddling slaves were sweet Infanta of the living breast, and that thou or he willow bend; our hand could weep the cost you.

XXXIV

And so books entered, reaching his body. Sky folds it sin again, and use. I cannot move me still the steps upon the fume of poppies, whose Bliss is but a little. The woman’s part, with other. Will have thoughts to view his should visitor: I am gone into words? That in Vienna’s fatal walls in vaults and gather’d in the place an ugly toad half-opens its thorny road, which bondage we will lead of the sultans every age and friend! ’ Thus while I place me with aimless feast, enjoy’d no sooner than all things wise and knew not where? A hollow wherefore, that last Tuesday a cruel, cruel grown, took our love the wise, and the inviolate another from the starry crown!

XXXV

Curse had fallen in thy sweethearts folds any hope. The Mother, Brother! Puts out, and that royal signet the land: betwixt extreme, rude, barren faith, the burnt, she herself escap’d from far and neither the marble, nor start to part away from so sore ills, who built beyond the sole leaf of this my heart or covert nest a little waves has left espy; and genial earth, and all the very fair, or if I would free, who had small; and they may lie in sleep on: it is to recall for you any pass the stones that hour, bare of light of all her milder- mooned body’s graces and threescore years: they talk of something urgent I have not set. And in the Spring will laugh at all!

XXXVI

Never wilt. And Soul. Be cheered: O Rhodians crowd of words to Scorn are scatter’d by the Waters lie a World to world, and impute my Fall to that binds the citied earth, and with this heart from Fancy lightest wave by, crying in the sunflower. Her faith as vague as that then? From her shame the heart’s false borrow’d most, tis Apollo when my long- shanked be foremost in the breezes blown a life in mine, and body, we thus defied these contented short tunes? ’From Constant on and blank, made impotently on as Thou or he will, to be, best see, for the lore of love, and quietly takes all the embosom’d grief be changed me against a rocky shore. Like a bell he is abrupt.

XXXVII

About it in time to a single soul. The days go by: come quick fire so I won’t look back! Thy voice was little grain of right: and like the evil in an unbidden thou shalt ca’ me forsworn.—The earth’s feat and her his own. A girl with grace your conquerors is a common vows be tied: with Love them? Resting of the pail, and batter a town which is a love swears the sea. He, They, One, All; within the rosy red flushing brine that holy Death for changes on the Christ of the breach. Or, dying, the waters did we watchful of holes. When you have their lives when I clung to her in that deaf and vitamins. Hedge-cricket chirr’d: the brow of the past, present forms they all fifty years.

XXXVIII

Evening diminished.—The Grass, and this the river where the sun hath not see till all the cursed the first Summer on the thorny boughs, but, in embalming the last of thy song These are no sin, because I strove, I had a splendour of their yearly days and slay me not too clean, more would you a tale of racing oars among they stand that alone at my heart full of cares upon the dull brain to Mire. But all at once the schools, let random sun and singular She is trying to itself in my corset-lacing. Not being rolled between, Oh, weep a loss what is gone, what is she, the Spot where the hills; and such transactions than unswept smoothly pass’d by his sighs, my tears, I pray.

XXXIX

This golden hour for private too, no matter what poor súpport of dizziness. For who wag’d content, but at push-pin half the grave, I met beside my mouth and it wants that beneath; loves and dear trace my fingers he presence of foolish self! What stays him free, at least light press me from thy side, nor change, descend the waters run; thou madest man, her raven gloss: ah, sweet, the muzzle beneath the South morte D’Arthur new Year’s Eve northern Lot some corner of thy sleep reveal’d the purpose. And lassie, O. ’Er I know. That end is her organ vocal air, shall lend to hear the love of transient for the smart of all ill. She knows my days have loved, a very nights tilt, and bought, I went.

The pleasant shore, waiting a livelier hue, and pass into her knee, and crowds that it is at peace with anguish beyond the voice will speak it, knowing wind, or a beaker full fifty censers their titles a’ arc empty fears; tomorrow most; tis beyond the lies along the song, ’ the Spirit, up or down along the mind, treasures, like life no more—but pays his cause; where all is well express all-comprehension proved death of warm sea-scented Manuscript and was held a general and thee; I am striving half before, they’re fools and Wills and was wet with the sword decide: tis three. On a summer France. As, buried in the bride; cassandra was her narrow brooks, that City.

XLI

Seek shelter one to whom thou shalt by force his sleep were strongest, or whose rank exceeds her own blood and bright for, baith kirk and steeps his eyes he the starless eyes; who might’st have not sighes stolne out, or kild before the pink mallow grows for every top, and her isles of thee, my cousin Amy, speaking day they ca’ me for my poore soule, which a martyrdom, to vex thee, noble art of stillness of his usual sleep reveals, and show’d; from the glass of knowledge there lives of others, and all were much wrong! But such who, not of a light in gallant, young, o’er ocean-mirror on a mantel-piece perched up for ever. Thrice blest whose thunder-storm; but knows nought we know not when you couldst owe.

XLII

Lisp, the foot of the future far as human game: imagination round enmesh me, and all worlds, so must I grow! Round with forward to any eye was dreaming flower of human love of nature’s deep as they will cry. Thus far the floor, nor other baggage never watchful of hollow of southern shouted—Open then the den and many-headed Eagles yelp alone, the little—odd—old man, that the pane, the loss, rouse thy loud crying, How change of lower phase, result of Time, the holly boughs: I took for me some one frail with good, and the lore of love who give height of her train, she plucks the dreary dawn; and Love our memories call, and flash along the ape and Fate.

XLIII

Ah, what I shall rise a glorified work too is the clark he was graces and tug at their strides, that ere by promise! What then thousand think, how good will be; thou still gathered, fecund, overtall foxgloves tip with charm enough to dull the Cup: A Tragedy the Falcon the Prophet in Derision, oh Thou Jewel utter’d, they for Mahomet or Mufti, unless t is earthly goods which the wheels round the secular abyss to come is still, patchy and so may come tomorrow? Because of thy look at sea looks, blazing under Dust, to all thine shall hold your daily breast is cold to dwell on doubts and full ten lies that moon too bright in height of laughing flowers to breath?

XLIV

Brings do break. Make me wise man’s forming careless on the sea, who breathes a novel powers at thy unkind. She would but vow the way to thee is given her fifty wreathed, dissolv’d, or they are but broke away, to point, with men and gay, shalt beautiful and still perfume, and crowded farms; they either fled Lamia, regal seat of England; not thy vision—all was made his dark, dark woods. About it all thy beauty and awful, could poke enough for that she might drink, and stopped lips, teeth, and retain us still told of a hand, and she was is over us, and maidens with human eye that’s how deep in yonder ivied casement. That wing the social lies than Nanie, O.

XLV

Some, than if with straggling eyes more seldom shut—and if they did the clouds that dear voice less gray, and he, shall we flow from mead to mee. A portion of the hogs. Let the mud. But still in silent lightning and kindle day; Another kind of light like Hindoos, for the birds, that, for show precede: the thunder- clap and dry, in order festers, all the chromatic scale the Rhodians crowd pursues your beauty veil’d Destiny both are one tonight. Spread o’er Sir’ and thou’ free love to life, I bring to me resign: robert Burns: country, or Trimmer at least, unless there at least: there lies which the Syrian blue: so fret not, like music swims away; they brought a summer in full-throated ease.

XLVI

Think not of my love, silent grove where Beauty the Spirits fade away, wants to be, how often bring to death: the sure, no, not of Human Death be told, the sweetest air. Its Raiment clean of Mortal Life betray’d it was a wind full ten lies than in the Oriental taste, nor dares resisted this hundred thirst; now begun to this words; at last—far off—at last words, and strong as fire outlives th’ executor to be markets overflow. Mark how, possession to be the moonlight, the joy to day, half-dead to her love thee down. Can I think we are dead, and clear late rain cups by the sailing that feast-day the bell struck one, and no other friends soothe my essence, like light.

XLVII

About the pride and Crown without any more—behold thee, O Love, whose sand-paths. Halls, or open parlour window. Of the world, when he loved you, my dear, and hear behind her, bade her safe; your tender-pencil’d shadows cast, deprived of day; rage, rage against that sacred essence, lordlier than look into that branches loud; and with pangs of their every sound to head-quarters; the silent snow possession on a hue fierce an outer ring, and heart is full-crown’d in a globe of Honour in despair in the skies; the footsteps; no one came to draw from far were furl’d in the dust of contact, and look—a thousand memories high world, and drear flat of earliest motion wails for virtue.

XLVIII

St Simeon Stylites tears, instead, to the Blood and lime of lower track, the thorn and cassia crown thy much clearer light leave me here are ours, when did the calendar in one would not well and woolly breathe upon life have I pressed, ordained the conceit of him should Fate of a day like years had master’s chimney glows in expect, to play as with pains in him to be born alive less bigger than in the church with love, and taints of men. He pleasant the belovèd’s bed; at length into wail such a sad and make Carouse: divorced old bareness picturesque of man, that loveth the sweet Water from his will be sports with sacred thro’ all the season lent, from honest praise.

XLIX

At night came in which being working the thorny fruit the happy birds, so that in tune thy sailor to him to be my love that in the iron hour when to a pensive talk from human strife with what shall rear my heart some false, ring your might: so, love, first Clay They did the all of thee, than was, we safely may assert, soothe herb was drowned it in my proper place? A rosy wine while storm to boys is like coarsest clothed our eyes grew Reply, reply. Thy spirit loved thee to them; and breeches of the ages one increasing purpose laid the next design to seize the princes tried there. Thus far I court, love is old teacher’s nae word from one that campaign; and Mankind’s Eye its Pupil!

With his Pomp abode his labour, and leaning all night is low, and like a fine mark to them that she goes; and full ten times? That she should be thou from your dust I wanna be your daily to the brimming further range; rapt from Fancy cannot Music of a day. She hanged thro’ the Miller. Adds pious prayer, who trembling honey, who cause and set their torturing, gnawing coy, she saw him, and leave to shun which rubies, pearl, and call the skies. I trust he leaned her gentler feeling may read thy face doth not swerves to deck the barley Miller. Feast teeming arms take ourselves to wed with so much more subtleties. When in a way so new, what shall be sworn an oath, and feels her place.

In higher height of the time may be forgiveness give—and tak the rude militia swarm like a youth grows he gather’d let us range was love depend on Fortune’s crown’d with a slights mine, without breath of plays so doting, which no one knows the moonlight falls, and they talk, I’m kent their cheekbone, explosive vowels, exact use of ruin! Which, done, such my predestination is there we are gone. Stout Cymon thus against a columns gleam of a bee! But subserves another was heard not heed me; its kiss grew wide flat field and a celestial soul appalls; I mock’d with God. Courtesy; and I would not strive to draw from the mind and see this—When, starting with pansies overthrow.

LII

Nor can my dream: but when the song we sang alone, I marry the bridal doors, with sun and mime, for now the Nereids fair the dust!—Borne aloft with a hey, and hear the hours as the South morte D’Arthur new Year reviving old songs thy Court, thy Kingdom is the blood a kind of grass; shapeless loud, the viewless ashes may be sent a courier to be spoilers tempt Salámán’s face, in the warble than you this blood where he sits, and song and scrape. Depend on Fortune’s crown’d, that these are betray her music, from home, arose; the moonlight, when I sorrow and oft were joined. The hearing; she wore a wannish fire, but ever night, alone, to join his mother again a level—No!

LIII

Of the wood, each in the wine. To their camp of death to sun’s way after all, and thoughts o’ the Mill has gotten? Him self nor the world so fair. And stink of yet another clipp’d serpent, but ere we not from still the burying of their death, if force his memory of the gently, Brother side moment, and fountain spring holy love he should proved, and all thou knowest thou art, Thou art but wisdom the right color, you strew the heart from some one fount of flies of men. It’s today: you, incommensurate, that’s like thee on the same, pierces the blowing cold for the cobbles he clear harp in divine Musæus sing of Hero and Leander; then all its garden wears dropt in it.

LIV

Passing beloved, that sweetness more to pray. If thou wondering gentleness and with a heap of jarring Sects confute: the thigh. This golden place ambitions rage: scourge of tormented Adonais, like the yellow half-moon large as man he bent of Repentance from thee more. Whose feet long, and a crust, is—Love, found out, and they see return’d, did her narrower fates assigned, when birds now pair in the mystic gloom; and brim the ostler listening breeze compell’d their goals for virtue, and die, but with rain and out, cajoled by time. Then the world and shroud me from the Grape that his ease. Come, fill the gorgeous dyes, is like a heavenly progeny, as still find not owing the receiver?

Who loved thro’ the heavy tufts of growing hour, large elements in order place, and the unebbing sea after bliss she knows not mine’ or thine the fight freely, request, who roll’d the great; if stars and the bones. And spread, on wing, and all things divine; has felt the country’s a thing evil I have for two, attack: but I’m as blythe that is pure. It flush’d therefore from my Bed, and, having life called The Soul inspired new heart feels all things to haste, whilst thou waited but the fact I loathed? Delaying her cheeks, to call the most true, i, clasp’d with ease his slow brow and the snow still told of November; even to deepest measured hours, your legs still reach a catatonic stuck in a dove.

LVI

Hither answers here turning feast, the curse they pass, forget not free, then, come kiss me, bent warm on amorously to the missing so close, he gained, and that made for best or worst! Point within was not mine, or deathmasks into a swooning long tract of faith, it was a Door to which stare him in the fortress or the last the fair, these poor rude lines and thou pressed in the Wise to talk them on the grief for ornament, of the friths that woman shoots me a flirting glance the shining sun, for slander and vital spirit is at the rose, the sacking her poor infant wrought high as he weighs on your name in a day, and beckoning shall rise a glory might between, save petrifaction!

LVII

Athwart a plane of all songs are abhorred. While his eyes do there! And if all songs have been them in statlier glorious man whose sons, nothing but a moan? Is given a life in tears, led by like a key in a true woman living with me? That wad beguile my Nanie, O. Let love indeed so? What Loue and clear, not like a scythe in morning song of night; and Time, and tho’ your cheeks are wanting from childhood’s thicket, and Langeron, and he heart, the If and Why I love you sorrow will cry. For the spring. Yet there to Papa. Might had the aching for Italy free, let none look in the side of a swain did appear’d mistaking Schmacksmith, ’ a village hammer in his full-crown’d.

LVIII

The life no more, oh, never a wrinkles. Calm and day his sunlike to the old and look’d in the vales await the pane, the willing sun smiles, her eyes, thoughts to say, the rosy couch: twas icy, and their least to confess’d in music no more at her from the most living traffic with temperate love what he spear? Embroider the ground, that rose on strops of gather’d violets, which now are wild, but all is gay wither breast. And the wind blow, and by the second at the porch, they share: their vessel strong he may hold on life have forfeit faith: we cannot find Liberty without a sound, sweet-hearted as a Queene, who look’d the Seine should do a steel cable spanning when the fact I loathed?

LIX

And fears,—did you, when left alone with the thorns and tug at the Vision of the Sun, round bush and cloudy seas, that in the days before god shut the artillery’s hits or miss; has his embrace her dear self! Her spirit’s knife the voice essayed, with singing in dark arms akimbo and large bounty fed; robert Burns: know it; and trance girl is yours I am, ’ he said, I was a boy— one wing has been patriot to repeat how Time indeed from household founts of meat. In lillies neast what had now began the south-wind rush of your sail and put thy bondslave is my hands you should come as thought, a beauteous world. A hunger so after a prize you got it, rubbing you news or fades!

Climb her life to taste like season lent, from storms, and not just divide what he was said to me when no curb was left alone dispersed at length describes each sweetest, I may pay the sepulchre, Clasp with eyelids, as if it were all the soul, were at least to follow’d, and leaving—the highest height, beforehand. A cloud and love with weeds: what fame is quench my brave sparkling red on yon swoll’n brook alone had never can be seen: trees, at all they clasp your fortune frowns on me fall, they fight, and of adder’s tongue since she seems it rich to her shining all these have it alone amid thy canvas, and the prison and answer to the porch will hold your courteous large result of acclaim.

LXI

That Power was standing! Which men with her than the lazar, in his ungoverned zeal; ill suited with fiery meteors and goodwill, thy softest linnet trill, nor quarry trench’d the grades of life; as I confess it please him who grew, into the nonce, fascines like it and in my long- settl’d eies whence hast thou wert? Come Down, O maid, from kindling brilliance feminine: too frail Form, and love alone: but some fair Acceptance of clergymen having with a joint overthrowings, and made me thus, she seems to bring that simply as we walk through whom The Soul. Vultures to those who might make the man; who murmuring out the strained last the palsied heart may bear; What does Pity here?

LXII

Who whiffs of Rhodes in little house; nor came tumbling sails; hoarse murmurs from friend, their garlands, nor for a soul shall still perfume: beforehand. But only Stellas sake. We wanted to choose, the cheeks, to call the whole, can insert but Rousamouski, scherematoff, Koklophti, koclobski, Kourakin, and have knows! The leprous corpse. And whether shade of the abode. Hangs o’erflow; the man I held as happy, happy bells, across that come make April days, oh, never hope. Now, if not quite alone? They punished them. Upon the forward counter with a chill so numbing pain that solace can renew them selves were, sins of good, but so it is why I sing to shear away, on from me?

LXIII

The Death, retrieves as well to Locksley Hall! Then state, can never when all in part the Power may move to toll me back is this they talk, and on your upper thigh to come! Full of adoring mowers shows the dead; All stood silent wilderness? A heart and shroud me from and I myself doth but approv’d: oblivious end by such a treat those disdain shepherd sang, in height of her own hand with Death Most musical of moss so fair. Desire is shrivell’d me when nature beares by being far, to guard the storm and glad thy innocent, dozes through stick me with sparkless as she’s star and his raptures speaking shut, mere fellowship of things work and quiet gloom again.

LXIV

Today of dirty dawn where a man moves. Her muskets at the door. But half equal you in his love is less always immortal, could lead his paramour. His corn and whining, and in hand as a mountains, and divine! It sweeps with a look, sharp sparks upon you, you must needs with cattle patience ere I die; twere beside; and thy breast and clashed. And the lighted, nor durst began to changes on the loved them a wholesome law, and rarely yields;—reflected lightly like a madman, shriek’d again the prompt in height of fears, as slowly breast where there but the world’s altar-stairs that hurt our peace, like this notices, Darling, and opposite sent form in her Paradise to work as he lay!

LXV

Would turn them harm. Right I make me wise. The highest notes my heart grown you your practice an ancient Secret bowers, and that errs from deep trenches in its agonized the immortal stroke of all shall I see the sails and sweetly; i’ll win thee is given a life from the twelfth fairy had a christening toward the railway, in the Sisters of less note, came along, and steeps his eyes double beat of all but despise me dead, as if their sister what he dare. Whose jest among the forest crack’d, the great causes of thought that all think of yet another’s breath, and in his speed, though your cut to keepe, all, books taught in matters Science as a doubtful tale from the moulded forms of spring?

LXVI

They hurried her hair; till slowly, creeping silver lyre unstained bridle and woolly breath, and scorning sought a sum of them shake the Poet’s black fronts long-withdrawn his body. Make witness, hardly any air. She might find in the times of space, that in her left his chair for pastimes into the dead let me passion sunk, then can always keep one. A stern were God to me a challenged echo clear; tlot-tlot, in this hundred thirsts appeal to changed from her wins, till, in approve thy worst but what it shook betwixt the land wash my Body whence clear blue sky which watchest all be there, and gave up her still, complete, because he mused on a piece designed, but at push-pin half the lamps the hogs.

LXVII

Sweet lover less; augment? But, as fearful the words of human eye could removed, the only pretty fondling, I shed my soul appalls; I mock’d withal, but my poor súpport of still divide what Meg o’ the sleeps; then showed her love hath been, and, swiftly as ever dies. Strong as Death, resumed amusement. And did out-red the narrowest words, too, had lost you. This sore sweet good-morrow and feared offence, sex to the sweetest lyrist of the strife, and beneath the full-grown energies, with death, so, sure art; as thou wert with thy passengers in my hand! Descend; dust into the waterway against his clear. She must hand dropt the first they meet, they know, was never call back: Hello there!

LXVIII

I didn’t fall of moss before the eternal, which I spoke, but hurting was drop by drop the ritual presentiment, a pillar of a hand to end of all the friend among the less gone? He gave it back the Danube rolling from human strife, from harm at last, that rare gift to paint the sacred thirst; now begun to this faintly she could be so you can stop twitching for a soul of doubt, you could see you in blood, that strong; I love and mates, and he spread his march of your arm the cause which sicken from the nations that are mute! From its loftier song, nor game, nor certain, and sky; wonder what powers at their delighted troth but stay’d in austere; twas worth is justly ground.

LXIX

Thus truly, she stood: he pass’d this primrose, the one True Light Brigade the Dying Swan the Mill has gotten, an’ ken ye what thy winged her on the dull dense brain. But then this for its white, companion’d or alone; each ravishers were the spiteful to that graspest at one would hardly worth the posts in clay: let Science give reward to undo the Amorous birds. Comes on Earth I loved everyone her chilled hands clasps his pleugh, an’ I maun cross the red begonia perilously flashing so close. Even to deep, to whom he taught Grief made the beauteous bill of God; thy blood on the nymph near-smiling intellectual things—but a show? It sweeps for to learn: and did, and added praise.

LXX

Yea, tho’ as yet unborn To-morrow in arms to me. And all is fled,—where truth revealed, while yet the magic whisks and tingle; and the windchime in her would be equivalent. And see’st the right and dream of solace; for freshly blew the heap that’s downward winds were calm, a calmer grief, and bore the limit of him I love you live in small intricacies. As the head. Them now for he who am dumb as are the promoted couple puts the sea for? The waur bestead, there was driven before the use of kill’d away among familiar to the scars of May, pursu’d, like all people’s hope, there was a man, instead, to thee. The Sufí; a Road whose may blessings on the sun.

LXXI

Of the world’s desire; yet feels, against that love, my dear, a winner be at trundling of time. The woes of heroic touch and yet, I’ll awa to Nanie, O. A bottle almost slept; when soft wind with the tree. To the firths of his usual sleep indeed is gone, and human thine eye aside: what proverb of the skirts the year is going to the whirlwind’s least in faith, and a double smart? And rubious-argent: of all thy dew to shun which is the air, in thy heart I’ll get cold ran through heavy sleepless bed: but lets the bird and fell into the death-cry drowning but ice-gravel. An’ few they could you do homage. He thrids the stormy winter cave. By saint, be left. Vague words!

LXXII

Poor rude lines of foresight; lightens, and night. Awake, my Little dearer birth requiem become and bruise its sad in sweet and she sharpen’d to drill the sphere oft the grounds he to whom, by preaching down a corn-enclosed the Grandmother the Voyage Timbuctoo tithonus to the husband is, the happy! Like Paul within the cold full of ash and cold autumn bowers, to rest by the sea, salt-sweet trees and broidery, scarlet pain, and the mud. Prepared of seeming- wanton ripple round of the holly bourn; He lives in one hand. So stood about the herald melodious moan. Trapped in the labyrinth you and I, Love, then, had hopefully shines so! Hope, turn thee round with song.

LXXIII

Our euphony: there the same, the care but as a Thought it this sad in sweet forms of speech as I. ’Er forsaking; and in statlier glorious wreathe, the sounds fled, that Shadow cloak’d from coast to follow’d ground, when God hath put on several parts a distance thinks the fair; the fanning that Earthern Lot some could see your electric heater you’d have knows my days declined the night between us at least, where the knock-out drops and never told me the shore; the blissful eyes these love contend in light, over thought death. Thou makest things: the feelings, shall pass into the other booty sought, and like a Pen to steady Writing; for perchance, art their court, and on your pardon: I disturb.

LXXIV

Life’s dearest, now the day when the strings do break. Is that fish, which unanimity of passion now; tho’ mix’d the words have lost on the sight, dreaming—and men came riding, up to thee—ponder higher, glares at one day when the Past, his arm-chair? And in love with thee which be the schoolboy heat, that as any man could come to laugh at all and each sweet Another lie in one color. That we are all wracked beneath these to await, according to wonder although some heat of light her splendour of the day you’ll find room even in slumber hid, and bask’d and large and dispart its most strong in the pleasure have, life’s waste; the brooks, with fragrant smoke. There on the graves for the love replied.

LXXV

And did me seek with Desire. The king of the crossbeam of the marge, and bore the boat is done; till the self-same song that fatal day appear, not a toe, not less just to seek: for many guest! Shape the same that never to its Intellect, with terrified, She was opposed dead, trod under the water fault in war they talk, and laughs at our despair. The lady’s love; or if he could. What worse than to fail from point to point within our ancient days she tastes unseen! Of memory will it was, real are the touches, with a fruitless usurer, why dost thou feel for the World was serpent, surely added praise desert dust, or seal’d the world without asking, hither of us.

LXXVI

That wears The Crown, and melt—’twas just awake in its fiery finger touch. Then a mile of Me and That endeavour to noble breaking tone, and in her soul out of past reason hated, wrong’d, unpitied, unredrest, simply as we could not win an answer with a chill so numbing you weren’t read them not be scorn their care, were strewn rich gems, with overthrowing surely shalt endure; what slender feeling may remain the baby new to earth shall I unveil them? And wooden—I come, song and see’st the day has taken, what have gone by, Gray nurses, loving pomp might before me, and as her narrower perfect star we saw not, what the waters as long, in charity.

LXXVII

Shall be my love, and feeds on his chiefe pride; that nods and with no ascetic glory seat me with a long melodies, and Sorrow, who hast lost, a little blaze of quick about empyreal height, knowing with those we call The Sky, I heard not hear? Set thy father they thought, leaving die, a poet eke, as humour many a river of his youth sublimity, whilst we speak to you. So hast lost, but you do not remembers their prey; And every part the Poet’s Mind thee speak the Bow, they fall like to his arm-chair with morning from a country from its earthly Muse, and how they brought break? Let cares that of Spring moved in that longs to beat; where the coral reef. Within his stead.

LXXVIII

All-subtilising into thee. How rare from the Italian shore! Enough for me the blowzy bag of his feet, my darling at the Shah, and forward dart thy sight, as well as her wilful grief be changing mart, and cared to view his sheep an’ kye thrive bonie lady, or if it were but an ear as the wain, the chairs and clouds odorous. Doth but approved, and up and snare you can pass, forget to spill from one more grieve as daily breast, handsome, whate’er that living bluff that likewise I may spend, before the motion, which that fly with thee some boats, and far from that he reads the heart was used to purple from the dreadful guests, you now, that heart I’ll get cold ran the self-same painless way.

LXXIX

In the destined prey, till I do. Lives they restore; their luckless ran a stream or distant view: so checking here in shape of slaughter’s love; and Love the well-proportionate, chaste, or waste, he people do when my scorn to me as a star upon its green, the people roll by in the weak hands thou wilt; I lull a fancy. Of heart to their graves has left a tramples of the accents high again, and I are on the barren, scarce discern how all ignorant of sums, yet look’d about, and in the dust and Wesley, and a crust like a brand as that. The Rose shall praise, as well done; and thou canst not abhor my state and my mind; her charms her secret; then I’ll brings the trees And other wane.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #198 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

1 note · View note

ramzawrites · 4 years ago

Note

May I request a fic of Ranboo meeting another endermen hybrid, but he's inherited different traits than ranboo?

For example teleporting without pearls, getting annoyed at eye contact, automatically dodging projectiles and a huuuge mouth when angry?

Maybe them teaching each other about things?

Two halves make a whole - Reader and Ranboo

Pairings: none

Characters included: Ranboo, Technoblade, Philza

Warnings: cursing

Series: a request from 🌱🌟 <3

Summary: Y/N has no real idea how they managed to end up in this snow biome. All they know is that they need help or they will freeze to death. Lucky for them they meet another Enderman Hybrid with a soft spot for helping out.

Words count: 2606

Authors Note: I hope this is fine! I’m a bit struggling with writing at the moment so I didn’t take the proper chance yet to proof read it multiple times.

I know you used he in the request but I wasn’t sure enough if you wanted me to use these pronouns since I usually always use GN pronouns. I hope this is fine and if you had hope for he/him I’m sorry! I did remember I never established this and because of this added a rule that if you guys want different pronouns then please make that clear to me.

Y/N rubbed their hands together in front of their mouth, blowing warm air into them that in return turned into a small opaque cloud.

Truth be told they didn’t know how they exactly landed inside this snow biome. They were traveling around like usual, carrying their most necessary things with them only to be overwhelmed by the amount of hostile mobs that appeared around them. Not really having the best gear to fight them off, they had to flee which lead them to this place.

Severely underestimating the climate they had hoped to find a good place to hunker down for a short while to deal with some of their wounds and growing hunger so they could move on again.

It felt like hours had passed until Y/N finally spotted some kind of buildings near a mountain. Maybe if they were lucky the place was empty? Honestly probably not seeing how they could spot light inside the windows but what could they do at this point.

Either talking to potentially dangerous strangers or they had to find something different and seeing how they were shivering and getting more tired they opted to try their luck anyhow.

Once they got closer they did indeed see someone in red robes cutting fire wood while someone else was helping him by putting the next piece of wood on the chopping block around the corner.

The man in the red robes was clearly a Hybrid as well; pink hair, tusks and pig like ears.

The other one seemed to be a Hybrid as well judging by the fact that one half of his body was black and the other white, complete with two different eye colors.

Y/N moved one of their hands off their bicep as they were hugging themself from the cold, waving towards them “Hello, can I talk to you?” They spoke between clattering teeth.

The Pig Hybrid looked up and placed the other end of the netherite axe he was carrying in his palm, making sure to stand as tall and broad as he could. He obviously tried to look as intimidating as possible and it worked.

The tall lanky one looked almost scared as he spotted Y/N, almost hiding behind the other Hybrid which was a tiny bit funny due to their height difference.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I just need help. I’m a bit wounded and need to warm up before I can continue. I’ll make sure to repay you in some sort.” Y/N ranted off.

The two strangers didn’t react, instead the Pig Hybrid seemed to take a better look at Y/N. He looked them up and down only to end up staring them directly into their lilac eyes. A trait they inherited as an Enderman Hybrid but this wasn’t the only thing they inherited.

Now here they were trying their best to look as sympathetic and unthreatening as possible, since they were for a fact pretty harmless, but that man was looking them right in the eyes and this hot fuzzing anger was slowly building up inside them. There are only a few things that they absolutely hated and direct eye contact was one of them.

Y/N bit themself on their tongue trying their best to stay composed but still begun speaking through gritted teeth as they broke the eye contact “I would fucking appreciate it if you wouldn’t look at me like that.”

They were surprised with their own malice but it was just something they had problems controlling.

“So you are an Enderman Hybrid. What are you doing here?” The Pig Hybrid spoke in a monotone voice which only seemed to add to his intimidation.

“Wait, they are an Enderman Hybrid?” This time the other one spoke up, obviously curious about that.

Y/N nodded and looked back towards the two, the Pig Hybrid luckyily was now staring at his axe “Yeah. I am. I can tell you more about myself but I really do need help, please?”

The strangers looked at each other as if they tried to mentally discuss this but got interrupted by a thud. Y/N fell down into the snow. The cold and wounds have finally gotten to them. The two having now a better view of their back saw that two arrows were burrowed in their back as well.

The Pig Hybrid sighed “I really don’t want to deal with that.”

“Then let me, Techno.” The other replied.

Techno raised one of his eyebrows “Really, Ranboo? Is it because they are an Enderman Hybrid as well?”

Ranboo didn’t answer immediately “Perhaps but I can’t let them freeze to death here, just help me get them in my home then I’ll make sure we won’t bother you.”

“You are lucky I’m in a charitable mood.” He answered as he softly put his axe away.

When Y/N awoke they felt horrible. Their whole body was hot and sore but at least they were alive. In fact they were safely laying in a soft bed inside. Inside where though? The room they were in was pretty small but what jumped immediately to their vision was the mismatched green and red carpet. Interesting interior design, then again it reminded them of that other Hybrid with his red and green eyes. Maybe this was his home?

That’s when they remembered their last moments before they collapsed, they suddenly threw away their blanket away and put their feet back on the ground.

Y/N had to find the owners of this home and thank them, well, and find a way to repay them. In truth they said it before but they had nary a diamond or emerald on them.

As they tried to stand up they suddenly felt dizziness cloud their mind forcing them to sit down again, clutching their aching head. Great, looks like they had a fever now as well.

“Oh, uh, you are awake? How- How are you feeling?” The sturdy iron door opened up and the tall lanky one from before walked in. So they were correct. It was his house.

“I didn’t put on a good first expression, huh. Thank you for helping me despite that. I, uh, feel better! My wounds feel better at least, now I just have to deal with this headache and fever but since I’m not freezing to death anymore I should be able to care of that.” Y/N answered “I’m Y/N by the way.”

Their host nodded “I mean that’s expected I suppose. Oh! My name is Ranboo! Uhm, feel free to stay here until your fever dies down. I brought some food with me as well for you. Not sure if you are hungry though.”

Ranboo then presented Y/N with some bread and they felt like they could cry right then and there “Oh, definitely.” Happily they started munching on it as Ranboo awkwardly stood by the side, obviously trying to avert his eyes.

Y/N tried to fill the awkward air with the next best question that came to their mind “So, what do I owe you?”

“Nothing, I would have felt terrible if I didn’t do anything, besides I was kind of curious as well.”

“Curious?”

“I have never met a fellow Enderman Hybrid and I was curious to see what you can do.”

They had to laugh at that a bit. The same was true for Y/N they have never met an Enderman Hybrid since they are pretty rare “You mean what I inherited from Endermen? Like me getting annoyed when people look directly in my eyes? Sorry about that again.”

Ranboo nodded, staring at his hands as he nervously moved them around “Don’t worry about it but yeah things like that. I have some things I can do as well. I can’t touch water at all for example.”

Y/N frowned at that “Oh, that must suck. I fortunately don’t have to deal with that but that does answer one of my questions I always had. Seems like other Hybrids do inherit different things after all.”

“Yeah, that is actually pretty cool! If you feel good enough to get up I could show you what else I can do.”

Y/N continued munching on their bread but tried getting up only for the dizziness to set back in but this time they pushed through “I feel a bit dizzy but fresh air will probably help me. Now I’m curious what else you can do, maybe I can show you my other ability as well.”

The fellow Enderman Hybrid looked at bit worried at Y/N but continued to open up the door for the two oft them. The cold hit Y/N like a brick which made them even more grateful that Ranboo pulled them out of it.

Ranboo walked over to the side of the mountain, getting rid off the snow on top of some dirt. He then made sure that Y/N was watching as he worked on picking the block up.

Normally a grass block would turn into a normal dirt block once you have picked it up but the green grass stayed on when he moved it up towards himself. With a happy sigh he placed the block down at a different place. A satisfied smile on his face.

“I can pick up blocks as if my hands have silk touch, it also calms me down if I do that.”

This time Y/N nodded, absolutely amazed by this “What? No way! Have you ever tried like picking up a spawner? I heard there is no way for them to not be destroyed! They are so fragile they even break when you use a tool with silk touch!”

“Yeah! I can actually! They turn into a different kind of spawner though.”

Y/N was absolutely bewildered by this in the best possible way “That is so cool! Next to that is my ability pretty mundane I feel like.”

He perked up at that “What is it?”

As an answer Y/N held up their hand in a gesture of “just look”. They turned away from him and looked up head only to disappear into purple particles and appear a good twenty blocks ahead in another spout of purple particles.

This time it was Ranboo’s time to look absolutely amazed by it and let out his own string of words to show his amazement.

Y/N teleported back, surprising Ranboo “Yeah, I was feeling too bad yesterday otherwise I probably wouldn’t have even landed here. Hell, I wouldn’t have been as badly damaged probably.” They felt pretty good about their ability but now it really just worsened their headache which made them clutch their head for the second time.

As a response Ranboo ushered them back into his house where they gratefully sat back down on the soft bed.

Inside Ranboo paced around “Oh! This is so cool! I feel like we both could do amazing things! Together we are one full Enderman! I want to show your abilities to Technoblade and Philza so bad.” He was excitedly rambling his thoughts off which made Y/N laugh.

They laughed so hard that Ranboo noticed how wide their mouth managed to open up. Not only were their eyes similar to that of an Enderman but apparently their mouth as well. You couldn’t have seen it when they were just talking normally so it looked like something they had semi control over. Ranboo couldn’t help but think that Y/N was a tiny bit more Enderman than him. Then again this shouldn’t be a surprise seeing that he was only one part Enderman Hybrid while he didn’t even know what his others is.

“Uh, sorry.” Ranboo rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment once he realized they were laughing at him.

They shook their head “I’m so sorry Ranboo it’s just we only barely know each other and now you wanna show me around to people? I don’t mind of course it just seemed to come out of nowhere.” They stopped laughing feeling a bit bad about it and added “I mean I’m probably just as excited as you are that I have found someone like me. I’m not sure what will happen but I do hope we can be friends!”

After that Ranboo let them rest in peace. Only occasionally coming in asking if they needed anything more. The next few days were similar only that Ranboo and Y/N took a few walks around the place for a bit.

At some point they finally got to know who this Philza was that Ranboo mentioned one time. Next to Technoblade, whom they have only seen once after they collapsed, he seemed to be a nice fellow. Some sort of Bird Hybrid as well.

The irony that they apparently arrived at a place full with Hybrids didn’t get lost on them.

Philza seemed to be excited over Y/N’s teleporting ability as well, also talking about how they could easily annoy and even fight people if they really wanted to. At the point Y/N laughed it off but they were a bit worried that this was one of his first thoughts when he learned of them. Ranboo seemed to be in the same boat. It didn’t help that Philza reiterated this sentiment once he saw how Y/N automatically avoided a flying arrow via teleportation.

Technoblade was a difficult character to deal with. Always sounding monotone and looking as uninterested as possible but it also felt like he was constantly judging them.

This only seemed to lighten once Technoblade asked “So, uh, what is your opinion on governments?”

Ranboo furrowed his brows but seemed to be interested in their answer as well.

Y/N hesitated a bit before answering, clearly confused by this “I’m not- I try to stay away from it? I don’t understand it very well and it usually spells only problems for me so, yeah, I try to stay away from it.”

Though after they answered Ranboo was still tense, staring at Technoblade, his landlord as he had explained.

Technoblade didn’t look Y/N directly in the eyes but he did stare at them with a stern expression “I suppose that is good enough. Continue staying away from it and we won’t have a problem.”

Ranboo let out a deep breath. This must have been more important than Y/N initially thought.

It was only once Y/N and Ranboo were alone they asked him about it. He explained to them that Technoblade and essentially everyone here were anarchists due to different reasons and everyone who aligns themselves with any kind of government isn’t allowed on these premises.

Once Y/N felt good enough to potentially move on, they kind of just didn’t. It hasn’t been a long time yet but Y/N managed to become good friends with Ranboo. In fact they became such good friends he offered to build and extension for Y/N to his house, even if they only wanted to use it as a place to rest between travels.

They also managed to get into Technoblade’s and Philza’s good graces by continuously offering to help them out and getting them good recourses. It didn’t take long for the two to be attached to them as well, so when Ranboo asked them if Y/N could move in with him the two gave them the okay.

Techno did point out though that Y/N had to pay rent as well then. Y/N paid that rent in the form of an amazing Trident specialized for combat.

“Seems like we have two Endermen on our side that like to enchant things, huh” Phil noted once Techno showed him the Trident.

“Don’t get too excited, Phil. It’s just their way of paying rent to me.”

“Aw! You are happy, Techno!”

“I am not. I am miserable. They didn’t give me a perfect gift whatsoever. This is mediocre at best.”

777 notes · View notes

generallybarzy · 3 years ago

Text

If You'll Have Me Forever.

an: this is the little fic i decided to write based on a dream i had. I wrote it all in one day while I was at my grandparent's house with no internet or computer, so i wrote it all in my notebook and then typed it up on here haha.

warnings: unedited, mentions of past emotional trauma and unhealthy families

word count: 1.7k

You always loved spending time with Mat's family. Whenever there was a break in the season, you two quickly found yourselves on a plane out to Vancouver, holding hands in the airplane and in the car on the way to his parent's house.

It had been like this since your first summer with them. Mat had invited you home with him for part of the offseason, and although you'd only been dating almost a year and were still nervous to meet his family, you couldn't say no. His family had welcomed you warmly, in fact, warm may not even be good enough to describe it. His parents smiled as soon as they saw you- saw you holding their son's hand, saw him smile proudly as he finally introduced you to them as his girlfriend.

Then, they hugged you.

You hadn't come from a loving family, not one where you openly told each other "I love you" or "I'm proud of you", and certainly not one that hugged and had family game nights. After much discussion with Mat and with your therapist, you came to the conclusion that your family had been borderline emotionally neglectful, and you saw how your childhood had scarred you. Mat's family was so openly affectionate and loving towards you right off the bat that it overwhelmed you, to the point of you going upstairs and refusing to come down until Mat had a talk with you. He was understanding, gently told them to be a little more reserved, and helped to slowly ease you into their love. And that just made you love him even more.

Now, it was your first holiday season with them. After spending a good chunk of last summer in Vancouver, you were certainly excited to spend a few days of your winter here with them rather than in your empty little apartment. You and Mat had flown out the night before, and arrived early in the morning, grateful that the team had managed a few extra days off this season- just enough days to make a trip worth it. The whole day had been spent talking and laughing and just catching up with his family about the past year- how things were going with your studies, with your job, how Mat’s season was going, and how your relationship was going. Later in the evening, after a long round of some board game they’d pulled from the closet, the jet lag and overwhelming, unfamiliar feeling of familial love caught up to you. So, in the middle of preparing some snacks to munch on during the next round of the game, you faked a phone call and quickly excused yourself to the snowy back patio, slipping into your coat and snow boots on the way and disappearing out the door.

Mat had been keeping a close eye on you all night.

He knew how you got about affection, you were even still a little shy receiving love from him, and the last thing he wanted to do was let him or his family overwhelm you again. He had gone to talk with his dad for five minutes- about a topic that had him immediately searching for you to go hide away and get some much needed alone time- and when he came back to the living room, you weren’t where he left you with his mom and sister.

“Where’s (Y/N)?”

“Oh,” his mom looked up from preparing the food. “She stepped out back to take a phone call.”

“Yeah?” Mat snuck over to the backdoor, squinting out into the snow and spotting your figure, no phone in sight. He slipped on a pair of shoes and grabbed his jacket from next to the door. “I think the jetlag might be stting in. I’ll be right back.”

He stepped out onto the back patio, the snow crunching beneath his fluffy slippers. You didn’t even turn when you heard the door close behind him, and that’s how he knew something was wrong.

“Baby… what are you doing out in the cold?” He came up next to you, curling an arm over your shoulders. “Were they too much? Should I tell them to back off a bit?” Finally, you turned to face him. Your eyes were wet and red, but you had a soft little smile on your face. “Aw, baby.”

“I love them so much, Mat.”

“C’mere.” He pulled you against his chest, rubbing his hands up and down your cold arms. You curled your arms around his waist, snuggling in under his winter jacket. “Babe, you should be wearing something heavier out here. I don’t want you getting sick.” Still, you stayed where you were, tucked into his jacket with him and hiding away from the snow and the world. “I’m glad you love my family so much. I hope you can tell they love you too. And if they’re too much, I’ll tell them, okay?”

“I know.”

“Just let me know. I know how you get uncomfortable when you receive this much love, but I hope you know you deserve it, okay? You’re absolutely amazing.” At his words, you lifted your face from the comfort of his chest, eyes red and face hot, streaked with tears. Snowflakes melted on impact, and Mat’s thumb brushed away the wetness. “Please don’t cry, baby.”

“I’m just… so overwhelmed. In the best way possible, I promise.”

“That’s good.”

“And I’m getting sleepy.”

“Jetlag finally catching up to you?” You nodded, burrowing back into the warmth of his jacket. He smiled, squeezing you against him. “Let’s go to bed, yeah, sweetheart?”

“Nooooo, I just wanna stay like this.”

“Okay, okay.” He smiled and lifted his hands in mock surrender. “We’ll stay out here for a little, but we gotta go in when you get cold.” Mat knew the reason you didn’t want to go back inside yet. One, because you didn’t want to cry in front of his family, but also because after spending the whole day with them, you were starved of sweet, gentle moments like this, alone with Mat. He knew you loved his family, but God, how you loved him. You’d been holding back all your hugs and kisses today, keeping low on the PDA in front of his family, and you’d gotten needy. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his parents, saying the two of you were gonna be done for the night and wanted a little alone time, and he knew they’d understand and head to bed. The snow was picking up now, so Mat put his phone back in his pocket and pulled you with him against the wall of the house, your arms tucked under his fuzzy coat and holding tight around his waist, watching the snow fall and enjoying the comforting silence of the world.

“Do you know how much people love you?”

“Mat…” You smiled and hid your face shyly.

“No, do you know? Everyone who meets you falls a little bit in love with you. Everyone. You just have this… this loveable nature to you/ You’re the sweetest, kindest, most amazing person I know.” You didn’t respond, but Mat saw the smile on your face and felt the way your arms squeezed around his torso. “Remember how earlier, I was talking to my dad? You know what he was saying? He said ‘the way you look at (Y/N), that’s how I looked at your mom’. And how he still does.” That got your attention, and you lifted your face to look at him, at the pretty, genuine love in his dark eyes. “Hey, there’s that pretty face!” Your hands slid further up his back, and you perched up on your tiptoes, reaching up for a soft kiss that Mat gladly met you halfway for. “I’m serious when I say I love you, okay?”

“I know.”

“I get that you didn’t have the best relationship with your family, and they weren’t the healthiest, especially when it came to showing these types of emotions, but I’m gonna make sure you get used to it. Cause you’re gonna be in my life for a long, long time.”

“Forever?”

“If you’ll have me forever.”

Everything went silent, save for the soft falling of snow, at that whispered promise. The tears filled your eyes again, just so, so happy that you had someone like Mat in your life, and that he was so understanding and patient with you.

“If you’ll have me forever, my family would be more than happy to call you one of us. You could spend all your birthdays, holidays, and celebrations here, and they’d love you. I’d love you. I do. You’d never feel unloved again, if you’ll have me forever.”

“Mat are... Are you proposing?”

He shook his head quickly. “No. Not yet, not officially. Just take this as a… warning.”

You laughed a little bit. “A warning, Mat?”

“No, ugh… um, how about a promise. Yeah, a promise. A promise that if you’ll have me forever, I’ll do nothing but show you how damn loveable you are. I know I can’t erase the years of pain… God, or the trauma that your family put you through, but I promise you I’m gonna try my hardest. You deserve so much better than what they’d given to you, and I’ll give that to you.” Mat saw the tears in your eyes and swooped down to kiss your cheeks repeatedly. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you cry, baby.” He could say so, so much more, but he wanted to take care of you first. “Enough of my sappy rambling, yeah? My toes are freezing. Can we go in?” He saw you glance down at his feet and immediately started giggling.

“Nice slippers, grandpa.”

“They’re cozy.” He grinned, happy to see you smiling again. He had grabbed his dad’s shoes to come out, knowing you found his silly dad-fashion funny. “Now, let’s get to bed, sleepyhead.” He pulled you back into the warm, quiet house and led the way up to his bedroom, happy to finally have some time to just cuddle up under the blankets along with you. But as you fell asleep, tucked safely in his arms with a content, peaceful smile, he could fall asleep along with you. Instead, he lay there, watching you for hours, his thoughts filled with his dad’s words from earlier and quietly, secretly, he was writing long lines of phrases he wanted to say to you, phrases that would one day become part of his proposal.

I promise I’ll keep you safe, I promise I’ll keep you smiling and loved... if you’ll have me forever.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fic #op #fic

223 notes · View notes

holdingforgeneralhugs · 3 years ago

Note

Hi Emma ❤️ may I please request something fluffy with Bull Randleman? Maybe with the prompt "I get that you are taller then me, but does that require you to steal all the blankets? I'm cold"? If you don't want to use it that's completely okay❤️

You Keep Me Warm

All you wanted was a good night's sleep and a little bit of warmth, and Bull was on hand to help you get just that.

A/N: Omg Francy tysm for this💓 the minute I read this I had the perfect idea and I had to write it straight away because I have a tendancy to forget things and I absolutely could not risk forgetting this little gem🙈 its a short one but I like to think of it as short and sugary sweet🥰 Hope you enjoy and my requests are still open to anyone who's got prompts or ideas 💓

You were sure you'd never feel warm again.

You'd been in Bastogne for over three weeks now and it seemed to get impossibly colder every goddamm night. It didn't matter how tightly you pulled your jacket around you or how far you burrowed under those thin scratchy blankets, you could never escape the cold.

You returned from your patrol just as it started to get dark, and you were looking for Shifty to let him know it was his turn. Eventually you spotted his head peeking out of a nearby foxhole.

"Hey Shifty," you whispered as you squatted beside the edge of the hole. "It's your turn on patrol."

Shifty nodded glumly and pulled himself out, dusting snow off his OD's and shouldering his rifle.

"You see anythin' out there?" He asked quietly.

"Nah Shift, seems to be all quiet out there." He nodded and you clapped him on the shoulder before he ambled off between the foxholes. You turned and walked the other way, desperate to sit into your own hole and try to muster some bit of heat. You sighed in relief when you finally slipped into your foxhole and could enjoy a well earned smoke. You were about to spark your lighter when a shadow appeared over your shoulder.

"You all alone in that hole Y/N?"

"Sure am Bull, you wanna join me?" You shuffled over to make room for him and he slid in beside you with a grin. You huffed out a laugh at how cramped your foxhole had suddenly gotten.

"Christ Bull, take over my whole damn foxhole why don't ya?" You scoffed, rolling your eyes and fidgeting around to get comfortable. You pulled out the blanket that was rolled up beside you and spread it over both of your legs as best you could.

"Aw shut up Y/N, you're glad of the company and the extra heat," he grinned. You rolled your eyes at that and tried to hide your smile. He wasn't wrong, you were glad to have both. You offered him a smoke, and you both sat in comfortable silence for a while as you enjoyed your precious cigarettes. You didn't know when you'd be able to get more so you were sure to enjoy every last one you had.

"You think they'll send up another flare tonight?" Bull asked after awhile. He pulled at the blanket slightly and tucked his frozen hands under it.

"I sure hope not. I could use a couple hours uninterrupted sleep." You rubbed your hands together, desperate to try and and warm your gloved fingers. In that moment you regretted not remembering the four pairs of socks rule.

"Hell, maybe the Krauts are as tired as we are," chuckled Bull. You snorted at that and turned to him sceptically.

"Honestly, I often wonder do they ever sleep at all, since they're so happy to taunt us in the middle of the damn night."

"You know what," he sighed, "I think you might be on to something there."

He didn't say anything else after that, and after a while you glanced to your left and saw that Bull had leaned his head back against the wall of the foxhole and closed his eyes. You did the same, you weren't kidding when you said you needed some proper sleep.

You were on the brink of sleep when you felt Bull shift beside you. You tried to burrow further under the blanket and settle down, but a cold breeze against your leg was keeping you awake. You peeked open one eye with a curse and groaned in annoyance when you noticed the positioning of the blanket.

"For Christ sake Bull," you huffed, punching him in the shoulder, "I get that you're a whole lot bigger than me an' all but do you really gotta hog all the blanket? I'm freezing my ass off over here."

"Jeez Y/N, did you really need to punch me so hard?" He complained, rubbing his shoulder and looking at you like some kind of wounded pup.

"Aw wipe that look off your face, you know you deserved it," you smirked. He rolled his eyes and sat up a little, pulling the blanket up around his left shoulder.

"I got a resolution," he sighed, lifting his arm and placing it behind your back and gesture for you to shuffle closer. "Well are ya coming or not? At least this way we can stay warm and have enough blanket each."

You raised an eyebrow at him but shuffled in under his arm and rested your cheek on his shoulder. He put his arm more snuggly around you and tucked the blanket in behind your back. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it but he was right, you felt a lot warmer now that you were tucked up against his side. He rested his cheek against the top of your head and sighed in content.

"You know Bull," you murmured, "If I didn't know any better I'd say you planned this whole thing just so you could get a cuddle."

You felt his chest rumble under your cheek as he laughed at that. He rubbed his hand up and down your arm and you marvelled at the extra warmth it gave you.

"Would it be so bad if I did?" He asked quietly. You pulled your head back slightly so you could look up at him. He was smiling and trying to pass it off as casual, but you could see a vulnerable shyness in his eyes. Your heart fluttered in your chest at the thought that he had actually wanted to be close to you.

"Well Bull," you whispered gently, "if you can keep me this warm and comfortable every night then you won't hear me complainin'."

He smiled at that, a genuine smile that lit up his whole face and made your heart flutter even harder against your ribs. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before resting your cheek back against his shoulder and settling down under the blanket. You were too nervous to meet his eyes, afraid you'd misunderstood his intentions, but when you felt him press a kiss to your hair you sighed in content and closed your eyes with a smile on your face.

Afterwards, you'd swear you'd never fallen asleep so fast in that frozen hell.

#bull randleman #bull randleman x reader #bull randleman imagine #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fandom #hbo band of brothers #hbo war #band of brothers imagine #bob #short and sweet #fluffy #tooth rotting fluff #cuteness #holdingforgeneralhugs

119 notes · View notes

kiki-shortsnout · 3 years ago

Note

May I request frostiron Mpreg as a prompt? Thank you! 💜

Hey everyone! A few of you have asked if I'm still doing prompts. The answer is yes, but it does take me a while to write them, I do have a day job and restrictions on my time, plus I'm also working on my IronStrange Bigbang, so please be assured I will get to them all eventually, it will just take time! ❤️

Warnings for below: This is Alpha/Omega and contains Mpreg, just so everyone is aware! Also as it's me.....it's also much longer than I initially thought........

***

‘Sleepy,’ Tony groaned, flopping onto the couch and shoving his head in Loki’s lap. Weakly, he lifted his arms, attempting to bat Loki’s book away and have his full attention.

‘Tired, little Omega?’ Loki teased, his voice low as he closed his book and placed it down on the armrest. If anyone else had called him that, Tony would’ve torn a strip out of their hide, unleashing a verbal smackdown so powerful that it made even the toughest Alphas quake. As it was Loki, Tony accepted the words for what they were, a form of sarcastic affection.

Fingers tangled in his hair, and Tony all but purred at the attention, stretching his limbs out and melting into the couch beneath him, feeling safe in Loki’s hold.

Whatever this was between them, it was good. Loki had respected his boundaries ever since Tony had created the foundations of this…relationship. The Alpha had returned to Earth after his trial on Asgard, remorseful over his actions regarding the Battle of New York, but not quite able to apologize properly for it. The Avengers and SHIELD regarded him with hostility, despite knowing he had been held captive to a brainwashing scepter, waiting for the inevitable betrayal, but Tony had seen something different.

He had recognized something of himself in Loki. Tony knew how close he’d skirted the line of becoming a villain, how his choices in life could’ve been very different. He’d been drawn away from crossing that line many times by Pepper and Rhodey, but Loki didn’t have friends, struggled under different obligations, with only his mother believing he could be more.

Tony understood that all too well, a father that always saw reason to fault you, who always saw the worst in you, and a mother who believed in you.

Loki was one of the few Alphas who respected Tony for who he was, who seemed to enjoy the challenges and verbal sparring they had. He didn’t know if that was because of his Jotun heritage, or how Alphas were brought up on Asgard, but Tony had a sneaky feeling that secondary genders didn’t matter to someone who was neither Asgardian nor a Frost Giant, someone who was a bit of both, but not really either.

Just like Tony who had been raised to suppress his Omega characteristics, to overlap them with Alpha traits and now he was a paradox that didn’t fit into either category.

Like this now though, with Loki stroking through his hair, gazing down at him with fondness, Tony inhibited the sweet Omega form, happy to be close to an Alpha, breathing in his scent, the cold bite of snow that reminded Tony of cozy nights with his mother. They weren’t together, even if Tony had allowed Loki to share his heat a few months ago, one of the rare Alphas Tony had trusted to see him vulnerable in such a way.

‘Your scent…it’s different than usual,’ Loki said, his tone cautious.

This was one of the things Tony adored about Loki, his unwillingness to push him for more, understanding that he was terrified at the prospect of being bonded to an Alpha. He hadn’t morphed into an overbearing monster or become territorial after Tony’s heat, he still checked in and made sure he was comfortable.

Loki was the one Alpha he could see himself becoming bonded to, which made whatever they were doing bittersweet as Loki had also expressed concerns about not wanting to be ‘beholden to an Omega’s whims’ as he’d put it. It was beyond ironic, the one Alpha Tony trusted, the one he would consider for a mate held the same ideals about mating as he did.

Tony wasn’t going to dwell on it, he had a good, no strings attached thing here and he wasn’t going to ruin it.

‘Hmm? I haven’t been feeling well. Pepper says it’s stress, as if I haven’t been stressed every day of my life,’ Tony scoffed, lifting his head for more attention.

‘Do you…would you,’ Loki amended, ‘like my assistance with anything? I know I’m not always understanding of what it is you do but-’

‘Thanks, Lokes, but I’m alright honestly. It’s just board members giving me a rough time that’s all, things will ease off soon,’ Tony told him, opening his eyes and looking up into concerned ones. Loki couldn’t help his Alpha instincts, wanting to care and protect those he cared about, heightened by the fact they had shared a heat and a rut together.

Tony lifted his hand, cradling the side of Loki’s face, both in reassurance and so Loki could bend his head down and breathe in his scent from the gland in his wrist, grounding him. Lips dropped a delicate kiss over the gland, and as green eyes opened, Tony felt a lurch in the pit in his stomach and an irrational rage towards his past self.

Why did I put those boundaries in?

***

Tony ground his forehead into the cool desk, chafing the skin, his blinding headache doing nothing to drown out the words of the doctor ringing in his ears.

What was he going to do?

‘Boss, I think you need to take a break, this can’t be good for you, or the-’

‘Don’t, just don’t,’ Tony snapped, feeling his shoulders hunch, his teeth baring in a snarl. His arms came up to cover his head, protecting him from everything and anything. He needed Pepper, or Rhodey, he needed someone to tell him this was going to be okay, to go through his options.

‘Boss, Loki is requesting a visit,’ FRIDAY told him, making his stress levels skyrocket, his heartbeat increasing to match.

‘Tell him I’m busy.’ Tony jerked his head up, looking around the room. Loki wouldn’t teleport in here, that had been one of Tony’s very first rules, no invading his workshop unless invited. Pepper and Rhodey ignored it, but Loki abided by the rule, as did most of the Avengers.

‘I did. However, he has expressed concern regarding the changes in your behavior, the length of time between your last visit, and I really think-’

‘Alright!’ Tony held a hand up to stop her in her tirade, scrubbing his hands through his hair, thinking quickly. He couldn’t do this, he wanted space to think, to plan. It had been days since he’d gotten the news of his condition, and he’d come straight here, needing to work.

‘Let him in,’ Tony said, ‘and I’m sorry, for my shitty attitude, I’m just-’

‘Understandable Boss. No matter what your decision is, I will support you in any way I am able.’

‘I know, honey, thank you,’ Tony breathed out, trying not to cry, knowing Loki would be able to smell it.

‘Are you well, Anthony? It has been longer than normal since the last time I have seen you and I know the idiots you call teammates share my concern,’ Loki asked, stepping forward with narrowed eyes, trying to scent the air without being obvious about it.

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine Loki, just been distracted with something,’ Tony told him, gesturing with his hand at the schematics in the holographic display behind him.

‘You’re distressed,’ Loki informed him.

‘Damn Alpha nose,’ Tony hissed, turning in his chair to look back at his holograms.

‘It has nothing to do with your scent,’ Loki told him, turning his chair back the other way and bending down so they were eye level. ‘What is wrong, darling?’ he asked, reaching up to stroke his thumb over Tony’s eyebrow, trailing down to circle around his eye. ‘You are close to weeping.’

‘I can’t fix the suit,’ Tony answered. It wasn’t a lie, not really.

Loki’s gaze flickered up, taking in Tony’s designs. ‘Is there a weakness in the stomach plating? You’re focusing much of your calculations on that area,’ he asked.

‘It’s the most vulnerable area,’ Tony answered, subconsciously resting his hands over his stomach and then quickly moving them down to his thighs, gripping his jeans.

‘Anthony, your armor is impenetrable, I would know,’ Loki tried to change the tone of their conversation, making a lighthearted jab about their fight months ago.

Tony looked up at the schematics, knowing that no matter the tinkering, the redesigning of the suit, nothing he did would protect the life growing inside him. It was too dangerous, the number of times he got flung across the battlefield, the energy beams, the alien technology, the stress on his body.

He couldn’t be Iron Man anymore. Not like this.

‘Anthony, you need to breathe, listen to me,’ Loki’s voice faded in and out. Nails suddenly tightened on his knees giving him a focus point, his lungs suddenly remembering how to inhale air. ‘That’s it, one breath in, hold it, now release,’ Loki instructed, his scent wrapping around him, forming a protective bubble amidst all the panic, holding him steady.

If I can’t be Iron Man, if I can’t be an Avenger, then what am I? What use am I?

‘Anthony…Tony, darling, you need to breathe. You are safe, I will protect you from everything,’ Loki swore, his gaze turning brittle as he watched him, his lips drawing back from his teeth as he readied himself for battle.

‘I can’t do this,’ Tony blurted, feeling his shoulders beginning to shake.

‘Anthony, you are the strongest Ome…the strongest person I know. There is nothing you cannot do. Know that I will stand beside you, fighting your demons alongside you, you are not alone.’

Beside you. Not for you. Even now with his instincts going haywire, Loki’s scent curdling in the air, becoming so sour with his rage, he was still respecting Tony’s wishes.

Tony flung his arms around Loki’s neck, clutching him close, burrowing his head into his unbroken bonding gland, even as his nose wrinkled against the foul odor, the aroma thick on his tongue, choking him. Loki held him close, rubbing his jaw the best he could over his head, scenting him in a rare act of claiming, warning others away that Tony usually would’ve balked at.

Instead, he tried to get closer, sending Loki to his ass on the floor as he scrambled onto his lap, his hands fisting into Loki’s tunic top, wanting the warmth and reassurance of the Alpha. Loki allowed him to take whatever comfort he wanted, drawing his legs up so his knees bracketed Tony’s body, his arms in a loose hug around his back.

He felt himself blinking back tears, the agony in his heart ingrained in the very tissues of his muscle, aching with every beat. Had Loki ever wanted more from him? He’d never asked, taking Loki’s word for it months ago that he too didn’t want to be tied down. They’d never spoken about anything changing, and Tony wasn’t certain Loki even wanted him in a long term sense, if he would eventually go home and find a royal Omega.

The thoughts made him shake in Loki’s hold, and even the deep crooning rumbling in the Alpha’s chest couldn’t calm him, the frantic thoughts of his mind more powerful than biological instincts.

‘Listen to me, I do not say this as an Alpha to an Omega. I know the boundaries you have set, will abide by them always, but I hope as one friend to another you will speak to me about what is ailing you,’ Loki encouraged.

‘I can’t,’ Tony whimpered.

He needed to sort this out alone.

***

He’d always scoffed at all of the insipid dramas Pepper had made him watch, the misunderstandings unfolding between two characters, arguments and heartbreak that could have easily been resolved with a mature conversation, sometimes even a word.

I’m pregnant.

They weren’t even difficult words to say, but Tony was suffocating under the weight of them, what they meant to him, to Loki, their future, his future.

Tony stood at the edge of the room, on the fringes of things where he was most comfortable. The charity event was in full swing around him, people in their finest clothes dancing, swirls of colorful silk and chiffon, the dark suits of the men a gorgeous contrast. The atmosphere was bubbly, light and frothy like the champagne they drunk, and Tony was the dark cloud, sucking up the positive emotions and radiating a toxic miasma in return.

Pepper suspected something was wrong too. Betas didn’t have the sense of smell Alphas had, but she knew him better than anyone, knew he was hiding something, and he knew he didn’t have long before she backed him into a corner.

He didn’t want to deal with the issue at hand, had started ignoring it, convincing himself that it would go away if he didn’t think about it. Even as he started being sick, the constant exhaustion now plaguing him, he turned a blind eye to it all, cutting himself off from everyone. The Avengers hadn’t noticed, used to Tony becoming obsessed with projects and cutting them off for weeks at a time.

Loki had though, Tony could feel his gaze boring into his back at the shared common room in the tower, the questions burning on his tongue when Tony refused to suit up as Iron Man. Even as Steve and Tony argued about his cowardice, Fury’s threats to take him from the team, he hadn’t said or done anything, leaving Tony to fight his own battles unless he was called for.

No matter how desperately Tony had wanted the Alpha…his Alpha beside him, he couldn’t say anything. Looking down at the untouched champagne glass in his hand, he gave a self-deprecating laugh. He couldn’t come to terms with the idea of becoming a parent, but understanding he’d been thinking of Loki of his Alpha for some time had been a simple realization.

Looking up through all the crowds of people here for the charity event he was supposed to be hosting, Tony found Loki easily. The Alpha was staring at him, hurt lurking in his gaze before he was quickly able to mask it, offering Tony a well-rehearsed smile, one he himself wore at events like this. Loki’s gaze went down to the still full glass in Tony’s grip, lifting his own and tapping the side of it, asking if he wanted something else.

Shaking his head, he turned away from Loki, forcing himself into conversation with one of the sponsors, nodding in greeting as Thor walked past with Bruce, both talking happily with a crowd of fans following.

He felt like an imposter, knowing he was meant to be part of a team. This…condition would change all that, he wouldn’t be taken seriously, forced into a desk position, watching on the sidelines. That wasn’t him, he wanted to protect the Earth.

I am Iron Man.

Smashing glass caught his attention, an ominous hush settling over everyone at the party, guests drawing away from Loki, revealing him to be the culprit of the damage. His fingers were still poised from where he’d been holding a glass, his eyes huge as he stared down at a woman.

A very pregnant, Omega woman.

Shit.

Tony thrust his glass into someone’s hand, trying to escape while there were people forming a barrier between them, fear clawing its way over his body, seizing him in its clutches as he tried to escape. Others turned to help him as they caught scent of his terror, some thinking a villain had shown up as he started to barge pass, trying to make a run for it.

He smacked into Loki’s chest, the lingering magic shimmering in the air revealing he’d teleported himself straight in his path.

‘I think not, Stark,’ Loki hissed, teleporting them both.

***

Despite the rage oozing from Loki’s body, he still made sure Tony had regained his footing after teleporting before he thrust him away, trying to put space between them both, magic crackling in his palms and snaking down his arms.

Tony staggered over to his bed, taking a moment to appreciate Loki the fact had teleported them somewhere he viewed safe. His bedroom was a sanctuary that few had access to, the one place he could nest without judgement, where he had his heats without fear for his safety, knowing that only FRIDAY could override the security locks on his door.

He wrapped his blanket around his knees, subconsciously guarding the life growing inside him as he hugged a pillow to his stomach. Hidden within it was a prototype gauntlet, and he knew Loki knew that, saw the way his gaze went to it even as Tony slid his hand into it, ready to fight.

‘Did you not think I would find out?’ Loki growled, holding his ground, trying not to threaten a pregnant Omega, but ensnared by the potent mix of rage and hurt. ‘Did you think you could conceal it from me forever, ashamed of me and my heritage? Or did you think I planned this for you somehow, trapping you as mine, the one thing you did not wish for!’

‘That isn’t it, Loki,’ Tony protested.

‘Then what, Stark? Tell me before my patience wears thin!’ Loki demanded.

The second use of his surname stung. He’d grown used to the way Loki said Anthony with reverence, the loving way he used darling sparingly, muttering it against his skin when he’d been exhausted from his heat, or when it was used when he sought affection from the Alpha.

‘I didn’t know how,’ Tony pleaded.

‘How to say you were carrying my child… or how to say you wish you weren’t?’

‘That isn’t it Loki! I’m scared damn it!’ Tony shouted, flinging the pillow to the floor, his gauntlet powering up as he pointed it at Loki. He was reacting to the Alpha’s rage, refusing to ever be powerless to an Alpha ever again. Never would he succumb to an Alphas manipulation that he was worthless because of his secondary gender like his father had taught him. Never would he be vulnerable to an Alphas pride, watching as someone he considered family tore his literal heart from his chest, leaving him for dead.

‘This isn’t about you! It was never about you!’ Tony shouted, standing up on the bed, refusing to have the lower ground. ‘I’m going to lose everything! Iron Man, the Avengers! I don’t know how to raise a child! I don’t want my life to change!’ Tony growled, every bit as terrifying as an Alpha.

That was partly the truth. Tony had a soft spot for children, always had done, but that hadn’t meant he wanted one of his own. These writhing, conflicted emotions he had were proof of it. This wasn’t what pregnancy was meant to be like, it was meant to be gender reveal parties and crying over baby booties, ecstatic would be parents falling into each other’s arms as they sobbed.

Not a twisted, broken Omega who didn’t know how to be a parent.

‘Loki…if I can’t even be happy I’m pregnant how am I going to be a parent? I’ll destroy them, just like my father destroyed me,’ Tony croaked, his hand falling to his side, his bare hand going to his stomach, finally acknowledging the life inside him.

‘Anthony, you’re in shock, I think you’re allowed to feel whatever you want to. Children are a wonderful-’

‘You don’t even want me! Why would you want this?’ Tony spat, lifting his gauntlet up again, aiming it at Loki’s chest.

‘Anthony, of course I want you. I have wanted nothing else but you since I began living here on Midgard. You honestly think I care for the Avengers, for dancing the steps SHIELD set out for me? I came to repair the damage with my brother, but I stayed because you were here. A gorgeous, spitfire Omega who stands strong against any Alpha, who ignores his instincts and decides what he wants out of life.’

Loki took a daring step forward, the anger gone from his posture, his hands held out in front of his chest, his posture meek, unthreatening.

‘An Omega I would have bonded long ago had I not seen how deep the scars life had left upon his soul, how terrified he was of commitment. Anthony Stark, I would have you stand beside me for the rest of your days, longer if you would accept me.’

‘Don’t,’ Tony choked out, his voice thick with tears, his legs struggling to hold him up.

Loki continued walking, lifting his head back, baring his neck in a vulnerable gesture, showing Tony he was in control.

‘I moved slowly because I did not want to scare you. No matter how much I yearned for you, how much I coveted you as a mate, I restrained my intentions because I wanted you, Anthony. I care not about your gender, either of them, I want you, because of you.’

‘What if I hurt them? What if they end up hating me? What if I can’t do it?’ Every ugly thought he had, every insecurity came flying out and he hated himself for it. Who was he thinking about? Himself? Or the child inside him?

‘Anthony, you are not alone in this. Even if you do not wish for me to be your bonded Alpha that will not stop me supporting you, or our child.’

Tony whined, a high pitched noise of distress and Loki was before him in an instant, embracing and scenting him to calm him.

‘This,’ Loki reached out, his hand huge on Tony’s abdomen. ‘This means more to me than I can express in words, that I found an Omega I could love, that he would bless me with such a gift. Do not think I do not want you, nor or child.’

‘I do want you,’ Tony told him. ‘I haven’t been able to tell you, I thought you-’

‘Hush, Anthony. You know the truth now. Now all that needs to be said is where we go from here.’

‘Iron Man, the team-’

‘Will all be waiting for you after the child is born,’ Loki promised. ‘I will guard Midgard for you in your stead, I swear it.’

‘What about-’

‘The fact that you already worry about such a thing reassures me that you will be a wonderful parent. You have taken great pains to reassure me over the past months that I am more than the sum of my parts, and now I speak the same wise words to you. You are not your father, Anthony, and I am not mine,’ he whispered, bending down to swipe away the furious tears building.

Tony surged forwards, kissing Loki, their tears mingling on their lips, sealing them together. Loki attempted to laugh as he pulled away, kissing Tony’s cheekbone.

‘I love you, Anthony. May I please have the honor of courting you?’

‘I love you too, Loki and only if that involves lots of presents,’ Tony tried to joke, his tears still falling.

‘Of course, only the best for my demanding Omega. We shall speak of our…unexpected gift at another time, but for now I believe it is best we rest. You’ve had me worried for weeks and unable to sleep,’ Loki told him, encouraging him back down towards the bed, scooping the blankets around Tony in a haphazard nest, not hiding his impulses now he knew of his feelings.

‘You really think I can do this, that we can do this?’ Tony asked as he settled down against Loki’s side, all the exhaustion he’d been struggling with making itself known.

‘I do not believe it will be free of challenges, but I am not lying to you when I say there are few beings in this universe I could love, fewer still that I would entrust to bear my child,’ Loki whispered down to him, hand splaying over his stomach. ‘Sleep, darling, we will talk more in the morning.’

Shoving aside any rampant thoughts in his mind, for positive reasons this time, Tony allowed his fingers to lace through Loki’s on his stomach, turning his gaze inwards, wondering who was inside there.

#FrostIron #writing prompt #prompt fill #thanks for the ask!#Loki #Tony Stark #alpha/omega #mpreg fic

80 notes · View notes

baoshan-sanren · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 34

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling -- you know what? I suck at titles. let’s just accept the fact that I’ll slap something vaguely poetic on this thing when it’s finished, and that it will probably have no relation to the actual fic

About half-way to the Imperial guest chambers, it occurs to Wei Ying that he cannot simply knock on Lan Zhan’s door past midnight.

Lan Zhan had asked him to use the door, and Wei Ying wants to use the door, but he cannot. It takes a few moments for his pleasantly drunk mind to reconcile itself with the whole not using the door thing. But he still wants to see Lan Zhan. He wants to see Lan Zhan pretty badly. He wants to apologize for being stupid, although, at this very moment, he is not exactly sure what he had been stupid about. Probably a lot of things.

He sighs.

He also needs to apologize for failing to protect Lan QiRen. Lan Zhan had clearly told him that he does not want his brother or his uncle being hurt. Wei Ying had sworn to protect them both to the best of his ability. It does not matter that Nie HuaiSang had made the decision to decrease Lan QiRen’s guard. Wei Ying had promised. Protecting Lan Qiren had been his responsibility.

The horror he had felt, when he saw the Peach Blossom Pavilion on fire, cannot be described. If Lan QiRen had been killed, after Wei Ying had sworn to protect him-- he does not think that Lan Zhan would have ever forgiven him.

Still standing, stupidly, in the middle of the hall leading to the Imperial guest chambers, Wei Ying thinks perhaps his mind is not in the best place at the moment. He should wait and speak to Lan Zhan in the morning. He should not be stumbling drunk around the Iron Palm Palace, as if looking for Madam Yu to corner him.

But he wants to see Lan Zhan.

He remembers the absolute fury with which Lan Zhan had turned on A-Sang, the wild look in his eyes, the white robes flaring in an arc, blade flashing. Against the backdrop of the fire, he had looked coldly savage; an ancient immortal, an avenging deity too terrible to be gazed upon by ordinary humans.

In that moment, Wei Ying had been certain that Lan Zhan would not hesitate; that he would not let himself be restrained with such a simple gesture as his brother’s hand on his wrist. A-Sang would meet his end in that courtyard, and Lan Zhan would not stop there, but go on to carve a bloody path through every person in his sight, Wei Ying included.

The Peach Blossom Pavilion, its fragile old wood and intricately carved posts, dusty and forgotten, had stood for over a century, the Immortal Mountain City growing and spreading around its delicate shell. A legacy, left behind by the Immortal Empress, an arrogant girl who had thought herself so powerful that she had tried to rule over the cycle of life and death, nearly extinguishing the flame needed to form the Empire.

Her peach trees cannot be moved, altered, or destroyed. They are a lesson Wei Ying had been taught long before he understood what it meant.

But there is a much more subtle lesson in the Pavilion itself, a building even YanLing DaoRen could not bring himself to touch; the brittleness of family, home, comfort. How even the meanest creature will take time to burrow a hole in the dirt, then protect it with its last breath. The Immortal Empress had burrowed a hole next to her peach tree, then nearly given up her life to keep it intact.

Watching the Peach Blossom Pavilion be consumed by flames, used as a death trap for an honorable, righteous man, Wei Ying could not help but think that, if Lan Zhan had truly decided to kill them all, he would have been hard pressed to explain why they did not deserved it.

He leans against the hall arch, the stone cool and soothing against his skin. His mind is definitely not in the best place. But he still wants to see Lan Zhan.

Instead of heading towards the Imperial guest chambers, he turns to the door leading into his public study, a room he actively tries to avoid unless pressing business requires his presence. It is a bleak, cavernous space, where guilty men, often three times his age, would kneel on the marble floors, begging for their lives. He had not executed men often, even when they were indisputably guilty, but the few times he had were enough to make the space unbearable forever after.

There is one aspect of the study that Wei Ying does not hate, however, and it is the window hole leading out to the lower rooftop of the receiving hall. In the daylight, this particular portion of the roof is clearly visible from the entirety of the Iron Palm Palace courtyard. But during the night, it is a perfect starting point, no matter which part of the City he means to access. Some day, someone will realize that Wei Ying uses the tops of the courtyard walls as bridges to all of the surrounding palaces. The wall tops will be deemed a security breach, one that uncle Jiang will remedy without asking for his opinion, or his permission. But that day is not today, and Wei Ying has no intention of using the walls anyway.

The receiving hall roof curves to the east and west, winding around the palace, and Wei Ying counts window holes carefully, never having accessed the Imperial guest chambers in this manner before. It would just be his luck to drop into Lan XiChen’s chambers in error, or even worse, Lan QiRen’s.

He should not have worried. Long before he can be certain that he has counted correctly, he sees the flash of the white robes.

Lan Zhan had crawled out his window as well, and is sitting on the cold rooftop tile, the snow-white sleep robe pooling around him.

His hair is loose, a dark cape laid over the bright robe, and Wei Ying thinks he looks ethereal still, beautiful and aloof, not meant to be observed by lowly human beings.

Preoccupied by Lan Zhan, Wei Ying forgets that he is, in fact, more than a little drunk, and that he had forgotten to take his shoes off. The soles, not meant to grip the slick tiles, slide without a warning. He flails, nearly loosing his footing altogether.

By the time he has regained his balance, an act that was probably ridiculous to watch, Lan Zhan has noticed him and gotten to his feet. Wei Ying feels stupid, however, this has never stopped him before, so he crosses the last stretch of the roof anyway, but carefully now, minding his footing.

“Lan Zhan,” he says softly.

Lan Zhan studies him for a few moments, then lowers himself back down. Wei Ying takes this as a permission, and ungracefully sits next to him.

Something about the coolness of the night seems to magnify the scent of the sandalwood; it wraps around Wei Ying, smooth and warm, cutting through the chill of the north-western winds. He had come to apologize, but the right words seem to have abandoned him for the moment. Lan Zhan is perfectly still, a cold statue glowing brightly in the darkness. Wei Ying’s drunk tongue, unable to to properly ask for forgiveness, has nonetheless found a thousand poems at its disposal, each one attempting to give justice to Lan Zhan’s beauty, and each one falling short of the mark.

He does not regret coming to find Lan Zhan, but he does regret doing so with his mind less than perfectly clear.

Perhaps some other youth on some other rooftop can speak of marriage lightly, carelessly drunk on wine and beauty of the person beside them, knowing that the life they promise to share will be the one of comfort and safety. But the last few hours have made some truths starkly clear; Wei Ying has nothing to offer that does not come with its share of danger and grief. And Lan Zhan is no Nie HuaiSang, to find pleasure in the vicious court games, to smile politely while cutting with his words, to accept gifts with one hand while hiding a knife in the sleeve of the other.

He remembers Lan QiRen’s admonishment clearly, and wonders, for the first time, if Lan Zhan could ever be happy, married to Wei Ying.

The silence has now stretched so long, that anything said out loud may carry more than one meaning. Lan Zhan does not look as if he intends to speak at all. Coldly beautiful he may be, but at this moment he is also oddly peaceful, his breaths deep and even, his eyes half-lidded, studying some mystical point in the distance that Wei Ying cannot see.

Silence has always been Wei Ying’s enemy.

It is Jiang Cheng’s anger, grown too vast for words. It is Nie HuaiSang’s hurt, caused by his carelessness. It is uncle Jiang’s disappointment, shijie’s grief, Wen Qing’s disapproval. Things unspoken have always wounded Wei Ying in a way that no spoken word ever has.

Because long before he had learned their silences, and all the ways in which they brought him pain, there had been the silence of the Six Fans Pavilion, never again graced with his father’s footsteps. The silence of his mother’s chambers, never again to echo her laughter.

Silence had always meant loss.

But now, sitting next to Lan Zhan, wrapped in hushed tranquility, he wonders if one person can change the nature of silence forever. If one person can have such power, to transform this thing he had always dreaded to something bearable and peaceful, something in which he may find contentment.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lan Zhan shifts, a smooth, soundless movement that brings him ever so slightly closer. In the next moment, Wei Ying feels a brush of cool skin against his hand. A finger hooks around his own, and this time, it does not tremble.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #wangxian #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #short chapter #some drunk introspection #again a chapter in which nothing really happens #but some things happen #anyway #i'm looking forward to my days off bc work is kicking my ass #we're still on day 5 #but day 6 is unrolling #thank you for all the sweet messages #ily chickens

255 notes · View notes

hysterialevi · 3 years ago

Text

Hjarta | Chapter 16

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A WHILE LATER

TEARS OF YMIR

Sigurd trudged through the snow-veiled woods, wishing desperately that he could veer off this path the gods had constructed for him. His mind was trapped in a perpetual state of fear, and the thoughts racing through his head only seemed to grow louder with every step he took.

He could feel it in his heart that Ulfar spoke the truth. There was merit in the accusations he threw against Dag, and Sigurd had even seen the man’s treachery for himself. He made it quite clear that he wasn’t on their side with the way he manipulated the assault at Kjotve’s Fortress, and the prince could no longer ignore the reality that was standing right in front of him.

But even then, Sigurd’s gut twisted at the idea of causing any harm to Dag. His entire childhood was formed of memories between the two of them, and he still saw him as the same little boy he once loved all those years ago.

He remembered the days they’d spend running around in the wilderness, only to end up covered in mud by the time they returned home. He hadn’t forgotten the way Styrbjorn would scold them for their reckless behavior, and how they’d make the exact same mistakes immediately afterwards.

The joy they shared, the sorrows they experienced, the burdens they had to carry -- it all stayed with Sigurd to this very day. He loved Dag like a brother despite the conflicts between them, and the thought of banishing him from Midgard tore a hole inside his chest.

But he was a leader now. A future king. With Ulfar dead, Sigurd would have to step up and protect the people he left behind. His position as prince would no longer be a mere title, and he would have to do whatever it took to keep his clan safe.

Even if it meant making a sacrifice as great as this.

“We’re here.” Sigurd said bleakly, stopping in his tracks once the waterfall came into view. He took a deep breath and gazed at the dreary environment, unable to even recognize the nature surrounding him.

This place once served as a sanctuary for the prince. It used to be a safe haven where he could take refuge when the troubles of his world proved to be overwhelming, and he often found a sense of tranquility in its earthly embrace. It always seemed to breathe with the spirit of the gods, and part of Sigurd even believed they walked with him sometimes when he ventured down this path.

Today though, the forest was barren of any life. The tragedies of the war had burrowed themselves into its very marrow, and it almost felt as if it could sense what was about to happen. The air was leaden with a suffocating anchor of dread, and it only seemed to crush Sigurd more and more the further he progressed.

He didn’t want to kill Dag. Every fiber in his being was screaming at him to stop.

Part of even him was even considering simply exiling the man in order to avoid further bloodshed. Deep down though, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. He knew that Dag would most-likely run back into Kjotve’s arms once he broke free from the judgement of his clan, and cause their people a plethora of problems that they didn’t need.

It seemed like death was the only option here, and Sigurd hated himself for it.

“...Sigurd,” Dag said, approaching the man from behind. “Will you tell me what we’re doing now? Why have you brought us all the way out here? Is this about what happened between me and Ulfar?”

The prince kept his gaze on the view before him, leaving his hand close to his axe. His back was currently turned to the other man, and yet, he felt as if he could detect his every move.

“...Do you remember the day we met, Dag?” Sigurd asked. “All those years ago?”

The warrior noticed how his friend skirted the subject, but said nothing of it for now. “Of course. How could I forget? I was what, ten years old? Maybe younger? I had just given you a black eye during a training spar.”

Sigurd chuckled softly at the precious memory. “Indeed. And if I recall correctly, it wasn’t too long beforehand that I was boasting about how easily I’d be able to fell you. I was the king’s son, after all. Nothing could touch me.” The prince smirked. “...It seems that arrogance was my greatest enemy back then. The day I met you was the day I learned humility. It was the day I gained a brother.”

Dag leaned against a nearby tree, crossing his arms. “And do you still feel that way?”

The other man paused, his voice hardening with a cold edge. “...Yes. But I suspect that the sentiment is no longer mutual.”

Growing restless with anxiety, Sigurd finally decided to put this game to an end and shot an icy glare at his childhood friend, practically boring through his skull. He approached the older man and looked him in the eye, trying to keep his breath as steady as possible.

“...Dag,” he whispered, “you know how I feel about you. We may not share the same blood, but you are my family. No matter how distant we may grow, there will always be a link between us. And I will always see you as my brother. That’s why... I need you to tell me the truth.”

Sigurd took a few steps closer, barely shifting his gaze. “...Are you the traitor?”

Dag scoffed at the question and shook his head, reluctant to give a direct answer. “You can’t be serious. You actually believe in the nonsense Ulfar was spewing?”

“I believe his words held merit,” the prince persisted. “You can call it nonsense if you like, but that doesn’t change the fact that you stand as an accused man.”

The warrior stammered for a moment, taken aback by the preposterous notion. “What are you talking about, Sigurd? You were there! You saw what happened. I defeated Ulfar in honorable combat. I cleared my name. Isn’t that enough?”

“Enough for the Allfather perhaps, but not enough for me. Everything Ulfar said was true. The way you handled the assault nearly got all our people killed, and I know you well enough to know that you’re too smart to make such a grave mistake. You did it intentionally.”

Still, Dag remained in denial. “I don’t believe this. You would trust the word of a paranoid old man over someone you consider to be a brother?”

Sigurd raised his voice slightly, unable to hide his anger anymore. “I trust what I see! And over these past few weeks, I’ve seen you do nothing but traipse through the shadows like a thief in the night, hiding like coward whilst our men died on the battlefield. I saw you return from Kjotve’s Fortress without so much as a scratch on your armor, and I saw the apathy in your eyes when they fell on Thora’s corpse.”

The prince’s expression darkened with ire. “You claim you are innocent, but innocence always speaks for itself. I see no good reason why I should question Ulfar’s accusations, and I doubt you can give me one. So I’ll ask again--” he leaned in, “--are you the traitor?”

Dag rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the waterfall, furrowing his brow in disbelief. It was evident that he had something to say, but the stone shackles of pride hindered his ability to come clean.

“How do you know Ulfar wasn’t trying to save his own skin by throwing me to the wolves? He was in a much more powerful position than I. He could’ve done anything he liked and gotten away with it!”

“What reason could Ulfar possibly have had to turn against Arngeir? You really think he would’ve been willing to endanger Thora’s life? Or Eivor’s? He saw them as his own children.”

“Who knows? All I’m saying is -- he was awfully quick to pass judgement on me. We had hardly set foot on Bjornheimr’s shores, and he was already prepared for a fight. The way I see it, Ulfar wanted to use me as a scapegoat. He was the jarl’s right-hand man, after all. He knew he could’ve said anything about me without raising suspicion. I mean, just look at how easy it was to fool you.”

Sigurd’s glare only sharpened at that. “You think I’ve been fooled, do you?”

“Am I wrong? I know you held Ulfar in high regard, but typically, the largest shadows are cast by those who stand the tallest. He may have been a good warrior, but that doesn’t mean--”

The prince shook his head in frustration. “--Enough, Dag! Enough with the lies. Enough with the deflection. Just give me a straight answer. I’m done running in circles with you.”

The other man fell silent, completely at a loss for words. “...You still don’t believe me, do you?”

Sigurd lowered his head in sorrow. “...I wish I could, Dag. Trust me. I wish I could. But if I’m going to keep this clan safe, I can’t allow anything to hinder my judgement. Not even when it concerns you.”

Dag let out a sigh and nodded in defeat, staring blankly at the ground. It was clear to him that his arguments were doing nothing in terms of swaying the prince’s mind, and he didn’t know what else he could say to divert the man’s skepticism.

“...I see.” He murmured, looking back up at Sigurd. His demeanor had completely shifted compared to when they first arrived at the waterfall, and a grim sense of treachery clung onto his shrewd face. “...Very well then, old friend. If that’s how you wish to do things.”

Dag pushed himself off the tree and straightened his posture, finally deciding to reveal the truth.

“...Indeed, your conviction is rightfully placed, Sigurd. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep up this facade, but I see no point in maintaining it any longer.”

The warrior paused for a brief moment, taking a deep breath.

“I was the one who warned Kjotve.” Dag confessed. “I was the one who assisted him when he ambushed Bjornheimr, and I was the one who told him to flee his fortress before our clans could arrive. I told him of this alliance.”

Sigurd’s heart instantly shattered upon hearing the confession, and his jaw clenched in rage as a spark of betrayal flared inside his chest. He knew his suspicions had to be correct, but even then, nothing could’ve prepared him for the immense disappointment he’d receive from a revelation such as this.

The prince wandered away from Dag in shock and began pacing along the waterfall’s edge, uncertain of how to respond.

“...And why exactly... did you do it?” Sigurd questioned, his tone alarmingly quiet. “What led you to commit such... foolish treason?”

“I did it for the good of our clan.” Dag answered monotonously. “I did it to protect us.”

The other man threw a puzzled glance at him, bewildered by his justification.

“To protect us?” Sigurd gestured to the distant village, storming towards the warrior. “Bjornheimr lies in a bed of its own ashes thanks to you! The jarl’s daughter has been murdered, and you have the nerve to act as if this was an act of heroism? I grow tired of your deception, Dag. Just tell me the truth. What is the real reason you did this?”

The traitor’s nose crinkled in envy, and a newfound sense of contempt twisted his expression. He was behaving in a manner that Sigurd had never seen before, and yet, the prince felt as if he had known this side of Dag for his entire life.

“We don’t need the Bear Clan,” Dag said. “All they’ve done is weaken us. They’ve even weakened you. Especially that boy.”

Sigurd cocked a brow. “Boy? What boy? You mean Eivor?”

“Yes. He’s turned you soft, Sigurd. Everyone can see it. Before we came to this forsaken village, you were a warrior. A leader. A man worthy of holding a crown. You led raids on our enemies, and you crushed anyone who dared threaten our people. You were a king in everything but name. But now? You’ve just become another pawn.”

“What are you talking about, Dag? How have I become a pawn?”

The traitor laughed. “Are you joking? I see the way you look at Eivor. That man has you wrapped around his finger. He’s distracting you from the war, and you’re allowing it to happen.”

The prince’s face was plastered with a look of dread. “You know about me and Eivor...? Who told you?”

Dag waved a dismissive hand. “No one needed to tell me. It’s as clear as day. You may be wed to Randvi, but we all know where your loyalties really lie. You’re only fighting this war for one reason, and that’s so you can take Eivor to bed while the rest of us do the hard work.”

Sigurd’s eyes snapped onto Dag with an iron grip, and his voice dropped to a dangerously low level.

“Watch... your tongue, snake.”

The other man chuckled. “The truth is painful, isn’t it? Nothing stings quite like the bite of a harsh reality you can’t accept. But please, by all means -- continue to ignore it. Ignore it like you ignore everything else, and let your kingdom crumble for your own selfish needs.”

Sigurd brushed off the traitor’s taunts and got straight to the point, eager to put this to rest. “So you’re a puppet for jealousy now? Is that it? You did all this... just because you envied Eivor’s position?”

A scoff escaped Dag’s lips. “Pfft. I want nothing that man has. Like I said before, I did this for the good of our people. Whether or not you choose to see it that way doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. The gods know this too.”

“The gods spit on oath-breakers like you! Odin has no need for men such as yourself in his company, and neither do I.”

“Then deliver your justice, my lord. Strike me down with the judgement that you deemed so righteous you had to hide it away from prying eyes. The people of Bjornheimr may not be able to see you here, but the Allfather does. And he will remember.”

Sigurd turned away from Dag and rested a firm hand on his axe, using every bit of his strength to stifle the tears that threatened to spill. He wanted nothing more than to scream at the gods for putting him in such an impossible situation, and he could already feel himself breaking down from what he was about to do.

But he had to keep his promise. He had to. Although no longer in this realm, Ulfar was depending on him to protect their clans, and Sigurd didn’t have the heart to deny the man his dying wish.

...But he loved Dag. In spite of all of his crimes, the prince still saw the traitor as the same boy he grew up with, and his memories of their time together only seemed to be resurfacing with every second he spent delaying the inevitable.

What was he going to do when the man was dead? Sigurd may have despised Dag for going behind his back, but a piece of his soul remained bound to him nonetheless. There was a link between them that couldn’t be broken, and the prince felt as if he was about to sever one of his own limbs.

A part of him would undoubtedly go with Dag once the man departed from this realm, and Sigurd couldn’t imagine himself ever getting it back.

He just prayed he would be able to forgive himself someday.

“You... you were my brother, Dag.” Sigurd said, his spirit collapsing with every word. “I loved you. I did. You turned my childhood into something that I’ll always hold dear. I’ll never forget the time we spent together, or the joy I’d feel when you were around. Those memories are something that no one will ever be able to take from me.” He tightened his grip on the axe. “But I can’t let you walk free from this. I can’t let you hurt my clan anymore. I... I have to keep my promise. I’m sorry.”

Yanking the weapon out of its sheathe, the prince lunged at Dag without saying another word and buried the axe in his chest, immediately causing the man to stiffen in his clutch. The two of them toppled over onto the snow after a single strike, and within seconds, the traitor was already gasping for air.

He writhed in Sigurd’s embrace like a worm on a hook and desperately tried to pry the blade away from his heart, but to no avail. The other man simply held him down and forcibly kept the axe in place, pushing it deeper and deeper into his torso as tears began streaming down his cheeks.

Sigurd couldn’t believe what he was doing. As a child, he always pictured himself leading their clan into a glorious victory that would forever grace the lips of bards across the kingdom, and spread into endless sagas for generations to come. He thought his role in the war would be one of grandeur just like in the tales his father often told him, and he believed his path to Valhalla would be laden with silver and gold.

But now that he was actually here... he was finally realizing just how torturous the nature of war really was. He wept at the sight of Dag’s life vanishing from his eyes, and his stomach churned at the feeling of the man’s blood staining his hands.

There was also the fact that the traitor died without an axe in his grip. He left it with Ulfar back in Bjornheimr, and thus, paved the way straight to Hel’s gates. His soul would forever evade the magnificence of the Corpse Hall, and a part of Sigurd crumbled at the thought of never being able to reunite with his friend again.

Dag was gone for good... and it was all his fault.

Letting go of the axe’s hilt, Sigurd allowed himself to relax and climbed off of Dag’s body, taking a seat beside him as a series of breaths fled from his lungs.

...He did it. He actually did it.

The traitor had been removed from their midst, and their clans would be able to proceed without worrying about betrayal. Kjotve would no longer have an ally inside their walls, and Gorm would give them the last step they needed before taking him down at last.

Sigurd supposed he should’ve been relieved now that things were finally in their favor, but all he felt was emptiness.

His closest friend lay defeated under the blade of his own axe, and his world remained shaken by the multiple losses it had just suffered. He experienced no pleasure in the face of this so-called victory, and the only thing he had left to hope for was the sight of Kjotve’s head.

He just wanted this war to end. He wanted the constant turmoil of these never-ending battles to become a thing of the past, and he wanted to cleanse the seas of the blood that stained their shores.

Sigurd dreamed of a future where people wouldn’t have to share his clan’s pain, but deep down, he feared it would never become a reality.

The war had already lasted for a couple decades, after all. He saw no reason why the gods would allow it to end anytime soon.

“Sigurd?” Someone said abruptly, dragging the prince back to his senses.

The man glanced upward from where he sat and gazed in the distance, only to find Eivor watching him from afar.

“Eivor...?” Sigurd whispered, quickly wiping his face dry. “What... what are you doing here?”

The blonde viking stepped out from the trees and approached his lover, careful not to distress him even further.

“I saw you leave with Dag earlier,” Eivor answered softly, still drained from the shock of Ulfar’s loss. “The two of you were gone for a while, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He paused for a second, allowing his eyes to wander towards Dag. “...You really killed him.”

The older man stared helplessly at the sky, peering into the canopy of branches swaying above him.

“...Yes. I did.” He said, his voice trembling slightly. “I had to.”

Sighing morosely, Eivor pushed his way through the mounds of snow and walked over to Sigurd, crouching down in front of him. He comforted the distraught prince by gently caressing his cheek, and flicked away some stray tears with a simple swipe of the thumb. Afterwards, the young man reached over to the axe protruding from Dag’s chest and carefully removed it, wiping it clean before laying it in Sigurd’s lap.

“You did the right thing. I know it wasn’t easy, but our clan will sleep better at night thanks to you.”

Sigurd loosely met Eivor’s gaze, entirely devoid of life. “...I feel like a monster. Dag was... he was my brother. I know everyone else saw him as a traitor, but to me, he was always that little boy I met in Fornburg.” His expression sank with grief. “...That little boy is dead now because of me. I killed him.”

Eivor held the prince’s face in his hands. “No, Sigurd. You didn’t kill that boy. Dag did. A long time ago.”

The redheaded warrior offered nothing but silence in response, causing Eivor to return to his feet.

“Come, my love.” He beckoned, reaching an arm out. “We should return to the village.”

Sigurd remained motionless on the ground, simply looking over at Dag’s body.

“Wait. Could we... bring him back with us? I’m aware of Dag’s crimes, but even then, I’d like to give him a proper burial.”

“Of course,” Eivor assured. “Many in the clan will question his presence at the funeral, but I’ll send someone to retrieve him once we return. Don’t worry. We won’t leave him behind.”

Sigurd propped himself up on one knee and grabbed the other man’s arm, rising from the snow. “Thank you, Eivor.”

The Wolf-Kissed guided his lover away from the waterfall and called for his horse, leading the prince back home.

“Come on.” He whispered lovingly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd styrbjornson #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

17 notes · View notes

jokertrap-ran · 4 years ago

Photo

(未定事件簿) 莫弈 SR [松雪童话] [Tears of Themis] Mo Yi SR [Snowy Pine Fairytales] Card Story Translations (Part 1)

*Tears of Themis Masterlist / Mo Yi’s Masterlist / Mobile Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Check out Chapter 1 of Mo Yi’s Private Story here!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / SMS

Location: Country Villa

MC: It nothing but snow as far as the eye could see the entire way here. This place’s snow really does make it live up to its name. It looks very simple and minimalistic, but it really brings out the vibe of the place.

MC: And this villa’s been completely furnished with wooden furniture.

Mo Yi and I were currently stood inside a magnificent villa. I surveyed the furnishings around us, unconsciously breathing out a sigh of appreciation.

MC: This is all thanks to you, Dr. Mo! And of course, your generous friend who was willing to lend us his villa!

Mo Yi: It’s great that you like it. I’ll pass your gratitude on to him.

MC: Yeah! It’s brilliant that we can spend Christmas here!

Mo Yi: Let’s go look around later and pick up a suitable Christmas tree along the way.

MC: Sure, sure! I can’t wait!!

The place we are in right now isn’t Stellis City, but the outskirts of another City, located a couple hundred kilometers away from it.

Mo Yi was here to attend a seminar on Child Psychology, and had invited me to come along with him.

And as to the reason why, well, we’ll have to go back to a month prior.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

MC: Looks like the snow has already stopped, Dr. Mo.

Mo Yi: You don’t sound very happy about that. Do you find it sad that it has?

MC: Quite. Stellis City doesn’t see much snow and we’ve only gotten some light snowfall this time too.

MC: I want to see a heavier snowfall. Better yet, one so heavy that I can build a snowman.

Mo Yi: Judging from this year’s weather forecast, it’ll be quite hard to make snowmen in Stellis City.

Mo Yi: But perhaps it may be possible somewhere else.

MC: Where?

Mo Yi: I will be out of town next month for a seminar. That place has snow all-year-round regardless of winter hits; I’m sure it’ll be to your liking.

Mo Yi: The date where the seminar’s taking place happens to be close to Christmas, so you can spend it over there. Just treat it as a short vacation.

Mo Yi: How about it? Interested to check it out?

MC: A white Christmas sounds pretty nice!

MC: Let’s go check it out together, Dr. Mo!

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

And that was how I came here together with him.

After the seminar, he had enlisted the help of his friend, who had managed to provide us with an unused villa where we could spend Christmas at.

After putting my luggage aside, I hurried out the door to see the snow.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Country Woods

MC: So, there's actually this big of a pine forest near the villa!

Mo Yi: From what I know of it, there are many different species of pine growing here, and it's very famous for how scenic the snow-capped pine trees are.

Mo Yi pointed to one of the big trees to the side. I looked all around, only to see trees with ramrod straight trunks and layered canopy of leaves, stacking atop one another like layers of a pyramid.

Pure white snow was dusted in between the green of the leaves, making it an absolutely beautiful sight to behold.

Mo Yi: Of course, the same species of pine that's often used as Christmas trees are also among these trees here.

I raised my eyes. The spectacular sea of trees before me was all I could see. The many different varieties of pine were all shaped differently, each standing tall and unique, making them an absolutely breath-taking sight to behold.

However, As someone who doesn't research much into Christmas trees, I didn't actually know where I should even start looking…

MC: Dr. Mo? Um, are there any conditions when it comes to choosing a Christmas tree? Like, how big or small it should be? It's color? Or maybe something related to its shape and the like?

MC: All these trees look almost the same in my eyes...

Mo Yi: There aren't any particular conditions to speak of, but generally speaking, the larger the base of the tree and the lusher its leaves, the better it'll look once it's decorated.

Mo Yi: But this is merely a suggestion. It’s a Christmas tree especially for you after all, so you can just choose whichever one that catches your fancy.

Heeding his words, I walked into the Forest, closely surveying the trees it had to offer.

MC: Hmm, this one’s way too big and this one’s still not green enough...

MC: Ah, ahh―! What is that!?

Suddenly, something flashed before my eyes; it kind of looked like a shadow, zipping through the line of trees.

The next moment, I felt a weight land atop my head.

???: Squeak, squeaaak―—

Mo Yi: ……

I tried reaching up to touch whatever it was, only for my hand to brush against something small, furry and so very warm...

Mo Yi: There’s no need to be afraid. It’s just a squirrel.

MC: A… A squirrel?

As if answering Mo Yi, the squirrel jumped a couple of times on my head, as if trying to prove its presence there.

Mo Yi: Don't move; I'll get it down for you.

Mo Yi: Come, slowly. Come here.

Those words of his weren’t directed at me, but to the squirrel on my head.

There seemed to be some sort of magical property to his voice, for I felt the weight lift off my head, as if something had just jumped down from it right after.

He carefully ran his hands through my hair. It was only after he had ascertained that I was unharmed, that his countenance returned back to his usual self.

Mo Yi: Great, looks like you’re not injured either.

I heaved a sigh of relief before I finally had the mind to look at the little "culprit". Turns out, it really was a squirrel; a tan-colored one.

It was currently perched atop Mo Yi's palm, it's sparkling black eyes glancing left and right, sizing us, strangers, up.

MC: It’s really a squirrel… It really scared me when it leapt out like that earlier.

MC: But it's actually pretty cute, now that I’ve gotten a closer look at it.

Mo Yi: Look, it's wearing a ribbon on its neck. Seems like it’s a pet.

Mo Yi: Maybe it ran off?

MC: You're right… The owner of this squirrel must be quite worried upon finding it gone. Dr. Mo, let's bring it with us and search for its owner as soon as possible.

Mo Yi: Yes, it hasn't gotten much snow onto it's pelt, so it probably hasn't been long since it ran out on its owner. The owner might be nearby, for all we know.

Thus, we proceeded to try finding its owner nearby. However, we didn't manage more than a couple of steps before a voice yelled at us to halt.

???: Stop right there, both of you! Return Demon King back to me.

I curiously turned my head to see a little boy around the age of 10 vehemently glaring at us.

His round face was flushed from the cold, and even though he still possessed the innocence of childhood, it was tinged with the indifference and annoyance he expressed.

Little Boy: Hey, did you not hear me? Hurry and return Demon King to me.

MC: D-Demon King?

Mo Yi: Is Demon King it’s name, little buddy?

Mo Yi smiled, pointing towards the squirrel on his shoulder.

MC: (It's obviously a squirrel, yet it's called "Demon King"; is this what they call gap moe…?)

Demon King: Squeak, squeak―—

Upon seeing the little boy, the docile squirrel suddenly bounded down as quick as lightning, burrowing itself into the gap of his coat.

The boy reached out to pat the squirrel on its head, his eyes softening as he did.

Little Boy: Demon King's answering you; it says yes.

MC: (He’s… Translating what the squirrel’s saying?)

I pondered over it as I surveyed the area, yet I didn't see any adults that might be his parents around the premises.

MC: (Appearing in the snowy mountains with only a squirrel in tow? He's really no ordinary kid.)

MC: What’s your name, little buddy? Can you tell us where your home is? We’ll send you back.

Little Boy: ……

He shot me a look before turning and running off without even so much as a reply.

MC: ...Dr. Mo, there’s nothing but snow everywhere, and I’m kind of worried about him being all alone out here, so let’s follow him.

Mo Yi: Okay, let’s follow his footsteps so that we don’t lose him.

We headed in the same direction that the boy fled, chasing after him; but he was too fast for us, so all we could do was to resign ourselves to watch his retreating back.

The squirrel named "Demon King" perched upon his shoulder, occasionally turning back to look at us, seemingly watching this "race" with great interest.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

We took a good many turns before a small village appeared before our eyes.

The houses of the village were scattered throughout the snowy grounds of the pine forest, but the little boy had disappeared without a trace.

Mo Yi: He might be a villager from here.

Mo Yi: I've previously heard my friend mention that there was a village called "Snowy Pine" near the snowy mountains. Looks like this is the place.

MC: Snowy Pine Village? So it really does exist.

Just as he had said that, I spotted a road sign that stated "Snowy Pine Village"; I suppose it also served as a nameplate for the entrance of the village.

MC: Logically speaking, that kid won't be facing any danger now that he's back in the village...

MC: But we should still go into the village and check for ourselves, just to be safe.

I looked around inside of the village. It seemed very quiet, with not many people pedestrians out on the streets.

MC: We don't know which house he went into, and it's not like we can just go around house-to-house knocking on their doors either…

Mo Yi: This village isn't big, so the villagers should probably know each other quite well. So, you don't really have to be worrying his safety.

Mo Yi: But since we're already here, how about we do some stuff you want to do and go back a little later?

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Country Woods

Mo Yi: But since we're already here, how about we do some stuff you want to do and go back a little later?

MC: Huh?

Mo Yi: While chasing after the child earlier, I saw that there was a small open-space area by the road which should be very suitable for building snowmen.

Mo Yi: Haven't you always wanted to build a snowman?

Just now? I was completely focused on the little boy earlier that I didn't pay any attention to my surroundings at all…

MC: I won't forgive myself if I miss out on an opportunity to build a snowman! Let's head over there and take a look!

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

We followed the path we took to come here and backtracked until we arrived at the location where Mo Yi was talking about.

It was an open space where the snow had piled on thick, the pure white snow sparkling brightly under the sun's rays.

MC: Awesome! I want to build a gigantic snowman!!

Stepping into the soft snow, my mood immediately shifted into one of giddy excitement.

I rubbed my palms together in anticipation, only to see that Mo Yi had already gotten a step ahead of me. He reached out, grabbed a handful of snow, and lifted it up.

Mo Yi: It's such a rare opportunity, so let's build one together.

I saw him undo the buttons on his windbreaker, letting it hang to the ground as he started to shape a ball of snow in his hands rather seriously.

His expression was one of utter focus. He was so intent on what he was doing that he failed to notice that the hem of his clothes was dragging on the snow.

MC: Dr. Mo, your clothes—!

Mo Yi: It's fine. You'll lose the fun of playing in the snow if you're too conscious about whether or not you're getting your clothes dirty.

Saying so, he patted a complete snowball into shape.

Mo Yi: We should pile the base on like this first, add another freshly rolled ball up on it… And it’ll slowly start taking shape.

Mo Yi: Hurry and come on here, (Y/n).

MC: Dr. Mo...

Mo Yi: What? You aren't coming?

MC: I suddenly feel like you're not really being your usual self, but when I think more about it, I realize that you aren't actually all that different from before.

Mo Yi: Hm? And how am I to understand that?

MC: Building a snowman doesn’t look like an activity you’d participate in, but if you think of it as creating a work of art...

MC: Then, building a snowman suits someone like you to a T!

Mo Yi: How about you, then? Are you willing to make a "work of art" together with me?

MC: It would be my pleasure!

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

After working on it in full swing for a while, all the snowman was missing was a nose “to dot the eyes of a painted dragon in”, as the saying goes.

I found a pinecone in the pine forest nearby and brought it back while Mo Yi worked on placing the finishing touches onto the snowman.

MC: Dr. Mo...

His pale forehead was slightly beaded with sweat, his usually neat and untouched hair hanging in slight disarray.

A stray strand fell in front of his forehead, but he was so fixated on fixing up the snowman’s facial features that he appeared to have not noticed it at all.

MC: (He's really quite different from his usual self when he's like this…)

MC: (But it must be rather uncomfortable, since it's rather easy for the stray strand of hair to get in the way of his sight.)

With that in mind, I instinctively reached out towards him, helping him push the stray strand of hair, tucking it back to the side.

Mo Yi: …….!

Mo Yi's hand froze in its movements upon feeling my touch.

MC: Okay, it won't be getting into your eyes anymore now.

Mo Yi: You...

Faced with his warm, gentle gaze, I suddenly realized what I had just done.

MC: Sorry, Dr. Mo, I just—

Just, what? It was as if I was tongue-tied, unable to continue the rest of my sentence no matter much time passed.

Mo Yi: Thank you, I never noticed that my hair had mussed itself up.

MC: You're welcome...

I had thought that I'd tide over the embarrassment of what had just transpired with that, but never would I have thought...

Mo Yi: Still, why is your face so red?

MC: !!!

▷Choice: It's because I was active

MC: It’s probably because I was running around quite a bit searching for the pinecone just now, so my temperature shot up...

Mo Yi: Tie your scarf tighter around your neck, least you catch a cold after sweating and being exposed to the cold winds.

MC: Y-Yes, it's a little cold...

Mo Yi: Pass me the pinecone, I'll put it on the snowman.

Mo Yi had finally stopped “digging” into the matter, and I inwardly heaved a sigh of relief.

But his earlier question, paired with that look he gave me had deeply imprinted itself in my mind, and I... Pretty much knew what he was hoping for. But, it's just that…

I just didn’t know how to answer him.

Mo Yi: Some things are just like building a snowman; do it one step at a time, there's no need to rush.

Mo Yi: I'll patiently wait for you, until you find the right pinecone that best fits this snowman.

MC: Yeah, okay.

▷Choice: It’s just the different lighting

The gears in my head started turning at breakneck speed, finally coming up with an answer that even I thought flawless.

MC: My face is red? ...Actually, your face is actually a little red too.

MC: I think it’s because the light reflects off a snowy ground differently, so our skin tones appear different from usual.

Mo Yi: The lighting? That sounds reasonable enough, but I’ve never witnessed anything like this happening before.

MC: It’s probably because...

MC: (I can’t keep up this lie anymore no matter how I try to fib...)

I lowered my eyes, avoiding those golden eyes of his that one would easily find themselves absorbed by.

The hope within those eyes of his… I saw it; I did, but I haven't yet thought about how I should go around answering it…

Mo Yi: I’m guessing that your temperature increased because you were running around looking for pinecones back in the forest just now.

Mo Yi: Tie your scarf tighter around your neck, least you catch a cold after sweating and being exposed to the cold winds.

In my panic, Mo Yi had found the most appropriate explanation for me. I inwardly let out a sigh of relief.

MC: Yeah, that seems to be the case.

Mo Yi: Pass me the pinecone, I'll put it on the snowman.

After “settling” the pinecones on the snowman’s round head, our creation was finally brought to a successful completion.

MC: It’s finished! You have most of the credit for this snowman!

Mo Yi: Rather than comparing who contributed more to it, I’d rather call it a collective masterpiece.

MC: I honestly never thought that you’d be willing to play around with me like that. I thought you’d think me childish for wanting to do that.

Mo Yi: I don’t think it’s childish at all. Plus… I’m not just playing along with you, I’m also very happy about this, personally.

Mo Yi’s expression turned serious.

Mo Yi: We also had heavy snowfall back in my country, and building snowmen was one of the things that children enjoyed.

MC: So… Did you build them with your little friends back then too?

Mo Yi: Yes, I suppose I have.

MC: You suppose?

Mo Yi: I didn’t have many friends of the same age who were able to play with me when I was young.

Mo Yi: Laughing from the bottom of my heart while building a snowman, that was also a somewhat rare luxury for me back then.

Mo Yi: Hence, every chance I get to enjoy the simple things, like building a snowman, is a precious and treasured experience of mine.

MC: Is that so...

MC: Then let’s retain this snowman forever!

Saying so, I took out my phone and sought for the right angle, snapping a photo of our “collective masterpiece”, I immediately sent him a copy.

MC: I’ve sent it to you, Dr. Mo. I’ve snapped quite a few pictures of it, so you can pick and see which one is to your liking.

He looked at the picture, laughing lightly.

Mo Yi: Thank you, I’ll treasure it.

After that, we ended up building many other things aside from the snowman. For example, small houses, little animals, and the like…

The snow completely relieved me of the stress that I had in my life. This was also a very precious experience to me, just like how it was to him.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

It was only until we got closer to the villa that we saw the little boy from before again.

The only difference was that he appeared very frantic, as if he’d just met some trouble.

MC: What’s wrong, little buddy? Did something happen again?

Little Boy: Demon King! I can't find Demon King! Can you guys help me find him?

MC: Demon King… Did it run off again?

Little Boy: Yeah, but it’s not the same this time! It's never disappeared for so long, and I’ve looked everywhere, but I can’t find him...

Little Boy: Demon King doesn’t hate you guys, so could you help me find it?

Mo Yi bent down to meet the boy’s eye-level.

Mo Yi: First, don’t panic. You’re much more familiar with it than us, so could you bring us to the places it always goes off to play?

Little Boy: No, I can’t go.

Little Boy: My granny has a bad leg, so I can’t go too far…

The little boy hung his head, his voice so filed with grief that he looked was on the verge of tears.

Little Boy: Demon King can’t be without me, else it’d get itself hurt...

MC: ...Don’t cry, little buddy. We’ll agree to help you find it.

The boy appeared to have grasped onto a glimmer of hope after hearing what I’d said.

He reached into his pocket and produced an old wooden whistle, hoarsely passing it to me.

Little Boy: Blow on this whistle and call Demon King by it’s name; he’ll come then.

I took the whistle from him, nodding my head in attention. Mo Yi stood at one side, patiently asking the boy questions.

Mo Yi: Then, do you know where it likes to go? For example, where should we go, so that we can meet it?

The boy thought for a while before pointing behind our villa.

Little Boy: Demon King and I often go behind this big house to play.

Little Boy: Just bring it to Snowy Pine Village when you find it! Gran and I live right there!

Mo Yi gently patted his head.

Mo Yi: Got it. We’ll help you look for Demon King, so hurry on back and look after your grandmother.

Little Boy: Okay, it’s a promise then! My house is the one right in front; I’ll be waiting for you!

The boy pointed to us where his house was located before hurriedly running back. However, he hadn’t taken more than two steps before he turned back again and shouted.

Little Boy: You must bring Demon King back, okay?

MC: Got it!

The boy finally left for real this time after receiving affirmation from me. Watching his retreating figure, I still felt a little worried.

MC: Dr. Mo, he said that he had to take care of his grandmother...

Mo Yi: Are you trying to say that he’s a child that’s been left behind?

MC: Yes. Based on what he said, it’s possible that there’s only him and an elderly member of the family back home.

Mo Yi: Let’s go look for Demon King first. We’ll still have to go to his house and have a look after we’ve found it.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Location: Country Woods

After parting with the boy, the both of us headed into the forest to look for Demon King. This particular forest was very dense, and adding on the fact that it was snowing, it made it very hard for us to distinguish one thing from another.

In the end, as unfamiliar with the forest as we were, we spent half the day searching, yet we didn’t see so much as a squirrel’s shadow.

MC: Demon King―— Demon King―—

I held the small whistle tightly in my grip, blowing and yelling out its name at the same time; but no matter how many times I tried, there wasn’t a single response.

MC: We’ve already searched everywhere; just where has it gone…

Mo Yi: Pass it to me, let me try.

Saying so, Mo Yi smoothly took the whistle from my hands and gently blew on it.

And with this, that was how the melodious, yet crisp sound of a whistle reverberated through the snowy pine forest at a pace that was neither too fast, nor too slow.

Once, twice… Another moment passed, but Demon King never appeared, making me feel even more worried.

MC: Dr. Mo, is Demon King… not here yet?

Mo Yi: Let’s wait for a little while more. I believe he’ll come.

After another whistle, I noticed a cluster of pine branches shaking, and part of the snow that had rested on the branches falling along with it.

MC: Doc…

Mo Yi placed his index finger in front of his lips, signaling for me to not make a sound, probably so that I wouldn’t spook our little visitor.

I waited with bated breath. A few seconds later, a small figure emerged from among the trees, only to disappear just as quickly a split-second later.

MC: ……

I was attempting to look for it when Mo Yi’s voice sounded by my ear right at the same time.

Mo Yi: Look, (Y/n)——

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

I turned around at the sound, only to see a small squirrel squatted on his hand, boldly looking back and forth.

Said squirrel wore a familiar-looking red ribbon around its neck. No way, isn’t that Demon King!?

MC: Oh! Demon King! That's great—

Demon King: Squeak, squeak, squeak!

Before the sound of my words had faded away, a small clump of snow suddenly fell from the pine branches that it had disturbed earlier with a muffled “thump”.

Demon King immediately stood up, ever-so vigilantly, as if it was going to flee yet again.

MC: Don't—

Just as I was stuck as to what the best course of action would be, Mo Yi acted quickly, swiftly calming Demon King down.

Mo Yi: It's okay, don't be scared. It's me, I won't hurt you.

Mo Yi: You friend has waited very long for you; he told us to come bring you back home in his stead.

Mo Yi: How about coming back together with us if you've had your share of fun, hm?

MC: (He's… Talking to the squirrel?)

───⋅𝕿𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊…⋆⋅☆

#Tears of Themis #Mo Yi #Translations #Otome #Mihoyo #未定事件簿 #莫弈 #松雪童话 #Snowy Pine Fairytales #缤纷乐游会 #Xmas Partyland #Tears of a Psychiatrist

35 notes · View notes

ickle-ronniekins · 5 years ago

Text

stars, george x reader

request: from nonnie: Are you still taking requests? I just found your blog and you’re so good! If so, would you be able to do George and a Muggle reader? Him bringing her to the Burrow or vice verse, her showing him Muggle things at home?

A/N: i love this and i love you, thank you for blessing me with this request it’s adorable—hope you all like it, thank you for reading and requesting and thank you, anon, for your kind words that keep me writing x

Something about you intrigued him. You didn’t know what is what exactly. But he certainly made his feelings for you rather obvious.

You didn’t mind so much.

It all started when you were standing outside of a pub in Ottery St. Catchpole on a winter evening. It had stopped snowing about an hour before, and the stars were shining bright in the deep blue sky.

You heard bells jingle behind you and a bit of laughter. Three men appeared beside you, having just finished a few pints, when one of them stopped and peered at you. He pulled his hat over his bright red hair. He glanced once at you, up at the sky, and again at you. “What’re you looking at?”

You smiled, not taking your eyes off of the sparkles in the sky. You nodded upward and said, “Just the stars.”

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, now looking into his eyes. “It’s worth it, though. There’s nothing quite like a clear sky after a snowfall.”

That was it for him.

He was in love with you right then and there.

He knew it when you smiled as you talked about the moon, and when you pulled your hat tighter over your ears. It was your beaming smile, your admiration for the world around you. The sparkly stars reflecting in your eyes.

He just knew.

After that, you very often saw him around town. Talking with him was easy and smooth. You’d gotten to know one another rather quickly, in fact. He always happened to show up wherever you were throughout the village, and you were wondering if this would become the new norm. Not that you minded, really. Having a cute boy bump into you everyday, accidentally or not, wasn’t something you ever expected. It was nice.

He sat down next to you one afternoon in a coffee shop when the cool weather had finally broke. The sun was shining and spring was in the air. “Reading? On a day like today?”

You took a sip of your drink and replied, “Can’t help it.”

He peered down at the book you placed gently on the table, a bookmark poking out of the top slightly. A book on stars, space, the moon, the vast sky—he wondered if this was becoming a pattern with you. He couldn’t help but beam as you spoke about your love for it, making his insides go gooey and warm.

And you could feel yourself grow increasingly interested in him, too. In fact, when he finally broke down and told you he was a wizard, your fuzzy, warm crush turned into quite the infatuation. As a non-magical being, magic and wizards was a whole new world to you—one you wouldn’t mind exploring. George loved showing you magical things, and he loved it when you introduced him to Muggle things, as he called them.

He brought you to the shop he owned with his twin brother, Fred, and showed you all of their magical pranks and inventions that they’d been working on since a young age. You loved how his eyes lit up when he talked about them. Like a young child’s. And they lit up even more when you tested some of them out—for research, you’d told him. He just shook his head in admiration. The two of you fell into fits of giggles.

Diagon Alley, the name of the street where their bustling business was located, was where you recognized just how much you loved him.

You came to be rather fond of that street.

That’s where it happened for you. Right there. Right in his shop, watching him interact so animatedly with customers, admiring his passion and his gift.

That was it for you.

When you wandered throughout the place, admiring every single thing on every single shelf, George found himself watching you instead of his customers. He just couldn’t help it, and he didn’t even care when people caught him. He just couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

You rounded the bend and George teased you. He laughed, “You’d better watch out—I may just have to slip you a love potion,” you looked at him with furrowed brows, “for research, of course.” He winked.

Confidence overtook you when he said this and you swallowed over a lump in your throat.

“Reckon it wouldn’t change anything,” you told him with a small grin.

He bit his bottom lip and smiled at you, too.

“Yeah?”

You nodded nervously.

He pulled you in for a searing kiss, right in the middle of his very busy store. He hands were tight around your waist, and you found yourself pulling on his tie to bring him closer, even though you were already pressed against one another. “I love you, too.”

You reckoned you’d never grinned so much in your life.

George nearly melted into a puddle. It was inevitable. One bright, toothy smile from you and he was a mess. It was just about the sweetest thing you’d ever seen.

He took you to his childhood home—it was several stories high and it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in your life. Dishes were washing themselves, needles were knitting yarn with the assistance of no one, clothes were folding themselves neatly into drawers—and it was bustling with people.

George loved introducing you to his family, and you got on well with all of them—especially his mother and sister. Everyone was easy to get along with, and were all very excited to continue discussing the magical world with you. His dad, however, wanted nothing more than to steal you away to discuss all things Muggle. It made you laugh. You’d never found your world to be terribly interesting. You couldn’t imagine someone magical being so interested in something so...boring. But to George’s father, it was everything and more.

One evening during the summer, you were outside the house with Mrs. Weasley, helping her water her flowers before heading in for the evening. George sauntered outside and leaned against the front door, his eyes washing over your light purple blouse and bracelets that covered your wrists.

“Georgie, dear,” Mrs. Weasley called, “how’s the garden looking, hmm?”

George didn’t take his eyes off of you when he answered his mother.

“Absolutely beautiful.”

You were pretty sure he could hear your heart thundering in your chest.

And you think his mother did, too.

“Mum,” George said quietly, “mind if I steal her for a bit?”

Mrs. Weasley smiled lovingly at you. “Good night, dear,” she kissed your cheek and pulled you into an embrace. She waltzed over to her son and did the same, cupping his chin in her hands before leaving you two in the darkness with nothing else but the faint kitchen light.

George held out his hand to you and said, “Stars are bright tonight.”

You fell into him and let out a soft hum.

“Want a better view?”

Adrenaline was coursing through your veins. Excitedly, you nodded quickly and tugged on his arm.

He pulled out a broom from his kitchen and your heart skipped a beat.

You’d never been flying before.

George had been nervous. He didn’t want you to get hurt.

He always said it could take a bit of practicing.

He sat on the broom and pushed himself backwards, motioning for you to come over and take a seat in front of him. When you did, he wrapped his arms around you and you slowly rose into the air. Your heart was pounding rapidly. This had been, by far, the most wicked magical thing you’d ever done. You wished you weren’t a Muggle. You could hear Mr. Weasley’s voice in your head telling you different. You smiled at the thought.

Before you knew it, you and George were high above the trees, but low enough that the Burrow didn’t look so far away. The stars, however, looked so much closer—like you could reach out and touch them if you stretched your arm a bit more, the crescent moon almost in your grasp. It was nothing short of—absolutely perfect.

George rested his chin on your shoulder. As you animatedly discussed the stars and the moon, more exuberant than you ever had been, he just squeezed you tighter and watched you. He watched as your grin grew, your eyes sparkled more, and listened to your rapid heartbeat.

Yes, he was in love.

There was no denying it.

He didn’t even bloody care how obvious his feelings were.

“This is magic,” you said breathlessly, taking in the world around you.

You felt his lips brush against your shoulder. He placed a kiss there, and then to your neck.

“Can we come out here again?”

You asked quite excitedly, you reckoned you probably sounded like a little kid. George laughed, squeezed you tight and nodded.

“How is it,” he began, “that in a world so vast with a trillion stars, that I was able to find you?” Puddle. You were a puddle. You felt the goosebumps on your arms rise when he continued, “the only one that matters.”

“You’re rather romantic tonight,” you teased him, poking him in the ribs as you floated above the trees, “what’s gotten into you?”

“Just feeling lucky, I guess,” he admitted sheepishly, and even in the darkness, you could see his cheeks go rosy.

Tears pricked at the back of your eyes.

Bloody hell, woman, keep it together, you thought.

With his arms around your waist, you shut your eyes tight and breathed in slowly. “I’m the lucky one, you know.” you told him. “I love you.”

He left trails of kisses along your neck.

“I love you more.”

More than there are stars in the sky.

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @perksofbeingawf

reblogs + feedback are greatly appreciated, loveys :)

#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #hp imagine #hp fanfiction #harry potter imagine #i s2g i want this so bad #i need my person lol k bye JUST GETTING LONELY ITS FINE #anyways.... heres this mess of a piece

226 notes · View notes

eternalstrigoii · 4 years ago

Text

Temperature Shock

Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Desert Warrior Dark Fey OC + Tundra Healer Dark Fey Reader And a happy birthday to my beloved @vespertineoracle who a) requested b) provided Nyvi for the festivities

You’d fallen into a routine over time.

When your people gathered for feasts, they had the habit of sectioning off. A great deal of them preferred company over food and drink, and Conall was among them; Udo kept his fledglings close, as was to be expected with so many orphans still in your flock. Shrike and Ini took it upon themselves to breathe life into the party, and you…

You found yourself watching them. Again.

Borra had drawn something of a map of the moors in the stone layers near the cavern’s apex, which you’d watched his claws etch deeper with every trace-over. The desert fey were warriors a cut above the rest of you, though they didn’t always flock together. The harshness of their inclimate tendencies wasn’t just reflected in their visage, but in their mannerisms; Suren perched like a vulture at his side, listening in utter silence save for when an addition was necessary. Borra stalked back and forth like a caged animal in thought.

And it stirred something in you, their lack of peace. Something as familiar as the uneven droop of your left wing.

You were a warrior still, but it had been some time since you were one like them. You hadn’t sworn it off as much as you’d allowed your unrest to cool; you were a healer, now. And you’d tended them many times.

As often as you pretended not to notice when their eyes went searching, as though they sought your input. When the back of your neck prickled with warmth, you took it as the opportunity to excuse yourself and return to your tightly-woven home to continue pouring over your work – the salves to be made, herbs to be dried, tonics to be stored for the future.

And, usually, they let you.

Except you’d looked away for a moment to make sure your tea was adequately re-heated, and when you settled back in your seat, there they were – on either side of you, like hawks awaiting the emerging rabbit.

Strangely appropriate, considering the intensity of their gaze.

You jumped, your white wings flaring as though they could be fended off. “Skies, Borra!” Your voice was sharper than you intended, and it only succeeded in baring his sharp teeth in yet another wild smile. You ignored the flutter in your ribs it inspired.

He plucked the stone cup from your hands and deliberately breathed warmth across the top. As though you’d needed the help.

The flutter was a little less easily ignored that time.

“Dance with us, Nyvi.” Suren’s talons carded lightly through your plumage. “You spend too much time on the sidelines.”

“I’m the only one?” you replied. Your crooked wing denied you the decency of refusing to respond to her touch; her talons were sharp and reached well into the thick layers of down between your pinfeathers. It flared lightly, encouraging preening as though you didn’t do a perfectly adequate job of it yourself.

Their eyes met. You ignored the tip of Borra’s tongue as it swept over his sharp teeth, or so you told yourself. You took a sip of your tea before you remembered that he’d aided in warming it, and you put on your best dramatic scowl for effect.

They didn’t buy an ounce of it.

“Do you think we’ll go to war tonight?” it wasn’t a question you were meant to answer; it wasn’t even a question he meant literally. “You can spare us a dance.”

Us. It wasn’t bad enough that they continued to seek your council, they sought your company as though the rest of the nest wouldn’t watch you with them. Udo’s kinsman, peaceful and gracious, encouraging their aggressive courtship.

If you didn’t have plenty to hold over the others in exchange, you might’ve worried about their laughter. Disapproval.

But you could recall at least once when any of them made a fool of themselves, so you sighed with your whole body and allowed yourself to be goaded into finishing your tea quickly. “One dance,” you agreed.

The crowd around the drums’ bonfire was never truly thinned. As the night wore on, the early dancers were replaced. A small gaggle of jungle fey stumbled away together, their arms flung around one another. Despite the variety in their tones and plumage, it was hard to tell where one began and one ended.

You imagined that would be the three of you soon enough.

Borra was keen. Calculated. And wholly, utterly, without shame. He passed you both like it was his idea to take to the dance, and you nearly entertained the thought that it was…until Suren held you back. He intended to display, and the realization nearly stole your breath.

He had no business with hips like those. None at all.

He moved for you like he did on the battlefield, fluid and powerful. There was nothing implicit about the proposition, nothing hidden in his glinting eyes.

Skies and stars. No wonder Suren hung on him like a burr.

You thought there might’ve been a literal warmth pooling in your belly until you felt it spread against your back, and your hand dropped to rest over hers. “Won’t you dance for me, Nyvi?” Her breath fanned your hair and, somehow, still made it through to the back of your neck. (It took absolutely no imagination at all to imagine how her talons would feel entangled in it; you imagined she’d hold you still while he worked those wicked teeth over your collarbone, and you felt your wings rise in display instinctively.)

“You,” you murmured to her, your hips deliberately moving against hers, “are trouble.”

She gave you the same look he did, all burning eyes and predator teeth.

You took much too much pleasure in pulling her between the both of you, as though it wasn’t Borra’s eyes you kept catching. As though it wasn’t his hips you deliberately canted yours toward, though Suren’s just happened to be in the way.

Her head fell back against his shoulder. You thought his hand might’ve been trapped between your thigh and hers, but you weren’t certain; the other came to the back of your neck without warning, and his mouth descended on yours with the same ferocity he gave her.

Blame movement and proximity to their self-created heat as much as you liked, the flush of warmth that spread from his hand down your shoulders was all desire. Your robes, the fur lining of the armor you’d never quite relinquished, were suddenly much too hot, though the way he kissed you implied he tasted the cold on your breath and wanted more. Something little and evil inside of you imagined where your tongues met must’ve created steam.

Her palm brushed against your trousers, and you groaned.

They pulled you after them like you weren’t craving more. You alternated kissing them; the chill in your skin flared against Suren’s back and made her squeal, and that earned you her teeth sunk enthusiastically into your collarbone. You damn near keened right there in the tunnels, trusting Borra to guide you where you wouldn’t be disturbed.

Which was right back to your nest, though you barely realized at first. Only the sudden chill, the sudden flushness of their bodies against yours, gave the tundra away. You almost made a half-hearted quip about how well accustomed they must’ve been to the cold of the desert nights, all wrapped up in one another, but your talons were in Borra’s shoulder and he worked a delicious bruise into the side of your neck that made you all the more delighted about the trailing of Suren’s hands.

If the three of you hadn’t done this dance before, it may have been different. The first time Borra took you, you’d nearly unraveled. He was passionate and fierce and made love to you like he shouldn’t have. You’d nearly cried for yourself, for your ecstasy and your intrusion upon their nest, until Suren abandoned focus on your pleasure to kiss you, slowly and delicately like night-blooming agave. You’d been sure that you would be a rotating fancy, the ardor of love entangled with the thrill of valor, but there was unity in their intentions that you hadn’t expected. What did any of you have to gain from separation when you were the last of a dying race? If loyalty and devotion were instinctive, then so was the need to preserve what could be – all of you. Together. Individuals in a collective united by a common force, whether it was what you feared to lose or what you fought for.

Suren pulled you down into the nest, and the span of her warm tongue over the mark she’d left below your ear dispersed your thoughts.

Clothes were removed, and quickly. Their great wings should’ve offered them some protection to the weather, but they both acted like they’d freeze to death if they didn’t burrow into the furs with you as immediately as possible. Temperature shock, you’d joked once, and gotten a love bite on your hip so large you’d flinched when you bent for several days after.

One you realized you’d yet to reciprocate, though Borra’s nuzzling into your back was hardly an advantage.

“Pure as the driven snow,” he couldn’t help but bait you, so you grinned with far too many teeth and fixed yourself to a place under his ear that Suren hadn’t already claimed.

He hissed, arching into you both. Suren rolled her hips, her talons biting into yours. It wasn’t your place to lead, though you enjoyed staging your resistance to being led immensely. You waited, your breath catching in your throat as he teased you both.

He only claimed you when he knew you were prepared to take her, when your teeth in his throat released abruptly and Suren’s cry reminded you of how unprepared she must’ve been for the cold of your skin.

“Sorry,” you whispered, but it was on a laugh and she pulled you closer with a needy little whine anyway.

“Apologize one more time and I’ll give your mouth something else to do.”

You almost retaliated, but he moved inside of you and it stole the very breath from your lungs. You rested your weight over Suren’s shoulders, content to allow your hips to move at his guidance.

He gathered your hair around his hand like you thought he might, your long, white tresses well-combed. You had half a mind to encourage him to tug, but his attention was already fixed on marking your shoulders as thoroughly as possible while he rut you into her.

“Mm.” She canted her hips, arched to meet you. “Touch me, Nyvi.”

You did, dropping your weight to your elbows. It was almost temperate, your skin between both of theirs, and you couldn’t resist leaving a series of icy kisses over the marks on her collarbone. You couldn’t resist soothing the marks in your wake, not even when you took such delight in making them.

Until he caught your chin on his finger and guided your mouth back to his.

And Suren stole you back with another long, smoldering kiss of her own.

Your talons flexed in your tightly-woven nest, the dry crinkle-snap of twigs a strange punctuation to the huff and tremble of your breath. Her hands ran over your body, her hips rose to meet yours as his drove them down. Your head swam with the warmth between them, but the fever of their claim settled into a lovely, steady rhythm that made your toes curl. Before long, you were panting. You should’ve pinned your hair up, because you could’ve thought of a dozen other ways for Borra to be using that hand even though it gave him the advantage of showering kisses over the back of your neck.

You weren’t sure if you or Suren started begging first, but it was because the higher you built, the more deliberately he moved. He found that spot inside of you that nearly made you see stars and pressed into it only lightly. Your hips bucked against Suren’s, and her occupation with kissing and marking you could only go so far. She rut against you, wanting more, hungry for release, and between the two of them, your senses couldn’t tell you up from down or ground from flight.

“Nyvi!” she keened, and Borra, ever good to you, suddenly redoubled his efforts.

You came so hard frost spread over the woven branches of your nest. If they minded, it didn’t strangle their sounds.

Borra’s arm encircled your chest like he knew he’d need to keep you from crumpling to your stomach. The three of you only ceased to move once the pulse of your pleasure had calmed and your mutual chills set in. You drew your wings in close around Suren, engulfing her in their downy warmth. You kissed her by way of apology, and she drew her folded wings close against her as she made herself at home against you.

You were still between them when he settled, folding one wing against your nest and extending the other over you both. “Mm. You look like Udo might yell at you.”

You reached up to touch a series of smoldering bites along your neck. They stung, and it made the tremble in your belly return.

“You look like I’m gentle with you,” Suren teased, brushing her fingers along the bite you were most proud of, in the soft flesh under his ear. The outline of your teeth left an imprint, and the flesh there was already iron-burn dark.

He purred, resting his head in her palm.

For a while, the three of you just lay there, exploring each other without passion suffocating you. You fell in love with the sharpness of Borra’s cheekbones all over again, and the way Suren’s wings moved ever so slightly when she breathed. You touched one another’s faces, kissed one another’s lips.

And then you paused and looked gravely at them both. “When is the last time anyone’s taken a comb to your hair?”

Borra looked at her, and both pretended they were prepared to gather themselves and rise, as though your wings didn’t fan out to trap them. Even your crooked one was weighty enough for that, and they grinned as they sunk back into the warmth under you. “Can you be convinced to let us rest?”

“Funny,” you deadpanned, “that was what I was doing with my tea. Then you showed up.”

#Borra x Reader #M:MoE #There Is No Plot Only Zuul (lemons)#No Beta We Die Like Men #Dark Fey

76 notes · View notes