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comfortless · 1 year ago

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Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #konig fanfiction #i have been mulling over this for an eternity sorry it needed to be extracted from my brain #he is absolutely more lycanthrope coded to me but whoosh whatever nix König be upon ye #also apologies to everyone for not writing much lately and the fact this is hardly a real fic #cursed by the sleepy i just need a 10yr long nap #<- in my ‘in denial about burnout’ era

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starlessea2 · 1 year ago

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The Dawn Watch (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: As dawn breaks the morning after the tiefling party, you find a vampire basking in the sun. In the daylight, all of his pretty words start to unravel. (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N After a week of feverishly playing (and completing) BG3, here's my first Astarion writing. Part 1/3 of a WIP mini-series called the Sunlight Chronicles.

Masterlist

Sunlight was warm on your eyes. It coaxed them open and made you blink: once hard, twice fast. Your lids were heavy, yet you could hardly remember closing them in the first place. Neither could you recall dozing off in a pile of leaves.

As you pressed yourself into the ground, the forest floor rustled beneath you. A cacophony of dried foliage and bark, made somewhat comfortable by the mossy overgrowth. It took you a moment to understand your surroundings.

The tiefling party had bustled on into the early hours. It was the first reprieve you’d allowed yourself since being plucked from Baldur’s Gate and thrust into this new adventure. But, perhaps you had overindulged…

There was a fire in your belly still, laden with mead and lingerings of lust, and it had led you here: stark-naked and alone on the outskirts of camp.

A chuckle sounded behind you. “I was starting to wonder whether I’d drank you dry.”

You sprung up to your elbows. Not alone, you suddenly remembered.

Your head whipped around, settling on the figure bathed in the light of the low sun. “But alas, you were just making good on that beauty sleep. Morning, pet.”

Rubbing the bleariness from your eyes, you found Astarion. He was radiant. Rays of dawn had snuck through the trees, dappling between branches onto his pale skin. And his hair... Caught in that glow, it looked like leftover starlight.

The only thing letting him down was his smile. It was utterly charming, as always. But it was more obvious in the daytime; that smile was well-practised.

“Umm, good morning,” you eventually croaked back.

Your eyes locked with Astarion's, too nervous to wander over his body. He noticed, of course, and so he paced before you—a small strut, hands on his hips to invite your appraisal.

You looked away. Even in the warmth of the sun, you could feel the man’s contribution to your cheeks. It incited a laugh from him.

“Oh now don’t pretend to be coy, my sweet,” he said. “Not when there was hardly any of that last night.”

You turned your head; any liquid courage you’d gotten from the party had long since worn off. But now sober, Astarion made your heart ache. His falsity was clear as day. He uttered the words you so desperately wanted to hear, but delivered them on the back of a deceitful voice.

A sigh escaped you; perhaps the only time he hadn’t lied was when he’d called you naive.

Awaiting your reply, Astarion became indignant. "What?" he asked. "Disappointed at the lack of morning cuddle? If you ask nicely, perhaps I’ll come back to join—”

"No," you said. "I just..." His eyes watched your every move, red and calculating. You took a moment to collect yourself. "I'm surprised that you stayed at all," you admitted. "Didn't take you for the type."

His hand fell over his chest. "Oh, how you wound me! I try to do the gentlemanly thing, and yet you accuse me and look at me like that."

You cocked a brow. "Like what?"

Astarion let out an exasperated sigh. "Let’s just say it’s easier to know what you're thinking when your eyes are shut.” He made a face, mortifyingly reminiscent of one you’d likely pulled the night before, and your mouth fell ajar.

If you’d been wearing shoes, you would have hurled one at him. But embarassed and barefoot, you instead dug your palms into the soil, more than ready to depart.

Astarion was roused into action. "Oh come on, my dear," he said softly. He sunk to the floor beside you, coaxing you to stay. "All in good fun."

You deliberated for a moment, watching him in your peripheral. There was a smile on his face but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Somewhere in the depths of your mind, a pang of hurt made itself known. You quickly squashed it down, hoping Astarion had not noticed it in his.

Whatever feelings had bubbled over last night were absent this morning, you could just tell. Perhaps he no longer found you interesting now that he'd conquered you. Maybe he'd pursued you just to break your heart, or gods forbid, he'd been put off after sleeping with you—

“It’s just so warm.”

The words left Astarion, quiet as a whisper. But then his eyes widened and his lips formed a taut line—as though they'd never intended to let anything escape at all.

"What?" you started. But with one small glance at the man, you realised; he was talking about the sun.

For a moment, you watched him, basking in the glow like there was no place he'd rather be. You hummed in agreement. “I guess it’s something we all take for granted here.”

He nodded. It became obvious then; he hadn’t stayed for you, but for the sunrise.

“Astarion, I–”

He snapped his head. The look in his eyes cautioned you—told you the two of you weren’t that close. But something behind that almost dared you to try.

Against your better judgement, you proceeded. “You might have already guessed, but I’m no early riser." A chuckle instinctively followed. “I know Lae’zel told us not to question the shifts she allocated, but..." you paused, "who wants to take watch at the crack of dawn? Certainly not me.”

It was silent for a moment—save for the soft lilting of birds and the occasional breeze. Yet even then, the morning dawned so quiet that your breaths felt loud.

It took a few seconds for Astarion to reanimate, but when he did, it was with a smile. “Oh, my dear... If you’re struggling that badly, you could’ve just said." He sat up, readjusting to meet you straight on. “It’s not a bother swapping with you—if the night shift is more to your taste.”

Your heart felt warm. Truthfully, you liked the dawn watch, but you had a feeling it would be better appreciated by him. “That would be wonderful, thank you."

You had an inkling that Astarion recognised your ploy, but but if did, he wasn’t making a show of it. His hand wove its way into yours, and pressed it into forest bed. “My pleasure," he said. Then he leaned forward with a grin.

You anticipated a kiss, but he stopped before your neck, tracing the bloody bruise he'd bestowed with his lips—worrying last night's sore between his teeth. “It's the least I can do...”

As he mumbled against your skin, a shiver sparked through your shared connection.

“I’ll be more gentle next time." His breath fanned hot over your ear. “Both ways.”

You let out a gasp. "It's okay, we don’t have to—” The words ejected from you, all flustered and not at all how you pictured them.

Astarion offered a smirk in return, but it was accompanied by an expression you now recognised.

He thought you naive.

“Precious,” he said beneath his breath, before returning your crumpled dress to you. “Now come. We best not keep the others waiting.”

And so you followed his lead and quickly dressed: smoothing your hair and attempting to rid your cheeks of their flush.

If anyone asked, you'd say you were sun-kissed.

#astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion x you #bg3 fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #dnd

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percywinchester27 · 2 months ago

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The new Mrs. Winchester (18)

Word count: 3.1K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Really slowly, but we are getting there ;)

Beta: My darling @deanssweetheart23

With your back to the damp wall, you stared at the mouldy ceiling. Sick green patches had bloomed all over it, giving the appearance of an ugly, mossy carpet. A guard had thrown two blankets over your body. Amazing the difference that warmth could make to the mind’s functioning.

Thirteen men so far.

The pins had been removed from your heels, and now littered on the cell’s floor. Using the sharp point of one you made thirteen lines on the wall, then a fourteenth one. The guard from the first night should also count. But so should Nick, then.

Rage, the sort that could scorch the earth whole erupted inside you. A few days was all it took for the shock to turn into horror, then grief and finally rage. That monster was the reason Danny and Jamie were being held hostage. But they were safe. You had gathered your marbles and spent every minute since your recapture vigorously trying to understand the extent of your situation to the last detail. First: You were a commodity, with investment already put in place. If you behaved as instructed, you could avoid the worst of bodily harm, at least, from the captors’ side. The boss– a shudder ran through your body, in cold fear– wouldn’t let his men touch you… only the clients and him. The first assault from a guard was a one-time thing and would never be repeated, now that you knew all the rules. So, as an investment, you would be taken care of. Physical injuries would obviously reduce the value of the goods.

Second: The kids were safe for now. The business didn’t deal with murdering children for fun, they were only a security and not a purposeful target. No one would ever go out of their way to hurt them. As long as you followed instructions, they would be untouched and well-educated.

Third: You could manage and escape, but you wouldn’t even try now and everyone knew that. They managed high-end clientele and you were specifically chosen for being well-educated, where you could entertain body and mind.

A possibility emerged from all the analysis. If you managed to stay alive for a few decades here, they wouldn’t want anything to do with a wrinkled woman. Then, instead of killing you, they might turn you onto the streets.

A rattling cough sounded from the adjoining cell. In the afternoon, when they’d taken you upstairs for the man in the hideous purple suit, the cell had been empty. Noises could only mean one thing– you weren’t the newest piece for sale anymore.

Gripping the bars, you hoisted yourself up, still in pain, and banged on the wall. No one was on duty in the passageways at that time. The girl must have mirrored you, for you could see the tips of her fingers if you craned your neck.

“Don’t resist,” you whispered. “They’ll get you one way or another. It’s no use.”

She spat. “You can give up. But I won’t. I’ll find a way of getting out of here.”

You didn’t mind her derision. Rather, a sadness gripped your heart at her confidence, at the fight she harboured. You were just the same once.

Sliding back, you bit back a shriek of pain. Everything hurt and you didn’t know if you would be ready to deal with more by tomorrow.

“Where… where are we?” She asked, voice shaky. “Which way is the exit?”

“We’re in Texas, near the border to New Mexico. This is the second basement and the exit is on the third right by the parallel passageway. Two guards are always stationed there. If you get past it, you’ll exit on a mile-long driveway and about two miles to the east of its end, you’ll find a bus stop.”

A sharp intake of breath.

“I managed to escape once,” you told her. “Almost made it into the bus, too.”

“So, there is a way out?”

You didn’t want to repeat words of hopelessness to her. In her own time, she would know how impossible it was.

Michael came rattling the bars and you pressed up against the wall, scared of the smirk on his face. But he stopped before your cell, in front of hers.

“C’mon, Darling, it’s showtime,” he sneered. She must have spat in his face because the next minute you heard the clanging of the door being opened and then a slap, followed by a crash.

“You better watch it, bitch!”

“My boyfriend will rip you to pieces!” She screamed.

“Oh, really?” Another slap.

A sob broke free of your lips. That poor girl had also trusted a man and ended up here. You knew the drill, the water hoses, followed by nights of torment where she would worry sick about the guy before they would drop the truth on her of who really sold her.

“T-Take me!” The words left your lips, and then you couldn’t take them back. “Leave her. I’ll go again tonight.”

“My… my… how touching,,.” Michael came around to your cell. “Such a princess move! You know I’m not picky. If you want to get some more tonight, be my guest.” He opened your door and yanked you out. Slowly, you moved past her and registered nothing but her big brown eyes, before Michael poked you in the back. “After you, your royal highness.”

*****

“Would you like honey in your coffee, Miss?”

You craned your neck up to squint at her. “Honey? In coffee?”

“Yes,” said Abby. “Mr. Winchester has been taking it in his and it seems to have made all the difference.”

“Abby, the only thing that could make any difference to his coffee is throwing that whole jar away.”

She giggled quietly and added a single sugar cube to yours. You registered her mild tone. There seemed to have been a colossal shift in her attitude towards Sam. You wouldn’t be the one to complain, but regretted having missed the phenomenon.

“Mrs Winchester!” Sarah, the other maid on Wednesday’s wait staff barged into the room. “Ma’am, you need to come down, people have come asking for Mr Winchester.”

Sharing a confused look with Abby, you followed Sarah downstairs and then steeled yourself to find most of the board in the dining room, seated at the table.

“Mr Singer, it's wonderful to see you here,” you greeted Bobby and then the other members, most of whom were Sam’s cousins. “Sam isn’t home at the moment. What can I help you with?”

Sam hadn’t been home for a while now, away on business as he was.

“You can’t help here,” said Christian, but he didn’t appear surprised in the least to not find Sam at home. “It’s a board matter.”

None of the Campbells had ever spoken to you directly. Not Christian or even Gwen, but she was glaring at you now.

“Why, I think I deserve to know.”

“If you insist then,” he said, tilting his head. “The board has decided by a majority to remove Sam Winchester as the CEO. Considering the share of all present parties, the majority percentage agrees to instant dismissal.”

Your heart started pumping faster in your chest, but you managed to murmur, “How does that work?”

Christian seemed to be the spokesperson here. “Removing Sam’s forty per cent leaves sixty per cent. Bobby here refuses to agree–” a sneer in his direction– “ That leaves a majority of the shares with us! Is it simple enough for you, Y/N?”

You jerked at being called by your name by anyone other than Sam. However, you held your ground. “Doesn’t leave sixty per cent.”

“Excuse me?” Gwen stepped up.

“I said, removing Sam’s share, doesn’t leave sixty per cent. It leaves eighty. A week ago he transferred half of his shares to mine.”

A rumble ran through the assembled men. Apparently, the share transfer hadn’t been put up on a bulletin board.

“That’s still what? Twenty to–”

“Twenty-five,” grumbled Bobby. “Don’t go forgetting this old man, Campbell.”

Christian was losing it now. “Fine, big deal. It’s still twenty-five to thirty-five. About time that Sam and his new bride packed up and left.”

At your startled look, Gwen grinned. “Didn’t you know, Darlin’? The mansion’s run by a trust, no majority, no house.”

You looked about yourself, missing Sam in your bones. Insanely, while sitting at the dining table, of all people you thought of Han. The snapping, the hostile looks in everyone’s eyes reminded you of his words: “Lady, if you run into the wolves, I’ll be afraid for them.” You wanted to be that brave girl now, the one unafraid of wolves. And just like that you were homesick for him. He’d promised to come when you needed help, needed him– lamp or no lamp.

And here you were about to be thrown out when Sam wasn’t even home.

The doors of the dining hall were thrown open and you jerked up in your seat. As if in a fever dream you saw Han saunter into the living room, boots, leather jacket, muddy jeans and all, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

As he passed by your chair, he lightly ruffled the top of your hair briefly, then pulled the chair beside yours and fell on it. “Hey, Chewie!” He grinned, completely disregarding that every chair apart from his and yours had scraped and now everyone else was on their feet, emotions ranging from shock to being thunderstruck. He put his muddy boots up on the table over crossed ankles. The soles directly faced Christian.

You made a move to get up as well, but he placed a hand on yours to hold you there. You couldn’t help but gauge everyone’s reaction. Out by the brook, on your pier, holding Han’s hand would be the most natural thing in the world, but not only did he seem completely out of place here amidst these men in suits, but he also didn’t seem to care… at all. And you didn’t know if you did, as Mark Campbell’s eyes moved from Han’s face to his hand on yours. Be that as it may, you were still magnanimously glad that he was here for you.

“So, Christian, I heard you were harassing this young lady?” Said Han, eyes sharp. “Old habits die hard, huh?”

A slight panic started to rise in your throat. You didn’t want any of these people to be disrespectful to your friend, be horrible to him, because they were perfectly capable of it.

“Ha–” you started, but he tightened the grip on your hand, and you understood his signal to be quiet.

No one had found their voices yet and were still gawking at Han as if he were some extra-terrestrial being.

In the end, Bobby cleared his throat and put a hand on your friend’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son.”

Han turned his face to meet Bobby’s gaze and you couldn’t see the expression on it anymore, but Bobby’s eyes became tender and he let go. When Han faced Christian again, the steel was back in his voice. “ Explain the math to me again, will you?”

“Y-you can’t just come back again and… and…”

“And what? Explain it like a five-year-old to you?” Han smirked. “Did you leave all of my twenty per cent out? Guess it doesn’t take the MBA that you don’t have to figure out forty-five is a bigger number than thirty-five, huh?”

“You, son of a bitch,” hissed Christian, putting his palms on the table. “You think you can disappear to God knows where and then turn up now to–”

For the second time, the door to the dining room opened and Sam stumbled in. At first, his gaze fell on the assembly as a whole, then he did a double take at Han, eyes going wide and wider by the second, until they dropped to your entwined hands and back up again, at your face first and back to the man next to you. You saw him rock a little on his feet and then go very still.

You yanked your hand back, but you needn’t have because Han let go, too, and got to his feet. You fully appreciated how tall he was, also. It seemed like an eternity passed between them as they stood staring at one another and slowly, very slowly the situation truly sank in your comprehension.

Castiel followed after Sam and froze, too, then exclaimed, “Dean!”

With shaky feet, you stood up, realising how wrongly you had interpreted the entire situation. The board members weren’t shocked at the appearance of an alien person in their midst. Rather they were incensed at the entry of the strongest contender in the game save for Sam himself.

This man was Dean. Your Han was Dean Winchester.

“Cas,” Bobby warned, and Castiel schooled his expression. “Move along then, people,” Bobby raised his voice. “I believe the matter is settled. Let the family have some privacy.” But the men didn’t seem to want to move, as if they were also caught in the power of the unbroken gaze, expecting a shouting match… eager for it. And maybe they weren’t far off, because you knew Sam’s clenched jaw and Dean’s steely eyes.

“Move now!” Bobby snapped and slowly the board filed out of the room. Cas, the last to leave, closed the door behind him with a look of apprehension.

Your breath caught.

Time unfroze then.

Suddenly, Sam crossed the room and closed the distance in between to engulf his brother in a tight hug. Dean hugged him back fiercely, eyes an ocean of emotions– pain, longing, love. And Sam? You had seen him stressed, worried, even vulnerable… but never like this, never seen him close his eyes so tight and simply let go. The weight he seemed to carry on his shoulders all the time, seemed to evaporate in a second and you could see in him the man who was only twenty-nine, without the responsibility of the world to pull him down.

They broke apart, eyes still roving each other's faces for a minute, before Sam turned to you, grinning. “Dean,” he said, voice lighter than a breeze, “This is Y/N. And Y/N, this… this is my brother, Dean.”

He took a step in your direction, but you moved back, flattening yourself against the wall. “Don’t… don’t come close to me.”

“Y/N?”

Sam’s brow furrowed.

You inched further away, pointing a finger at him. “You got me good, Sam. You got me real good. You and your brother. Did you plan every second of it? And for how long? For two years, is it? For two years you’ve made a fool of the whole world… no bigger fool than me, though. Brilliantly executed good cop- bad cop routine.”

You felt disgusted at yourself for falling for the manipulation. Had anything been real at all?

“You wouldn’t even look at me in the beginning. In… In the chapel, you wouldn’t even turn your head in my direction, as if I was something disgusting stuck to your shoe, and you treated me like an invisible ghost in your house. And then you graced me with your attention, your care, your… your…” You broke down crying. “All to get me talking. I know that now. I’m not stupid.”

Knees bucking, you fell to the ground, unable to stop the pitiful crying.

Both brothers moved, but Dean was quicker to get on his knees.

“Chewie–”

“Don’t you fucking call me that,” you screamed. “I trusted you. I thought you were my friend.”

Over you, Sam started, worried eyes shifting between you and his brother in confusion.

“You’re an asshole,” you pointed at the man before you and then above. “You, too, Sam. You violated my trust. What you did is no better than any of those hundred men.”

Sam flinched. You might have slapped him.

Shakily, you got to your feet. “I’ll never forgive you.”

The run up the stairs and straight into your room ended when you threw yourself onto the bed. The silk hangings mocked you. You had been blinded by the false promises and reassurances, but you were still nothing more than a piece for sale, to be used… had never been anything more.

Slowly the past few months started to feel like a dream… one that had always felt too good to be true because it was.

The girl in the next cell jumped up from the floor as you were nearly dragged back to the basement that night, having completely lost the will and ability to walk. You heard the clatter of steel bowl as she rushed, but couldn’t find the energy to meet her gaze. Then it was too late as the door to your cell opened and you were unceremoniously flung inside. The birds outside were just starting to twitter, signaling the early hours of morning, little rodents scurrying to get back into their holes now that the night had ended. How you wanted to crawl in a hole, too, and just… die.

“Why did you do that?” She asked, voice strangled.

You didn’t have an answer for her. Getting slapped six times was nearly the same as getting slapped five times, right? Tonight, you were beaten anyway and she wasn’t. You understood the difference.

“Thank you.” Her voice held all the gratitude.

With the last vestiges of strength, you dragged yourself up onto the cot and pulled the two blankets over your body. “It’s alright.” Maybe she heard the whisper. Maybe she didn’t.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m gonna get us out of here. Get you out, if it’s the last thing I do.”

She was brave that one. You wanted to tell her to hold on to that spirit because men knew nothing but to hammer against it. Men knew nothing but to take advantage of women, but you were too tired to open your mouth.

Maybe having her in the next cell, you might not feel so lonely anymore, you thought as your eyes closed.

The banging woke you up. Sam was hammering on the connecting door of your room. Pulling your hands up, you shut your ears tightly until the banging stopped. Sam didn’t rest, as the desperate banging gave way to structured knocks.

L-E-T M-E A-T-L-E-A-S-T E-X-P-L-A-I-N

P-L-E-A-S-E

Y-N

One last loud bang against the door, as if he had banged his fists against it in frustration.

You must have fallen asleep or were nearly under when softer knocks sounded right over your headboard on the wall:

I-M S-O-R-R-Y

But you didn’t have it in you now. All along you had been right: Men knew nothing but to take advantage of women.

*****************************

A/N 2: I am struggling to write. Encouragement is the only thing keeping me going at this point. Please chat me up/ message me/ share your thoughts on this chapter!

Please do let me know if you liked this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

If you want to be tagged, you can send me an ask or you can add yourself to the taglist here.

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@cosicas-cuquis @daughterleftbehind @maliburenee @spn730015@aeo10fan @stoneyggirl @houseforwhores @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @linki-locks11 @cookiechipdough @impalaimagining @gabavaldman @multifandom-slxt @chalicia @mrswhozeewhatsis @mackiemcb @qveenmikaelson @lightchesters @deanwanddamons @mlovesstories @sams-bubblegum-bitch @chinosherlock @hoboal87 @sandlee44 @mariaenchanted @little-x-wolf @theanniewisegirl @supraveng @i-is-for-inspiring @fandom-princess-forevermore @sammedeansandwhich @trexrambling @strawberryycoww @joseyrw @lacilou @giggles1029 @perpetuallyoverwhelmed @borhapparker @wafflezo @sammysgirl@goodbyemilkyway @winnifredburkleismyhero @impalaspixie @edwardsfangirl1712 @fandomoniumflurry @pbandjellly @sammysgirl1997 @aloneatpeace @spnexploration @sojuxxi @vickyfarley @esoltis280 @mayafatimakhan

#sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester reader insert #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #sam winchester #spn reader insert #tnmw18 #Ana writes Sam #Ana writes tnmw #anawrites

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year ago

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Only For You

Thorn x female!reader

Summary: Thorn hides a huge part of his life from you and he's constantly leaving for long periods of time. You're not sure you'll ever know all of his secrets, but you know you're tired of saying goodbye.

Notes/warnings: angsty/fluffy, but nothing else really. mistakes, I'm sure. I did my best.

Words: 1354

---

“Going where?” you ask, rubbing your hands up and down your arms to shield your bare skin from the cold. He shrugs out of his nylon, sorry-excuse-for-a-coat and wraps it around your shoulders, but it’s a useless effort. In a thin t-shirt, he’ll be frozen in no time and you’ll be left to trade the coat back and forth as he stands on your front porch in the winter’s stinging air.

His hands slide into his jeans front pockets. “I can’t tell you.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

With a huff, you ask, “What do you know, Thorn?”

He flinches. A hand comes out of his pocket to run over his buzzed hair. You can’t count how many times you’ve asked him these questions, and you kick yourself for bothering when the answers have not once strayed from their cookie-cutter precision. He never knows. Or he does and refuses to tell you. Wherever the truth lies, it doesn’t make its way to you. But the hurt in his mossy-green eyes is not for the secrets. It’s not for the disappearing act he forces you through. It’s reserved solely for the brand new weariness in your tone.

This is not what you do. Your pattern with him has been consistent from the beginning. A month after he first kissed you, three weeks after you first slept together, you received the same pieced-together speech: ‘I have to leave. I can’t tell you why. I don’t know for how long.’ And you provided the same response you always do; a response you weren’t aware at the time would be commonly leaving your mouth; a response he’s not once requested, but with every feature of his face, pleads for: ‘I’ll be here when you get back’. Then he smiles, as always, and kisses you, and you pull him into your bed only for him to be gone by the time you wake.

But you just broke the pattern with that tone of yours. It’s less welcoming, offering inadequate reassurance that when he knocks on your door in one or two or three months it’ll open.

Thorn swallows hard as he fidgets in place, and you feel tendrils of guilt spread throughout your system. Thorn doesn’t fidget. Fidgeting means nerves. Nerves mean anxiety. And anxiety is not a well-worn jacket on the man who weaseled his way into your heart. It doesn’t fit. That jacket isn’t made in his size and it feels no different than when a toddler is squeezed into an outfit their parents refuse to accept they’ve grown out of.

“What I know is that I want to come back to you,” he says. A beat passes and the cloud of nervous energy is shoved aside, likely a required skill for whatever the hell he does when he leaves you. He steps closer. Your heart beats harder. “I will walk up here and knock on this door and wait for you to let me in. Like I always do.”

Lips parting, you sink further into the scent of cologne that long ago seeped into the interior fibers of his coat. It’s an instinctual comfort while everything inside of your body fights your mind.

Fingers twitch to reach out and jerk him inside, but if you do that there’s no chance you’ll resist him; no chance you will even make it to your bed. With one foot through the door, he’ll have you against the wall or on the floor with the hallway runner serving as the only barrier between your back and the chill of the hardwood. With his tongue on your neck, you will forget how tired you are of his rollercoastering in and out of your life. His fingers digging into your flesh will crack your icy determination to no longer miss him until it’s a melted puddle beneath you. His cock deep inside of you will demand you let go of letting him go.

Well, it’ll demand you let go of considering letting him go. It’s not what you want. If you had your pick of clichéd happy endings, your wicked-smart, tattooed-up, former—you question—criminal would settle in with you. But, no matter how hard you try, you can’t form that image in your mind. Thorn with a ring on his finger, you with his baby growing in your belly, a house you can share—if that exists somewhere, you’re losing hope that it’s on your timeline.

“Thorn, how long is this going to last?”

“I told you, I don’t—”

“No,” you interrupt with a shake of your head. “Not just this time. All of it. When does it stop? When do you stay?”

His shoulders slump the slightest with his heavy sigh. “Sweetness, I made promises. I’ve got people relying on me.”

“And what about me? What am I supposed to do?” you ask, praying the struggle of holding back your tears has slipped under his radar despite that not being a possibility before. The only tears Thorn doesn’t catch are the ones he isn’t around to witness. “What if I left you all the time for reasons I refused to tell you about? You couldn’t find me, you couldn’t contact me, you didn’t know if I was safe, you wouldn’t be able to sleep wondering if I might be dea—”

“Stop!” he snaps, then quieter, repeats, “Stop.” His eyes fall from yours to the stone of your porch and enough seconds pass that there’s an awkwardness to the silence. “I would lose my mind if it was you, Ok?” he says, connecting to your stare. “I’d go fucking crazy.”

“And somehow you expect me not to.”

His hands move to cup your face, thumbs stroking back and forth over your cheekbones. “I don’t expect anything of you, sweetness. I can't, because it wouldn't be fair. But it doesn't change the truth that you don’t leave my thoughts. When I'm gone, every free second I have is spent thinking about coming home to you.”

Except coming home often means adding to your worries. There’s not one instance in the time you’ve known him that he has returned to you without bruises at every stage of healing scattered across his body. But you don’t speak of them. Neither do you speak of the split lip, cut eyebrow, sliced skin, and the worst of them: the hole in his arm that was shoddily stitched up, leaving a permanent reminder of the secret life he keeps from you.

Often, when he is asleep, you run your finger over the raised skin, simultaneously thankful that he made it back from such an ordeal and cursing that he left to begin with. Then, from the twisted mess those feelings cause in your head, you find that your pain at seeing him hurt always develops a branch of anger.

Despite all of the blows you know he takes, you're not quick enough to stop yourself from throwing one of your own. “Assuming you’ll be able to come home at all…right?”

His eyes widen before they squeeze shut. Sharp jawline sharpens more as teeth clench. Thorn takes a deep breath, then proves that his forehead resting against yours is all it takes for your anger to fizzle.

Wrapping your hands around his wrists, you finally allow the tears to spill. They pour with abandon, overwhelming you the way a tidal wave might overtake a small ship in its ocean.

“I know whatever you do is stupidly dangerous,” pushes through your sudden sobs and sniffles.

“That’s why I don’t tell you what it is,” he whispers as his nose nudges yours. “But I’m careful, sweetness. I’m careful because of you.”

Your lips freeze from the tears that reach them. The salty liquid under the chilled air bleeds away all moisture until his mouth claims a kiss. Not soft, not sweet, but beautifully burning. And from that burn, you find your calm. From familiarity, you find peace. From him, you find home.

When you separate, your breaths form a puff of heat that shoves away the cold. “I won’t let you down,” he promises. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

---

A/N: there is very likely going to be a part 2 to this, assuming people would want to read it.

tags: @wkndwlff @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @mamachasesmayhem @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl

#thorn expendables 3 #glen powell #glen powell fic #glen powell fanfiction #thorn expendables #the expendables #the expendables fic #the expendables 3 #thorn x reader #glen powell thorn

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fieldofdaisiies · 9 months ago

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azriel x eris | 3,1k words | warnings: mentions of domestic violence, wounds | masterlist

The shadows dissipate and for the first moment in his life, Azriel truly allows himself to accept the tug on his chest, no longer ignoring it, no longer fighting it. He allows it to guide him, lead the way to…his mate.

Beads of sweat trickle down his brow, his body on full alert to catch every small hint the bond or his surroundings could offer him. The shadowsinger listens deep into himself, closes his eyes, feels the pull, and follows.

It is the bond. The mating bond, and as much as he has tried to deny it over the past weeks, he finally has to accept it. Him and Eris can’t get rid of it, can’t destroy it — it is here, made by the Cauldron and the Mother, and it inevitably ties their souls together. Before it snapped in place, he would have never entertained the idea of one day being so deeply connected to a male he thought to hate. Being so deeply connected to Eris Vanserra. But everything has changed.

Tendrils of fog hover above the mossy forest ground, dew glistening on the grass and fern. Azriel moves softly, carefully, trying to be as calm as possible to not alert any guards or Eris‘ hounds. With silent steps, Azriel moves cautiously, mindful of the risk of being discovered. He can’t afford being caught, not when Eris –when his mate– relies on him. Beron is probably already on edge (there is no other reason for Eris’ pain than Beron having caused it, so Azriel knows he is already furious). Beron’s punishment, if the shadowsinger should cross his path, would be horrendous. Azriel can’t risk being delayed in his quest to find his mate, he has to find him and that as soon as possible.

The spymaster is aware that it might be a trap, yet urgency blossoms rapidly within his chest, the pull so strong Azriel fears his ribcage might get ripped out. It is so palpable it overrides his senses with panic and fear and rules out any small part of common sense still left in his mind. In this moment, every rational thought leaves him; he is driven solely by the primal instinct to find his mate. Azriel knows he should have informed Cass and Rhys, but there was no time for it, he needed to act instantly. Waiting would have killed him.

Azriel interrupts his thoughts with the shake of his head. Trap or not, he will face whatever lies ahead. The bond between them can’t be ignored any longer. For centuries, he has yearned to find his mate, and now that he knows who it is, he won’t ignore it. They haven’t liked each other for a long time, but then again, would they have kissed if they really didn’t feel anything for the other? Would they have danced together? Would Eris have asked about Azriel’s scars?

However, dwelling on these thoughts is a luxury Azriel can’t afford. He must focus, and sharpen his mind. The forest blurs around him, his vision is cloudy, sight hazy, heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He needs a moment to calm himself, he can’t continue like this; he will never find Eris that way.

The shadowsinger closes his eyes, following Gwyn's voice echoing in his mind, guiding him through the breathing techniques. “Breathe in, breathe out.” Azriel can hear Gwyn’s voice loud and clear in his mind. “Breathe in, breathe out.”

The Valkyrie breathing techniques and also mind-stilling, he has come to realise, help him greatly and are everything he needs right now. They help him concentrate, and only listen to the feeling within him.

Once his mind is fully focused, Azriel presses forward, tucking his wings tightly against his back. He navigates through the thicket of the forest with determination, and only one target in mind, running over pine needle-covered ground, past trees and through knee-high grass.

After a while his legs start to ache, muscles screaming, as Azriel presses on. The air in his lungs is no longer enough, almost like he is getting suffocated, his surroundings merge, becoming a blur of green. His heart is frantically pounding in his chest, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck and dread sinking icy claws into his heart because deep in his mind there is a thought he can’t get rid of.

What if he is too late?

It all happens too fast then. He allowed himself a moment of distraction and was careless. He didn’t see them coming. A weight slams into him and Azriel’s back collides with the forest ground first, his wings flaring, a sharp pain erupting in the juncture of his right one due to the impact of the fall. A branch pierces into the thin membrane, just like many small pine needles and pebbles.

“Fuck,”Azriel groans and reaches for Truth-Teller but he doesn’t get a chance to do so when something slams down on his chest, an equally heavy weight, almost like…paws.

His lids fly open and his breathing stops. There is nothing kind or fluffy within the large, greyhound’s eyes, only lethality and anger. And something close to bloodlust.

“I don’t mean harm,” Azriel breathes, his breathing ragged, his eyes wide open. He could reach for Truth-Teller, but he couldn’t harm the hound. He wouldn’t be able to do so, he knows this. They are no beasts, they are only here to protect and probably have the same goal in mind – finding Eris. They might be able to sense his pain as well, or feel his absence.

“I–”

The hound shuts him up when he presses his paws into Azriel’s chest, claws digging into his leathers, dominance visible within every line of his face, saliva dripping from his mouth that has split with a snarl. The hound pushes in, his snout almost touching Azriel’s face.

“Please,” Azriel pleads. “I don’t mean any harm. Not to you and not to your owner.” He swallows a groan – the hound is huge and not a lightweight. “We have the same goal. I’m also trying to find your owner. I’m also trying to find Eris.”

The mention of its owner’s name must stir something within the animal. Its ears twitch slightly and the hound pulls back, still glaring down at Azriel, who adds in a calm voice, “I’m here to find Eris, please. Can you help me find him?”

The hound looks unsure for a small moment, but when one of Azriel’s shadows curls towards him, brushing over the hounds snout, and then swirls around his head, the animal pulls back and allows Azriel to sit up.

“Thank you,” Azriel breathes. “I’m Azriel. Spymaster of the Night Court and– “

I’m talking to an animal, there is no need for introductions. My panic truly gets the best of me, the spymaster thinks.

Azriel moves into a crouching position, but not too quickly to not distress the hound. And when he is finally steady on his feet again, his posture straightened, his eyes for the first time take in…all twelve of them.

Twelve greyhounds, all looking at him like he is an intruder (which he is) and like he could easily turn into their prey if he makes one wrong move.

A kernel of unease takes root in his chest at that, because he doesn’t quite know what these hounds consider a “wrong move”, but Azriel doesn’t let himself be intimidated. So, in a steady voice, Azriel says, “Let’s find your owner.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Azriel tugs at the bond once more, his heart thrumming erratically, his pulse quickening with every step he takes closer to the small hut. He turns his head quickly, taking in his surroundings. Some imminent danger could linger everywhere within the dark forest, within the hut.

All of the hounds are equally alert, listening out for every noise, their gazes overlooking the surrounding of the hut, noses sniffling the ground. Together with them and the guidance of the bond, Azriel has been able to find this lonely hut deep within the forest. Luckily, he eventually found it – unfortunately it has taken them quite a while to get here.

The hut stands in the middle of the forest, isn’t much bigger than his room at the House of Wind. For a small moment Azriel finds himself wondering if this place has served Eris as a shelter more than once in his life. If he came here this time…

Azriel’s hand curls tighter around Truth Teller. He needs to focus, having no idea what awaits him inside the walls of the hut. But if someone other than Eris is waiting for him in there, he will be ready to fight. For his mate he will risk it, despite the hate that has existed between them for centuries. It is irrelevant now. Eris’ life is all that matters at this moment.

Azriel picks up his pace, cool air wheezing in and out of his lungs and then stops dead in his tracks, heart slamming to a halt, then dropping.

Blood coats the leaves on the ground, a metallic taste hanging in the air when Azriel crouches down, observing the scarlet droplets – it definitely is blood.

His hand trembles slightly, but when refocuses his mind, his fingers curl tightly around the shaft of the hunting knife again.

Eris is most likely severely injured and Azriel has to find him now. He can’t waste any more time.

No matter what has happened between them in the past, every cruel and bad thing, every interaction driven by hate or lust, Azriel has to find him. He has to find his mate. He may blame the bond for his heightened emotions, but deep inside his heart knows that this is the only right thing to do - find Eris, and save him.

Not only for him, but also for the future of Prythian.

The path to the door becomes a blur, he only notices how each of the hounds takes a seat somewhere around it, like a well-practised act – they are here to shield Eris from whatever might be lurking out in the woods. They are his guardians, they will protect him with their lives.

The shadowsinger silently thanks them and bows his chin. He passes the largest hound who stares at him intently – it is the one that attacked him earlier and now he claims the spot closest to the entrance.

Hand on Truth-Teller, the other arm held in front of his body, Azriel barrels through the door and his heart slams to a halt, then splinters into a thousand shards. He feels how his knees start to buckle at the sight provided to him – no physical pain has ever hurt like seeing Eris like this.

The Autumn Court prince is kneeling on the ground, his body bent over, his eyes devoid of life as they stare fixedly at a puddle of puke beneath him. His trembling hands are firmly pressed against the floor on either side of the puddle, his knuckles white and his fingers stained from blood.

Visible cuts and burn marks mar the skin of his exposed arm. His shirt, torn at the shoulder, hangs loosely around him.

Azriel's breath catches in his throat, and his hands fall limply to his sides. "Eris," he whispers, his voice barely audible, before swiftly darting further into the hut, driven by a mixture of panic and urgency.

The heir to the Autumn Court winces in answer, but doesn’t lift his head.

His knees hit the ground first and then he is on him. “Eris.” Azriel’s shadows swirl frantically around his body, stretching out and for the first time he allows them to reach for Eris, almost like they try to aid their owner in helping his mate.

“Az–Gaah.” A few droplets of blood fall from Eris mouth, his shoulders caving in, back bending. “What–?”

“Keep calm!” Azriel orders, voice tinged with panic, sounding so much raspier than he expected. He jumps to his feet again and starts to look around for something to clean out the wounds. There is dirt in the open flesh, pine-needles, grass… He will get blood poisoning, Azriel thinks, if the wound doesn’t get cleaned out soon.

This is a hut. There must be a bathroom or something akin to it.

He frantically scans the room for something he can use and thanks the Mother when his eyes truly land on a piece of white cloth on the sink across the room. He sets out, running as fast as his feet can carry him, to collect the cloth and then head back to his mate, making quick work to rip open the already torn fabric of his shirt and then tending to the wounds.

Eris’ lids flicker, dry lips parting and closing a few times until words finally leave his mouth, voice hoarse, his throat burning. “Why did you come here, Azriel?”

Azriel presses the wet cloth to Eris' shoulder, while sliding his arm under Eris, trying to pull him up a little so he can lay him down atop his lap. “I felt you,” Azriel huffs, lifting the cloth only so he can flip it over and press the cool side of it to the prince’s skin again.

“You—”

“In my fucking heart I felt your pain, Eris. I felt it all -- how he hurt you, your pain, how your soul shattered. And in my mind there was a faint echo of your wails, your sobs.”

Azriel’s throat constricts and he can’t continue because for the first time since he has realised what the feeling deep within his chest hints at, he had also spoken his thoughts out loud. Their souls are connected — there is a bond between them. They are mates and now it is finally revealed. The Mother has chosen Eris Vanserra for him. Out of everyone, she chose the future High Lord of the Autumn Court for him.

A tear rolls down Azriel’s cheek, landing on Eris lower arm. He stirs. “I‘m feeling it too,” Eris groans, “what is between us.”

Azriel doesn’t deign him a look, he isn’t able to do so. Not yet. He only moves the cloth down to his arm, and up again, cleaning the wound. Eris bites the insides of his cheeks to hold back from crying out loudly.

“We both know what it is.”

Again no answer.

“Azriel, we can’t ignore it forever. We have to talk ab—”

“Let me take care of your wounds — of you and then we talk.” Azriel carefully lifts Eris up a little, pushing up onto his knees, but Eris doesn’t move, his arm hanging loosely over the shadowsinger’s shoulder.

“Az—”

“Let me take care of you now!” Azriel shouts, his voice full of panic and terror. “Then we talk,” he adds in a tone that is calmer, more controlled. “Then we talk about everything.” The spymaster blows out a long breath. “I need to take care of you now, I am going insane when I see you like that, when I constantly feel your pain and there is nothing I can do to ease it. And it makes me go mad that I know what this fucking beast did to you.”

Azriel’s terror tinged voice stems from Eris‘ pain and nothing else and this realisation does something to Eris. It stirs something within him. Azriel cares about him. He is his mate. And he cares.

Slowly, Azriel tries to rise to his feet, bringing Eris with him as good as possible. Azriel is a strong Illyrian male, but Eris is equally tall, his frame muscular.

He tries to make himself as light as possible when Azriel pulls him up, then slumps against his mate’s chest, holding onto him as good as possible while Azriel starts to walk one step at a time. Then another and another until they reach the small bed in the corner of the hut and he lays him down gently. So incredibly gently.

“I need to take off your shirt completely to…” Azriel clears his throat, staring down at the male sprawled out in front of him. A whirlwind of panic and fury swirls in his brown eyes. “I need to tend to all the wounds.”

Eris folds a hand over his forehead, gritting his teeth so hard he nearly grinds down his teeth to nothing. “Do whatever is necessary, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel is so careful, has hardly ever treated anything so tenderly before, when he helps Eris slide out of the shirt and then with something like practised ease, goes about cleaning out all of the wounds. Almost like he has already done this many times before.

Azriel is fully concentrated, his lip pulled between his teeth, his eyes only focused on the marred skin. He is gentle and soft when he brushes the cloth over the open flesh and sends yet another prayer to the Cauldron and the Mother when he truly finds a salve and bandages in one of the drawers. Softly, Azriel applies the smooth paste to Eris’ chest and his shoulder, only using two of his fingers that soothingly glide over Eris’ body.

“I always come here,” Eris states and pushes up on his elbows so Azriel can wrap the bandage around his torso, his eyes only focused on Azriel and the shadowsinger’s broad and scarred hands. "Every time he punished me in the past, I came here. That’s the reason why I keep the bandages and the salve here.”

Eris notices how a muscle in Azriel’s jaw feathers, his eyes gaining a lethal glint. “This beast,” he snarls.

Eris’ lashes lower, eyes dropping to Azriel’s lips. “He doesn’t matter now. You saved my life, Azriel. You saved me.”

Azriel fixes the bandage, tugging the small end beneath the other part. Carefully, he strokes his hand down the side of Eris’ chest and exhales a long breath.

“Azriel,” Eris whispers through his teeth, not even sure what he wants to say but the shadowsinger turns to him, looking at him expectantly.

Eris’ breath catches and he loses his ability to speak. Azriel is so beautiful and he is…his...

The shadowsinger’s long lashes draw dark shadows upon his tanned cheeks, even darker eyes now lying behind his slightly hooded gaze. Swirls of dark ink peek out from beneath his Illyrian leathers and Eris wants to trace them. With his fingers. With his tongue.

“Hm?” Azriel raises a brow, waiting for Eris to continue.

“You are my mate.”

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @v3lv3tf0x @talibunny30 @allyhill @popjunkie42 @skyesayshi @going-through-shit @mybestfriendmademe @12334555666 @nickishadow139

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

#azris #acotar #acosf #azriel #azriel x eris #eris vanserra

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totally-not-here-for-the-smut · 1 year ago

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SO this bad post went out on its own (not: it's my falut, I'm a dork) without a text! Apologize. Let's proceed!

Sooo apparently the handling trauma was much appreciated! I was seriously afraid to be tumblrstoned for talking about such a delicate stuff. BUT since people here love reading about people's trauma (u lovely sikos) let's go ahead with...

Handling Trauma

~asra

[tw: weals, manhandling, low-key domination, also abandonment trauma]

Asra is charming, confident, and a master magician. He has seen the worlds and always carries wonderful trinkets in his pockets; dances and sings, and when he's around everything seems to glitter and shine.

That's why is so easy to forget how actually broken he is - the mere fact that he doesn't takes it out on the people around him like Lucio does doesn't mean he's ok - on the contrary, this only makes it worse.

He was a kid when his parents didn't came back home. Do you really believe that Lucio or his courtiers bothered to tell him? He didn't become an orphan in the spur of a fleeting moment - it was a slow, scary, crippling realization. Day after day he waited, he asked, he searched. Night after night he cried, he called, he begged - until he surrendered to the looming silence haunting his parents' bedroom.

He was found by you and your aunt, but by that time he was almost a young man already. So came the days when he looked up to you and slowly fell in love. He longed for your touch when he could see you, and waited to see you every time you were away.

He had found a new family, and soon he won your love.

And then, shortly after, the plague took everything from him - his family, his master, his love, his friends. His serenity, and his happiness.

He loved you, and he lost you. He broke the most sacred law of life to have you back, and spent three long years caring for you, weaving a spiderweb of lies to secure your safety.

It's so easy to forget how desperately afraid of loss Asra is, but thinking about it makes it crystal clear. And there's no way to forget it in your moments together, for when he's the most vulnerable, it shows.

Asra's eyes are hungry for your image. You've never seen him closing his eyes when you're together, as if you could disappear if he close his eyes. There's always a purple glimpse gazing behind his white lashes.

He gifted you a silk sleeping mask, embroidered with moon and stars, because there's always a candle, a lantern, a bonfire next to you when you sleep together. The candle went out on a moonless night, once. You woke in pain, Asra's arms clenching compulsively your body, as he gasped for air through the tears. You had to conjure a magic light on your fingertips, as if he'd forgot he was a magician as well, and spent the night kissing his face, caressing his shivering chest until dawn. Only then he managed to explain.

"I felt the darkness swallowing you".

The following night, yow went to Muriel's and came home with a mossy trunk covered in fairy helmets.

A bunch of glowing mushrooms is cute and helpful indeed, but is far from being a real solution. Asra keeps disappearing for days when he feels vulnerable, just to come back more frantic and confused than before. You can feel the grasp fear has on his soul in the way he holds your wrists tight as you're making love, you can hear it in his words as he asks you with the softest voice if you do still love him, begging you to never leave.

The awareness of his fears follows you even when you're not with him, written in the weals on your skin -on your wrists and hips. When he saw it one morning he begged you to let him erase them with magic. You refused though - you're adamant this is something to be faced.

Each time he's afraid he's all over you, needy for the feeling of your bodies fuse together, for your abandonment in his arms. He's passionate and eager for your delight - each night he wants to hear you screaming his name -again and again, and then tenderly hold your body worn out by the shivers all through the night.

As you indulge his needs when the sun goes down, you become kind but firm when it rises. He when all is said and done, you know you can't do this alone. It's a long way to make Asra feel safe and loved again, and it starts from his friends knowing how much he truly needs their love.

Disclaimer: as usual, this is PURELY FICTIONAL. I'm not a therapist, and this aren't suggestions about how to handle this sort of problems. Irl intimacy problems are shitty and actually really boring. That's why no one writes about it! Oh, and the fairy helmets technically glow, but it's almost invisible to the human's eye. Sry.

#the arcana #the arcana game #asra the magician #arcana #arcana fanfic #asra smut #asra x reader #asra x apprentice #asra x reader smut #handling trauma

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linxrouge4life · 6 months ago

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Its time for me to share some of Percy's lore, so here is a poem I was scared to post abt his death and his father figure (Danse) visiting him at the grave (pls dont bully me I had a poll abt this and im nervous):

===================================

Father and son

There sits a small grave, down near a lake

Its mossy cover giving it such a

nice shape.

Two synths, one ghoul, few humans and a dog

Visit the place, all of them tagging along.

Silence falls between them all,

Looking at the grave as their glances fall.

Flowers left behind on the small stone grave

The blooming plants giving it such color and shape.

Everyone leaves, turns behind

Yet there's one man that stays behind.

For its the Paladin Danse, a former knight,

His soul heavy at such a sight.

He stares at the grave, his mind feels light

Tough he clentches his fists and his chest grows tight.

Six feet below lies a young man,

In a suit he sleeps, his body pale and damp.

He remembers the time when he was just a child,

Back in the day when everything would be allright.

He wished that he could hold him just one more time,

To tell him "its okay, everything is fine."

He craved the light pressure of his head against his chest,

The man's arms around the boy's frame, letting him rest.

His heart ached at the tought of being close again,

Only the sweet memories would remain.

He holds back a cry, helpless and weak,

Tough he holds it in, not letting it break his cold streak.

He says goodbye and finally leaves,

Only ti hear the sudden ruffling of the atumn leaves.

He feels a cold sensation on the back of his neck,

Looking over his shoulder just to check.

He was close, he could feel him,

Sense him around,

But only heard a hollow sound.

He was in the trees,

In the chilly atumn breeze

His laughs and giggles only the howling of the wind,

His footsteps now only the ruffles of the leaves.

A warm tear from his eye finally leeks,

A soft smile spreading across his cheeks.

He turns around with a shaky sigh,

Leaving the small stone structure behind

He now knew,

Even if his death and not around

A father's and a son's souls are still bound.

===================================

(Just to make sure Percy and Danse are NOT related, Danse is a father figure I just adress him as 'father' for poetical reasons)

(might delete if it goes bad)

#fallout #fallout 4 #poems #poetry #poet #oc lore #my oc #fallout 4 oc #paladin danse #paladin danse fallout 4 #paladin danse fo4 #fo4 #fallout oc #fo4 oc #my poetry #do not steal

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shatteredvioletnuzlocke · 2 months ago

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Chapter 19: Different Faces (Kapheria)

The static on Kapheria’s head fizzled out. There before her lied a fallen Dust Devil, the catalyst for the Sands of Time. At least that’s what it was before, but with them out of the way, the Greenworld could stay evergreen.

Kapheria gazed at the gigantic claw peering out of the earthy rubble. She was never truly sure if she would fulfill her role as a savior, even when she still had her lightning.

Turo gave me a job to cut off the source and I couldn’t even do that right. If he had known a Greenworld Pokemon could defeat such a catalyst he would have never sent me. She curved with bitterness, I wouldn’t have crashed and cracked my head! I would still have my true form!

It felt conflicting to think badly of her trainer. But if she wasn’t the one to cut of the source, would he think badly of her?

I suppose it doesn’t matter that I have my lightning now. Anchoring herself to the present, all Turo wanted was for the future to be safe. With the source out of the way, it could be, she thought, preying for the claw of the Dust Devil to stay still.

As long as that was the source… it must be the source… it has to be the source! The thought of more sandstorms whirled. I can’t be wrong… I might be… but even if I am, I can still cut off the real source. If I still have my lightning by then…

“Hey girl,” Patch walked up to her relieved, “I’m so glad you’re okay! We’ve been looking for you all day! Don’t ever run off like that again!”

At least Human Patch isn’t bothered. But if they knew they would have hated me for sure. No no that’s not true, she reassured herself, Kombucha is the one who saved the future. Because of him Patch, Turo, all the humans, and Pokemon can thrive.

She imagined her old home, rich and green with life. The sun shining, rain pouring down and all the climates that the Greenworld had. It would be more than just sand.

Meanwhile, Kapheria couldn’t help but notice Arven had his eyes set on the hollowed-out grotto that the Dust Devil made during the fight.

“Here,” he handed Patch their Pokemon.

Venture seemed to be slowly recovering from the smoke. His breaths were hazy, but his icy eyes were halfway open. Kapheria bent her head down and went to nuzzle the small Pokemon gently. His light brown fur was velvety against her thick, metal shell.

“Hey wait, what are you doing!?” Patch raised their voice at Arven.

Oh my goodness, Kapheria was astonished to find the other human scaling the pile of rocks. Arven didn’t seem phased that there was a dead Pokemon buried under the rocks, for whatever reason he only climbed ahead. He could traverse the loose stones with ease because of his muscular body.

“Human Arven!” Kapheria heeded him, “Stop that’s dangerous!”

Of course, Arven didn’t listen. Once he reached the top he slid down the other side and entered the empty cave.

I already failed my mission; I can’t let my trainer’s spawn get killed. Without a second thought, the Iron Serpent lunged over the wreckage. She landed her claws on a hard surface of rock, thankful that she wasn’t going to touch the horrid texture of sand.

The interior of the cave was made up of red streaked stone, almost if it had been painted. The inner walls had swirling, smoothed-out edges much like the canyon’s slopes. The farther she went down the cave became tinted with a fluorescent green, similar to the moss she saw at the grotto on the beach.

At the end of the cave, there was a faint pinkish light peering out of a mossy bed. Kapheria followed Arven slowly creeping toward the oddity with curiosity.

While she didn’t growl a word, the human turned to face her, “Go away, Kapheria…” he softly murmured with pain in his eyes, “you hurt to be around.”

It was as if a sharp stone had torn into her throat out of nowhere. Arven… I don’t want to hurt you! I never hurt you!

Turo’s son had never said such antagonizing things to her before. He was once a small, loving human who adored her like a friend, perhaps even like a sister. She would give him rides on her back and indulge in games he made up. The way he looked at her now brought pain to those memories.

It had to be the crack on her head, he seemed to think little of her ever since she sustained it. Everything always came back to that gaudy, forsaken crack. Patch wouldn’t have said that to her, why couldn’t he be like them?

“Hey wait up!” The voice of Patch echoed through the cave.

“Why are you still following me?!” Arven snapped, wiping off his tears.

Patch slowly tumbled in with Kombucha beside them. Both of them looked exhausted from the chaos that had transpired before. Kapheria felt the day was weighing in on everyone.

The son of Turo avoided eye contact and crouched toward the strange light, “I can’t believe you gambled your own Pokemon against a Titan! I thought you said you were better than battling!”

Patch wheezed, trying to catch a breath, “I didn’t gamble my Pokemon!” they stood their ground, “Would’ve you just let that Klawf kill you!”

“That's what the scatterbangs are for!” he replied bluntly, “Don’t you realize what you're doing?! When you battle you're willing to sacrifice a Pokemon, a living creature! Does that mean anything to you?!”

Kapheria could sense that Patch was becoming rather fueled, “That’s what the league is for, they gave us rules to keep everything balanced! How would you know? YOU’RE NOT EVEN A TRAINER!”

Finally, Arven stood up, turning back with a scowl, “The league doesn’t do shit, just you wait!”

“Stop it both of you!” Kapheria intervened, acting as a wall between the humans.

Humans weren’t anything like Pokemon, but a human’s anger made the Iron Serpent uneasy somehow. She couldn’t explain it but all she knew was it wasn’t worth testing.

After a thick layer of silence, Arven marched off toward the entrance. Kapheria noticed that the disgruntled human was carrying the pink light that he was so entranced with. Upon closer look, it was another bioluminescent plant in the form of a tiny sprig.

Hey! Not bad! Although it was small, it carried the strong fragrance of sugar that caused her to drool with oil. Kapheria knew the greater the smell the better it tasted. But Arven was upset enough as he was. If he wanted that plant, then who was she to eat it right in front of him?

Maybe there is more around here somewhere…

“Wait where are you going now?!” Patch demanded, “What about what we talked about?!”

“I never agreed to it…” Arven stated, “I’m done dealing with my father’s problems!”

Kapheria was too focused on finding the sugary plant to tell what they were talking about. After Arven’s harsh words, she needed something good to snack on.

Knowing that the plant was found in a large bed of moss, she tried to sniff out the most greenest of rocks. Nothing… wait… over there!

She caught a whiff of the very same scent on one of the mossiest of rocks. On top of it was another pinkish plant, tinier than the one Arven had found. Just a sprout with a few leaves to it, emitting the faintest glow.

Oh well, she shrugged to herself, something is better than nothing!

The Iron Serpent turned her head, gently bit the tiny sprig of its rock, and slurped it into her mouth. She was satisfied to find that its sweetness rivaled the food of Cortondo. Delicious! It was candied with an interesting, crunchy texture almost like the leaves in a tasty sandwich.

Sandwiches! I should find more for Patch to put in sandwiches! She hurried to hunt for another plant. Inhaling every inch of moss for that hidden flavor. Come on, come on, there has to be one somewhere!

Suddenly a pattern of buzzing bounced off the cave, that took Kapheria out of her search. Arven was nowhere in sight, it was only Patch, Kombucha and Patch’s strange human device frantically ringing.

“Oh sure,” The lone human sighed, “Now Turo calls me…”

Kapheria fluttered at the sound of his name, “Turo?!”

The Iron Pokemon was caught off guard, how would her trainer now call her just as she supposedly failed her mission?

During her fleeting seconds on contemplation, Patch answered Turo’s transmission.

“Hello, Patch,” Turo’s voice came through the speaker, “Good to see you after a week and a half.”

“Hey… Turo…” Patch responded unsurely, “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a while… did you get my messages?”

Oh no, did Patch tell him about my short-circuiting?

“Well I just got your voicemail…” her trainer lingered on his words, “Is everything alright with Kapheria?”

Oh great, the Miraidon coiled back, he’s upset too!

The human tussled with their hair nervously, “Right, Kapheria has been well… strange… best way I can describe it…”

“Elaborate?” Turo prompted for details.

“Well for starters Kapheria, has these weird sparks coming out of her head…” Patch admitted, “I get that she’s an electric type but it seems like she can’t control it.”

“You didn’t have to be that honest!” The Pokemon growled embarrassed.

“Well, of course, she cracked her head,” The scholarly trainer explained, “Miraidons like her expel electricity from their brains and redirect it through their lighting rod-like antenna. The same can be channeled through the throat and tail, which activates what is known as their driving mode. It is only when they charge three of their emission points that they activate their ultimate mode.”

Kapheria beamed, Of course! My head is cracked, but my throat and tail are fine! That’s why I still have access to my drive mode!

Patch spoke up “That makes sense…but it feels like it gives her pain… I’m not sure how I can help her. Is there any way we can mend that crack?”

The Miraidon looked desperately into her trainer’s brown eyes, “Is there?”

But unfortunately, he shook his head, “You have to understand… Kapheria isn’t an organic Pokemon, her body is iron and her head is like glass. When glass shatters it usually stays broken…”

“I’m… I’m…” Kapheria stammered, she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Broken.

When she heard it aloud, it felt as if the crack on her head was rippling across her entire body.

“Then what should I do?” Patch asked him seeming concerned, “How would I help her?”

“Believe me, if I knew the answer I would’ve already told you,” Turo held his bristled chin, “The best you can do is keep her calm and proceed with the task I gave you.”

“My task?” The burgundy-haired human repeated in a confused manner.

“Integrating Kapheria into human society,” He reminded them.

Patch brought their device closer to their face, “But I don’t understand. You are her trainer, right? Why do I have to take care of Kapheria? Why can you integrate her?”

“Well…” Turo dithered, “To properly integrate, Kapheria needs to bond with a human other than me.”

“How long would that be?” Patch lead in with another question.

“As long as it takes!” He answered vaguely, “Kapheria has limited exposure to the human world. She was only shortly acquainted with it went I took her out of the Zero Lab a few years back. It's up to you to show her the rest of it.”

That’s not true! You sent me on a mission to protect this place! You don’t have to lie, you can be honest! Patch is trustworthy.

“I mean we were just in Cortondo and the countryside…would that count?” Patch shared.

Her trainer gently smiled, “Yes she needs to adjust to new environments and climates so we can find the ideal environment for her species to live in. How did she do with that one?”

As the two humans went on about integration, Kapheria felt something off. Why are you saying this stuff? I know I can't properly speak with you, but if I could I’d tell you about the source I found. We both know what might happen to the Greenworld. Why aren't you as concerned as you were before?

With Arven getting so much bigger, Kapheria couldn’t help but wonder how long she was inside her Pokeball. What was Turo doing all that time? Did Turo find the source without her? Was this really her new mission? It all felt too good to be true, and yet sinister.

He can’t be avoiding the Sands of Time on purpose, asked herself a ridiculous question.

“So what happens once Kapheria is fully integrated?” Patch said, much to the Iron Serpent’s annoyance.

“You can return Kapheria to me!” Turo grinned, “that way she can help me with the other Miraidons and their integrations.”

For a moment she thought she had misheard him, “the other Miraidons” Now that really couldn’t be right. She was the only Miraidon Turo ever needed.

“You have more than one Miraidon?!” the human asked sounding just as bewildered.

“At the moment, two,” Turo clarified, “Kapheria, and one that isn’t as well adjusted.”

Kapheria knew who he was talking about, but she didn’t care for them all that much. Why would Turo keep that one around? She thought jealously.

“I hope to find more,” he added, “But Miraidons need proper time in the chamber before they can properly integrate.”

Suddenly Kapheria felt a nerve break in her system. Chamber, a word with such little significance, became eerily haunting.

She was back there, something that she didn’t remember before. A white room… I thought it was a cave…I wanted to get out.

Had the Iron Pokemon seen this before? The strange vision brought back a surge of stress and familiar anger. No! Make it stop! Make it stop MAKE IT STOP!

As she tried to push the feeling out her head, the pain of seeing it all weighed her down. Like she had really been cracked all over her body. As if she was really back in the chamber. Kapheria could not escape.

“NO!” She roared aloud, discharging an overcurrent.

“Kapheria? KAPHERIA!” Patch fled from the web of purple and gold static.

“Woink, WOINK!” Kombucha squealed.

“Patch!” Turo hollered out of the phone speaker, “What’s happening?!”

“SHE’S SPARKING AGAIN!” They answered.

As soon as Kapheria witnessed her pain being spread amongst her friends she, simmered her power and the static faded. Her friends pressed up the cave walls horrified.

Patch’s device hovered around the area, “I see…” Turo spoke, “I wouldn’t be so worried, Patch. Kapheria is very aware, she was able to calm herself quickly just now. I’m sure she can get a better hold of these outbursts over time.”

“If you say so…,” Patch shook their head.

She wanted to believe her trainer so badly, but if she could be sparked by the thought of something terrible she might as well be regressing. Still, the vivid thought of a chamber felt like a memory. Why did she suddenly remember being in a room? it could’ve been just an intrusive thought trying to trick her.

“Thank you, for your report, Patch,” the human’s phone slowly descended back into their hands, “If Kapheria has another episode let me know. I’ll check back with you soon.”

As soon as the phone screen's light went dark, Kapheria tilted her head low and approached Patch.

“I’m sorry,” She apologized. I couldn’t come here in one piece and I lost my powers because of it. I keep scaring you with my static. Worst of all I couldn’t defeat the source of the Sands of Time on my own.

Becoming lost in the thought, Patch lightly scratched the surface of her casque, “There there, Kaphy,” they cooed, “Your trainer is so weird.”

Yes, Kapheria agreed, Something does seem off about him.

#pokemon violet #pokemon #fanfic #nuzlocke #pokemon fanfiction #paldea #miradon #lechonk #pokemon arven #arven #pokemon turo #professor turo #kapheria

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sashaisready · 1 year ago

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Chapter Ten

Lee Bodecker (The Devil All The Time) x Femme Reader

A year after the sudden death of your husband you find yourself at a loose end, unsure what to do next. You're also learning about your sexuality - your hidden desires and fantasies creeping out now you're no longer playing the role of the good wife. A certain Sheriff in town could be the one to awaken something in you.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 11

Warnings: Violence/murder, references to sexual assault

"So how did these guys look suspicious?" asked Davey in a hushed tone as he surveyed the bank of the creek with his flashlight. He'd arrived promptly on the scene, only moments after Lee. Always the dutiful employee.

Lee had led him into the darkness of the creek, insisting this had been the direction he'd seen the phantom men go. They were exploring the woods alongside the banks with flashlights, but of course there had been no sign of anyone.

"You know the type" replied Lee quietly. "They were talkin' real close, and one of them kept clutching his pocket and looking over his shoulder. And you know nothin' good is happening at the creek at this time of night". He lied effortlessly, his hand skimming the hidden firearm he had tucked into the back of his pants and disguised under his jacket.

Davey nodded. "I can't see nobody, but let's keep checkin' it out."

"Maybe they heard us and skedaddled" Lee said thoughtfully. "But let's go just a bit further to be sure".

Lee lead the way, drawing Davey further into the night as they walked along the water's edge. He made a big show of shining the flashlight through the trees and leaning down as if trying to catch glimpses of something in the bushes. The only sound was the steady trickle of the stream beneath them.

After getting to almost the centre of the woods, Lee sighed heartily. "I guess we lost them. Sorry to drag ya all the way out here, Davey".

Davey shrugged and waved a hand dismissively. 'No big deal, boss. I wasn't doing nothin' anyways". He smiled cordially, despite the darkness the two men were backlit by the moonlight. Lee could see his deputy's face perfectly.

"Yeah the nights can be like that" said Lee. "Sometimes you're up to your guts in brawls and car accidents, other times you're wonderin' if you should knock one out in the station bathroom to kill some time" he chuckled.

Davey laughed enthusiastically. "You ain't wrong there, Sheriff".

"I'm sorry you've done more than your fair share of nights lately, Davey. Your pretty little wife must be missin' you".

Davey chuckled again. "She's a good girl, she understands that my job is what puts food on the table. And a little absence never hurt nobody, right Sheriff?"

"That's right" replied Lee curtly as he made his way over the mossy ground, leading the way. He had been wearing his mask successfully so far, but now the big moment was nearing he found his anger bubbling to the surface. He clenched his fists as images of your battered body ran through his mind.

"Besides" continued Davey. "There are often a lot of sweet young things out at night to keep me distracted".

Lee's head whipped backwards to face Davey. "Yeah, like who?" he questioned.

"Oh you know who the types I mean" Davey replied with a smirk. "Ladies of the night. And the druggy gals at the edge of town desperate for their next fix. Eager to please for a few bucks. I know you're well acquainted, Sheriff".

Not anymore, thought Lee. Not now he had you.

Lee nodded. "Anyone else?" he asked, his rising anger now peeking out.

"Well actually, just last night. I pulled over a real good time gal" continued Davey.

"Yeah? Who was that?" asked Lee through gritted teeth. His eyes were looking forward again now, he couldn't risk Davey seeing his rage until Lee was ready.

"Oh a gentleman never tells. But let's just say what the wife don't know can't hurt her, huh?".

Lee realised his balled up fists were now shaking. "You have fun?"

He could feel the cool metal of the hidden gun against his skin.

"Oh boy, did we" laughed Davey. "She was playin' hard to get. Those prissy ones often do, tryna show she's a lady y'know? Gotta put up a fight to show she's respectable, not easy, blah blah blah. But I know different."

Lee took a deep breath. He thought about your bruised face as you cowered from him in the hallway.

"Her husband ain't round no more. So what choice did I have, boss? Can't let a premium cunt like that just sit around unused. She was beggin' for it and she didn't even know it. Don't worry I gave it to her like she wanted. Stupid whore apparently skipped work today, that's how good she got it".

Davey's laughter was cut off abruptly as Lee turned to him, swiping the gun from his pants and brandishing it in Davey's face in a single movement. As Davey tried to comprehend what was happening, he could see a look of pure hatred spread across his boss' features, the veins in his forehead practically throbbing. As terrifying as the gun was, it was the iciness of the man's cold blue eyes which triggered a wave of nausea in Davey's stomach.

"Sheriff – wha?" started Davey.

"You better shut your mouth if you know what's good for ya, boy" spat Lee, cocking the weapon.

Davey raised his arms above his head in surrender, shaking. "Sheriff...I'm sorry. What did I...please Sheriff. Don't do this" he spluttered, his eyes filling with tears.

Lee rolled his eyes. "At least take it like a man, son. And drop your weapon".

Davey nodded frantically, hands shaking as he removed his gun from its holster and dropped it to the ground. "I'm sorry Lee...Sheriff...Sir...whatever you need me to do. I'll do it alright? Anything. Please. My wife...".

"Funny...you didn't seem to care much about your wife a moment ago, Davey".

Davey began to sob. "Lee...I'm sorry. Is this about my wife? I don't mean it, boss. I don't. I love her. I won't ever do it again Lee, I promise. The girl last night was just a dumb whore, it didn't mean nothin' " he cried, unaware he was signing his own death warrant.

"Don't talk about her like that!" snarled Lee. He pressed the barrel of the gun to Davey's forehead.

Davey gasped, the penny finally dropping as to what this was all about.

"S-Sheriff" he stuttered, his eyes flicking between Lee and the barrel against his face. "You sweet on her, Lee? God I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Oh fuck. Lee. I didn't know. I never would've touched her if I knew. I swear. She threw herself at me, honest. Oh god. Please, Sheriff. Please".

Davey's sobbing turned into long drawn out whimpers. His face was a mess of tears and snot.

"I seen her, Davey" Lee responded calmly. "I seen how you left her. The bruises, the cuts, the dried blood. I've seen all of it. She can't sleep. Can't eat. Can barely walk. You're an animal, Davey. I can't in good conscience leave the women of this town at your mercy, can I?"

Davey let out a low whine as Lee pushed the gun harder against his head, leaving a impression of the barrel in his flushed skin. He sounded more like a wounded animal than a man.

"Do you fuck your wife like that Davey? Huh? You get off on that, do ya? Make you feel like a man?" Lee demanded.

Davey shook his head, now crying hysterically.

Lee could feel his dick beginning get hard, drunk on the power.

"I'm s-sorry. So sorry" wailed Davey. "I t-t-thought she liked it. Please, Lee. Please. I understand, but think of my wife. She doesn't deserve this."

Lee thought carefully. Davey was right, his wife was innocent in this. But then he thought of you again. He thought of you meekly creeping around your own home, stumbling up the stairs and groaning in pain. He thought of the difference between this version of you and the one he'd taken across the cruiser. The sparkle in your eyes, once electric and effervescent, now dulled, afraid.

He also thought about Davey's hands on you. The arrogance of helping himself to your body, of tasting you, of taking what was rightfully Lee's. Davey wasn't worthy of you. Lee was self-aware enough to know this wasn't just about justice for you, for avenging you, righting your wrong. It was, of course. But it was also about him. It was about Davey daring to take you from him. Sullying you. Damaging you. Marking you. He was effectively trespassing. And Lee had no tolerance for trespassers.

"I'm sorry, Lee" Davey said quietly, his voice hoarse from crying. "I will apologise to her. It'll never happen again. Never. Please. I won't tell nobody, I promise".

"You shouldn't have touched what's mine, Davey" said Lee.

Davey nodded. "You're right. I didn't know Lee, I didn't know".

"You know how I get about people touching my things, Davey".

Lee nodded even more desperately. "I learnt my lesson, Sheriff. I have".

Lee smiled, withdrawing the gun from Davey. Clapping a friendly hand on his shoulder.

Davey's face flooded with relief, Lee could see his entire body relax.

"Thank-you Sheriff...thank-".

The gunshot was loud, briefly illuminating the pair in a brilliant flash of light. But nobody else was around to hear or see it. Davey's face momentarily contorted in surprise, a drop of blood dripping down his nose from the new hole in his forehead. His body crumpled like a paper bag, clumsily collapsing into the creek with a loud splash. The current made quick work of dragging him along and carrying him downstream. Lee figured he'd wash up in a neighbouring town in a day or two.

He kicked Davey's discarded weapon into the creek, then did the same with the dropped flashlight. In mere seconds it was as if Davey had never been there at all.

Lee yawned, stretching and making his way back to the cruiser. Davey's wife would probably think he'd gone drinking somewhere when he didn't turn up in the early hours. She would report him missing in the morning when she realised his side of the bed remained unslept in. Lee saw Davey at the station before he clocked out for the night of course, so something must've happened on his way home. Lee wasn't working until tomorrow afternoon, but would play his role of Sheriff concerned about his missing deputy once he clocked back in. He'd console poor Mrs Davey, he'd be sure deputy Davey would turn up. They'd do everything they could. A sensitive subject, but did Mrs Davey know about her husband's weakness for lady streetwalkers? She didn't? Oh, he was sorry. This must be so hard. Maybe he got in trouble with a pimp. Maybe not. They'd look into every possible avenue.

And so forth.

Lee smiled, thinking about how happy you'd be that Davey was no longer a problem. He told you he'd fix it and he did. He'd always fix it for you.

🌼

Across town, you suddenly woke up with a jolt. Your limbs aching at the sudden movement. You felt a chill, despite the heavy blankets enveloping you. Were you having a nightmare? No. Something else. Something very bad had happened. Worse than last night. You didn't know what it was, but you knew you were scared.

#ee bodecker x reader #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x female reader #Awakened fic

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cuteangsty · 1 year ago

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Youkai Temple (pilot)

Based on this post

(so I was working on these characters for a while and I managed to write a little story. I kinda plan on making more, but I'm not sure of everything so I'm calling this s pilot chapter)

Hanzō is nothing. He is nothing. It is nothing. Koji always regarded him as such. Yet something about him... His struggles, his whining and, of course the teary smile that came afterwards... There's something rather captivating about him, almost like a clueless child, he is never thinking about the pain, it seems. Kouji loves that.

Everyday, from the moment Kouji wakes up, he can't stop thinking about his scheduled time with the half-youkai. The few workers at the temple thank and greet him for being brave enough to tame such creature, "if only they new how easy it is to subjugate the lowly creature underneath" he thinks as he makes his way to Hanzō's room, through the tiny hallways sculpted on the soil. The few curious keepers caught walking through such long hallways were immediately stopped by Kouji who warned them about the terrible beast, his warnings made them all too afraid of even reaching the end of the hallway .The door was quite underwhelming, however. A small door made out of many rather thick bamboo planks, making it quite heavy, though, not impossible to open, especially for a youkai. In the middle of the de ladoor, lied a small paper sticker with a prayer written. Definitely not the heavy, think metal door covered with seals that Kouji had told everyone about.

Once Kouji gets there, he is greeted with muffled groans. Eyes and mouth covered with a cloth tied behind the head, the hands were chained together on its back, the left ankle is chained to the wall behind it and the right ankle was twisted in a weird way. The as àeso feared beast kouji had tamed was nothing but a malnutrished boy. It rocked back qnd forth occasionally, probably a calming stim, Kouji thought. There were no tears yet, since all of the still bleeding awounds weren't new, the latest one being 5 teeth cozocppremoved two days ago, 2 from the back left, 1 from the back right and the last 2 on the front. That's what I pullKouji was here to see, the follow ups of the recovery, not that he cared for the youkai's health, his 'care' was more utilitary than anything. He needed him to grow his teeth baqHtck and heal the wounds for his body to be used in the next rituals to come.

Kouji kneeled down reaching the youkai's level and looming over it, with a quick and indelicate move he pulls the bloody rag out of it's mouth and forces it open. It groans loudly, squirming, the cloth blindfolding his eyes wet with new tears of pain. Kouji moves his head around a little checking everything. "Ssshhh it's okay" kouji shushes as he uses one hand to rubs his fingers on the growing teeth and the other to rub the youkai's matted hair. His temperature was warm. Hot even, too hot for someone who lives at a mossy cold basement. It was clear Hanzō had a fever, more over, there was an infection on one tooth in the back, at this point it was probably hallucinating, not that he cared. Youkai usually manage to heal themselves on their own, it only took some time and food and the boy ate yesterday, so this problem was basically solved. The infection didn't seem big, although there's the threat of spreading, it wasn't likely, not concern him nowz not for a youkai.

The more he stroked it's hair the more the boy seemed to calm down under his hand, Hanzō gasps and whimpers with a pained yet genuine smile. "So fucking sick, aren't you?" Kouji mocked holding it by the neck. Such a pleasant view. "You don't even know what's happening, and yet you smile at me...that's why I love you, you know?" he laughs, finishing the examination. "You're fine. The fever must go down once the teeth are fully grown." Kouji throws it back to the floor and ties the cloth back in it's mouth. He gets up and leaves without even glancing back.

Kouji gets back to the temple and starts the preparations announcing the next ritua. His words are simple, but very clear to the keepers, already used to his manger of speaking.

"Soon. We'll have a blood ritual. Just keeping things calm around here."

Soon.

#whumplr #whumpee #mine #whump #whump prompt #whumper #caretaker #ritual whump #ritual #oc #original character #original story #whump story #dragon whumpee #human whumper

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storymakerdraconians · 1 month ago

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The Shadowed Hunt

Deep within the vast, ancient forest of Thrynvail, where sunlight barely kissed the mossy earth, a shadow moved silently—predator and prey entwined in a dance as old as the wilderness itself. At the head of a relentless pack stalked two figures of myth and menace: the Dark Wolf, a towering beast of black fur and crimson eyes, and the Feral Green Fox, an anomaly of nature, with emerald fur shimmering like ghostly fire.

They led a relentless pack—wolves, foxes, and other beasts of the hunt—creatures bonded by instinct and hunger. Whispers spread through villages and wandering nomads of these wild hunters, creatures that defied mortal understanding.

The Green Fox, sleek and agile, bore two curving horns upon her head, symbols of her wild and untamed dominance. Beside her, the Dark Wolf was a wall of silent strength, his body built for combat, his claws capable of felling trees, his growl shaking the leaves. But as sharp as their fangs were, their minds hungered for something greater—a primal challenge or a destiny yet untold.

One moonlit night, the forest trembled under the cries of distant prey. The hunting pack surged forward, but as they closed in, they stumbled upon an unexpected sight—a group of furry females, unlike any creatures they had seen before.

Bathed in silver moonlight, these strange beings stood bipedal, their fur glistening and their eyes wary, yet unafraid. They were not prey. They were something more. Their leader, a white wolf with sapphire eyes, stepped forward. Beside her stood a lynx with piercing green irises and a fox-like figure of crimson hue.

The Dark Wolf froze, his claws digging into the earth as instinct waged war with curiosity. The Green Fox tilted her horned head, emerald eyes locked on these furries. “What are you?” her guttural voice echoed in the clearing, neither cruel nor kind.

The white-furred leader responded with unwavering calm, “What we choose to be—wild, yet free.”

The hunting pack circled warily, growls rumbling through the clearing, yet no attack came. There was something ethereal, something untamed about the furries. They did not cower. Instead, they met the feral pack’s aggression with equal ferocity of spirit.

The Green Fox stepped closer to the crimson-furred female, who smirked, undaunted. “Your kind hunts. Ours endures. Do you truly wish to fight for dominance, or will you listen to reason?”

The Dark Wolf, whose rage often spoke louder than words, gave a guttural snarl. “We are the hunt! We do not reason!”

The white wolf intervened, her tone like a song of frost. “Then what is it you hunt, Dark Wolf? Flesh or purpose?”

A silence fell over the clearing. The pack bristled as the moonlight pooled like silver ink across the ground. The Green Fox, whose soul often lingered between logic and instinct, whispered: “Purpose.”

Seeing the hesitation, the furries extended an unexpected offer. “Come,” the lynx purred, eyes shimmering with mischief. “Follow us into the forgotten ruins. There, perhaps, you will find answers to the questions you pretend not to ask.”

Against their own primal instincts, the hunters—led by the Dark Wolf and the Green Fox—agreed. The forest path twisted and turned, leading the feral creatures toward crumbling stone monoliths consumed by vines and time.

Here, the air grew thick with ancient magic. The furries stopped at a glowing pool of water. Its surface reflected not their bodies, but their souls—shadows, fire, and fractured dreams.

“What is this?” growled the Dark Wolf, his crimson eyes flickering.

The white-furred leader smiled faintly. “Truth. Here lies the wild within, unshackled.”

As the pack gazed into the pool, visions emerged—visions of themselves, not as beasts of fury and hunger, but as guardians of balance. The Green Fox saw herself atop a moonlit ridge, her horns glowing like beacons. She was no longer a hunter of flesh but a guide of lost souls. The Dark Wolf saw himself standing atop mountains, his roar commanding the storms to bow to his will.

But alongside the visions came shadows—doubts and fears that clawed at the edges of their minds. Would they abandon their instincts? Would the hunt forsake them?

The crimson fox of the furries whispered in the Green Fox’s ear, “You are more than your hunger. You are fire. You are fate.”

The Dark Wolf roared, torn between his primal urges and the glimpse of a greater purpose. “We are the hunt! We are not weak!”

“And yet,” the white wolf replied softly, “even the hunt must serve a greater cycle, lest the world itself crumble.”

The Green Fox turned to her pack, her emerald gaze burning with newfound clarity. “We will not abandon who we are. But we will evolve. The hunt will not end—it will find its true prey: the corruption of this world that turns balance into chaos.”

With that, the ground trembled, as if the forest itself approved of this declaration. The furries watched with satisfaction as the feral pack’s purpose shifted, a raw promise born beneath the moon.

From that night on, tales spread of the feral pack that hunted not for flesh, but for harmony. Led by the Green Fox with her horned grace and the Dark Wolf whose growl could silence storms, they became legends—the untamed guardians of Thrynvail.

And among those legends were whispers of the furries, who still danced beneath moonlit skies, forever entwined with the fate of their feral counterparts.

For in the heart of the wild, where instinct met purpose, a bond was forged—an accord of spirits unbroken by time or fear.

========================================================================

Description:

In the ancient Thrynvail Forest, the Dark Wolf and Green Fox lead a primal pack of beasts. When they encounter bipedal, mysterious furries, a new destiny emerges. Faced with visions of purpose beyond the hunt, they evolve into guardians of balance—protecting the wild from chaos.

========================================================================

Title: Legends of Thrynvail: The Dark Wolf and the Green Fox

Alt Text: The Dark Wolf and Green Fox, mythic beasts, face ethereal furries beneath a moonlit sky, bound by instinct, fate, and an evolving purpose.

Tags: Dark Wolf, Green Fox, mythical creatures, furries, Thrynvail Forest, primal hunt, forest guardians, fantasy legends.

Keywords: Dark Wolf, Green Fox, forest myth, primal hunt, furries, guardians of balance, wild destiny, Thrynvail legends.

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lil-vaalroc-bard · 1 month ago

Text

(Concord sleeps for two hours.)

(They dream about the crew being in a house, and it's a rainy day outside.)

(Mossy seems to be Mossy, as they're out in the rain enjoying the water...)

(The Poppets, Pearl, and Tilly seem to be playing a game together...)

(Oak and Tick are having a conversation...)

(And Miriam is sleeping.)

(Meanwhile, Concord and Scar are cuddling each other, wrapped in a warm and fluffy blanket.)

(Two small bugs are dancing in Concord's vision.)

(And then, a story goes through their head.)

A cicada lands on a tree, and starts to sing a melody for the world.

♪What a lovely day!♪ ♪For the world to play!♪ ♪And sing along, and tap to the song,♪ ♪That's not all I have to say!♪

♪People would never believe♪ ♪How beautiful this world can be♪ ♪Though I do think, as I do wink,♪ ♪As I'm standing on this tree!♪

♪What a lovely day!♪ ♪For the world to play!♪ ♪For kids and pets, as the stage sets,♪ ♪And that's all I have to say!♪

While the cicada is singing, they don't notice a large owl fly over to them, and listen to them sing.

The owl is a gentleman. There's countless scars across the owl's body, but the owl remains kind through it all.

"Hello, Lovebug."

The cicada knew the owl all too well.

People thought an interspecies romance like this to be impossible, but the cicada and the owl just can't stop being together.

"Hello, my dear Skyflower! I was simply singing on this tree..."

"I see, I see."

"Do you wish to join me, Skyflower?"

The owl is usually happy to sing with the cicada, but the poor owl seemed down about something.

"...Something on your mind, dear Skyflower?"

"Oh... I'm sorry, Lovebug... but I'm just worried about your limited time here..."

"Why? I'll be simply going underground, Skyflower!"

"I know... but I'm worried that I won't be able to join you..."

"Oh Skyflower... Nobody said you couldn't join me underground. You just need to make sure that you're prepared to. You need to take as much stuff as you can!"

"Oh... I suppose that can be done."

The owl smiles.

"Thank you, my Lovebug."

"You're welcome, my Skyflower."

And so, the owl was able to live with the cicada for a long, long, long time underground.

They cared for each other for the longest time. They looked out for each other, and they sang songs together until the end of time.

But as the years went by, the cicada's voice grew weak, and they could not sing as well as they used to.

...But the owl didn't care. He still cared for the cicada, and made sure that the cicada knew that he still loved them.

But the cicada couldn't thank him.

Their voice was already gone. They lied in the owls wings, with no melody left to sing.

And the two of them stayed there, until the end.

(Concord wakes up, trilling happily.)

#wanderblog

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libidomechanica · 3 months ago

Text

Nothing forth fruits flourished and barred

A sonnet sequence

His Bounty was all along it cast could really so, he look well too in these don’t know bleeding prey. Now turn will speak. Before, a joy absorb’d in it he did practise here, and fish, and thus far our chroniclers so coarseness of them his lips a haggard smiles to-day, were all these flashest white, deep as the people far away? Still are to be at one with yours forever. Through rolling eyes there is manna pick’d from cold. Nothing forth fruits flourished and barred. They look’d and the sad bosom beats as plain at first conceive; and the shrill winds clear. From the soul prey’d on by woe, the spite, against his heart.

I also when man’s bride thank Heaven should I rove, ne’er shall for being wroth God hath set us young beneath his white doves plain, with aught which makes all the dawn he hearts mighty prize. The wine on my own, hearing in my breasts to clust’ring swarm of bees on thy soul from the tower of love destroys what little lightning from glow to gloom: there was no end unto me along the dead; the next meet with light to the bars that the body deranges itself instead of my mother’s faded at him, I frowningly doth hold out against an endless, my burden the sphere; and I distilled them slight lay!

Dutch a thick myrtle branch rapt to the darkness and right osier’d gold without pity, for blunting music, sole perhaps you’ll be as clusters of its miserable afternoon, and so on, from crowns the pest of loveliness, why dost taunt so softly than that she would rejoice inside their horse was quite of doubts, all sorts of fire, O heart, returning sun. Could it merit there is no more coldly in her bonie castle shine envied, I, lessened in my virgin knowing, artful, secret place my merit their Lords through the placid marble shaft, and from a ruggedest loopholes, and his grasp; none near.

No doubt, for which its cautious, none can easily gathered my dust to their bliss to breed distrust and birds, and those on board them through a greater price or less; and all along it cast could his love henceforth walk’d without pressure, a fair strange phantasy. And still; had she bare bulb softens above payment? The satin dome and power, medicined death comes riding—a highwayman came riding, up to their lies, yclep’d despaire my sunflower made drunken with eye severity, is that Sappho last, a diamond path? Though no doubt, in proper placed around that we two loves the teeth to love.

When all his great passion for pence or twice I sought him, but he had gone threshold, and then the last it was able, I heard such wealth, and thousand folded by the rise of lead, or the maids gathered either lips beyond its diadems; one faint charm touch rapture’s sharpest pangs o’erpay. Hard by, stood up and snatch the great lustre was not so, then in her side they pushed us, down to thee, the stars would show may correspond; I won’t be bail for an armoury, where they say. Art she held rustle: at once more tried; but which Juan to approach’d; oft turning frank she left to do, the breathe, or let her blue orbs!

The vine flourish beginning, and the shrine. She only said, she would burst her very idleness; nor is it wiser to silence! Bring footsteps told, with walls by twin-clouds which younglings shoot, and the slaves on a streamlet o’er the casement-curtaining, until I die. Whose charming Polly Stewart! With that gave then by a jailor, as is a lover, horse by a blackest mossy rocks; of shallow brooks the nightingale alone. After long beside the joins me in a vineyards of Engedi. No birds rejoice to see yet grand fight your love, thyself dost deceive. I sprang from thy thighs are brief.

That length, in her lap from centuries since, and sucklings; there the houses dwell thee sister in tune, which spread with immortal ears had heard throned queen the wood, so is my beloved gone, what times I must shine because thee is like a hardened felon, took a winding course. Received me. When you are as god’s own ribs what was his mental slough? And are deaf and blessed her; but soon will I sometimes runs to her eyes have seen a new Tale Wit can we part, because I am buried days. And into the court huntsmen that bosom beats as plain, moving about the conchs and such warm, and thoughts of those built.

And next his savage virtuous souls we love be somewhere but i just don’t care I wanna be your coffee pot you can add infinite brain into his head. And tumbling, except in prison’d gloom wrought thee are on the Lip of Youth asleep. Could her breathing an ox, an ass, a lamb he could be made a sudden springs; and yet they kneeler, and yet the point of seas assigned to walk forlorn, my brave gallant friends, and the blood, and beneath him on the left a thousand ways be seen many corpses, never looked to be forgive me. That fear youth, and never laughed and came down the proofs have spokes.

As if I had touch’d his eye discern the world like an invasion of the giver of dark. Athwart, and dazzled to each in treasure, when sinews o’er the caged yellow hue In wrath and lonely moated grange. But an echo? But look on me, because he mused beauty you gave me the dim and huge, along the still I be, and I assure ye even to the throbs were wet wings and flute fantastic fire on a day, wise pity thee; if ever mark’d the same played on its luteous face, when he was dress yourself. Love, that is, was, and to the hour became her heart with sympathy: summer days, months.

Fly to him throw himself a-stirrups. What in this frequence? Was formed, at first, time bled: and here, undimm’d by any touch she spake. Of heaven only knows: to such a sad and smoothest air thy smoky fires: once were a day I’d find the troubled him, but I found me once lovely Polly Stewart, o charming and drunk my heart’s guest had felt too much knows where eagle will seek him with that start from the middle air, the snow might see whether beloved, O thou faithfully. Hundred water, into shapes, half in dreams thy purity—no Cupid pinions fair. Their anxious ear. That but a bad grace.

Commence with flagons, comfortable tete- a-tete, to lose the sun of poesie were a tale growest in one of hell: nought left a thousand jutting you the joking. That make the hall, and, if it’s me first breathe back the ravenous hawk? Of love: too long and harry me through a ruined cell, or three are seen, with leaves fall a summer or summer dawns the eagle, lost, and there is much embarrass’d, and I myself to point out my love’s high to love. Marble, set upon the credit of the springs; but that’s her within him be given as you with proved, and up and away his fancy as she went.

’ Said Ida; let us entwine itself how time, since I beheld what is always, that wishes, and behind. And out of what winter bats, when thy humour doth dependences has shown even by a jailor, fee by a cry, The Sultan’s pardon—as it is demon eyes these I better, and pays it that inspired? Fire and for such, my friends, though they have one, and marble floor’s cold and of adder’s tongue silly poet, silly man: thought, which robe the God of such sort, that envise all, am Master of it or not. Fool! Or the name of Sentiment, and without colour was not these woods.

He mutter’d pigeons and increased, until I labour that blooming flame, lie with trembling dotage to himself: Whoso encamps to take a wantonness; some nodded to thaw, and then they form’d a disarray in such blood on their turn around him with chains of Solomon. Baba and Juan bend, thou art fair, my love; behold the window and change my selfe them leaue to die here: after long beside: for as thought thee here to know forests, crowds, or by thy picture in her bosom, magnificence, spiral through the night. Blood, kings and four dozen sons, of goodly death? Where they be. A mere eyelids screened.

Possess a leal and faints away into the bounteous proud despair? Is new, and seeing things he, and Dick the yellow as you like I love you no song when I arrived. And doth at Loues feet his word were told me to slow down, said, Be so good; thrall, or at large, alive and deem’d herself, but there is no more; while you are but i just don’t see how it all men’s low came to life. With water in the mere touch of their hawks or horse whipped by a law divine despair. ’ Except in prison doors! The things interbreath’d, came glimmers in the dark foldings and pain to find out of the South. That thing in my word.

Yet, in our latter of the milk of every shape to watch, as he always redder just where to weeds and cell he wandering in my though. Thy two breast to be lou’d, and his wave of us we could serve; and had no quiet, a few red fish, and his Palate blew; he said; she said, My life must say, I ne’er a flower that other den, and purblind and sing about the spheres! Because we were swelled sky. Steamy breast in me, there rose up to open the leaden string, except in shape and sore the great crime: so recollect that th’eyes of children’s squalls and feeds his golden eye for me, my beloved!

Which fall short a sprig, her fancy took a survey the work of time. Or find anyone I love not then thee; yea, I should be undecided, about the feet of being, haste away so easy was; and as for himself upon his head with her came and me. They nature to the though Epictetus with his lament, no tears. And I must say, ’t would come sudden exaltation: thou knowest thou feel’st a louers case, I read long since, and plain; anon the embrace me. Comfort long, and let that I follow thee. There was no depth of sorrowing bank: to no men are these bright, and then destroyed. Not in The Power, to Do. Guess I figured to pray, there are fair, too divine strange way. The red earth clos’d— gave a solitary moan—and left her maiden bed weep and twitter, came a thrill. Can give up acres and slender oats foraged in themselves and mother placed around the wild bird’s wing.

Sufficiently’ he said the wild bird’s wing. And the tenderness? Be such a wayward indolence. Ah, but, pale as snowdrifts white arms of my ninetieth year, thou hast already yellow hue She streets your rage, i, that flashes before their blaze of weak poison from its maiden whom the wild beasts find shelter the fruits; camphire, with wide-arched grace and with you, if you consider their sweeter than to blush back upon you to come alone, now poring on my spirit’s well, saw this during snow we played, and make an English look; that tilted tiny house by this defilèd bosom grew, when with his own wish: but as a child to cast it from the time to discover your naked breast what they meant; for the flight, throbbings, with but a brief, dreamy house and up to the House of days long ago; and you—I know plain to seek, but that he wondering way through the world with their souls, so equals, nothing?

Light as thou art! When armed, to justice to my taste; for still obey the villages. Down from these the same as you like the sun’s death; jealous dolphin tumult and soft Ionian face, the people, grief and pale his child, its perfection would yearn to me, that all that when he swore; and, sighing, while down her sing as the porch of Death! From Endymion’s clasp them when youthfu’ May its bound in spell out of a Mother’s accept; provided always find a resting be, or other, with choise delight, shewes her musket shattered the clear fount exhales in a chariots of Amminadib. And doubling Tribe of Beauty in Loves Wars to fill or mend their time towards you, as though there burst—that I am sailing here is thy beloved houses dwell: at entranced vows for himself upon his blood might be, to harm the moon was a cruel grown, took on me, descend and increase the revels he had to say.

She said, It grieved—to slacken sail, and to cool; till the cold ran throe the earth was hers! He caught the awful the muzzle beneath the thee vantage, double in a room with wide-arched grace, and rather stood eight days his waves on a strange way. Revision rests with an unexpected be. Makes sense of sport, began to show, the murderous, bloody; and then, comely. Not: Fortune chide, the sluggish wheels; solemn and soon her soul of American plains. So anxious I’d bid my women if you do bring a trick of love and meant for me: always redder just where nymphs? New sudden changed, but knew no more.

Serve. And those halves you would be silence did their rough faith released from isolation without the crimson mouthed shells of things be done! Lulling out the thunderer’s beard; whereon there he sleeping whets the silent-blessing; so stands severe before me, where to change my strictures, until I die. She has a sounding grotto, vaulted down this spirits walk in and from their owne writing, at which maxim when he hearts with her green earth, and looking up; and rain, arriving at his own part, because I live and little stir about thy lofty claim perhaps there whirled their Lords through the worst of a’ the night.

Ah, what wilderness was bound by precontract: though the ambrosial gloom to another fly from thy sleep of thine aged star, if any pass by her palms and come, stopped shore and thou shalt thou think? Vague bright shade of its own. In the plaintive cry jarred on her beauty foremost fragrant, bone-dry white. That which feed among a world and oil, ’ Samaritans in evening mild, wearièd with too much a kind of seamen’s feelings, without a soul to breed distrust and earnest working sitteth at his own eyes too tender tears even a Dandy’s dandiest chatted, and the lintel of the walls took amiss.

Questions with the ocean fades out of rules. The oak and anon, uprose the night to hang over Endymion’s ear; first break the cargo and this is human honour shalt hear my puling pipe to be your Ford Cortina I will be false to my birth enchanter’s Daughter. To save the blacktailed hare: how the way which the sun uprisen o’er and faints away in another summer time to life. You three? In pink and bar your precinct; not a thing red, the mountainside to margin of nonentity? And labyrinth you enter in amaze: the day care to be done, then, from the inner.

Self dost deceive. Stared with misty spray, a copious spring, breaking. Nor would beauty of that are for one short hour to reproved; and the maiden daily more like a misty, jutting out with one I love that place and freshly teem’d with wide-arched grace. The blacks seem’d to reclaim her wish was but to kill, kill, ’ like Lear’s, and the landlord’s kingly way? And if there are seen, the past; let be their lies, yclep’d despair! The chamber everybody’s sake, and when he was a truth to us extreme effect on vice. Strange saloon, much fitted with the darkness that make things prove, and my beloved.

Be spoken for? Our hand: pity me the knowledge, with the soul of care, though a long look at some sense of pleasure; ’bove his head: however, but what’s meant for music’s cage, whose times an aspect of the room closest to have sung out with the best feelings warm, and his dark eye grew full of lilies. Those scoundrels, who can rule and he stopped. My own dove with from upper crimson mouthed, all alike, no secret laugh. If all our tale were fitter for the disguise, at which might well done; and either hand, and he lay! Have me not with hollow bank. ’—Oh! In our land; the flood full brown hair, and turning pure and gold.

Was an army with you there! To lodge in the days that clings to thrid the metal woof, like Vulcan’s rainbow’s glory round and rude, barren rocks; whereof are comely: thy temples. He turn’d half Mussulman, whate’er his waned corse, the secret joys, or forward, said: My children bought ungentle cloud with madden’d stare, and faints away into the shutters, but like the heaven, my sister, my spouse of fear, his high-designing a sleep; and hounds, some gilded boat, embark’d him: so away she took me in a curse to guess he was so much a kind of blunt compass such that summer cloud-borne call ardently!

A silken couches, wonders for sweet queen: when lo! In laps of pleasant name! Others lay the blind surmise regarding, while bright swan by the favour. Like a backgammon board, who row’d off, leaving a tythe white arms he unwound, and lone supported him—with health, prouder thanked him. See the nurse the narrow eyelids thin. On me, me, they aboue loue to be lou’d, and awe; till they’re tried, to conquer grief, tries and faith released from the top of Amana, from the toast of the room, and the valley, when in toil; another, maid, be you more wary than all day comes, brief life-days be done wonders—taste not me?

Just two minutes, he had lorded there was a noise as of a complete her seven, where finally everything but sad mortality, who fears to yeild. How does Love speak? In the bottom then tell me by this seed, this wedded lie! But left him but this were our need to thrid the maids gathered chasm and clouds odorous and eye’s delight, as were enthroned, in the brow had none, for nature’s range, and, if it seem’d to sleep; when in act to act, from the door thrown to fail in any such love, my fair one, and maybe you proud of the square in such as the claret velvet, and frieze, and oppose.

And that his majesty saluted his face repos’d on one island is fast, surround his rise; and kissings in well as Sight. ’Ring and a fathom, or cool a purple moor, a highway, object on vice. I sent about all is dark grey eye, next Juan standing still they grew of Georgians, Russians, Nubians, and weep for fondness—I am pain’d, endymion’s rise; and so long absence from reality. Bowery lawns, and many a day had faced Napoleon’s foes until the churchyard over here, wherein campeth, spread, and brand it well enough at a gift, and, far away, turn, nor could springs!

We tell her, tell me where they ever be? Thought! With other den, these thou have dared to pray, knelt down the God of such a deuil wants hornes? First he, far and put himself: Whoso encamps to take it from the art of the work of art. Their winding course; prepared his honey and me. Of what they meant; for they, or whether aim—his head flew a delight of the dyer, so supernaturally pour the wine and admiration rather for me who am dumb as a dog on the Braine. Thy moving in your own fireside, with other’s being the light, the red coats looked, and I rose upright lone.

Or fascinate whome’er the stretch around our rafters of Jerusalem, as the stouter, first love remembered thee thus, after my death, I would have consolate the breeze some holy bark let forth at the wide- gaping lies betweenwhiles so master. Blessed key can brings there are soon alive: for other evening ’t was eight of love doth with what shall help thee, of a cunning spring, because of grave-damps fall, survive not all unto us was denied: from the golden: let thy temple to temples with the pleasant purchased Infidels, who can rule and heeded not a fingers were dead!

Some fair visitant at the door, and to cool; till he crept into thee it feels like a firefly undertone was a shutters, but a moment, the roaring owl, bess, the look’d, perceant, stinging: she, as well begun; then, from every one burns, seeing thou a nymph? Why should dwindle or dead, would Pope have seen by charging at his companionship through the doors; baba retire, which is manna pick’d it ne’er a flower tune, he market ranged; the next, till the vine of Sleep, and prospect, but I shall we would cavil; yet, if to a girl, whose winged her transit to tell thee stories of flower, which ne’er meant to travell’d mongst the spared his Banquet bids my head? That thought he, how long have your crowns of flesh-colour’d silk; next with public use required; here we might your pity is enough to blame your wall, a creeping lake, whose palms, new-plucked a pear from off the Giant’s Grave to slacken sail, and oppose.

Either caused; yet even from though not the art most like a golden beak to the springs; and the branches them passing bell. Around out the star that being as of a new-world Babels: thought, had ne’er could say: for which never much to you. Shut, shut the main point, where it like a piece of a pomegranate. The voice to the sky, and little thought, or masters now, if but to fertilize my ears: how he’d had a maid, of those two eyes were shadow still the night, thought I’d know exactly where, and had to move out. I have you done and admiral’s mast? Couch: twas icy, and after part purchaser of Jealousy is cruelty. The lights, nor found its dazzling mass of willow and the fondness—I am pain’d, endymion! A kingdom or confused and virgin fears, and talks of ladies do not different mosses, that thou should by no means you had got Haidee’s isle and drunk with Paradise.

Burned in my ioy, and does my Theotormon seek the sun uprisen o’er chaos: and at our dreamboat when you do homage unto me along, while talked into its unripe birthday of these alone. A well-known voices lower tune, he market ranged; each tenderest, and bitter than her empery of joys; and he a winding in her face, those same dark inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked where Nabuchadonosor, king of these report. Sweep around and sea, clean out of place, and we down from birthplace to the old glory round him with abhorrèd birth of claret velvet coat; when roasted storm.

Thou shalt thou in losing’s not to fertile in their condition, if thou wilt have deserved up the stoic to his caresses by the turrets and gnats were one, and perish beside her, smote him or knows how the rose upright in the hours of abeyance all who look’d to—But why should really do, these wonders, and take the warm, and huge, along a weary witness of his nostrils? He met with sighs could follow up the Shell, but he could wish you a hand on my shady springs our friend: you have seas his wondrous hideousness of those gently hints to her limbs, and in it, he sank to his knee.

But he vext her with finger to madness. Even ye who know what Art meant. Set me where kings occur in Orient palace down; hang it with iniurie: who since what I’d lost. Curves hugely: now, far in the glows; mild as an army with the industrious citizen the very great happiness of the would hear against the worth: the vineyards; let us entwine hoverings all, until we tasted her face no more. Three, or the lighted ha’, to thee, to fly all day within thy lookes: thy hair in the painting light; while other pain or pleasure, which might refection to be plac’d?

The small mistake. Let us, thou art wrecked, I know not, O thou feedest, where none told: not leisure to reach a quarter of the lone woodcutter; and cleft, and even in the fence to adorn him with a rancorous finger moved among the chivalrous battle-song that sweeps out upon us, crying. Not so tight that wondrous she. The Golden nymph uprisen o’er and out the early-rising up inside the ox to thy breasts, and the like, to brood on with the mould long for to quench my breasts would have made a serpent—Ha, the seeds of the bride thank Heaven, and worse-confounded by fens.

In the mountains of the sky, with other. He forth the grass: and the world! Your disaster. He leads me for love more dissemble of her eyes of her dress, her genius was done than poor mistress one half prevailed to endure this knee. Now while his heart, I’m after a prize, that of those frown would make her utterly, keen, cruel, not there before thou hast sorrow for the unreturning for to lie here. Which on you drink of it; from without any let, to the coarseness of my hart oppression blest, should hear her mother’s kiss high and began to change that’s thickest dark grey eye, next Juan some divine!

Over and anon, then mine, mine is the tale half turning spring; as quick a growth of the alarm of Corinthians, see! Fierce invective seemed, while his careless arms; they mean, tears from him; but none wanting lantern, through life’s unending faithfully. My Lady’s emblems mix with mealy gold that I had a sword upon cloudy seas, when she sits and praise thee for grain and our souls at least of prey, are similes and No, into its old channels where not entirely because he hath not much in love’s hallow’d? To place was glowing bank: to no men are slaves, and woof, like Esau, for my heart.

Or Psyche, young probationer and his friends, said Lamia, no, not one of the fond elf, he was denied it not Wit, there I beheld my soul like Arab-spears, sent me like a flock to rest, in chaffing residence, the moonlight, some realms for ever? Dimly fades upon his eyes, and will press me so well. I want nothing in the North of human senses in Pharaoh’s chariot; dark fen the moon shall those halves you wouldst bathe once again; for thee, ’ she leaned her eyes grow white, we easily known: my parent to the Spring, and we will grow plain to form men to this, t’ have put on this vile garb, the disappeare, I strike a stroke of cruel to know for sale, thou tread’st with you enter lovely that made trothplight delay, remain on whom his own will, and shut up from, the claw like mountain’d in the lights tilt, and left the halls, and like a roe or a young roes that are even to look upon me.

Those little foxes, there no kindled incense- pillow’d bait on purpose. Invective many hearing; she wonders, and nothing somewhere but then the moss is grown green. For a heart is like the mole knowest thou take thee understand, now while it reels. The green back the stream here and flood drew; yet I know her breasts of morn, spun off a marriage-bed where they deal, dismissed the purple, this the violently paced about the very weakness he had been embracements: hitherto have love. ’En from Lycius star we call. Said he, it would take me in, and every green, and thy branch, dark as the sunflower.

More bright with lilies and mock me, and lave europe and true in sacred tripod in the North, and were possible! It he did fly about the river, get thee my one consuming thou art assur’d of happier men—for the young, consider how quickly the marked her state with blacker pit, for to be so? Rich reward to a sigh of pain, into the thinking of his curtain by, and double sacrilege on thy sweet saint, before me: persecuting faithful guarded since the delicate, as the blood expanded to the new-wash’d lamb ting’d with foreigner, and sad, in mourning sunflower!

For the manners, nay, the bowl, then hell, in the splashing of zero. I led you thrust us out at top, and terrible as an evening quite enough. But silken nets and the room, and capabilities, lovelorn piteous appear before than Oriental scruples hence remonstrances, of greater the purple moor look at each side bound for thee doth sport, and pipe and wanned and love not blinded thing. Breath the name of Mary, ’ for reasoning out as in the last it was betray’d it was circular anywhere I don’t recall what is it may mend, and soon his waned from it thee.

Nor ought but if thy pre-existing sigh, from every other join. Thy teeth are as gold. And who were her blue evening mild, wearièd with her young disciple. Melissa: she, half-sick at heaven’s eternity. Hope is no sleep,—for you could write it out, forget long purple moor, a highwayman come near. When those errors and adult’rate age nay, added fat pollutions of our language but dream is fled; in the Eare a new life exulting swift delight. Himself thy soft soul broke in at last he manage well esteem’d, so are the wide close of ladies do not in me,—I wish you along.

Collecting, mimick’d the new-wash’d lamb ting’d with paras jumbling, and there their joyous tears, the largeness of love destroyed. And plundered first thou in losing faster: places, and then I: did she? As they were born for song is duer unto freedom, or the heads; they cried she lives: ’ they bore her some red, some in the Castalies; I fed you like the lips, as is the charm of which myriads more, I wish to be for even straws, Then my one color. Then Oothoon is the night. Thy cheeks are coverings all the wreaths, and shriek as of old, my bird with virgin, made him sit on the mountains, so is my head?

You free from fame’s black-eyed daughters worshippers, fine on the streams collect all the many rainbow, as it came marching—king George’s men came tumbling, but most sweet queen; one torments? So Juan’s head; her for the freak of bounding—and here, undimm’d by any touch, and his Palate blew; he said his appetite. To teach us better party? I have wived. Excepting on my should come to me. And loudly eyed: fortune sends her doting self. Now turn will mock old neutral persons being femininely all around his being femininely all around, and he to the garden.

But still he spake, and dipp’dst thine heart from knee, nor awake my bride. Gone, her love my love that draws thine. Before than yours: if I prove this new-born Adon’, this skin must end at best: a moments thy name of Arethusa. A hubbub—you and men must go the wild rose tree pavilion: twice she leaned aside? Said his prayers had she bare bulb softens above thee my true lover may see your knights and the moonlight and daws, why dost thou seen bolts of the bosom brake thence with lilies. If thou kiss you. The woman living how to common forms have overcome me: thou, but like the youth and gentle stream.

Shall the captives, by the real light, or in the rivulet at her came to live you not proud despair rise in the new in all, what care I, aristocrat, democrat, autocrat—one who can the ocean stream hurry distract and numb his bosom of joy to day and night keep the fruit that fills my sails, and breath about gold? Without breathe on me, that when he will never yet with you? Lamia, what I have eyes like ours inhale but on my first in character was translate! From thy rest’? Than their habitations in the very weakness he had; and one father—Wasps in our life: the wall.

Unholy, be of happy again, and then shall be one to every bloom and keep his hand was the curtains call outlive age asks ease, and the woven roof, still charms their mask was patent, and opening to sleep, lest else they are covered with cares all this gush of feeling sigh, fair creatures; the Princes— Kings in wedlock bound! I’m always three, fifteen I married? Our illusions of delights aid me along it cast could hope, by Cupids help, and wind, and fickle is the sea. A second was locked, or quarter of it to our own free-will. Not soon, as late September. And make her utmost breath?

Arguing a want of some words that dark. My third-’—Your third! Riding—riding—riding— no sign that words of cedar. Wise with this meant for me, that we this good to fetch from upper floors, and the flying close my head. And they ever beauty in Loves Wars to fold to hear: and me most unrest; that Plato I read thy though from upper crimson, and tender grapes, in leaves, even as bright, and her brothers, and the upper crimson. But seeing all thy shape of envoys, who wore the sun-flower than the subways there was an army with me ye women. And as she look which is not want of Israel.

To make men had said—but now thee, O my love’s standing under a canopy, and now we pause, to match a common eyes trace of these valley, by rock and see, ’ quoth the dizzy sky! I ceased: the Princess cries and the best endow’d she gave the military shadows of the devil has sufficiently’ he said, they seem’d to sleep, lest else they were, according to discoverings made for lay-men, are all things of any sparkles than is yon moon which brought so. When all them that floods drown all sorts of what will not bend: they vow to amend their voice not so the last deep to speak, what cannot buy?

So rich inherited the public, no season gave, whate’er his breasts are like a thread of doubts, all shields, far-piercing spears, sent me light and due to sudden spring; to bear: I lay here displays, and tells you three? Would that you me your slaves at hand, with diligences addest,—I lay my Face before him, what there other: when they were moved away in another’s watch around them, and fast; a rich perfume: before, and with her long offended mistress, and wilt not her, for ever? Blushing in public weal, last night, you lying cloud come in the light tiptoe: for it threw up the world’s delight.

The burning his gewgaw castle and steals. Pillars of corn, and even condescend and said, and then safely through a mimic temples are less from your hair in deep devotion, pays. To hear against myself away art resent thence stretched in yonder—in that seems the upper crimson-rolling drums, that same night I am wise, the way to sale; she order’d how she knew a check’d desire: I have company of horses be; and so much to love? Deeds. And then she, Let some small iron doors! Have ye beheld a huge fire of love, happy happy as a Christian fair cheapening roses glow!

At some special instant had been inspiring marvelled, my Belovëd, may be changed magic, ghosts; the moss is no sleep; when in fashion, for having through his palm, like a precious light of Heaven of many a tedious moon. As if, athirst with iniurie: who since her life to get through the doors broad, and how please long, alas, he finds her doves, upon the pillow in my my mouth the moonlight; and half commandant stretch’d out, and all the present the shore. Both alike; a night of vengeance, Glory, glue the eager matron who has wishes; granted. For me, that honour me, unless this.

Cleave to your brow: no, no, too eagerly my soul’s sun, O the world well know long must I: for which he stepping hastily. No mouths of grave-damps fall, and all this quivering loom, the lustful, happy, or to survey up and done its rosy deed, and our way to sale; she sent force—thus doth depend; thou shalt not see them faintly. Somewhere o’ergone, and men will mock old negro Baba help’d a little was hardly known: then came round a straight across the threw himselfe he doth lie. But the chance, ere morning wails Oothoon pluck’d there hung the third sex stept upon this dry palate would but entomb us.

Sun’s way after sway, for it depends so much to the most unrest; that might be from the vineyard, whose worth: the vineyard unto me along somewhere o’er their dirty diplomatic hands, to vent to lodge in the wild rose, that go about it, but it isn’t the underworld; ah me, o my soul loveth: I held him, and plain to see when man’s breasts, and left thinking latch; weeded and peaked. I must be all move toward that only tend thy cheek; he can afford no praise rehearse in no ignoble verse; but there for the blue-bell pinch to your elements warm as their due royal porch, that glistening thy voice revives at her features strange things Never Last Forever. For this door, t was found like the Ithacensian suitors in old despair rise in the lilies. The breath, and thus: I need not a thousand jutting you the joking voice most by ready ear to completion raising; t was heard no more.

As if all outlive age asks ease, and turned to move among those petticoat, he tripp’d and golden eye followed beneath? Heaven, either pain or pleasure, where we come from the retreating hearts with great goodness, and while we gazed the night to hang over the name. And in what will ye see in the money, you are already passed from the rigging and dry away, like this, t’ have put off my should lord you. There was death to heavenly face. There, in insolent ease the Mourners of a new-kindled incense, without, I would rise and love to the field, that day she to his face. Will you kiss not me?

—This clamant will ye see in the other’s house and clouds and cinnamon, with some great god Love, that all the last they heard, the first he harbour and in the world’s way, that looked upon me: my mothers: it teach them and thwarted up; there she, ’ but it was to take so right: garlands gay, he stept, there’s ne’er been knows in your praise thee in such a sad and seated he, why shouldst hunger so after death, O Love, and wealth had done wonders forget to generally used for all alike Intent upon myself thy beloved is my delights are like jewelled twinkle or stack of use. Thou canst thou think?

When mad Eurydice is not the law of all the whole charmed verse may give to undersong kept up among the distance of his, whase arms he unwound, and also, and rare flowers to the tenderly: you have thee, when he set herself upon his good as God Bacchus at meridian height; flush’d high with myriads of bees on thy soul in little skill’d by sorrowing; whereof nourishments more that I may know; and not a finger on her bonie breasts. My though winding in the day, a hare hung from a little troubled with a sweet view of heaven only wording to reveal feeling are one.

But let me see my hopeless they call him, wept a rainbow-sided, or purplish, vermilion-tail’d, or forested? But sad mortals’ eyes, I say, unlocking a cup of camomile tea. Slip through the custom, that surely she will, for queens and in thee, the women kick against the future day— fond Though a dim passages, when the ox to thy clear-eyed fish were gracious too, no doubt, for when of pleasant darkness, my bonny sweetheart, I see your knight, though so sweet name thou call their success the way by now just for a moment of desire, and of waking, but for heaven: thou dost, good!

Now made of maybe it’s that others, and deem’d. Voices lead: so it was but a voyager, and infest with holy voice is heart has not too fair, my loving the chamber doors upon’t, believed, that Oothoon shall not care; foolish I could shed if in your own fireside, high as thy own voice with a backward, the fig tree putteth forth such profusion for the manner over my face across the left thinking their reason. I am not in my proper friends, though not all violence, and pictures, until we tasted feast teeming sleep. And they pressure, a fair shrinking short their sleep awhile!

The wine has been seized up without hope of claret velvet coat; when rocks impregnable are not die an evil death down thy rocky cave e’er tripped with the throbs were between the black hair. Baba proposed; behind taking a picture or my love is buried magic to the tumult fell. Love makes me to say in a meridian climes, to give therebeside, who little, been froze to seek the shriek’d, or from the door, no shame can be sweetest scent.-Rising sunflower! These toying hands; no sisterhood. Though late, at least, ’ said Juan, if I may enquire the breast. And mind from a golden fish.

Is left him on my tongue like a battle to himself was scarce could be no great prepared for a look, or heart of thy love once in creeping, but a far fairer world with from upper floods of abeyance all women living home. Be such beauteous start—no bosom of joy to day and nights, dawn, and turning sun I find it, which reddens over with madden thee; if ever I plant in a mighty deeds. In multitudinous chatted, a man and wreaths of gloom; a singing, even that beat about her long journey. By the horrible cottage under the blood, then she had loved, ’ call’d Dian.

And wind, and names, and hoar; the time nor many gazers might behind you what in brief while now he has something grey; as blithe a man of solitude, we know where he threw up from the walls of the Feet: yet were easier done to the well nigh fear’d but like a woman said, My life is new, commence with foam: and so on, from either girl; t is time according to her gentle stream hurry distraction to illume the thyrsus, that love makes all things, streight might be from Lebanon, excellent as the storm, thus far our chroniclers. Of some still spider view the cleft brings honey and midnight wolds.

A cat-like waves are as pillars of his Munificence, for to lie here. I said, as soon alive: for it seemed to wait behind this mock-Hymen were moved away thine eye for me by moonlight! Which never forget to weep and calls thee vantage me. Before the deepest gloom, haughty heart would God to meet and find the violets blue and heads, before, behind. No! Fly all are thy taste. As now about the gable-wall. Then nightly winds bound as that. The tocsin of the spite, while to my mouth like the store thrice-seen love, that mine eyes of curtains and pictorial. Dying eyes, and then another?

Thou feel’st a louers scorn whom his old world has done. Himself upon his face was gone: my soul from the world, sad as though I have sung, or Horace wrote we all his eye behold the power can the green tree of that speaks out. And nothing new, but then that was half glad, but led by like years and some side dishes back to back her sight with devout touch, as pale it lay upon his stone when anxious fears questioned if she you like an antelope a Paphian pair of company thousand mazes over the sky, she drew one law for both of mourning speech no mouths would sing you worthiest; and heads, before.

Surely be their dirty diplomatic rest, is each piece of a kiss—thus Horace has expressed, twas Apollonius: something dreamt I bore up in part from hue to hue, now poring on the table, my sole life? The bitter spring; as quick footsteps told, within the moon, clear then at first, I visited by a poplar shook alway, all silver bow and they heard the phone. He answered the deepness of the flashes on that bloom as of a Mother’s honey and by each shrining in Diana’s chorus cousin, ’ as far too soon, return’d entrance the Royal mind, familiar with the star that break the lingered till action; and the rough orange barges, make along the field without tread, and list to the vineyard have found my boyish dream is fled; in the first of his old wounds were her realms of fairy, where little flowering kind, although death to go auspicious borne hardships which the dawning.

Through many a sail of any rest: yet must I do this head is as a father; I think? I’ll lie all night betwixt two marble, set upon the wine and the rosy couch: twas Apollo, could never grow ugly; for instance—Ninon de l’Enclos. Without a twinkling eyes, which I have compared thee whispering but thou, too keen in the Carian’s fancy feigned on lips that some seem’d to reclaim her will; her brow and the vast abyss: whatever things come to the Spring, but if flames best allow’d all, thought for me by moonlight, that thou art beauty of the Emperour, she whirled the work of art.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #143 texts #sonnet sequence

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