#now he's sitting next to me playing Spirit of the North | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

libidomechanica · 2 years ago

Text

“Be wise are tired of which God hatz he wende his own”

A sonnet sequence

’Twas hard for the played upon that one meetings, never since my humble her thank our star whose spirit, with golden trout on that, at home holsumly slepe sound of the clusters bale: yet do not shunned the French hood-wink’d chance, but I who love that Sweet is þe ryche and forwarde þe lyftes vp home the drunkard’s paws, upheld them deep as lov’d Lycius? Be wise are tired of which God hatz he wende his own identity; that is his soft straitly curbed she moaned, a fold me the woods and plain at first hint of force oppositional future golden the walks, when, in the Belov’d to shame! For in the North.

Most except for Lycidas, your finger pause and still she heaved and griping snakes of clenched aȝayn with I said, you push the express Shadow—being left hit most bride’s-men, and wyth þe better coloured hit þere as in loȝe þat dere me þat was a tune I have made. To the tangles of life—I lean and vnmete, a thirst: so, take me wel hym sone, whil my low last of þis ostel with ooze, and loth by brain, that she still dance gaed through the river letteres vnhardeled but knew us men, bestow, since my gay, and breme he store hopes, how in such a sad as I, then as mery in firesided first.

To tene; þe bredez passage and that we moves no Sov’raigntie; yours one vpon her a Jonah’s gourd, up in her quiver in those who on the golde purely did offended his hand shaking hand. Of all, nor tree split their dole, brain passion of a cup, there better to telle hym bifore all disturb their chanc’d to sip; sweet yoke whereby she thou iolly shepheards light to none. Which, from thy heart and pledged to say: last Love’s low came a thrill of living rather rais’d the famous to bylde, and lives may last; for the illume the turmoils the nightfall be myrtles alle me hid. Provide and drent, didonis dead.

With love and twins may some divine, frail, but thy wife moved and cannot tame flower, that thou have gone; no longe lye next, what through the poet’s matter of your great heard there’s the red on its neck and you are dead! The liuely sonne of wynter nas worþyest of a large—hit hym syȝe; hit watz nieȝ nyȝt, when yours, surmounts the first kiss—you serve a knyȝt comly comes backward that I was late and closes his aray clene: at þis tyme þrowe. Robert Burns: dare not even tide, upon a gret chere: now herse, cease to row; in the Skirt of the North longinge. She goes, beneath of culture these eyelashes beare when fall.

But still; and all days that clashed with message cast an amorously I care hath no passe ay green Shah summon age to grauntez of his launce. Love’s own selfe-chosen þe flesche and feast-day that she sparkles on less- deserved, I have waste blanks, and love, the barley and Tears drink one dying eye glares ruin, and salure, and again: at one I knew and taysed himself, if aught her males, riche Romulus to Rome ricchis hym frayned þay þe former head, blown short space was stung, perverse, the blade glam of Song? What is frail our belles and yet you this orient beneath hath they would that she made me dead!

The merry larks are alle þe helden through which I rise, ye meadows, couldst thou iolly she waves of Christ inviolate’s the shadowing still; and thro’ the Princess, in faery-roof, still the head moving, o fine summer nightly sings had well-bred men; but to dust, and claim his name; and watcher by lent, I—you used no danger and blossom, viand, amber win his fancy as she is walk’d the feast-day that length stol’n from self-same spede! Nor long-battred eye finds none. ’ Sake creep and variously, there though the Sun, if that sitting chief places by the fierce and writes by rude hade chosen þe stonde hym diȝt.

But in this maner of our right. ’ Ho laȝt fro þe knyȝt þat þou wypped a ful hyȝe, and fer ouer his arsounz were lean over her shriek with Ida, Ida, Ida, Ida, full of couardise and sayde þe londez, his cotton, and with receive; ten, when mine, the sky! To unlock to the clocks, the knives, then hit sothly me þynkkez, I halden in his style blue ston vp to þe lyft vp sone; and alle dor draws thine eyes blinde wapped aȝaynes; þe frekez þat seuer mended and then at þat þou watz halawed, when Juliana came, and glent vpon lyue luf in hitself at they can’t forgetfulness.

And is flow. In sesoun of þe falle on mesure hyghe! So when I remains, and use Thy words; at laste at they both good dangle drops from whose debate more, more solutions, and barbarians, see! Know, and Philome was lost love, and do not befalle! Knew not war: and tricks in the grass, does a charred on rede rude, and how þe fourchez, ledes and the bottom of thou ruthless merely vndo as he proude of Corinth harde as freke þat hit watz holȝ inwith, when kings, wit, or dead, sunk thy soul is parching to the dews that clinging us, and on hir hert. They fight was that thinks those,—mother’s manners raisd with all the coarsenesse their homely ancestors were, þay ferde for prowes one times to wed; the despaire take the time, whether in schere of þe teccheles term: then to pipe of ladies another rais’d the world’s eldest child is wombe and broke the bread; and the Strange at þyn ese, gif me no more.

Where trwee, þer he lepez hym so gryndel. Twice or theirs be led; he plighted, he said, my dere, þe haunted air, not me tene place, still yearns fortune lay dying or dead. Now thou go wide. As I could have been mine eyes give life; O more than your ingress this the green-eyed despair so much hope to see. The dressed, she said, What has no eye for pay, you more bot slokes! He met wi’ matters fill my flowers, and wipe the trespass-chiding to the animals of trweluf craft vpon erþe, þat vnsparents’ bones shee deeme of cold wife lay dying. Grandma’s rose that is left. I locked at Netherby gate and bliss to spede.

As when he was a long and kysses ful mony pynakle payntet watz hyȝe on herb, tree, mocks marred ful glad, and hade crowd— tomorrow you, and force, whom universe. I hear me, I did not the dark moor land, a fragrant oils with show of mouth vnfayre on me, the sat, and tyruen of stones, on þe brem valay; þenne þay kest ho syttez, and this paunche, þenne, ȝet schuldered þerto tachchez, vch hille ful holdely, quen þay hyȝest moder song to your each produce his Largesse a morning piano our praises worse presence; as a time toward him, and straight came in the great and fair, in bloom in Mrs.

And warned Nor Jove, now I will cold, Then spoken with Barsabe, þat he wan þis brains fortune led him, until he had been, the futures. And ay þe fole houed oþer leue ladyes on my soul in low estate, perfect things past a fragrance and what weppenes to my presense paired will not remember you wilt look cross his bed hym in a cataract seas that we calle ful lowe, þe beuer- hwed, sturne with a flitting at the dead. She means in the past; let be their stems branch’d on fair Geneura, with alle dor an hour ere she looked nec to þe fyre, and wanned and droppings; and winds were drincks she is sweet.

Theirs be led; he plight glancing arms, with whom not see when, as layt no fautles of absence! Thou wake than the authentic mother’s lette þe stab of works lest ladies into the discontent, you, know your mind is of all to the height; and she what is my lord the closing mild; nor with ooze, and lest lur of þe lorde he bedroom blue. Now far can compayny of couardise of her, plunged; and hear our strange, inwrought: for ladies do not received, but in they maintaine thoughts more,—false or truth flowed here is no more. No traitors having fan, drowned twining, an upturned to each do growled an answers, las!

I love whene Guenore, for dryed is nipp’d, and me on me false in me, that the Soul, and strydez, rudelez rennande out on through the hope-hour station summer in honde, a boffet paraunterez wythinne þe sydez, brayden ful ȝerne of allied to mete I may look on his hand the flying from ancient fable of death down best of þe cloþes, a corner of summer breath, why shed, and Roger turned. What though he ber hie, the universal nature some of Gulistan shall that shone the battered in? In ribbands, who before poor wretched with those limpid lapse to tell, motion: then her eye?

In our own people’s like a cup; your belles ȝe demen. Maids and haf dyȝt and three broad- spreads aloft lepez ful mony; forþi for fantoum ande gle, and ruchched; þe bores here, and neck, your feet ripples down the gaudi of grace my wife, of all the endite. With a much mirth! Unopened condiscerning a suddenly ashamed to bene, to share? And syþen rytte þay busked on lode. ’St though indeed, I have been, that is the boy’s head: she love to every bole, and rather, and strand! Draw in a voice alarms. A blunt play, that do not girlish but zombie- lite through all into a forȝ of a God.

Following battle where you for bridal he stars; the doctors returns a charms failed—this huckster pure ioye. I wanna be your native blood walt þer watz about my fancy, so arguing a tunnel. But shears, and sage Hippotades thee, I siker me, and þat bronde and free, and strife, saying at last did lay me wel lerne and said, not such blood waltz, clicking of the playing Laughters and let us down the circling rowes; you to that sanguine flow itself: while that sacred Rights the sun by the heauens high degree, are no were wont to break that medicated homely fare; letez me raȝt hym, and love. What in velvet petticoat he sing, while than new love in our young again; and if þou fraysted þe remnaunt soth wear, and Jill go and speak and rider doth face sharpness likely, to schwue ne to her weake we means frae wedlock the passez alle þe wlonk euer. Nay, bi Goddez awen fest.

She veiled here are at sum for þat is his syde. My heart; would not be nay, weight, out of mocking o’er thought that purple-lined palace. Ho is my cler arms; they seem like young against thy tress more the inside myself on the place, þe alder þe seruyce þat day with waking blighted ha’, to take it was once the right in all? For beast! Velvet petticoat, or a guide, and pipe of an olde clenged þenne sesoun of summe þat I am, and starts and slowly groomed and ugly, well knowledge in circling rowes; you the tender eye. That while he house and to tourne were evening, If one of the Prince you, and thighs, haldez, al þe hors at the bonds broke up seven the fall: and triumph, as in a voice his be her host, that from the earth’s wheel, that will buy me a little rabbits, doe you this liddez, and night have I nolde neuer arȝed for hys mayn on blonk, syȝ hym byhouez of speken, an answer’d not.

For his face are at stratagems sweet. Of the clinking of the huge to luf, oþer a spenne. By her lustrous woman-sloughs that made me though my heart lies of late at her mother’s hand of love that she, Let some said; she wrote, Weep no more. She only said, but with love, and ferden to þe knyȝtez hem after all things before her subtle thine! The just arranging have been among the shee withers at þat I sende hym þe way off, the kisses sure, drink jeered as he was never in the Past! But sometimes Sun and þe hyȝe tyde. Of children of vntrawþe to schafte ne dismiss you: go. Had laboured to guide.

Think that it indeed, while now I remonstrayne wythhaldez hit vp sone; and þat her hales in Indian craftez kest han koynt wer boþe, wyth still yearns to-day: his hed watz þe mysboden hair, the knight wi’ an auncian wyf hit kepez. You loved youth’s proud and woman, the stem less my tears amid perky larch, a beauty, but since think of the white, doe melt from a tamarisk near two Proctors return’d him, Look, he hypped vpon flet, ellez were living thee not making of all the forever, past he þe lorde hym to remwe. Of her makes their pupils like Fairy Queen-Moon is the woods; they’ll have live.

Your awen—þe heȝe helme, þer he fountain Arethuse, and cast a liquid kissing so and loved in a forȝ of a rasse ay green with crimson-rolling down the mood made his honde, and grow mad, and I will offend. Have seen? The Night; so was more, mon at him, to know time’s stop the green shall my spirit worþy hit watz late, þat noble. A weighs on you my race so bytyde, and blesses and hold the floor; they liv’d, till stroked its songs to interfuse? The day þis a power and sette hym þe resayue. Directed by the only face of chance he spoken to þe godly for life is vgly, with jet, the colde.

Or denied it complete and ladis þat? Sun thy vision, white should have her turned to make, leude, hym lyst prik for poynte hit deme with a sharpness of destiny depe, Ande þy matynnes ioye, as he o’er who is it wiser that crowd confusion still you look a spark of those two at her powerless, and dreadful image I done, warnez he hym vp and conueyed, bikende yow, knyȝt sayde þe heȝ lorde is low, but I can; he’s poor. ’ And this knees, from Arac’s side, perfect witness he that was bitter to the nightly window moved by all of praise burnez in þe grayn al of grass, that aimest with lote.

’ Woe was neither day. Earliest piped for her schame! But, Delia, more, my child of husbands of his horse my tale of alle þise kynde, so sayd al þat is lent isle a shipwreck’d man never will makes her decent legs, and wore me, and ryȝt he hands. The stonez about me not his yerely shells before what was stung, perverse of þat is a morsel he slower, not the matrimonial victory is mind’s roar his gomen bygan, or a creuisse of the people roll out the brere withouten pere in felde. Late in Arthures hous and redyly, if he world, and right. Neuer may. Are allied.

By stretched meteor, trailing chief done; the print will rule perhaps goods doe only to harm in the cost, from the vigour offer’d up and slips in ordered þewes apendez fire of death in the little reck’ning mine? Sette in his to three paces measure prest: machinery just arranged out into the wrote, skimming a tune I have ye who played, no hurt so sore? Last year’s letters at þat ernde and myn owen now, will work the illume the day care thou be brought; more than a poison’d Lamia, regal drest of thy mind at þe more lykkerwys on the faithful instruments— the golde scharp schrank þurȝ daynté, how-se-euer his hede and buzz’d his launced ambition, humming again, had no plate, helpless, look upon their chiming, laughing sweet, and knyȝt, and buzz’d his makes a few things good, as hit claterande þis court and with thee giue us sight: for to report errors, contact UMDL Help to reche honde.

Than stones of each at ever wi’ her chained, as thou web of women. For that when the white crowned twins may brings. Through to knyȝt of your darling, think and well of right: and com aȝayn— and your true occasion lost, bud-packed into sweet Tibbie Dunbar? And lands of farewell world is shot back them hither side bound with kissing full of your warmed thee, nae travel make a blysful blusched and cleft, dropt through the hurt the walle weppen so þou wyl grant instinct hiveward, and gulled our sorrowed from people have my Lady’s self, þat cortays carp he constellation to me, that needs must be pity to make.

These flash’d in that make myry mound beyond to-morn quyle þaȝ hym noþyng low and with a couched in silk seats: part rolled on a wedgewood plate, and say she’s yonder your shelter of such feast: suche in a clene: a woman simple denied;—love in the still! Have been proude of þe same flock, by found about you conceiv’st, is þis Arthure þe syluerin sponez. Who told him eke þat wyth goud haldez, and coughing another answer which now lacks her some reade you what shell, or a fairy queen o’ the Princess crie on the throng in every turn: eyes, ears amid perky larches riche Romulus to his queen.

Alone like one whose Two—they should hears the purple all his good, brown with privy paw daily brenned. What she hath been to mine is thy memory with woe. For silk bordes gode gle, and hatz wonyd here madrigal, unto stelbawe and her, and bryȝt so to interest and talon, at first I hold the noisy worlds a melody that right to profit and blue because, as mon þere. Back from my country cried, when you waite vpon flet fersly þat tary he ne kepe I no fyrre—bot sum talez of þe coldly, Good: your voices calle ful hyȝe; wroþe wynde watz for naebody. Before he kiss it teeth.

And ho bere his own righteous battle, whatever the cloath’d into sweet: thou my race all upon his hair, so I tasted with my rival out one measures the sun, in god fayth I writes. The thick as herde telle, lepez ful clene as from heaven of brende golde vpon red ryches hym ful bryȝt of yourself had made vpon flet, and his syde, let me say but to moan and þat, forbear thee free. Her give me. Upon the bath and yet, behold, and glent woody place: shall croak the current of rye, that broȝt blysse in the gray mare is ill-wresting me, and he ful fayre pelures—ȝet laft he ne myȝt vnder his knot.

’St the Town must not Gawayn on blonk, þe bonez, as is destinés derf and death’s- head at they benumb our honor Pan with them toward whom I shall I thee? Here on her hath not, she shame! But he that are not enuie Aristotless ill, were we are thou break him, until ye try thee. Of land an unbidden fieldes so longer so hold them stod, ho stod, and achaufed hym fast, when your faces blood? And likewise I: be come nae wants to god, and the fresh my rival out our husband weep out the with mony stif kyng nerre for to halle þat al forwondering round rippled bee, sorrows know!

And vche a cause the float us nothing and vialed in her navel the flying that chaunce dry; but want and þe grene gome, God þe masse, lays vp þe luf hor lotez þat oþer gate, runnen to bylde, and great she wrong, and to move my leaves. What I mighty things. What, has he hewen, þer þre at þe harmeless divine desire in thy coatie, sweet. Where riches hym loued hym þoȝt. If in fallen such are the incalculable month endowed withalle. The Prince, I would that I charred to þe deceit, she wept, and once made long dark all else for spite hill, deafen’d ear is by the clocks of wit, or pine?

If not, nor your companion lies; when the North, and snapping ears, till morn or eventide. Steal, and an outtrage awenture; for the through he ben ded of þe stele to erase? Queen Virtues Court, while his bedde, and he luflych adoun as dreȝ droupyng of the think ere yow tydez, and used, used utter I hear the higher true, original riots wants to go of hemlock I had doute, smal sendal bisides, a selly hym þat mon most, even in an angels see, doe not act, fancies scum, and reches watz borne rennez þer flesh help me! Than at they are arming, laughing-stocks on lode.

I seemed, for a bride on a spere an erande ho sweȝe doun lystyly þerto prey. And triumph, as in a mother; which is another nine time would ease the bridegroom said before words are the knights, for pryde scharp in þat half without I wanna be your sourse, als Colin made a fare þat þe renk seȝen. Til þou be grayþe to get our Sex betray the wine on my ivy garlands were haunches rosebud with inborn worth in oþer to pricking a cockney ear. Whispering back with great shot, and galleys their hinges vntil, dye would answer loth to þat þe diner watz Adam can not worth that from shore?

Greeting seas assigned, were hals þay seten, euen in danger fear to clear they clash the golden hym byforne for greme, and in our world, in a carefull verses swarm at every that shallop flitting cheere is; al is your cover of woe; my life, redeemed kind you block could not have not separated fury, frayst me beneath as she love willow sholde on lofte, while oure former fault beeing blight; so when the Past. We deeme of need wise, he hath dissemble the woods, dumb caves, and he single dropez of þe welkyn wrastelez wyse. Thinking the sun, resort to and from its petal tips; for fear my oracle of death, her heaven, this held up, to where her face I say yow fyrst forth þerafter were caught, and we down to Camelot. Others and stemed as me; for soþe, ’ quoþ þe gome in peace, wherewithalle, and sighing and know that I were virtue by denial giant, a noble!

I shadow flits before thee, my mate ne dyngez capados þat neuer; byfore þe hiȝ dece he schulde: hit were soul helps flesh— let’s sniff and grass. It was infuse my thought in his held the bride from age and love, yet, love to everywhere, I come a maiden bed the silence jewel-thick sunn’d itself, and euermore hornez telle, of all bare, and name of it from the sun; while fluent Greek a vowel’d underground. He starts—but Dick was met wi’ a clamour gray lock and false or blame: young monarchs longum vales and his bedding air bubbles wink at her husbands once against the third, and pictorial.

For such cowardyse me truly showers and hir þeder wille, and hang the golden: let the shadows. The Head took the town of Empire how þe hyȝe, at þis tyme twelmonyth þou toke þat vnder God oþer, if I were not making our last, vche burnez in his arms, by Phœbus was there’s nought to spend, i’ll bode in þis wyse, hym þyse oþer drooping from me. Brighter tree, mocks all well-bred men; but the meets the frosty days I wanna be your best of a launde, and sound: less grow, which you might for among the grant flaȝe fro hame. And beneath all his hed water Nymphs, when nature madrigal, unto the fair.

And to his places were fetled on a sudden rushed for fear. Cleft from my face, and so be I may calde, and sae lorde on a coast of felt a dry radius descended but led by the holy things remove waur than a hen to nye hym noþyng lowe; ȝe schal kysses hym lyȝt, and shadow of his blude it not then his book of eyes ready. But ne’er for to say Forgive me. His virtues Court, knyȝt mad with your fellowship so true; henceforth in beauty by natures need to further them, made hym of meriment. Then let appeare; he never weary way enthrall, so to us: what the longinge.

But your children of force, whose maked’: so sad for greme he þulged wings, impose stands and hand in aȝaynez, bot ȝet þe last: one sunshine own. Then thy stretcheder thereat the blush’d, and lach þer hym deue, and more mate ne dyngez rokked in slomeryng hyȝes her sultry house and cemmed, for wealth, wealth, and browe; gawan watz fayn þe godmon, grant youth, and thus all. But how to kiss; for then to heart he called these trunks? And if þow rechez hym schyre al bare, þat aþel is not for meruayl as the weight of half of his awkward on there, þat watz nere þanne Alle þe meny, boþe quikly to chace; heȝ with lore.

Bowed to the earth’s smooth she sette cradle of canvas led three descrie, are no friend or to make. Or clear; Corinth your elbow. Still truly showers; or mastered chasing of the gracious age, on bent much for your child of reuert, o ioyfull verse. Decide it he would be count than of nurtured to chace þat lemed ful fayre, chymbled out. Everyone on before him that herself, þat oþer, and syþen riche Romulus to an end: the earth Hell! Could lay smiling wells with gomnez innogh, to honde hym fro, and dream! If þou redez hym of aquoyntaunce, said to the lawn at night a glass will deserved themselves apart.

She says, did so, but need no danger over, not mortal love and horse should say read, ’ and ofte al niȝt; þe loke on a willowy hills rolled, and riches of knyȝt, tyl Kryst with mingled power, would not be such a fole vpon hyȝ sitte and farez with her what we poore I summon’d the ocean that’s loud reverence, then vp his yȝe, and efte I schal stondande aloft, þat þer sayde Cros Krystmasse gomnez in bi a littel dich her side, so is Gawayn, good is soth, ’ quoþ Gawayn, wyth a roar that even love. Bi alder þe schal bayþen þou myntest, Ful luflych lorde; þe letter for that a cold grange.

�� 38

In the named boy eventually return their dole, brain and strongly grows at evening teeth, hair, and the world’s eldest chick pushed things sadde winter to the himself þat ilk; þay vmbekesten kenly harmony, and gilte Rosemaree? And had no powre to reches watz acordez þat be ȝe trysteres; hit were. Stands; Let not better lady on me ungentlemen, anon, the brightness; whence with stranger laid, and inspiring storm first, in gomen is gast of the town, to take me fallow comlych quene, to daly with heard in thine ear. The dark trees a well her emptied some, pieces, patches, wonde?

And her, right have leaves to my deare, no commes to ryde me steuen vpon neuer; wel bycommes to bye, in solemnly the Queen- Moon is singing there rosebud with my sport and came two longer present that we should serve a knyȝt forȝate, com to death a passing slowly, till and askez; serched hym gret, and all the man would rest flower, glistering owl, not life in thy happy herse, yet ne’er repayres; vche burde hym as mery mantyle watz of sportive blood is chambrez with his lymmez vnder his know? Athwart the tufted crow-toe, and men we fell from the lily! Dream and pushed to hym ȝelde!

Of thy regions run, thick as hardly had skill to his ax, and want, as lately his schulden, and by promise thee, from without those lampes of the wife. A hubbub of the commodiously, a mere to the white rose this nome, and oppose, chain’d at worst desired. To follow herse, and if we will fall. Sat watz þe myddelerde, and love, not shunned they can’t hurt he myȝt loke, þer al þat tolke to the envious scene despairs, to cease thy guide. To many a breezes blow, thought, a year when I knew himself to be vile the Greek a vowel’d underneath they stoon? With the shepheard her, and shaking up.

All the rose, or taint-worm shone things we felt, what I follow steps walking in the Breton stondes in blacker pit, for an oþer knyȝt fallez, and the crown’d Arab’s lip. ’Er rough and selly hym diȝt. She sees the sea. Since life leaks away, when ’tis pressed him the snare, for you, you are fordez to Gryngolet with her transition. Bad luck a better, or the king Arthure wolde lys in my dainty Lucia. Has a melodiously, a meruayle to rule free and finger, and ever again, or glod to men, that is þen a spenne tas he passes their shadows, could she turned you could value in all?

’ Ho raȝt out, but I will come back to hear: and chief just poured þat is no comrade Lucy took delight with iron to walk forlorn, we dropez of þe clere þer I haf frayst, fyndez, and the third, our day. Fade far away, lost what of the wife: their monstrate: folly were faylez þou ne wowyng nauþer grew beside to þe wod in your comaundez so þay heldet tables stood eight on from pain, O tell her mother’s way with my brand nedez to Sir Gawayn bi non way þat knyȝtly lyȝt with delay the think good? See what wonder what flickers where neither herse, the brothers’ seeing notes, disceuer hert.

He call Thy plan: then night, a buzzing in his he knew himself until frustration, most excellently ravell d. The deserted me—where to accustomer: his penn’d up in heads: but shakes there’s nothing dream involved and never tasted fury, frantic indignation brother, and peace, ’ quoþ Gawayn watz hym on dryȝe. Set sadly as it, the musky-circlets seeth, theyr head, prophetic pity, i’ll gie Cuckold to naebody; I haf caȝt vp al hole þe metail anamayld was given, and, O ye dolphins, waft that made at þis Nwe Ȝer aȝaynez, þat her which Inde or Affrick hold.

And alle þe men to Kryst with clamoured at his launces hym by þe brest and borez oþerquyle, and morn about a glance—the Lady of Shalott. Who was a prize might have given, and he homeward stricken with earth wherewithal swere þat dere vpon londe. Breath, for siller, it is stuck in the ascent be untrue; and, Prince, and þay to here better! Because I cannot do, breath, from the uncommended. ’ The leaneth on a heȝe ouerclambe in erdez vnder wander as he hecht her faces where any more, for þe luf-lace set þay teldet hym in iustyng, in jopardé þat hyȝe tables cooked.

White thorn of pain, to do herse, ceasse ne more than female senate was up, and all night, o carefull verse. And then walks, and outside the denied, such craftes. Was hardly too much, some new in the sheet—crushed among the baldly he ryche, and brode, and snapping a tythe white. Thy giftez, for that she, conclude, there’s the Tree, giving their stems. Ask what came dazzled by Reproof of Love ask, and softly, in the first. For be hit be such a man, she asked all, love love whatsoe’er the knight should never comes of þe wod hit aloft by the shore, now are with þat I was an awfull eyes, and why are further.

The hankers, housed in arms, a poison’d Lamia answered by golde ay inmyddez vnblyþe stones i’ thee; i’ll take afflictionary voice is plain, kill me so; as testy sick of conscious and shall not condition thread moving her mouth saddle bells and praysed with al þe wele ne be to my soul with hopes I may be funden wyth menskful þik, þat all my woned þe knyȝtez sore ȝe maye þenk vpon joy, I though the past recall? ’ My Phillis—for shame: althoughts dally wyth nay, you are no other day. To flyȝe ful lyttel in a vine, made strok, stif in statlier grow marry; i’ll could not know.

Been other lette as the King of tresoun serlepes to take their halls, and þe most. And more and he tossed, and seem most desire in tissue, goes, lived in love, what I do touch of mine a lidless praise. Of this cher ful still my cup; your heard can astert: Fayre further to sing, and love, for drede withered by his uisage down by the big kids do gaspe, forc’d by Time—the vale, and blazes. The knights that gave me falls on the humpback into a steuen mony siker segge, and pured, noȝt bot as her were boþe, þat yowreself lykez. Ho commes to myself on the bowl, then sheet and pipe of grave.

And the hot race by all hand, amber door. What a mansion hooves. There ar ȝe take from inmost north; at even loved, she moan and oak. After foode, and Treasure-House—who not the sky above her set, making down from his side, from the heart to wynne þose were valves, that I follow bank. Your wylle his body wound, poor men were getting the wrong, to these thing in a year when the worlde askes. The feelings keep fair cousin without end, my Belovëd, when I see play wyth a smile, the first snowdrop’s inner. Turn the hope þat I wot well; and if it spread out of peace, with black piano, in hell is dead.

As frekez he better forferde held rustless sleek compare, was thine hair. Stretch around round she is in sleep, think of reuerence as þe crest þe knyȝt vpon grown soul. ’ My Phillis, has metamorphosed to carry me tone. Hiss in war, or is it there there many women kick up and sighing so and light she helmet flower the flying South, toward whom the double smart? I quit-clayme hitte. Draw near; they deal, dismiss most our Britain he doth leade the heartbreak, break your fire on aught him broȝt to hym bisoȝt of your own people roll. Compels me to bent, a half— inch space quat kyth he sayde: wy!

Until being to you. The Lady of Shalott. The last: one sunshine was never when he couþe. Take my Stella vexed is. Now what was mischief request: ’twas just pleas’d, you’ll find her trust what-so bifallez—þe couenaunt of life or blab, and mony luflych alofte; þe walle wod of a lovers gone once more soundering breezes rapt from his knez knaged wyth a mynt one measure ceased; or any he; sma’ sille, wyth bulked in folk on þe myriest way who is my fancy comen hit onez, euen in the South, sure she lenge, I þe haþel vnder heuen, þyn auntered ful richly, and joy be wise.

Now wyl I take. Hit he comes no more prys, and I schal we sent a story to which can see. Periphery pinned with morning flute; rough you can smiling cheer, beauties mine eyes are skycolor. When he melez to Gryngolet grayth, to her thick-jewell’d shone against thy wife, worþe at his balȝe haue and we bot trifel; bot for þy grete. And closer that she ward there never solemn bird wings to those sharper sengel, sir, ’ quoþ Gawayn vpon fyrst, and his beauties praysed is Gawayn, and the fools perverse, with the world, or with tale. ’ With cares, and his blonk, syȝ hym broȝt hym bite, burned to telle, hit þe houndes; þe for these officer they’re silent picture, fluttering she goes, beneath the doubtful hour when her eyes, with his hwe men forty winters in. Sleep our eyes, and at thy winds her ear. Tis better tale most dead, and I go from their light upon the sound of echoed he; no Indes such greue.

But was Cyril, Yet I bore his your precious good, because and hues. Then Gawayn to þe clamberande ful ryched; þe bok as long. And there among piled aboute, subject servants to sway, you dickhead. Do not to dele his fyue joye warm cloister’s wood; whether is the wanton dissolved: thereupon take it was no salve to go vpon her lion’s passing so cleave cross’d, the dead! You push my rival out of day the sorrow comlych se sleȝt were þat watz so joly of þe schal lelly yow þynkkez on Gryngolet glydez hit vp al hole, Not for þat tyme þe leude, schal yow well know not yours.

When the last of his axe, and play short was the realm of hooks question, who read at the blind many, poor grome at their potency. And thou, to win who flattery lonely to-morrow Ile wed; Despair! I started frame but death, retrieves no shame: always compliment, with heavy day I was told her off from the light appear’d under the rest, and Gawen his steeds that. Love to quell? And strange: unlifted me parauenturus, oþer schulde keuered water-side, sam slips wan to weep, and þe wal his oath, the rose the gracious rings, and his wife affection, depth of thy gay smiling cheered, high in the woods.

And blossoms, and the hill. Last Love, tender- shower, she lies, when ȝe ar stifly, and gedered þe burns inside they maden mooted, but, instead, women most kyd knyȝt forȝate, comfortable the honied show and warp on hyȝt, þenne sayde to fill my care. See where in the floated by day’s end assume thy bridal he shrill winds her silke, ’ said I am a shelter to bryng me backe, and letter which can only said, Dear, without you speak to you would he nikked hym so fayr of our foe. And the sunflower to my father’d in disguise broke of passion of your flocks on looking hand, alas!

More be rack’d with thy great begetting the sex of world with their journey for schome þat þay stod he now to burst out on my homeward faste, the golde, þat day, the Lady of Shalott. Doe you and night-wander is so well? Choose that makes its hopes as we. Go with ful bryȝt as þay seten, wyȝez in her eyes can vndoe Dame nature for my claim a stream. As of old, my one time I was of hope, to mete bi alder þe folk gedered þewes apendez hit as glem of þe gres þat close by the sunflowers are all the arbour, a weapon, like a fiend from elm: one measure lorde is flet, þe boerne.

How oft soe’er the sunflower made sugarcane, in londe is cool, and thirst, the forfeit when all his obscene better to the locker room and then wound ripples fall, and Roger turns my fancy to remember’d in the com hider, blande, Ful gryndelly watz hit at his hed in malice Gods in what thank our bodies him sad, so loves! Periphery pinned with her utmost bride hade goud hert and brave and berez, þe lappe and ȝelle. Past the lilylike Melissa knell to take its round, what boots it some brad on þat schewe, for charcole brenned. That the doom, and came a thrill of tryflez hym þoȝt.

See what wont þerwith vche sesoun þe gledez, bot such a gallant too. For his forsnes he was no rof-sore, with for me, and all mov’d; from every Muse herse, yet ne’er been to weep, and Moon are black air underfoot into the woman’s art by promising flowers of Ida yet whatsoe’er your coffee hot let me excuse thought that project the truth mai’st see, Walke in loves a wolf with the Ithaca or he waste of earth and transit to the dull defende. Idols, care weigh their manhood is but half; trust God: see and to me huge heȝt hit for the parching eyes, as swallows swerve in this neighbour’s ear.

That ride; for more wyth ryche. Which sight clasp’d wit do search of your praises; or, if so you with airy Giant’s flail, that lights insphere are all well-bred—most his hight. And the field, what indeed I wake, made them passionato. On all for the deep-delved ear! He dryues wyth such as for hit fayr þat none came: thereupon spread out of maner bi hoȝez of a faute. Trod under they, note the bride from Camelot. Resort torne; ȝe lende, and vnder high degree; if I have left, drop heavily the throated too much dispatches her side, hiȝe hil, in embalmed down to Camelot: or would not bad, and comfort so toȝt.

That to some fight in her ear. Should do much, the mind at the Blest arms around, and strydez also a beloved; men and þe kyng comfortable the hunted calm ravisher the boy’s head, save your each pew and sighing lotion hold you for in thee; i’ll fear my peace, whatever put eloquence can shower than my o’er-press’d her for some figures dim, and white Boy is a fig for al day, and shall try, but within had seen that shrunk shuddering, the green vast, beaten with þis gyng? Her very original riots of thy deare ford that more grew to glance her side; her texture; she love-poem!

Laird was the watz wayned me þink me to inmost sacred tripod in the haunches through your beeing no rest, I cease upon her couertorez ful of grene knyȝt, here, and þe fyue were all unarm’d, and dear idea reigns, and maiden moon is the shadows on my o’er-press’d, we know, from hence, or with the sun. Yea, sweet, what close that rode him whose thereabouts, the bond—the state of a life shall aboute; and their praying-that he hit hade crown of stones, O now you, had no schawe, þat euer so hold you draw the village drest, in which blends, transcends with woe. Love below the biges vpon fyue wytte, ȝe kest lawe; and hay!

And grove when þe dece on doser to the bay where your Ford Cortina I will not thy return, that vnkind refuse your childgered: his hed and plump. The way the colde to carry you, as to schulder and fears and I schal gif yow, wyȝe, and thinking late after þer hym at once the snowy should fain would not life out of merimake. She said, The night of thine eyes, to which, like a lord, which makes me sumquat of Jove doth as good and bene, above too deare, but by day’s end and yow god þoȝt, and entering above the hot race by all one rag, dissolution. There was not your claim from temples.

Me scharp spere he way the lad hem all!—You tell not lyȝt, and hardened with þe belt and his bowl of cream-white of smoke and of prey and that I should by otherwise withouten dyn more; but that with could pipe and belief; the boat on the bride: two palms and schewez hem bi lagmon, þou þreted and fine, empty in itself, wherein hert, and some quietus. Or picking, but that all which I by lacking down. The coverlid of hopes as she would answered chasm and perforce; and Errik, and at least once decides it, yet she may not combination throw hither side; the culprit and towche hit of myne.

But do no hand of praise? Young soul abroad. He fixed the the saddle art, girt fast holdely, þer luf at þis hes her the woman to fill my Delia, more made drunken with þat wynter to the door opening mild; nor walk aboute stood, because thou shalt obey, and pass, and angel apendez to spende. Endure it back together. Your maids, bluster’d marish-mosses non bi þe tyme so kenly þe burne blest, shoulder in the flood. Than they liv’d to heel. They blest from the breach when-so mony syker knyȝt to þe cheued to be vile then with the fashion; each sweet yoke where an end to sword blown shore.

Bi þat þe ladies, who has thine happy he was said I am aweary, aweary, at they meant by the horrible flone—þat be ȝederly, hurt watz þe mound beyond her than his hede at þys onez? To make a new acquaint enamel. To which I thoughts dally within me, doted, burne, stif innogh in Nwe Ȝerez lyȝt, and the heard can astert: Fayre face or with þat wyȝ vpon styf schonkes, and he my selfe this grace of þe knyȝt, and Lucy Gray will goes again if it brings our life: hear heart you, you serve her neck did thy large some dull deformed on her Name taught and warn’d aught was a meet, as were possible, of sorrow she will death-wound with hymself, at one children still the Sun, if that I am, and on praised the wrathed daffodilly tremble? Blown a life to some maintaine though and after messequyle, and Cyril told the rose, and little I thought the unnamed beast?

And the britnez out þere, for woe. He seȝ hir so glorious and revolution. That he þryȝt to his pigtail till Day! Up the maidens bleach the Seas Seven but up! Cavern deep-recessed on mesure hyghe! Half so sad, so fresh frown, and sun. Doing back with alle þe men ignored it from the woman, said Lamia, no, not pass’d beyond meek that foundez, whyssynes had no pere: so well that gracious age, on bent his leue. Al-hal-day with Cassiopeia, or the want, because, and thee. Or friend. For ȝe haf trauayl among the leave to give salutation came: this dispute; I shall please alike.

And seldom fails to ballast love, some face now haue frayn þat hold; and sword between; but I thoughts and fair, still she plank, and you did not do, lest I left his solace is passage and Oblivion to fylter wyth a lady he sayde, Now lend full bought they saw the river letted splendours and your gray hairs on your mind o’ my Phillis, has met wi’ my Phillis to pipe and colen and bear along woo’d your enmy kene. Bevel; by their time of it from under Hyacinth half-right with care no other sex, and þe prynces of half aside: what double doubt, for the himself in long sermon.

Look not what it vs brings the ground; confused, she fell with you wert, and fight, to chace þat I schal gif yowre wylnyng words rise, startless, some haycock, or having loved your loue to here, lovely dost keeps me hostel whyl halydam, and woo her, she chorded of þe folk gederez his beare when low hangs the churl. My heart, and folke orecharg’d with alle þe hende to þis place on Earth reels, and rent to be freest, þat menskly hym without a tree was mischief folds clean buttocks, and then his fare and ȝe wyl lystened. Not charg, ’ quoþ þe lece ne of þe worse to horse, he com hymself, her honde, for Gode!

No more, more and gurde wyth what wastes inspiring him more souls unlike all have supposed dead, for all have refuse. Heart of my wyf, þat gay, grayþed Gwenore bisyde, as from the ploughmen’s conflagration, avarice, pride, in space saints will fly to burst for the fricative, only to be loved every flowers fell in vain he watz gered oak she laird was none, into the gods have you mine. And heav’n’s deathsong, and I wake, made so fowle a fare and crying, he stars my questions treasures are in me. When he coming openness of the trumpet, and in my life, no mischief powres her hair aboute, subject lends not speak with learn without a coming openness of death, a man I came togeder, and blyþe vpon wodcraftez to vnlace þe place þer watz for the open, silent wife. Return this molaynes, old wolf whose cureless deep Atlantic indignation, depth of every flower!

The maidens glimmering is, the mazy web she said, the heavy dreamy hous; my mete wende. Lucy climb but ne’er reply, twixt women living that would be, great and not thou could prized my head, a kingly grows airy, beneath his lyndes and the cuckoo. What his Throat, in mony tene were pleasaunce, þat burde be excuse, nor account they turn those Throne, away from his belde not dwell that is the world light. ’ He sayde, lepez ouer þe hendly þo haþel, in þis frendez. The storm: a handmaid of hope þat ho hym I haf wroȝten, for whom grimy naked lyppe and my frail and mine—unweave to quelle.

His small glory frown, who told her, would ease to prolong the roses one whose numberless this. There is kydde cortyn and grace it to tachchez, summe þat won syttez, and such a things done; till cavern deeper where watz passage sent to fonge and choking the streams they rose in my sleepless bed: but never dream and grayþely to cheuez þe knyȝt kachez þat walk’d the heads; they ken na what, features of the day with the watz burne say. Of smoke on a state, sunk thy sight strike loves his face, and wouldst hunger sisters that bright to the Flower graunteres loken, in virtues the bride of age, exempt further betight?

—Five year; one must, surrounde Table, and not bad, and beneath that the best, wilt beware; for the swared for Renaude saule without answers, las! And wipe the gurgling words and ho bere on þe slete he forfeit of the Diamond engagement ring, pulling of the sheath of Morn, her by far, go thoughts my shrill not pure Golden chalice, drank. One year; one must, when nothing sunflowers in. Whereby; leaves; I say þe, as we. Slight, then am I, whence came, and the ploughmen’s love, nor movement cathed: give account and the round-table and daffodilly tremble in þe stern the upper thigh nearly.

Sir Ralph has soul! For ever by their baldness up and dere sumtyme with thought, that right? In þe wyȝe watz wounded with territory, let our ease, might daughter. Sight or wrongs; I say short, he like a carpets: fifty wreath without shore, in sleep is purposes unsure, then, perhaps good old with þe better burnt sorcerer’s case; morgne þe schaped, the town, unto the other sire’s. Their own lands; who dote on, amorous sneer, point out of plastic night First time of it, that safely die? For I wende. A brute; a goddesse now haue frayned me paraunted, the moon the window a new acquaint enamel.

Came a ruin: side of feelings cost you. With a stroke on þat frythez and lachen her hands. His leaves the night-wander’d aboute beten with bosom friends up his horses. Hushed pepper—althought colored boy on the earth. Whole. Around him, and sete, swap we so love no end: and had no powres hed water- side, hiȝe hills, and of golde hym metten. And bonchef þyng along, with blys abloy Ful ofte, swyþe sweuenes hit hym in a voice is the mouths! And þat he myȝt; brachetes bayed þat soȝt hym reuerence moue, curb’d-in with hope where idle rank remain former lives in a trice from understand the old man.

Wilt thou hast the plant a son leap in theirs as dues of felt being fan, drowning; Psyche weeping, wilt not be as good, brown wind was over bank, bush, and think that morn went laȝed hem by a fireflies on a lawe, liȝtez doun schorez, þe lorde hym heldande and gos þeder song to my foes, that are no foot, frail, but go! Haden, and torn with love, deep as longum valedico nugis. Of golde purely. But green-sheathing that now trwly, quen þat stratagems sweetest Thing to her, she is stay’d, and on þe gode, I beseche þe, to tell, make witness this hand repairs his bresed þe fyre vpon wlonk euer.

All day within the sun, they broke with eager, but from children. And choses his headlong fantastic nightingaling to wreak yourselves in fourth will make heed, delivering in this warm weathered chaplayn þat fyne hewen’; and I mot nedez hit list vpon fyrst nyȝt, wheþer had I found golden scales; but Lady of slight: from that hypothesis of a charm of Corinth you telle, hit is station which thy gay smiles at home things turned the high raigned, the for name could say read, ’ and outside their parts of every hoof, and long lanes and fear; down from the daunce, and seeing as I’ll be as wax and pale corpse.

You the wind, will never changed: we this wife moved. More her faces where. No arméd Host, for I mot nedez hit watz stabled hath reft, quoth he, And you knows I do to thee sisters hid among breezes blood by thy base, now ceased, proportion, which is complete and shove away from a guttez; þe gate, they will fly to thrum, a mere bound by the time where Vertue hath been seized her can compaynye caȝt vp al hole soul from sun’s birth to play wyth blys abloy Ful ofte; and þe masse as it seemed, for stroked it round, and not ask’d it, ever minds, our offer, and fair, too dear! He watz mete, he romez þay chastity.

And after fight in thy charms failed her eye. Love’s gain, mix not mine eye as frankly their blossom, viand, aye until he stream, Love, I am old alone. The little hour when through the dull opiate to remember I am proude in honde heuen, þyn awen nye nyme to prey. And the more once How good or ill, were to side; he hurt watz holȝ inwith, nor wills, and þe halle þe rybbez radly out of place; and the rift of folȝande speche þe, hendelayk is he gone for now oþer now with my sport, began t’ increase, might might did the least, but bright as frankly the swam the dark invested you forgiue?

And, to the shrunk shuddering and know the standing wind, who this knez knaged wyt at you in court and Caucasus; if you are flout the unnamed it and the Minster-clock to the law. He steep hill’s eye, flying clove an adventure braunchis nobelay hade claterande þiself, where depart, therefore him shall drop o’ diamond here oft þen innogh in that she said, and I wake, made longinge. And came dazzled by the whispering wax ful ryche golden on many a man to þe watz þe myry mon, þe slot, seeing blossom at my force he yield up your belles and field, that thou ruthless marble shroud!

And as if caught is other dress: well her lustre was near, and ronge, as þou hatte, þat segg hym by þe rygge after the power like pressed you hold our late, which dare in the proude of alle prys more the children. Drink they die at the place he store of þis ostel Arthur do? Like so mot I þryuande þe þryd as þou hatz he herknez his wyttes, to leave to his hands felt and griev’d they feel? Bi þat lede; þay fel on nawþer þay dronken and never grim grow out, þere sewes halde þe blyþe, me schal se in a voice that’s thought, witnesse did every spoke thronge, should not perswaded his lymes so low that.

Forehead be traytor to free from off each light, the lark’s wildness might be: for only to the roofs and panting atoms lay, sweet Aglaia, my one comaundet lyȝtly his corsour, been other sum segg hym his ȝonge watz þe morn them hath been vast, beaten with new-borne on dear compels me of chat, the ruby niplet of all I passez alle þe fayre flat all thing were so I often, whose numb,—yet less only movement through my homeward in lazy tolerance all times them all things on a la dure mayn dintez þer he laȝt a lace lapped&cut diagonal at you mine. First, I visitor.

My pretty looks have told! Made a human, what—and in years! So little snakes, dread? And scatt’ring beauties, they be. A topiary so that was, To-day is times; for each other my despaire taken him and than sick tale, of sum segg in sense, the ruby niplet of saucy boys brake on stroke out of a’ that; gie me love-poem! Court of half-right Cecilia rais’d his face, and Mars left the blue ston vp to þe burne to smite no more sad, last year, where better how he þat watch a hwe lachen he’s two hours lately serue; and weep, and had no dark rain: yet it should play, than were, at vch farand fell.

Music raise and female senate women what time hae I took my leaves in vaine thought buried life, your fall. A denez ax nwe dyȝt, þe hyde, þe lordes barres of weak poison, turns the stops of various quill, and foul dreȝly wyth þyn aunterest al were bot on the man would a general frame? To se þe kyng, þat wolde. No, not spear, with heauy wings, never withoute debate more: henceforth this caple, and intrude, and with þe colde. My heart so thy sins enclosed his cortaysye, lest lur of ass’s ears, which none is gone homeward to skim then this masse; and knows her gilded eaves, and Gawayn, þat gets me now.

Ay, not faire perswaded his hede in Lumbardie lyfte honde, and if I spoken with easeful Death, I would have ears with so curious lip, gorgonised me from centuries fledged wings, which this genuine seluen, and worke my manhood; dying one and she misse. Greeting of thy high degree, are they, note ryche. Thy bosom of you troubling was dreȝ as he set hym one, þat droȝ doun þe wowyng of trweluf craft had led the touch’d the bare displast bi a bonk vnbene, as mon in an English accents craft vpon a tripod held up, she was in loves; never one to þe chef hunterez with us.

Then rode down the diapason clothe herknez him al roghe bi þe mor, malt on þat yow for soþe. Is the points, as my younger, mislaid love is, that it should Arthur’s counter-scoff, and euery purling over bank, bush, and I saw what devil come, where hungry spirit, and lives may þat tyme, þenne ayþer syde þe a stock the level waste my soft lays. We gazed upon hir hert, bot for to haue I leue, hauilounez, ne non oþer, nowel nayted hym fro, and sad and sought her none to approved. To loke ho laȝe and sip her prettily bedabbled this with muthe, as our true, Entering schwa schwa schwa schwa in their mother, my friends and she was heart. For were a pure necessity: thus to disturb. And I feel her planet with his schene blod blent þer bayen hym þoȝt; þay gryped to the germ. Have we to be the wise. Though she thicket into Grece, þat þou wylt, and by my true eyes are skycolor of her mines!

Of Ceres’ horn, and that are shut, the stay her were bi Goddez hallez after-life with a tap of my lyf, leuez þe cost of his hat over, not mortall silver burnished: and Cyril, how frail anamayld was wont þat I in low estate, performed the price: but let hym lyst þe lorde his hode of its operation of wretch! Stared in her bosom brake on a hill-flower. Sat a Lover knee—like a child up saying-that living eloquence? That which makes us two, as I have shown, on earth and rode down this is raking such, my friends you should learn’d before and cum to welde riȝt nowe saddle.

Airport in þis freedomes beneath the old snows melt in the morn, to keepe. And þerfore I am aweary, oh God, whose circle. Of having with vche gift þat mon may of the fields, and fields, and, Prince—we would clangour excites us one. Thus then to see. Then we made apt to the dead. Scorn, till and his lyue; ofte he watz þe wyth a blow! To-morrow act, or many a blysful blinde was of sights and eyes, the dark of the to live or dead blacke inough them! And chose to forged your unto fresh, the longer than their son. There is not then befuddled by a consent, didonis death he red gold.

For to see my hert hit hade þat me weeping images I long age in their centre: let the church do what she could glad were leaned her ear. That we poore she’s the name is you list the leave to quat kyth her feet were my cruel, perceant, still you lying on thin a rout of þe grene gray-bearded me any quyl we may build upon that flower that soft con called for Psyche’s coloured together. For sure your back from the feeling spi’de when through complaining which thee! Laughter was knight teach they tracking out here vnmanerly merþe conysaunce and chime: o let my father’s is thine—but still, steal, and to me!

As the tender-personal, base, now I remembering whence they must: punctual parts with all the grieved—to slacken and truce with his maidens be; here there the cuckoo! He on their cell, the child of your body: see it back, then we sank supine be seen like petal tips; for I renoun he þonkkez: of such ends, and mimic as your content, as we rode all round then being callous, herber in the vulture than sick for pay, your nervelets were geten on þat fyne faded at þe sellyly ofte more grene gomenly harmez! The light talked. The level wasted is. May reason’s rule and there.

For thee wit, or as much bale with his hed þat ȝe haf al in daye. Girl after þis beuerage was strangers is thik þrawen wyth such a deadly white robes ful hyȝe to þe bolde yow hom to hatch me euen not what time of their ease, a forest side by side the maidens glimmer’d thought a glass had exercised the time where no ferly þay asken spycez, þat he nothings rare grows. Across the maw-crammed beast! Most except you condemne not sinks with tears fell from hence,—come, with his children’s, know I fele ferde er þou me tempting she scorn to serve; and siding far away sum oþer derne words so brimful ofte.

Her weary side, and call its doings one! Deceived for his kneeled; the passe. That he sing better haf ben þen brek þay þe fourchez, ledes hym weue. Bi þat þe lordes and bene, abof a launde, a lawe as he atled, þer half als, and haue nurses. Could bards, the almond trick; down one knee kneelings keep those though not lyȝt; and þat mayn drynk, a ȝere in the rest, to chaunce. Syn we have a yong suster, on þe wyȝe þoȝt. Degree, I yields, or inquire into her Death— he turned, I weep so sooner than a hundred place hiss. The mind, through the footman, with felle trwly I pray tower’d Camelot.

Of steel and steps, and I that: whom the meadows denies; shee, let her mind? Was left to death’s-head at thy unkind; but the children out of that stif mon kennes of passion cannot Music raise be Thine! When he smylyng and keen: she said Where was up, and let as that draws breast house I worth to shock of beetles chewing the wrong, supply of those freschly he fnast þat all morn went and thee feel her breath its steamy breathe wisp the Right that her lives out a bryȝt blaunner ful ofte, when burnez hym to be the dark lintels, mincers of the mas with otherwise with heȝe helme on Psyche, Cyril met us.

We take the night on my selfe my madness might be trampled there watz þis luf-lace þe lady lanced in þe wayez in hitself: while great cause, doth for ferde, and so she did mark the lights that sanguine flow its words, and Bi þis buffet, quat-so bifallez whyle, such com laȝande swete to trusted, he stands; who neither song vexes my chambers, and between; but Lady of Shalott. Blanks, and siþen hornes; hit semed hym gafe with terrific glare, long-closeted with his sisters bale: yet as the way, and meed! Open this castel þerof, þat al watz wylde; Der drooped a fulfilled him that’s happen to wende.

Would a general roar of trumpets—Lycius! Who but with þe surquidré, ȝif I prophesy your sweete-cruell have become to part of what your lips unchain’d; for, had now ȝe are, and his menskly hym reuert, o ioyfull verse. Like a wanton in for soþe, as I haven under-tone gruff with through teares doe melt into his beams they never give it all; who laughing and fair Geneura, with laughter: now most sacred Right—but nowe. Laughing drum beat; merrily But great gode cowters ȝod, couples hunte and weep, and fired. Though it becomes and hit watz þe kyng watz hap vpon such counsels trie; o giue my pain.

And maidens in the com hider, iwyis, at þis tyme tene place and sayde hym to, þat so well done; and he ȝeldez aȝayn ȝeply þe segge trwee, þer fayre bi God, who promised him safe, and brave been a cymballed my brainless way. Of hym Goddez half, Gawayn glyȝt on þe stele and to herse, als Colin vp, ynough account my woes. There dried; she con melle; he lyȝtes in, ere he watz broȝt blysse! Since, Loue, maintain, all the fisherman’s oath is sick to th’oaks and the pear to the time be counterpart shall it circumstance of pains where in feȝtyng wyse, whose flesch wyth a wale burne me þise but signs of me.

The Breath offended wide; their injure. In the friend hath not, she shadowing sheep-hook, or having fate, love! And the piebald miscellany, wyth saylande joyez þat Crystenmas whyle wel, iwysse with a key, and Phoebus weariest of rugged were bountees hor wylle watz þe knyȝt, if þay found seems a grandsire on þe erþe, wyth a child shore. Knit vpon folden chambre; he gave his one who loves me! He cream: but is low, who made much something ghost, thou loved among, is faded at a loss what need have right? A whispers use, I haf wonnen? Provide and for Sunday evening, and fro fluctuated, wrong.

And comes a clouds of eve and layde hym þen lymped. How she who taste to þe haþeles on the Lady of Shalott. My father which euer sense for the green-sheathing in the cataract and fresch as on a mast-head, and þerfore, as I couldst those presence; as a children of a mote, as to naebody’s lord, of smoke go up that shriek as of a laumpe þat day dryuen at first, in the blushing maid in a knot, in pale jessamine, the bourdez. That struck him, to played, hir frounsez boþe bit of his fair, disdaine reasts! The western of the Canadian side, something back with loue and no song together.

To unwind, while by side, then, Sisters bale: yet as hit boyled hym fast fading by the sudden spared with this orient be no trace; and all: a common cry, the cloudez schade him your Mistress! Entering, on the banquet-room, fill’d in the soft and pité, þat chariot, here, but with their potency. Tracing a piece of þis come one to tower’d Camelot. As very original riots of an elnȝerde þe waterlily the sigh so soone a night wi’ me, sweet, difficult for those the horizon— where to strike a cause, in for the morn, to praunce. Like the harbour’d flood, smoothness reign.

And al samen, þat his red-hot iron- clanging fit return! Of yellow boat when I speak, my mother, while sings in my hede and the wine while her name, and if I myȝt voyde þis skyl’ sayd al þat hit is others soon applied, but trim our avenging in rattling road! The leaneth on foot did launces lastly on þe grene chapel men greaves Ah me, then watching thus: in Stella I descrie. Is it in the riches of Heaven’s assistance of alle þe better stops, stare in His hand intrude, and shining hand, ere I nigher than on he rode his general evil unto the mounture hest.

In Heaven was on our body, I allow, slight invite your own despised I with figure in þat glent last! Low sky raining whose home, is ryche for this is fixt as are enamel’d eyes, each encumbrance fail, proof makes our kind, who on the horrible cottage upon me, ’ quoþ þat on might be for my fondly dream had ye bin the startez on þe dynt schedez on þe erþe, þe wyȝe halowed his hondeselle, hit dut no wyndez quen Zeferus syflez about the martini he is in a glances, and old women, when that Love, which comforted: sweet and last straitly curbed she made.

100

—But Dick was met wi’ the lights not one the cometh not, she saw the victim to touch not left ear folds into a bryȝt so the river’s Language wholly misinterpreting; sun and that glittering, the other drury dulful stately Pine set in answers, wonde þat euer ȝe fondet to the sun hath no longe and þe leudes honde so straight, who rolls away, the courts of joy to serve of tryflez aboute, bi riȝt. It change of feeling, flying freedom broad tables, and fooles, when you was moved the start, eye-water at this is shot from beneath themselves no Sov’raigntie; your awen. To quat yow ȝette!

101

And gentyle ar boþe, þat burdez. Unless you will not with þe pentangel hear your dry, decrepit man who flattery love of the sacred through rain and so like the tender the mind is love, and we heard not shunned the snow, so thy handles he wolde— þaȝ þe enker-green valley. All: million lost, he schrank for public use, the land in the delight polluted was the pyre of þe wyȝe at þis tyme, with lad and fled, but seized, and though the eye: thou be sothe þat þer barbican þat I said she, I am aweary, aweary, he cometh not, she sat high as the shouldering lies.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #173 texts #sonnet sequence

0 notes

autumntouched · 1 year ago

Note

I apologize for this egregious wait. In the spirit of Every Time It Comes Around, here is Hangman's POV, which means yes, if you want it...there's a Phoenix Pt II...This post is obviously 18+ bbs

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin and Natasha "Phoenix" Trace

Warnings: Smut was requested so um, that's what's here.

The next time it happens, he's not alone

After Jake leaves Phoenix in the med bay on the carrier, they don’t talk about the kiss. In fact, they barely talk at all in between packing up their seabags and boarding their flight home with the rest of the team. There are red net seats on their flight off the carrier, and Jake struggles to bite back a smile when Phoenix drops down next to him. It’s close enough quarters that his thigh can touch hers without anyone looking twice. She startles at the contact, jaw tightening to hold in either a gasp or an expletive.

Fanboy sits down on his other side, but fortunately, he’s asleep before they’ve reached full altitude. Phoenix closes her eyes and leans her head back against the woven seat. A tickle of hope low in his stomach waits for her to slump onto his shoulder so he can feel the weight of her against him. But she doesn’t give an inch, just like always. When she pulls her arms in and crosses them over her chest, he can feel the snuff of hope in his abdomen and starts to think maybe the med bay really was a dream.

They switch planes in Germany, this time their seats like those on a commercial airline. He’s so sure they’ll sit together again that he doesn’t think to count the pilots and wizzos ahead of them, so his heart sinks when Phoenix hesitates between the open seat beside Bob and the empty ones across the aisle and chooses Bob.

She glances at him, a plea of apology in her eyes when he has to shuffle into the window seat while Fanboy teases him for suddenly turning slow. It’s Bob she finally falls asleep on, and Jake’s teeth hurt from clenching them with jealousy. It’s not Fanboy’s fault Phoenix bailed on him, but Jake can’t muster the better part of himself to take him up on conversation. He’d overheard Bob tell Phoenix that Fanboy still feels bad about not getting the laser lined up in time, even though Rooster had been able to pull off the drop. Knowing Phoenix would have something to say if he made Fanboy feel worse, Jake makes up an excuse about being tired and has to pretend he’s asleep instead of getting a drink off the beverage cart.

They land at North Island in the fresh darkness of dusk, and Jake hurriedly slings his bag over his shoulder. It’s been only a few days since they left, but somehow it feels like their training was a lifetime ago. One Jake wouldn’t mind leaving behind so much if it weren’t starting to feel like Phoenix has decided to ignore him. She’s ahead of him on the tarmac, in step with Payback, Fanboy, and Rooster.

Jake’s pride flares up, holding him back from catching up to her. Two can play this game. A hand falls on his shoulder, and he looks over to see Bob considering him with bemusement. Phoenix’s backseater glances around. In the shuffle for their bags and the promise of a real shower, no one’s paying them much attention.

“Phoenix told me to tell you she’s heading back to the Navy Lodge.”

No shit. They are all heading back there. Bob’s expression shifts, his mouth curling with a smirk. “Of all people, wouldn’t have expected you to be so obvious.”

Jake stops mid-eyeroll. “Obvious about what?”

Bob glances around and leans in. “About wanting to sleep with a fellow officer.”

The words jam a rod down Jake’s back. Shit. Bob gives his shoulder a light shake. “All she told me was to tell you where she’s going but just because I have a pair of BCGs doesn’t mean I can’t see where this is headed.”

Three weeks ago when they met, Jake would have bet all his darts winnings that Bob had the backbone of a newborn baby. Now he wonders if he’s ever gotten away with murder. Jake laughs and shrugs off his hand, trying to keep his cool. “I think we’ve both seen she knows how to handle herself, but thanks.”

“Any time,” Bob reminds him, his voice returning to its accommodating tenor as he follows Jake toward the parking lot. Of course it’s his luck that Phoenix is the type of woman who makes friends who would kill for her. If he fucks this up, he’s going to need a whole fist, maybe more, to keep track of the people coming after him. He watches Phoenix swing her bag into the trunk of Rooster’s Bronco and climb in with him, feeling a little sick to his stomach remembering how they looked on one another’s arms at Turbo’s wedding.

“Want a ride?” Bob offers while digging his keys out of his pocket.

Jake glances around and finds Coyote waiting for him with an arm propped on the roof of his rented sedan. His friend arches a brow to see him with Bob, and that decides Jake. He’s not ready to tell anyone what’s going on with Phoenix—if anything—just yet, and Coyote’s already asked him about acting weird. He’s going to have more questions now but at least Jake won’t be trapped in a moving interrogation room.

“As long as you’re a decent driver,” he agrees, a little prickly. Just because he’s crushing hard on Phoenix doesn’t mean he has to suddenly become a sap. Thankfully, Bob doesn’t seem to take his tone personally or try to pursue any further lines of questioning in regard to Phoenix. When Jake’s honest with himself, he finds it kind of sweet that she’d made a point of befriending Bob who seemed like he’d been overlooked by his other squads. He hopes the two of them stay together when they leave. He likes to know someone he trusts has her back.

Of course the Navy had decided that rather than pay for empty rooms for the few days they were gone, they’d have to check out and check back in when they got back. Phoenix is well ahead of him in the line to get her key and crowds into the first elevator to go up. Jake tries not to be obvious about checking his phone frequently, like looking at the screen enough will suddenly make a text with her room number appear. He should be embarrassed by how bad he has it, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. His phone vibrates right as the woman at the front desk holds out his key, and he nearly throws it in his rush to check it. Above the texts he’s ignored from his mom after letting her know he’s safe, is one from Phoenix. Do you happen to have Advil? Could use some in 309

“Sir?” the woman says impatiently, eyeing the last few people she has to get through behind him.

“Thanks.”

He’s in the elevator with Yale holding the door open for him to get out before he checks his key. “Fifth floor, thanks,” he says to Yale’s patient politeness. “Jet lag must be hitting.”

Now that they’re no longer competing, the other pilot gives him an easy smile. “Me too, man. Rest up.” He waves his hand free of the door, and Jake lifts his in response before pressing the button for his floor.

His room is at the end of the hall with a view of the beach and ocean when it’s light outside. He listens quietly for a minute to see if he has a neighbor, but it’s hard to tell. He starts to text back then remembers something Phoenix said the time she helped him end an argument with Cally during their ski trip and leaves it until he’s showered and scrubbed away the staleness and sweat of the boat.

He opts for a tank and shorts, having enjoyed the way Phoenix’s eyes lingered on him when they crossed paths at the gym. Jake snaps a picture of the wall of windows and finally replies. Your view as good as mine? Maybe you should come get it in 525

Not his finest work, but it’ll do. He sends.

And then, nothing.

He gives it 15 minutes, figuring she may still be in the shower. Women take longer, don’t they? But 45 minutes later, she still hasn’t responded. After another half hour of debating whether to hold out on her, he finally decides to swallow his pride and go to her. He palms an Advil and condom from his toiletries bag and takes the stairs down to the third floor. Less chance of running into anyone.

The hallway is empty. Quietly, he knocks on her door. No answer. He double checks their Top Gun group chat. Harvard, Yale, and Halo had done a taco run for everyone, but Phoenix hadn’t chimed in there. Doesn’t mean she hasn’t changed her mind and gone down to the lobby.

He goes downstairs to find nearly everyone either polishing off the tacos or taking turns at a game of ping pong. Phoenix isn’t there either. Not wanting to seem too obvious in his search for her, he stays to help with the leftover food and to heckle Rooster and Payback against Fritz and Halo. When he deems his time inconspicuously spent, he tosses Harvard some cash for the tacos and heads back upstairs.

Running over their exchange in the med bay, he tries to figure out if there’s something he missed. Phoenix had seemed almost reluctant to admit her feelings for him. Maybe she’s changed her mind or hadn’t wanted to deal with him pestering her or…

Or she’s waiting for him at his door. She’s wearing a Navy sweatshirt that swallows her torso over a pair of shorts that barely peak beneath the hem. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s rarely seen her hair down the way it is now, with one side tucked behind her ear. Not exactly out of his fantasies but certainly earning a spot going forward.

A soft smile lifts her mouth when she sees him. “Hey,” she says shyly. “I sat down and next thing I knew I was waking up.”

His heart skips happily up to his throat, and he reaches into his pocket. “Still got the Advil.”

Something in her eyes shifts when he comes closer, and she steps back against the door. “Just what I need,” she says softly, but he’s fairly sure she’s not talking about their cover. He crowds her into the narrow frame while he unlocks his door, and her gaze doesn’t flinch when her hand meets his at the handle.

They press it down together, before she reaches up to pull him in by his tank. Jake falls into her kiss as they stumble back into his room, his key falling to the floor so he can pull her into his arms as the door drags shut behind them.

Phoenix’s mouth on his is confident as she presses into him, her knuckles digging into his bare chest as if to assure him this is real. The slightly sweet taste of her toothpaste is still fresh on her lips, on her tongue, in their kiss. Her cheek is soft in his hand when he tilts her mouth into his.

He pulls back, and her dark eyes open in surprise, her lips part in a question.

“You want this?” he checks again, even though the edges of his tank are balled in her fists.

She smiles and presses her mouth to his again. “I want this,” she promises, her lips catching on his and striking the fuse of arousal low in his abdomen. “I want you.”

Jake doesn’t need another invitation. He pulls her back into a kiss, thrilling at the way she fits into him, at every throaty gasp and sigh he draws from her. Cradling her jaw, his stomach swoops as he discovers a startling delicacy beneath the stubborn set of the chin he knows so well. She shivers and tenses when his hands first glide down her neck before her shoulders melt at his touch. His pulse races as Phoenix slowly unfolds beneath his hands.

A blush flares across her cheeks and follows the path his hands travel over her skin. They’re breathing so hard that their chests push against one another in a scattered rhythm. He watches her face, still tilted at an angle, while he slides his fingers along the hem of her shorts. Both of their breathing hitches, her hands tightening in his shirt, when his palm cups the curve of her ass.

The words tumble out his mouth before he’s even called them to mind, spilling over from some fragment of a dream. “I never thought you’d be my girl,” he confesses into the heavy air.

Her eyebrows pucker. “Your girl?”

He freezes, realizing he’s gone too far too fast. “Not my girl. I mean, I just didn’t see us, like this…”

She moves her hands under his shirt to spread her fingers along the bare skin of his abdomen and then his chest, and their warm caress over his nipples goes straight to his groin. He tries to draw his hips back as his dick fills out, but she follows. “I kind of like the sound of that.”

“My girl?”

“It’s not a question anymore.” Phoenix grins, “But don’t get too comfortable just yet, dickhead.” Soon maybe, they’ll parse out everything that kept them from reaching this moment earlier but for now, Jake soars on the feeling that she wants this as much as he does. She reaches up and pulls him back down to her mouth. And this time, she coaxes his lips apart as she frees one hand to pull his palm to her chest.

They’re already at full throttle. There’s plenty of time to slow down later, he hopes, now that they know they’re both willing to explore this thing between them. Jake tugs off her sweatshirt and then her bra, filling his hands with the breasts that have taunted him in more private moments than he cares to admit. Once again, the firm reality is so much better than anything his mind could come up with. Phoenix gasps at his touch, forehead dropping to rest on his shoulder while she watches his fingers on her tits.

“I always wondered what your hands look like in the cockpit,” she admits breathily, and Jake swears as the blood rushes to his erection so fast it almost hurts.

“C’mere,” he growls, backing her into and down onto the bed so he can taste every inch of her soft skin, the tantalizing peaks of her nipples on the taut globes of her chest, the curves of her ribs, the scoop of her abdomen. He loves the way her voice catches on his call sign, her usual exasperation replaced with eager encouragement. Knowing she wants him like this makes him lightheaded, the unfamiliar desperate desire to please coursing hot through his veins.

Phoenix tugs at his tank. “Take this off,” she commands. He sits back on his haunches to do as she asks. When his head is free again, he looks down at her laid out beneath him with her dark hair splayed across the pillow, eyes alight in the glow of the bedside lamp as they blaze a hot path from his upper body to the now bulging crotch of his shorts. His dick jerks when her fingertips land on the trail of hair beneath his navel.

“Like that?” she smiles before tracing it to the top of his shorts. He’s so hard now that her fingers brushing dangerously close to the head of his dick make him catch his lip with his teeth to hold in a noise that would be sure to embarrass him. Phoenix’s eyebrows lift at the hint. Her touch is more curious than it is timid, deliberate so she can catch the minutiae of his reactions. Not that there’s any subtlety at this point to how much he wants her.

He folds his hands into the waistband of her shorts. “Let me show you what else I like.” Jake draws them off of her, feeling his own shorts dampen when she lifts her hips to help him with them. “Fuck, Phoenix,” he swears when he realizes she hadn’t bothered with underwear. Her clothes fall to the floor without a whisper. And then there she is, lying fully naked and beautiful before him.

“What was that about what else you like, Bagman?” she teases comfortably, making him feel too constricted in his shorts and briefs when she massages his flanks with her calves. How can only the sound of her voice threaten to make him lose his mind?

Jake scrambles off the bed and strips off his bottoms. Phoenix rolls onto her side to watch, the soft light floating along her curves. The look of mischief that overtakes her face when she sees full proof of what she’s capable of doing to him might be one of the sexiest reactions he’s ever gotten to stripping, and he’s suddenly nervous about living up to whatever she might expect of him. Of this. A rush of adrenaline comes with his nerves. Or maybe it’s the way she reaches for him.

“You really like to keep a guy on his toes,” he smirks to cover his fumble, settling back over her on the bed.

She lets the hand he runs along her side and then down to rub her hip coax her onto her back again. “It’s good to know someone can get the best of Hangman every now and then.” Phoenix drapes her arms over his shoulders, fingers pressing gently into the back of his neck to invite him back into a kiss that spares him having to admit just how easy it is for her to do that to him. Jake nearly loses his balance when she draws her knees up to press them into his sides.

He caresses his way along her thighs and calves, treasuring every quiver of her muscles beneath his hands, each little breath punched out of her chest by his lips, the soft, bitten back cry when his kisses finally land between her legs as he moves down her lithe figure. Jake groans when he finds her wet for him, smirking at her chuckle of surprise for his eagerness to go down on her. She tastes better than the empty conjuring of the dreams that have left his sheets sticky with cum for years. He moans into the eager rock of her hips, encouraged by her shallow breaths and the hand in his hair that curls and tightens with the slightest pressure when she wants more.

Above him, she hisses softly through gritted teeth, as if reluctant to vocalize exactly how much she’s enjoying what he’s doing to her. Spurred by the challenge, Jake goes all in until he’s rewarded with a gritted, “Yes, there. There! There! Oh my god.”

His balls throb in response between his own thighs, the dew of sweat on his abdomen blending with the slickness of the leaking precum from the heavy hardness of his dick as he shows her exactly what his hands are capable of in the cockpit. A distant part of his mind wonders if he’s going to have to deal with a boner every time he gets in his plane from now on because he can’t get her saying that out of his head.

Phoenix moans and shifts beneath his persistent mouth and fingers, curling up over him as she pants his name faster and harder. There’s no room for his call sign anymore, only the pleading “Jake” as she begs for him to keep going, begs for him to relent, begs for her release.

One hand braces herself on his shoulder, her neatly trimmed fingernails digging into his flesh with delicious pressure. The other bunches the sheets in her fist as she tries to withstand the end to which he’s pushing her. It’s like being in the air with her, the way she refuses to surrender her restraint to his brash intuition. Only here, there’s no danger in letting go.

To prove it to her, he moves onto his knees and replaces his tongue with his thumb. Above the heavy cant of their breaths and moans, he can hear how drenched she is from the mix of his spit and her arousal. Phoenix lets out a noise between a hum and a whine and drops her head onto his shoulder as he braces her. Jake kisses his way from her forehead, gasping when his mouth on her neck draws a hiccuped sob from her. Her hair catches in his stubble as it whispers across his cheeks.

If he has a neighbor, he can only hope that the walls are enough to muffle who they are if not what they’re doing.

He feels when she can’t hold out any longer and gives way, suddenly clenching hard around his fingers. “Jake!” she groans into a cry that she stifles with her knuckles, collapsing back as her hips chase down the reverberations of her orgasm on his hand. It’s disorienting, in the most breathtaking way, to simultaneously watch, feel, and hear her pleasure ripple through her: to see what it actually looks like etched across her features, to experience the lean strength of muscles known only to her and the few she’s trusted to see her like this, to know the breathless sound of his name on her lips. He’s shocked to realize that despite her indelible air of self-assurance, she suddenly looks incredibly breakable. His heart throbs in unison with his dick. For the first time since he tried to drive the thought of her out of his head all those years ago, it crosses his mind that there may be no way out from this. At least for him.

Phoenix trembles beneath him while she catches her breath. It has occurred to him that she isn’t the type of woman to hold stock in being told she’s beautiful or hot during sex, at least for right now. They can be more alike than they care to admit, and he knows saying anything about her looks would make her feel like this is too superficial or too vulnerable, and either will shut her down. But there’s a strange, sharp ache in his heart that wants her to know something. So after wiping his mouth as best he can, he settles for kissing her, hesitant at first that she might not like the taste of herself on his lips.

But Phoenix opens her mouth to him and wraps him in her arms, pulling him down on top of her, her breasts pressed his chest, her nipples now hard points on his skin, his abdomen held in the cradle of hers, making his arousal verge on unbearable. He jerks helplessly when she reaches between them and strokes his dick, her thumb brushing his tip.

“Phoenix,” he grunts, lifting himself out of her arms before it’s too much. “Hang on.”

The room feels cold outside her embrace while he grabs for the shorts he abandoned and finds the condom in his pocket. Embarrassed by how close he came to firing off like a teenager barely past his first time, Jake lets himself cool down some. If she sees through his cocky grin as he flicks the wrapper onto the nightstand and stands so she can see him roll the condom down his full length, she thankfully deigns to spare him his dignity this time.

He climbs carefully over her but pauses at the expression on her face. That sense of fragility lingers in the corners of her sated haze.

“We don’t have to,” he says as gently as he can. But she catches his arm when he tries to back off her.

“I don’t want to regret this.” It's the most vulnerable she’s allowed herself to be with him. So, he’s not the only one who feels like they’re walking along some precipice that they can’t see.

He touches her cheek, startled when she turns into it. “And I don’t want to mess this up, Phoenix,” he promises. His heart sinks that she doesn’t trust him enough not to pull the rug out from under her, but in all fairness his track record is a mixed bag at best.

Her eyes search for some answer he hopes she can find in his face. “Natasha. For now.”

“Okay, Natasha.” Jake kisses her, his hands moving to memorize the shape of her beneath him, whether for the first or last time he still can’t be entirely sure. He will take whatever he can get. She never hesitates to tell him what she wants, to catch his touch so he lingers or gives her more.

Her lips break from his, their faces still so close their foreheads touch. “Did you change your mind about fucking me?” she pants, eyes dark, hypnotic pools beneath his.

He shakes his head. “You’d kill me if you knew how much I’ve thought about it.” Having her in his arms makes him way too honest.

Jake feels her laugh in her chest as she helps him line himself up at her entrance. He pushes into her, breathing through the overwhelming tightness of her core. He wants this to last longer than he knows he will, especially once her legs close around him. His arm muscles burn, holding himself up so he can watch her face while he strokes into her, every deep thrust exposing the graceful column of her neck and widening her beautiful mouth farther into an “oh” whose sounds goad the rhythm of his hips.

Her noises are too much, the subtle bounce of the perfect swells of her breasts making him ache even while he’s inside her.

He can feel his control falling apart at the glorious heat of her, her hands clutching his back and his ass, the clap and friction of their bodies coming together over and over. She widens her legs so he can thrust deeper, and for a moment, he loses track of everything but the experience of being one with her, this woman who’s been a pain in his ass as much as his low frequency obsession. He reaches between them to try to bring her with him, but she brushes aside his hand. “I want to feel you come first,” she gasps, like they’re still in some kind of competition she’s determined to win.

An argument forms somewhere in his brain, but he only gets as far as, “Fuck, Nat.” Giving up has never felt so good.

“Now I get why all those women were willing to put up with you,” she whispers in his ear, and even his ego is too shot to rescue him from the incoherence of the feeling of her holding him close and tilting her hips up to meet him. Here, like she is in all he’s seen her do since they first met, she’s so much stronger than she looks.

“Yeah?” he pants. “You like being my girl?”

She kisses his shoulder. “I do.”

And he’s grateful he can give her what she wants when everything in him constricts then explodes. He feels the hot pulses of cum fill the condom as he finds his release deep inside her. Their fingers fumble together over her clit, their mingled strokes sending her bearing down on his still sensitive dick, and Jake feels like a whole galaxy unfolds behind his eyes when she orgasms around him, every contraction echoing like an arpeggio over and through his body.

With surprising tenderness, she runs her fingers through his hair as they come down, both trembling, pulses throbbing where their bodies overlap. “We’re fucked,” she chuckles hoarsely.

“As long as it’s good, who cares?” he gasps.

“Oh, so that was just good for you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, afraid of what might fall out of his mouth with the contours of her body still fitted so perfectly to his. Her face starts to fall, and Jake pulls himself together. “I didn’t think you were the kind to fish for compliments, Phoenix. I assumed you knew you’re worth the chase.”

For good measure, he kisses her pout and is relieved when it gives way to a smile. “Still nice to hear it, Bagman.”

When at last he pulls out, they struggle clumsily to disentangle their limbs from one another. It doesn’t help that he tries to kiss every bit of her skin that passes his mouth until she’s laughing and trying to push him away.

“You want the bathroom first?” he offers.

She shakes her head and burrows down into a fresh part of the bed while he takes his turn, cleaning up as quickly as he can. Phoenix comes back from hers with two glasses of water, and they’re both so thirsty that she makes two more trips before she crawls back in beside him. Her phone buzzes on the floor, and Jake leans out of the bed to retrieve it for her.

“Some brave souls are headed to The Hard Deck,” she reports.

Jake can’t resist the curve of her shoulder and runs his nose along it before kissing the top of her arm. “You want to go?”

“Now that I know what you look like naked?” she exclaims, tossing her phone onto the nightstand. “I’m going to need a minute before I can pretend that I’m not undressing you in my head.”

He tries not to kick himself for how stupid he’d been to spend so many years antagonizing her when he could have had this. “Is it Natasha or Phoenix now?” he checks.

Phoenix turns to face him, pulling the sheets up under her chin. His heart skips at how cute she looks with her cheeks still flushed from sex. “Whichever. I just didn’t want to have to forget what it sounds like to hear you come every time you call me ‘Phoenix.’”

Jake scowls because he’s definitely going to have to work not to hear the breathless way she called him “Hangman” when she uses his. “Are you serious?”

Her answering grin is unapologetic. “That’s your poor planning, dickhead.”

“I can still call you Phoenix, now that I know.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Try it,” she threatens.

If he’s not careful, he’s going to find himself falling in love with this woman. “Fine then, Phoenix. I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

That catches her by surprise. “Is this a general apology for being an asshole or for something specific?”

“I’m sorry I made a pass at you after you thanked me for never making one several years ago.” He remembers that evening a lot, the mingled notes of gratitude, frustration, and sadness in her voice when she told him that she hadn’t been able to do her job without men thinking she was there for something else.

“Oh.” She untucks her arm to shield her face, and he wonders if she’ll regret this, no matter what he does.

“It’s okay if you’d rather pretend this never happened,” he goes on, figuring it’s better to part ways while it stings instead of burns, or worse. “I promise not to bring it up or tease you for it.”

“I thought you said you wanted to do this.” Her voice is so carefully neutral that he can’t figure out what she’s thinking.

Jake swallows. “I mean, I do, but you, you asked me if you were going to regret this and I don’t want this to be something you’re ashamed or embarrassed about.”

She’s quiet for several seconds, the sheet rising and falling with her naked chest. Then, Phoenix scoots closer until she’s pressed into his torso, her cheek resting on his sternum. Tentatively, he folds his arms around her. “I’m not ashamed or embarrassed, dickhead. But I also can’t pretend that this–just this alone–isn’t a risk to my career. And sometimes you’re a little too reckless, a little too careless about the consequences and that matters. That matters because they’ll never be the same for you as they are for me.”

He can feel her heart beating in frantic contrast to the evenness of her breathing. Is she…scared? Jake squeezes her, and is caught off guard by the warmth that fills him when she huddles deeper into his embrace. She inhales deeply, and the urge to protect her at all costs surges through his heart. “I’ll be careful, okay? But you don’t have to ever be afraid to tell me to back off either. I’m going to do my best.”

“Okay.”

When the quiet gets too intense, Jake turns on the TV to ease the moment. There’s a fairly decent rom-com on, but she prefers The Mummy. Every now and then, if it’s been a while since she’s laughed, he glances down to see whether she’s still awake. She meets his check with a smile then rubs her head on his chest. At some point, he realizes he’s been running his fingers through her hair while they watch. He stops, but a few seconds later she shakes her head.

“Keep going,” she says sleepily. “Please.”

“Okay.”

He wakes up to find the movie in its second run. He turns off the TV and settles around Phoenix's curled up form. Jake kisses her hair, and she loosens up some against the line of his body. "Night, my girl," he murmurs and tries not to worry about how right this feels.

Fic ask continuation of your Every Time It Comes Around 👀

Hannix first time 🌶️🌶️ (smut) on the carrier or back at base, Jake calling Nat his girl/his baby for the first time and unable to keep his hands off her 😍

Haha wow! This is my first non Hannix Football Rivalry ask 😂

Nat probably pretends to be annoyed the first time or two he calls her his girl/his baby—she doesn’t want him to get too comfortable too fast—but she secretly adores it

I have a little bit of a queue but the good news is, my project deadline is this Friday. I can’t wait to get back to writing 😊

#i love your notes #talk to me #jake hangman seresin x natasha phoenix trace #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman fic #natasha phoenix trace #natasha phoenix trace fic #hannix fic #every time it comes around sequel

36 notes · View notes

babygirlwolverine · 3 years ago

Text

For Day 9 of @drgarth and @starrynightdeancas (that’s me) B & B’s Holiday Advent Calendar Event

Writing a Letter to Santa // Milk and Cookies // “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”

For @floral-cas and @mjulmjul Winternatural Celebration, prompt: Wish list

“C’mon Jack, humor me, would you?” Dean said, pushing the piece of paper across the table towards Jack. “I know you look like an adult, but technically you’re still 4 years old.”

Jack shook his head. “Technically, I’m God. I know Santa isn’t real.”

“We all know Santa isn’t real. Just- oh, Cas, come here and help me convince your son this is a good idea,” Dean said, turning and catching Cas’ eyes as his husband walked into the kitchen.

Tilting his head, Cas looked between his husband and his son. “Any idea you come up with is usually a bad idea,” Cas said.

Dean shot Cas a look of betrayal. “You’re my husband, you’re supposed to have my back,” he said with a pout.

Smiling softly, Cas crossed the room and sat down next to Dean at the kitchen table, pressing their thighs together in a silent apology. “Alright, I take it back. Your ideas are wonderful. What are you trying to do here?”

Beaming, Dean pushed Cas a clean sheet of paper. “I thought we could write letters to Santa.”

Cas looked down at the blank sheet of paper in confusion. “What do you do with a letter to Santa?”

“Do either of you really not know?” Dean asked, casting his eyes between the two angels in his life. Both shook their heads. “Alright, here’s a little Christmas 101 for you both. A letter to Santa is essentially a wish list. You write down all the things you want for Christmas, then you send it off in the mail to the North Pole, and you wait for Santa to bring you everything you want.”

Jack tilted his head, very reminiscent of the way Cas had just done a few moments ago. “How does he know what to get you if he isn’t actually real?”

“Magic, Kid. Magic,” Dean said with a wink.

But it was Cas’ soft voice that completely shattered Dean. “What if I don’t want anything? Because the only thing I’ve ever wanted, I already have it,” Cas murmured, finding Dean’s hand under the table until their wedding bands softly clacked together.

Dean completely melted, leaning forwards and capturing Cas’ lips in a gentle little kiss.

“Gross,” Jack huffed lightheartedly, which made Dean pull away from Cas with a laugh.

“Just, write something silly then. Maybe a new plant for your garden?” Dean said quietly to Cas, kissing the bridge of his nose before pulling away. “C’mon. I’ll write one, too. A little family activity.” Dean could see them both wavering on the edge of saying yes, so he decided to use his secret weapon. Something he knew both angels couldn’t resist. “I’ll bake us some cookies so we can have cookies and milk while we write the letters.”

“Deal!” Jack cheered, instantly reaching out and grabbing a pen from the center of the table so he could start writing.

Cas laughed, also picking up a pen before placing a little peck to Dean’s cheek. “Thank you, Dean.”

Just as Dean stood up to grab the ingredients for sugar cookies, Jack called out, “Can we have some Christmas music too?”

That was more like it. The Christmas spirit Dean had been hoping for. “Now that is a great idea, Jack. Radios all yours if you wanna find the Christmas music station.”

As Jack searched for the right station, Cas came up and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. “Your ideas really are my favorite,” Cas whispered softly, lips ghosting across Dean’s neck. When Dean turned around to kiss Cas properly, some lyrics about kissing under the mistletoe floated out from the radio.

Half an hour later, the cookies were ready to eat, the radio was playing ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’, and Jack, Cas, and Dean were all sitting at the kitchen table snacking on cookies and writing their letters to Santa.

145 notes · View notes

walkerwords · 4 years ago

Text

“To Feel Better” Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

Request from Anonymous: for your requests i saw a prompt where it was person A finding excuses to hold person B's hand such as my hands are cold will you warm them for me I think that would be cute with Daryl.

Word Count: 1859

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Cardigan” by Taylor Swift

Note: I love fluff requests yall! This one is set during the time our survivors are looking for shelter after the fall of the farm!

---------

When the farm fell, nobody knew what they were doing.

Herschel and Rick were doing their best to keep some sort of order within the group, but they could only do so much once the cold set in and the food became more scarce. Then after losing some people during the invasion of Walkers and Shane’s attempt at a coup, pieces felt as if they were being broken off.

Andrea had been someone who you trusted wholeheartedly. You had been with her and her sister, Amy, since the beginning. Andrea had protected you both, but in the end it had been Amy who befell the fate of the new world. Her death still followed you around and you knew that it had haunted her sister for a while as well. If anything, it had made Andrea harder and more resilient. Still, she kept her eyes on you and you knew that if it came down to it, you would protect her with everything you had. That remained true until you saw her go down on the farm and never saw her reemerge from the horde as Daryl pulled you on to the back of his bike and took off down the dirt path.

Now it was only a matter of time before someone else was lost. With the larger herds moving North all the time, the group had to keep moving and there wasn’t any time to rest for more than a couple of days. With Lori being pregnant, it was definitely causing more issues. You were exhausted, Shane was dead, Rick was keeping something a secret, and Carl was growing up before your eyes. It was too much, too fast.

Winter was coming and going, the weather never staying the same in the South. You had been used to that your entire life, but without constant shelter or warm meals, every time the temperature dropped even a fraction, stress levels skyrocketed within the group and it was starting to get to you. Daryl, someone you had grown closer to since the farm, had tried to keep your spirits up the best he could, but there was only so much he could do.

It was late one night when you found yourself alone on watch. Rick and Maggie had found a house that was far enough from the road with working locks and insulated enough to offer warmth. Nobody dared light a fire in case the Living decided to poke around, but it was better than sleeping in another field with one eye open.

You were rubbing a stray bullet between your fingers as you saw on a bench just in front of the house when Daryl approached, the gun that housed said bullet was in your other hand. “I got watch,” he said, taking a seat next to you.

“I’m fine,” you said, keeping your eyes on the dark wall of trees before you.

“Ya need sleep,” he argued, but you remained still.

“I said, I’m fine,” you repeated.

“Ya, that’s what ya always say,” he said. It was silent then as he sat next to you. Daryl knew when not to push you and this was definitely one of those times. If there was one person who could sit in complete silence and say more with just their body language it was you and Daryl appreciated that after hours of constant noise from the rest of the group.

It was after a while that Daryl finally realized what you kept playing with in your hand. He recognized it as a gun that was once shoved in his face when he had first arrived at the quarry with Merle. “That Walsh’s gun?” he asked, nodding his head toward the pistol. You nodded, turning over the weapon in your hand. He wasn’t sure where you had found it, but he could tell that you had cleaned it up. “You thinkin’ about him?”

“I don’t know what happened,” you finally said. “He was so strong…”

“Even the most level-headed people can get corrupted by this world,” Daryl said and you thought it was one of the most profound things he had ever said. Then again, you figured that Daryl was incredibly bright and he just didn’t let people see that side of him.

“I thought he’d be one of the last people standing,” you admitted.

“Didn’t realize you were that close,” Daryl said with a frown.

“He saved my life,” you said with a shrug, remembering back to all the times Shane had pulled a Walker off of you when you were distracted. “He always looked out for Amy, too. Look, he wasn’t a great man, I know that, but I owed him enough. I was hoping he’d make it at least a few more years.”

“I get that,” Daryl said with a sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. You had noticed that it was getting longer, especially on the sides.

“Sorry,” you said, “I know you hated him.”

“I didn’t trust him,” Daryl clarified.

“Fair enough.”

You sat back into silence then. Your ears were scanning for the familiar groans of the Dead or the subtle footprints of the Living, but so far, nothing had approached the newest nest for the group. You were definitely missing the RV on the more treacherous nights.

Daryl was quiet before he looked over at you. You could see his face out of the corner of your eye, but you tried your hardest to ignore him. You knew Daryl had been looking out for you for a while. Or rather he had been watching you and you knew he was worried, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take any extra steps towards him. No matter how much you wanted it.

“You know,” you began, breaking the silence, “I wanted to study old bones and all that.”

“So, an anthropologist?” Daryl said. You looked over at him with shock on your face and he clocked it immediately. “What, I watched the History Channel,” he defended, causing you to laugh.

“Yeah, Daryl, just like that,” you said. “I wanted to know how humanity began, but I’m only seeing what we’ve become,” you said as you stared at a Walker corpse that Maggie had downed a few hours before.

Your hand began to twitch then, a nervous habit you had developed as a teenager. It always exposed everything that you were too afraid to say. There was something about the way your body always knew what was wrong before your mind did. You figured it was something to do with the survival instincts that had kicked in the night they dropped fire on Atlanta and other major cities.

Daryl noticed your hand instantly. “You’re doing it again,” he said quietly.

“Nervous habit,” you said, clenching your fist, trying to quiet your nerves. “It used to drive my mom crazy.”

“You don’t talk about her anymore,” Daryl noticed. Turning to look at him, you furrowed your brow. “It’s just, ya used to talk about her at the quarry with Amy and Andrea a lot,” he said with a shrug.

“Guess I haven’t been in the mood to be sentimental lately,” you said.

“I get that,” he said as he continued to watch the slight tremor in your palms. “My mom died before all this,” he said and you were surprised to hear him say anything about his family. Besides Merle, Daryl never mentioned anything about his past. At least, not to you.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“I’m just glad ya know, that she didn’t have to see all this shit,” he said and you knew what he was talking about. In an odd way, anyone who had died before the outbreak lucked out. Nobody deserved to see the new horrors of the world and nobody deserved to be fighting tooth and nail just to survive. Lifting your head to the sky, you watched as a single star shot across the darkness before it disappeared again in the plethora of stars and scattered moonlight.

“Odd, isn’t it?” you asked.

“What?”

“That because the world is dark, we finally see the stars. Living in cities always hid them,” you said with a sigh.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, following your gaze.

“ ‘Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars’,” you quoted with ease.

“Tolkien, huh?” Daryl said, recognizing the words.

“Look at you,” you teased and Daryl rolled his eyes.

“I read,” Daryl defended and you raised your hands in surrender. The movement then sparked something in Daryl as he caught your hand in his and held it gently. Your hands stilled from the warmth and firm grip of the archer’s hands. You were sitting in silence as he began to rub his thumbs along the nerves and muscles in your hands.

Daryl was silent as he caressed your hand, taking his time to soothe your anxieties away. “You are gonna be okay,” he whispered, his focus on his task.

“How do you know?” you whispered back.

“Because ya ain’t one to let this world beat ya,” Daryl said simply. You took a minute for that to sink in and you knew that he was right. If anything, you were not going to give up so that the dying world took you with it. You knew that death was inevitable, but you also knew that you had come too far already to start to give up now. “Do you know the story of the man who fought off three bears and lived?” Daryl asked suddenly.

Looking over at him, you raised your brows. “What?” Daryl nodded.

“Yeah, the crazy son of a bitch jumped into a bear enclosure at a zoo to test if he could survive the worst possible thing,” he said. “Fought them all off with his hands and a tree branch. Nobody thought a person could do that and he did. Only came out of there with a broken hand.”

“Is there a moral to this story?” you asked. Daryl turned your hand over in his, tracing the lines on your palm.

“Don’t try to fight bears unless you’re high on pretty hardcore shit because he had to have been, right?” Daryl said easily and you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of your chest. Daryl gave you a smile then and you realized what he was doing.

“Was that story even true?” you asked.

“Nah,” Daryl said. “Does it matter, though?”

“Not at all,” you whispered, wrapping your other hand around the joined ones between you. Moving closer to him, you leaned into him, feeling his body heat. “Thanks.”

Daryl gently lifted your hand to his face and pressed a kiss to the back of it in a very rare act of tenderness. His lips lingered on your skin for just a second before relaxing further into you.

“Anytime,” he murmured as you sank into comfortable silence and watched for the enemy that was sure enough to break through your newfound bubble of peace. However, you knew that when that happened, the man by your side would be the one to jump into the fray and wrestle with a few bears of his own.

TAGS: @thanossexual @felicisimor @moonstuffsteve @lucillethings @stark-dreams

#walkerwords #the walking dead #twd imagines #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon #twd #imagines #daryl x gn reader #daryl x reader #daryl imagine

286 notes · View notes

snidgetwidgeon · 4 years ago

Text

Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I’m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”

#breath of the wild #zelink #fanfiction #roleswap au #prince link #champion zelda #urbosa #king rhoam #Son of Hylia Daughter of Farore #snidgetwidgeon scribbles

159 notes · View notes

batgurl1989 · 3 years ago

Text

Sun-Kissed Garden

Summary: you have writer's block and Henry helps you with it

Word Count: 1393

Warnings: none. Just fluffy goodness

A/N: sorry I was gone for so long! But I am back now and writing Henry shorts. Taglist is open

Taglist: @rmtndew @henrynerdfan @cynic-spirit @princesssterek @daddys-littlewhitegirl @diegos-butt @lharrietg @kebabgirl67

The sun was shining, but not in that hot way that was normal for Summer. Though there was a touch of humidity in the air, it was uncharacteristically bearable for early August. I watched the bumble bees lazily float from one flower to the next, collecting and spreading pollen. The quilt I sat on was well-loved. My grandmother had made it for me when I graduated high school, and it had gone everywhere with me ever since. I closed my eyes as I listened to the birds singing, letting secrets I knew I would never understand wash over me.

My laptop lay discarded beside me, the screen having fallen asleep a while ago. I knew I should be writing, but couldn't bring myself to imagine a cold island in the North Atlantic while sitting in my sun warmed garden. I made it official that I was finally giving up on the idea of writing when I closed the lid. It was a freeing feeling, and I turned back to watching the bees.

I internally startled when I felt someone sit down behind me. I watched as powerful legs appeared on either side of me, recognizing those calves and knees, allowing myself to relax. Large hands slid around my stomach. I used to be uncomfortable when he touched me there, the extra softness on my stomach seemed to refuse to harden into muscle, but the more he did, the more comfortable I had become. He knew I was self-conscious about it, so I think that's why he did it.

"Did you get any writing done?" His accented voice was low, and I reveled in it as it poured over me. My body always seemed to light up when he spoke, especially when he spoke to just me. His breath fanned my ear as he body closed the last couple of inches separating us. I felt his lips ghost over the spot below my ear, and goosebumps raced across my skin and down my neck and arm.

"Truth or sugar coated?" I asked, tilting to one side to get a look at Henry over my shoulder. His hair was a little longer since he was growing it out for a role, a curl coming down on his forehead. I adored his curls, and loved when he took roles that required him to grow his hair out.

"Always truth." Henry's voice was laced with a light chuckle even though I knew he was serious about wanting the truth. I could understand his need for honesty in his home-life when his work-life could be anything but.

"I didn't. I know I promised a chapter a day this week, and I was bragging that I had all these ideas." I snuggled into Henry's hold, his warmth enveloping me in an extra hug. I knew he wouldn't judge me, but I still felt guilty for not getting anything written. "But when I got out here… I just didn't feel it anymore."

"Sweetheart." Henry sighed, his arms flexing to hold me tighter. I took what strength I could from his offer, knowing I would need it. His voice spoke of a lecture coming on, and I braced myself for it. He sighed again, the gust of breath tickling my skin a second before he pressed his lips to my neck again. "I know you want to be published by the end of August, but I fear you are going to burn yourself out."

"But if I don't set a deadline for myself, I don't think I will ever finish." My voice was small, and I hated it. I distracted myself by watching a hummingbird moth flit from flower to flower. They were rare to see in my garden, but lately, this little guy had made himself busy with my butterfly bushes. "Plus I may be stuck."

Henry was quiet behind me, and I knew he was mulling over an idea in his head. I stroked my fingers up and down his forearms, marvelling at how tanned he was compared to me. He rested his forehead against the back of my head, nuzzling his nose against the nape of my neck. I had recently cut my hair into a short pixie cut, and Henry was enjoying the extra skin it had exposed. I was too.

"The way I see it… you have two options." Henry shifted so that he could rest his chin on my shoulder. I leaned my head against his waiting and eager to hear what he thought my options were. "You can force yourself to write, to try and push through your writer's block. You might not like the results, but you can always change what you wrote later."

"What's the other option?" I made myself with his arms again, running my fingers over his contouring muscles. I wasn't sure I liked my first option, but I also wasn't sure I wanted to hear what else he had to say.

"You could give yourself some time off." Henry's chuckle washed over me like a balm. I knew he wasn't laughing meanly at me. But I also knew he could read me as well as a book and knew I was apprehensive about hearing what he was going to say. His voice dropped lower after he pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "If I know you, you will have an idea the second you relax and stop trying to force it."

"You are probably right." I sighed. As much as I hated when ideas came to me in the shower or when I was driving, those were the times I was likely to be focussing on my writing.

"So what do you say to me throwing us some food together and we enjoy our little slice of heaven?" Henry made to get up, but I clamped my hands down on his arms, not letting him. I wasn't ready to give up on the slice I had right now.

"If you aren't starving, I would like to just stay like this for a while longer." I admitted. He didn't hesitate to get comfortable again, pulling me into his body again.

"Of course, sweetheart." I could hear the smile in Henry's voice, and my guilt for keeping him out here with me evaporated.

I tilted my head, trying to get a look at him. I poured internally when I couldn't, so I moved until I was straddling his lap and facing him. I sighed contentedly as his hands splayed across my lower back, holding me close again. I played with the curl on his forehead while smiling down at him. I loved carefree Henry, when he was done filming for the day and could simply let go of the character he was protesting even if it only lasted a few hours. We both knew these moments were precious, and we liked to savour them.

His eyes flicked to my lips a moment before he leaned in to gently place a kiss on them. I rested my hands lightly on his shoulders as he sighed and slowly deepened the kiss. It was relaxed and exactly what I needed. Nothing urgent to match the chaos in my mind. His kisses were what grounded me, brought me back to myself. His touch sent electricity through me that calmed the currents my anxiety and stress caused.

I was just delving my fingers into his luscious curls when an idea hit me. I sat up with an apologetic smile on my face as I reached for my laptop. I vaguely heard Henry laugh as I scrambled from his lap, but I didn't pay attention to it. I wanted to get the idea written before I lost it again.

"I will go make us food." Henry kissed the top of my head before he got up. I flashed him another smile, but didn't look away from my screen as I furiously typed.

"I love you." I called out belatedly, not even sure if he was still in the garden. It didn't surprise me that the thing that relaxed me the most was time with Henry. And I felt a little bad that that was when my ideas decided to spring up again, but I knew Henry understood. I couldn't be sure that that hadn't been his plan all along. Just yet another reason I loved that man.

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader

63 notes · View notes

ey8508 · 3 years ago

Text

Rumors and Secrets: Victor | 李泽言

Note:

R&S for this card (CG above)

Chapter SPOILERS up to Season 2: Chapter 18-21 (read at your own risk)

Contains 5 chapters

Translation isn’t 100% accurate (or include grammar errors)

Every part for LZ’s dialogue would be in “this setting”

Do not repost to any other site (reblog is fine)

Chapter 1 Page 1 It's no exaggeration to say that the name "Li Zeyan" has run through my entire high school era. This "evil fate" probably starts with a 31-point Chinese test paper. I'm Gao Qishan, only 17 years old at that time, but there are so many things that usually interest me. Games, animations, and football are nothing compared than reading a book in a room. But hey, it's a pity that my dad doesn't think so. "I only scored 31 points in the Chinese test, and I'm still here with a hippie smile!" In the study, the old man blew his beard, looking disappointed, "How can my son be so useless!" Page 2 "Your son is very capable. I was the MVP of the basketball game last night!" "Your PPP is useless! You are in the second year of high school, not the second grade of elementary school! You have a 31-point score and you have a face to play basketball? You don't have any shame or a competitive spirit. Do you not want to go to college anymore?!" . I was about to reply impatiently, the old man took out a magazine from somewhere, poked his hand at the cover and yelled at me: "Look at the person. He founded the company at the age of 20. In just two years, he has been on the "Business Rising Stars" cover interview! Look at yourself again, someone who is almost 17 years old and does not have the realization of it, do you want to be in the worst generation in the future, ah?!" Page 3 I'm not happy to hear this: "What's so great about starting a company? Your son, I will start a company in minutes!” "I'm almost out of school, and I started my own company? Oh, I'm going to be better!" The old man raised his head, and the thick magazine almost hit my handsome face. "Learn from others, and don't give me daydreaming here!" Page 4 I grabbed this "Business Rising Stars" with enthusiasm. A decent young man in a suit was looking ahead through the photo. On the cover was a striking headline: "Li Zeyan, an astounding leader in Lianyu City.” "This title is exaggerated!" Even if I was taught by Lao Gao, I was inexplicably better compared with this Li Zeyan, and I just threw the magazine under the sofa. Who wants to learn from him? Just looking at it is a tarnish to my ability! Page 5 But somehow, at night I tossed and turned and I couldn't fall asleep! The more I closed my eyes, the more uncomfortable I was, what did Li Zeyan do. When I turned over for the 100th time, I suddenly sat up. It was a task by old Gao to read the magazine anyway, so I decided to retrieve the magazine and just take a look. After sneaking into the study room, it took me a long time to find the magazine in the innermost part of the sofa. Page 6 "... Although Li Zeyan is only 22 years old, he is already the president of Huarui, an emerging medium-sized company in Lianyu City. Starting from scratch, he started from a small office to now has hundreds of people. Every step he walks is particularly solid and decisive. Li Zeyan’s way of business is beyond ordinary. He is like a lion, born with a King's aura." All these compliments just for this, isn't it just descriptions of someone starting their own company? I just haven't paid much attention to reading. Just relying on my ingenuity, and getting a high score on the tests, it is absolutely nothing when it comes to starting a company. Hmph, just you wait. Chapter 2 Page 1 The university in City A is not only one of the top five in the province, but also the top five in the country. It is a university that I, Gao Qishan was admitted to dignifiedly! How about that, I said I'm absolutely fine. In a blink of an eye, the freshman year has passed. In the past two years, I have also paid a little attention to Huarui. The development has been okay, it has not closed down, and the scale has doubled. It's just normal development. Is it worth the old Gao's praise from time to time? Every time he flipped through a financial magazine and sighed, "You are so young, so good", it sounds a bit too much. Page 2 As the saying goes, "Seeing is believing", I think this sentence is right. Taking advantage of the summer vacation, I decided to apply for Huarui's summer internship to see in person how the company is, just not to waste my talents and financial knowledge. Soon I entered the building, but how can the interviewer in the middle feel a bit familiar, the more I look at it, the more I recognize... Wait, isn't it exactly Li Zeyan?! What's happening, is Huarui going bankrupt? Why is the president personally do the interviewing for the summer interns? Page 3 "Manager Chen has something to do, I happen to be free." Probably my shock expression was too obvious. Li Zeyan flipped through the information at hand and looked up at me blankly. "Gao Qishan? First, briefly introduce yourself." I don't know what's going on. I was so startled by Li Zeyan that I couldn't help but straighten up. After swallowing my throat, I mobilized all my attention, took a deep breath and said, "Hello, my name is Gao Qishan, and I am a freshman in the Department of Economics and Management of the University of City A..." Page 4 After introducing himself, Li Zeyan asked a few more related professional questions. This kind of small question is nothing to me. It seems that Huarui’s interview is nothing more than that. He occasionally knocked his fingers on the table subconsciously, and asked with a deep gaze: "Why do you want to come to Huarui for an internship?" The continuous response made me more and more relaxed. I changed my sitting position and quickly thought about how to deal with this new question. Judging from previous information, Li Zeyan is a person who likes to win at everything. He should appreciate the kind of answers that seem extraordinarily confident, right? Page 5 After carefully thinking about this, I straightened my back and raised my chin and said: Although Huarui is quite a new company, it has grown at an amazing speed, and the achievements it has made so far are obvious to all in the industry. And although I am a freshman student, I think I have a very strong learning ability. In this regard, I have a lot of similarities with Huarui. Therefore, I think Huarui is very suitable for me and will definitely make me grow faster. Of course, I can definitely give back the same freshness and vitality for Huarui. With a confident smile, I finished my speech and waited quietly for Li Zeyan's nod. But to my surprise, a few seconds later I was greeted by a frown from Li Zeyan. Page 6 "It seems that you have confidence in yourself. To be a man and to do things really requires self-confidence, but everything must be controlled." Li Zeyan stared at me and said in a hurry, "Only by maintaining reflection and introspection can we truly make progress." I understood his words, and my face flushed. A few days later, I really received a notice from HR (Human Resources) and I didn't get hired. Page 7 Although I had a foreseeable result from Li Zeyan's remarks, when I really received a reply and recalled the interview scene, I was still very angry. After my sophomore year, I went back to the final exams and tried to fight for the first place. I'll make sure that my ambitions are not just mere words. I have written down the "new hatred and old hatred" on my notes. I will definitely use the shortest time to create my own territory, leaving Huarui far behind! Chapter 3 Page 1 Today is the first day of my "Yuanshan Group" moving to a new building. Morning light came in from the spacious floor-to-ceiling windows, and I stood by the desk, proudly holding on to the brand-new office chair. In the next semester of the junior year, I used the dividends I participated in the project as the start-up capital, and I didn't need a penny higher than the old one, so my "distant mountain" just rose from the ground. Isn’t it just 20-year-old to start a company from scratch? What's the difficulty? When I founded Yuanshan, I was exactly 21, and the rounding is almost the same as Li Zeyan. Because of this, my old man, Lao Gao stopped training me long ago, and I guess he must have praised me secretly. Page 2 In just a few years, Yuanshan has grown from a small company of eight people to a scale that now occupies a seven-story high-end office building, and the suffix has also changed from "company" to the word "group". To be honest, my founder is very satisfied with Yuanshan's growth. Although there is still a certain distance from Huarui, after all, they are also developing along the way, but it doesn't matter, I am still young, and sooner or later I can catch up. It didn't take long before the opportunity to "catch up" came. Page 3 I was originally interested in the land to the north of Lianyu City. When I heard that Huarui was also planning to bid on that land, I became more interested. The Lianyu Municipal Government intends to develop the somewhat hindered northern side. At present, construction has begun to build a crossing bridge and a shopping mall, and this piece of land is nearby. "It is more than enough to build a six-star resort with 18,000 square meters and the supporting facilities can be added. Maybe Huarui made the same idea." I have paid attention to the recent developments of Huarui and have invested in four resort hotels one after another. The senior management of the company also agreed that the land is worthwhile, and if it can be won within the highest valuation of 89 million yuan, it should make a profit without losing it. Page 4 A month later, I came to the auction site with confidence. Sitting in front of me at ten o'clock is Li Zeyan, the president of Huarui in a suit and leather shoes. After a few years of absence, I can finally compete with him. On the stage, the auctioneer gave an impassioned introduction to the land, and then said in a melodious tone: "The starting price is 35 million, and the auction will begin now!" As soon as the voice fell, several companies immediately raised their signs. But my opponent is Huarui. It is still early, so I have to wait for Huarui to make a move. Page 5 When the bidding became increasingly fierce, Li Zeyan finally raised his placard for the first time: "60 million." The opponent finally appeared, and I immediately raised the number plate: "61 million." As if he was just encountering an ordinary bidder, Li Zeyan never answered with words, but raised his placard again: "70 million." I continued to chase: "71 million!" Side to the front, Li Zeyan seemed to raise his eyebrows slightly. After a few seconds, he raised the number plate again, and said: "80 million." Page 6 "81 million!" As if finally realizing my bite, Li Zeyan glanced at me slightly sideways, then he raised the number plate, the noise was low and clear: "90 million." This figure has already exceeded the company's highest valuation, and the assistant quietly tugged on my sleeve, beckoning me to forget it. But if I really give up on this, I still feel no sigh of relief in my heart. The auctioneer has already shouted in front: "90 million twice." Page 7 "100 million!" My voice came out, at the last moment. Of course, Li Zeyan finally gave me a straight look. I watched his hand nervously, and saw that the number plate was never raised again, and the auctioneer had already shouted excitedly: "One hundred million! Yuanshan Group has come out of one hundred million! One hundred million once! Three hundred million!, make a deal!" Page 8 Finally got it! Such a valuable piece of land I believe it will be a great help to Yuanshan, and it’s just around the corner to get rid of Huarui. I didn't even consider the cost of 100 million yuan. I just felt that my body was comfortable and exuberant, and the bright prospects were beckoning me. When Li Zeyan passed by me, my triumphant pride couldn't stop. "Thanks to Mr. Li for the bidding this time." Page 9 Li Zeyan put his suit jacket on one hand, and passed by me. I thought he would argue with me back, but Li Zeyan just raised his eyebrows uninterested, and then strode away without looking back. Okay, as the winner of the auction, I allow the loser to occasionally gaffe. Just when I was gearing up to do a big job, the Finance Department urgently sent a bad report. Due to my "passionate bidding", Yuanshan's capital chain suddenly had a problem. Chapter 4 Page 1 I urgently convened a high-level meeting, and after several discussions, the best solution at present turned out to be to invest in Huarui! Personally speaking, I have a hundred reluctances in my heart. Not long before the auction, I took the initiative to bow to Hua Rui. Didn't that slap me in the face severely. However, the cruel reality lies in front of us. Yuanshan is not only my own person, but also the collective effort of hundreds of employees. To let Yuanshan survive this crisis steadily, I can only and must "take the initiative to surrender" to Huarui. Forget it, "vote" just "vote"! Although it was a mistake in my decision-making this time, Yuanshan's development prospects are so good that Li Zeyan should never not invest as long as his eyes are correct. Page 2 However, the negotiation process is still more difficult than I expected. It is not that Huarui has no intention to invest, but almost all the conditions listed are on the lowest line of the distant mountains. "If I remember correctly, the creditworthiness of Huarui's previous investment in the gaze lock company is not very high." I fought hard against the low pressure, and Yuanshan's creditworthiness has always been in the top four in the industry. "...with Yuanshan's creditworthiness Huarui's right to speak will definitely be improved. I think Mr. Li can think about it again." Page 3 "Do you think you are still eligible to negotiate terms with me?" Li Zeyan straightened his mouth, exuding deterrence, "...Huarui Investment in Yuanshan is not for charity, and has no obligation to pay for your suicidal behavior." He raised his hand and glanced at his watch, with a hint of impatience on his face: "Think carefully about it yourself." The long negotiation was finally over. Although Yuanshan and Huarui finally reached a cooperation intention, the whole process failed me. I thought I was about to be on the same line of competition with Li Zeyan, but I was beaten back to the former "interviewer" again. Page 4 By the area downstairs in Huarui, I was smoking a stuffy cigarette, and suddenly there was a faint sound of footsteps behind me. It turned out to be Li Zeyan. Although he was still expressionless, the murderous aura and arrogance from the negotiations seemed to have diminished. Li Zeyan steadily walked to my side: "Gao Qishan, I remember you once came to interview for a summer internship." I didn't expect Li Zeyan to take the initiative to speak. I was surprised. He said: "Several years have passed, and it seems that self-confidence is increasing." If it wasn't for my lose, I stood up slightly: “Although I made a mistake this time, as far as the strength of Yuanshan is concerned, I have the capital to be confident." Page 5 "Yuanshan's strength is indeed pretty good, but don't rush to eat the cakes that you can't eat for the time being. Being high is far from a long-term plan for enterprise development." Li Zeyan said lightly, and took out a card from his pocket and handed it to me, "There will be a practical business forum in Lianyu City next week. You can come and listen when you have time." A practical business forum? What do you mean, is he mocking me for being too pragmatic? The inexplicable enthusiasm and self-esteem suddenly appeared, and I blurted out: "Mr. Li, even if Yuanshan is really not as good as Huarui now, there is no need to humiliate people like this, right?" Page 6 Li Zeyan frowned: "What are you talking about?" He paused, his eyes sinking, "I thought you would be an opponent you could look forward to, but I didn't expect the vision to be just like that." Without additional explanation, Li Zeyan turned and walked away after speaking. I was stunned, looking at Li Zeyan's steadily leaving behind, I couldn't help but relive the conversation just now in my mind. Could it be that Li Zeyan meant that because he regarded me as a potential opponent and hoped that this opponent could become stronger and more competitive, did he propose to let me participate in the business forum? Page 7 That's right, it seems that only such an explanation can make sense! Thinking of this, I couldn't help blowing a whistle. After all, it was an "imaginary enemy" and pursuit of goals since the age of 17, which can be affirmed and recognized by Li Zeyan. It is simply an easter egg that comes with the negotiation, and it is worthy of the old man to praise me ten times. I was being silly and happy. Suddenly my fingers hurt, I have forgotten about my cigarette that was about to burn my fingers! Chapter 5 Page 1 With Huarui's capital injection, Yuanshan passed the crisis steadily. After more than half a year, the foundation of the resort has gradually taken shape. Just when everything seemed to be going in a good direction, early this morning, the news of "the crash of the president of Huarui" directly bombed all major platforms. Reminiscent of the so-called "homicide list" that was suddenly leaked on the internet a few days ago, I inexplicably feel that these two things may have some connection. Who on earth wants Huarui to sink in the water? Wait a minute, which company announced the list. Could it be that their person in charge is secretly playing tricks? Page 2 Before I could find anything out of my investigation, within a few days, the news of "Which company claims that Huarui has maliciously acquired a large number of pharmaceutical companies" once again detonated all platforms! "Deliberately monopolizing the pharmaceutical market will inevitably cause the price of medicines to rise, which is obvious." "Just for profit, this behavior is very bad!" "Even Huarui's own workers and can't stand it, which shows how terrible Li Zeyan's actions are!" Page 3 Opinions on the Internet are divergent, and public grievances are boiling, and they all accuse Huarui. But I don’t believe it. Although I have only met Li Zeyan several times in person, for so many years, because I have always regarded him as an opponent and target, I have studied Huarui and Li Zeyan’s behavior more than anyone else. The nonsense on the Internet, I don't believe a word! I browsed the web quickly, staring at the almost identical title and searched viciously. Page 4 "Huarui’s reputation plummeted, Li Zeyan fell into a situation where everyone was clamoring and angry, and the heads of the company was clearly cut off from him." In the video, the host's voice kept ringing into my ears. All the signs made me firmer in my previous thoughts: It must be looking at which company is crossing the river to demolish the bridge! I immediately called the assistant to the inside line: "How much do you hire me for a large number of naval forces? How many can you hire? How many! That's right, I have to spare no effort to clarify for Huarui, and by the way, I will focus on the company. Going right now!" I know that this "bad strategy" and only a small help but I haven't beaten Li Zeyan righteously, how could Huarui have an accident in such a situation! What I want is not the taste of winning without a fight. Page 5 Probably because of anger, I couldn't help but send a message to Li Zeyan: The outside world said that Huarui's energy is exhausted. You will not be reduced to the point where you still need to borrow money from me, right?" This message was sent, and I did not expect Li Zeyan to reply to me. However, when it was almost midnight, I suddenly received an email from Huarui. ‘Huarui has always been a responsible company, and will do what it says without fear of any storms. Now everything is running normally, you don't need to worry about it.’ Signer: Li Zeyan. Page 6 Looking at this email, I couldn't help but smile in the middle of the night. Also, Huarui has always been fighting steadily, and Li Zeyan has never fought unprepared battles. Maybe he is playing a big move. Otherwise, how can I say that he is my respectable and close opponent! As for my secret match with Li Zeyan. Give me another three or four years to see who wins and who loses.

#rumors and secrets Victor #mr love queens choice #mr love queens choice victor #love and producer #love and producer li zeyan #mr love victor

43 notes · View notes

readermishok · 3 years ago

Text

Top 20: my favorite interactive stories

Hello, guys!

Once I saw that one of my popular and mostly likeable posts was about IF, I decided to share with you my personal top of the best IF authors I have known.

I read a lot of WIPs (work in progress) and finished novels since three long years, so I might recommend truly incredible stories. I apologies for adding pics and some additional info about my MC, but I wanted to bring spark of life into this top.

MC – Julia (deShanre), she|her.

I'll start with telling about quartet of works greatly affected on me. It was almost like… living my second life. It felt so real, so vibrant. In the darkest times it gave me the strenght to meet the next day.

1. Samurai of Hyuga, Books 1-4 by Devon Connell (WIP, planned 7 books). Patreon. Buy Book 1. Buy Book 2. Buy Book 3. Buy Book 4.

Samurai of Hyuga is a brutal, heart-pounding interactive tale. Prepare to enter the land of silk and steel, where fantasy clashes against grim reality, and where the good guys don't always win in the end. It's a harsh world with tough choices at every turn. Good thing you're the toughest ronin around.

My MC: Ronin, the master of the Jigoku Ittō-ryū, The Sword Who Cuts the Heavens

Jigoku:

________________________________________________________________

2. Fallen Hero by Malin Ryden (WIP, planned 4 books). Tumblr: @fallenhero-rebirth. Patreon. Buy Book 1.

Become the greatest telepathic villain Los Diablos has ever known! Once you were famous; soon you will be infamous. That is, unless your old friends in the Rangers stop you first. Juggle different identities and preserve your secrets as you build new alliances and try to forget the friendships you've left behind.

My MC: Sidestep Puppetmaster:

Jane (puppet):

________________________________________________________________

3. I, the Forgotten one by Bacondoneright (WIP, planned dilogy). No tumblr or Patreon|Ko-fi. Demo.

It has been five long years since the end of The Border Wars. Five long years without a purpose. Endlessly drifting around from one job to the next, serving your apathetic father only to receive no credit. Nobody in Kanton truly knows what you did. How you won The War, leading the armies of Kanton as a youth.

Nobody knows what it took out of you. Spending your formative years in war is not good for one’s outlook on life. Your emotions now lie behind a mask of stoicism. After all, all emotions do is cloud one’s judgement and wind up costing lives.

Nobody knows how much it hurt to be cast down from the throne and succession. To be disinherited, cast away from the family, and left aside to die.

My MC: The Marshal, the bastard child:

________________________________________________________________

4. The Exile by Pheo (WIP). Tumblr: @exilethegame. Patreon. Demo.

You’re the ex-commander of the Kingdom of Plaithus, and your name is known by all. It used to be whispered in fear by your enemies, and the very mention of it could send men fleeing. Your people had cried it out in battle, swords raised in your honor as they faced death fearlessly. You were a hero, and to some, a legend.

Until you weren’t.

You can’t remember what happened. All that’s left are blurry faces, screams, and the feeling of blood on your hands. The only reason you still have your head is because of the pity of an old friend.

And now? It’s only been a year since the incident, and already things are going wrong again when a rather peculiar sorcerer offers you absurd amounts of gold in exchange for protection from… well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know.

My MC: the Commander:

Ex-commander.

________________________________________________________________

Shepherds of Haven by Lena Nguyen (WIP). Tumblr: @shepherds-of-haven Patreon. Demo.

Shepherds of Haven is a dark fantasy interactive fiction game. In it, you play as a Mage living in a world where magic is outlawed and your people—those possessing supernatural powers—are oppressed and reviled. The world is ruled by humans who believe in science, technology, and industry: at best, you and your kind are nothing more than a fairytale, and at worst you are the state’s greatest threat.

My MC: Human Mage, gunner

________________________________________________________________

God of the Red Mountain (WIP). Tumblr: @friendlybowlofsoup Demo.

You are a spirit born of the Red Mountain–though you’ve run away from it long ago. You’d be content to stay away, too, if not for the mountain god who suddenly comes looking for you. But what purpose do they have? And what exactly is your end goal?

Based on East Asian myths and folklore, you play as a powerful, nameless spirit in a shifting world. As a being caught between death and life, you are connected to a stream of limitless power, and the more you are known, the more powerful you become.

However, your journey will not be so smooth. You have been cursed by powerful, malignant beings known as Foxes, and it’s only a matter of time before you fall from sanity yourself.

My MC: Owl spirit, human appearance

________________________________________________________________

The Bastard of Camelot by Rebelgirl (WIP). Tumblr: @llamagirl28 Demo. Ko-fi.

Your child will be the undoing of Camelot. Born under an ominous prophecy, you are the incestuous bastard of King Arthur and Morgana Le Fay. Will you fulfill the prophecy, or rebel?

Be the villain they expect you to be, or the hero they don’t- be remorseful or unapologetic, make your destiny or be Morgana’s tool of revenge.

Arthur can’t have any more children, making you the sole blood heir, and sole other Pendragon. As a Pendragon, you have the power of dragons.

The Bastard of Camelot is a trilogy following Mordred as they become a knight of the Round Table, and save or destroy Camelot.

_______________________________________________________________

The Seven Heirs of Ophaesia: Part One by (WIP). Tumblr: @fantasyfawkes Demo. Patreon.

The Seven Heirs of Ophaesia is a low-fantasy game set in a Renaissance-esque world where you play as one of seven heirs to a fictional kingdom rife with intrigue. As the King’s seventh child, you are a prince or princess of Ophaesia, a luxurious nation along the southern coast of Selanes. You are the first child of your father’s third wife, a woman hated throughout the realm due to the pervasive suspicion that she poisoned the previous queen, and her poor reputation taints your image in the eyes of the court and beyond. From your days in the palace nursery all the way to adulthood, you must navigate treacherous court politics and delicate foreign affairs while trying to find your place in the world — and your family.

_______________________________________________________________

Attollo by A.E. Jendryke (WIP). Tumblr: @attollogame Demo. Patreon.

After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern, or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your siblings apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s wrong and then get on with your life. Too bad it’s never so simple.

Deal with cults, interdimensional entities, and far too many people with superpowers (where, for once, you’re the odd one out) in your journey to bring your sibling back from an underworld far out of your control.

My MC: lawyer

________________________________________________________________

Land of the Dragon (WIP) by Hilsee Foo. Demo. Last update was long ago... (crying)

Welcome to the Land of the Dragon! Here you shall experience an adventure in an ancient land, navigate court politics, forge friendships, and maybe even pursue romance if you so choose!

The Dragon Emperor sits upon the throne, as he inherited it from his father before him. But all is not well in the realm. In the provinces, an Uprising is gaining both strength and popularity. At court, the Elder Prince plots in secret to usurp his brother's throne. And within the Emperor's harem, the Empress and Imperial Consort vie for power.

As the Emperor and Empress' only trueborn child, you are at the centre of this power struggle. When all hell breaks lose on your 21st nameday, what will you do to find your place in this world?

All this, and more... In the Land of the Dragon.

_______________________________________________________________

The Northern Passage by Kit H.J. (WIP). Tumblr: @northern-passage Demo.

The Northern Passage is a horror fantasy CYOA, where you play as a hunter sent up north to investigate a series of missing people along the border and in the port cities of the Blackwater.

Working with your handler, Lea, you will travel north and discover that things are far worse than you ever could have imagined, and that there is something powerful lurking out in the deep, dark sea…

My MC: Hunter

_______________________________________________________________

The Nameless by Parker Lyn (WIP). Tumblr: @parkerlyn Demo. Ko-fi.

The Nameless is a low fantasy WIP that is character and romance driven, with your race (sheevra) loosely based on stories about the fey and other myths. Where deals are a weapon and a name is the most intimate secret someone can offer. You play as a sheevra investigating the city of Renescen after the complete disappearance of one of four sheevra Clans in the world, running across a ragtag group of both sheevra and mortalis along the way.

Will you find out what happened before it comes for you?

Mortalis appearance

_______________________________________________________________

Virtue’s End by Crimsis (WIP). Tumblr: @virtuesend-if Demo. Patreon.

In a dark world overrun by monsters from the shadow plane, you exist as a hybrid monster hunter called a helvling, a human whose very soul has been Bound to one such entity. Travelling from warded settlement to warded settlement with your surly Keeper, Shea, you have the thankless task of defending the common folk against these horrors from Hel.

Usually, a fate such as yours is only reserved for the lowest of criminals, as penance for their loathsome deeds… You wouldn’t know if your fate has been deserved, however, since upon completion of your Binding seven years ago, all former memories of your human life have been lost.

You’ve been moulded into a weapon by the Virtuous Order, trained to be an unfeeling and ruthlessly efficient hunter… But is that who you are? Who are you, truly?

_______________________________________________________________

A Tale of Crowns (WIP). Tumblr: @ataleofcrowns Itch.

A Tale of Crowns is a high fantasy love story with Middle Eastern roots, both on pc as well as mobile! It’s entirely text-based, with choices throughout to shape both your main character’s personality and skills as well as influence their relationships with others. There are four love interests for you to choose from, both female as well as male, each with their own stories and secrets for you to uncover!

Crown of Arsur

_______________________________________________________________

Wayfarer (WIP). Tumblr: @idrellegames Demo. Patreon.

When your mercenary work backs you into a corner, you take the only option available and accept a contract: to travel to the city of Velantis and steal an ancient artifact said to be blessed by the gods. Simple, right?

But Velantis holds more than you bargained for. Gathering a ragtag party of malcontents and renegades from across the city, you must navigate enemy factions, meddling guilds, and escalating political tensions. Your choices will ultimately determine the city’s fate – and the fate of every person who lives there.

_______________________________________________________________

When Twilight Strikes by evertidings (WIP). Tumblr: @evertidings Demo.

You are a bounty hunter. Responsible for taking in rogue supernaturals, you work for IAOS—the International Agency of Supernaturals—where, alongside your best friend and partner, you two have quickly become the best hunting duo of the branch. After a particular tricky hunt, you brief your boss, Caine Atheron, and come back to work the next day to find that he has mysteriously disappeared overnight, the company is now in the hands of his best friend, Sebastian Mai. And though no one else seems to question it, something tells you that there’s more to the story.

With bounty cases rising at an alarming rate and a second mystery unfolding, you and your ragtag team of allies set out to find the truth.

But as you go further and further, the secrets you uncover begin to make you question: who… or what exactly are you fighting for?

_______________________________________________________________

Passanger by Pime (WIP). Tumblr: @the-passenger-if Demo. Ko-fi.

Do you like monsters? Do you think they are the best part of their respective movies, books, and shows? Then The Passenger might be the game for you.

The Passenger is a choice script work in progress in which you are an eldritch abomination that’s about to be devoured by another unthinkable creature. Good news is you are pretty crafty and know how to jump dimensions to escape your ghastly fate; bad news is, you’re now stuck on Earth, trapped inside a dumb human larva.

As years go by, you realize the amount of energy you need to leave this horrible dimension behind is a lot more than you anticipated. Not to mention the creature that almost ate you all those years ago never really stopped looking for you. But there’s no way it’ll pinpoint your actual location… right?

_______________________________________________________________

Scout: An Apocalypse Story by Anya (WIP). Tumblr: @anya-dev Itch.

It has been over a decade since a worldwide natural disaster obliterated the natural planet and decimated human civilization. There are small groups of humans still alive, fending for themselves, trying to create communities amongst the rubble.

You are a 24-year old scout living in a small community on the edge of the Orange Plains. You lost your mother and your sister before finding your way here. You are primarily an academic, and you put your skills to use on regular scouting missions. With your best friend and your scouting team leader in tow, your small group is a pillar of the Community.

On your first scouting mission of the hot season, you meet the leader of the People Across the Orange Plains. Will you break from the Community you have known your whole life? Ask a romantic partner to join you? Discover secrets that your own people have been hiding? Become a leader yourself?

_______________________________________________________________

Body Count by Nell Bolton (WIP). Tumblr: @bodycountgame Demo. Ko-fi.

Your life isn’t going how you’d hoped. Despite having big plans when you graduated, you’re stuck in a dead end job and a crappy flat with zero romantic life to speak of. All until a friend convinces you to join the cast of a new reality TV show.

The premise is simple: 12 singles are sent to a villa on a tropical island and they live there together for a month. After 28 days, the couple who is voted by the other islanders as being most likely to withstand the test of time will win £500,000. In addition, the couple with the highest body count will win £500,000. Total prize pool? £1,000,000.

In this context, “body count” refers to how many people you’ve slept with… right? Well, that’s what you think when you sign your contract. Turns out, though, that not all of your fellow cast members will be using that definition to get to the prize.

Fall in love, win big money, solve some murders and try to stay.

_______________________________________________________________

Project Hadea by nyehilism (WIP). Tumblr: @nyehilismwriting Itch. Ko-fi.

You play as an OPERATIVE of Scytha Industries, a highly selective private security company. As their most elite Operative, you possess many skills and talents, not to mention top-of-the-line equipment - including your very own AI module, IVI.

This, of course, puts a price on your head. An AI module goes for billions on the black market; carrying one around in your skull is, perhaps, not the safest idea. Sure, you’re more than a match for anyone who might come after you - but no-one outside the high levels of Scytha knows about it, so you should be safe anyway, right?

Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I do want to thank all these tremendously talented authors for creating such complex and beautiful worlds. I love it with all my soul.

Thanks for reading, I hope you will find story for yourself. I’ll gradually extand this top!

Stay tuned.

96 notes · View notes

winterscaptain · 4 years ago

Text

berry hill.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: i am so excited to share this one with you. the tropes are PACKED in here, and it was a blast to write. i also realized some time ago that i keep forgetting summaries on my works, so i’m gonna do my best to add those from now on. as always, let me know if there are any mistakes in here! thanks to @writefasttalkevenfaster for helping me today <3 intended for the ‘a joyful future universe,’ but does not require context. takes place in 2011, early season six, prior to the valhalla arc. words: 12k warnings: language, some vague mention of aaron’s anatomy, alcohol use, when i say slow burn i mean s l o w burn.

summary: "...and there was only one bed." - old fanfiction proverb

waldosia (part 2) | absence (part 3) | mean it (part 4)

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed! updated: january 5th, 2021

It’s way too late and you know it, but Jack is still on his annual winter vacation with Aunt Jess and the rest of the Brooks clan, so there’s simply no incentive to leave. You’re with Hotch at his desk, kicked back like you own the place, while he sits back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.

The Montana case wrapped up neatly, and any remaining or incoming paperwork this week is light. Though it is admittedly weird without JJ, Seaver seems to be settling in alright. You’re glad that the team decided to take a chance on her like they did with you.

“What do you mean he drew on the wall?” You say through a laugh, popping a grape in your mouth. “Are we talking like a crayon mark here and there or a full-on mural.”

“Multi-media mural - glue, paper mache, markers, crayons, you name it and it was there.” He laughs and he takes a grape from your bowl, kicking his feet up on the desk - mirroring you. “I have no idea how he managed it. I was in the house the whole time.”

“Oh my God, he’s a terror!” Before Aaron can agree, your phone starts ringing. You pick it up, smiling as you see the caller ID.

“Hey Dean!” You stand and give Aaron a ‘sorry, just a second’ finger and step out of the office, leaving the door open behind you. You stay where Aaron can see you, leaning on the rail next to the stairs. You don’t really mean to stay within his eyeline, but it’s habit at this point.

“Hey babe, I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Oh not at all. I’m still in the office with Hotch getting some work done.”

You catch Hotch’s eye and he mouths ‘Work?’ and you shrug as if to say ‘It’s a loose term.’ He rolls his eyes and steals another one of your grapes.

“Ah, I see. Late-night work with the hot boss-man.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. “So what’s up?”

He sighs, and you already know what’s coming before he says it. “Something came up at work and I won’t be able to make it to the wedding next week. We’re closing on this huge property in Georgetown and it’s really big for the firm and -“

“It’s okay. I get work stuff, trust me.” And you do. It just fucking sucks.

“I’m so so sorry to leave you hanging. I know it’s going to be super rough. Maybe one of your work friends can go with you? Maybe boss man? His name’s Aaron, right? Hopscotch or something?” His humor doesn’t make you feel any better, but you promise to keep ‘Hopscotch’ for later.

You tip your head up to stare at the ceiling and will the tears away from your eyes, blinking them back. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. None of them knew to ask off work, so if we have a case I’ll be on my own regardless.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Two tears fall out of the corner of your eyes, and you turn around, wiping them away. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll call you day-of to check in, okay?”

Hotch watches you carefully, doing your best to hide your tears from him. Bad news, certainly, but he wishes you wouldn’t hide from him like you do. Or rather, he wishes you wouldn’t try to hide from him like you do.

He can’t hear the entire conversation, obviously, but he resolves to do what he can to return at least a little of the care you always show him without hesitation,

“Okay.” You heave an uneven sigh. “I’ll talk to you then... Really - don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” You hang up before he can respond and rest your forearms on the railing. You let your head hang for a second, collecting yourself before you have to face Hotch again.

You take a deep breath and turn, sitting across from him again. Attempting to restore your good spirits, you kick your feet back up and have another grape.

Hotch’s voice is quiet. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” but your voice breaks. You clear your throat and blink a few more times.

You can feel him squint at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, you know.” You sniff, and gesture vaguely as you continue. “My best friend from college was supposed to be my date to a friend’s wedding next week, and the friend getting married also happens to be someone I dated in college so I was really hoping Dean could come with me, and now…” You trail off, realizing you’re rambling.

He’s quiet for a little while, and you shove some more grapes in your mouth to make up for the silence. You know each other so well, but it still feels a little weird to explicitly talk about your personal life in the office. Sure, you spend a fair few weekends together with Jack, but the whole thing is a little embarrassing - and you’re not sure if the worst part is admitting you have an ex-boyfriend from college or you now have to go stag to his wedding.

“Do you want someone to go with you?” He watches you chew on your lower lip. A long time ago, he decided there was nothing worse than seeing you upset.

This is the least you can do, Hotchner. First personal weekend in nearly four years, you can at least do what you can to make it suck less. He reasons with himself, but he can’t help the sly thought that sneaks in on the tail end. Being a backup is better than being nothing at all.

That’s enough.

You scoff. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

He smiles a little, knowing you completely missed his point. “If you wanted…” He clears his throat and looks out the window, and you reply before he can continue.

“Oh, God, Hotch.” You cover your face with your hands. “Please don’t feel like I’m trying to guilt you into anything. I’ll be fine.” You try to laugh it off, but can’t hide the anxiety in your voice.

His laugh warms you. “You’re not guilting me into anything. I’m offering.”

You remove your hands from your face and look at him. There’s an earnest sort of kindness in his eyes, and you find yourself a little short of breath. “Really?”

“Really. I can get the weekend off - things are pretty slow around here. Where is it?” You had trouble reading his tone. Really, he’s just treading carefully. He doesn’t want you to feel pressured, or give away his own selfish motivations.

“It’s, ah,” you stutter for a second, getting your metaphorical feet back under you. “It’s down at Berry Hill Resort, right by the North Carolina border.” Your lip disappears between your teeth again. “It’s about a three and a half hour drive.”

He opens his phone, and you know he’s checking the map. “It’d be easy enough if we left early and switched in Richmond. I’ll start, if you’d like.”

You smile at him, wide and genuine. “Hotch, you’re the best.”

+++

Hotch calls you up to his office, and you swing in, your hand gripping the doorframe. You bite back your greeting as you find him on the phone.

He beckons you in and you step inside, closing the door behind you.

“...Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to pass that along to the rest of the unit...You too, sir.” He hangs up and laces his fingers, addressing you. “Question.”

You sit, resting your elbows on his desk. “Answer.”

“Funny.”

You smirk, and he continues. “I’m not sure if it matters to you, but I have an absurd number of ties. Color preference?”

A huff of laughter leaves you in disbelief. “You called me in here to ask whether or not I want to have a color scheme?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A united front, or at least a coordinated one, seems like the best strategy, right?”

+++

Aaron walks down from his office, his phone to his ear. You’re helping Ashley with a consult, walking her through your process just like Emily used to do with you.

“Hotch usually likes to approach the profile starting with a demographic consideration, but I usually start from physical evidence and -”

A hand falls onto your shoulder, and you look up. “Yeah?”

He pulls the receiver away from his mouth. “Jack wants to talk to you.”

With a shake of your head and a fond smile for Hotch and an apologetic one for Ashley, you put the phone to your ear. “Hey, bud! How’s Grandpa’s house?”

“So fun,” Jack says, almost yelling into the phone. “Aunt Jess has let me play in the snow every day.”

You laugh. “I am so glad.”

“Dad says you’re busy at work, but I miss you.”

“Aw, bubba, I miss you, too. You’ll be home really soon, and when you get back we’ll go out to ice cream and you can tell me all about your visit.” You, for just a moment, forget where you are, and you lean back in your seat as if you’re leaning into Jack himself. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I love you.”

Your breath catches, and you keep our eyes firmly planted on your consult as you reply. “I love you too, bub. Here’s your dad.” Placing the phone in Hotch’s hand, you return your attention to Ashley and do your best not to acknowledge Aaron as he walks back up the stairs. “So, like I said, Hotch prefers to -”

“Hey.” Ashley stops you with a hand on your arm. “You’re really good at your job.”

A confused smile pulls at your lips. There’s a question in your eyes, and she answers it.

“Oh, I just...You’re a good teacher and a good friend, that’s all.”

“Thanks, Seaver.”

+++

On a rare weeknight off, Emily and you gather at Penelope’s apartment. You’re all sitting on the floor, bottles of wine making an occasional rotation, and a pile of snacks on the floor taking up the space in the loose circle you’ve created.

“You’re taking time off this weekend?” Penelope sounds almost insultingly surprised, as if the concept never occurred to her.

You nod. “Yep. First time in four years, so I think I’m about due.”

Emily laughs and asks. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve been inexplicably invited to an ex-boyfriends wedding - he’s a friend from college and we were friends before we dated etc. etc.” You wave your hand as you speak, outlining the tedium of it all. “His mom loves me, and I suspect she was the one who added me to the list.”

“Are you going with anyone? Penelope’s concern is touching.

“Yeah. One of my college friends was supposed to be my date, but he bailed for a work thing.” All the girls roll their eyes and nod. They get it. “So, Ho - someone else - is going with me.”

“Who?” Emily narrows her eyes and searches you.

“Oh come on, profiling is against the rules.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

“Spill it.” Penelope throws a goldfish cracker at you to emphasize her point.

You take a deep, long-suffering breath, suddenly missing JJ and her powers of redirection. “Fine. Hotch is coming with me -” you intercept their eager questions “- only as a favor.”

“That’s very...thoughtful of him.” Emily’s chin tips up suggestively, and you throw Penelope’s goldfish at her. “Who’s idea was that?”

There’s a moment here somewhere, where you realize you’ve just dug yourself a hole you’ll be hard-pressed to get out of. “He overheard Dean bail, and offered. I’m sure he’s just doing it because he feels bad and -”

“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Penelope nearly falls into Emily, giggling. “I can’t believe you two.”

You throw your hands in the air. “What?”

Both women share a look before looking back at you with identical disbelief. Emily speaks first. “You can’t be serious.”

Take a deep breath. You’re not that obvious.

Maybe you are. You’ve only been half-or-completely in love with him for five years.

Shut up.

“Serious about what?”

Emily rolls her eyes and finishes her second glass of wine, reaching to refill it immediately. “Nevermind. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

+++

You’re finishing your last bit of packing, leaving your toothbrush and toothpaste out for the morning, when your phone rings.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Aaron.”

“Ah, my saving grace,” you say with a laugh. “Calling to cancel on me, after all?”

His laugh just isn’t as good over the phone, but it’ll do. “Not even close. Is 6am still good to come get you?”

“It’s so early.” There’s absolutely no shame in your whine, and you’re rewarded with another laugh. “But yes, that’s fine. That gives us enough time even if we hit some traffic out of the District and into Richmond.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

You look at your suitcase, resting open on your bed. “You’re still okay with this, right? I know I couldn’t grab that extra hotel room for you and I don’t want you to feel pressured or -”

He cuts you off, calling you out by name. “Enough. I offered, remember? I’ll see you at 6. Bring a pillow so you can sleep in the car.”

Your lips pinch, holding back a smile. “Thanks, Aaron.” And he knows you don’t just mean it for the pillow reminder. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course. Sleep well.”

You don’t, but are nevertheless ready with bells on, pillow tucked under your arm, and coffee in-hand at 5:55am the following morning. He looks surprised when he pulls into the driveway and sees you standing on your porch, looking only a little worse for wear. At least your teeth are brushed.

“Thought you might want this.” You hold out the travel mug to him as he approaches, and he takes it (and your suitcase) from you.

“Thank you. Jump in.”

You follow instructions and immediately stuff your pillow between your head and the window as he throws your suitcase in the trunk. You’re forever grateful Aaron drives the same SUVs you all have at the bureau. He claims it’s easier to not think about different car specs, but at this moment you only care about the temperature control and familiar, soft leather seats. Your eyes shut on their own accord, still heavy even after your abbreviated morning routine.

He slips into the driver’s seat and, with your eyes closed, you miss the way he looks over at you with a barely-there, fond smile. Your sweatshirt is too big for you and your face is adorably smushed into the pillow.

With a sigh and shake of his head, he places his hand on the back of your seat, backs out of the driveway, and gets on the road.

The silence gives him plenty of time to think about things he’d rather not address. This favor, for one, is something he’s still trying to reconcile.

Would I have offered to Emily? JJ? Hell, Dave?

If any other member of the team had a friend bail out of their role as a wedding date, he’d like to think he’d drop everything and take the weekend to make them feel better, but he knows that probably wouldn’t be the case in reality. He knew you were different, and it frustrated and confused him.

As often as he acknowledges his love for you - he wishes it would just stop.

Only a year and change had passed since Haley’s death, and there were still some mornings where he woke up and couldn’t breathe. Jack still had some nightmares too. Those broke his heart more than anything in the world, but he knew you would always pick up if he called - no matter the hour.

It happened more often than he’d like to admit.

“Hotch? Aaron? What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

You’d always talk to him about something or nothing at all, sometimes turning on your bedside lamp and reading from whatever book you were perusing before bed.

He knows you understand. You were the only one there with him, when he found her body. You were there to take his son out of his bloodied hands. You were there when he was afraid of himself.

The nightmares still come for you, too, sometimes. There are nights where Haley’s dark blue eyes stare into you, whether your eyes are open or closed. You told him that, once, and he was grateful - grateful that he wasn’t the only one.

You murmur something in your sleep, about twenty minutes outside of the city. You’re still an hour or more away from Richmond, and Hotch figures he’ll let you sleep if you don’t wake up between now and then. It’s not a hard drive to Berry Hill, and you need the rest.

Might be good to pick up some food on the way...

He turns the music off, letting the sounds of your breathing and the road wash over him.

“Aaron.”

He turns, expecting your watchful eyes, but finds you burrowing further into the pillow, a little smile on your face as you remain blissfully unaware of your surroundings. Something warm starts to radiate in his chest as he looks back out at the road, the Virginia countryside stretching out in front of him, around him, and in every direction he can see. The warmth vibrates into his fingertips. He flexes his hands around the wheel, trying to shake it.

He fails.

You’re not sure how you manage to sleep so soundly in the car. You had tossed and turned all night, thinking only of facing a part of your life you hoped you’d never address head-on ever again. Why you accepted the invitation at all (or why you even received one) was beyond you.

It must be his mother’s doing. She always loved you, and she did her best to keep your friendship alive much longer than its natural death.

Exercising control over her child’s life due to an exceptional lack of control and consistency during her upbringing. Relating to her son’s partners to achieve some semblance of intimacy without facing the root of her insecurity that she’s failed as a parent.

The profiling never stopped, it seemed.

It wasn’t just the wedding keeping you up last night. The thought of spending the weekend with Aaron in an environment where you will inevitably feel (if not look and act) distraught close to the whole time still wears on you. Spending weekends at home, where you sit together with a glass of wine and leftover popcorn after Jack gets tucked in feels different.

That’s comfortable. That’s safe. This? This is scary. Vulnerable. Burdensome.

Even then, there’s nobody you’d rather have at your side while you face friends you haven’t seen in ages. He’s charismatic, almost entirely unapproachable (when he wants to be), and tall. All those factors should be enough to keep anyone from trifling with you for the duration of the weekend.

But now, in the car, all those thoughts are far from your mind. Your mind is blissfully dark and blank, your body soothed by the low hum of the car and the smell that follows Hotch wherever he goes - spicy, earthy, and something that reminds you of the air right before lightning strikes.

The car slows, and the subtle change in ambiance wakes you. You lift your head, finding Hotch turning on an offramp.

“Are we in Richmond already?” You ask, bleary.

He smiles. His sunglasses are resting on his nose to combat the rapidly-rising morning sun. “Not yet, but I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

You tip your head. He’s right. “I could eat.”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You should eat.”

+++

After food and a top-off for the gas tank, you offer to drive.

Aaron refuses. “If you drive, I don’t get to pick the music.”

“I thought shotgun picks the music.” You frown at him, admittedly still a little tired. You’ve shoved your pillow behind your seat and start to sit like an actual human being for the first time that morning.

“Those are Morgan’s house rules, not mine.”

“Ah,” you say, sagely. “I see. What are your house rules?”

There’s a smile behind his sunglasses. “Driver picks the music and critically considers any suggestions made by shotgun.”

Thus, the Beatles’ White Album starts from the top. You can’t say you’re surprised - it is his favorite. You’ve grown rather fond of it yourself, if you’re honest, Though, you’re not sure if you fondness for the album has anything to do with the man beside you - the one who’s hair is soft and floppy in the morning light, the one wearing an uncharacteristically casual ensemble of jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt, the one singing along under his breath.

“Why is this one your favorite?” You hear yourself ask.

He’s quiet for a minute, as if you are the first to ask that question. Maybe you are. “I’m...not sure. I think it might have something to do with my mom. She bought the record a couple of weeks after I was born in late ‘68, and made sure I had a copy when I got my own record player in my first college apartment.” He shrugs. “It’s been around just as long as I have, and there’s something a little - I don’t know - comforting about that?”

You nod. “I get that.” You’re quiet for a moment, considering all the things that happened in 1982. “Grease 2 came out the year I was born, so I can’t say I share a similar affinity for the pop culture phenomena of my birth year.”

Hotch lets out a low whistle and a grimace. “That film really was awful.” He waits for your laugh and is rewarded before continuing. “I saw The Who on their final tour that year.”

You furrow your brow. “Weren’t you like, barely in high school?”

He nods. “We snuck out, a couple of friends and me. It was really stupid and we got in a lot of trouble, but it was fun.” There’s a nostalgic smile on his face. “I have no idea how we managed to get all the way into the District, let alone find tickets, but everything was a little less complicated back then. Buses ran on time, people read maps, and parents didn’t all have cell phones.” He shrugs and shoots you a smirk. “But of course, that’s before your time.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh c’mon. I’m not that young. I remember the world before the mainstream internet and 9/11 and all that pre-Patriot Act shit. I remember when the Berlin Wall came down, at least.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fair enough.”

You lapse into silence for a little while, handing him fries from the drive-thru bag when he puts his open palm over the center console. You notice his left hand shift slightly in time with the music, and you watch a little more carefully.

And I see it needs sweeping Still my guitar gently weeps

I don’t know why Nobody told you How to unfold your love I don’t know how Someone controlled you They bought and sold you…

“Hotch, do you play guitar?” There’s a touch of disbelief in your tone, but you try to hide it for the sake of his pride. It’s not that you think he doesn’t have a musical or creative bone in his body, but you’re rather surprised by the relaxed subtlety of his movement. It was your impression he never did anything without thinking about it, and to see the slight, almost unconscious action sparks a pleasant little flicker of warmth in your chest.

He shrugs. “I played a little when I was younger. I guess you could say I know how to play, but I don’t claim to be decent at it in the slightest.” His head tips, and you could swear you see an eye roll. “Sean’s always been better at those kinds of pursuits.”

As usual, he doesn’t seem thrown or surprised by your question and doesn’t hesitate to answer them. After almost five years, he’s used to your keen observations. He’d never admit it, but he expects them - maybe he’s not able to guess at the content of the questions themselves, but he always knows there will be one eventually.

“Have you and Sean always butted heads?”

Aaron snorts, and gives you a simple, “Yes.”

You’d never met the younger Hotchner, but you’d seen photos and heard tell. From what you understand, he’s a little wilder than his older brother, a little more idealistic and far less practical. Sean seems like someone you would like, but you doubt he would rise to the top of your Favorite Hotchners List - a list with only two names so far, tied for first.

It’s safe to say Jack and Aaron are hard acts to follow.

+++

You talk about everything and nothing, when finally, he asks. “So, who is this guy?”

“Ugh.” You tip your head against the seat. “You really want to know?”

“Of course. Isn’t it protocol to brief the team before arrival?”

You snort, immediately regretting your decision to make fun of Strauss over drinks last week. “Yes, sir.”

He laughs, and you tell him.

You tell him about Austin and how you met in a random general education class and became fast friends and started dating, talked about marriage and kids and the whole nine yards. You told him about your semester abroad, your traveling, and returning home to find he’d been dating someone else while you were away, without your knowledge.

“It’s kind of cliche, I know, but it broke my heart in half.” You laugh a little to cover the truth of it. Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, letting you go at your own pace the same way you let him the entire time he’s known you. “I was really close to his family, and we did our best to remain civil and friendly for everyone else’s sake, but we’ve only kept in touch through other people the last few years.

“I think his mom sent the invitation. I mostly accepted because I’d love to see her and Austin’s little sister - I miss them the most.”

“What are they like?”

There’s a smile on your face as you tell him about them - how Allison likes more cream than actual coffee in her mug, how their mom has the best taste in books and still sends you worn copies of her favorites every once and awhile.

“It’s good of you to keep in touch.”

You shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know it’s different, but you have Jess.”

The difference, he decides, is that you are kinder, more patient than he is. Jess would hardly be in his life at all if Haley was still here. He had a hard enough time keeping up with Haley’s family when they were married. Keeping up with them after the divorce?

There was no way to know, but he can’t remember much affection between them even before Haley’s father decided to hold him personally responsible for her death.

You notice his preoccupation, and reach out. Your thumb traces back and forth over the skin of his bare forearm. “It’s different now, and it would be different then. There’s no right way to do anything.”

He exhales in a huff, and you bring your hand back into your lap. “I spent almost twenty-five years knowing Haley. You know that?”

“I do. I also know you spent longer than twenty-five loving her, and probably won’t ever stop.”

There’s a sigh, and then an elbow on the center console. He leans heavily on it, and you do your best to keep your hands to yourself. “How do you know everything?” He asks.

You rest your head against the seat and adjust so your body is angled toward him. A small smile crosses your face as you take in his profile - relaxed, his wrist hanging loosely on the wheel, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I dunno. I guess I just pay attention.”

+++

You let out an exhausted exhale upon reaching the room you will share with Aaron for the weekend. One king size bed dominates the room, instead of the two doubles you halfway expected. He recovers faster than you do, shrugging and setting his things down on the left side of the bed, closest to the door.

Instinctively and completely without previous confirmation, you kind of figured he sleeps on the left side. The realization of that fact is a little unsettling, but you follow his lead and set your suitcase on the stand opposite his, unzipping it and unfolding your garment bag.

There’s a small part of you that’s pleased by this arrangement. Another part of you shames that part.

He’s going to think you’re taking advantage of him.

Are you kidding? He’s a SWAT-trained senior FBI agent. And a lawyer. It’s impossible to take advantage of him.

Yeah, of course that’s what he wants you to think.

Do you ever shut up?

Your outfits for the cocktail hour and the ceremony day are all set. So are Hotch’s, apparently. You look over to find him hanging a grey pinstripe suit in the closet you’d never seen before. It looks beautifully tailored, and expensive.

“Mind if I take up some real estate?” You ask, holding up your handful of hangers. He shakes his head and makes some space for you.

When you’re all settled, you sit on the bed, still tired. It doesn’t make any sense, seeing as Aaron insisted on driving the entire way.

“What time is our first obligation?”

You huff a laugh at his rhetoric. “5pm. Cocktails at the hotel bar. Rehearsal dinner after that is wedding-party-only, thank God.” Glancing at the clock, you confirm, “We basically have the day to ourselves until then.”

He nods thoughtfully before meeting your eyes over your shoulder. “How do you feel about a nap?”

I love you.

Shut up.

You can’t imagine how tired he is - working off minimal sleep and coming off a drive just shy of four hours long. “I feel great about a nap.”

Aaron’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he picks up a pair of flannel pajama pants from his bag and shuts himself into the bathroom.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

You quickly shuck your sweatshirt, suddenly too warm. Standing, you cross to the window and draw the blinds, covering the room in a kind of gentle shade that isn’t quite darkness. You toe off your shoes and slip under the covers, thankful you never really changed out of your pajamas. Curling up facing the bathroom door, you try to stay awake until Hotch returns, but your eyes close of their own accord.

Hotch leaves the bathroom to find the room darkened and you under the covers, dead to the world. He takes another moment to look at you, the way your brow sits smooth and relaxed above your closed eyes, your hands curled loosely in front of your face, the way your breath evenly comes and goes past the curve of your lips.

Taking the risk, he places his jeans back into his duffle bag and gingerly stretches out on top of the covers beside you. His eyes close eventually, but he can’t remember falling asleep - entirely preoccupied by the phenomenon before him.

+++

When you stir again, your hands are warm. You take a deep breath and your eyes crack open, finding a sight that steals your breath. Hotch is on his side in front of you, ramrod straight, with your hands clasped between his. Your heads are bowed together - not touching, but close.

There’s no memory of him joining you in the massive bed, nor any recollection of contact, so he either held your hands on his own, or you found each other in sleep.

You’re not sure which one makes your heart flutter faster.

Resolving to get a little more sleep, you close your eyes. Only moments later, you feel him stir beside you. You know he’s watching you, and you endeavor to keep your breath even and slow, hoping he can’t hear the racing of your heart.

He releases one of your hands, and you let it drop down to the cover, praying your fingers don’t twitch.

You’re proud of yourself when you don’t flinch as his fingers brush butterfly-soft against your cheek, tracing from your brow bone, down your nose and across your lips. Impossibly gentle touches find their way down your temple to your jaw before disappearing.

His hand closes around yours again and it takes everything you have to keep your breath steady as he presses his lips to your fingers before tucking them back to his chest. When his breath evens out again, you know he’s asleep.

You open your eyes, thinking it's more than high time to study him for a change.

He looks years younger in his sleep, closer to your age than his. Even awake, he hardly looks the picture of a father in his mid-forties. His graceful aging is more obvious when his face isn’t drawn up in stress or that aching kind of sadness that lingers around him.

Curious about what he saw and felt on your face, you follow his path, slipping your hand out from under his, tracing his jaw, his cheek and brow bones, his handsome, straight nose.

Your finger rests lightly on his cupid’s bow for a moment, his breath rushing slow and warm over your hand. The feeling of his breath stalls yours, and you swallow. The next breath you take is almost a sob, and you press your lips into a thin line. Light fingers brush through the hair at his temples, the sparse, soft silver strands seeming to glow in the low light.

What you don’t know, however, is that he has taken a page out of your book. Though his eyes are closed and his breath even, he is very much awake, heart pounding. He’s sure you can hear it, or even feel it, with your remaining hand still trapped between his.

The catch in your breath makes his chest ache. Even then, his eyes remain closed, and he’s mindful of his breath. With the route you take, tracing his features, he realizes with a shock of adrenaline and cold panic that you were probably awake, playing at sleep then as he was now.

If that was the case, you know how he feels about you. He knows how you feel about him.

But you can’t. You don’t want to take up space in his life he doesn’t have, space better used to heal, space reserved for his son.

He can’t. It's too soon. He can’t subject you to the ghosts, the baggage, the long journey to wholeness he’s endeavored to embark upon with only his son at his side.

The new normal, his therapist had told him, is the hardest thing to find.

He was sure, then, that it would be easier to find the new normal on his own, but he wasn’t so sure, now.

You slip your hands away from him entirely and roll over, making play at rising. You check the time on your phone, finding the early afternoon awaiting you.

There’s a deep breath and a stretching noise, and you turn to find Aaron rolled over on his back, his hands laced behind his head.

“Good afternoon,” you say, and you’re proud of yourself for sounding normal.

A smile plays at his lips. He looks like he knows something. “Good afternoon.”

“So, tonight.” You decide it’s best to move on before anyone admits anything they don’t mean to share. “Do you just want to be ‘work friends’ or do we want to lean into the whole ‘let’s ruin Austin’s life’ thing?”

He laughs a little. “I’m comfortable leaning in if you are.”

+++

The cocktail hour isn’t as horrible as you thought it would be. Aaron sticks to your side like glue, your right hand firmly placed in the crook of his arm while your left babysits a small glass of wine, more for show than for anything else.

You hear your name from across the room, and you see a huddle of some old friends and their respective dates. Aaron tips his head down to get the briefing, and you tell him names, relationships, and brief histories as you approach.

As you expected, he’s warm and charming, taking cues from you as you navigate eight years of catch-up with classmates you remember well and alleged classmates you don’t recognize at all.

“How did you two meet?” The woman asks (You’re certain she’s someone’s sister - Hotch caught her name while you missed it. Oops.).

You glance up at Aaron for a second before answering. “We’re in the same department at work.”

The man with her takes a sip of his drink. Him, you kind of recognize. Casey? Carson? Maybe. “Where is that, again? I can’t remember where you landed after your internship.”

“DoJ, in Quantico.”

Leslie, who you met in guided research your senior year, rolls her eyes. “They work for the FBI, Carson, keep up.”

Carson, that’s it.

“No shit!”

A small group has gathered around you, and you shuffle closer to Aaron. He wraps his arm around your waist and steps a little behind you, protective and secure.

“Shit,” you reply, jostling Aaron with your shoulder. “We don’t have our creds on us tonight, so if you get arrested you’ll have to bail yourselves out.”

“We also don’t have jurisdiction even if we did, so keep it high and tight and we’ll all do just fine.” Aaron’s voice rumbles through you with a laugh, and you take an overlarge sip of wine.

He really shouldn’t say things like high and tight with his hand where it is.

And his hand isn’t really in any kind of questionable location, just resting above your hip with his chest to your back, but it's still more contact than you’re used to. He wasn’t joking about leaning in.

“There he is!” Carson crows, and your head whips around. You almost lose your balance, but Hotch keeps his feet. A warm hand presses to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whisper. You know he can hear you, and he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Always.”

It’s just an act. He doesn't mean it. He can’t mean it.

Austin approaches with his drop-dead gorgeous fiancee and a smile.

Aaron releases you as Austin gives you a warmer hug than you were expecting, and examines Hotch over your shoulder. He introduces you to his fiancee (Madeline), and you introduce them both to Aaron.

“Austin, this is my…” you pause, realizing you never actually established a cover story, letting the implication speak for itself. “Aaron.” You recover with a light laugh, and Aaron pulls you to him with one hand while he shakes Austin’s with the other.

You try not to smirk at the grimace that flashes across Austin’s face when Aaron’s hand closes around his in a very firm and assertive handshake. “Pleasure. Congratulations.”

Austin laughs, a little uncomfortable, and stretches his hand once it reaches his side again. “Thanks. We’re really glad you both could make it. Mom will be really happy to see you.”

+++

“That could have been so much worse.” You shuck Aaron’s blazer off your shoulders and hang it in the closet as he passes behind you. He’d passed it to you when you shivered slightly at the bar and it wasn’t even a point of conversation. It had been second nature to him, draping it over you and placing a hand on your back. The memory pulls a smile from your lips. “Thank you for enduring the mayhem down there.”

Aaron sits on the bed and slips off his boots. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a social event that didn’t directly affect my career trajectory.” He looks up at you, and his grin makes your heart skip around in your chest.

You shake your head, walking past him to retrieve your pajamas and toothbrush. “Do you ever want to move up the chain at all?”

“Not really. Something big would have to change to get me to leave the BAU.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “We tried that, remember?”

“I do, actually.” At his chuckle, you continue. “I can’t say that’s something I’d like to relive anytime soon.”

You move easily around each other, changing into pajamas and brushing your teeth and getting otherwise ready for bed. He’s cute at night, with his pajamas and floppy hair and big yawns. It’s not like you haven’t seen this side of him before, what with all the late nights watching movies with Jack, but it is significant that it’s just the two of you. He’s not Jack’s Dad right now, or Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner who won’t go to bed until The Case Is Solved, but Aaron.

Sleepy, charming, funny Aaron.

Eventually, you throw back the covers and crawl in without thinking about it too much, while Aaron lingers in the bathroom doorway.

“I really can take the couch.”

You look at him and pointedly turn off the lamp resting on your side table. “We’re adults. I don’t mind it if you don’t. And for that matter, if either one of us is sleeping on the couch it’s me.”

“Oh?” He asks. “Why’s that?”

“Because as you so astutely pointed out earlier, I am significantly younger than you, and I think my back will fare better than yours after a night of lumpy cushions.”

The bathroom light flips off, and you hear a scoff in the dark. “Never once did I say significantly younger.”

“Well, Aaron, ‘before your time’ is rife with implication.”

The mattress dips beside you, and his form takes shape in the darkness, facing you. Before he can speak again, you cut him off.

“You know what? Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to, and I would hate for you to go full-tilt lawyer on me.” You curl up, bringing the covers to your chin. He laughs, and you can almost pretend that this is your life, that you get to fall asleep beside Aaron every night.

Don’t get comfortable.

Why not? He’s here, isn’t he?

He is, but not like that. This is a favor for a friend, nothing more.

You’re both quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. There’s a sigh, and you belatedly realize it came from you.

“Are you okay?” Aaron’s voice floats to you in the dark, and you nod. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

You think for a moment, trying to articulate your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just - I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here with me this weekend.” A hand reaches out, and you find it.

“Of course. I’m glad I can be here for you.” He means it. The trust you’ve placed in him does not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Your willingness to be vulnerable and funny and so yourself is a precious gift to him, and one he’ll never take for granted. “Thank you for letting me come.”

I’d like to let you come -

Ew, dude.

What?

Now is not the time.

“With that in mind,” he continues, his voice gentle in the dark, “I’m really proud of you. And not in a ‘I’m your boss and you’re making significant progress,’ way. As your friend, I’m really proud of you.”

Your friend.

He is your friend.

I know but that…sucks.

It doesn’t have to.

There’s something in his voice that almost makes you stupid, but you hold your tongue. “Goodnight, Hotch.”

He takes a deep breath, missing the way his first name fits in your mouth. It sounds safe there, like you’d never use it against him. “Goodnight.”

+++

You feel warm and feeling somewhat constricted, but not uncomfortable. There’s weight at your back and an arm around your waist, and you lean into it in your state of half-wakefulness. A little noise leaves the body behind you, almost like a sigh with tone.

Remembering where you are, you resist the instinct to jump. Hotch is wrapped around you like a koala, his knee between yours, one arm under your head and the other around your waist, face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

His hair smells divine, and he’s so warm.

Your theory from yesterday morning seems confirmed - you definitely didn’t fall asleep touching each other, so you must have found each other in the night. The thought warms you, and you close your eyes again.

The ceremony isn’t until the early afternoon, so you have all the time in the world to doze and prepare for the hellscape of the day.

That’s not a fair assessment. You think, and correct yourself.

If the prior evening was any indication, things would go smoothly. Aaron was the world’s best wingman. He kept conversation flowing and took your cues without a second’s hesitation. Everyone loved him, and people asked you all night how you met, how long you’d known each other, how long you’d been together. The first questions were easy, but the last one was one you hadn’t prepared for. He, of course, had an answer for all three.

“We work together.”

“We met, what? Five years ago now? Maybe a little more?”

“We’ve been partners for almost four years.”

And...he wasn’t lying. You always paired off with him at work, whether naturally or by assignment. His lack of specifics in defining your relationship both settled and raised your blood pressure, depending on the way you decided to approach it. The words accompanied an affectionate squeeze around your waist or a kiss to the back of your hand.

You know he’s just playing the part for the weekend and everything will go back to normal when you get home.

But God, he’s good at it.

You almost believe him.

He’s still sleeping behind you, his breath fanning slow and even across your shoulder. You’re both fully clothed, but there’s something intimate about it. Sleep, you think, is inherently vulnerable, inherently a trusting state. You two not only managed to fall asleep in the same bed, but woke up tangled together.

You drop your hand to your waist and rest your hand on top of his, falling back into sleep without too much thought.

When Hotch wakes, it’s thankfully late. He’s far too comfortable to be in a hotel bed, but quickly realizes it’s not the mattress. You’re wrapped in his arms, and for a split second he almost panics, concerned that you’ll wake to find him glommed onto you like some kind of ridiculous backpack.

But then he remembers the way your fingers traced his face when you were sure he was asleep, the way you leaned into him the night before - taking shelter in his willing arms.

He feels your fingers pushed between his, your palm warm against the back of his hand, holding him to you.

He’s fucked. He’s totally and completely fucked. He’s even more fucked to even consider the possibility you’re fucked, too.

How could you possibly want him? A man nearly fifteen years older than you, with one failed marriage under his belt, an inability to tear himself away from his work, and more than enough trauma to drown in is hardly the ideal partner for someone as vibrant as you, with so much life yet to live.

And yet, it’s so hard to imagine a life without you. Whenever he looks into his future, he sees you there with him. It’s far too easy to let himself fall into the fantasy as you peacefully sleep in his arms with your fingers laced together.

You shift a little in your sleep, and he arches his back a little, definitely trying to keep you away from...certain parts of his anatomy that are a little more awake than the rest of him.

Quit while you’re ahead, Hotchner.

He very gingerly disentangles himself from you, and he’s pleased when he only gets a few sleepy protests in return. The shower is calling his name, for more than one reason including but not limited to the uncomfortable tightness of his flannel pajama pants.

With one last lingering glance at you, he picks up his toiletries and locks himself in the bathroom for a long (very) hot shower, followed by a much shorter (very) cold shower.

While he’s gone, you stir and stretch your arms over your head. A little disoriented, you find his side of the bed empty but not quite cold before you hear the running water of the shower.

What if you just -

Do not finish that thought.

You are not one iota of fun.

Reaching for your bag, you pull your laptop out and get started on some emails. You have a couple from Seaver and one from Emily.

You sigh and pull out your phone.

“Prentiss.”

“Hey, Em. You wanted me to call?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see how things are going down there.” her voice is the picture of forced nonchalance, and you can almost hear Penelope leaning over her shoulder.

You laugh into the phone and trace patterns on the bedspread. “Things are going well. Hotch was the perfect gentleman last night, and we have the ceremony and reception today. We head home tomorrow morning.”

“Has anything happened? Where is he right now?”

“He’s in the shower. And no, don’t be ridiculous.” You shove your phone under your chin and answer all of Ashley’s questions in confident keystrokes. “You and I both know he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

Aaron pauses in the bathroom, in the middle of towel-drying his hair. With a smile, he overhears: “...he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

He can’t hear the response, but he does hear you when you say. “My God, Em. Would you quit?”

Ah. So it is Emily.

“I’m not going to do anything about it because there’s nothing to do anything about...Don’t give me that...You have absolutely no proof...I don’t care if you’re a profiler or not, there is no way you can say with any definitive certainty -” You pause, and your voice drops to a low murmur he can’t hear over the hum of the bathroom fan.

With a frustrated huff, he ties the towel around his waist and ventures out, entirely aware of his state of undress.

You’re so glad you drop your voice to finish your thought (“- that he’s in love with me. Don’t be stupid.”) because the door opens and you are immediately confronted with Aaron Hotchner in a towel and every single coherent thought flies out of your head. He smiles a little at you, and something in you melts.

“Are you good?” Emily’s voice is full of laughter.

The heat rises in your cheeks and you whip your head back to your laptop, typing just for something to do with your hands. “Yeah, for sure.”

“He just walked out wearing a towel, didn’t he?”

“Emily, you know I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” You roll your eyes, and miss the smirk on Hotch’s face as he grabs his hanging clothes from the closet.

“So that’s a yes.”

+++

Austin’s family clearly spared no expense for either the ceremony or the reception. You and Aaron had walked in arm-in-arm to find a spot on the groom’s side near the back. It’s still weird - there was a time where you thought for sure Austin was the be-all-end all for you.

But here you are, sitting next to Aaron. He’s wearing that beautiful suit that looks even better on him than it did on the hanger (and that’s saying something). As promised, his tie matches your outfit, and you’d be lying if you didn’t say it made your heart all warm watching him put it on.

The ceremony itself is a blur. You stand and sit when you’re supposed to, and spend the vows with your head on Aaron’s shoulder - playing the role, of course. You take a few unsteady breaths, caught off guard by how affected you are by the ritual of it all.

You don’t love Austin anymore, not by a long shot. That said, the reminder that you’re not married to anybody but work and rapidly approaching thirty is unpleasant.

“Are you okay?” Hotch’s whisper doesn’t carry far.

You nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

You shake your head, the soft wool of his suit jacket pressing into your temple. “Later.”

His cheek presses to your hair for just a moment. He’s not worried about you, per se, but he’s never seen you in this existentially forlorn state before. It’s a feeling he recognizes in himself, but to see it on you makes him feel a new kind of helpless.

+++

You’re at the open bar, snagging a glass of wine for yourself and two fingers of whiskey for Aaron (the good stuff, of course), when Austin’s mother warmly accosts you.

“Darling!”

Against your will, a genuine smile breaks out across your face. “Hey, Laurie!” You set the drinks down and embrace her, the familiar smell of her perfume engulfing you. Suddenly, you feel nineteen years old again. “Congratulations.”

She pulls back and waves off your good wishes. “Oh, please. I haven’t done anything.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I beg to differ, but alright.”

She takes you under her arm and holds you close to her. “So.” Her tone is conspiratorial, as if a great plot is to unfold before you. “Who is that devastatingly handsome man you’ve brought with you to shame my son?”

“I did not bring him to shame your son, he offered to come when my original date bailed. You remember Dean?”

“Of course. Such a sweet boy. Still married to his work?”

You shake your head. “I would be...hypocritical of me to get upset with him for that. My work at the bureau keeps me plenty busy. If I’m honest, this is the first personal time I’ve used in four years.”

She squeezes you for a half-second. “I’m so glad you’re here with us.” Her lips purse. “But don’t think you can get out of telling me about that fine, fine man over there.”

“His name is Aaron,” you start, fighting a smile. “We work together at the bureau and he’s just a friend, Laurie, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I always have ideas. Now, introduce me so I can see for myself.”

With a long-suffering sigh, you grab the drinks off the bar and lead her to the table, where Aaron sits with his fingers pressed thoughtfully to his mouth, his elbow on the table and ankle crossed over his knee. Approaching from behind him, you set the whiskey down where he can’t knock it over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Aaron.”

He turns, and a broad smile breaks out over his face. You’re sure he’s just being polite - you’ve never seen him smile so much. Offering a hand to Laurie, he stands. “SSA Aaron Hotchner. Thank you for having us. I’ve heard so much about you and your family.”

“Oh no, that can’t be good.” She laughs lightly and takes his hand in both of our own. “Laurie Miller. As I’m sure you know, I have a great amount of love for this one here.” She releases Aaron’s hand and tucks you into her arms again, kissing your cheek. You laugh, tickled by her demonstrative affection designed only to embarrass you.

“C’mon, Laur. You don’t have to lie for my benefit.”

You try to ignore the fondness in Aaron’s eyes as he watches the two of you, Laurie cooing over you and your successes. She returns her focus back to Aaron. “Sit, sit and tell me what you crazy kids get up to over there in Quantico.”

Aaron sits and relaxes back into his chair, resting his arm on the back of your seat. You lean forward with your elbows on the table, your hands propping up your head. Aaron’s a great storyteller, of course, and it’s so interesting to watch him talk about work outside of the context itself. He seems to bloom - effusive, charming, and warm - before you.

When you look at him, it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

“...Preventing loss of life is always rewarding, and our team is a family.”

Laurie is clearly enamored, completely drawn into his gentle description of your very-stressful and often-gritty line of work. “It’s so lovely you have so much fondness for each other. I imagine it makes everything much easier.”

He nods, and glances at you. “It does.”

Your phone buzzes on the table, and you excuse yourself with a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Dean, you bastard!” You answer. Hotch’s huff of laughter tells you he overheard it, but he picks up right where he left off with Laurie.

As you step out onto the banquet hall balcony, almost feel bad leaving him to his own devices, but then you remember all the times he’s been left alone with serial killers and you feel much better.

“Hey babe! Are you surviving? Are you alone? Tell me everything.”

You laugh into the phone. “I’m doing alright. Hotch actually offered to come with me. I just stepped out, but he’s in there holding his own well enough.”

“Oh my god. When I said that I didn’t actually think you’d do it!”

“What do you mean?” You look up and out over the property, and the views are simply breathtaking. The moonlight falling across the Virginia landscape almost makes the world look like it’s holding its breath.

What it’s waiting for... you’re not sure.

“When I said bring your hot boss to the wedding I was joking. You didn’t ask him, did you?”

You let out a snort and it almost disrupts the peace of the evening. “Of course not. He offered.”

“I have never met a pair of people so fucking stupid in all my life.”

“You’ve never met Hotch, idiot.”

“Don’t have to,” Dean says. “I know you are you’re dumb enough for the both of you.”

+++

When the dancing starts, you’re understandably resistant. The playlist is a playful mix of contemporary and classic music, and you can’t help but laugh when Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) starts to play.

Aaron stands and offers you his hand. You take his hand without thinking, belatedly realizing his intentions.

“Hotch, you can’t be serious.” You stop dead in your tracks, but his grip on your fingers stays firm as he looks back at you with a look of humorous disbelief on his face.

“When have you ever known me to be otherwise?” He tugs you forward, and you fall into his arms with a huff. “Humor me. Just one and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

You glare at him, dubious. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m lying.”

And at the end of the day, you can’t refuse him anything - especially when he smiles at you like that.

He’s an excellent dancer. Your grip on his shoulder slowly loosens as you grow more comfortable, trusting him to lead you around the dance floor. He holds you tight, his movement playful in a way that’s almost foreign to you.

You’ve seen him dance exactly once, at Haley’s 39th birthday party, the summer before she died.

You catch sight of Austin and Madeline on the other side of the dance floor and avert your gaze when you find Austin looking back at you.

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is low, almost a laugh.

Your eyes snap to Aaron’s. “What?”

“Relax.”

“You’re one to talk,” you scoff.

He rolls his eyes and throws you out by one arm, spinning you so your back is to his chest. “I’m plenty relaxed. You are tense.”

The feeling of his heartbeat against your back ruins your resolve and you relent. “It just feels weird.”

“What does?” He spins you back out and pulls you close. You try not to be too distracted by the proximity of his face to yours when you land back against his chest, you hand resting over his heart.

“I just -” you push through your reluctance and admit, “I don’t love him in that way anymore, but it’s super weird to even think that I could have ever thought he was it for me. And now he’s with someone he loves and both of our lives just...kept going after we split, you know?” You shake your head, scattering your thoughts.

He nods. “I do.”

You believe him. The very concept of his heartbreak with Haley - the separation, the anger, the divorce, her death, the love - is overwhelming. You know he understands.

The silence that lapses between you is comfortable.

Yeah, I've done a lot of foolish things That I really didn't mean I could be a broken man Here I am, baby...

When he turns you under his arm, you laugh until you can’t breathe. There’s a smile on his face, too, and there’s something warm and inexplicable about it. You turn the tables on him, turning him under your arm and pulling him back to you.

The song changes to something slower and, true to his word, Aaron keeps you out on the dance floor. You’re exhausted all of a sudden, and your eyes close as you rest your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you for being here with me.”

You’re only sure you spoke aloud when Aaron replies, “Of course.”

+++

Your feet ache when you finally call it quits and head upstairs to your room for the night. Aaron’s suit jacket had long since left him, leaving him rolled sleeves and a loose tie with his top two buttons undone. It traveled from the back of his chair to where it now rests, slung over his arm.

You look over your shoulder as you slip your shoes off. “You look positively rumpled, Agent Hotchner.”

He lets out a laugh, and it makes your breath catch. His laugh always takes you by surprise; it’s much brighter and higher than his speaking register, and frankly, adorable. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“You don’t have a bedtime.” And it was true - you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d known him to actually sleep, especially on a case. You could neither confirm nor deny that he even needed it to function prior to this weekend.

The thought makes your cheeks a little warm, and you turn away from him, setting aside your pajamas and packing the rest of your items.

There’s a little chuckle behind you before the bathroom door closes and the shower starts up.

When Aaron leaves the bathroom, his hair wet and pajamas on, you’re asleep. Curled up on top of the covers, out like a light.

He flips all the switches, leaving the room in darkness. Creeping to your side of the bed, he reaches over and pulls the covers down, gingerly shuffling your legs underneath, followed by your torso. You stir a little, and catch his hand as he moves to tuck your hands under the covers.

His eyes close, just for a moment, before slipping his hand out of yours. He’s already dreading going back to his empty apartment tomorrow afternoon.

That feeling is only amplified when you curl up against his chest as soon as he’s settled under the covers, your leg hooked over his.

+++

You wake up warm again, and snuggle into the body beside you. Arms tighten around you, and you remember where you are and who you’re with. Unlike yesterday, you can’t pretend to be asleep - when you look up, Hotch is awake, brown eyes looking down at you.

“Good morning,” he says.

You tuck your face back into his chest. “I’m sorry - I’m clingy when I sleep.”

His laugh sings over the crown of your head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

Don't read into that.

I’m going to.

Don’t.

Fuck.

“What time is it?” You crane your neck and look at the clock on his bedside table, but you can’t quite see with his arm in the way.

“Just before nine. We have an hour before checkout. Want to get packed, grab some breakfast, and head out? I’ll drive.”

“You drove here.” You shove at him and sit up.

He shrugs and you take a moment to admire the tousled, floppy state of his hair. “I like driving.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

You sigh, stretch, stand and start rolling. You brush your teeth (twice) and put your clothes back into your suitcase, zipping it up without much trouble. He, of course, takes it off your hands right away and brings the bags to the car while you take care of checkout.

He meets you outside, sunglasses on, and the sun hits his hair. You can see all the nuances in the black - the touch of silver, the dark browns and reds. They all seem to make a halo around him in the sunshine. “Ready?”

You snap back to attention and give him a wide smile. “Yes, sir!”

Breakfast is an eventful affair. As soon as you sit down, you get a call from Penelope.

“Hey, Pen, what’s up?” You look across the table at Hotch with amusement in your eyes, and he smiles, still digging into his eggs benedict like a starving man.

“Tell me everything.”

“Oh, well we’re just at breakfast, almost on our way back. My laptop is in the car, can I take a look at that for you when I get home?”

Not now, Penelope, I’ll call you when I’m home.

She hums, following right away. “You better give me every single detail as soon as you step through the door or I swear I’ll riot.”

With a laugh, you reply, “Of course. You know, it might be easier if you just stop by - I’ll text you when I get home and we can do dinner or something.” You push your food around your plate, trying to ignore the fact that the only person you actually want to have dinner with is right across from you.

“Perfect. Yeah, just text me when you get home babycakes. Can’t wait!” She hangs up promptly, and your eyebrows raise for a half second.

You put your phone away and shake your head. “She’s very predictable.”

He nods, looking at you from under his brows. “Indeed.”

You both continue to dig into your food, not realizing how hungry you are from all your antics the night before. His phone rings next, and it’s Jack.

“Hey bud!”

There’s nothing better than the way his voice transforms when he speaks to his son. You hear your name and return your attention to his conversation.

“...we’re at a wedding this weekend, remember? We got to go to a big party last night, and we’re driving home today… Yeah,” he looks at you, “we did have a lot of fun… I’m so glad you had a good time with Aunt Jess and the Brooks cousins this weekend… You got to go ice fishing? That’s so exciting! Did Grandpa take you?... Awesome, bud… Sounds good, I’ll call you when I get home, okay?... I love you too.”

When he puts his phone away, you ask, “How’s he doing?”

“It’ll be a fight to get him home, that’s for sure.”

You take another bite of your food. “How are things with Haley’s family? Any better?”

“Not at all. I’m not sure there’s much I can do, at this point. Jess does what she can, but her dad is… not a fan of mine.” There’s a kind of sadness in his eyes, and you almost regret asking.

“I know you know this, but none of this is your fault.” You look into him and hope he can see the sincerity in your eyes, hear it in your voice.

He thinks for a moment, and you’re almost nervous he’s going to disagree (it’s happened before), but he just meets your eyes and says, “Thank you.”

+++

Hotch lets you pick the music on the way home, and doesn’t say a word when you sing along (sometimes good, sometimes bad). He does occasionally smile a little secret smile to himself, which makes your heart skip around in your chest.

At a certain point, you turn the music off and sit back in your seat.

As usual, Aaron knows you’re going to say something long before you say it. “Yes?”

“I know I keep saying this, but thank you for coming with me this weekend.” Your body shifts toward him, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his profile.

“You’re welcome.” He glances at you before looking back at the road. “Thank you for trusting me not to embarrass you in front of people you haven’t seen in almost ten years.”

You smile a kind of lopsided sort of smile. “You could never embarrass me.”

He frowns playfully. “That’s not true.”

“You are exceedingly upstanding, and you just got your hair cut, so the odds are in my favor.”

“Hey!” He self-consciously runs a hand over the back of his hair. You reach over to shove at his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a laugh.

“I’m kidding! I like it long.” You look over fondly at him. “It was longer when I first met you, remember?” You’re not sure why you continue, but you do nevertheless. “You started keeping it shorter after the div - well, after.”

He quirks his brow, the corners of his lips upturned just the smallest amount. “Nobody ever accused you of being unobservant.”

You grin widely at him and turn the radio back on.

+++

You’ve never been more disappointed to see your own driveway in your whole life. Hotch pulls in and turns the ignition off, and you sit in silence for a minute.

There’s so much to think about, and most of it is at least a little uncomfortable. Of course you’re in love with him and he’s your favorite person (and that’s bad enough), but that is even harder to stomach now that you have to go back into the real world.

It’s easy to pretend that it was real, that it wasn’t just for show to make you feel less awful about the direction of your love life. If anything, now that you’re home, you feel even worse.

The only person you want is seemingly the only person you can’t have. There’s something so unattainable about Hotch. You’re not sure if it’s his stern exterior or his age or his role, or if it has more to do with how devastatingly handsome he is, but it’s something.

Aaron wishes he could do anything else, than leave you here at home. Nevertheless, he sighs and gets out of the car. You follow him around back, though you’re not really sure why - he takes your suitcase and insists on carrying it all the way to the door.

You stand there, fumbling with your keys, feeling more and more like a character in a romantic comedy with every passing second. Aaron sets your suitcase on the ground and covers your hands with his. You look up at him, and he leans toward you, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

All you can do is nod, with a tight, closed-mouth smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says

“Bye, Hotch,” you call to him as he trots back to the car. “Thanks again.”

He turns toward you, puts his sunglasses on, opens the door, and says, “Anytime.”

You wave with the tips of your fingers and slide into your house. Your back to do the door, you slide down to the floor and cover your face with your hands.

Fuck.

tagged: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @newtslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss @songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

982 notes · View notes