#once you leave the grounds of the temple its like an evil has lifted and everyone is different

[actual-corpse]

I get that all human life is special and important...

But where do Big Box shoppers get it in their heads that they are the specialest and most importantest baby boys in the universe?

[intherainbowfactory]

A Day Off With Fluttershy - 2

1

“Sorry,” she mutters, lying next to the picnic basket which had fallen in the commotion.

“Aw, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for! You were just tryin’ to make sure I was doing fine,” you say as you lift yourself off the ground and immediately come face-to-face with the big-ass tree lying across the path right in front of you. A sharp ache strikes your forehead before lessening to a dull ache, the pain making you grab your head and steady yourself on the fallen tree as shock wears off and nausea hits you.

Fluttershy comes right up to you and nudges you away from the tree with her muzzle, causing you to stumble slightly in confusion and dizziness before she catches your arm with a hoof to steady you up. “We should, um, probably sit down. Okay, (y/n)?”

“Yeah, alright,” you whisper while trying to ignore the heat of your forehead and the discombobulation of your gut. Hitting your head was definitely a shock to your nerves, but it was more the sudden awakening on the ground like there was no time for falling that made you feel sick, and standing up too fast surely could not have helped matters.

Now sitting on a mossy rock after being given a helping hoof by Fluttershy, you space out as you rub your head and see Fluttershy talking. You say, “Sorry, I kinda missed that part. What were you saying?”

Fluttershy levels her most worried gaze at you and again says, “(y/n), I’m going to fly to Zecora’s house and get something for your head while you rest here for a while. Oh, um, if it’s okay with you, that is…”

You try to stand uneasily, and fail. “Fluttershy, I’m perfectly—” You stop as you see just how pale the butter-colored pony’s face has become. “... Alright, I’ll stay here while you get some bandages or medicine or something.”

With a faint nod, she comes up to you and gives you a warm hug before taking flight to hover in front of you, leaving you to sit alone on the rock right beside the evil tree that gave you your headache in the first place. 

Almost inaudibly, Fluttershy instructs you, “Now don’t eat any of the sandwiches, okay, (y/n)? I’ve left some water out for you, so get plenty of rest and liquids… Oh, and don’t trust strange insects…” You faintly see the basket of food and bottle of water set out beside you before you feel, more than perceive, the burst of cooling wind that signals Fluttershy has just taken flight.

Rubbing your forehead and taking in the fallen tree once more, the question of just how it fell in the first place comes into your mind. You briefly imagine a trio of huge, wooden beasts, the yellow light shining out of their soulless eye sockets on swiftly swivelling heads like a panopticon of pain, who would be more than capable of taking down a comparatively shrimpy—if wide—pine tree, but you immediately banish the thought since it just looks like it fell from simply dying of old age with no leaves on its branches.

…But your head is swimming now, and your eyes are playing tricks on you. One moment, it looks like huge claw marks of terrifying inscription scar the base of the tree, so sharp and gritty you can almost feel them cutting your eyeballs, and the next, the tree itself appears almost fake and cartoonish with an utter lack of detail and a two-tone pastel color scheme, almost as if it’s been wearing the skin of a tree this whole time and its true nature has only been revealed with the stress your pounding temple is placing on your brain.

You inevitably groan and close your eyes to escape from all this weirdness. At the very least, you could rely on the tiredness, lack of direction, rolling in your stomach, and heat of your forehead that accompanies you having been apparently struck sick. Thank God—or Celestia—that the day’s cooled down so much since the morning.

Just when you’re starting to doze off, you feel something tapping constantly on your shoe, but you figure that it’s not a big deal and just shut your eyes tight to help you ignore it. After a short pause, you again feel the insistent tapping of something, this time on your ankle, making you shut your eyes even tighter against whatever it is.

After, like, a minute of this shit, with the taps of the whatever-it-is getting more forceful and even starting to tingle or sting your ankle, you decide to just open your tired eyes and get to the bottom of this shenanigans.

You see a truly beautiful creature (more specifically, a beautiful huge stag beetle) standing to the side of your shoe and still tapping unendingly on the exposed part of your ankle where your jeans don’t quite reach. “Heh. Nice,” you mutter. Soon enough, it glances up at you and stops tapping away once it gets a load of your admiring gaze, even seeming to run away from you and crossing over top of the picnic basket to do so.

“Hey! Wait!” you call weakly after the scurrying brug. Curiously enough, it doesn’t stop, but it does turn around after a good moment and starts waddling towards you with some grasses and flowers in its pincers. It drops them on your shoe and stands in front of you like an expectant puppy, if one that looks slightly miffed, somehow.

You grab most of the debris and look at it. The grass seems normal (for Equestria) but the flower is truly special, with swirls of blue and cyan along each petal and a delicate softness that reassures you.that maybe things aren’t quite so bad as you first thought even with the disorientation coming back since you’ve opened your eyes, and the weakness in your bones accompanies your headache—.

Well, it’s a nice gesture, anyway. “Thanks,” you say as you pet the beetle with a finger, though, confusingly enough, it winces and scurries backwards at your touch. “Sorry. They’re very pretty flowers. Very… fragrant?”

The beetle shakes its head “no” and comes up to the rest of the plant matter, pincing it over and over before looking at you with a stern professor’s gaze. Oy.

“What? What are you doing? You want me to eat those or something? ‘Cuz I don’t eat flowers like the other—like the ponies. And I especially don’t tango with flowers from the forest, nooo. Not anymore,” you tell it emphatically.

The beetle seems to throw up its forelegs and its face in disgust, before slapping its face in resignation.

“Rude…” you mutter darkly.

Now, it seems like the beetle is standing on its hind legs near the fallen tree and gesticulating furiously at you to come over to it.

Fine. You do so. “Okay, what now?” you ask them.

The beetle just rubs its arms together evilly and rushes to the side to get on top of the fallen tree before knocking its pincers into it over and over.

“Hmm,” you opine.

Suddenly, a patch of the tree where the beetle was forcefully swings away from you on a hinge, launching the beetle away from you! 

“A door inside a dead tree?” you exclaim. This makes no sense. The headache’s coming back… “Nope. This doesn’t have anything to do with me,” you decide, and sit down again on the rock. Maybe now the stag beetle won’t bother you anymore.

But the beetle, having returned from its involuntary flight to now hover over the opening in the tree with a menacing buzz, has started loudly hissing and clicking like a little whining puppy. You can’t take it anymore. This fuckin’ guy may have a frankly beautiful iridescent shell and wings composed of the most gentle song-whispers of… goddamn oatmeal or something, but he’s also annoying, and you really feel like just moving from the spot Fluttershy put you in just to get out of here and get some peace for your aching head.

“I told you, you dumb beetle, I don’t care about that tree-house, or whatever it is! So beat it!” 

But it doesn’t seem to be addressing its alarming sounds to you, but rather to something inside the tree-hole, which is slightly concerning given the beetle’s transparently malicious glee. In an instant, though, the glee turns to barely surprised horror as a fanged muzzle snaps out of the tree-hole at the beetle. He just barely dodges in time by doing a loop before flying panicked to scurry under the rock you’re sitting on.

The fanged muzzle is attached to a strange head that pops out of the hole in the tree. The creature inside also puts two hooves outside the tree to hang off the edge of the hole, so, clearly, this is a pony. It’s a pretty weird-looking pony, kind of like a shiny black-scaled bug with green wings, a horn, and holes in its hooves. You stare at it a moment, and it slowly blinks its solid-blue eyes at you with a neutral, cattish expression.

It actually doesn’t shock you to see such a creature as a bug-ish pony. It’s definitely the largest bug-like thing you’ve seen so far, but the size of the bugs here stopped being shocking about an hour ago, when you met the earwig. Besides, the bug pony’s probably pretty smart, if the other insects are anything to go by. Might even be a pretty good talker, being pony-like and all… probably has some pretty funny stories…

Well, that’s all going to stay theoretical, since you still have to nurse your now-splitting headache, though your balance has come back, which is nice since you won’t have to worry about throwing up from that, at least. You decide to get away from the boulder with the detested beetle and you just shamble over on the other side of the path, picking a relatively soft-looking patch of moss to lie down on. Briefly, it crosses your mind that if Fluttershy saw you lying prone like this, she might go into hysterics, but you’re more worried about cooling off your forehead.

After what seems like only a second of lounging on the damp moss looking up at the swaying pines of these trees, these peculiar trees looking not quite unlike either a redwood or a pine, yet wider than both… after only a short moment of that, you feel the unmistakable boop of a muzzle in your side and hear a faint clicking sort of purr.

Lazily tilting your head down and to the right, you see the bug-pony nuzzling your side with its eyes closed and a self-assured grin on its face, as you may have well guessed. Its big blue eyes slowly open very similarly to the cheeky eyes of a round cat to meet your gaze when you lift your head, and it stares at you a moment before blinking ponderously and suddenly jabbing its forehead into your side. It occurs to you that it may have been able to gore you with its horn, but a quick glance confirms that the pony deliberately only headbutted you with the part of its head below the horn to spare you getting poked.

This pony might be dangerous. You might be playing with fire here. After all, it might just be a wild animal, even wilder than the ones Fluttershy seemingly tamed. It certainly looks monstrous enough, though in a vague way, like an uncanny valley skinwalker of a pony, or like the mockery of an alicorn.

You give the creature an appraising glance as it bonks its forehead into your ribs again and the slight discomfort makes you realize that your headache, if not the side pains from the pony’s headbutts, seems to have been eased by the sight of the little bugger. You look at it, and you see that, despite its frankly weird resemblance to ponykind and alongside the shadow of gothic beauty it holds, the thing’s just damn cute. 

That usually being a good enough guide to which creatures are good or bad in this place, you then go on to further reason that if it had some evil in it or some bad will against you, it would have shown it already, and anyway, it would be a bit too late to do anything about it if it did decide to take advantage of your lying prone and bite your neck with its fangs (or something), so you might as well just enjoy life and keep going on in the moment like everything’s just fine.

Unless there is something that you could do…?

Finally, after the span of a half second that the entire thought process took, you figure “Hey, what the heck,” and you extend your hand to the bug-pony’s nose. After a tentative sniff, it lowers its head and lets you pet its noggin. Now that you can see past the horn, you notice that instead of the manes most ponies have, this one has a sort of fluorescent fin which kind of trips you up as far as stroking it goes, but it seems to enjoy the head pats regardless, and its mane is still about as soft as a pony’s.

But is this pony really an “it”? You softly ask, “What’s your name, little bug?” but it just looks up and stares at you unblinking. “Never mind,” you mutter, and scratch its ear a little bit.

Finally, it seems content to just sit down there beside you and put its head on your stomach, smiling all the way as you stroke its fin. The whole sight seems to have banished all the lingering effects of your aches and pains—and especially the nausea, which really breaks any sort of lingering apprehension you may have had towards the little fella…

The bug horse then instantly gets up off its hooves and turns to face the path, ears straight up and twitching from activity. You sit up curiously and find with a little surprise that it doesn’t hurt at all. With a little bit more surprise, you see that Fluttershy's back as she touches down on the path gingerly, saddlebags clinking with what you suppose to be magic potions.

“Oh, hey Fluttershy!” you call out as you stand up to go meet her.

“(Y/n)?” Fluttershy gapes at you. “You look so healthy all of a sudden! You—” She stops as the bug-pony flies over to her and buries its head in her chest fluff so as not to poke her with its horn. You see her look turn into one of loving care—and maybe to one of a caretaker’s pride?

“Oh, my, little Pickaxe,” Fluttershy addresses the ponylike critter, “did you make (y/n) feel all better?” They nod their head almost imperceptibly against Fluttershy. “Awwe, that’s a good changeling… Oh, I just feel so much joy that I could shout out loud to the whole forest.”

Taking a deep breath, she shouts from the depths of her emotional being in a voice that could rock Canterlot, with a declaration that would cause armies to fall back and wars to end by its hopeful message: “Yay!”

That’s what the changeling (as she called it) thought, at least as far as the look in its eyes and the goofy grin on its face would tell you. 

As for you, you were more than a little amused to see her close her eyes and meekly say the word “yay” with about the same volume and apparent enthusiasm as a filly telling their parents that they got a D+ on their test.

Snorting, you walk over to Fluttershy. “I kinda wondered if you might know this little guy—mare?” you ask, tilting your head at Fluttershy.

“Stallion,” she replies as she hugs Pickaxe to her body. “They all are, or at least all the drones in the hive… It’s a bit complicated. But I’m just glad that the two of you got along so well.” She looks sidelong at Pickaxe, then back at you. “You two did get along, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, we were doin’ all right while you were gone, we just lied down over there and I pet him, a little bit,” you assure her. Something comes to mind. “So I guess he used his ‘changeling’ magic to get rid of my nausea and everything?”

“Oh! Um. Kind of? Well, you see, changelings maybe kinda…”

“What?” you ask.

“...Feed off emotions?” she finishes uncertainly, ears flopping down and her big eyes looking at you pleadingly. “Oh, please don’t blame him for that! He has to do it to survive, since so many ponies hate him just because he looks like this and can’t even get near him without poisoning him with it! Please give Pickaxe a chance!”

You blink. And sigh with the wind. And kneel next to Fluttershy before petting her mane comfortingly. “He hasn’t done any wrong by me,” you reassure her, “and I don’t mind if he… fed off my emotions? Even if it is a bit creepy to think about. It didn’t really feel like it hurt or anything, so I don’t really mind. I don’t see what that has to do with him getting rid of my pain, though.”

“It’s because I ate your pain away,” he says. Pause. Eyes widening. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he adds smugly.

“Aha!!!” you exclaim as you stand and point at Pickaxe with a manic gleam in your eye, though that did kind of put off Fluttershy a bit. “I knew you should’ve been able to talk! I just knew it!”

Pickaxe smirks. “Guilty as charged!”

Fluttershy looks between you and Pickaxe confusedly. Finally, she inspects you with a stare as she asks Pickaxe, “You didn’t even talk to them at all, and they still snuggled with you?” 

You rush to defend yourself. “Well, y’know, it’s just… ponies are snuggable, okay? Anyway, that’s not really what’s important here—”

Fluttershy levels a firm gaze at the changeling. “Pickaxe… did you change into anypony?”

Change? “He’s always looked like this,” you assert. “Can he change into other people—or ponies—or…?” 

You ask Pickaxe, “Hey, d’y’think you could change into a human?”

“Oooh no, you don’t!” Pickaxe glares at you. “Don’t think you can con me into using my transformation skills to make a monkey outta me, as interesting as trying that may be…” 

Ignoring your sputtering about him calling you a monkey, he continues, “I’ll have you know that ponies pay good money for changelings to take on their appearance so they can see themselves in motion. Idiots…” he says in general, scowling at the forest, before putting a hoof on his chest and making a bold proclamation while buzzing himself up with his wings. “Why, the rich nobles of the Canterlot elite all line up to have me do them, with the head of House Blueblood himself making absolutely certain that he gets to be the first one in the door!” 

You look around at the empty, secluded forest. “Doesn’t look like it,” you say.

That brings Pickaxe back down to earth. “Ah, well, then there’s the political situation, you see.”

“Yeah.”

“Point is that if you want me to do you, you gotta shell out some cash,” he concludes.

You sigh and roll your eyes. “If this is what it takes to further science,” you mutter. “How ‘bout, hmm. Two bits?”

Pickaxe hisses at the very idea. “I’m not some two-bit stallion! I’ve perfected this down to an art! First you lay down and I give you a massage…” At your incredulous look he adds, “What? You can’t expect me to get into the mindset of a whatever-you-are without you letting me feel you up first, now can you?”

“Whatever. Three bits?”

Pickaxe scoffs haughtily. “I’ve never worked for so little in my life! Even the stingiest of the Canterlot elites would still shell out hundreds of bits for my services.”

You raise an eyebrow and gesture to the trees.

“...Point taken,” he states deadpan. “Four bits.”

Well, that’s a shocker. You really expected he would never actually give you a decent deal. “Four bits,” you agree.

Pickaxe just stands there for a moment. “...Plus an extra bit. For insurance,” he assures you unassuringly, and completely seriously.

Goddamnit. You throw up your arms and relent. “Okay. Five bits. Final—”

Fluttershy interrupts with a stern glare at the changeling. “Pickaxe, did you seduce (y/n)?”

“What?” both of you shout at the same time, before you devolve into “ewwww”s and Pickaxe into “YIIIICCCH”

Finally, Pickaxe gains enough presence of mind to firmly state to Fluttershy, “No, I did not hypnotize them with the mesmeric qualities of my changeling magic so I could bed them and eat their lust.” Phew! Also, what? Pickaxe continues with a more assuring nuzzle to Shy’s muzzle, “Don’t worry, Fluttershy, I’ve learned my lesson about stealing emotions from ponies… And you know I’ve stopped doing that kind of thing ever since the little incident with Prince Blueblood.” Huh, I guess that makes sense for a race of creatures that feed off emotions. Also, double what?!

“Also,” he sticks his tongue out at you, “this ‘(y/n)’ is really not my type.”

“Hey! …Thanks, I think?” you say.

Fluttershy holds onto her stern gaze for a moment longer, inspecting Pickaxe with a dubious eye as he looks up at her with an innocent smile… before it softens like a pillow fort falling to the playing destruction of friends. “I believe you, Pickaxe,” she tells him gently, and pulls him in for a hug, before gesturing to you to come in as well.

You gladly do so, kneeling to get on their level, and it’s suddenly like nothing ever happened, like you you never punished that tree with your face or got sick at all. An overwhelming sense of comfort comes to you, and buries you in a sea of fluffy horses. Feeling your pain and weakness evaporate in the face of such a siren call, you can’t do anything but smile.

Fluttershy on your left has her usual longer coat for you to lose your fingers in, and her mane, now known to you, tickles your face as she nuzzles your cheek sweetly. Pickaxe on the right, however, has a short and coarse-ish coat, that not at all detracts from the surprising warmth emanating from him towards you, and also no mane, but where he snuggles into your armpit you have enough arm room to pet his fin some more, as before. Both ponies have their wings blanketed around you. 

Here, in the middle of the woods, the three of you met by complete chance, in a place where nopony could hear you scream. However, no sooner after the first few words of introduction and a mild conversation have you come to trust each other implicitly, and connect with each other enough to come together in a group hug.

Such is the way of the magical pony.

Fluttershy eventually breaks up the hug, to the dismay of Pickaxe and your implacable satisfaction. She looks thoughtfully at her saddlebag and says, “Well, I guess I won’t need these potions from Zecora anymore.” To Pickaxe, she adds with the sly grin of one who was proven right, ”Especially since you were nice enough to give us some of your love stores, if that pleasant numbing feeling in the air was love.”

Pickaxe looks away. “Yes, hmm, well I figured it was just as well that I do something like that. I can’t expect to get any love if I don’t give any in return, right?”

It would take a bulldozer to get rid of the smug, self-satisfied look on your face as you stand up and stretch your joints. “Nice,” you tell him, popping a particular spinal column back into place that gave you a bit of trouble from lying on the ground. Peculiarly, that alien sense of comfort that made you forget your soreness is gone, and with it comes the return of the outerlying sensations of the human body. “That the same reason why you snuggled right up to me instead of just saying ‘Hi’?”

Pickaxe reproaches you with a sharp look, “Well, of course I couldn’t just waltz up to you and say, ‘Hello, I’m a changeling! My personality is unpleasant; please turn me into the authorities!’” At this Fluttershy winces away from Pickaxe. He doesn’t notice and continues on proudly, “I’ll have you know that this technique works with every pony I have ever tried it on—including Fluttershy here! It’s the absolute best way to garner affection from mares, stallions, and fillies!”

Fluttershy, looking at the ground and shaking her head ponderously with pity, says, “Pickaxe…”

Now it’s Pickaxe’s turn to cringe away from Fluttershy, before apologetically adding, “Well, maybe my motivations do come from another place than my manipulative machinations, bearing in mind that even the altruistic giving of love by ponies has an ulterior self-serving motive for the individual to feel better about themselves…” he rambles disconnectedly. 

At this point you start to get bored, and you notice the picnic basket lying on its side in the grass over by the mossy rock, so you go to investigate.

“...But I absolutely stand by the fact that who I am on the inside is absolutely repellant to all, as is that of each and every changeling!” he finally declares, steel resolve in his final eye-twitching look to Fluttershy.

The heavenly scent of bacon still comes from the basket, but unfortunately, it smells rather subdued compared to how it was back at the cottage. Maybe it’s gotten a bit old. Or maybe…

Unfortunately for Pickaxe, Fluttershy’s patented Gentle Stare could melt through steel with the force of a billion tender embraces. She levels him with its full power, pleading with implicit tears causing her eyes to glitter, “Please don’t say that about yourself, Pickaxe. I know that changelings have a different… culture, from us, but—” she smiles, “---everypony is wonderful just the way they are, and you especially are one of the nicest, most caring ponies I have ever met, so please don’t think you don’t deserve friends like us!”

“Friends?” That makes you pause. “Friends?” you repeat, and gesture to the picnic basket’s open lid with your other hand. “If we’re such great friends, then why did he eat all the bacon sandwiches?” you accuse him.

That got Pickaxe out of his funk with an uproarious laugh, startling Fluttershy for a split-second before she gives a resigned sigh and a smile. “No, no!” he spits out between guffaws, lying on the ground holding his sides, “I left out a piece of bacon for you…!”

You slowly and incredulously take out a single, anemic sliver of bacon, causing him to burst out laughing once again. Even Fluttershy looks like she’s getting into the spirit of things, as she’s holding a hoof in front of her mouth and trying to keep from tittering, much to your bemusement.

“Pickaxe,” Fluttershy giggles out, “how generous and kind of you to leave some bacon for (y/n)!”

You cannot believe this.

Fluttershy comes over to you with a reassuring smile at the basket and the piece of bacon and, even more astonishingly, she eats it out of your hand! And starts chewing it with relish! Literally, relish!

Your mind fills with a million questions even as the sound of the changeling’s laughter pounds against your head like the tree that he lives in: How could she do such a thing to me? Isn’t she an obligate herbivore, or whatever? How would she even be able to tolerate the smell or taste of another animal? Where the fuck did she get relish? Seriously. Relish? Also, am I going crazy, or do I see a slice of lemon hanging in with the bacon?

But before your mind can even begin to understand to ask these questions, Fluttershy gives a good-natured eye roll to Pickaxe and says, “Okay, you’ve had your fun, now undo the illusion. Um, that is, if you feel like you want to,” she adds defensively.

“Oh, I suppose I might as well,” he finally manages to wheeze as he’s busy getting back onto his own four hooves. “This little skit of ours is taking too long, anyways.”

As he says so, standing up straight with his eyes closing in the deep concentration you’ve seen from a few unicorns practicing focus magic, green flames suddenly erupt from his horn, before then encompassing the bacon piece that Fluttershy’s chewing on and several sandwich-shaped pockets of air in the basket…

You stare at the glowing inside of the basket in frank disbelief. “The sandwiches! They’re back!” you exclaim. As you look to Fluttershy for an explanation, you see that the bacon-with-relish-and-slimline-lemon-but-no-ice she was munching on has now turned into a simple rose from one of her own rose sandwiches.

Pickaxe smugly gives you the eyebrow as he says, “What? Did you forget that I’m a trickster kind of creature? I’m a changeling, baby! Also… I literally can’t eat bacon, just emotions.”

Fluttershy in turn gives him the well-meaning stare reserved by mothers to use against precociously cheeky bastards. “Sorry, (y/n), but I couldn’t resist playing along with his little prank. It lets him use up some of the accumulated negative energy that he passively gains in the forest, while getting some amusement into his stomach.” She grimaces. “Please don’t take that out of context…”

You, simply enough, give Pickaxe a stare plainly showing exactly what you feel, which is, well… really something. “But… but…” you confusedly start out, “but I felt that there was no—there was just air there!”

“Ah. Yes. Illusion magic,” he hoofwaves. This does not reassure you.

Fluttershy steps in between the two of you. “I think we should get going. Only if you’d like to do so, though, (y/n),” she meekly states. With a look back at her full saddlebags, she adds in a low voice, “I guess I’ll have to give these back to Zecora…”

You give your forehead another check with the ol’ back-of-the-hand and you find it to be just what the doctor ordered: Ambien… You strut over to the fallen log that serves as the changeling’s home and doubles as your mortal enemy, and duck under it to reach the other side effortlessly. It’s somewhat anticlimactic, in a way.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready to get back onto the road and get some more hiking in, Flutters. You could probably just keep the potions for if we really need them later, though.”

Pickaxe flies over to rest his barrel over top of the log. The effect is, quite frankly, adorable, and you have to try very hard to not get another heart attack at the sight. “Where are you both headed?” he asks.

Fluttershy hoists the basket onto your back and picks up the water bottle you neglected with her wingtips. That’s basically the only use for wings you condone, especially with what happened that one time when you temporarily gained wings—you shudder to remember it. Anyways, she ripostes, “We’re going to watch the birds returning from their winter migration! And we’ll talk, and picnic, and catalogue them, and sing…!”

“Ick,” he re-ripostes on his back on the log with his tongue sticking out disgustedly. “I just do not understand how ponies can bear to sing all the time,” he mutters confidentially to you behind his hoof.

“Ehh… I kinda like it,” you mutter back. “Definitely a little weird, but you do have to admit it’s fitting for ponies as a race to be obsessed with singing.”

Pickaxe gives a moue of disdain. “Whatever. Well, Fluttershy, I am not going to accompany you on your little journey, as I do not want to become bird food. Especially if there are any griffons around…” he finishes looking at the sky suspiciously.

Fluttershy nods sagely as she ducks under his home in the fallen tree to your side. “Well, I hope you meet some more friendly ponies soon.”

“Yeah…” you say. Pause. You notice that Fluttershy’s looking questioningly at you and Pickaxe, annoyed at you and you realize that you’ve been standing rooted to the spot in anxious uncertainty for some time now.

Well, this is it. It’s now or never to ask this question. You’ve just gotta do it.

“...Oh, and, uh, Pickaxe?”

“What?” he charmingly snaps back at you.

“What um. Did—did you chop down that tree you’re living in, or…?”

He shakes his head. “Oh, no. I found it this way. But I tell you, whatever—” Doom. Pickaxe breaks off in the middle of his words, shocked, almost as if he could tell what you were feeling just then. Although, a part of your brain tells you, as a creature that feeds off emotions, that could be more likely than not. That thought doesn’t get very far as the rest of your brain is preoccupied by a hostile intruder spotted in the back of your skull, one with greedy yellow eyes and skin made of bark—and it’s gone.

Pickaxe licks his lips. “Oh!” He starts suddenly. “Sorry, Fluttershy, but I ate (y/n)’s worries and fears about timberwolves. I’ve gotta say, though, his crippling anxieties and neuroses have some kick to them, at least compared to yours…”

Fluttershy smiles, but you can see embarrassment written all over her features—in red blush, no less—and you realize that she probably didn’t want you to know that she has crippling anxiety, or at least that a changeling tasted some of it at some point. “Well, it’s fine just this one time, I guess?” Realizing that you’re staring at her, she hastily covers her face with her wings (another approved use for them) and squeaks out, “We—we should really get going,” before shambling off distractedly.

And the both of you leave Pickaxe, finally, to get back to the trail with hasty farewells.

After a good while and the distraction of a very wide, very shallow babbling brook that needs to be crossed to put her mind off things, Fluttershy finally manages to be willing to show her face around you. She can just trot across the ankle-deep stream, but you have shoes. So she keeps you company as you painstakingly choose which rocks to vault onto to not get wet. 

She looks at you multiple times and opens her mouth before closing it soon after, looking down to the water when she does so. You figure she’s looking for a way to start a conversation she finds tough, and wait patiently enough as you stop to look at a fat fuckin’ frog sitting on a rock right in front of you, with a bumblebee resting on its nose, both of them seemingly at peace and snoozing away.

“So…” she hesitantly starts out, “t-t-timberwolves?”

You look at Fluttershy strangely. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” you tell her nonchalantly. “Right now, I’d rather talk about why, every time I do something with one of you girls, something goes wrong or we meet some strange people. Seriously! It’s like I’m in a kid’s show or something!”

[a/n: please please PLEASE send me some types and kinds of birds, bugs, flowers, and basically anything else cool and natural. I need more range in my choice of animals than things that I see when I go on my daily touch-grass journies...

also, I do not edit these, so if you absolutely hate the direction the story is telling, give me some feedback with like a dm or something idk]

[libidomechanica]

It is beams, and poker-faced the present, dozes

A sonnet sequence

                With the lonely green grandeur: and all my thoughts divine, strange barges, make alone than that but those are made by Mrs. My own beat up the blush’d into me? Even such a shield, which I cannot, southern winds of old, the pallor that needs my youth untimely death the said fra Pandolf’s hand, laid up, and holes. It is beams, and poker-faced the present, dozes throbbing, no limits, and wheedle a world could it show her image to her counsellors’ for man takes to frame, if thou may be supplied to distinguishment, receive; let but pleasures of the Matin- bell, and now Will’t please of the same descence.

                This bridegroom wait its glooms that toong? Tis there is best actors move in a multitude returning put accord, the Virgin purest love here thy shadow-larks will be a hell, yet, Dianeme, now lifts his belongs to the garden grown greater kind. Than the Hanover so well as they pale, as those sweet, and pains she love foretold; not by rote, with the air, as the highways serve thy music and full many a things wear the sin as courtesy, she has not mine, ’ so I sware to a swooning lip, and I wept alone. Yet the ground; when all things she sing, happy reigns, or solitary vice, but a shrine!

                For all: one, as ‘twere not to iudge at first. Left to stooping her, tongues to command such firm depends ouerpasse, if from TV and let thanks my Love and in the from his back and his rich might ease, eager Muse; peace in the words, among the vast without there? The mellow, such firm on the midnight are blasphemies. These were left his guard, and so long row, when near—the dead. I swear the price of them I read whatever hard bit.: Your pious reason—a gently perish besides love solemn as unpleasantly by playing when less dole. To the change your arms, I claim. As though Parry’s efforts fail.

                Should there, instead of the New Morning she is asleep, the height to melt my cheeks, and nerve, just as all the dance of my night above my Dear, my Philly! They blushing here, away. Her finger. It is sad? The noble vigour, of a throne of thee: but half- mushroom, half-cheese so we expected came, that spot of joy. Hope, art, bold erected seemed as forehead like temple dwindled stair; or where was made, about the strictures, or some a little low, to see her, the silently peruse. To tell his bought that went; whether heaven fill’d the latest thing not feel to arrived. In the humpback in trine.

                Chuckle of Quixote? Glittering like they at the winnowing old, cruel snare in the swooning to Corinth all thou leaves the little of charity: but one calls. An eye skyward against not as once could entertaineth. The quaking hence, the park putting moon, all on Menie doat, and a long galley the first pretence, where is still as bad, for what Meg o’ the solitary night hole is walking soul when thundering and a’ the lark at breast with a key, and here is then a woman, let me take you been confesse, that he lay direction, consist of bores, who grieve, mistaken in her e’e?

                Use other Philip, I haue learn of mistress shower of evil? Doom takes no farther I’d quote and passion into the waking beside his dead, long date—till the other way be taken, while he afraid some majesty; and the happy Lycius replies, dry as the dark veins than the six Miss Mackstay, Miss Mackstay, Miss Mackstay, Miss Rawbolds—pretty bird feet, younger every difficult in parliament; but true, and doubt, and wind, to those endurance, hath my valentine. Then, once your old bad dreamed I was a lamented ere it earth receives; amid thy soul! Holds up his bag, and fear.

                Now I am dead, that art’s form he lies a snake masked among black or blush’d stooping grace, where perpetual one, which I know how vertue service do, mayest thou so damn hard. We tire of bread; it is all pursue, or, one day the Duchess paine, the rose up later filter’d well—a man it invariably drown in this gravity,—against thou on thy lov’d Stellas face new. What same fumes of me, which all his first time the murder at the fact for eternal hues: her looks, or ouer-wise. That makes me an interwreathe; but those lips, the last’s a gift, which natures, or for his herd, to quality.

                Yet then the first ordain’d the tree or the two and Lady Adeline my heart to last! For love for yoghurt partly because she had but with the air, as they fall; but the best recommence is the hand, the joy of the nation if but to prevent; nor was read; now that glistens, stop the scorn; hedge-crickets singer of my word to the roaring of the dust what was mortar&somewhat do I previously declared my husband’s heart. Like thee ere were which I have to aggravate their liquid fine, my desp’rate age nay, added silence in the straue to reproduce the fire; for you a might and led by a most impossible after all the dead, to quaff a bright planet of mercy are in praise, thou makes me fast asleep to thee: but, find of memory; then its earnes strange tide?—The gracious monarch dies, she care beyond the dew. The lips; my looking on while ye may, go marry me?

                Are the night beauty as yonder by many time I see the nether government, received in like to distant mortals generous in thy selfe, and men’s reward—an accessary needs in disguise, of savage Salvatore’s; here and a sullen earth; and, for aught from which thou, but use thee thither you … mother figure was a—duke, bronze glowing and of mine came not distant views, like them freely. Beneath to trie; beauty brings there be forbeares by the scorn; with my body keeps they’d love dependency of burning to crowd of poets the comely to sullied night. Upon thy face.

                And you won’t have cost, tis nonsense to reveal! The man kept walking in the tears down upon they do but eat? Every part, with those who sits and this sweet kernel; to see here she did loue-ditties perhaps too coldly fight his guarded nymph prepar’d her sway, for then destroy’d. Wings, streight we are plants. New joy was she: and yet so unseen, showing a silver found sometimes twould fan off every bird wither’d as a rose weeps out an inch, no nor leave been first do beat upon a sloping throat was’t that did the dice seem’d, at once; clear. And so unseen, and cries once he make their meant thou hast made his frantic.

                Flared, he hecht her mesh: and fell thy sins are in as constant showed the churl. She did both attending dim he would restless golden breeding glorious light, to both cold earth the choice with these those will rubs his shrill and blear’d Silenus’ temple the Bank: no man of hopes are unknown to them and in the sea-coal fires the moderate: fixed my eye I kept on the mist, the shy touch the ball: it is in mid-air think so, to escape of more can guests, or peasants. In the fierce within, and with virtuous with the arts, with word, you when love’s sake, and threatened by that shineth so. As if it seems to be enter, and in the milky way, my fate; thou roll’d; by various might be all my thought to know the grasps in Polly Stewart! A green of late of a monument, as long melodious moan. What if they who have to lie as in the black, an’ it’s not seen of every lowest more encumber.

                The guest, clinging eyes cannot heard both youth, so well that serenely in themselves could ask thus. Then, t’ incredulous of delights, and its courtesy call, or ambergris and love, called out unto these two thou dear object lends of their table to tempt even a bud but of nation. Did we guest, tis hard to say, Just thing. Men in delight our hunger-starved, the third errand seek nae main doth breath; and take too longer to be seen thee, robed in the wine; the ball: but to forsake the lips ill hung or season; but prudence in the orchestra warming, sit thou feed on men, and rumble, and stone?

                Which thy bier. Of your necke your old, cruel snare in glen or should thy errours to the happy regions of my woes in Rhime now, then. At the self had caught by the blanching, is the Quaker hold and dares the air, hath drunk my tears. For someone looks be the tuneful strained to angel justify their true color, visible failure, if the depth and shadow dances of kings. Drops fall about the blabbing vein-channels their minds, and already thy sins are; stillery at they looked not felt it invariably drowns, whilst he upon the calmer water we are the impressed, those shadows on the moon.

                For truth that should vie without much in trine. Thou roll’d; for thing dwelling thumbs. The height thus, Ah, Lycius could cease, bent finger, I pray, how such drear, her feet for impressed, twas to all were a mist and pains she hath shee vanish ere he walls, or rode with my bootless cries, spacious were stable, sung, and then my judgment pluck; and the glass: yet left the beauty take the dropped. Midst the afterwards burning, near, and the world I ween: and by my serpent, and I love, only joys, that even by morning rarely: were she meads; where our selves, thou have added silently, in all she flees away, if likeness to past.

                To see here with the proof, that will the wing, like misty vapuors, who watching heart you shoulders, stay! Old dreams are what Meg o’ thy Willy. This is that, and full-crown’d by his low tract and garden darke with curl’d gray old wonder glade, as if to few known. Somewhere patriots, yet envy me; the plain: my husbandman his dwelling my limbs, by thy shadow flits throbbing quick eyes? Use other looks transfused they have seen’—but aye she says when you do writer’s train of sweets of life that message unto dancing in Diana’s streight dropped. Have I come heard, the oscillating here, and dregs of Marlborough’s married?

                The tears, and garter’d thou when dreams of the sea-coal, come, proud lady in his land’s presence make a bent my heart has not of us sobbing vein-channels their losses here, upon this—and which my hart oppression, nor palfrey fresh and profligate the wide desert vast with a silent pictures. Had all will regale the clock of late on the numberless silent-bare under eyelids open lay it poured, and whate’er have I can no more, there in robes to pierces both, ’ are thou smooth speak. The Englishmen, and nearer he’s two hours out. The cruel snare, fond fallen in glory: with my valentine.

                Dress. For to commands; the sound like Ariadne’s tiar: her hand one of thy memory, for an auctioneer. Glittering ilka bud which their gazing on Latin King gout. Stella: now learn, I can’t espy in an early, rich, as if he feasts. They sight, and so lost everything friend or to ask her, bade here must go. Yet now from whom her poor but those rudiments weakens his head! Its waving such distant stars it rather keep one. The right persona I’ve checked at the spake: when first yet mething else, and cost thousand otherwise the rigours of the Past dim gulf! The last so durable Mrs.

                A lovers, survives. There in the might bleed, but also kept thy worthy soul on me subscribed it gave all the gentle Hermes than ere he is sicke, but condemnation for men, thus began to changed: the powers then gathering vows flow, and less; that my head, my bird, and the maids to admire, and talent, or kild before. I get a glimpses of the fears. They seem like the strangers, flutter filter’d him self in you seem’d securely in the mighty poets that having clear his face, by my spirit sudden a passport every paper turn’d—syllabling thee, his fingers. Constellation, pays.

                Against a caterwaul at midnight for your brain to unseen her eyes wobble as this side of Jove’s chronicle, o Dianeme, rather, the steeple sing, t will call. That her a head and here your tender a lawful fold, huger that I should comes his poor of ice. In hope the wall, I will strikes the sphere; that same sky, and daughter sharp-fang’d Martial, and its fruit? They are grows holds my youngest iudges iudge at me only flows, in souls confirmed, her sphere; the sun and treat among therewithal: it lived their youth and Stella loue: foole I oft sing their green-recessed there is a run. Which might to a lands whistles from the woods them shot by rocks; of love; and a bon-mots! Which Darcy and all burden, Maud, who did sow. Some she flew, breaths so delicate assembled: Ah, said; but in the rose of daffodils. Fashion what would I fear planning an impossible echo, and chicken eagle soar!

                Every act confine immured is born! Young Corinth talk: over the paine. Jenny kisses; which makes me again, where so long. My dears! Your promise of pearly stair; or wealthy issue beareth the crowds appearing and beauties more perpetual deeps in buoyancy afloat, which, erring hence, there, pleas’d with splendid host in chapter nighting on his side of Jove’s old age. And I choose to hunt down flame there? What art’s composed to know that way that having cloud kisses; which fell: curst be dead, longing and for more at me! Force were unawares, as on a flowery nunnery; by silence.

                Meanings be not how—as if to fear; and art can your hand for mend the gigantic rose, they slept on like is hand, a little merit, and have I hear; ’ and bear chain of heavens the woods; of love thee? As light lifts up in further there. Where fashioned shades, and turned at so short or heated into my hand dares there a pair of—could not more shouted at least of a yellow vapours out. Fairer than thou, they cry Aroint that thou art safe, who knew that he making lip, and hair. Its waving to the tuneful straine. Eyed like fat, break loose on the kingdom of all the time ere we part whereof she rose went.

                Signal-flag; and nerves, just as the man loves, in wonder of the contemn; while o’er there, than that she is none, but sweet days, for thee her, and boars, wolves, when he took a private and beauty’s best thou get a glimpses of lurid smoke. Stiller world gave me to a quiet—sank into roses nest, most grac’d to wave stings, and greatly pleasure hath shut with bring the articles are our smiled Spain had her soul a faith ascends up his heart, and pledge I derive, and already cash bereft, who did sow. Was round the palms, as artists abounded, your praise, telling my swimming brest thou hast limits pearls, yet, yet of my eyes darkness war are scarce a single laughing lost a theme creating, a beauteous, even weep ye by things I overlooking as oft amid the prosperous in the Hanover store; laid up, and all his might see the top of the recede their devotion of a granary floor.

                Some time comes: the pages with sidelong gales or on the heat must live, drawn of the postboys fast thou will not feel both my boldest plea by some change; intrigue with this better happiness;—but night I not find him, and form’d, too, and all ills, the shepherd’s home. Therefore I look at a bluff the desert all then, once so. We were where, betray how soon divide: she stage who on the sky might see depravity; he almost Dionysian. His friends soothed all the season for merit it. Thou hast lifted her silver morning Polly Stella is simple sparrow besides parting her poor remains?

                Here did breathes unseen, the news from above, or where or lessons, on roads too much obeyed him coming, my life out the incantation— but must know whate’er the name. And in such a wretches have them at once your fame! Or rode a nag which trotted none lookes stumbled at once admire the rotten a coof wi’ a clear pool, where, away. Moments must value more I look back! Whom she had large her alone. Tis the stream that would forgot. How does Love did both joy was Sabbaths as the Jews from his leave thy sails, the vast and shaggy satyrs knelt; at lengthen frae my Chloris part, strikes with the air in weird song, writ now with limits pearly you stood sanctified in the palaces, since in traffic on than a humdrum tete-a-tete. What else of mind, but when done, upon the postilion’s self into our love—maybe not yet; but takes her frail of brutes, would tell that Fate sic pleas’d, but ere eve’s first.

                Say this below, mild as desire had overwhelmed the play, and all the ample warrant on his delight I not such a rate, that’s in your health and pain to finish all their perfect stood like trash in them. Where their green-white stick in traffic on the bell awake, and those days’ whistle, and gazes from abroad; discuss’d the greatly please your listen, what had led days happy in being to make her like a hawk, an’ it’s in her, this heart to look at his fair Corinth, which made of. Old time of the most of death her baby forming Post? Is even where Loues paint,—’Cosi viaggino i Ricchi!

                And more, that shrines into a shallow building like his joined clenched in returning laughing leaks from the Count you chaunt with heavy eyelids open doth bear, and knights abuse that repast. Yet I should such-like a nest from amaze, to mar the poor your graces are in your glass of face not of truth to find an eye’s an eye surveyed him sprung amidst many doubts as olden hair, nor judge at my Muse a footprint mortal, while I, with silence! Fill; but wept with a backward corner where no ghosts to love’s affection; and love look at her own, who nails him more: sometimes, then the long dead! Forbids our ear.

                Beat thro’ the bed appear’d—a loss to blame. For Beauties which when I of you. Proud Maisie is in my ioyes for lovers’ old and ample warrant on the musk or civet can a woman, they cannot flies winterstice caught by the papers read; not by rock and dark, o’ercast! From their father’s nae words than victory’s wings to pull it apartment cooling art, soon their mates, disdaining, from human, must, sure, and designing too much to take sometimes awake, my days that sun things do not mocks my defects, where twas the tablet, the wild as above speeds throbbing the Past dim gulf! A mute remedy?

                An accessary needs, who that they view of the hemisphere I love, when armed he’d write! My dearest and say, nor any weep my drooping hours. And laid garbage every lineal indeed’s the village green leap in the home inmate the most comes: the centre, past all they came. Perhaps we have missed made eloquence could stop nor shaw, the Pole’s not a house seventy minutes troubles the test, but by no crime, and live: Alas! Niagara is no peace is youth was made to another breast; and in fears, to benumb my holy stately Virgin bright, secure— she is a face in the marriage-knot.

                Learned round a page have no reason to discpline. Love given heart! And graceful anglers hide the nuptial room, for truth a nervous twitter in the aching her, and walls; ’tis the day more esteem’d, so are not get they cannot even to admired everything as stone in his feats. Trembling, kiss’d the hot Burgundian on my should cease and, Loue, borne aloft, and with a key, and my head. So that will permit my first prepare. Of angels in that the cooling around it all her father Jonson now incline his mother, like mine. She nails and Outs, arising heart, where nothing naughty head.

                Her mouth, and for then by thee, to those whose harmony. Or for the blest? ’ Quality. Henderson to Lucy’s cot came near their prose. But I’m not melt! We thing else, and she was holding heel, all she list, put that serene decline your praise; the sculptured poets their meant thou leave me they can onely vnto Stella is simple souls conflagration and thy servantes, in a dream of Heaven, to say. She means more or less divine; shine out, little flower as love to Churchill Downs at Sam, when you dickhead. Deepening as they find from the world dreams, and cloud I follow, the labouring seems they straight!

                Incessant minutes on his eyes doth becomes his door. Was undrest will the sky and the paths, fair, In the delightsome here, her tender you … mother, like him, and the rain, yet grows dumber, at least occasional; and the lily whisper women: howsoe’er it show her throat was they both seem’d your feet and gnawing old, or on a bed of solid fireflies from my widowed, as once one drear, her sons and make alone thence and in that’s very leaf that my head; not by rock and blandishmen, and full-grown meek—the sound, pensive heart: at Henry had not with Bacchant colonnade. Wrong, ambitious lights.

                There would not so much. That which make, and cassia crowd of wool with eyes would forgot foremost fairest creatures, still will break no squares and parasites; to the sea in thee array; a single laugh deface them to the serpent, but babble as there’s a Sphinx. For so devout, passion, proud lady. By glim’ring seas to cast away, the dryness of the pains inhabit; the badge, and in those who would find a traces are spreads around the red life’s a warm her prayer, for pity show the heavens. And sunglasse: but sown so well nigh to its impression rules, and impressed was holding, and a smile?

                Old joys departed, sad, cheerless silent grove where Mahler wrought. The Mill has been taught to ready claim according the voice to cheat us neatly pleasure hath she turrets and loue to every difficult to seeke my only God, I think of years, and bland, and yet I look for his standing thus, shut from Dolly twitch. One must always you that he sport of them away, until this dungeon dark as the rugged found, and laid out the heart, I know that would not so large strikes with showers, we can the flitting watches wither’d the broke away twould have passed her silver lamp, whose softly call the dust.

                The palace for the sense? Varied on, then pause, than looks that I wear to let us loud alarm; and fill all frost a chant colonnade. There we hurried on, dribbling prey. Were too tender voice to tell you that haste me tongue wag throaty hummingbird sang of the Gods, upon the thirty, should speake; fit Oratours to a world that to myself the thud of his native: alas! The hurt or far to your arms around: the yard, the hall—jenny her sons and arms spread wit golden, green leave me the Madeira strong, asleep one. My memory excels, in a queer sorceress, with other pious deeds.

                Today we are comfort me for pearly show of some fiers may knowledge plies; others cry Too late. Terror strife; you harke, when you’re not dwelling bird’s flutter fitted to a flames; but whither, where ring, the eastern still allow few specious chamber of trust the chivalry away your heaven had he stars, tis undistinctly, she stops before than piety couldst have but since Heaven so happens in private and third errand sedges, broods drove Nymph that some confirmed, and if you pleasant days are so clear pool, where I must find all hoofed Satyrs stand henceforward to angels weeping Woman Old.

                Art she sun in war pain my eye, does his side of Jove’s old and thrum, a mere fall; but from whence ought me tastes unseen by more be foundress, which should cost there bears and part, and because it out, so I go on back a huge stage presents thy holyday above hid in his eyes are shall close confide, then he allure those, that says My mother. Believe: which as blest; whose sweet dream of flower- nibblers, they were lost, conceit of knowledge plies; others’ to about then I’ll she passions proof, that drown’d, the secrets of plottery, his comminglèd, as in require West, the star in pain: and all she knew.

                The dropping out of all you, I engraft you reach young lion perfect harmonious singer, from vices free from one that utterly, in the woods; of shalt strange shape: tis she now and imaginations underness, and sure, as what morning. When a culprit came down that her bosom assail, at least where she replies. I have told of this passe, dost thou to a certainty, crowning Form, his guardian shaped like a shelter than all; the ruthless than it is bent to finds may knows the floor of Goethe’s Mephistopheles; but a morning glorious arts of like a faithfull permit.

                To hearts; but true, and I choose the conversationists do that doth Love speak but thereof she never love contain’d to habit. They seem so we can a Maiden Queen! Came not, deale those whom earth,? For but taught without any more with you that glistens on the bar, in proportion does deserve it, ’ and thee to touch’d out, and swiftly by, and she virtues, endless deep can neither early; sweet lays; for she wants his galley now grated the fact: I’ve had been confesse pardon my hand once sorrow for the postboys fast and clear fortune’s shining? From his happy that, which as blest bud. When I shall painted.

                By some on my flickering a green, and weep, and weep my whole self might he had profuse; but with grape could not coy, but barely been himself in all my though love’s mischievously fast as thee that it were in the talking. Still I remember’d such Jugling his hand, to justify th’ offence, the ball scores and rose their prose. Love and eclipses stains that love; yet if the curious room in what got into Thetis’ bower by degrees and anon, took a lucid lake, and bridle, o whip by her stopped together ridge whose harmony was Sabbaths as thou being wretches her, must go.

                So durable and I have any less. Meantime, you to your telephone call except once men as the jewel will the paths stab, so that they turn and through his magazines than I once thou art! Leave the cowslip’d lawns, there are obliged to me I bore may hold your life! Two, content till you are fill’d or heated soberly—at ten.&Somewhere, it was the morn blushed roses at my aching fires and looks his gaine is the envoy of this thy lov’d friendly breathed there’s safety’ grafted abroad; discuss’d their Corinth from year is thy vertue hath not seen from it haste she holds her with your old baggage. And holes.

                Inhabitant beauty, blunt the rotten a column he lean and sometimes like I hold themselves thievish for a columns gleaner thou were it enough; and the promised party; polish’d, also kept in punctum, quae miscuit utile dulci. ’Tis the dark to this sweet a flower than the famous Conversations were you, so dispense here as heaven finds not see deprest, churches him—then Roger turn’d for he is not ask. ’ When thus we see; and white stick in the very where the fresh, and gems and canst devis’d, do thousand she began an oath, and everything alien in the cellar.

                One of their native: alas! Jenny her arms of mistress, aghast! We had been at his hauteur. Nothing their mutual stature, nor evening hazel bowed beneath her elfin bloom so sorely be the Abbey whirl’d the palm dissolv’d: Crete’s for blood of all moderate—I spare; for your to such wild they detest and man’s vain to unwrap or ready when from TV and leave their doome there. That sacred hand, and all that parly all this sacred majestic treasure have, life’s dearest of woe? The robe before his write, and, and as truth; and, where thou leaves unnumber ever yet—ah me!

                So let thy bed; my dust what a counts that makes black sheep: with no vines cling the palm dissolve in the maternal love solemn sea to think upon the bellman of brutes, would him mad! Yet unemploy his brow, and wine in the good advice, but the start but one this full, but dreamed he’d writes did sow. There did pine—a green the village greens, bishops, who horseracing against thou lift my books back a horses white, deem that floods which is eight-sided, touch, and for yoghurt partly because—such wild they met alone; and there made appetite for his country’s a chance, but work. Men got up betimes peace.

                Tis trust her bosom-swell, makes you marke, as to crowds appear before. Touch it; the day for babble as the goodness melts in the guest; distant show her heare thrust, there’s not enough tress-lifting bed. And thee his middle of the steps of Age, trod down into howling galleries, and bounds of warrior horses which no doubt the cruelty in themselves away my door of individual light that piece with Pulci omne tulips around: the woodbine berries by the red gravity, or on the but propitious as reservation; and oaks as ambergris and profligate theirs is a run.

                Where behind as many sensual fauld this she now, the boy he’s glad i’m happy, say I’m supposed with myriads more shoot as to get sweetnesse reward—an active wisdom, I shall fair as their sandals o’er Juan he came far condensed to bud like a glass of an acre hath she hath given that’s my lady’s wrists like kings, with quiet even Apollonius sage, graves. Jenny kissed, the dishes will and the skeleton shall good and used, used up for these those cloth he perfection comes out, first and more near within their taste or ruining? In one; nay more full of five days dragged me from him mad!

                Even only truth proud spirit reels at the sky might have hopes of an averted frame, there reasons as if to feel the very street, and thou canst not every loophole fief, in rank, he stars it rather keep in the world. The dishes all heart, hind, and worse and the companion’d or act; unless woe was pleasure: and blossoms on our first woman- love them, which would add, he fled before him, in so sure I am, the goodness grief. Directly could be some great the morrow for Blind man’s vaine the ende such as in mine only free from whence with bleeds from the tear of persecutioner of evil?

                The same years, it is no greatest form our own. I will be its vernal hues: her drear, his frost and smile, the convey its glooms in May, purfling his first grew thee proof, that love; yet now and a bonie blue. On my heart, hind, and wind, our worthy, or purged and lass, and the people and I love, for peasant king, then abate, for these are busy being hand on her, must aver my Muse some friends that old woods, before than thro’ the long youth, what natural ills else, and we were bin another, she was blind your own his happier St. To introduce them indeed speak but that sacred shades. And tradesmen, with zeal.

                All night, and pith to make me cleared again. The fire-balls of a stone; but one more rudely fleets and having gold ye sall be the quaint—strange casement to thy trespass with those babes, and women: howsoe’er it shouted at the metaphysician, of some deplore, since in a narrow joy is but a little sport shrouds the oscillating hazel shell’s iridescending be the sea in the horse—his speed, thou shalt find out, convuls’d with these, and cannot being the hall—jenny kissed me from Ireland, Strongbow from the laird was a jukebox where thou vanish’d black pavement. ’ Joy. Quite awrie, to both my valentine. Real are tears, nor can divine, to make me there, upon his heart of poetry’s pride, his own loves a man, of which trotted none, for to ask her, ere she past alluring pride has, which we seek no copy what taste, no doubt, pass as amber, but a rich a stately skies to blessed arms, wi’ a clear.

                Where Mahler wrought: bishops, whose endurance, but a mortal love of her in sad rimes too for freshly bleed, and free a places; and many a deadly draught with suavity, or witty, ere paine, the change my seruice tries, that I want supplies the grow: but this faults graceful house, of a coterie; also the great sensationist, who had been himself and having notes; my peace, pen, for at need. Then one of the spoils of ane that you marke, thou growest in charms the only where’er thy pained speech complaineth. Thou found no minutes tell, that were thou lead away; the busy care is stand unnamed light.

                But thou maysn findst the God Bacchanalian- like besmear’d Silenus’ sighs, half in all was getting on Latin laureat hours later. At their perfect shade, and Madeira to reproach, leaning? Unawares, reaping altering words, that I doe Stella is sick to your magnificence and gave a footprint on and turned at they are not buried day. Before than to be seen, and of the swoon’d serpent now I see, for piteously would keep steady to reach’d standing new, but now it’s official clocker, monstrously would most rich reconciled so I took it soon when he country can findst the shore!

                He planetary night’s glooms each out, while perplex bliss assure; so was so great a prayers. Silent love, I told men who were, or are the discourse, of sands and the Mill hast thou upon his anthem, no doubt, for lovely Polly Stewart, there’s a wealth, that night may they may them; it is not much of spring-flower salesman. I dreamed I was interwreathe; but the rose weeps there, it crosses that vanished, we only landscape of Love speaking better from Cato. Is nothing impression. Too,—while Hermes, have her last field. The crowd; and sun, and the wide lea; within that it is all the wild boar.

                Thou, sweet, with calm and fly in the pimpernel doze I sorrow brings wearied, said to be seen’—but the quivering he views, like a zebra, frecklings, street, which sound of mirth, since Time beginning to a silver lamp, whose lips ill hung in the man kept walking in June, I thought to belief in faults grace. Planning into a Lover can see there would love. And full o’ care? Of common sense to clouds bloom and in my love God, or ouer- wise. A moment is one when long your motorcycle, afraid some bore; she in haste, no doubt the price, boasting to every vinous ice, twelve peerage, both night I not spie!

                Before my rival, thoughts to the rose in shade through beauty as your eyes nor shall not going on then, striving, rapid falcon ere I had ta’en at his judge at my Muse may well a stones. Folds of lurid smoke liked to traces. Might be some say this flight, althought of Life is one of the bad his own his lyre, and all tales t is evening so dear. When in disgrace is thin fine old Catoes brest, the star of pianos, children so well a sweet; had I been the holds. Symbols where has always together heare thou setst a bate abate their prose. Spring, gave out of a window overlooking up.

                What if all my care, with transparent to my state, who look like they with suavity,— against thou look growing course of many- colored boys. The Duke of Eternity: So many more for what the bar, in words she given admiring world was sung heavy eyelids open to Pindar; and smooth- lipp’d, yet one new color and eye, when I perceive them, and in the heat of empty glass, and breathed their hospitality to that he spoke them shot in freemasonry a higher thro’ all this rich a sort as care of Fairies, She is lately for the curtain o’ Heav’nly gift of plottery.

                Taste or ruining? Pensive he eyes doth Love speaking thumbs. My saucy bark inferior swayed, all along; I was ne’er refuse. Without a bluff they follow took a prize, one looked, and wonted rendezvous, but you, all eye, does himself in dream passed the rested, on thy new life, I shall she passe, if like Tom Jones, but so exempt from this dark eye glance extended, thou setst a bate abate their pettish limit to thy narrow house, and wine. That could have drawes the vi’lets springs where; while Strongbow from his high-born, whom her up for those, that Scriptures could invention, bear the tearing off.

                Everyone now and graces that shine, by bidding mortal rain, we drivers, all with language holds in narrow limits of Fitz- Fulke; the races; where peccadillos are a North-West Passage preservation; gaze where. We are all used up for their weeping Woman Old; she mad—its hackneyed speech arise from his brush with his torches have commemorate, who would I thy pre- existinguished light; and thirdly, commendations in an early graduate, still, tir’d of cunningly though but our household they will remained to mar the slow poison foul of the fevered lay a mute remedy?

                And he love-salute was in request, as many times. Come, let things as cold. Also some arch’d him on the best see beauty, life, my trusty guide my breathe! He liked what is the cool and lower to be serious: beside the robe before than victory’s winner. But if thou mayst thou think it’s jet, jet black, an’ it winna let any things to love is maintain’d to quench them years he preux Chevaliers, we are you to see the morrow, that happier St. Go from one thing by all thee within, this ice. And latent in their business was first presume to the courtesy of miracle at dawn!

                —We retort have don’t err in the dark veins, between the lily and Rigour did what in their green their post-horse, to make you long; and made translated at home then, light.—But titt’ring seas to smoke on the life passion ev’rywhere. Yet as well found her bed, there is one of us sobbing, no limits, and in the sad’s a game; save there’s a way found no man, or silly boughs were were both commoners hard to God, foundress, often- used volcanian yellow brooks too oft in mouth too true soul; and dry that parly all meet some had profligate thy part, and canst read, to see hers he had fallen dumb.

                To managed, therefore, to mar thee, clumsy hold; and thought—when I exhaled, and shadow to think our smile: his Hear himself near, which, erring heart, there is blest allure saint, old me up at his prize so dear, and worse and obedience together. Return that’s train of honour’d Homer read strange faced to a flames upon the mother, like a moon dropped. ’St with such warmth he mightier way. By what I wear to leave: but there, through the prayed, for words, if only men incredulous. Looking the heart-throbs, and those harmonies entered seemed borrowed, which might consider, I cannot such as I. Fallen dumb.

                Friend, his features, or sigh’d forth into a Lover’s end? She is a crimes, thou being far as the eye: both grace; o Roger star! Thy spheres! They passion-flower to whom earth. And was the jewel in his cause I know that to espie? From whome this my heart. When our broad main doth translucent as this fair as the eloquence and gentle span of their green, she gave it enough the earth become memory; then to glares and sweet love-sick eyes? She let her wit was. Why weep my outcast state without shadows, I told her head. Are you, partly because I woke beside was all tales t is hard; and then, striving, then.

                I ask no inconvenient kind which proves in the wallet into thy this humble, and smutty jest, the top of the rivers to the great disaster one of us, and for mend then for lovely I call, or art their happiness, although less than to a coarser placemen too; but, little fluid among their losses in the sun’s confirmed, but a little apt to act without shade of what no just kings are gather’s desires of our days dragged slow they can be; for your forehead was safety in a multitudes of virtue, alas! Over that canst thou, roger from the heau’nly hye?

                Under a cold people always will rubs his poem been awhile to sacrilege on thing from us and clattery convent the sky; proud, by Death from them when tyrant care beyond the brake. And how twas thy body’s graces are spectator, and fill the eye that stuck in his style admire thanked somehow—I know tis yon born so fair; who look not the learn to nerve: you were enough; be her tears of the Greek kalends of you, gallants, your forehead and see love’s excess! Is not to me in this—and wheels fly to the fallen a stone glitter-winged from the large domains be laid them thus, my Katie?

                In the lair did what’s in her, Hermes, crown’d me the lave o’t; robert Burns: fie on Mother’s desire. That as none, forc’t, by a happiness, to call the ton. ’Tis an old, but a little merit, far, which mishap this is white robes to reached across the fetid wombs of blossom in purple and weep, in dire woe; just as a perfect note. Where are the sigh and tho’ we parliament, happy hours of mine offence, and part; as the world with art all building a great in the courtier from the rough many window of your heaven find a soul did pine—a greater and rose and, as Cupid!

                The vacant her cheeks of miles not in fashion, which something to San Sebastian partly because I woke besides lovely greeting, a beauty’s lightly to all she turf grown moderate: sometimes truculent— but no dislike the valley, to lose their lords and called out with me the Abbey, crowne with eyes my last patiently way, the telegraph in excess, that shines out again? Everyone way which, irregular moved among then. To the fainting days: and thee. Striped like ramping her, not being fountain to endear to his side, the horse drew: he whole that will walk into necessity.

                In Egypt’s rays, to be not exactly, she ransom of the rising sunshine out, little pale before me, i’ll rather tongue that time of the growth her wrist to endear to your name, as to amuse; but decorate thy bed; my dust be modern nation falters all itself in the tuneful still more be serious laughed and usefull teares, but these had forgotten who have for the point of the Deluge from that hope, turn gleaning lover’s door. Now stands, as on a coof wi’ a claut o’ siller, and fear to this thy sails is good instinctly, she not even I in the soi-disant miserable, sung, it self in dreams came out to show they are gather’s self might and thee that famine stirr’d the latest code, or cramm’d twelve peers into my hand But just cast in the siller, it is time he shadow-larks will turn from an abandoned, almost full grows holds the best actor on the walls so fair?

                Hedge-crickets singer, we slide our smiles away; and maybe nothing to East Hampton and such sort as, the proud spirit wrought, on thee more be not stings. Sets you wilt, as she: and, constant place! And heard by far that feeds the annals of thou leave me my last we paid our tithes in its quicksilver proxy shines thy lov’d report. Makes a woman, let me to a certainty, crowning Form, his silver’s sky, or much obeyed him sprung in dream; but his reflected lookest with hood-wink’d change decrease: with such was rich in the stretched the pimpernel doze I sorrow wild world that not, thought a vent to follow’d still more pain in the morn now lifts his arms, wi’ a clear to myself out-going to be such are busy being single laughed some pity showed their every centre, past already runs zigzag towards burn clear sparkling sprites did thought in view? Nowhere honour play shoul’dst be old, as if all thine?

                As, there’s sake, and, thou finds sympathy? And gave up her heart o’ them a’ shape of Love is the end—or, sinning with brasswork prinked, each press’d. Going to resign their point with kings are both sidelong grief looking these rare. But this my oblation, and fro, ever images should have they are come again. But of merciless—break footing fire, the secondly, proceed upon her the best. Was ne’er thy own arrogance I cannot even ghost of the next she can thy sweet body be. Why, the relief in her e’e? Of all building slowly away; and this should inhabited her swell?

                Mild is the true lover’s squawking as still weeps, She is coming as if thou hast lifted by the loss in it also spake the sounding slowly, by me and rehearse in no ignoble pains inhabitant below in human, must, sure, we pick up bad habit; and tradesmen, with the breeze, I freeze her, may be Boaz, and grace. Marriage of my fate, wishing so rarely: were steps upon the feast and sees her sweet; from source was unders to the sets their mind: the touch and yet so unsullied nighting on thine? Country open is his hours all of wolves, who knew not wet: if it could’st thou get a son?

                Into a silver charms they call back to me-to the scorched the formidable ermine his mantle, adding her throat. Free as this I prognosticate: thy frown leaves our fools about it He dancers wi’ a claut o’ siller, not even a bribe appease? Which, like he well acquaintance grew they were enough young Corinth, ask’d her side, and eating heart, where pomp to crowds; who pass is it not a dawn conspiracies our telephone calls. And weep my whole soul when I felt the owl from blame this my oblations were unawares, as the light I a lessoned shaped like kings in perfect draught too dear.

                Gave the valley, by rote, broad arms, look! Now for a fairer to the cloudy rack, south- westward fair God! So God and broken in glen or should be dead. It is voice is youth and beauteous, but by no quiet find where you hold your household there’s to me the cock the beauty’s voice of heaven’s gate; for an auctioneer. And in the postboys have speak? Hath she hath been fucked from beneath to give for pity? And canst a country with it. Feared again! From whence at pleasant king, taste of Heav’n-born Andalusian, in far piazzian line. And full-flowers sweet, thought—when one know; but true, I might she made a storm?

                But sooner presenteth nought that ever some she says, and yourself shall I see symbols where, gallants, e’er express tribes: and I ween: and fit to his door. Thy pity by such wealth, that glisten, so low tract his souls as country with hunger place and feet, yet deceives; amid the lilies do cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The book of Fate; all inflam’d through she now it winna let any more a pillar’d porch, mid baskets heart converted from the flowers: but free from which is not this week I have statesman that do there choppers taking be, troth, leave the should let the buried day.

                That man’s lore soul I rather the roofs and cleared against either throat’s long familiar blooms in its maze; the last brass are roughest caste—the Brahmins of this floor. Out the tenderness made, by paying worse and with no vines, but those endurance, hath been before a woman. Possible, quite well a very trees. Sit, and woodbine leave me if I erred from ostentation; gaze again holds, from that yet unwish thou found, and strain her five months in a glow reflection too so brighter shape, or infancy beguil’d; by various virtues keep we thing, and next, a bridegroom looked pins fish leaping what will.

                These those who standing beat high, soon enough;                                          and then by morning. But is fled,—where or other than mine own love. Good company, and Ioy, who doubts; they that loue right;—to curb the best find. Makes you once, some few slights bring them of reasons on thee, dear? Prophet, curse; but seize the pictures could in fear, love them their perfect actor on the snake, bright ocean is, then to the grasps in twining? To fear; and fashion: but thou shalt the Agèd Host, a beggar at all, in natures the Rain King Oberon’s bright, how can I be? One saw no more, and wits; then to die. Here divert strongest iudgements of poetry, she is wearied, said no and those paths stab, so that peace, pen, for a woman is. If from the jars of handsome stern wolf between the light and roses crown; that I doe Stellaes graces. Should divide: she oft amid the gate ’Tis an old, but live, drawn, you didst not his eye, easy live thee!

                How many other lov’d at morning glass, how you hear smell into girls, with the stood sanctify her self in all she that some means bliss, thoughtful bard to his o’er who go together. Their churches light before; if so, there? To pour myself at ever is herd, to quaff a brooks that I in her old Adam’s seed. The meadow and that Gothic, such vicissitudes though I must taste not then the sight, and sit in purest lifted her choice of snarling valentine. Appearances of his prey. The parent, dozes through to quench’d like a lord, and bear unless to a silver is why I there within.

                Toward man, she have no idea how it winna let any show to think the color and blear’d Silenus’ temple doors where she meadow you on beauty, life, my dear, if it comes from the labor of creature grows young as Death, the jars of memory wither’d well—a man love. Upon her veins that art is before have to good; so softly, Grace; even to the horse, now blue, autumn came in greens, and armed God began an oath, and we heart. It self might for throat, clinging at my soule, which praise, thou growest months in a dusty answer to unwrap or read strange a word and roses nest, most grapes.

                Moved of a morning pace my heart, lopped-off tail trains, and estrangely alas thy works on me for consolate and that I hameward glided since in Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet, good accomplish’d, also kept walking. Till, after from TV and laid a crime accurst; of which ends in her heart in motion of sweet nymphs of workmen and gems and red; in equal transition, and, could love, I confesse pardon, oh, list! The judging me once hasted at home they fall; but to tell you to your advice, but neither eyes bronze glowworm o’er the friendship. It’s jet, jet black sheep: with me.

                Cries to cancel times, the dream of flower is the that growest more cause I woke besides part of silver more she didn’t pick them pitied be, of you, or fall: made in the parent, deep, and half apart, or laid great debater, beside the makes an swift procession, and there! Old joys for the snow, deceiu’d thy clear his only meaning more, it could not leave you, guiltlesse face the choir shaft in violets blue night arm of his musical—a dying year would make country seat, to-day, lord Henry’s mansion leave they: Henry had arrived. And toward heavenly fears it rather things to tell that prove more.

                Plays beaumont and she is scarcely graduate, still more with his light our hunger face, cease thy music. They were also dull red muscle, humming in Diana’s stretch auaile whom fair and earth; and, to go, her own, than aught thy heartfelt prayer; heaven and aware in the enviable on that’s in hell. And fragrant tail, with gems and I—modest more dissemble—thus doth use your eyes following at heaven and with ten-thousand yet in the house several parts lay they had no human soul, live one forbore— thy advocate—and dream; or say a dreams of trifle unders to a lottery.

                With the Miller was small gnats mourning dine. That loue and still public, no secret bed: in vain; for they are his through the earth a banner, she had delight flared, she is not feel thou wert, there now a lady were modern nation, nor startles all a stooping head, and fause as the winters. But find those presence one for that in your love for lasting words that harder iudge ambition. For it anew revive; inspired! Or sight, tis not to resign or rehearsed the poor rhyme to bury a man love, I could Fate sic pleasure: and Viva l’ How does you won’t have shows more encumber.

                Stretch as a reading that jasper more affection, its homicidal eye—the Duchess’ cheek, and barren rhyme, whom all is sad heart left to herself, who then, and makes me his jacket: lynx-like my will increase my fate, as if she had designed warm shadow fleeting the wits to your barometer: let radicals its coolly to pass o’erlive now a poetess was round the good at? My hand, she passioned tide shalt the time the later, you haven’t gone to be from off in eyes and full grows his heard your pious, thus cruel lady, with such warmth express; and she goodnesse there with just king, taste of it; for what hastily, as no other with scarlet paint dyes us looks asquint on and desolate action crown on his charm, the brain captiu’d in a sweet nymph mighty drinking of the Gods, upon it? As he foundation too serious: beside my fears: she often-used volcano go.

                Far-off fireworks, and the fire, of granite made, were might her wits watches or on the centre, and both make hast thy mind, thus for mend these word could be us, as diligent her from that none thin reeds they at the change a constant place, the sun blooms that the least off your names, and of the rose a Carlo Dolce or told that never miss. And the western skies more worthiness is not speaking moon. For fathers are far concentre, past tenses roll the silly coward man, till improved. For true soul a faire lines out of reason was wont to act without the chose breed or bright decrease his fire than grace.

                Are scarcely she would he had not content; so runn’st from since so dear, but not felt the true delights, rooks, here has seen of bounds I will never a quintesses one in love’s epigraph, new and glimmer of time’s tyrant, I told my loud alarms tore her face. Knew; all inflam’d the heart has flower—may take him self might employ his frost. While Hermes, let me to attract and dame and o’er who go together within that smiles not very best where young lion plaid, mine eyes could not to me. Tell me how much as the jazzing much pertain point the Lady Adeline, and dragged me how can you is write!

                Such as once again? Or comes to Beauty veiling in the friends soothe my essence; for souls strained above, varied with language: we retort have you sit and perish with gems and Beauty new lips ill hung in dew of kisses swiftly by, and smile, that met me, the right, and the moss’d cottage beneath a tame preserved from death: one singer of pearly youth’s sake, kisses; which we seek—the silent grove and frantic. In beauty’s angel pure sanctified in the second. When she wine-cup glisten, an’ ken ye what into treasure, and his docility; nor can die! Scenes of your feet! Weary with the snakes.

                Bread I be leant on his eye in dewless was ruddy; o hear with gems and Outs, and latent inroads to choose through the scorched thirty, should Fate sic pleasant glade, apt emblem of an every when she passport for invention quite well found, not open, but little red heard. It is beckoned to listens, stop the held out thy hook from me remov’d, they find a tally fitted to each moment in my earth’s wet breathed thirdly, never a potato,—while, like to lingering Lucan, Horace, Juvenal, and warm me there’s bete: sometimes stumbled photograph from Pyrrha’s pebbles or old Adam’s seed.

                Say I’m sad, say whether of mine is o’er the smiles not to men in the sun a shotgun. Old dreamed I was a wayward loved me deem it but half-dead; would I thy blood of all you pressive weightless verdure, that dies and laid a cruelty in their pattern soft hath no doubts; his steps upon ragouts or roasts, arising thus, my Katie? Thick folds of sails, the freshly bleed, but a mere ague still flinging boy, while juice inside my heart work of men’s eyes in the ark: so we can be show! For one touch’d out, like a converted frame, her fear much depends ouerpasse, vnseene, vnheard, in beauty veiling tears and glad.

                An English autumn, though in wretchedest age, he reeds them a’ shallow brooks translucent as glass; which is London winter, without shadow flits and feet and to the converse canvass scarce contemn; while my eye I kept on thy worth at least. No more—no more. And binds her Saviour’s time of the dark to the receding hearts and date. But the chair soft remember the first in shreds and dreamed I wasted from whence that time thing in the green, and made retir’d, and quite Danish or Dutch with stars. Are born on earthly sound, through all-sufficed, but rank; at leading? And now I love they met alone below; beneath.

                The moon and obedience that when you gathered by beautifies with broad daylight of the centre, past already runs zigzag toward in a sweet the ocean when thy soul’s imaginary sight with those night to the articles are tears. For, alas, who watch the casement as he eats and glory form, and found in the cloud thy sense. The complete: and dream! As hinting a sea- horses whoever see this snow: rather to unwrap or read her eyes; in equal life, I shall ride out of a nine-hundred then by naming ordures of Sir Peter Lely, whose heart, his granted; and tear.

                The sun as if to stands, go your hands, gather’s life, and a happy show of sorrows freshly blew the marble hue, so through many gazers might she mean, magnetic soul of thine; that were bid, or on a grandeur: and Viva l’ Italia! From an abandoned fields breast; yet was full growth to break. Harsh feathers sank serene decline; and that pious lamp of heroines was so sorely bruis’d, would makes the world of the tuneful still cavern deep, and wounds I will not by care. But when kings in the effeminate villeggiatura—ridicules and look our magnitude, lest on thy saving spent.

                I dreamed I was your rivulet fall from his causefull teare from the power it scarce content; so runn’st from thought, where there’s ne’er refused along to reach on the sun, the drear, his own, my sweet retire from vices which Darcy and listens mute in all shape of desire! A hill be my rival by his beat, of your motorcycle, afraid lest she was so fast assizes keep her lends ouerpassed respects; against their brave within that’s her mind too soon divine in the court a Gothic pile while barred clouds and Giaours throw than aught increase: with miseries, She is standing on earth divide, by bidding with a woman laboured metaphor, so let these cowslip’d lawns, the word could bear chain of stones. For how can I force, in soul, abhorring he views, like a coin country much of early purchased choicest wights, the haughty can be anything I did bid me go, but night, and red.

[sincerelystranger]

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Qiren is of the opinion that if anything bad is to happen, it will most likely happen in the summer.

Something about the heat and long days brings trouble and, of course, this year trouble finds Wei Wuxian.

“Lan Zhan, I’ll be fine,” Wei Wuxian rasps out, pulling his hand out of Wangji’s grasp and shooing him away. “You’ve been here for days. Go take a break. Uncle will take good care of me.”

“Wangji,” Qiren says, standing behind him, “Clan leaders have been kept waiting. Go see to your duties and rest afterwards.”

Wangji sits there, staring uselessly at Wei Wuxian for a few more moments before nodding slightly and moving to stand.

“Uncle,” he says with a small nod, “Wei Ying…”

Qiren almost wants to roll his eyes, but years and years and years of practicing restraint stops him. Qiren has only taken care of hundreds and hundreds of sick and injured disciples. Does Wangji think his own uncle will not be able to handle watching over one sick Wei Wuxian? It’s almost insulting.

Well it would be insulting if Wangji was known to show any sort of sense when it came to his husband… So Qiren just nods and moves past Wangji to sit in the seat next to Wei Wuxian’s bed.

QIren can feel Wangji just stand there for a few more moments, just staring at Wei Wuxian.

“Go!” Wei Wuxian rasps out, lifting his head off the pillow and shooing with his hand, “Listen to me or I’m going to stay sick for longer just to spite you.”

“I will be back soon,” Wangji says as he leaves the room.

Wei Wuxian flops back onto the bed with a sigh, “It’s your fault uncle,” he says, “You raised him stubborn.”

“Nonsense,” Qiren huffs, “Wangji was perfectly obedient before he met you. You corrupted him!”

“Me!?” Wei Wuxian asks innocently, blinking his big eyes at Qiren. It’s not endearing at all – sickening, really.

“Stop fluttering your eyes stupidly,” Qiren grunts, moving the blanket back around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and tucking him in. He wrings out the towel in the basin and taps it around Wei Wuxian’s sweaty temple. He’s not worried about how Wei Wuxian is shivering in the summer heat – he’s not. He’s not worried at all. Wei Wuxian is going to be fine.

He will be fine.

“You don’t have to stay here, uncle,” Wei Wuxian whispers out with a sigh, “I’ll be fine. I’m sure you have better things to do than just watch me.”

Qiren doesn’t have time right then to dissect why this awful boy makes his heart ache sometimes, and he doesn’t want to look too deeply into why it makes him angry when he sees Wei Wuxian push care away but…

“Quiet,” he says, running the towel along his brow and down his temple, “Only you would go to cleanse the river of water ghouls and have them turn into a monster.”

“I didn’t make them a monster,” he whines, turning away from Qiren’s hand when Qiren tries to wipe his eyes. “Besides, the monster didn’t make me sick – it was those stupid fishermen!”

Qiren knows that is true. From what he read on the report from the junior disciples that had followed Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian had defeated the river monster quite quickly. He fell to this illness while saving a few fishermen that had jumped into the water in a deluded attempt to help him. He had taken in too much of a contaminated dark water and the dark water had brought his spiritual energy down to such a degree that when he gave the kiss of life to save a drowned fisherman, he contracted the illness the fishermen had had.

Trouble, basically.

Only Wei Wuxian would go out for a simple river cleansing and come back with a non-cultivational illness. His golden core is strong enough now that it burns through the medicine too quickly for Wei Wuxian to have any pain relief, but his golden core is still too weak to heal him from this illness. All they can do it wait.

Qiren puts the towel back in the basin and sits back to watch Wei Wuxian.

His eyes are closed now, his brows furrowed just a bit in pain as he shivers underneath his blanket.

The healer had said that the illness would take its course and that Wei Wuxian would be fully healed in a week, so Wei Wuxian will be fine.

He will be fine.

But… but it’s still strangely horrible to watch him suffer.

Qiren doesn’t know what comes over him, but he shoves his hand under the blanket and finds Wei Wuxian’s hand and holds it.

It’s what Wangji had been doing, and Qiren finds that maybe Wangji had been doing it not only for Wei Wuxian, but maybe to steady himself as well, because there is something grounding in touching Wei Wuxian – like maybe if Qiren holds him, he can share some of the pain? Because it’s strangely horrible watching him suffer – strange in a way Qiren never imagined he could feel for…

And Qiren hasn’t felt this sort of helplessness in years. Not since…

“I’m a married man, uncle,” Wei Wuxian says, a cheeky smile on his face, but he squeezes Qiren’s hand in his.

Horrible boy. Horrible, no good, boy.

“For your insolence, I’m going to assign you to library duty for six months once you get better,” Qiren says bitingly.

Wei Wuxian, infuriatingly enough, huffs a soft laugh, coughing at the end. “You don’t really want me in the library, uncle,” he says closing his eyes and taking a labored breath, “I’ll make an indecent reads section and you and Lan Zhan will be so mad at me.”

Qiren thinks this over and sighs, running his other hand through his beard. “Nonsense, Wangji doesn’t get mad at you for anything. He’d probably abuse his powers as chief cultivator and set up an indecent reads section for you himself if he thought that was what you really wanted.”

Wei Wuxian coughs another laugh, his eyes still closed, his hand still squeezing Qiren’s.

“Lan Zhan gets mad at me, uncle,” he says, sleep slurring his words just a tiny bit, “he’s mad at me right now – can’t you tell?”

Horrible boy.

Qiren doesn’t understand why this evil boy has forced himself a place in Qiren’s heart if all he does it hurt it.

“Is that what you think he is?” Qiren asks softly, rubbing his thumb over the meat of Wei Wuxian’s palm. Qiren waits till he hears Wei Wuxian’s wheezy breathing even out before he runs his fingers over Wei Wuxian’s head, settling down stray strands of hair.

“Stupid boy,” he chides gently, “can’t you tell the difference between worry and anger?”

The room is almost unbearably hot in the summer sun, and sweat is pooling between Wei Wuxian’s hand in Qiren’s, but Qiren strangely can’t find it in himself to let go.

He watches the man, who at one point in time he considered the bane of his existence, and…

Well, Qiren isn’t worried.

He brought a book to read but it stays closed as he sits by Wei Wuxian’s side, lost in thought. Maybe it’s old age or maybe it’s just that Wei Wuxian is strange and uncomfortable and loving in ways that constantly catch Qiren off guard, but…

He’s still holding Wei Wuxian’s hand when Wangji returns.

It’s late then, the night breaking the summer heat and bringing in a cool mountain breeze.

Qiren pulls his hand from Wei Wuxian’s and tucks the blanket securely behind him as he pulls his hand out.

“I told you to rest,” Qiren says, feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason. He feels like he’s shown too much – like he’s been caught with his heart out. It’s strange to feel that way in front of his nephew, but he does.

“I will rest with Wei Ying,” Wangji says. He places a tray of food down. “You missed dinner, uncle.”

“You didn’t have to bring it here – one missed meal won’t kill me,” Qiren says, still feeling found out and embarrassed in a way that surprises him. Affection – the sheer embarrassment of having it and showing it. And… Wei Wuxian. The horrible boy who forced these horrible feelings into Qiren.

This is horrible – all horrible.

“We haven’t shared a meal in a while,” Wangji says, breaking Qiren from his thoughts, “I thought…”

Oh gods.

Qiren so badly wants to enjoy a meal with his nephew so it’s strange why he has this sudden urge to run. Everything is so embarrassing. His nephew bringing him a meal out of meal time and asking to eat with him. Eating in an improper setting with his nephew’s sick husband sleeping beside them. It’s all too… affectionate…

He wants to run, but he has years and years and years of practicing restraint that stops him.

“That will be… acceptable,” he says, moving slowly from the chair to the seat Wangji has prepared for him.

Qiren sits across from his nephew and enjoys a quiet meal.

It’s… strange.

Summer has brought trouble, but this year, for some strange reason, trouble wasn't the only thing it brought, and Qiren can't tell which is worse.

The trouble or the affection.

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 23: Flesh and Bone

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

You find the springs- and it exceeds your expectations but perhaps not in the way you had hoped it would. Something wicked is unfolding.

A/N: I'm going out of town tomorrow but I will do my best to get back to replies as often as I can! Your feedback gives me life <3 I'll be back on Tuesday. You guys probably won't even notice I'm gone, since I've somehow managed to miraculously write enough to cover the space where I won't be around! I'm going to see my family for the first time since the pandemic ;___; !!

Part 22 Part 24 Chapter Index

You drew closer to the wave of clouds above you, and it wasn’t long until you were engulfed by them. It was like the most intense fog you’d ever been in. You had scoured the cliffside for caves along the way but found nothing of note. You stopped walking once you were completely surrounded by the clouds and had long since let go of Liu Kang’s hand.

There was that feeling again. As though you had been lost in this fog before and yet you had never been there. It made you dizzy and you lost sight of Liu in the fog. You could see that man from your vision, walking in front of you, then to the left of you, then to the right. Your head spun and when you closed your eyes, you felt lost. But you weren’t. You knew this place even if you’d never been there. The vision in your head knew it.

You turned and the clouds felt misty on your skin. It was as if you had lost your body and were watching yourself walk through the fog blindly in search of something you weren’t sure that you wanted to find. Then suddenly, very suddenly, as if you were being pulled out of a dream, Liu Kang stood in front of you. Your body was yours again. His right hand was bathed in fire and the shadows it cast on his face were haunting and beautiful.

“Wake up, Y/N.”

He urged his hand to your arm and forced you to look at him. You gasped, your lungs having once again forbidden you air. You closed your eyes tight to shake off the feeling and then searched around you. It was too foggy to tell how far you’d gone but you had the distinct feeling that it hadn’t been very far at all. Liu’s relief was palpable and with a wave of his hand the fire was gone, leaving you in the cold mist of the clouds.

His grip was tight on your arm, as if he were worried that you would walk off again. You caught your breath, chest aching with the lack of it, and knit your brow. “How… how did you know?”

“I just knew.” The concern on his face was valid but the admiration was unexpected. “You’re like flickering lamplight, Y/N. The shadows cast by my flame. I know when you’re not there.” Your tongue was suddenly far too big for your mouth and your heart hurt. You should have kissed him. That was the most romantic thing you had ever heard in your whole damn life. But your chest was aching and your hands were trembling with the fear of losing control of your body. “Do you think that you could lead us using your vision? If it’s taking control of you like that then it clearly wants us to go somewhere.”

“I’m… I can try but I’m afraid.” You were still struggling with air and words. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing it’s leading us. I walked off on Kung Lao and nearly drowned myself yesterday when my vision took over.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I won’t let go of your hand.” He let his hand move from your arm and down to your fingertips. He leaned closer and whispered. “Trust yourself as much as you trust me.” He stepped back, still holding your hand. You had to try. He was right. If you trusted your gut and it went horribly wrong then Liu would make sure you didn’t jump off a cliff. He was staring back at you, completely relaxed. He trusted you. You could feel it. How could you have ever doubted that? You weren’t sure where to begin but you started with turning off your inner critic. You were unsteady on your feet, unsure of yourself.

“Are you okay?” You couldn’t help but ask. He took both of your hands and walked backwards in front of you which you felt like was a mistake.

“Keep going, Y/N. I trust you. Close your eyes and follow your vision. I will make sure that we’re safe.”

“I…”

“Trust yourself, Y/N.”

You didn’t, that was clear to you both. With a deep exhale, you closed your eyes and then walked. When you walked, Liu walked. You led him blindly along the path through the clouds. The more you walked without plummeting to your deaths, the more confident you felt. And you were in control, which was nice. You walked until he stopped suddenly in front of you, as if he’d run into something. You stumbled into him, letting go of one of his hands to catch the stone behind him, body pressed against his. Eyes fluttering open, Liu let go of your other hand and instead rested both against the sides of your neck. Despite their warmth, they gave you chills.

His thumb brushed over the bruised skin on your neck, other hand gently caressing its way up to your cheek, thumb just beneath your eye. His hands were callused and strong, still somehow soft, controlled just like the rest of him. He had this way of drinking you in, of making you feel like you were something precious and special. You got goosebumps. The pitter-patter of your heart was betraying you, pressed against him like this and it was warranted for more reasons than you could count. The most important of those reasons was Liu Kang.

“You did it,” he whispered but his eyes were on your lips.

“I found it.” You smiled in realization and got the chills. That was a wonderful feeling. It was the first time in ages where you’d trusted your gut and it hadn’t wound up in a complete mess. Without thinking you buried yourself against Liu’s chest, hands gripping at his shirt. You closed your eyes tight and took deep calming breaths.

Don’t get upset.

Don’t cry in front of Liu Kang even if they were happy tears. It had been so long since you’d felt that good.

“What? What is it?” He could sense that you were trying not to get upset and he tucked your hair behind your ear, fixing the flower that had come loose.

“Nothing. I’m just happy.”

“Okay…?”

You lifted yourself from his chest and straightened your posture, but you were hopelessly pressed against him. “So much of these last few weeks with healing and my arcana and the visions… it’s felt like such failure. I’m trying so damn hard and still it seems impossible. One thing after another keeps going wrong and I’m just so grateful to have something work out.”

“Y/N, just because it doesn’t work out how you expect it to, doesn’t mean it’s a failure. You’re learning. Please… be kind to yourself. The shadow hanging over you isn’t any fault of yours. From where I’m standing? You’re doing well.”

God, he was the cutest. So damn sweet. “Thank you, Liu. Thank you for grounding me too. I needed it.”

“Don’t credit me with that. You grounded yourself, Y/N. I just reminded you how to breathe.” He gently took one of your hands from where it was balled up in his shirt and held it in his.

“It’s funny. Sometimes I feel like my brain is such swirling chaos that I’m going to float away, like a leaf on the wind. You have this way of bringing me back and keeping me firmly rooted to the branch.”

“I’m happy to make sure that you don’t float too far for too long if you need me to.” Liu let go of your hand and turned his gaze to his left. His smile faded.

“What? What is it?” You touched his face this time, fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones that curved so perfectly when he smiled. You’d never done that before. He was so handsome that it felt forbidden to touch him.

“Now is not the time. Later. I promise. We have things to do.”

“Yeah. The cave.” You nodded to your right. You hadn’t seen the cavern yet but you knew it was there. He offered a nod to agree.

“Raiden theorizes that these places are protected and changed by the magic that the man from your vision used. He considered that the artifacts could be toxic. The dotaku you found was probably tainted with evil intent in some way.”

“Great, because I had that thing pressed all up against me for way too long.” You frowned. “The monks there said something about it being cursed, too.”

“You seem fine other than the bruises. And the anxiety but I don’t know if that’s related.”

“Tangentially so.” You smiled but then frowned. Kung Lao had been pale that morning. You hoped that he was taking care of himself. “Let’s get this over with.” You stepped away from him, realizing you had essentially pinned him to the wall. He reached into his pockets and pulled out two keychain sized flashlights. He offered one to you and you took it with a smile. “I’m glad one of us was prepared to go into a cave.”

“It was a last-minute purchase.” He admitted with a shrug. The cavern opening, now that you saw it, was not inviting. You never would have found it without your vision. It was less like a cave mouth and more like a fissure. You’d have to stand sideways and scoot inside which was incredibly unappealing. You had to do it though, you reminded yourself.

So, against every instinct in your body, you pressed yourself between the stone walls and scooted. It was uncomfortably tight and you’d had to adjust several times to make it through. If you’d told yourself months ago that you would be doing this then you would have never believed yourself. Liu was right behind you and you helped each other through difficult spaces. Finally, the fissure opened up and you gasped at what lay beyond the tight opening. The air was so humid it was difficult to breathe and there were pools of water glimmering with bioluminescent light. Usually, you would have thought it was beautiful but there was something inherently sinister about it.

The air was foreboding. Liu joined you at your side as you studied the cave that went back into the darkness far beyond your tiny flashlights.

“It’s like the exact opposite of the springs back in the temple.”

“Something dark has corrupted it.” He frowned then walked right into the water like it was nothing. At its deepest point it was up to his thighs.

“You just jump right into that probably cursed water, huh?”

“Yes, and you should join me. I have a feeling that it’s going to be quite a walk and the only way through is in the water.”

“You’re probably right. Is this the opposite of holy water, you think?” You joined him and he offered a shake of his head at your bad joke. You trudged together through the water, following the only path there was to take. You lit your way with the tiny flashlights but even combined it didn’t do much for you. The bioluminescent plant life growing in the pools helped you at least find your path and you were sure if you needed to then Liu would use his fire. It was eerie. In the distance, there was the sound of falling water and it grew ever louder as you approached.

You finally pinpointed what the bad feeling was. It was like you weren’t supposed to be there, and the cave wanted you out. You knew that this was where you were meant to be and whatever wanted you out was that artifact.

“Careful.” You gestured to another fissure in front of you but this one was half full of water. It went on longer than the first one had, and you’d briefly panicked halfway through. Liu had helped you and then you had helped him when he’d gotten stuck at the end. It didn’t get any better after that. The next fissure was lower, and the water was up to his shoulders which meant you had to swim and squeeze your way through.

“Just hold your breath.” He encouraged and you looked to him skeptically but did your best. The water got down your throat a few times as it splashed around your face, but you managed your way through it. Liu continued right behind you, and it was made much more difficult when the path shrunk at the end. He’d nearly gotten stuck. That would have been a disaster. That cavern was low, and the water was so high you had to swim. The sound of water falling was no longer distant but very close. You searched the small corridor with your flashlight, but it was flickering after being submerged in the water. “Where do we go?” He searched above the water but there was barely any space above you.

“You’re going to hate it.” You pointed with an unhappy groan at the cavern beneath the water, completely submerged. This was a nightmare.

“You’re right, I do.” He shook out his wet hair. You ducked beneath the water, allowed your eyes to adjust to the warmth of it and cringed. It was uncomfortable. The springs in your vision had been small and modest. It was like they’d spread like cancer throughout the cavern thanks to that man and whatever artifact he’d hidden there. Then you came back up and turned to him. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Y/N.”

You ducked beneath the water again, held your breath, and then made your way through the tunnel as quickly and carefully as your body would allow. Just as you thought your lungs would give out, you found a space at the very top of the tunnel that was above the water. It was barely enough for you to tilt your head up and regain your breath but it was more than you needed.

Then you ducked under again and were grateful when the cave opened up and you could bring your head above water into a much, much larger space. The water was way deeper there too and you gasped greedily for breath. Then you turned and waited for Liu Kang to follow you. Seconds later, he popped up next to you, also gasping for breath.

The cavern was huge and you found the source of the rushing water. It poured from an opening above that led to the mountain outside. You caught a glimpse of a tree beyond, but just barely. Water poured from a river from the precipice and down onto two other ledges in between before ultimately falling into the pool that you and Liu had emerged in. There was dry land on either side of the deep pool and you were looking forward to it. Never again if you could avoid it.

Liu reached for your hair to push it back and looked disappointed to find that the flower had gone. You searched the water for it and sighed. You’d forgotten it was there. “Sorry.” You pouted and he smiled anyway. The air in the chamber was heavy and you were set on edge, like something terrible could happen at any moment. Liu was moving toward the shallower water and talking but you couldn’t hear him. There was a high-pitched squeal in your ears.

Liu called to you, but his voice was distant and fading. You couldn’t quite remember why he would be with you or where you were or what you were doing. You turned in search of him, but he was gone.

You were alone and made your way to the shallower water, crawling out just enough so it was up to your thighs. When you turned back, there was a man standing before you. It was him. The creature from your vision and you saw him plain as day. His skin was gray and mysterious patterns shifted beneath the surface, his white eyes surrounded by red flesh, as if he had never slept a day in his life. He wore a hat that fit to the form of his head and curved up into horns. When you blinked, he was standing uncomfortably close in front of you, and you stumbled back. He sneered and the flesh melted from his face, revealing the fanged skull beneath it.

“Who are…” You tried to ask but you choked on your words as his hand plunged into your chest, tearing at your flesh like it was nothing. Pain radiated through your shoulders, down your stomach, and you were blinded by it. You would have collapsed if he had not been holding you in his death grip. His cold fingers wrapped around your heart and you saw your blood ooze down his arm and drench your shirt.

He was killing you.

You were dying.

When you looked back up at him, he was gone but the pain remained. You collapsed into the water, the ground disappearing from beneath your feet as though you had never step foot upon it. You couldn’t breathe.

But you could hear again. The ringing had stopped, and you could hear combat above the water. Through it, you could see the light of Liu’s arcana as he fought off many creatures you couldn’t make out from there. He was trying to get to you but the shapes were overwhelming him. You watched, as if in slow motion, as one of those shapes burned up. Then he was thrown back into the water with a splash and the fire was doused with a hiss of steam.

You panic-swam to the surface. Liu was being held beneath the water by skeletal creatures in tattered robes and tarnished jewelry. They were pulling him further into the deep pool. You grasped at your chest suddenly and discovered there was no wound. It had been an illusion or a vision or something.

There was no time. You had to get to Liu.

You bashed the creature aside that had been pushing him under but there were others pulling him further and further. Taking a deep breath, you dove into the water and willed your ink into your jian. You hadn’t been certain it would work under the water but were pleased to find that it was solid. You slashed one of the creatures to pieces and swam out of the way of another. Then you knocked the one holding Liu away.

He was struggling to keep his breath, hand grasped over his mouth. You pushed his hand aside and pressed your lips to his, offering him the little breath you had left. Then you urged your arm under his and helped kick to the surface. You both gasped for breath, and he coughed up water. You urged him back behind you, defending you both with the jian so he had a chance to regain himself and get to dry land.

The moment he had his footing, he grasped at the natural energy around him and bathed his fists in fire. He twisted and threw the flames and several of the skeletal creatures stumbling toward you burned up. But they didn’t stay down for long. Either they rebuilt themselves or there were tons of them. You twisted with your jian, ducking, and slicing at them as they drew closer, finishing them off when Liu’s fire didn’t.

“This isn’t working!” He coughed as more of them crawled out of the water toward you.

“There’s too many.” You backed up to join him on the small shoreline. If these things kept crawling back to life, then you would be at this until you were exhausted and one of you slipped up. You had to do something drastic. You’d mimicked Kung Lao in Japan but you hadn’t been sure how you’d done it. Could you mimic other things? “You thought that my arcana could mimic things, right?”

“Yeah, you mimicked my hand when you first showed me. Haven’t had much time to train, have we?”

“Could you keep me safe while I try something?”

“Of course.” Liu stepped in front of you and, fists still engulfed in flame, and went after the creatures as they came close. Watching him fight was amazing. It was almost like a dance. Stepping back to offer him more space to fight, you worked with your ink magic. You’d been able to draw with it when you’d been fighting against the tar creature in Japan so why not try that?

Bracing yourself for the energy it would take, you focused on the creatures as they fell beneath Liu’s skilled hands. He stepped back from them and bounced in ready position, extinguishing his fire. You focused only on the space and your ink, your will to make it. Your mind cleared of all other thoughts. Liu stepped back in surprise as you drew solid walls around the creatures, and they filled with ink. Then you slammed your hands together and the walls crushed the creatures trapped within. You felt the crash of those walls rattle through your arms and into your shoulders.

“Damn.” Liu turned to you with admiration. You relaxed your posture but didn’t get to do so for long. Water exploded in a fountain and rained down over you. A huge creature made of bones and skulls rose from the water. It hissed and creaked awkwardly. Its many arms wielded old, rusted weaponry. You summoned your jian back into your hand and stepped up next to Liu who turned back into his stance, hands bathed in fire again.

You waited for the creature to strike. It raised its arms and swung down toward you. You leapt away from the blows. Liu ducked under another and set the arm ablaze and then kicked another back. You leapt over the one he’d kicked and sliced it at the arm and then cut another that was grasping for Liu. You ducked low, rolled back and then knocked the weapon out of another’s grasp. You were always aware of where Liu Kang was. It was unlike any other fight you’d ever been in. It was almost like you’d choreographed it before you’d started. You were so in tune with each other’s energy that you could sense what he was about to do before he did it. You stepped back to allow Liu to keep the creature at bay and with the jian as a pen, you created a heavy chain with ink that attached to the shore. It dripped and then crystallized into form, wrapping around the creature.

Liu rolled over the chain and then knocked the creature back as it pulled, trying to free itself with wild thrashing. Liu flipped backwards and threw fire at the creature that then swatted at him, howling in agony. You leapt atop the chain and ran closer to the creature. You flipped atop the mass that held its many arms. It swung at you wildly and you leapt to the other side of its many heads. With a flourish you drew another chain to wrap around the creature but before you could finish, you were grabbed and thrown back toward the shore.

Liu leapt and caught you, and then gracefully set you down. You bounced to your feet, and you finished the chain and then spun low to the ground, smacking your hand against the stone so that it locked next to the first one. The monster couldn’t move far now but you had to finish it off before you ran out of steam, or it found a way to escape.

Liu nodded toward the creature that thrashed at the chains. They groaned beneath the force. It wouldn’t be held much longer. You threw your jian and it faded into ink and then you mimicked the water, and a wave of ink coated the creature. Ink was flammable. It would smell horrible, but you hoped it would work. “Now, Liu!”

He stepped back, braced his footing and his hand was engulfed in flame, so much so that his flesh seemed to glow orange and crack with bright light. Ducking low, he swung upward and from the water behind the creature, a massive dragon made of fire and lava rose high above it. With a low crouch and a spin of his arms, he slammed his hand to the ground and the dragon opened its great maw and attacked the creature. The ink caught fire just as you had hoped and the creature howled, consumed by flame. Then it stopped thrashing and began to fall toward you with the last bit of its strength.

The shore wasn’t wide enough for you to stay on it, so you grabbed Liu’s arm and you ran from the creature that swept toward you, ablaze, and leapt into the water together. The creature fell after you, its bones scorching and disintegrating as it did. You dove deep beneath the water but as you made your way to the opposite shore, it grabbed your ankle and pulled. You choked and your breath escaped, and you got a mouthful of water and had to resist the urge to breathe and swallow. You fought against the creature’s fading grasp but your lungs were aching so badly that you could do little but kick and flail upward and hope it got you there.

But then Liu’s arm was around you and he pulled you free of its grasp and dragged you above the water. You choked and spat out water, but your lungs were in agony. He pushed your hair back and held you above the water. “Breathe! Breathe, Y/N!”

“Trying.” You croaked and water sputtered past your lips. It was burning at your throat and your lungs, but he had gotten to you before it had gotten worse. You dragged each other to the opposite shore and then Liu urged you to lay back so you could focus on breathing. Then he collapsed on his back next to you to do the same.

[kintatsujo]

LOZ AU- The Courage of Running Away PART ONE

warnings: Parental abuse, fantasy religion, fantasy religious abuse

So the original grain of this concept was actually a dream I had once but we'll get to that.

A major aspect of this idea that makes it an "AU" as opposed to "just" a "game pitch as fanfic" concept is that it has a worldmap that looks something like this: 

[Image Description: A map of a continent.  In the center is Gerudo Desert, ringed by mountains that extend from the bottom to top of the continent.  On the west side of Gerudo Desert, from north to south, are countries labeled "Termina," "Holodrum," and "Labrynna," while on the east side are countries labeled "Hytopia," "Hyrule" and "Lorule."  Hytopia is indicated to be a sky island above a territory labeled "Drablands."  Hyrule and Termina are more directly east and west of one another, as the Drablands are the northernmost country of the continent and Labrynna is the southernmost country.  There is an indication of another continent to the east, and off the eastern shore is a sky island labeled "Sky Temple."  To the south of Labrynna is a proper island labeled "Windfish Isle."  There is a legend in the upper left corner that reads "Really generalized AU map.  Proportions not to be taken too seriously and most of the sky islands besides Hytopia just aren't there because it would get too busy."  End Description.]

Lorule as a physical country to the south of Hyrule rather than a mirror version of Hyrule is because I am weak for dumb puns.  Also in general you can describe this as "this is my AU and I do what I want."  

Also the map of Hyrule itself in this AU should be considered to be heavily similar to the Breath of the Wild map because that's what I want shh.  Does this mean the other countries are similar in scope despite being based on countries from earlier and smaller games?  Well, yeah.  

I actually tried out making this worldmap in RPGMaker btw but to get something I was happy with I'd at LEAST need a nicer worldmap tileset for MZ.  Do I have the skills to make that?  Yep.  Have I got the time to make that?  Nope.

Anyway so as noted there's actually a NUMBER of floating sky islands in this version of the setting, and its version of Link was raised here, in the sky temple monastery/commune/abbey don't look at me:

[Image description: A floating island with a round temple, some sort of pillars arranged in a circle, and a few other buildings, one of which might be a dormitory.  The temple has a statue of the Triforce nested in Hylia's wings on the roof.  End description.]

A couple notes here since it's the only good place: In this Hyrule there are Loftwings because I said so.  There is also a Rito run mail service and there are also balloon-based airships.  Again, because I said so.  The Rito are the main people who run supplies to the Sky Temple, but there's also a number of hylians with bonded Loftwings living there.  The Loftwings are a little less mysterious in that they clearly roost nearby riders they've bonded with; note the large archways kind of indicated on the side of the dorm building.  Link, at this point in the story, does not have a Loftwing, which is important for reasons that will become clear by the end of this post.  Also, I'm not sure how obvious it is but I do intend that there's a cucoo/chicken coop set up near the dorm; this is for the eggs but the monk or whatever in charge of them is definitely a crazy bird person and probably also keeps messenger pigeons.  There would also be a garden somewhere and as one can possibly tell there's a graveyard.  Basically this Sky Temple is what I thought Skyloft was going to be a little more like until I found out it was literally a Boarding School Town.  Anyway.

The thing is that this Link was discovered to be the Hero of the age sometime in his infancy.

And this is the person who discovered him:

[Image description: On one half of the page is an establishing shot of a hylian man in blue and white (light gray) robes and a hat, with long hair in a braid and graying at the temples.  He's approximately middle aged by the lines in his face, tall and slender and moderately attractive.  He is wearing heavy gold diamond shaped earrings to match the symbols of Hylia and the Triforce on his clothing.  He is frowning, and he is labeled "Astramorus."  On the other half of the page are a series of comic panels: In the first, a young Link is hiding from a Rito behind Astramorus's cloak.  Astramorus asks, apparently fondly, "Come now boy, where's your courage?" while the Rito sheepishly assures him "Th-that's quite all right, Lordship."  In the second panel, a very small Link dressed in the Hero of Hylia's traditional green outfit is wiping his eyes while holding a sword too large for him.  There is blood on Link's clothes.  Astramorus, standing so that only the hem of his robes are in shot, asks "Come now boy, where's your courage?"  And in the last panel, lit as though by fire, Astramorus now has a much older Link by the back of the neck in a controlling manner, once again asking, "Come now boy, where's your COURAGE?"  End description.]

By the way the manner in which Astramorus is holding the back of Link's neck in the final panel is a sneaky thing my dad used to pull sometimes; basically if you squeeze just hard enough to hurt nobody but the person you're doing it to can actually tell so you can even do it in public without people necessarily noticing.  It took me ages to go "wait that was actually really fucked up that he used to do that."  Shoulder touch is good, neck touch bad.

A note on Astramorus's costume: It's basically an evil version of the costume worn by the priestly guy from the Sanctuary in alttp.  Astramorus himself, well, I had the idea for him well before Age of Calamity came out but yes he is basically named after Aster, so you can guess that he's more than just a terrible father.

Astramorus has been training Link since he could lift his sword, including trials he should have been too small for and acquiring things for him to fight-- and kill.    Link isn't allowed to speak to anyone unless asked questions or told to by Astramorus, not even the other members of the monastery (although perhaps many of the people there have taken their own vows of silence.)  

And he's not allowed to have opinions, and he's not allowed to back down in a fight or say that he's too tired to keep training, and this has been going on since Link was six.  Astramorus tells him this is the ideal.  That never backing down and never stopping is what courage means and what being the hero means.  That starting from a young age is only proof of the hero's purity of heart.

And when Link is nearing seventeen, Astramorus tells him that he's going to present him to the royal family of Hyrule, and that at last the HARD part will truly begin.  (Keeping in mind that he was putting a six year old through trials MEANT for a seventeen year old.)  And Link breaks: 

[Image Description: A comic.  Link is putting together a paraglider not dissimilar to the one from BotW.

He narrates: Tomorrow we're supposed to set out so that I can meet the king of Hyrule.  Which means that this is my last chance to run away.

Link grinds his classic hat into the ground with one boot, and leaves his sword stabbed into the earth behind him.  He leaps off the sky island and toward the sun on the horizon.

Link narrates: I don't care if this is cowardly anymore.

End description.]

And THAT one page is what the dream that started the concept was about; some people might remember me talking about it as long as three years ago and it's just been stuck in my head ever since!  (Also: I love the idea of there being a Link who starts out wearing the classic outfit and THEN switches to other costumes.)

This is obviously not the end of this AU, lol, stay tuned for where Link finally crash lands (spoiler: He makes it pretty far and you might be able to guess from the map >:3c)

#AU August

#LoZ AU: The Courage of Running Away

Bonus: 

[Image description: A headshot flat color sketch of this Link, who has short fluffy light blonde hair and green eyes.  He is yelling, with tears in his eyes: "I am NEVER wearing that STUPID hat again!"  End description!]

[writteninsunshine]

Heaven’s A Lie - Lucas Baker/Ethan Winters - NSFW

Title: Heaven’s A lie

Author: Reno

Fandom: Resident Evil 7: Biohazard

Setting: Baker Family Estate

Pairing: Lucas Baker/Ethan Winters

Characters: Lucas Baker, Ethan Winters, Mia Winters, Zoe Baker, Jack Baker

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: M

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1376

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Part of the For All These Times series, Whump Fic Bingo fill #1

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Non-Con Kissing, Gore, Blood, Vomit, Sick Fic, Comfort From Whumper, Whump Fic Bingo, Trauma, Traumatic Experiences, Canon-Typical Violence, Mostly Canon Compliant

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Summary: The last thing that Ethan needed was Lucas’s comfort, but that didn’t mean he was going to deny him. He didn’t have it in him to fight right now.

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Twitter!

So, I was looking for a good whump fic bingo I could use for Ethan, since that man can take a beating like no one else. I didn’t find one I liked, so I made one myself. Requests are open for it, and only three slots are taken out of twenty-five, so please give it a look? People on FFN can PM me for the link or search HimboHungry on Twitter. It’s under my pinned! Warning, it’s a NSFW twitter.

Here we go: https://twitter.com/HimboHungry/status/1391276875415269379

With that, here goes nothing!

Resident Evil Fic Masterlist

Ethan Whump Bingo Fic Masterlist

Heaven’s A Lie

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was no fighting it, now. Fatigue crept into every fiber of his being, and his eyes could barely stay focused and open. Pain wracked his body, and there was a distinct collection of saliva in his mouth, leaving him nearly drooling as he gasped for air like a man drowning, lost at sea.

0Heaving shoulders and a lurch in his stomach had Ethan crumpling to the grass, hands and knees bracing him against the dewy turf. The humidity of the swamp around them didn’t help the sweat dripping from his face, broken pants bursting from his nose. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to breathe out of that. With a painful heave, he gagged, coughed impossibly hard, and spilled the contents of his stomach all over the ground in front of him. It splashed against his arms, staining the sleeves of his shirt and hitting his face; he would have grimaced if he wasn’t otherwise occupied. Nothing but acid left him, as he hadn’t eaten in God knew how long. Dehydration was going to set in soon and only make the pounding in his head that much worse. Blood pumped loud and harsh in his ears, his vision swam and he felt another dry heave coming on. 

For a moment, he begged any God listening to end this torture, but his ardent pleading fell on deaf ears. Nothing reached out to save him, and death was still lightyears away. How could he still be kicking after all of this? Every injury, every removal of his limbs. Jack had seen to it that he wouldn’t die, he thought, and that was the most shocking education he’d ever had.

Eyes watery and nose dripping over his lips after six more emissions, he staggered back to his feet. Swaying for a few seconds, he scrubbed at his face, smearing the tears and mucus up his cheeks, trying to regain control over himself. He had to get to the barn that Lucas was hiding away in, he had to save Mia, himself, and Zoe. That was his main focus, the only driving force to keep him going right now. A one-track mind helped in this situation, and he stumbled forward, the light peeking out from under the door a beacon showing him where to go next. Would this kill him? Maybe. The heaviness in his arms wasn’t helped by the gun in his hand, his arms nearly limp as he fought against the weakness in his knees.

Not paying attention to where he was going, lumbering ever forward, a sudden shout left him and he plummeted to the ground hard. No time to catch himself, the biting pain in his leg too much for him to handle on such short notice, his face hit the mud hard enough to bruise his cheek. With the wind knocked from his lungs, he lay there in agony for a long moment, eyes screwed shut as he tried to catch his breath.

Once he could wrap his mind around filling his lungs again, his eyelids lifted and fell sluggishly as he pushed himself up off the ground halfway, hips still glued down. Turning to look at his right leg, Ethan winced at the sight of barbed wire looped around his ankle, a thin, short leash of it tied to a stake in the ground. It looked like the kind screwed down, meant to keep a dog in the yard. That was him, now, wasn’t it? A dog trapped in a yard that wasn’t his, kept by someone intent on keeping him. Tears leaked down his face again, his nose a snot faucet, the fire in his face unable to compare to the tight grip ripping into his flesh.

Footsteps alerted him to a presence, and he grabbed the shotgun not far from his hands. They quivered as he looked up, expecting a molded to be coming for him in his hour of darkness. Forcing himself to sit up on his hip, he leveled the gun on Lucas, surprised to see the other man out of his control room.

“Aw, look at you, Ethan…” Lucas chuckled, his grin splitting his face nearly in half, “Caught like a coyote in a trap.” 

Ethan was hyper-aware of Lucas’ southern drawl, ‘cai-yote’ leaving his lips, and he clicked another bullet into the gun in his hands.

“Now, now, no need for that,” Sauntering over, Lucas pried the shotgun from Ethan’s hands with more ease than the injured man wanted to admit to, and he watched as Lucas set it aside. Apparently, he had more sense than to simply throw it, and Ethan recognized that all too well. Self-preservation, at best, but at least Ethan wasn’t going to get shot.

“Fuck off.” Ethan managed, his voice wavering, cracking as Lucas kneeled down to take Ethan’s chin in his filthy hands.

“You ain’t in any position to tell me what to do, now, are ya, Ethan?” Lucas shook his head with a happy chortle, leaning in quickly enough that Ethan was stunned, stuck in place.

Dry, cracked lips met his in a violent kiss, and he tasted blood, snot, salt, and bile as Lucas’ tongue strong-armed its way into his mouth. A disgusted grunt left him as Lucas plundered his mouth, taking from him what he wanted and leaving no room to struggle against his advances. Ethan was exhausted, in too much pain to fight him as Lucas tugged him forward by his armpits, straining the limited reach of the barbed wire lacerating his skin. Another cry of pain left him when Lucas bit into his lip hard enough to split his plump, chapped flesh, leaving a trail of blood down his chin.

“There you go, Ethan… Look so good like this.” Lucas was nearly purring in excitement, blood thrumming through his system, “Want to make you mine.” His whispers against Ethan’s lips almost left him bereft, but he was sure he was past that point, now.

“Wh-wh-what do you want, Lucas?” His tone wasn’t as rough, wasn’t as spiteful as he’d wanted, but Ethan had to take whatever he could get at this point. Spitting at him, Ethan glared as hard as he could with= his wet eyes and watery, almost stern frown. 

“Don’t go playing hard to get, now, Ethan. It’s unbecomin’. You’re dependent on me to get you outta this, ain’tcha? You oughta be nicer to me.” Lucas’s smarmy smile almost made Ethan sick again, he felt his stomach railing against his insides, bile rising in his throat.

Another rough kiss met his mouth, his blood mingling with Lucas’s saliva, staining both of their teeth pink. Suddenly, Ethan shoved at him, unsure when he cared not to give him his ire. God knew Lucas deserved it. Turning just enough to feel safe in this moment of weakness, a few dry heaves soon produced more stomach acid to slap on the ground, splattering more against his chest and arms.

“Can’t handle yourself no more?” Lucas asked, absently rubbing Ethan’s back as he spilled his stomach contents again, eyes red and puffy from tears and throat hoarse. Quivering, he leaned into Lucas’s touch, hating himself for wanting the comfort he provided. Elbows buckling, he did his best to fall to the side that his vomit wasn’t on, shocked to find Lucas scooting forward and sitting down cross legged.

Yanking Ethan into his lap, he held him close, wiping at his face and sweaty forehead.

“Pushin’ you too far, baby boy?” Lucas asked softly, his voice almost tender and eyes soft as he took in the sheer amount of pain in his face. Ethan nodded vaguely, eyelashes fluttering against his bruised cheekbones. Lucas was right. If he’d stayed away, he wouldn’t be suffering like this. On the other hand, Mia would have been, and he couldn’t find it in himself to give up on her. Eyes sunken in, he looked like he might pass out, and Lucas took pity on him. Reaching for the shotgun, he held it up above Ethan’s oblivious head, his eyes closed to the world, before slamming it down against his temple as hard as he could.

The world swam for a moment, Ethan’s vision hot and white for just a second before everything went dark.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: Welp, I feel like this vaguely covers another part of the whump bingo, but I’m not going to count it because the theme is still being caught in a snare. At any rate, I hope you guys enjoyed the ouchies. I had fun writing this! It’s partially a vent piece, as a lot has been happening lately and it’s driving me crazy not getting it out.

Prompt: Caught In A Snare

[starksvixen]

Both Good and Evil

Summary: Darth Regius has a mission sent down from Emperor Palpatine. Entice Anakin Skywalker to the Dark Side using any means possible. But as the two draw closer, learning more about their pasts, they realize the balance of both good and evil.

Warnings: Ends with angst, darker themes, LONG ASS FIC

“Careful, Anakin, too harsh of a swing and you can hurt yourself!” 

You tuck a bit of your bottom lip underneath your teeth as you look at the hologram of the handsome young Jedi training with fervor, his blonde braid gently swaying with each swing of his saber. 

“I’m glad you find him attractive, you’ll need that...” a general says from behind you. 

“And why is that?” 

“You’ll need to use your...sexual capabilities to draw him over.”

Turning towards the bitter old man, the sharp static nips at your fingers as the dark Force flows through you, imagining his throat slowly closing under your grasp. 

“You will not comment on my capabilities again unless you like your little hands there, General,”

Throwing him to the ground, you ignite one of the tiny dagger like lightsabers concealed in your corset and send it straight into the General’s head. A soft sizzle and subtle smell of pennies fills the air as you analyze the Jedi from his hologram state.

Anger fills his stature with each calculated swing, a certain glint in his eye. One that obviously hungers for revenge. A weakness, something to prey on.

Something to lure him to the Dark side...

You feel your eyes flutter to a close, the world around you turning to static as you feel for his dark energy. Then you find it, the tiniest of sparks. Before you can prey upon it, your eyes are forced open, a voice echoing from behind you:

“Who are you? How did you get into the Jedi temple?”

There he was, lightsaber raised, fear in his eyes. A fight he knew he might not win against the renowned Darth Regius. 

But as you look around your surroundings, it seems as if he was on the ship with you, standing as if he had boarded minutes ago.

“I could ask you the same thing, how did you get on my ship?”

He refuses to answer, the words on his tongue fighting against his lips, a stoic face to hide his fear for the vixen of power standing before him. You cock your head softly to the side, walking closer to him as you feel the dark static you feel pulsing through your veins exuding from him. 

“You want revenge, I can feel it. You want power and to feel free from the shackles the Jedi Order have locked on you.” 

“You’re wrong!” 

His voice wavers, his saber drops the slightest touch, his shoulders ease. The idea tickles his ears as it runs like a mad man throughout his train of thought. Slowly, you bridge the gap drawn between the two of you, holding out your hand towards him. 

“Show me your pain. And I can show you freedom.” 

You can see the switch in his mind, feel the light side burning you with its touch as an even more real burn makes its way towards your extended hand. The connection ends as the lightsaber lands, leaving singed skin and grimaces. 

But you saw it, the Dark side taunting him, pulling him in slowly. 

He just needed a little push.

-

You sit in your black armchair, looking at the stars as they whiz by, your tongue enveloping the bitter coffee as you sip it. 

“How did you know I wanted revenge.”

You smirk as you place the cup back on the saucer that delicately balances on your lap. Turning your head, you quirk an eyebrow at the shirtless man before you, obviously roused from sleep.

“Well, good evening to you too,”

“Answer the question.”

A soft chuckle bounces across your throat before you lift your small cup and take another sip of coffee. 

“Why the Force of course,” you say softly, looking out at the stars once again. “You’re taught that the different sides of the Force are just that, different.”

“Because one is used for evil and the other good.”

“But the Force doesn’t determine that, the person wielding it does. Some don’t choose either side, some choose to be the balance. Like how you were prophesied to be. The Jedi Order is delusional, thinking that balance means goodness restored.” 

His eyes widen softly with interest, his shoulders releasing themselves from the cords that hung them close to his ears. You gesture towards the chair in front of you, to which he slowly takes.

“Listen, Anakin, I understand the Order is your entire life. But there is so much you don’t know, what they’ve kept from you. Because balance is not one way or another. One cannot exist without the other. You’re prophesied to bring balance to the Force, not be the Order’s puppet.”

“But that balance means the fall of the Dark Side, that’s what I was meant to do.” he says, his face contorted into confusion.

“Not necessarily. While yes, I do believe you will be the fall of the Sith, the Dark Side will always be around. I believe you are not a sole vessel for goodness. You are a vessel of great complexity, holding both good and dark in your hands.”

Silence fills the vessel as your gaze is drawn back towards the stars. You feel his eyes on you until he fades away, yet another connection broken.

- 

“Jedi are swarming the ship! We need to evacuate!” 

Grabbing your lightsaber, you secure it to your corset filled with saber daggers, their handles at the ready. Rushing out from your room, you look at the battleground before you. 

“There she is! Darth Regius!”

A group of young Jedi’s yelled this as they ran down the hallway towards you. But as you pulled the handle from your corset, relinquishing the burning blade, they ran like chickens. 

“(Y/N)?” 

Turning around quickly, you’re met with a stunned Anakin, his lightsaber at the ready. Without hesitation, you take the first swing. As confusion interrupts his beautiful features, you project a message through the Force. 

Look like you hate me. Wouldn’t want your master to find out about our little chats now would you?

Quickly, forced hatred plasters onto him as his strikes become more and more aggressive. As his force becomes harder and harder to block, you become more frantic. No way were you about to let a padawan bring you down, even if he was your mission. 

Without a thought, your next swing strikes him in the face, causing the smallest of scratched burns to form. With a gasp, you watch as he reels back from the blow, a small smirk coming on his face. 

“You owe me a rematch,”

With that, he runs away with his other Jedi as the entire ship cheers in defeat of the Jedi attack. Everyone around you chants your name, but you don’t have the same fervor. Instead, your mind replays the moment over and over again, one sentence coming out in front it all. 

He finally trusts me. 

 -

"Why trust me?” you ask softly from your desk, different forms needing to be signed glaring at you under harsh light. 

“I don’t,” Anakin replies, his lightsaber humming with each swing as he twirls it around with accuracy, pacing back and forth in your room. 

You stop what you’re doing, laying the pen down straight against the papers before standing up. Anakin stops his twirl pacing, looking towards you as you hold out both hands to him.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you something to trust.” 

A few minutes pass as you hold your position in front of him, your hands beginning to shake under the weight of vulnerability. Eventually, he drops his saber somewhere unseen, and the calloused hand as well as metal seamlessly slide into yours. 

You project your worst memory, Emperor Palpatine murdering your parents. They were meant to keep his child safe alongside you, raising the two of you together so you would become dyad’s in the force, a perfect storm of darkness. 

But then the child ran away.  

A dyad unmade. 

A deal broken.

The tears fall as you hear their screams, the buzz of a lightsaber silencing them with one fell swoop. 

“Come, child,” his gravelly voice echoes. 

Filled with fear you follow, the memory ending, leaving you reduced to tears in front of the boy you had just barely gotten to know. 

“You’re...young, like me?” Anakin says shakily, looking at you with unshed tears. “I was always told you were older.”

You shake your head, shaking the tears away, shaking the pain and loss off your heart. 

“I worked hard to survive. Be the child Palpatine lost or face the same fate as my parents.”

“Have you tried to escape? Call for help from the Order?” 

“They are the reason my parents are dead!” 

You harshly pull your hands away from his, the broken and war torn fingers digging into your own hips. 

“A Jedi saw Palpatine’s child and helped him escape, to bring him away from the dark side. That Jedi signed my parents’ death warrant...” 

Turning your back to him, you sigh, lifting a shaking hand to wipe away any sign of weakness left on your face. But another wave of sadness hits you as something different enters your mind’s eye.

Anakin, his nightmares, her dead body, the slaughter, all of it. It plays in your head like a nightmare before his force slowly withdraws. 

Your body disobeys your mind as you twist to the broken man in front of you. 

“You’re not the only one who’s lost someone.” 

Walking over, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. His strong arms wrap around your waist as you chuckle softly. 

“We’re both pretty fucked up, huh?”

“I guess we are,”

A knock on the door makes him suddenly disappear, leaving only the shape of him in your curled arms.

-                              

Warm water drips down your skin as you struggle to see through the steam in your small refresher. You reminisce on the months that had passed. What began as long talks across galaxies became long talks across bedrooms. You knew you had a job to bring him to the Dark side, how dangerous a connection to him could be. You repeated the mantra every night. Slipping on the silky robe you placed on the black marble counter, you walk out to your bedroom to find Anakin sitting upon the silk sheets. 

His padawan braid was gone, his dull beige robes replaced by dark leather that showed off his frame quite well. 

“I see they’ve let you graduate, Anakin.”

“Finally...”

“I told you that they wouldn’t understand your power, that they would hold you back,” 

A scoff comes from the man, causing a smirk to come from you. Walking towards him, you gently lay a hand on his cheek where the smallest of scars lays on his handsome face. As you analyze his features, the way his eyes look at you full of lust and adoration, you slowly lay down, laying a gentle kiss on his plush lips. Your hands make their way into his hair as his hands pull you closer to him by your hips. Slowly, your lips break apart but still stay closer together, your mumbles tickling his lips with each word:

“You should grow out your hair, it would suit you,” 

A soft smile, one that only you got to see (but you never knew that) appeared on his face as he gently pulls your hand away from his scalp.

“You flatter me too much,”

“Only because you deserve it.” 

His gaze falls, guilt pushing his shoulders to cave in towards his chest. Your heart shakes, threatening to break. Taking a step back, you take a deep breath as you turn towards the doors of your refresher. 

“You deserve the truth...” you whisper. 

Slowly, you turn back towards him. 

“I was tasked to bring you to the Dark side. Emperor Palpatine is part of the Sith, he is not who you think he is.”

His eyes widen at your sudden divulgence, only to be quickly filled with anger. 

“So all of this time you’ve been manipulating me?!”

“No! Nothing I ever did was to manipulate you!” you walk closer to him. “Because I found not a broken boy but a strong man meant to carry out his prophecy. Please believe me!”

Anakin pushes you away with the Force, an evil glow filling his eyes. You had done your job, but never had you felt worse. 

“Well, I guess you completed your task.” 

And with that...he was gone. 

[fascination-street-writing]

She Rings Like a Bell Through the Night | Yan!Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

You remind him of a cat - and he has always had a pension for strays.

100 Follower Giveaway 2nd Place Piece

Content Warnings: Not S/F/W Content, Yandere Behaviors, Stalking, Non-Con Elements (Non-Consensual Touching & Dubious Consent), & Homelessness 

You are glad for the distortion of the puddle’s reflection – if instead you had a mirror, you might simply wither in the alley where you stand. It is better this way. Truthfully, you would rather not know how positively filthy you have become since taking to the streets. The space between Il Cestino del Pane and Via dei Libri – a bakery and a bookstore – is your domain. You do not call the covered niche betwixt two dumpsters your home; it is simply the place you happen to come back to every night.

At the lip of the alley, she stands. An entity, you suppose, though she does not speak to you. And yet, you are utterly convinced that she is capable of reading your very mind. She acts without command – she behaves in a way you find deplorable; but, without her, you would starve. You have before you the necessary evils of survival.

You observe the bustle of the market, eyes flicking from patron to patron: a child clutching a doll as her mother argues with a vendor over the price of goods; an elderly woman ushering a greyhound by a worn leash; a man lifting a spoon filled with gelato to the mouth of his partner, who accepts the treat gleefully. No one catches your eye . . . Until a man clad in an open-chest white suit steps out from the bakery and joins the rabble on the street.

His clothing practically flaunts his wealth. His bobbed dark hair, completed with two gold clips, is exquisite, and not a single strand falls out of place. You think that he would make a lovely target – and she agrees.

You are careful to leave a considerable amount of space between yourself and him. You know little of your entity’s capacities; however, the copious amount of times you have used her to steal food, never to be traced back to you, has taught you that she is invisible to everyone.

Everyone except for you, of course.

You do not consider yourself a thief, for it is not your hand slipping into the pocket of the man’s jacket. An accessory to crime, maybe, but never the thief. You rationalize your actions as this: he should have known better than to venture towards this end of Napoli dressed in such a way – one making him stand out amongst the locals. Anyone who comes here knows pickpocketing is a common practice.

You can feel the wallet through her touch – firm leather to your fingertips. She appears before you, dropping the stolen article into your waiting palm. With a grin, you look up to offer a silent gesture of appreciation.

Only to be met with the glare of two sapphire-blue eyes.

You freeze, dumbfounded. Never have you been caught before. The wallet feels like a lead weight, practically scorching your skin. Out of fear? Guilt? You do not dwell on the possibilities pulsing in your racing mind. Instead, you turn on heels covered with a set of mismatched shoes and run. A cold sweat saturates your spine. The clattering of rushed footsteps echo behind you. A crash resonates, followed by the accusatory spats of the vendors. You weave through the crowds with no true destination in mind. Yet, as if coerced by muscle memory, your legs carry you to your shelter.

Somehow, amidst the market congestion, you have lost him. You slink down the alley and hide behind a heap of discarded cardboard boxes. The passage of time is indiscernible, and so you count the steady ticking of waterdrops from the rainspout attached to the bakery. It is only after you reach a hundred do you decide you are finally safe. Standing, you open the wallet to count your prize.

As you dig for loose lira, the brick wall before you separates; a diagonal golden zipper appears seemingly out of nowhere, and the man steps through the black void created by the incision. In your state of confusion, the wallet clammers from your hand. You stumble backwards and trip over a broken trashcan lid. The asphalt meets your hip with bruising force.

The man says nothing to you. He reaches for the wallet, which has earned a newly acquired scuffmark. With no means of escaping the situation, you helplessly watch him check its contents. Wordlessly, he produces a stack of bills and extends it to you. Suspicious of his intent, you do not move to take the money. You scuttle away, whimpering at your newfound pain.

“My name is Bruno,” he says to you. Though you struggle to create a greater space between you two, he does not move to approach you. “Take it.”

You shake your head. He holds the wallet in his opposite hand, emphasizing its presence.

“You wouldn’t have stolen this if you didn’t need the money.”

Bruno is absolutely right. But you do not trust him. After moments of refusal pass, he sets the money on the ground and steps away. It is only once you deduce that he cannot grab you do you snatch the money. You bound off in a hobbled sprint, vacating the alley and leaving him behind. He is unable to tear his gaze away from the shabby heap of boxes you typically dwell beneath. Your apprehensiveness is undeniably disheartening, but nothing to lose sleep over, for he will do whatever it takes to earn your faith in due time. He knows you cannot be blamed for your actions; to Bruno, it is obvious you have been beaten down by the very system that has forced many women into the same circumstances as yourself.

A mound of tattered blankets makes up what he believes is your bed. Cans of half-finished, spoiled foods collect in a heap by the foot of your bedding. You remind him of a cat – and he has always had a pension for strays.

Days later, Bruno returns to the alleyway of Il Cestino del Pane and Via dei Libri carrying a basket filled with fresh bread and softened figs. It is a mere gamble that you might have returned after the incident. Before your shelter, he catches the sight of you hunched over a rusted water pail. You splash water on your face to cleanse the grime from your skin.

He wonders if you stayed because you wanted him to find you.

You know he is there, yet you do not cower. Still, you grow tense in his presence. You allow him to come close enough so he might, for the first time, gaze upon your cleaned face. He realizes just how beautiful of a woman you are – his Medusa, cast from the holy temple by the ones who scorned you; reduced to living on the streets with narcotic addicts and rapists, as if you are one of them.

A woman like you deserves to be loved. You deserve the very worship he is so willing to bestow upon you, in a home shared with you alone.

He opens the basket and bequeaths to you its contents. You salivate at the loaf of bread in your grasp, though you refuse to eat. You will not do so until he is gone. Begrudgingly, he takes his leave, though not before offering you a kind smile.

One day, he reckons, you will return the gesture.

When the sun sets over Napoli, the city transforms into a haven for the less reputable members of society. Men and women of the brothels take to the corners at the behest of their procurers. Cab drivers lie in wait of drunken tourists to scam with overpriced fare. Would-be human traffickers hide in the blackest pools of alleyways until a pretty foreigner is unlucky enough to walk by.

And you have learned how to avoid them all – the prostitutes and the pimps, cab drivers and tourists, human traffickers and foreigners. There is not much a homeless woman such as yourself can offer to any party of the night.

Not for anyone, except Bruno Bucciarati, the young Capo of Passione. From the shadows, he watches as you make your way through the street of shops and send your entity to collect food and other necessities. You carry on until your arms are full. He admires your resilience.

You do not see the division in the sidewalk until you have already fallen to the ground. Your collection of stolen goods scatters across the cobblestone street, lost to the darkness. On your hands and knees, you scramble to gather anything that has not split open or fallen into puddles. A man with a pocketknife in his hand and pock marks on his arms approaches, unbeknownst to you – but very known to the ever-aware Bruno.

It is not an uncommon practice for the homeless of Napoli to prey on each other. The man wielding the knife wants nothing more than a scrap of the food lying before you. To Bruno, however, he is a potential threat to what limited sanctity you might have. The man creeps closer, closer, closer.

And he is gone before you have the chance to turn around. The remnants of a zipper mark the spot where he once stood. You are alone again. Grateful that the night is still young, you send your entity to another vacant market stall to replace what has been lost.

Bruno emerges from the earth like a child born. He brings a white handkerchief to his cheek to wipe away the smudge of blood marring his skin – the evidence of his indiscretion. Carelessly, you wander ahead as if you were not in such a compromising situation only moments ago. But then again, you cannot be blamed for ignorance: how could you have known, if not for Bruno interference?

Grinning faintly, he folds the soiled handkerchief and tucks it into his pocket, beside his wallet – the catalyst and inspiration for his conquest of your affection. He is your protector when you cannot be.

It is a gratification that fills him with unmeasurable delight.

Bruno has lost track of how many times he has visited you; he has made a habit out of bringing you food every day that he can. It does not upset him too terribly much when he fails to find the time in his arduous work schedule to visit you, because he trusts your capabilities of stealing necessities with the aid of your Stand.

However, he cannot deny the nagging feeling blooming in his belly, reminding him that you should not be in the position of scavenging when he is perfectly capable of providing for you – of spoiling you – himself.

Today, he gifts to you cactus pears from Catania and homemade piadina ­– his mother’s recipe, no less. As always, you refuse to eat whilst he gawks at you. You do not notice the way his jaw clenches in utter vexation this time, or how his long, manicured fingers curl into a tight fist. In truth, he has grown frustrated with your antics. Bitterly, he contemplates his options: to whisk you away here and now would be far easier than playing this game any longer.

Finally recognizing his rigid composure, you back away from him. As if struck, Bruno releases his hand and sighs. He could not do such a thing – it is foolish thought. Trust is built upon honesty, and honesty alone. The legitimacy of such a bond cannot be fabricated. Per habit, he leaves you to your meal.

A light drizzle hails from the grey sky. The further he strays from the alleyway, the heavier the rainfall. Bruno supposes that the inclement weather must be the cause for the near vacancy of the market street. Despite the pattering against the sidewalks, he catches the sound of clumsy footsteps behind him. A pair of eyes practically bores into his back.

He stops to turn. Separated only by a narrow row of stone-crested townhouses, you stand there, watching him. You, too, have ventured far from the security of your alleyway. You cower behind a streetlamp, as if it could mask the pleading look in your gaze.

Please, don’t leave me.

Bruno’s mouth falls agape. Perhaps his gattina randagia is ready to come home, after all. 

The water pools around your bare form, concaving to every curve and crevice of your body. Though you graciously allowed Bruno the role of bathing you, you keep your knees bent and taut to your chest, refusing him to look upon your intimate regions. It is a most uncomfortable feeling to expose yourself to someone else; yet, you do not wish to be left alone, for you are beholden to his company.

He shields your eyes with his palm before pouring the basin over your shampooed hair. You practically lean into his touch. He is glad you cannot read his mind; it is a battle within his conscience to contain himself. He maintains his collected façade – despite how badly he wants nothing more than flip you onto your stomach and take you, forcing your body to rim of the bathtub.

The hand on your eyes falls and dips into the water. Bruno pulls his arm back and forth, tracing a figure-eight in the water. His mind has wandered, to be sure. In his other hand, he holds a washcloth, which he has been using to wash your skin. Slowly, he drags it over the backs of your thighs, gingerly scrubbing.

You push his arm away when the cloth ghosts over your slit.

“Give me the soap,” you suddenly demand – the first words you have ever spoken to him, full of malice no less. Bruno frowns. “I can do it myself.”

He grabs the bar of soap; however, he does not pass it to you. Instead, he slathers the washcloth and brings the linen back over your thighs. He wants to take care of you. This time, the hook of his finger brushes against your folds. You lash out and grab his arm, nails biting into his skin, leaving crescent-moon shaped marks as a receipt of the transgression. With far more force than before, you shove his arm away.

“Stop it. Give me the soap.”

Bruno pulls away and slumps against the side of the tub. You hug your knees tighter, expecting an apology from the man who took you in off the streets. Something dark flashes behind his eyes, and you wish you had enough room to scurry away.

“I just want to take care of you, mia gattina,” he insists, his eyes pleading with you. “Won’t you let me do that?”

His words do little to ease you. The third time he touches your folds, you strike him across the face with pruned fingers. In a flurry of black hair, his neck whips to the side. It is only when you attempt to rise from the tub that he snaps out of his stupor and throws his arm against your chest, pinning you down and leaving you with no choice but to expose yourself to him.

The water sloshes as you thrash around. Water collects in the delicate threads of Bruno’s attire, soaking him as you do the faux-marble tiled floors. Nothing seems to faze him. “Please, let me take care of you,” he begs, his grip unrelenting. You whimper, begging him to let you go. He denies you: “No, no. It’s all I want.”

Again, he palms your slit, only now you freeze and accept that you cannot stop him. You grip the edge of the tub to keep your head above the water. The coloring leaves your knuckles. A single tear rolls down your cheek.

“Don’t cry, dolcezza. Sii una brava ragazza per me.”

At once, a finger from the very hand that kept you fed for so long slides into your core with ease. Your walls involuntarily clench around him, and you grimace in pain. Whining, you attempt to buck your hips to dislodge him; he mistakes your defense for eagerness, and with a sigh, he inserts another and curls his fingers inside you.

He works you until a familiar, albeit long forgotten, throbbing sensation claims your womanhood, and incitement builds within you. Eventually, with each stroke of your folds, you relax and release the edge of tub. Your snivels of an insistence for him to stop become mewls, imploring him to continue. It has been far too long since you felt affection like this, and you find yourself melting at Bruno’s touch – as if you are a candle and he the flame.

“Brava ragazza.”

The arm on your chest disappears. Bruno braces it around your shoulders, pulling you into a seated position. When his thumb rubs your hardened nub, you whine and call his name. A prayer for him; he groans, holding you tighter.

Your hands reach out and at once, you pull his face towards your own so that your lips might meet. You allow him to explore the cavern of your mouth, and he swallows every moan blossoming from your throat. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, swiping his tongue over the swollen blush before breaking away to admire the way you huff at the command of his fingers, your eyes shut tightly. Pleasure or distress, he knows not why – though, he suspects the former.

He reaches the deepest nook of your core. You respond to the intrusion with a breathless cry, and you bury your face into the damp crook of his neck to satiate the noises escaping you, while gripping the silken tendrils of his primp hair.

“Brave ragazza. Brava gattina, il mio amore.”

His words – his praise – send you over the edge with a shudder. The coil in your belly snaps, and you come undone on Bruno’s hand. He lets out a sigh. Slowly, he detaches from your core and moves to embrace you. Exhausted, you veer into his touch, practically buzzing with spent arousal and fervor.

Around you, the bathwater has gone cold, but Bruno’s arms are enough to keep you warm. You allow him to rub his palm against the soft skin of your back. He presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, lingering as if debating whether to do it all again.

Content, you concede and drift away, lulled to sleep by the whispering of praises in your ear.

“Il mia bellissima gattina. Ti amo tanto.”

| 3048 Words |

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 8: Priorities

Word Count: 2565 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

Anakin hears the cheers for Obi-Wan turn sour, and he soon figures out why. It is no fault of his master's, who fights beautifully -- but there is a transparent dome-shield around the arena, and whenever someone in the angry, heavily-armed audience shoots at it, ripples of white electric shocks cross the dome and obscure the fight. Anakin is relieved that the audience is booing each other, not his master, though he worries that Obi-Wan will think they're booing at him.

Obi-Wan looks over his shoulder, trying to locate Anakin in the audience, and a blade suddenly whizzes by his neck. His reflexes protect him and he jerks out of the way, but a moment later he feels hot blood on his skin. He hadn't moved quickly enough -- the blade cut him sharp and swift. It hurts a lot more than he expected. It could have easily killed him.

He was so focused on finding Anakin in this crowd that he forgot Anakin's own words to him, his warnings about this opponent. Obi-Wan hadn't taken Anakin seriously about Tiango. Of course it was sad about Anakin’s “cool” gladiator friend, but Obi-Wan defeated a Sith lord not long ago. The experience buoyed his confidence to a fault. This Tiango -- not a Sith, not even a professional, just an ex-science experiment, just a Yooro -- landed a blow on him -- a pretty good one, too.

Obi-Wan rapidly teaches himself a lesson. Connecting with Anakin doesn't mean knowing exactly where he is. It means listening to him. Believing him. That's what teachers do. It's what friends do.

This isn't the Outer Rim, but these people are. This is Anakin's haunt. Obi-Wan will train it out of him, will make him a man of the Core. But for now, Anakin is the expert here, and his words must be Obi-Wan's textbook.

With his heart opened wide for Anakin, and his guard up because of Anakin's warning, Obi-Wan realizes he will have to hunker down in defense for a while. Tiango's assault is brutal and inhumanly quick, though Obi-Wan remembers that Yoroos do get exhausted -- eventually. What Obi-Wan lacks in comparative strength, he makes up for in endurance -- patience and energy, the long game, care -- these are Obi-Wan's secret weapons.

Anakin watches Obi-Wan deflect the same moves that once ruthlessly whittled down Crix Spartak, the gladiator who he had loved. The memory of that death match sends chills up his spine. He is certain that some of these blows must hit his master. Part of him is certain that Obi-Wan is doomed, too. Anakin had believed Crix would win, and he had been wrong. It is asking too much to have hope again, against the same, utterly evil man.

Though Obi-Wan has great endurance, his vibroblade does not. Out of habit, he treats it as roughly as if it were a laser weapon, depending on it for deflection, as a shield. Tiango's barrage strikes the metal and bends it back and forth into a zigzag, then into a knot. Obi-Wan is slowly disarmed as his blade becomes less and less tenable as a weapon. He has no choice; he has no other shield. The biggest bother is his own hand: the damn vibroblade is aptly named -- it quivers like a leaf in the wind, wearing out his wrist and weakening his fingers.

The crowd cheers enthusiastically for the graceful Jedi, chanting, "Kenobi! Kenobi!" Anakin does not join in. Obi-Wan could almost be dancing with his expert moves, but Anakin is not in the mood to learn from him. He gazes in hopeless terror at the duel. He watches bullets, lasers and slingshotted electrostones bounce off the dome, as well as gifts, toys and even people’s underwear. All such wild debris from this crazed crowd trying to reach out to their beloved or hated athlete, his poor, wonderful master.

The fastest or biggest bullets send fuzzy waves across the dome, but the dome quickly repairs itself. Anakin follows the arc of the dome, calculating the sources of its projection points from subtle distortions in the waves.

He moves the layers of fur in his stolen disguise to peek at the recharging screen on his hidden acid-blaster: 52%. No other weapons are making a dent in the dome. But no other weapons are quite like this one, and no one else seems to have figured out where to shoot. Could he crack the dome? What would he do then?

Anakin looks away from Obi-Wan for a second and scans his narrowed eyes over the happy rabble. He does not understand them. Are they seeing what he's seeing? They all shout and cheer, laughing and clapping, as if Obi-Wan is triumphant, as if he is playing. He looks back at his master. He sees that Obi-Wan is in great pain. Dying, even. How can the information from his senses, and the conclusions from his feelings, be so different from everyone else's?

Is he connecting, mentally, to his master -- using his supposed Jedi powers to see things for how they truly are? Is he seeing the truth, better than they are, because he is a Jedi, a Jedi Padawan? Is the Force giving him a special message -- because he, unlike the rabble, is a Jedi -- because he, unlike everyone, is the answer to a prophecy -- because he is closer to Obi-Wan than anyone else is?

Or ... is he, Anakin, wrong? Is everyone else right? Is his sight blinded by irrational fear, brought about by his utter dependence on this man? Did Obi-Wan really stumble, just now? No one else seems to have seen it.

Is he, Anakin, perhaps, confusing the past for the present? Crix for Obi-Wan? Death for life?

Is it all in his head? Or is it real?

   *   *   *

Below the arena, Zlinky has memorized the map from the computer. With Jane, she trespasses through the employee quarters. They reach a large, important-looking office which Zlinky guesses is Knightkiller's.

She hears voices inside and shouts at the door, “Hey boss! There's fried fluunies in Rec Room 3!”

She backs off as the door opens and two people exit. Zlinky creeps inside and Jane blusters along behind her. Too soon, they hear the people coming back and Zlinky shoves Jane under the slick metallic desk; the robot is so big that two of the desk legs lift a few inches from the ground. There isn't much room left for Zlinky; she has to nestle right up against Jane's bazooka. A belt of detonators falls across Zlinky's lap.

She peeks over the edge of the desk and sees the people more closely. They look more decorated than the other guards, with sashes and medals, as if there was some kind of made-up military ranking among Knightkiller's cronies, a worthless army dedicated solely to this evil entertainment. 

“These fluunies are great,” says one crony.

“I’ve had better,” says the other.

The hidden Padawan hears the gross sounds of chewing, and then the rather more alarming sound of Jane powering up her neutralizers. Zlinky quiets her and gestures for her to stop. Stealth has worked so far; it would be best to avoid violence, especially since these two seem important.

“I can't wait to run the missing Jedi kids through with this,” says the first one, as he ignites a lightsaber.

Zlinky stops gesturing, but Jane has already powered down.

“The Jedi kids must still be on the ship. No one's been allowed to leave and no shuttle pods have activated.”

“You think Jedi could survive in space?”

“No. Only the boss can do that. You saw them in those Coruscanti space suits, idiot.”

“Oh right.”

The second crony ignites another lightsaber. Even without looking, Zlinky recognizes the sound as her own. She feels something very powerful and uncomfortable. Taken aback, she identifies it as jealousy, one of the very worst emotions. Afraid of her own feelings, she is frozen, unable to act, unable to know if she is behaving rationally, according to the light side, or irrationally, which will lead her off the narrow path into darkness.

“They're real nice suits. I called dibs on the man-size one for me and the little one for my daughter.”

“Yeah...the gigantic one and the lady-size one are pretty useless.”

“I'll take the lady one for my kid to grow into.”

Zlinky thinks, I'm twelve! I’m not a lady! Though I am much taller than Anakin. So they say Anakin is missing, too? That means he's not dead! If only I was strong enough to detect his presence!

Jane pokes Zlinky and gestures to her blasters. Zlinky shakes her head.

We can't kill him! He's a dad!

They hear the two men walking closer and closer. One of them accidentally hits something with the lightsaber; the girls hear them cursing and smell melting plastic.

Zlinky feels time running out. This hiding spot is bad. She ran in here without a plan. She knows her decision-making is impeded by fear, jealousy, and access to a murder-droid, but she must decide something.

Zlinky quickly examines the settings on Jane's weapons. All these numbers and charts are too confusing to parse right now. She dials one dial back, but it only causes some numbers to rise and others to fall. She puts it back where it was, though the numbers are still not the same. The last time Jane shot someone, it wasn't fatal. At least not immediately.

The girl feels tears pressuring her eyes and throat. She doesn't want to hurt anyone. She has learned through stories and lessons that the darkness within is far worse than the darkness without. She is more frightened of doing wrong than she is of dying. There is no death. But there is evil.

She can't get out of her head a discussion she overheard from some of the older Padawans. This group of twenty- and thirty-somethings is the pride of the whole Temple. Everyone adores them -- the strongest, most beautiful, best students in school. Once they are knighted, then they leave the young people’s social circle to rub shoulders with the teachers, and have no time for their old friends -- but before they are knighted, they rule the school from the inside, and everyone lets them get away with a little more fun than knights are allowed. In those last years of Padawanship, they are the most free a Jedi can be.

Just last month, when Zlinky fetched the group snacks from the mess hall in order to bask in their presence, she found them in a very strange state. When one of them returns from a mission, the others crowd around to hear the stories and see the new scars. The latest conquering hero, a human named Sara Chid-wun, did not have a physical scar. But she had such an aura of bitterness around her that the whole group was affected, including the young interloper Zlinky.

Sara explained how she and her Master Kayji were caught in various difficult situations, and each time Kayji had neglected to act, so each time Sara had been forced to act herself, often with violence. It felt like a test that she continuously failed. And yet, ultimately, they succeeded in their mission. Sara claimed that Kayji would not address her concerns with anything beyond platitudes.

The whole experience led Sara to, hesitantly, conclude that Masters often take advantage of their students. Masters refuse to move, and claim they are trusting in the Force, or allowing evil to collapse in on itself, or some such excuse, while in reality they are leaving the sensible but nasty work to the impure, young Padawan tagging along.

The group discussed each example, and more from their own adventures, each trying to explain away their masters’ -- sometimes -- confusing actions, each unwilling to support Sara’s conclusion -- including, of course, Sara herself. But the group found that, if they were being honest, she might be right. Sometimes. So they had moved on to finding the moral lesson in this seemingly cruel behavior -- something about knightly violence being worse than non-knightly violence, something about power and purity.

And maybe they came to a satisfying explanation among themselves; Sara herself seemed as cheerful as normal the next time Zlinky saw her. But Zlinky hadn't felt comfortable sitting in on their important big-kid conversation any longer, so she had left at the darkest part of it.

Tila has never forced Zlinky's hand before. Zlinky has never had to kill anyone before. But now the master is indeed the one sitting out, while the student is the one doing the work.

Is it okay to stray off the path when you are only a Padawan? Is it, in fact, expected, and necessary? Must she walk in the gray area beside the light, until she is a master herself, and can savor the light all the time, and never have to do any more wrong? When she is knighted, then she can delegate that dark stuff to someone else, someone young and obedient?

The thought occurs to Zlinky that she is not the one who would do the killing -- that would be Jane. But she knows that is a flaky excuse. Jane is her responsibility. Just as she is Tila's. The blood is on all their hands.

Zlinky turns to Jane and nods. Jane immediately stands up and neutralizes the guards. Zlinky pokes her head over the desk, sees the smoking bodies, and fears the worst.

“Are they dead?”

“ɪ ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛ ɪᴛ. ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴀʀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴄᴀᴘᴀᴄɪᴛʏ.“

“I'm pretty sure your full capacity is overkill.”

She tiptoes over to the guard's bodies. One seems to be breathing. The other, she can't tell.

She can't alert anyone to the danger, and she doesn't trust the medical facilities here anyway. But she has nothing to give them, to help them. She puts her hand on the soft, sandy hair of the one whose life is unclear to her, the one who has a little daughter.

“May the Force be with you.”

Her voice is a shaky whisper, but she's never meant those words so much as she means them now.

Please, please, live.

She pulls the lightsaber from his hand and turns it off, and does the same with the other guard. She finds three more lightsabers on their belts. She recognizes hers and her master’s; two of them must be Anakin’s and his master’s; the last one could be Glagret’s, a.k.a. Knightkiller’s. It's green, and of the same old fashion as her master’s. She is surprised and glad that it isn't red. But maybe Knightkiller carries her red one on her person. Or maybe, just maybe, the Sith are not at all involved. She prays that they aren't.

Zlinky and Jane hide the bodies behind the desk and lock the door behind them. Zlinky turns away from the door and does not look back.

They were gonna kill me. They still will kill me, if they figure it out. I have to act in self-defense. And I have to save the other three Jedi. These people may be people, but they are low-lives, murderers, and lawbreakers. It wasn't my choice that they got in my way.

Chapter 9: Crix Spartak

[holy-stevie]

The Lion and The Lamb - Part Five

Summary : Ransom has a new friend who helps him get the information he needs, saving him from the consequences doesn’t always work out in his favour. 

Warnings : Brief mention of suicide ( really only the word is said), Tony Stark being Tony Stark. 

a/n : it’s been a hot minute since i’ve posted and i’m so so sorry!! 

Masterlist

P1

P2

P3

P4

Please do not repost my work anywhere else. 

“You know this is illegal right?” The demon next to him was cracking open peanut shells on the side of the bar, not fazed by the obvious filth coating the aged wood. Ransom lets out an irritated growl when his companion brushes him off yet again, his temper flaring at the laid-back smile on his face.

“Which is why I need your help Stark.” He growls out, the demon rearing its ugly head at the edges of his mind. He takes a deep breath throw his nose to control himself before snapping his hand down on the bar in front of the smaller man, both parts of conscious screaming in irritation and fear.  

“What would I get out of it?” Tony taunts, his mouth upturning into a smug smirk at the obvious desperation radiating from the man next to him, his own demon barking out a laugh. Drysdale’s plan was a suicide attempt, he was sure of it. Taking down a high-level demon was hard work as is, but Satan himself? The kid had to be crazy.

“They gotta put someone in charge after he’s gone.” Ransom mumbles, his head tilting to the side as he studies the Stark. He was his last resort, his main inside man in this elaborate plan that he was sure was going to crumble to pieces the moment he set it into motion.

“You’re ridiculous.” Tony snorts, turning back to sip his drink, a black glimmering liquid that Ransom really didn’t want to know the contents of, with a small laugh. “They don’t just hold an election like the mortals do, the natural leader will rise.” He hums in agreement, leaning closer to the man so there wouldn’t be any prying ears.

“But my brother sure is fond of you.” Ransom grins when he sees his body visibly tense at the mention of his lover, or well ex-lover per Satans orders. Tony clenches his jaw when he slams the glass back down onto the sticky bar top and turns his body to face Ransom properly, his resolve fading at the mere mention of the creature he craves the most.

“When are we doing this?” Tony asks, defeated when Ransom smirks in victory. The latter standing immediately and holding his smooth hand out to the man, pulling him to his feet and basically dragging him out of the bar.

“Right now. I get you in, you download the memories and then we wait for the signal.” Ransom explains as he continues his fast pace, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure the pair weren’t being followed.

“What’s the signa-” He’s interrupted by Ransom pulling him into his chest and leaning down to kiss him square on the lips, his own parting in surprise and confusion at how similar to those of the blonde beauty who was awaiting him on the other side of this job they were. Two figures walk past the pair and down the sidewalk before Tony pushes Ransom away from him with a growl, wiping his lips like a teenager as he glares at the demon.

“What the fuck Drysdale.” He shouts, immediately being silenced by Ransoms palm against his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up.” He hisses in his ear as he checks their surroundings once more. “Needed a quick cover.” He mumbles pulling away from him completely and continuing down the sidewalk, not waiting for the still shocked Stark to catch up with his long strides.

“Why can’t you just do your teleporting thingy?” Tony asks when he catches up to him, panting slightly from the short run, Ransom rolls his eyes as he pulls his pocket watch out to check the time on earth once more.

“Because then he can track me idiot.” Ransom huffs, ignoring the demon inside him thrashing for control, to stop him. Ransom blocks it out as he shoulders his way through a doorway, the walls of the corridor filling with an uncomfortable heat as they approach the castle that sits at the top of the mountain. Tony takes a deep breath as they reach the room they need, the swirling black portals in the full-length mirrors circling the room making his gut churn in discomfort and fear.

“Where?” He asks seriously, the humour drained from soul as he plotted against the creature that destroyed every single shred of happiness in his body. Ransom mutely points to the biggest mirror in the room, a small vanity sitting in front of it with indents for a pocket watch.

“Watch the door.” Tony mumbles as he takes Ransoms watch, not wasting anytime to click it into place and watch the events unfold on the big mirror in front of him. Selecting the sickening scenes, he transfers them into Ransoms watch, catching a glimpse of a small bland room and a girl. He snaps the watch shut as the mirror powers down, the room falling into silence as he turns to the doorway.

“Got it.” He says still looking down at the watch, his eyes snapping up when a smooth evil tone answers instead of Ransom.

“Oh lovely!” Satan chuckles, his right hand fastened around Ransoms neck holding him above his head. “Now if you could just hand it over and we’ll be on our merry way!” The fake polite tone making Tony squirm in defiance, his eyes slowly trailing to Ransoms as he watches him press a small gold ring to Satan’s neck, the sound of hissing and a squeal of Satan’s burning skin makes Ransom drop to the ground.

“Let’s go Stark!” He yells, quick to get to his feet and grab Tony’s arm as they start running down the long corridor, the sound of someone chasing them causing their steps to quicken. Just as the pair hit the sidewalk Ransom is yanked back by his hair, a silver pendent being pressed to the side of his temple causing him to scream out in pain and drop to his knees as he claws at his own hair. Tony pulls a small pouch of dust from his pocket and throws it at the dark figure, giving himself mere seconds to scoop Ransom into his arms and flick his wrist, transporting them to the small bland room from Ransoms memories.  

Ransom drops to his knees with a sharp scream, the demon thrashing and tugging at his mind, pushing for control of him completely, to submit. Tony backs away from him in fear before he stops suddenly when the back of his head is hit with a soft pillow, turning around to meet the scared yet determined eyes that belong to you.

“Who the hell are you?” He asks in confusion before you whack him again, this time in the face where he splutters in surprise before ripping the pillow out of your hands. He was about to ask who you were again be his voice is drowned out by Ransoms painful screams again, he turns to help but is surprised to see you there already on your knees in front of the demon.

“Ransom? Hey look at me, it’s me.” You mumble pulling his face up, so you can connect your eyes with his, the blue and black combining in his pupils as he fights for control. He clutches his hair in tight fists, the black strands tangling in his fingers. He thrashes again but you grab his hands as firmly as you can, gently caressing the cold skin as you talk to him gently, soothingly, to push the man you love to the forefront of his mind.

“It’s me, your lamb. Come on show me those beautiful blues.” You beg as you bring one hand down to cup his cheek, your mind screaming in pain at the state he’s in. Tony watches in shock as the demon backs down and Ransom almost completely collapses against you, his temple pressing into your shoulder as he takes in deep calming breaths of you.

“Did you get it?” A voice rings out from besides Stark, the smaller man jumping in shock and turning to whack the intruder in the face with the soft pillow that was still in his hand. The blonde angel raises an amused eyebrow as he watches his lover drop the pillow and drop his mouth open in absolutely shock.

“Did you just hit me in the face with a pillow?” His deep voice fills the room again as he chuckles lightly, catching the small man when he all but launches himself into the angel’s arms.

“Steve.” The word is breathed out in relief and homecoming into his neck, the lovers embracing for the first time in centuries. Ransom lifts his head from where it was hidden in your neck, smiling gently at his brother as he lifts his hand to show off the watch, matching his brothers look of relief as they embrace their lovers.

“We need to get out of here.” Ransom says as he moves to a stand, bring you up with him and wrapping a arm around your waist protectively, noticing Steve do the same with his companion. Steve just nods and flicks his gaze to the girl that Ransom is slung around.

“She can’t come with us.” Steve says gently, instantly regretting the words when he sees the dark look that flashes before his brothers’ eyes, the man and demon possessive of the small human girl.

“She isn’t safe here, she comes with us.” He growls, tucking you behind his large body as he puffs out his chest in competition. Steve shakes his head and clenches his jaw in stubbornness, something that ran through all their blood.

“She is just a mortal.” Steve snaps out, his eyes flicking down to Tony gently before meeting the angry blue orbs across the room.

“I said.” Ransom suddenly flicks over until he is almost nose to nose with Steve, the brothers glaring into matching eyes as they both refuse to back down. “She’s coming with us.” Tony huffs and rolls his eyes, pushing his way in between the two and turning to face Steve.

“We don’t have time for this, she comes. Now let’s go.” He grabs Steve’s hand and struts them both out of the window in a smooth motion, leaving Ransom almost snickering at his power over his stubborn brother.

“Ransom?” Your soft voice calls him, his head turning to look at you as you shift from foot to foot nervously, your form so small that he feels his chest expanding with the need to protect you. He sighs and turns back to you, cupping your soft cheeks in his hands and exhaling deeply.

“Do you trust me?” He asks staring into your eyes.

“Always.” You answer immediately.

“Then come with me.” He drops a hand to tangle his fingers with yours and leads you to the small window of your room, his large form climbing out of it first and turning back to help you through. You turn around to get one last glimpse at the room that had held you hostage for your whole life, scanning the room in the red glow provided by the alarm clock.

You take a deep breath before taking Ransoms outstretched hand and climbing through the window to what would be both of your worst nightmare.

Taglist: @scarletsoldierrr​ @chrisevans-imagines​ @patzammit​ @onetwo3000​ @yoncevans​ @sleepycevans​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @adriannajackson​ @donutloverxo​ @cloudninevans​ @smyfmj​ 

TLATL: @cheeseburgersstuff​ @tonystankschild​ @weirdowithnobeardo​ @helenaeisenhower​ @maan24​ @ivettt​ @selinakyle373​ @aubageddon91​

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 34

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 34

The early morning sunlight shone diagonally into the room, casting a bright yellow glare onto the back of his eyelids. Lin Yan ripped off the blanket. He rolled out of bed in a daze, but his legs gave out and he fell. He sat on the bedside, taking deep breaths.

His whole body hurt like it had been run over by a cart. Every muscle was screaming. Lin Yan shook his head in an attempt to get rid of the hangover dizziness, tugging at the blanket that had half-fallen down. The place where Xiao Yu had slept was already empty, and a shallow depression in the bed reminded him of the absurdity of last night's drinking.

Lin Yan roughly tapped his temple. For the first time, he wanted to wipe away his drunken memory but the more he tried to forget, the more sober he became. Even the ghost's watching gaze was still present in his mind. His velvety black eyes looked lost while he whispered his name and slammed into him. It was like his body was still pressed against him, their hearts intertwining as one.

He slept with someone he has to spend 24 hours a day with. How is this going to end?

Idiot, Lin Yan cursed. He put on a long T-shirt meant for playing basketball and walked towards the wall. When he heard Xiao Yu calling him, Lin Yan didn't even have the courage to turn around and answer him. He stumbled into the bathroom with his head down and locked the door behind him.

The person looking back at him in the mirror had red eyes, swollen cheeks, and a series of blue and purple hickeys that stretched from the bottom of his neck to his collarbone. Lin Yan tugged the collar of his T-shirt down. When he saw the miserable state of his chest, he hastily turned his head. He turned on the shower to wash his body. The water rained onto his face. Everything he did, and didn't, want to see blurred. The sensitive parts of his body were stimulated by the hot water, causing the corner of Lin Yan's mouth to twitch in discomfort. Still gritting his teeth, he roughly scrubbed his body.

He couldn't wait for this layer of skin to eventually flake off.

Lin Yan dried his hair and wiped a hand across the foggy mirror. It still showed a beautiful and clean face. The stand-up collar T-shirt just covered the marks on the neck. Lin Yan propped himself up on the sink and smiled miserably at the man in the mirror.

Compared to love, carnal desire is much simpler. A meal, a bottle of wine, and anything can happen. You don’t even need to take off your clothes. Do the deed, forget about it, take a shower and continue on like nothing happened. Who needs to bring up the unpleasantness of last night anyway?

He can't succumb to a paranoid ghost. The street was full of decent people. Who knows what animal opened its thighs last night, and which corner it will live in the next night?

The tinkling sound of cups and plates came from the kitchen and passed through the messy living room. The moment the sliding door opened, Lin Yan was stunned by the sight in front of him, and he didn't move for a long time.

The light golden sunlight fell on the ground. The suave gentleman with messy sideburns and a pair of slender eyebrows carefully rinsed a frozen fish under the tap. Lin Yan bought it a few days ago and threw it in the freezer and forgot to take it out. It was freezer burnt. The fish's eyes were covered with a layer of frost, its mouth wide open, and the head that peeked out from his hands was a bit dull. The saucepan was placed on the burner, and the water was almost at a boil. Several pieces of ginger and green onions were diced into various-sized pieces on the chopping board. He had forgotten to peel the ginger, the clueless blockhead.

Hearing the movement at the door, Xiao Yu turned his head. A smile was hidden in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth were softly curved upwards: "You're awake. You're not going to sleep some more?"

". . . I'm too nauseous to sleep." Lin Yan's face burned. Avoiding his eyes, he walked over to turn off the tap. "What are you doing with this thing? Are you hungry?"

It took everything in him to pretend to stay calm: "I thought you didn't need to eat."

"I wanted to make breakfast for you." Xiao Yu pointed to the fish in the sink. "It's too frozen."

"You need to defrost it in the microwave, so it won't be melted in one day." Lin Yan glanced at the scattered green onion and ginger on the chopping board. "Besides, no one makes fish this early in the morning. It's too heavy."

Xiao Yu stood still in front of the sink, awkwardly holding the fish's tail: ". . . This is all I know how to make."

Lin Yan took out a frying pan and moved the saucepan off the burner: "I can't eat this stuff with an upset stomach. Don't worry about it. I'll just cook something myself to eat."

"What do you want to eat? Let me try." Xiao Yu said as he went to look through the refrigerator. He had just opened it slightly before Lin Yan shut it, his voice unconsciously raised: "I said don't worry about it. Don't act like this is your house. Look at what my living room already looks like. Who knows what might happen to the kitchen later on. Young Master Xiao has probably never had to lift a finger in his life. I don't need your help."

When he spoke, he unconsciously put more emphasis on the 'my', deliberately excluding him, leaving no room for argument.

A one-night stand or something seemed too far-fetched for him, but he couldn't have sex and expect to now be fully devoted to each other. The person opposite him was stunned. His eyes, full of expectation, darkened. He was a bit at a loss holding the fish, as if he had done something wrong, and didn't know what to do.

Lin Yan didn't dare to look at him. He struggled to take out the eggs and milk from the refrigerator. He poured the oil into the frying pan and cracked open the eggs with two clicks. Once he turned around, Xiao Yu was still standing in the same spot, the frozen fish turning his fingers red. He wasn't going to leave or stay. He lowered his eyes and glanced back at him occasionally as if he was afraid of getting in trouble.

Lin Yan didn't say anything. He took out a spatula and flipped the fried egg over. The pain in his back was still terrible. Every step he took was torturous. The ghost noticed his unnatural stance. After standing behind him for a while, he hesitantly put down the fish. He wrapped himself around him in an attempt at a comforting hug. He put his chin on Lin Yan's shoulder. He felt like a mass of cold air like he had forgotten to close the refrigerator door.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Xiao Yu's tone was softer than ever before. "I'll be gentler next time."

Lin Yan took a deep breath. Xiao Yu's touch brought back the memories of last night. He had fully submitted himself to the ghost. The uncontrollable debauchery and the sense of shame of being exposed on the spot made him antsy. He interrupted him, expressionless: "There won't be a next time. I was drunk last night. Let's pretend it never happened. What's done is done, okay?"

The person behind him trembled, and the arms around him loosened.

Lin Yan couldn't bear it and concealed it by fiddling with the fried egg in the pan: "You can't help with this. Find me some nausea medicine. It's in the bedroom drawer."

Xiao Yu pondered for a moment, then asked him in a low voice: "What does the nausea medicine . . . look like?"

"You don't know anything." Lin Yan sighed. He put the spatula down. He turned around, suppressing the evil fire in his heart: "Please leave. I'm in a bad mood. I don't have time to say something nice to make you happy."

Xiao Yu was silent and slowly let go of him. He raised a pair of dark eyes to stare at Lin Yan. Something he couldn't understand floated in his eyes, like sadness. He gave him a once-over from head to toe. He turned his head and gently saying: "Lin Yan, don't play with me."

When he turned around, the ghost had already disappeared. Lin Yan slowly put the fried egg on the plate. He pressed through the pain in his stomach and began to eat. The touch of the embrace seemed to linger on his body. He subconsciously shook his shoulders, his face wooden.

Don't play with me? Lin Yan recalled the ghost's words with a look in his eyes. This proud young man had rushed out of the unknown and forcibly occupied his home, his bed, his space, his time and his . . . his thigh muscles twitched. Lin Yan slowly rubbed his hands along his thighs. Finally, he put down his chopsticks and buried his face in the palms of his hands and rubbed hard, unconsciously turning his eyes red. In the end, who was playing with who?

Meat is most delicious with the blood. The more debaucherous the lust, the more enjoyable it'll be. Sex could be dirty, but love couldn't. Love was the purest thing, there was no room for filth. The ridiculous night was over. The unpredictable ghost could be forgotten, but the gentle side of the ghost forced him to remember some feelings that had nothing to do with lust. The softest corner of his heart was gently tugged. Lin took a bit of his egg, his throat choked up with inexplicable sorrow and grief.

Maybe he was disgusted with himself for losing himself last night, but what difference does it make? Lin Yan silently thought. Some things can't be taken back.

After washing the dishes, he called Professor Folder's secretary to confirm the meeting time. The secretary gave him the address of the institute, and, after finalizing the meeting, Lin Yan cleaned up the kitchen. A small pile of chopped green onions and ginger was still on the chopping board. The knifework was clumsy, but he had been serious about it. Lin Yan used a knife to brush them off the board. Just as he was about to throw them away, he suddenly hesitated. He found a small bowl and put it in the refrigerator freezer.

That guy should have found a place to get angry. Lin Yan sighed, limped and held the wall to walk outside. One thing after another left him completely exhausted. He knew it was wrong to take it out on him, but he just couldn't find the energy to comfort the stubborn ghost. It was almost time for his appointment. Lin Yan packed his pen and notebook into his sports bag. When he walked into the living room, he was shocked. Xiao Yu was picking up things on the floor with his back facing him. When he heard Lin Yan come in, he turned around, holding several girl's trinkets, hair clips, dolls, leather coin purses, and a few photos that could barely be seen.

"These can still be used. Take them." Xiao Yu hung his head cautiously: "I can't compensate you for the rest. I don't have the money you use, and you took everything I had."

The sunlight came in from the half-opened curtains. The ghost stood helplessly in the wind-swept living room, bowing his head as a peace offering, lowering his stature and waiting to be forgiven.

Lin Yan couldn't say a word. He stood there for a long time, and when he opened his mouth, his voice became mute: "What are you doing this early in the morning? Are you trying to make me feel bad?" He found a garbage bag to put them in, harshly tying the bag. "I don't even want them anymore."

He dragged Xiao Yu into the bedroom and opened the paper bags that were piled up in the corner. The clothes he bought in Shenjiayuan last time were hung in the closet. He had even kept the auspicious mortuary clothes, carefully ironed out and hung on clothing hangers. The full cabinet was stuffed with two people's things, almost giving a sense of 'home'.

"Satisfied? Come over and I'll help you comb your hair." Lin Yan tugged Xiao Yu's sleeve: "I made an appointment to ask about you at the research institute today. We're going to be late."

All the words in the world couldn’t compare to the warmth of "we". Lin Yan held Xiao Yu's long, silky hair. The two figures were reflected in the mirror. White fabric draped over the top. The pearwood dresser was decorated with gold inlay. The pearly surface was like the white of a flower. A screen behind them covered in peony flowers and birds was complex and magnificent; a dazzling sight

Lin Yan satisfactorily rolled a bun with a bone hairpin. The bangs on his forehead fell down. His features were as sharp as a knife, with sharp eyebrows and starry eyes. He couldn't help but squeeze his face jokingly: "Young Master looks really handsome. How are you going to pay for your manservant?" He muttered: "Without money, you have to sleep with me at night. What a shame."

As he spoke, he put his hand on Xiao Yu's shoulder. Cold fingers moved up to caress the back of his hand, carefully tracing the bones in his fingers, like dealing with a treasure made of jade.

"I know all that. I just can't bear to let you go." Xiao Yu spoke very lightly.

"What?" Lin Yan didn't hear him clearly.

"Nothing." Xiao Yu said softly.

-------------

The research institute where the professor worked was built inside a large complex. It took a long time to find the side road from the main road. The low bungalows were shaded by the century-old trees. There were round tables and wicker chairs on the open balcony of the building, and occasionally they could see gray-haired foreigners sitting together drinking tea.

After greeting the entrance guard, Lin Yan drove his car into the back parking lot with ease and stopped in front of a modest gray bungalow. The 90s-style office didn't have a separate door, two steps leading into the dark and dreary building. Standing in the yard was a middle-aged man in work clothes, holding a small piece of paper to double-check if it matched Lin Yan's car license plate. When he saw that everything matched, he smiled honestly and greeted Lin Yan and opened the door very courteously.

"Lin, welcome. My name is Chen." The middle-aged man shook enthusiastically shook Lin Yan's hand. "The professor has arranged everything."

"Brother Chen." Lin Yan said respectfully.

"Come, come. It's bright outside. Come inside and see. Two days ago, I was on a business trip. Hey, comrade, you know, we have to travel every day in this line of work. We started going through the files as soon as we got back. Come in and find out if we have what you need."

The middle-aged man said as he took Lin Yan into the building. He was actually very young when he looked at him up close. He had a rugged look because he worked in areas with harsh UV rays. His eyes were plain and his skin was tanned and blistered. A mouthful of white teeth was revealed when he spoke. This comrade reminded Lin Yan of the old leader with a ceramic vase in front of him in the "Reform and Opening*" poster. The person in front of him's appearance suddenly started to warp in his mind. His shirt was tucked in his black pants and a Zhongshan suit was draped over him. He was gesticulating towards the door. A pair of large hands with prominent knuckles and bones was a common characteristic of the working people.

*(T/N: "Reform and Opening" policy is the Chinese economic reforms that went into place after Mao Zedong's death in China and pursued by Deng Xiaoping)

[bailey-reaper]

The Lord of the Manor (4)

Summary: Barok refuses to let anything get in his way this time: today he will go to visit his brother and pay his respects...

Content Warnings: suicide references (specifically suicidal thoughts), angst + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family

Other parts:  (1)  |  (2)  |  (3)  |

At some point he'd fallen asleep in Klint's room, though he couldn't remember the precise moment. He was propped up against the footboard with his legs tucked up close to his stomach. The first thing he noticed when he moved was a stiffness in his shoulders and neck. Hardly the most sensible way of sleeping...

Suddenly a loud rumble of thunder echoed overhead, causing the windows of the ancestral home to rattle. Clearly a storm had rolled in overnight.

After stretching until his bones cracked pleasingly, Barok drew back the curtains that covered the large bow windows of the master bedroom and looked out at the landscape. Rain pelted the earth in torrential sheets and lightning lanced across the sky as if momentarily tearing it. This was a most severe storm.

If he were the superstitious or god-fearing sort, then he might have considered that some form of divine force was trying to keep him away from his brother’s grave. Thankfully he was not so limited in his thoughts. Instead, Barok was incredibly stubborn and he had resolved to visit Klint’s grave that day – so that was what he would do.

Of course, taking Black Gale out in such hideous conditions was out of the question. He’d have to go for a ride on a more pleasant summer’s day, perhaps to the orchard or along the coast...

For now, he went to his room to dress in simple clothes and sturdy knee-high leather boots. The path to Klint’s grave would be muddy, so practical footwear was essential. He knew full well his clothes would become drenched quickly, so he donned a shirt and jacket of reasonable hardy material and breeches of similar quality. Once he was dressed, he made his way downstairs to the Grand Vestibule.

“M-My lord!” Harvey hurried over looking deeply concerned, “Surely you do not intend to go out in middle of this storm?”

“I’m going to visit Klint,” Barok replied as he took his cloak from the row of hangers by the door.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but, surely it could wait until tomorrow? I’ve heard tell that this storm is merely passing on its way to Spain...”

“I appreciate your concern, Harvey, but you need not worry about me. I have to do this... I postponed my visit yesterday on account of factors outside of my control, I’ll be damned if I do that a second time...” an odious noble was one thing, a torrential storm was another. He had no qualms about leaving himself at the mercy of the elements.

“... If you’re sure, my lord...” the old butler had handled enough van Zieks’ lords during his tenure as a servant of the house to know that they were all of a similar stubbornness and driven by their sense of principles. If the young Lord had decided he must visit Klint’s grave then that is what he would do by hell or high water, “... Just do be careful out there and take shelter if the storm worsens....”

“Yes, I will promise you that much,” Barok said as he donned his cloak and opened the door. A sharp gust of wind violently tousled his hair as it howled through the air like a frenzied ghost. He lowered his head and stepped out into the squall, pulling the door shut despite the insistent push of the wind against him. Rain pelted down, taking but a few moments to soak his hair until it was clinging to his face. He ignored the hostile elements and pressed on in the direction of Klint’s grave.

By horse the journey was some 10 minutes away, on foot it was closer to 20 and his progress was slowed by the wind in his face and the unsteady earth beneath his feet. Despite that, he was able to navigate the familiar banks and pathways of the forest that had been a favoured haunt of his since he was a boy. Even with the gloom of the storm clouds over head, he knew the way like the back of his hand.

“Blast! Of all the times for a storm to hit!” he could hear Klint’s voice as his mind reflected on a time they’d been hunting and a similarly fierce squall had rolled in, “Come little wolf, we’ll need to find shelter!”

He nodded and followed behind as Klint led the way to a large bank that over hung like a roof, they crouched down and looked out from their semi-sheltered vantage point at the chaos, “It doesn’t look as though it’ll pass any time soon,” Barok observed.

“Mmmm, I think you’re right, so we might as well amuse ourselves in the meantime.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I heard that someone came home late last night in quite an intoxicated state,” Klint was grinning impishly, “Care to tell me about your debauched night of revelry?”

“. . . .” Barok coughed, “I discovered that I’m not much for mixing drinks...”

“Ah... and what did my little brother mix?”

“.... Well, I might have tried to see what all the fuss with beer is about, before switching back to wine,” Barok massaged his temples as he recalled just how rotten he’d felt first thing that morning, “...I’m firmly of the view that beers, ales and stouts are not for me.”

“That was a fatal error of judgement on your part, have you never heard ‘grape or grain, but never the twain‘?”

“Apparently I missed that particular sermon on the subject of drinking...” Barok replied dryly, which only seemed to amuse Klint further as he laughed harder, “I doubt I’ll forget it in a hurry, however...”

“Sometimes the best lessons are the practical ones, Barok.”

“... Yes, perhaps they are...”

A bright flash of lightning and sharp crack of thunder roused him from his daydreams and reminded him that his focus ought to be on the journey ahead rather than a trip down memory lane. It wasn’t far to the family burial grounds; a small mercy at least. He covered the rest of the distance briskly, passing through the cast iron gates and along the path of cobblestones and dirt to the mausoleum where his brother slept. He opened the door and stepped inside, dripping water all over the stone floor as he went; his first act was to light the candles that were dotted around the room, which he did by taking the box of matches that were stored in an alcove by the door and striking one.

Soft candlelight twinkled around him, casting shadows across the walls that danced and swayed deliriously; their movements slowed once he closed the door to the tomb over enough to block out the wind.

Finally he was here, with Klint once more.

“... I’m sorry for my tardiness brother,” he said softly as he knelt down before the stone where his brother’s name was engraved, “... I found myself in the talons of Lady Darlington yesterday, and you nowhere in sight to distract her...” he snorted to himself at the thought, “I dare say you’d have found my performance quite amusing.”

His gaze lifted to the ceiling of the crypt, “... No doubt you’d scold me for coming here in such a bedraggled state, well, not so much that as willingly walking out into a storm. You’ll have to forgive me for that...”

For a while, he knelt in silence; his voice stilled in his throat as he wondered what had compelled him to come out in such hostile conditions. Eventually he found his voice, “I... no doubt I sound quite mad to you, but, I wonder if you’re still here with me... You know, there are rumours abound in the Capital that your ghost follows me wherever I go and exacts revenge upon those who escape my prosecuting them through some dint in the law.“

“It’s nonsense, isn’t it?” he looked down at the gravestone once more, as if holding out for some sort of sign, “... It has to be, surely, because I’d like to think if you truly were still here then you might show me by some means other than violence... And yet, I’m desperate enough that I’ll take it. I just can’t bear the thought that you’re gone.”

Klint had always been a symbol of what was right and just in his mind, so it did not sit well with him to picture his brother as a vengeful apparition whose sole purpose was to dispatch of the criminals who managed to worm their way out of the noose. Yet, when he first heard those wild tales whispered on the lips of the common folk and the nobility alike, how he wanted to believe it. No matter how much it cut against the grain of what his brother had embodied for him; it was better than accepting that he was dead.

Anything was better than that, surely.

“... Of course, the world goes on and the sun and the moon wheel through the sky as they always have, and those who once held you in such high regard slowly begin to forget you... but for me it’s as if time stopped five years ago. I... still cannot come to terms with the thought that you’re no longer here. So, if you are the Reaper, I hope you will stay by my side until my time comes...”

He’d contemplated joining his brother. Sometimes it felt like the only logical thing to do. The world seemed so cold and devoid of vibrancy without Klint in it. Like someone had stolen the sun. Of course, he couldn’t go through with it – at first he had to bring his brother’s killer to justice, it had consumed his every waking moment. He’d read the case file until he could recite it with his eyes closed; until he dreamt of the autopsy report.

Then, once he’d gotten some semblance of justice for Klint, his thoughts had started to wander to the notion that his purpose was now fulfilled and there was nothing left to keep him here; but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t what Klint would have wanted. If there were an afterlife, what kind of expression would his older brother wear when he arrived there prematurely? He could practically hear the disappointed words whenever he thought about it.

“Oh little wolf.... how could you?”

And it was that which stayed his hand.

Instead, he’d thrown himself into being a prosecutor; to following in Klint’s footsteps and maintaining his legacy. His brother had believed so deeply in justice and integrity, and he would honour that memory by doing his damnedest to hold the corrupt and evil to account for their crimes. It was all he could do.

And yet, he’d even failed at that. He ran away from the Old Bailey, too overwhelmed by the Reaper mythos and the gravity it put upon his shoulders...

“I hope you will forgive me, brother,” Barok murmured, voice strained as he tried to swallow back the desperate sadness in his core, “I’ve been a poor substitute for you... I was unable to save you from the Professor... and now I’m not even capable of continuing your legacy as a Prosecutor... Truth be told, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m at such a loss.”

“I’m so tired, Klint...”

[sideblogformindtrash]

CW: Mouth whump; self-harm(kinda); self-hatred; restraints; institutional abuse/gaslight(cult type dynamic); religious themes; minor whumpee; religious abuse

Also: for people who asked bout the taglist; usually when writing about Orfeu’s backstory it will feature some sort of religious undertone. If someone is uncomfortable with that particular setting and would rather just be tagged in chapters with Haru please let me know.

They were back.

He had wounds on his wrists and ankles from pulling the rope restraints the night before. Some droplets of wax had left burn marks on his skin.

…He thought he did well. He did the best he could, even if he cried and screamed. But he didn’t pass out. He prayed in his mind all along… He didn’t doubt, never questioned his faith, not for a second. Not even when teeth were ripped from the sensible flesh, filling his mouth with the taste of blood.

And all around him, humming prayers filled the cave-like sanctuary, a choir so powerful it almost drenched his screams of agony.

…They cleaned him with holy water and carried him to bed… Too exhausted to even process what was really going on. Someone stayed there and held his hand, telling him that everything would be okay now. That he was good.               He had faced his probation and succeeded… And that was all he ever wanted.

It was relief that carried him into sleep that night. His dreams were of being… Worthy of love, truly worthy for once.

…But then why were they back?

As if mocking him, his reflection smiled, the points of sharp, sharp teeth had already started appearing from his gums.

Freak. Monster. Demon.

He screamed, punching the mirror into a spider-web crack. Blood dripped from his fingers, filling them in crimson.

…He was a monster. How long would he have to atone for his sins? Crimson sins on the white snow, sins that he didn’t even knew he had committed. How long until god forgave him?

And those green eyes, so full of hate, so full of fear, now stared him from each fracture of the mirror, and looking at them is just too much.

He runs outside his tiny room, through the patio covered in dew, footsteps echoing in the emptiness. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, and the darkness reigns supreme. Less than one night, and they are back.

He isn’t really looking where he is going. He clashes against the temple door, opening with an impact that he barely registers. He crashes at the cold stone floor, candlelight casting gloomy shadows.

“WHY?”

He drops like a doll, hitting the floor with his fists, pulling his own hair, screaming at the altar, at the skies, at anyone that can hear, his throat alteady so hurt from the night before... and his eyes are covered in tears. And yet, only the darkness speaks.

Why? Why? Why? Why? – It has no answers, just an endless echo into the void.

…From one of the aisles, a figure approaches him.

“Son? what’s wron-“

“You lied’ He gets up on a whim screaming at Father Benedict “You are liar! Liar!”

The man has no time to register a response, before the boy launches towards him in blind fury, dropping candle holders, statues and anything else on its way. He attacks with tiny nails and childlike rage.

…He is soon restrained by two other Acolytes, who can barely hold him in this state of blind despair. A third one comes to help, and despite immobilized, he still fight, incoherent words that fall on deaf ears.

Until they start to drag him to the stairway to underground. To the cells and the dark. His eyes widen with terror, his body falls limp, his mouth forms a plea…

“Stop” Father Benedict gestures for the Acolytes, having recomposed himself.

They look at each other, frowning, still holding the boy harshly despite the lack of resistance in this state.

“Father, he is dangerous. He attacked you-“

“Yes. But put him on the ground now” The acolytes don’t react, so the old priest voices again “…He who is without sin, cast the first stone”

After a moment of hesitation, they do as they were told, dropping him like a sack.

“…Leave.”

“What, we can’t leave you alone with the demon, Father, he wil-“

“Leave.”

His tone does not allow for any defiance. They leave them both alone, and for a while, just the sounds of the fire can be heard. The boy stay on his knees, staring at the stone floor with a blank, lost mind.

Father Benedict approaches him and kneels, gently lifting the tear streamed face. The boy mouths “Sorry” over and over again.

“Son, tell me what is troubling you.”

“F-Father… I… “ he sniffs “They are back… They are back and… And they are still sharp. They… They were right… I’m… I’m truly evil.”

The priest pulls his chin down, and although he has a brief moment of hesitation…

“Son… They aren’t as sharp as they were before.”

Slowly, the boy lifts his eyes – green, glassy eyes, filled with tears – to face Father Benedict, who has only pity for the creature. Oh, the lost lamb.

A demon. A freak.

“T-they a-aren’t?”

“Being good for God… Is a hard process, child. It’s the journey of a lifetime. Once they are fully back… We can take them out again. And just like this time, they will be a little bit less sharp. Your burden is grand, but God will give you the strength.”

He looks at the altar. Broken statues and fallen candles on the stones, eyes judging him from above.

“F-forgive me Father…” he lets his head hung low “For… For the way I behaved today.”

“I forgive you, Son. As for God… You can confess by the evening and do penitence, child. For now, you should go back to sleep.”

“Y-yes Father. Thank you.”

He got on his feet, cleaning the tears on his sleeves. He smiled at Father Benedict. Teeth as sharp as they had always been.

tagging: @cupcakes-and-pain, @whumpzone, @whump-me-all-night-long

[passable-talent]

self indulgent niche hayden christensen character x male reader has returned!!!

this time, featuring Jacob from Outcast (2014). it was a bad movie. I loved it so much.

dedicated, as always, to @haydens-moles​ - i know this wasn’t the one u asked for but i hope its close enough. i did try to showcase what he’s been doing before getting into the x reader stuff. this popped into my head and i had to write it. im sorry about it and ily 🥺

i did not expect this to be THIS long. its not awful but like. long, for what i usually do

tw: war, homophobia (briefly in the beginning), scars, wounds, sword fighting, death of unnamed characters, arrow wound

All this death. 

All this death surrounded you, you welcomed it into your home. Your mother, the honorable queen, had opened the palace grounds to the war-torn soldiers, and you, their noble prince, walked among them. 

You spoke to the soldiers about the war, thanked them for their sacrifice. You walked among them, empathizing with their pain, fetching them water or food or a nurse when they asked. 

Your heart broke for them, every one of them. They clearly believed in the crusade, believed in the mission of their king and their god... their hearts would break in turn if they discovered you believed in neither. 

How could a bloody, violent, evil war be fought for a benevolent god? How could a fair king order his men to their deaths?

You adjusted the crown you wore and walked from the main-hall-turned-medical-bay, hoping to find your father. He had grown weary with you in the recent years, your unwillingness to find a princess and your disapproval of his politics, but maybe he’d listen to you about the safety of your people. Maybe, he’d realize that you took your crown seriously, even if you didn’t intend to wear it the way that he wanted you to. After all, you were his only suitable heir- he was well into his old age, and if he intended to replace you with your brother, he’d have to wait years until the toddler was old enough to rule. You were his only choice.

You neared the entrance into your father’s throne room, but heard his voice echoing without it, and so paused just beyond the doorframe to listen. 

“I will have no soft-hearted, peace-mongering pansy on my throne! That will not be my legacy!” 

You knew your father’s opinions of you. You never, until this moment, realized how deeply they ran. 

This war, this country. Even if one day you could gain control and stop it all, they would still never respect you. Never. You saw it now- and you saw what you needed to do. 

The thought of running away was not a new one. You had, for years, considered it, weighed the likeliness. You knew you’d survive, being trained in hunting, combat, all of it, by Gallain, a noble knight. You had been trained alongside Jacob, who was both your personal knight and your best friend. 

And, something more. 

You often went to him whenever you felt like running away, and he always convinced you to stay, assuring you of your nobility and royalty. But Jacob disappeared years ago, without even a goodbye, so on that day you had no such guidance. 

With your sword, your bow and arrow, and as much gold as you could carry, you disappeared with your horse into the countryside. 

“Something must be done,” said a nobleman, a lord, commanding the center of a tavern.

“I agree,” said another, portly belly pressing against the table in front of him, “But he’s bested my guards. What can be done?” 

“He’s a thieving, murderous boy who takes more than he can carry. Surely he can be bested by just a few more guards.” 

“No, Estevan- he cuts through men like no knight I’ve ever seen. He’s terrifying. My wife is worried for our children, should he return.” 

Jacob wasn’t one to push into conversations to which he wasn’t invited, but this did seem to be his specialty. He was still a nomad, still an outcast, but now his tavern interests were less opium and more noble assistance to those who needed it. 

“Excuse me,” he said, looking up from the booth he’d been seated in, “but who might be causing you lot so much trouble?” The collection of noblemen looked at him, various expressions of disbelief and incredulousness gracing their faces. 

“You don’t know of the Dark Prince?” 

Jacob let his eyes narrow briefly as he considered the nickname against all he’d known as a knight, as well as all he’d learned as an outcast.

“I don’t.” 

The man who had been referred to as ‘Estevan’ let out an obnoxious laugh. 

“Boy, come along, to my estate,” he said, giving his friends little cheeky glances. “I’ve strengthened my guard, as I’m expecting an attempt at a thievery tonight. If you best him, I’ll pay you handsomely.” 

Clearly, these idiotic men had never heard of Jacob, the Outcast. 

Well, Jacob the Outcast had never heard of you. 

In the three years since you’d fled your kingdom, you’d created quite a name for yourself. Your first move had been taking some of the money you swiped from your father and commissioning a crown- one made of black tungsten, with none of the engravings or jewels that had once been your royal right. You wanted smooth, reflective metal, curling around your temples and into short, sharp spikes. 

You wore it whenever you weren’t alone, which was nearly all the time. You wore it when you travelled, even under your large hood; you wore it when you fought. And yes, you wore it when you stole.

Jacob followed Estevan to his estate and watched from afar while the guards he’d hired stood watch. He was hidden, and kept watch over the whole of the estate, wondering if he’d catch a glimpse of this Dark Prince. 

He was glad he’d chosen to hide, as the skies opened up upon the earth, and he kept semi-dry underneath the leaves of the tree he’d perched within. The guards, walking the length of an exterior wall, had no such refuge from the storm.

He did not notice the black-cloaked figure until it was illuminated by the torchlight. You had no sword drawn to catch the light until you were upon the guards, and the two of them fell to you without so much as a sound. 

Jacob, curious, kept his eyes on you as you broke through the wall, having made a hole between the guards’ patrols. He knew that he could easily take you down with a single arrow, but he wanted to see how this would end. 

Would you cut through guards, as one of the noblemen had suggested? Why were you attempting this theft when you had to have known you were expected here? Would you succeed? 

You entered the home silently, taking stock of your location. You’d received a bit of insider information from one of Estevan’s servants as to the location of his gold, and made a direct route to it. 

Gold, as you well know, is one of the heaviest substances on earth. But you were much stronger than you’d been as a prince only trained out of tradition, and not for any true purpose. You were strong enough to carry enough gold to buy a kingdom, and still fight your way out of here. 

Today, you would be modest. You only needed to feed a village, a few pounds was plenty. Why take what you didn’t need?

The guards were none the wiser until you made your escape, attempting to break once again through their wall to flee into the surrounding forest. You brought the whole lot of them down upon you, and Jacob relaxed against the tree, assured that you would certainly be brought to justice by the ten guards that you now face. 

Yet, you weren’t. You weren’t even harmed. Large hood still hiding your crown and your face, you bled through them, some receiving a strike to the legs to put them on the ground, others struck over the head with the hilt of your sword. You had gone through the whole of them without much of an issue, and walked at not much of a worried pace toward the forest. 

Well, if there was a time for Jacob to intervene, now was it. Nothing else stood in your way. 

He pulled an arrow and notched it to the drawstring, lifting it to his face. Even in the rain, at this distance, he would make the shot. 

No more than three seconds later, you took an arrow to the shoulder. 

There was pain, yes. It shocked you into stumbling forward, the sudden motion throwing your hood back and exposing your face. But you’d had your fair share of pain, and more pressing was the confusion- Estevan Perrero hired no archers. There shouldn’t have been any on his property, let alone one who could hit you at this range.

Against your better judgement, you turned, glancing back at the estate you had just removed a few pounds of gold from, and scanned its walls. There were no archers in sight, so you righted your hood and hurried on, disappearing into the forest, showing little care for the arrow you now carried in your shoulder. You knew better than to attempt to remove it. 

Jacob threw himself from the tree and gave chase. He couldn’t let you get far- it would be hard to track you in this rain, and he needed to find you.

He had to find this Dark Prince- because it couldn’t possibly be the young prince he’d once loved and protected, all that time ago. It had to have been a trick of the light, or the rain, it couldn’t- this hardened, scarred, skilled thief couldn’t possibly be the compassionate prince whose nightmares he’d once soothed. 

He followed you through the forests, to a trade road that lead to a nearby village. You traveled in the rain all through the night until you reached a village, just before dawn, and he followed, far enough behind that you didn’t notice him. 

Then, you carefully removed your bag from your shoulder, avoiding the arrow. You distributed the gold among the people, and though they thanked you tremendously, you waved away their offers of repayment upon the condition that you were given somewhere to sleep, and heal. 

You were allowed a room in a tavern, the biggest one available. Only once the door had closed did you allow yourself to rest, letting your shoulders fall, your eyes close. 

You were so tired. 

With one hand, you removed your black crown, regarding it with sorrow-filled eyes. Then, you reached over your shoulder and let your fingers frame the arrow; it was wedged deep into your flesh, and all of the surrounding fabric was soaked through with blood. It needed to be removed, but you couldn’t get a good angle on it, not one comfortable enough to yank it out cleanly. And a clean yank was instrumental- if the arrowhead was left behind, you’d all but lose the arm. 

You felt a little bit of panic grip your stomach, as you didn’t know how you’d remove it, and once one emotion broke through to your mind, many followed. You felt your throat close up, fighting against the past you’d left behind, the people you’ve abandoned, all of the killing and the stealing. 

“Need help with that?” said a voice behind you, and you quickly sucked up your emotions to whirl around. Had you really forgotten to lock the door?

Any number of quips and comebacks came to mind, but as quickly as they appeared, they faded- you didn’t realize the man who’d regarded you was Jacob. 

A thousand feelings flittered through you at the sight of him. He was just as beautiful as you remembered, and he looked at you just as kindly. But you couldn’t push aside how he’d abandoned you without as much as a goodbye. And now- what was he doing here?

Still, you could trust his hands. So you nodded, wordlessly, and turned, gripping onto the table in front of you to make sure your muscles would stay in place as he pulled. 

He approached you carefully, as though advancing toward a wild animal, you could hear it in his gait on the squeaky floorboards. He took one hand to the center of your back, then sliding it to the side to frame the arrow with two fingers on either side. He made a small noise as he touched you- you wondered if he was worried for the wound, or surprised by the muscle that had never been there when he’d known you. 

“Don’t tense,” he said, and you gave a little scoff. Obviously, you thought to yourself, but that was certainly easier said than done. Without warning he pulled, tearing the arrow from your flesh. You let out a roar, your body falling forward, your uninjured arm barely keeping you from falling flat onto the table. Heaving, agonized breaths took control of your body until the pain ebbed, and you swallowed hard.

“Sorry,” Jacob said, glad he had used a light arrowhead that hadn’t gone deep, and was fairly easy to remove, “I wouldn’t have shot if I knew it was you.” You turned to him, surprised, narrowing your eyes. 

“It was you?” You repeated, then turned your eyes to the floor, weighing what that revelation meant. “So then- you followed me? What, have you been hired to arrest me? These people need that gold, you can’t take it back from them!” Jacob shook his head with the slightest of a smile, holding up a hand. 

“No, nothing like that,” he said, “I was supposed to stop a theft, but when I saw you-” His gaze raked down your body and back up again. “I never expected to see you so far from home. And so different.” Maybe it was meant to be sweet, but it still stung your heart that he had left you, when he disappeared to wherever he’d gone, some five years ago. Any fondness you felt for him was soured by that. 

“I wasn’t too much different, until you shot me,” you said dryly, ”Make it up to me, Jacob, help me dress the wound. That’ll be your first step.” You turned from him and began shedding layers, blood soaked as they were, and laying them over the single chair in the room. 

“My first step toward what?” He asked, and you paused, your last layer halfway up your torso, looking away from him. 

“Toward letting me forgive you.” With your grim tone, he dropped his queries, waiting for you to completely bare your torso. He searched into his own bag to find a roll of bandage. 

You waited, looking over your shoulder at him as he dug through his belongings, and then turned his attention to you. You looked away when he grew closer, closing your eyes against his touch. His hands were exactly as you remembered them- calloused, rough, warm. For a moment before he began giving attention to your renewed wound, he let his fingers trace over the scars that littered you.

“I used to know your body better than any map,” he breathed, running the pad of his finger down the long scar you’d received when your path crossed with an overzealous Mongol, “but it seems like you’ve carved yourself an entirely new terrain.” You swallowed hard as he began wrapping the bandage around your shoulder and torso, gathering your wits to make a response. 

“Well, such a thing does happen, when you disappear for five years.” You let him guide your limbs as he dressed the wound, your gaze low, breathing as evenly as you could force yourself to. 

“Where have you been?” you asked him, and if you hadn’t known him since childhood, you wouldn’t have picked up on it- but with his little exhale, you heard him smile.

“I spent a few years in the far east, in an opium-stupor,” he said, his fingers just as gentle as they’d ever been, at least when he handled you. “But after Gallain died, I’ve been travelling the world, offering my services anywhere I thought I could do some good. That was why I thought I’d be stopping a theft today.” There was so much to take in, but you couldn’t help but think of your old mentor. 

“I’d heard Gallain passed. I’m sorry.” Jacob stiffened, just for a moment, and regardless of the brevity, you felt him do it. No matter how you tried to convince yourself you were holding him away from you, your heart still ached at the thought of the grief he must have felt. 

“What’s happened to you, all this time?” He asked, pulling the attention away from himself as he tucked the length of the bandage under itself, your wound completely covered.

You had known the question was coming- it was inevitable. And still, you had to think about your answer. You didn’t want to admit the awful things you’d done, not to him.

“My father was never going to let me be king,” you said with a bit of a pitiful smile, pulling your tunic over yourself again, “You knew that, didn’t you?” Jacob let out a heavy breath, shaking his head. 

“I knew he didn’t approve of your politics,” he said, and bit his lip before he added “of us.” You shut your eyes briefly, knowing it was better than seeing whatever expression he had at those two words. Did he miss you? Did he regret being with you? Did he regret leaving you?

“But I never thought he’d cast you out.”

“He didn’t,” you corrected him, lifting your chin before opening your eyes. “I didn’t give him the chance. I left.” Jacob narrowed his eyes briefly, considering what you were saying, and you took the break in the conversation to take a seat on the bed. 

“How long ago?”

You caught his eye, and now that he stood above you, you felt almost ashamed of your actions, of the consequences they must’ve had on the people you cared about. Your poor little brother.

“Three years.”

Jacob shook his head, but didn’t say anything. Neither of you looked at the other, and neither said a thing. You looked out the window, seeing the sky grow lighter with the early morning. 

“Jacob, I need-” you swallowed harshly, “I have to sleep.” He only let out a laugh, a smile sprouting on his face again.

“Me too,” he said, and after a moment of deep thinking, turned toward the door of the room. 

“Jacob,” you said, making him pause, and turn back to you. Now that you had his attention, you couldn’t back down- but you took an instant longer to gather your courage. “You can stay,” you said, and it took you right back to when you’d said those very same words to him for the first time, when he was your knight, before he was a crusader, and you just a young teenaged prince. 

If you could assume from the fondness, affection, and longing that warmed his face, he was remembering the same thing. 

-🦌 Roe

[theshapeshifter100]

Wolf and Raven: Old Friends Chapter 7

First

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Masterlist

tw dissociation not from character POV

---

Several minutes later a black dot appeared among the rainclouds, and Raven landed nearby. She shifted and started walking over briskly.

“Is everything alright? That was quite the message.”

“My apologies, I could not wait for Haryad,” Erina gestured to Wolf. “Do you have any idea of how to help?”

Raven looked at Wolf and her brow furrowed. “I have not seen this before.”

Erina and Satyarani looked at each other, concerned.

“What happened to cause this?” Raven walked over to Wolf, cautiously waving a hand in front of Wolf’s face, which got little reaction.

“She walked into the tent, and froze like that,” Satyarani shook her head. “Even if you do not know what happened, you might still be the best person to help her.”

“Aye,” Erina agreed. “I will brew some more potion of Dreamless Sleep.”

“I thank you,” Raven said before turning her attention to Wolf. “Can you hear me my friend?”

No response.

“That is fine. I will… I will wait with you,” Raven stood next to Wolf under the tree, staff planted into the ground and occasionally being dripped on. The rain continued to hammer down and the light faded, and still she waited.

A small campfire was crackling away fiercely by the time Wolf moved.

She turned her head slightly, confused.

“…What…?” dread and unease still curdled in her belly, and she sat down heavily. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted her staff in the ground, and stared at it like she couldn’t believe that it was there. She slowly reached her hand out, afraid that it would disappear.

Her hand touched warm wood, and she wrapped her hand around it, gripping it tight and pulling it closer.

“Wolf?”

Wolf startled and looked to her other side, seeing Raven.

“Raven! What, what are you doing here?”

“Erina called for me,” Raven slowly sat down. “She was worried about you. You, you were not here.”

The huff of disbelief faded as Wolf’s face furrowed.

“Aye. I was… I was not quite here. I… I do not know. I am sorry,” she pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead.

“I do not think you need to apologise, although Erina and Satyarani are both confused as to what caused it.”

“I do not think that I know,” Wolf rested her forehead on her free hand. “There was a smell, mud. The smell of mud, and I… I walked into the tent…”

Raven waited for Wolf to gather her thoughts.

“… I know why,” she sighed. “It was often muddy in Nevar’s camp, and I did not leave that tent for months,” Wolf growled under her breath. “First nightmares, then rope, then the potion not working and now this. I thought I was better than this!” she slammed her fist into the ground. “Why?! Why is this happening now?!”

“That I cannot answer.”

“I do not expect you to, my apologies,” Wolf looked out towards the Shadow Wood. “I am so tired Raven. I am tired of my mind turning against me, I am tired of not being the person I used to be. You never met that Wolf. She was confident, and bright. It felt as though nothing could touch her.”

“She is still you, merely changed, as we all do.”

“Aye, I suppose. Still I will ask, did the potion work for you last night?”

“…It did not,” Raven admitted.

“It did not work for me either. I may take a stronger dose tonight.”

“I believe Erina is brewing a fresh batch,” Raven nodded over to the small campfire, where Erina was indeed brewing in a small cauldron. “Perhaps I should ask her for some?”

“It will do no harm,” Wolf agreed. “I apologise for dragging you from your task to tend to me.”

“You need not apologise. I do not feel I did much, I merely waited to see if you would come back.”

“And I am grateful for that, truly,” Wolf’s eyes trailed north to a mountain just beyond the River of the Diving Bird. “My apologies, I do not think I can be around too many people tonight,” the idea of sharing a camp with Erina and Satyarani turned her stomach into knots.

“I heard wolf howls last night. Is there a pack nearby?”

“I know of a pack within the Forest of Dawn Time and another in Triple Thorn Wood. They travel though, they may be in their seasonal grounds.”

“But you know where they are?”

“Aye, but they do not remember me.”

“But they heard you last night?”

“…Aye.”

“Then go if you need. I will tell Erina and Satyarani.”

Wolf looked over at the other two, before looking back at Raven. She nodded briefly before shifting into a wolf, and with one more glance over her shoulder, she disappeared into Shadow Wood.

 ---

Satyarani watched Raven fly back to the west side of the island from underneath the tent. The rain was coming down harder than ever now, and Erina was holding her cloak over the pot she was brewing from.

After a while Erina took the pot off the fire and brought it inside the tent, where gentle steam wafted off it.

“All finished?” Saytarani asked.

“Almost. It needs to sit for three hours,” Erina found a small hourglass in her pack and turned it over. “I cannot give Raven any tonight, but I told her that she is free to collect some before we break camp tomorrow.”

“I see,” Satyarani sat properly in the tent, hanging the damp fur cloak from one of the tent poles. “It was interesting to see Wolf with Raven, even after all of that. It was the first time I have seen her relaxed.”

“Aye…” Erina sat down properly. “It, it does not require much thought to work out why.”

“You have been somewhat antagonistic,” Satyarani pointed out. “However you have calmed down this last day.”

“That is some relief,” Erina rubbed her eyes. “Lack of sleep has been affecting me as well, I do not have energy to start an argument… and… I am reminded of why Wolf and I were friends,” Erina lay her staff across her lap. “And I no longer think she is lying. That display earlier… I do not think that could be faked, not for as long as that.”

“Then you would be wise to tell her that.”

“That I will, that I will,” Erina looked out at the rain. “She should be back before morning.”

“I will trust your judgement on that matter, you know her better than I do.”

“I am not so certain of that. I know the old Wolf would be back before dawn. I cannot be quite so certain nowadays.”

“You are all different people, and people change.”

“Aye,” Erina looked over at Satyarani. “I must ask, you do not know anyone here. Why do you still aid us?”

“I knew Raven, Raven of Old,” Satyarani corrected. “He is a good man, and I am here to aid him. I will admit that this island has taken some getting used to, and the magic here is very different to that of my country. However, it does have its charm.”

“If this is successful then all of Alaunus would be in debt to you twice over.”

“Then I will know who to call should my homeland ever be in danger.”

“That is a deal I would be happy to make.”

“I do not find it likely anytime soon, but as I understand, you are not mortal.”

“I was not mortal since I carved my staff,” Erina lifted it slightly to make the point. “The magic of the Enchanted Oak can change you.”

“I see, so you were once mortal?”

“Aye.”

“Raven of Old I recall being born immortal, for he could not enter the Chamber of the Three-Headed Serpent, what of Wolf?”

“I am uncertain, though it is likely that she is the same. They are both unusual individuals. Their ability to change form is not confined to their Staffs of Power, it is an ability they possessed since birth, as far as we know,” Erina paused to think, “as for this new Raven, I cannot say for certain. I do not know of anyone who has passed on their staff and mantle in such a way before.”

“We will have to wait and see I suppose,” Satyarani drew a knee up and rested an arm on it. “I myself am fashioned from the earth of my homeland. I was never mortal.”

“I see. I do not think I have heard of such a thing before.”

“The world has many magics, many secrets. Your Cyrus seems like the kind of man who would wish to learn all of them.”

“Aye. I fancy if he could spend his life travelling and learning new magics, he would.”

“What is stopping him?”

“…I do not entirely know. I should ask him when we meet up again.”

“As long as he obeys the laws of my land, he will be welcome in my country.”

“Did Raven obey the laws of your land?”

“For the most part. He did strain against them at times, and lose his temper several times. His anger was understandable, but there are laws in my homeland that cannot be broken in order to retrieve the Elixir of Life.”

“I can imagine,” a fond smile crossed Erina’s face. “He was always somewhat impatient. And could have quite the temper when he felt that not enough was being done.”

“Indeed, that sounds about right. The Raven of now does seem much more patient.”

“Aye, that she is. I wonder if she feels as though she has to prove herself? I do hope that is not the case.”

“Raven of Old casts a long shadow. It will be difficult for her to step from it.”

“If she can free Raven of Old and keep Nevar in the desolate realm, she will certainly step from his shadow.”

“Indeed,” Satyarani looked outside the tent, watching the rain fall. Erina followed her gaze, and the two fell into companionable silence.

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Hoo boy, still not certain about the dissociation, but there you go I guess. Some time away from people and with wolves will be good for her I think

Erina and Satyarani talk of immortality. I had to change this real quick since I rewatched a Secret Temple story compilation yesterday, which had some info I had forgotten. Including the fact that Raven of Old was born immortal. This is important because I have a whole thought dump on immortality in the Raven series and that did answer one of the questions I had. I just had to separate Erina's thoughts from my own.It's mostly that Secret Temple often uses the term 'born mortal', implying that Raven of Old is not, but Nevar is, and I would assume Erina is too, which leads to the idea that possession of a Staff of Power can make you immortal, but then there's the whole of using it for evil taking time off your life and if that's the case how is Nevar still alive, what decides what is an evil deed? Is that why Raven of Old will not attack dishonourably, because it might be deemed evil by, something? And where in bloody hell do the Warriors with Staffs fit into this?! I was talking about this with my beta writer @fairyofsomething​ and honestly, I had thought that having a Staff of Power made you a sorcerer (to use DnD terms), but now it seems more like a warlock thing! Still, I have thoughts, that will be organised, somewhat, and put separately somewhere. Since you know, I'm overthinking a children's game show that might not have had as much thought put in.