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senqv · 17 days

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HOUSE OF KINGS.

blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader

warning(s) : 1k , none this one is quite cute , lmk if there are any !!

TWO. THE WRATH SING, O GODDESS

the next time you see him, you are seated in the windowed alcove of the palace library, hidden behind the imposing shelves of mahogany wood. you could feel the thick knitted blankets and fox furs beneath your thighs, a fluffy cushion left of your waist.

you leaned against the window, ornate and elegant, cut in frames to let in squares of golden sun. the smooth cover of the book is familiar under your fingerpads, a beloved relic from your father. even with your gaze cast towards the window, you could envision the wine-dark cover in your hands, embossed with a deep gold; the methodical lettering forming words that you could recite like water spilling down the rumbling falls.

faintly, suddenly, like a whisper in the wind, the air changed. the soft hum of divinity, maybe, but you could not have known what that was. it only felt stronger as golden hair came into vision, reflecting off the glass planes of the windows. you blinked, straightening your back. you had thought it to be a trick of the light, but it was apparent how real he was with each languid step he took, steady and sure.

kaiser was not a god, but you can scarcely imagine anything more perfect than him. wherever he went, he drew everything to him like a great flame. and although your spitefulness refused to let you look at him, it could not be helped how your gaze traced his features reflected on the window, the brightness of his hair so lustrous it was lit from within, the steady curve of his face, and the arc of his rose-coloured lips.

you hear his feet stop before you, and his mouth opens, poised and self-assured. "this place belongs to me."

he was referring to this cosy little alcove, and you chide yourself for not noticing how personalised this place was, blanketed in wools and the highest quality of furs and goose-feathered pillows.

only then you look back at him, features screwed with slight displeasure. under his pointed stare, you swing your legs down from the wood carved into the window to face him properly, freeing up half the space. "this is a library. it doesn't belong to anyone," you say with narrowed eyes.

he looks almost like he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth. his arms move to cross over his chest. "the gods have decreed me to be emperor of kings. everything that treads the ground will belong to me one day." he does not say it boastfully, or arrogantly. it is fact to him as much as the stars circle the sky each night.

your lips twitch in search of a response, "not yet," you say weakly, and you stare into the endless blue of his eyes. your tone is stronger; "you are no emperor yet. you have no right to ask me to leave."

that surprised him. he tilts his head at you curiously, like a little sparrow. you may be the daughter of nobility, but he is the prince. he probably had all the rights in the world and more. like a tamed beast, he sits down next to you. he smells of roses and white jasmine, and you dare not to turn your head, glancing at him nervously from the corner of your eye. his gaze darts to your hand.

he shifts again, pressing his head on your shoulder as you fight down a flinch. a strand of hair falls over his eyes, and he blows it away with a huff. cerulean eyes stare up at you intently. like this, he reminds you of those sleek felines in the estate.

"read to me." it was a command, but the way he said it did not feel like one. to you, it was soft but distinct, easy as how one would utter their own name.

your mouth feels parched, but still, you crack the book open, the pages yellowed from their age. the familiar words ease you slightly, and your voice hangs in the air like the willows over a curving pond.

'the wrath sing, o goddess, of peleus' son

achilles'

his eyelashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly, fanning against his cheeks. he blinks slowly, relaxed. your gaze darts from the book to him like a school of fish in the water, but you hardly need to reference the pages, the words carved into your heart like a searing iron.

his golden hair curls around his head, the longer strands pooling at the dips of his collarbone and down the edge of your own shoulder. it drew your eye, glimmering like starlight, so bright against the sun the locks glowed white. carelessly, your fingers smooth over a strand of hair covering the side of his face, flipping the ends up to marvel at the way they lit up in the light. you had no sooner realised your mistake than when his jewelled eyes darted towards you, causing you to release his hair with a jerk of your hand. "i'm sorry, i didn't -"

he silences you with a yawn, pink tongue flashing against white teeth. his lashes flutter again, shifting his head closer to you. then, his eyes close with sleep. it's almost cute, in a way. you know that he is not actually asleep, but you also realise this is his way of permitting you to continue.

hesitantly, your fingers twitch in longing, at his unavoidable beauty, written by the poets. you wipe your hands harshly on your skirt, fearful that the beading sweat might stick to his glorious hair. with trembling hands, your fingers card through the streaming gold strands, smoothing over the top of his head. he makes a soft sound of pleasure, which makes you smile slightly.

you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, and you can't help but think that his beauty is fine as a girl's. his lashes open again, jade white skin parting to reveal the hanging jewels of his eyes, a shifting, dazzling blue.

his eyes crinkle a secretive smile. under the light of the sun, you smile back.

#— HOUSE OF KINGS.#michael kaiser #blue lock #bllk #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader

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irregularcollapse · 5 months

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A Storm That Took Everything

Part II of a fic preview to celebrate Damen Love Fest 2023

Day 2 of the Damen Love Fest, and I have the continuation of Chapter I of my upcoming/WIP gothic romance AU, A Storm That Took Everything! This will be a romantic horror focused on Damen (filling the archetypal role of the gothic heroine) and addressing all of the concepts in the fest prompts as core themes! Ongoing caveat that as this is essentially a draft, I may still make changes before it is posted on AO3. These previews are like an ARC for a book 😆 Now! On to the emotional fallout from Damen's conversation with Jokaste...

Part I

Damen shuts the door behind himself, and when it does not shut out the day as well, huffs with annoyance. He pays little mind to the servant who takes his riding jacket and hat, nor to the smells of a rich breakfast no doubt laid for him already. As he trudges up the staircase toward his own room, he tugs loose the cravat which had been looped lavishly around the collar of his shirt that morning. The thin cake of dirt on the soles of his boots, leaving flakes and granules over the carpet, is enough of a reason to re-dress without interruption.

The conversation with Jokaste has set him off-kilter again. Letting the door to his rooms shut with perhaps too much of a slam, Damen works his riding boots free and leaves them in a pile along with his trousers and tie, just inside the threshold. Now in only his shirt, he sits heavily at his writing desk, slumping to put his forehead to the surface. Jokaste’s elusive smiles and feline eyes had once been a source of equilibrium for him. He could often coax himself to calm with mere thoughts of the elegant slope of her shoulders, the soft angle of her jawline. But increasingly of late, she leaves him more unsettled than when she found him. Her way, perhaps, of letting him know that words are not required to communicate that the stagnation cannot continue.

Or, just as likely, a sign of her mellowing feelings toward him. He frowns into the polished wood. She understands, surely, how it would look—if they were to wed before his father regains health. It would seem like they were angling for some sort of favour. Fortifying their own interests at the crucial time.

Damen’s father has been taking a lot of meetings with lawyers. It has been difficult not to notice, and difficult to pretend that Kastor will not have noticed it too. The outcome of any potential will is already set, but Damen has no desire to take more from his brother than he already is. That would be Father’s decision, surely, if Damen were to marry while he is still alive: to provide added security for Damen’s blossoming family, an extra share—siphoned from various coffers, including Kastor’s. It is simply the way of things, a way that Damen has seen before. Granted, in the cases of his school comrades and fellow officers, they had been the eldest and therefore naturally the first to marry.

The truth of the circumstances between Damen, Kastor and their Father will always be recognised legally, if not socially: though they are both Theomedes’ sons, Damen is the one with the legitimacy of marriage behind his birth.

A knock at the door serves to jerk Damen from his contemplation, despite it being one of pronounced timidity. He blinks, feeling bleary, his forehead aching from being pressed so firmly into the desk.

“Come in,” he calls, a hand dragged raggedly down his face as he does so. On turning in his chair, he is met from the doorway by the hopeful doe-eyes of a new servant, a youth with a mop of tousled hair almost the colour of burnished brass. He has an envelope clutched in his hand, already extended, but his feet hit against Damen’s discarded boots before he can properly enter the room and announce himself. He looks down, assesses the pile of footwear and trousers, and his cheeks flood with a noticeable flush even under his olive-toned complexion. It is interesting enough that Damen’s mind stirs, as well as something small in his stomach. He deliberately adjusts his seat, and asks, “What is it?”

The servant raises his stare and sees Damen, obviously trouserless, at his desk. The flush deepens; the brown eyes widen.

“Captain, you have an invitation. That is, you have received an invitation. You have—You have been—An invitation has been sent to you. To the house, for you.”

“You may bring it here,” Damen encourages with an intentional warmth, and the youth carefully steps around the clothes with the envelope outstretched once more. Just as Jokaste had said, an invitation addressed to Damen’s full title and sealed with both wax and ribbon. The seal is unbroken, and the crest is unfamiliar to him; it would surely be notable enough to Jokaste as well, who is more than expert in the field of the noble families of Akielos. Sitting on the hall console as it had likely been, it would have been obvious to her. Then, she would know the sender as well.

“Thank you,” Damen tells the servant, still indulgent, but does not move to open the letter. “You are newly in my father’s employ, are you not?” The brown eyes widen—close, Damen can now see that they are truthfully hazel, not dissimilar to Jokaste’s. Singular, this far south. The servant’s eyelashes, also singular in their length, almost coppery in their colour.

“Sir—Captain, forgive me. I have not been secured in your father’s employ. It was made clear to me that I have been hired in your employ alone.”

“I see.” Damen will not let it show, the recognition of what this means. For the head of staff to be restructuring given the re-allocations toward his father’s care, reasonable. But for new hires to be made with the understanding that they are answering to Damen alone—evidence of groundwork being laid, in preparation for a transference of command over the household. No doubt, the instructions originated from his father’s chamber itself. “What is your name?”

“Erasmus.”

“A strong name. Very well, Erasmus. You may take my boots to be cleaned, and my trousers to be laundered. I hope to see much more of you, and that we will know each other better.” A dismissal if there ever was one, for both their sakes. Damen makes to turn back to his desk and read the invitation, but Erasmus makes a hesitant, halting sound.

“Captain, I apologise. There is another message. A gentleman is waiting in the parlour. He had an appointment with your father, he said, but your office told him that the meeting would be cancelled. He says that he was hoping—He wanted to know if you had a moment to speak to him.” Damen cannot help the sharpness of his exhale. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, feeling his jaw set. With eyes still closed, he manages a nod.

“Very well. I will be down to handle the matter soon. What is the gentleman’s name?”

“He told me that he has come all the way from Vere. His card says that he is the Comte Régis.”

Part III of Chapter I of A Storm That Took Everything will be posted on day 3 of the Damen Love Fest 🖤🖤🖤

#damenlovefest2023 #captive prince #damianos of akielos #captive prince fic #lamen fic

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everlastingdreams · 4 months

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The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 14

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Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Semper Ad Meliora

Notes: /

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter: 14/ It’s a secret.

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You were the first one awake and went down to the inn to stretch your legs.

The Innkeeper greeted you warmly, as did the barmaid. You took your chance and asked if there was perhaps a spare aketon left behind by a patron. The Innkeeper had indeed a spare and kindly gave it to you free of charge, you hoped it would fit the Monk.

It was nice to see some friendly faces, the inn’s environment felt quite welcoming.

Some people were there to eat their breakfasts, others used ale to start their day.

You looked around the place to pick a suitable target, you searched the patrons for signs of wealth, it wasn’t in you to steal from the poor.

The door of the Inn opened and in walked a wealthy looking young fella.

A gold chain around his neck, two golden rings on his fingers and garments the nobility would wear. A lord by the looks of it.

The lord ordered only a tankard of ale and paid for it without saying much else.

Lancelot and Squirrel came down the stairs and walked over to you.

The Monk saw that your attention was fixed on the man. “What is it?”

You did not let your target out of your sight. “I’m going to get us some coin.”

He sighed. “Something tells me that you will not earn this in a honest manner.”

You handed him the aketon. “You worry about your clothing, I’ll handle this.”

You did not give the Monk a chance to get the idea out of your head and went over to the lord.

The lord was drinking his ale alone, but not for long, you went to stand right next to him.

“Hello.” You offered your most charming smile.

His eyes traveled over you slowly, then snapped up to your face.

“Good day, milady.” He greeted you back with a shy smile.

He was wearing a long overcoat and long tunic under it, you had seen him take the coin out of the pocket of the overcoat.

You turned your body towards his. “Has anyone ever told you how well that your attire suits you?”

The compliment surprised him and he brushed a hand over his overcoat, “You believe so?”

You boldly touched his chest. “I do. How firm…”

He cleared his throat nervously and took a sip of his ale before putting the tankard down on a table. He was distracted enough by the looks of it.

Then you did your usual trick and walked around him like a feline searching for attention, close enough to quickly let your fingers slip into his pocket and catch some coins between them, you closed your hand to hide them.

Slowly the young lord turned and put his attention on you fully, having felt the light brush of your hand along his waist.

“Forgive me, I am being too bold.” You apologized and tried to step away, but the man’s interest was awakened.

The Monk was watching the interaction like a hawk.

When the stranger put his hand on you, he was ready to step in.

The man held on to your arm lightly. “Not at all, milady. I enjoy your appearance as well.”

In your vest with holes in it? And two visible old blood stains on the hem of your shirt?

They would say anything to try and melt a woman’s heart if it got them what they wanted.

Squirrel knew what his part in this act was and came over running to your side. “Mother! Should we not return to father before he thinks we have gotten lost?”

Not a single one of these men you had played this trick on had ever pursued you further when they saw you had a child.

And this lord was no different, he let go off your arm right away, stunned by it all.

You gave an apologetic smile and took Squirrel by the hand, walking past the Monk to nod towards the door of the inn. You slipped the coins in the satchel at your side.

The Monk followed right behind you and when you were outside, he took hold of Squirrel’s shoulder, telling the boy, “Go and mount Goliath. Now.”

Squirrel did as told and hurried towards the stables.

Then the Monk caught you by the elbow and steered you towards them too, “Did you steal from that man?”

“I did. We need to survive and he clearly has enough.” You answered.

He walked faster, pulling you along. “We need to leave, before he realizes you have robbed him.”

With that, you agreed.

Even Squirrel knew it was unwise to linger around the inn for longer, it was why he had listened to Lancelot.

You thanked the stable boy for looking after the horses well and quickly got on your horse.

The Monk was the first out of that stable and you followed Goliath’s canter.

Once the inn was out of sight, you calmed the horse’s pace and rode beside them.

“How much did you get?” Squirrel look over at you.

You dug your hand into your satchel and fished out some of the coins to show him.

Four golden ones, the other’s in the satchel felt smaller and were most likely silver ones.

“You two have done this before.” The Monk stated.

You and Squirrel grinned wickedly. “The moment the men see that a child is with me, they stop pursuing.”

“Why?” He asked.

You thought he was joking, he was not. “I am afraid it is not uncommon for men to lose their interest in a woman if they see she has a child. I think they fear the responsibility it would bring them.”

A frown settled on his face and you realized that this act would not have worked on someone like him, the presence of a child did not scare him off.

Squirrel was chirpy, “But we do get coins easily from them.”

“Exactly.” You were proud of the scheme you had thought of together.

Squirrel proceeded to tell the Monk some stories of times when that scheme had almost failed and you had to improvise together.

After taking a short break from riding to drink some water and eat something, you continued on your journey.

The boy wanted to get something off of his heart and told the Monk, “Before you saved me from that ugly paladin, when I tried to save the Green Knight, he made me a knight of the Fey.”

You put your attention on Squirrel, as did the Monk.

Squirrel turned around for a second to look at him, “Do you think he’s alive?”

The Monk was quite for a moment, then truthfully replied, “I am not sure. All I know is that he was taken to Uther’s camp.”

It saddened the boy. “I hope he survived…”

This child was mourning a friend and could possibly be mourning another if the Green Knight had not survived.

The apology for the Monk’s part in this came forth, “I am sorry, Percival.”

Squirrel looked down at his hands. “I’ll forgive you, as long as you don’t go back to the paladins.”

It was a fair agreement.

You were looking over at him expectantly and waiting for what he would say to that.

The Monk said it to Squirrel and looked at you, “I will not.”

There was still fear in you that he would turn his back on the Fey again, that he would return to the Church and ask for forgiveness, maybe it was your own struggle to trust others that made you see the worst in others before seeing the best.

Then Squirrelsought an answer to the question many would have, “Why did you kill Fey?”

The Monk grew uncomfortable, the boy was brave enough to ask things that could have painful answers.

He answered with what he was raised to believe in, “Death is not the end. Cleansing would save their souls.”

Squirrel was worried what that included. “Are you… going to cleanse us too?”

He firmly told the boy, “No.”

Death is not the end…

You had an idea where that came from, “Death is not the end, that is something the Hidden have been known to say. Is that were you heard it too?”

The Monk cast his eyes to yours. “Death is not the end-”

You found yourself saying, “Save them…”

The slight widening of his eyes said it all, the Hidden had not just called upon you, but upon him as well.

You were starting to understand how they had turned him against his own people. Father Carden made a child believe that the Hidden agreed on the cleansing, that death was not the end, cleansing them was saving them.

The Hidden’s words had been twisted until it fitted the narrative of the priest.

You quietly told him what you believed had happened, “What you heard from the Hidden was used to turn you against them by the Church. You really believed you were saving us…”

The Monk looked away, like shame came over him.

Squirrel sensed the turmoil in him and carefully asked, “How long were you with them?”

He was rather quiet when replying, as if he feared to be judged, “I was younger than you, around the age of six, when I was chosen by Father and began my training. My memories of life before the clergy are vague, but I remember how I became the Grey Monk.”

“How?” Squirrel asked.

He fidgeted with the reins. “After four years, in the midst of my training, Father took me along to a cleansing. The Fey there saw me, saw my cross bearing clothes, and attacked me. I no longer belonged with them, I belonged to the Church. Father offered me a chance to save myself from the influence of evil.”

So that dammed priest had made a Fey child believe that the Fey were dangerous.

You tried to understand his point of view and reasoned with him, “The Fey attacked you because they believed you to be the enemy, not because evil gods took control of them. They were just scared.”

As he must have been too after that.

The Monk was trying to find the truth between the lies, at least he seemed to think it all through now.

You could not begin to imagine what other tactics they had used to mould him into the Weeping Monk. “They twisted your mind until it fitted their purpose. A frightened child is easy to manipulate.”

“Oi!” Squirrel piped up.

You saved yourself out of that one. “A child. Not a knight.”

The boy was pleased with that.

The Monk did not reject the possibility that it was true. “I was not permitted to question the faith.”

It came as no surprise. “At least you are willing to hear our voice now. Maybe death is not the end, but I prefer to live life to the fullest before I skip to the next one.”

You shared a look with the Monk, who seemed appreciative of how calm you had managed to stay while speaking of this. Seeing him outside the inn last night in the gushing rain to mourn Father Carden’s death, had made you less vigilant towards him. There was good in him, under all that struggle with his identity, and only he could make the decision if he would embrace that or not.

Returning to the Fey or returning to the Church was his choice to make. And if he were to keep his promise on earning your forgiveness…

It was either the Fey or the faith, and for now he had chosen the Fey, albeit just two of them.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

When evening came, the Monk picked out a spot in the forest to set up camp for the night.

By now, it was evident that the three of you could work together when there was clear communication.

You were getting the package of linen from your horse’s saddle, feeling the wounds on your back protest against it.

The Monk handed Squirrel a piece of cheese and asked the boy to cut some slices off and put the rest of it back into Goliath’s saddle, he then came over to your side to help you with the stack of linen.

“Does your back hurt?” He asked while putting the stack on the ground and untying the rope from it.

“It burns, but I’ll live.” You admitted.

There was a worried expression on his face,“It will take some days before the pain lessens.”

He handed you some of the linen and then went to retrieve something from Goliath’s saddle bag, he returned with a loaf of bread.

You frowned at the sight of it, “Where did you get that?”

“From a table at the inn.” He confessed.

You blurted out, “You stole it?!?”

The Monk failed to fight off a grin. “While you were occupied with robbing that man. Some bread will go well with the cheese.”

You stared for a second, then smiled. “I should not be proud, but I am. Well done.”

That small smile made him feel a bit better.

He was doing something right.

He let you take the bread from his hands.

You gestured to the nearly forgotten aketon that was draped over Goliath. “I’ll help Squirrel make us a meal. You can try on that aketon if you want?”

The Monk gave a nod and took the aketon from the saddle. “Brown…”

You stopped walking towards Squirrel, having heard the comment. “Just try it on, anything’s better than walking around with that cross all the time. People notice.”

That was true.

He took off his cloak and draped it over Goliath, who stood unbothered by it all.

Squirrel was but all too excited to test the sharpness of the knife he had been given as he cut the slices of the cheese, and then the bread you handed to him.

Together you made the modest meal of cheese on bread.

“If we had a fire, we could get these nice and crispy.” You said.

Squirrel looked up over your shoulder, “Can you make a fire again?”

You turned to see the Monk wearing the aketon, he was looking a bit timid and uncertain about the change of garments.

“It looks great.” You told him, because it did look good.

The Monk appreciated it and gave a slight nod to you, then answered Squirrel, “I can. We’ll need some branches and dry grass to-”

The boy was already up and searching the ground to collect the items.

You got closer to the Monk and adjusted one of the leather buckles that wasn’t sitting correctly, “Is it comfortable?”

The friendly gesture took him off-guard. “I… yes.”

You went over to help Squirrel collect what was needed. “Good. Now let’s get to that fire. I’m starving.”

A little while later, Lancelot had made a modest fire and helped the two of you by putting the bread, with cheese, on thin branches and held it over the fire.

The scent of the cheese melting over the bread filled the air.

He handed the one he had started with to Squirrel who eagerly plucked the crispy bread off of it and almost burned his fingers before putting it in his lap to cool off.

You were imitating the Monk’s idea and patiently waited for your meal to have the right level of crisp, and watched Squirrel try to eat from the hot meal, he was pulling some pieces of the bread and putting them in his mouth.

“You remind me of someone.” You admitted to the boy.

Squirrel was curious, “Really? Who?”

It was rare for you to talk about your family with others. “My cousin.”

The Monk had heard, you had never mentioned to him that you had a cousin.

“Why?” Squirrel asked.

You grinned. “You can be quite adorable too.”

Squirrel scrunched his nose but could not hide the reddening of his face.

You weren’t going to mention it to the boy or tease him about it.

The Monk touched Squirrel’s arm to draw his attention. “I believe you are sitting too close to the fire, your face is getting red.”

The irritated child brushed the Monk’s hand from his arm. “I’m not!”

You scolded the cheeky Monk for it. “Leave him be.”

He in return smirked at you and the boy, but he stopped and ate his meal in silence.

After eating, you saw that the Monk had the discarded surcoat in his hands and was looking at the cross embroidered on it.

He approached the fire and fed the surcoat to it, watching it burn.

You shared a look with Squirrel but kept quiet about it.

An hour passed and darkness had spread it’s wings over the land. Lancelot had chosen a tree to sleep against for himself.

Squirrel was yawning but still walking around and giving the horses some attention.

You could see that the Monk’s eyes were distant again. He was mourning his father figure and burying the agony it brought him.

Part of you wanted to keep a distance, but part of you hated to see the suffering of others.

You were Dawn Folk, it was in your nature to help others.

You collected some linen sheets for yourself and shared a look with Squirrel, who looked back and forth between you and the Monk, you nodded.

With arms full of linen to use for the night, you went over to the tree the Monk had picked out for himself and put your linen sheets down against it too.

He was already sitting against a side of the tree and was about to get up from the grass, you put a hand on his shoulder to halt him.

“Mind if we sit here too?” You asked.

The question might have rattled him a bit, it took two counts before he answered. “I do not.”

Squirrel went to sit at his left side, you took place at his right.

You were already covering yourself with the sheet when you asked, “Am I breaking a rule by sitting next to you?”

There was a short pause before he answered, “No.”

But he was, by not getting up and preventing it.

The scriptures were strict regarding those of the clergy in the presence of women.

You sank back against the tree, nesting yourself under the sheet. “Just to warn you. If I see washed women’s clothing out to dry tomorrow, I intend to borrow some.”

Squirrel chimed in, “Because of the blood on yours?”

The child had not seen the back of your shirt, but the hem of it still showed the proof of the lashing. “Yes.”

The boy fired another question, “Are you going to steal a dress?”

Lancelot knew that these questions could continue for a long time and found himself listening in.

You were not even considering it. “Never.”

The next question came quick, “Why not?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing Squirrel could not see. “Dresses don’t suit me. Besides, it’s hard to fight in a dress. Too much fabric getting in the way.”

Squirrel seemed to agree on it.

The Monk suddenly said, “Careful. Do not cut your fingers.”

You leaned to the side to look past him and saw Squirrel playing with the knife.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have sharpened it so much.” You told the Monk.

He dared to say it, “You’re the one who wanted to give him a knife.”

You glared in the Monk’s direction, then told Squirrel, “Squirrel, put away the knife before you lose your fingers. Try to sleep, alright?”

“Fine.” The grumpy boy mumbled.

You had thought that Squirrel had listened.

Then Lancelot said, “Listen to y/n, Percival.”

Another “Fine.” was the answer he got, and this time the boy listened.

No one said a word for quite a while, and it wasn’t long before you heard Squirrel’s quiet snoring.

You were looking off to the side, trying to let the calmth of the forest calm you too. You sensed that the Monk had shifted his body a little but paid no attention to it.

Not until the Hidden’s faint melodic whispers were in your ears. Strange. You had not heard them sound like this before.

You turned your head and caught him quickly turning his head to look in front of him instead.

Almost had you caught him inhaling your scent. He did not understand why his heart’s pace increased because of it, or why the voices that haunted him were coercing him to do so.

“Did you just smell me?” You whispered a bit uncertain.

You weren’t sure, but you had a feeling that he had done it just now.

“I uhm…,” He paused and then sounded quite embarrassed about it. “I am sorry.”

You blamed it on the lack of change in your attire. “My clothes smell, don’t they? I should have searched in the inn for something else to wear.”

He did not say a word, and you considered getting up and sitting further away.

With his heightened sense of smell, it would be normal if he picked up on certain things quicker than others would.

You pushed back your self-consciousness and asked, “Do you want me to sit somewhere else?”

His answer was a fast and firm, “No.”

“You sure?” You asked.

He was brushing his hands over one another. “I am. Your scent does not bother me.”

It took you a moment to feel confident enough to lean back against the tree again.

And when he was looking at the trees, you discreetly smelled your clothing just to check. You shook the feeling off before insecurity could grow, none of you had been given the chance or time to take a long bath with everything that was going on.

You pulled your sheet up to your chin and turned to your side, away from him, to sleep.

Unlike you, Percival was not afraid to sleep facing his direction. The child had an amount of trust towards him that he wasn’t sure he was worthy off.

Lancelot was the only one still awake, both because he was not used to sleeping close to others, and because he felt responsible to make sure the two of you could sleep safely.

As you and Squirrel slept, the Monk kept watch for as long as his eyes could remain open and focused.

An hour passed, his eyes grew heavy and the quiet breathing surrounding him made sleep all the more alluring.

Then you turned over in your sleep, your hand was put on the bark of the tree to rest, where it slipped off and landed on his arm instead.

It brought him back from the sleepy state he had been in, from reflex he placed his hand over yours. He looked over at you and found you still very much asleep as you reached out for something to hold while you slept.

He lifted his hand from yours again, letting yours stay where it was.

For someone so vigilant, you sure looked a lot less intimidating while asleep.

The next thing he felt was Percival’s foot hitting his leg, the boy had turned over in his sleep as well and far less gentle and careful.

Lancelot did not even realize right away that he was smiling, he leaned back against the tree more and closed his eyes.

This did not feel wrong, it felt like something he had been missing.

A gentle touch, a spark of kindness. A reminder that there was still light and hope in the darkness. And that light came from where he had least expected it.

When he finally was on the brink of falling asleep, he heard something moving through the forest.

The howling that followed was what fully awakened him.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies @kissingandromeda @stclairesplace @katjusja

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

#the weeping monk #weeping monk #cursed netflix #cursed #weeping monk x reader #lancelot x reader #weeping monk x you #cursed lancelot #lancelot #the weeping monk x reader

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traditional-with-a-twist · 11 months

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xlix. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || first arc || second arc || third arc || AO3 || Next>>

Lightning never strikes the same place twice.

That was what they said, anyway — yet here Obi finds himself in Tanbarun, at an inn, once again facing that feline smile across the room.

Obi’s face makes no secret of his disinclination for conversation. Anyone else might shy away from contact with the barren expression he presents: narrowed eyes set above a grim mouth, black hair shading in stark contrast against ashy skin.

Anyone might, but her.

He could run, but he knows she would only chase him.

Instead of joining the raucous crowd at the bar, Obi lays down money for one night. Then he pivots and stalks towards the courtyard.

...

A few minutes later, a woman with long, burnished hair and bold eyes saunters out to admire the stars on a cold, clear, winter’s night.

...

Obi has changed since she saw him last.

Torou takes her time observing him, marking each new detail as she would assess a fortress.

Gone is the light from his eyes — this is not the softer Obi she met once. Nor is he the fierce, wild man she partnered with long ago, but something colder and darker.

He bears unmistakable signs of neglecting himself on the road, a carelessness as culpable as a knight leaving his sword to rust.

Altogether, she is not sure whether to consider him less dangerous … or more.

...

Unless the question is whether he has become a danger to himself— on that point, Torou is very clear.

...

She advances on him in the night, this time resolved to test him not with blows, but with words.

“A legend!” Torou hails her old partner. “Tired of the quiet life, Obi? All the taverns are buzzing about you.”

This was no mere raillery. “People are talking about you” was not a compliment, in their line of work.

...

Obi regards her grimly. Like everything else, Torou is tied up with memories he would rather forget — thoughts he cannot bear, yet cannot escape.

He looks away, wondering how long before he can be rid of her.

“If you’re looking for a rich man to entertain you,” he says, in a flattened tone impossible to mistake for banter, “you’ll have better luck inside.”

...

So he doesn’t want to play, Torou thinks. Then again, he hadn’t the last time they met either.

Still, there is something different. That time at the inn, he had been not impatient, exactly, but engaged. He had wanted to be left in peace because he had something else to do, something absorbing his time and attention.

Tonight he is utterly without direction — not roaming free, but lost.

She has never seen Obi lost before.

...

“What, back there?” Torou flips her hand at the warm light spilling through the windows behind them.

Shaking her head, she declares, “I’d be bored to death — too safe.”

She doesn’t need to emphasize the last word to be sure that he’ll get the message.

...

Even so, he gives no sign of it, not a twitch of the eyebrow in response.

He only leans against the wall and folds his arms. “Is that so.”

...

Torou is not one to give up easily. She may have a wandering eye, but once something has caught her attention, nothing will dislodge it.

She presses on, pressing in, shortening the space between them.

“But you — I’ve been hearing all about you,” Torou purrs. “Up and down the road, there’s talk of a dangerous man, asking for more danger.”

His eyes shift away.

“Is that why you came,” he says, in that expressionless voice.

...

He wonders why she won’t just leave him alone.

...

A new feeling wells in her as she watches him disregard her warnings. She steps closer, inside his circle of movement.

She has entered the danger zone now, where a strike given or received could be lethal.

The proximity triggers a physical response in Obi, sparking his defensive reflexes. His pulse accelerates, preparing for explosive force.

Although he would rather look anywhere else, be anywhere else, he can’t resist the impulse to keep the threat in view.

His eyes slide to her face by force of habit.

...

She would have anticipated as much; it is her business to make herself impossible to ignore.

Now she has him.

For the first time, Obi really looks at her.

...

Torou is startling when roused. Her nostrils flare; her color rises. It is like an ember blazing to life.

He would never have guessed it of her — the coquette, who played with her food before she ate it and troubled herself only for money or amusement.

He had always supposed he was just that to her — a source of amusement, a curiosity that caught her interest as fleetingly as a gleam of light or spare bit of string.

She was steel wrapped in velvet, a kitten with sheathed claws. Now, suddenly, she bares herself to him.

...

A possibility forms in Obi’s mind — the possibility of a distraction, presenting itself in a new shape.

...

Torou jabs a finger in his chest. It isn’t a calculated gesture.

She is just angry.

He watches her bemusedly, surprise offering some variety to the slog of anguish and despair that has weighted him for endless days and nights.

...

“You keep chasing death long enough, Obi,” Torou whispers, “and someday you’ll catch it. Believe me, I’ve watched it happen.”

Then she backs away, a strange smile on her lips. Her passion has banked to embers, subsiding as quickly as it came.

She leaves him standing there, alone in the dark.

...

Inside, voices rise and fall.

Laughter, drink, a crackling fire, all dwindle to ashes.

Hours pass, and the tables empty.

...

Obi never makes a decision.

He only allows his feet to carry him up the stairs, down the hall, until he reaches a door left unlocked.

It’s almost too daring — an invitation for trouble, issued in defiance of anyone who accepts it.

Then again, perhaps it’s an invitation for one troublemaker in particular.

...

He places a finger on the wood and eases it open.

...

At the sound of the hinges, Torou smiles to herself.

She is seated before her mirror, her long hair loose and gleaming, a brush in her hand.

Her wrist moves in slow circles, languid as a tongue on fur. Smooth and unhurried, the brush polishes gleaming auburn to bronze.

...

She wears only a robe — divested of the apparently casual but carefully arranged layers of their trade.

People in the underworld dress for stealth. That meant ordinariness, unremarkable townspeople clothing, as often as it meant the camouflage of gray night shadows or forest greens.

They dressed also for protection, but not the sort that would attract attention. Armor, guards, sheaths, and the other trappings of warrior trade tended to make a target jittery, a law enforcer suspicious.

Instead, they clothed themselves in thick, loose weaves. Apparently for comfort, the thick material actually served for turning aside a blade, dulling an arrow’s point. Scarves and gloves masked the vulnerable, sensitive skin at their throats and wrists.

...

Torou has shed all of this.

Only thin cotton drapes from her shoulders to the floor, open at the neck and elbows. Her skin is warm and glowing in the lamplight.

Something sweet and smoky burns in the air.

...

Her eyes meet his in the glass.

They are amber on gold, fox to cat, caught in a dance that has just turned interesting.

Torou’s smile widens. “Hello, Obi.”

#Akagami no Shirayukihime #obiyuki #Beauty and Her Beast #PurePassion #enter an opportunity #for even more trouble

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puppyluver256 · 1 year

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[Image Description: Raikou, one of the Legendary Beasts of Johto. Raikou is a large yellow beast that appears both feline and canine, with long fangs resembling the extinct sabertoothed cat. It is mostly yellow with some black markings, with a white underside and fur around the sides of the face, a large black metal-looking plate growth on its head over its red eyes, blue jagged "whiskers" on its muzzle, long ivory claws on its feet, a long blue tail resembling arcing electricity, and a long growth of purple hair along its back resembling storm clouds. It is leaping through the air as it runs along a violet plain. There are greenish-grey storm clouds in the distant sky, with three large yellow lightning bolts striking in different directions. End ID.]

-----

“The rain clouds it carries let it fire thunderbolts at will. They say that it descended with lightning.”

More Johto stuff with Raikou! Not much to say with this one, but I think both the character art and the background came out really well :D

💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖

~Likes are appreciated, but reblogs are greatly preferred as they let more people see my content! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

Raikou and other Pokemon concepts © Nintendo/GameFreak Artwork © PuppyLuver Studios

#pokemon #pokemon heart gold #pokemon soul silver #raikou #jess drew the thing #sfw #image description

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jesterchan · 7 months

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✝️💜🖤Sinful Thoughts...💜🖤✝️ (NSFW!) (Part 1!)

Priest AU!

A Priest Sun and Moon X Possessed Female Reader...

NSFW Warning!

Content Warning: Violence, Religious Themes, Language, Fellatio, Fingering, And Masturbation...

Y/N's POV:

I'm twenty-four years old...

I don't know what's wrong with me...

I've been having erratic and lustful thoughts...

Each day, they get worse and more drastic...

I couldn't stop having lascivious thoughts about the two pastors. They are so dear to me. Their names are...

Sun and Moon...

I used to visit their church. We would worship, sing hymns, and read the Bible. No priest is better than them.

At first, I began getting lustful fantasies from slight touching to actual sex. But over time, it has gotten out of control...

I would touch myself excessively each time I had privacy. My fingers sneak into my folds, thrusting rapidly. I swirl my wet finger around my clit until I orgasm.

Every time someone interrupts me toying with myself, I would violently roar and damage them.

Everyone in the village was frightened and alarmed by my sinful manners.

As a result, I was locked away in the dungeon, waiting for someone to free me from this "demon"...

I was chained to a bed spreading my arms to my ankles, preventing me from playing with myself. I couldn't help but angrily yell and try to kick around.

It was like a living hell... I couldn't do anything...

Each day my thoughts and actions get more volatile.

I once was unchained by a worker. I attempted to seduce them. However, I failed to do so and was chained back again.

I was fed bread and drank water every day. They would force food into my mouth.

It was all fucking torture...

But one day... They arrived...

I slowly woke up, still chained to the bed... I heard a serious discussion... The voices involved sounded... Familiar...

The metal door opened, letting in two familiar faces that I immediately recognized...

Father Sun and Moon...

My heart fluttered in surprise as my lips curled into a smile. I reddened in embarrassment. Hope filled up my body.

They sternly gazed at me. Examining my unstable behavior.

I let out an alluring chuckle and spoke "~Will you play with me?~"

Moon placed his holy jeweled cross on my forehead. I shrieked in pain and kicked around. The pain was agonizing like a stab in the back.

Sun opened his bible and began to chant.

The holy remarks aggravated me, resulting in screams and roars.

I was then showered with holy water. The water felt like burning acid tainting my skin.

I rattled my chained arms and legs. Sun continued to read from the bible.

"Let me go!" I demanded in a seductive demonic voice.

"Demon! I demand you to free this woman from your torture!" Sun commanded.

"NO! NO!!!" I tore through the chains, unnaturally arcing my back upwards like a feline.

Sharp wings ripped through my nightdress and I slowly developed a sharp tail.

Moon tried to put his holy cross on my forehead. However, I used my power to deter him. He crashed into the wall but recovered quickly.

The two priests stared at me in pure shock and fear.

I laughed maliciously, looking down at them.

"Y/N!" Sun called, holding his bible for dear life.

I alluringly giggled and laid down, legs spreading. I gestured for them to come closer.

They carefully walked closer, hoping I wouldn't harm them. Moon held his cross in case all hell had gone loose.

I raised my nightgown and smirked. I had yearned so long for this...

Sun gently put down his bible and cupped my face with his large hands.

(✝️💜🖤~Smut starts here...~🖤💜✝️)

His pearly white eyes met mine. I devilishly smiled and pressed my lips against his.

Moon watched in surprise and lowered his cross. He slowly approached us.

I broke off the kiss from Sun to kiss Moon.

Our tongues intertwine with each other. Saliva melting out of our mouths. I can tell that the temptation was taking over them.

We halted the kiss as I crawled my hand underneath my undergarments.

I start to thrust my fingers through my folds, causing me to moan out of delight.

The priests clasped their hands and whispered...

"Forgive us, Lord, as we are about to sin..."

I stripped off my undergarments. Sun's long fingers toyed with my clit while Moon's fingers thrust into my folds

I deeply moaned and lightly bit my lip. My fantasies are starting to come true.

Sun's fingers start to vibrate, accelerating me close to my heavenly orgasm.

My walls start to tighten around Moon's fingers. I couldn't get enough of it.

I wailed in pleasure, telling them to keep going.

After a couple of fast thrusts, my walls flutter, and my clit spurts out fluids.

I took deep breaths and relaxed. However, this wasn't over yet...

I desired more...

Father Sun and Moon began to undress themselves, from their robes into complete nudity.

They unlocked their modesty plates, revealing tentacle cocks.

Sun's tentacle cock was orange as the vibrant sunset.

Moon's cock, on the other hand, was blue as the pale sky.

My eyes sparkled with infatuation as I crept towards them. I poked Sun's cock and it wiggled and swirled about.

I let out a smile of mischief and started fondling his cock.

He quietly moaned and caressed my scalp. I licked his cock lightly, teasing him.

He gave out a whine, wishing to be sucked off. I let out a giggle.

I sucked the tip of his cock. He whimpered with slight pleasure, I then started to suck my way to the base of his shaft.

As I repeatedly sucked his cock, I saw Moon gently stroking his cock, eyeing me sucking off his sunny partner.

I then focused back on Father Sun, I occasionally gagged but I kept sucking.

I craved them so much... Now I have their consent...

I drank up his fluids, which tasted like sweet butterscotch with a touch of orange.

After a while of sucking, my mouth was filled with his golden seed.

I then moved on to Father Moon's cock. I sucked the tip, which caused a sudden pre-cum. I swallowed up the seed.

I bobbed my head, coating his cock with froth. Moon moaned and held my scalp.

I moaned on his cock, accelerating his orgasm. I stopped sucking and played with the tip of his cock using my tongue.

He abruptly ejaculated, painting my face with his blue seed.

I gently swabbed and tasted his semen. The flavor tasted like tart blueberry with a smidge of lavender.

I giggled and commented, "~You both taste delectable~"

(✝️💜🖤Smut Ends Here...🖤💜✝️)

The priests smiled and joined me in bed. I granted kisses and hugs...

However...

This wasn't over...

The fun is just beginning...

✝️💜🖤To Be Continued...🖤💜✝️

#smut #x y/n smut #alternate universe #fnaf #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #moondrop #sundrop #minors dni #fanfiction #fanfic #smut fic

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johntheapostate · 9 months

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A first-time reader's warriors experience

This is a bit of an odd one for me, I never thought that my first blog post on any social media site would be about a book series. Particularly one like this. This will be a largely spoiler-free post so feel free to read on. If you want my thoughts in a more spoiler-filled way let me know. For a little bit of background Warriors (also known as Warrior Cats) is a long-running series of Xenofiction novels staring multiple generations of cats formed into these groups called 'clans' (which are largely made of loosely related individual cats) that compete for land and resources while facing other outside dangers. All were written by a series of authors working collectively under the pen name "Erin Hunter"

I first came across this series in middle school when it came highly recommended by many of my peers. Sadly, the more likely I am to be recommended something the less likely I am to read it (a thing I now regret) so I put it on the back burner for several years. At the time I was still heavily in my Harry Potter faze and it was all I would read. Flash forward to June of 2023, five years out of high school and deeply disappointed in YA novels I decide to download the first book "Into the Wild" to read on my phone while on my lunch breaks at work. While not an entirely transformative work of xeno-fiction it surely sets a standard for what it could be. The "Erins" as they are collectively known waste no time in establishing a connection between the main character of the first arc "Rusty" and the reader. As they vividly describe the curiosity and longing one might feel having lived a sheltered life like his.

As the novel (and the overall story arc) progresses you begin to see the very human elements in every feline encountered. Even the villains (aside from maybe one) feel realistic, in that, they all perceive what they are doing as what is right for the safety of the clan and kin. Which is a refreshing element in days when relatability comes via traumatic backstory.

This being said, if the characters are a high point, the pacing is a low point. Time jumps are often and regular, often containing their own mini-stories within the larger scheme of everything. At times it feels like the authors are trying to find an explanation for everything the character is thinking and crafting scene after scene for it. Often I was left feeling as if the writer of the installment didn't quite know how they wanted to end the novel and kept writing until they found a comfortable spot. Not to mention very minor plot inconsistencies that I am told are frequent in later installments.

Overall, I have only read the first story arc and these are only first impressions of the series that I'm sure will evolve as I delve more into these books. I encourage others to read and form their own opinions on this story. And to all the dedicated fans I must say, I get it now.

P.S. Yes I am a furry and very proud of it.

#booklr #warrior cats #books and reading #booklover #books #bookblr #book recommendations #review

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waywardturtleghostbonk · 1 year

Note

How did Ell’s first encounter with Matt go?

(For Cat arc Ell)

It was Matthew's habit to place various traps around the woods, promising no real concern for anyone who might fall into and hurt. The boy spent whole days studying, obtaining materials, building and placing traps in the nature of the forest.

It was the middle of the night when a cat fell inside the fishing net, wriggling furiously and setting off the alarm with the sound of a cattle bell. Matt immediately rushed to check, finding the cat entangled in the strings.

He took the kitty into the house to free her with a dagger blade, pouting to break one of his most effective traps due to a clumsy feline. Ell found solace in the home of the young hunter, not abandoning the boy when free.

Matt thought twice, coming to the conclusion that a company would not be so bad and with a caress between the ears and a cot with an insignificant mesh layer on the floor hosted the cat.

Only the next day, when the ex-prince wakes up, will he find a bulkier figure, hairy and certainly not feline. A girl covered in fluff, no clothes, sleeping with a rag on her back.

Matt, not intimidated but in amazement, took his crossbow between his fingers and aimed it at her, unconscious of a death throb on her neck. The creature's stillness gave the young man time to think, lowering his weapon so as not to risk a shot. Every now and then that damn weapon jams.

He sat down at the table, preparing himself a piece of bread and cheese and clearly watching Ell sleeps, snoring blissfully with moving paws, not hands. The legend was real, the last werewolves are still present in the bush of cold England..but they are not wolves as the voices of the plebs tell.

#waywardturtleghostbonk's encyclopedia

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castelias-cat-queen · 5 months

Note

would you still be evil if you engaged in homosexuality

Who says I don't?

(I don't, I experience no form of attraction of any kind.)

#pokeblogging #rotomblr #pokemon irl #pkmn irl #in character #free felines arc #//technically aroace. but she literally doesn't have the emotional capability to care about labels at all.#//tbh the only reason she uses the right pronouns is because its a hassle when people correct her #//not that she thinks theyre otherwise bad either. she thinks of them purely technically. just a grammar shortcut to refer to people.#//if she could get away with it she'd not refer to anyone at all. faster that way. pure efficiency.#//also these little authors notes are fun. very pratchett-esque. imma keep doing them even if they clog up tags

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primalvessel · 1 year

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@kolak-magiya - Xadai and semi-public (exhibitionism)

Their rubbing of shoulders had become more and more frequent - to the point that when he was in town, the Miqo’te found himself actively seeking out the Au Ra.

And when their meetings went that way...

Maru mewled against the knuckles he’d stuffed in his mouth to quiet himself some as Xadai’s cock thrust into him the deepest yet and the feline’s back arched to press against the firm broad back behind him. Xadai’s low chuckle in one fuzzy ear sent arousal rocking through him like waves and the Miqo’te made a wanton noise into his fist moments before the Au Ra used one hand to lower the one Maru was silencing himself with and replaced it with two of his own fingers.

Panting softly around the digits, face flushed, Maru clenched around Xadai’s length even as the man began to pull back and, drooling around the fingers in his mouth, the feline made a garbled little noise of need.

The chill from the window did little to cool his heated body, even with his pants around his ankles and Xadai’s free hand hiking up his shirt, rough fingers teasing a perky pink nipple.

Below them the street was busy, bustling with people moving to and from the markets and going about their business, unaware of the debauchery happening nearby, that they’d lay eyes on if only they looked up.

Xadai and Maru both were living for the thrill of it - the feline’s cock a hard arc between him and the window they were fucking against and Xadai’s leaked pre even as he thrust up into the hot, greedy body of his feline lover and made the Miqo’te’s breath catch.

A soft whine, the feline clenched his hands against the window’s frame before he lowered his hand to his aching cock.

He was close and he was going to paint the window with his release when Xadai made him cum...

#kolakmagiya #avert thine innocent eyes #sorry for the long delay!#hopefully this works for semi-public #:3c

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xoruffitup · 3 years

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Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work.

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

#Adam Driver #Annette #Cannes 2021 #driverdaily #Annette spoilers

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mask131 · 2 years

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WW Historia Divine designs: Hermes

Hermes’ main colors seem to be a purplish-red and an orange-yellow (I don’t know if it’s just me but I have a hard time exactly identifying the colors as they seem to change slightly depending on the drawing). Hermes himself has a skin of a vaguely purplish hue.

While one might not remember him much from the first issue, Hermes is actually always there - during the scene with the gods he keeps circling around his father and uncles/siblings, leaving behind a circle of light (presumably to show how fast he actually spins around the others). This glowing arc that appears from one frame to another, it is just his passage.

His outfit is mostly made of long strips of cloth, that flow around him like ribbons or tatters. I don’t exactly know why this was chosen on a cultural point of view, but on a visual and aesthetic one it is clear this is to highlight the god as a moving/flying figure (the ribbons manifesting his movement and tracing his passage).

As with a few other modern interpretations of Hermes, the wings on his sandals and hat are now growing directly out of his feet and head. (The wings out of the head bring to mind the famous sculpture of Hypnos). Already the 2011 version of Hermes has included the wings tied to the legs. In fact, another nod to the 2011 Hermes seems to be how both versions have animal feet instead of human ones - 2011 Hermes had bird feet (to fit with his flying/winged aesthetic) while this one has feline legs. I cannot clearly see what these feet are, but I think it is a reference to the fastest felines in the worlds, like cheetahs.

Another possible nod to the 2011 Hermes are the fact that his eyes are almost entirely black (which was one of the main features of 2011 Hermes). His peculiar haircut seems to be a reference to another, lesser known, Greek god - or rather a Greek personification/philosophical figure. This shaved head except for a long braid of dark hair brings to mind Kairos, the incarnation of “the right moment” or “the opportune time”, “the critical moment”. It was one of the two interpretations of time alongside Chronos (while the “chronos” was a linear, flowing time of past, present, future, the “kairos” time was a constant succession of moments and opportunities). From this metaphysical consideration of time, Kairos evolved into a minor god (called “Caerus” in English, though the Greek name is “Kairos”) embodying opportunity and luck (something that overlapse with Hermes functions). Just like Hermes he was represented as a youth with winged feet (when he wasn’t winged himself, because he was the “fleeting moment”), and he typically had just one lock of hair - it was a metaphor. Given Kairos is the “right moment”, when you see the opportunity you need to grab it (here by the lock of hair) before it flees and disappears.

And of course I can’t forget to comment on the caduceus, Hermes’ iconic item. Here Phil Jimenez went full badassery by turning the caduceus from a simple rod similar to a magic wand, to a full blown magic spear/giant wizard staff. Entirely golden we see the typical traits of a caduceus (two snakes entwined, a pair of wings), but they are repeated twice - one smaller snake-wings ensemble below and a more detailed one on top. Another element worth noting are the three disks. Below the lesser snake-wing ensemble are three disks aligned ; and at the top we see one big circle with three smaller ones on top. What does it mean?

My vague theory is that it might be a reference to Hermes Trismegistus, “Hermes the Thrice-Greatest”, the combination of the Greek Hermes and the Egyptian Thoth. The disk might represent Thoth’s moon role... but at the same time the fact it is golden and surrounded by golden wings rather brings to mind the Egyptian depictions of the sun (a golden disk associated with bird-gods like Ra or Horus). So this is a quite weak interpretation and if anyone has a better idea, feel free to share.

Oh yes, and one last thing: Hermes has a piercing on his left nipple. I don’t think there is anything to analyze here, but let’s mention it just in case X)

#wonder woman #wonder woman historia #greek gods #hermes #analysis #divine designs #kairos

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crestfxllenfxte · 3 years

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Closed starter for @chorusnihili

Hell was far from a welcoming place, and least of all the Wastelands. With it's vast expanses of empty land, thousands of miles between settlements, and sudden drops into caves and lava pits, it was a wonder anyone lived this far out. Yet, the sound of laughter carried on the wind, the childish whimsy of being care free.

'Aw, come on Moira! You know you're too fast in that form!'

Bits of conversation carried as well, words spoken through bouts of giggles and shrill cries of unbridled joy. The landscape, so barren and dry, was keen on playing tricks with the mind. The voices might have seemed disembodied or terribly distant, had a small, white creature not crested a hill and continued running full tilt on all fours, followed by a teenage boy that could almost pass as a human.

Whether it was that they did not notice a stranger on the horizon, or they simply did not care until they were close enough to tell he was not one of their own was debatable. In the end it didn't matter. By the time Leo noticed the stranger all he had the time to do was reach out and grab the small feline-esque creature, digging his heels into the ground to bring them both to a stop.

A combination of the sudden stop and the smaller child being so surprised she retook her natural form sent them both tumbling backwards, Moira still laughing wildly and Leo hitting the ground with a soft 'Oof.'

"Son of a..." Leo groans, raising one hand so that the palm faced the stranger before him. Arcs of electricity jumped between his fingers, already covered in dark burns and scars. "Stay over there. I'm not going to warn you twice, so just... stay the fuck back."

There was hardly any hostility in his voice, more exhaustion and a lack of breath.

In contrast, Moira simply stood and dusted off her already dirt stained dress. Bright, red, feline eyes took in the details of a new and strange being, she said nothing but tilted her head in curiosity. Deceptively calm, she seemed far more intrigued than upset at the interruption.

#chorusnihili #prince of nothing - Leo #Wise little monster - Moira #verse: main #Scientific Skeleton : Gaster #//You get children :)#I hope this is alright let me know if you want me to change anything//#//These two balance each other out #so I figured it would be more pleasant if they were together.//

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ranger-rai · 3 years

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Alright guys, A lot has happened in the last couple of days so let me catch you all up.

So we have been getting some reports of a "Swarm" of pokemon causing some problems around Sinnoh.

We looked into it and after a couple nights of steakouts, we discovered that our "Swarm" was actually a Purrloin who knew Double Team.

Apparently it had been stealing from alot of small homes, mainly trash.

This Purrloin was incredibly aggressive and seemingly protective of something.

We tracked it down to to a small den just outside of Solaceon Town.

Well we were expecting it to be taking care of its kittens, however we did not expect what we actually found.

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We found this Purrloin trying to feed the scraps it stole to a Lycanroc.

The Purrloin was very protective and tried attacking us.

It was surprisingly tough for a single Purrloin, however we managed to restrain it.

However we found it weird that this Dusk Lycanroc wasn't moving or reacting much.

I went and checked it out when it was clear and we found something really unsettling.

This Lycanroc has some spine problems, I know this because it struggled to get up but when it did, it got on four legs, then two legs.

Now a Dusk form Lycanroc is made to be on all four like this

However its back is arced upwards like it's slouching.

It's also shaking a bit, and is covered in scratches and bruises.

Every time I try and get close the Purrloin starts thrashing and clawing.

We let it go and it made its way back to the Lycanroc, and started to guard it again.

We knew this was bad, so we made a plan to try and help them.

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We managed to get Purrloin secure once again and Lycanroc into a cage very carefully, but we kept them close together as we transported them.

Lycanroc was surprisingly docile and just seemed tired and dehydrated, so we made sure it got plenty of water.

Purrloin was on edge the whole time, making sure that Lycanroc ate, and keeping us at a distance, but I caught her eating from time to time.

We had to hold her down once again, but she used her double team to evade us for a bit. She really knows how to use that move.

Eventually we restrained her when we got to the Ranger Base and we had a medical technician look at Lycanroc.

They said that it had some severe spine misalignment, not from an injury but from constant strain.

At some point during our conversation, we noticed Lycanroc trying to get up, and "stand up" again on two legs, like a Midnight Form Lycanroc.

It was really odd to see, and the tech helped put it him back onto two legs, but it almost seemed scared to be touched when in that position.

This wasn't battle damage, this was intentional trauma.

Purrloin was definitely upset, and managed to get free and started scratching at the technician.

Thankfully I restrained her so the technician could work more, and I calmed her down a bit.

The tech said that they would need to run some tests on the Lycanroc to see if they could fix his back, so we had to let him stay for a while.

However we couldn't leave Purrloin there in case she tried to attack the tech again.

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I didn't want to seperate them, but I needed her to be somewhere safe while the technician did his job, so I got her into a carrier and took her with me on my rounds.

She was hissing and scratching for a while but I sat and talked with her for a bit and she seemed pretty alert but much calmer.

Most of the day was just a usual trip around my areas, however I started finding alot more litter in some areas.

There was alot of trash on the ground in a park area just outside Veilstone City, and normally I would pick it all up, but there was alot, almost like there was a carnival recently there, but there was nothing planned as far as I knew.

I also noticed Purrloin getting really upset and hissing a lot.

I looked around the trash and found a bunch of flyers for some kind of venue.

"Mister E's Enigmas"

The flyer listed a sort of sideshow of oddities.

Things like:

The Fire Breathing Treecko Brothers, Dancing Donphan, and their star attraction-

"The Were-Lycanroc" a pokemon that could switch between forms.

That's when it hit me, and I knew someone was going to get in trouble.

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After bringing this information to the technician and my boss Jo. Me and my Ranger Team decided to attend the show incognito to see if we were right, and boy we wish we weren't.

We attended what could only be described as a shifty, pop up carnival.

There were a few games, a couple food trucks, and a large tent that held the "main events".

There were some "exotic" holding cages that people could interact with like a small cage for two Emolga to live in, they could barely get into the air before smacking into the roof.

There was a small area that had a large heat lamp for "desert" pokemon, but it was mostly a browning Cacnea, a Trapinch with barely enough sand to cover its body, and a Salandit which didn't belong there.

There were others but we already knew what those cages would be like as well.

The show kn the main stage was getting ready to start, so we decided to check it out.

"Mister E" took to the stage, he had your typical big top attire, top hat, long tails, but he had a stripey pattern that made him look like a hypnotic wheel.

He introduced his first act, which was "The Fire Breathing Treecko Brothers". I was worried.

Now Treecko is a Grass Type, and it only learns one grass type move naturally: Sunny Day.

They also don't have any natural immunities to fire types, so this didn't make much sense for normal Treecko.

From what I saw in the act, they learned how to eat fire and pretend they were using flamethrower. However you could tell they didn't like it. Treecko are calm and collected pokemon, but those two looked stressed out, and they were molting a bit in certain areas near their face and tails, probably due to the flames and stress.

After them was the "Dancing Donphan". Donphan is a very heavy pokemon, and it's main skill is rolling like a tire.

This Donphan looked much lighter, like it hadn't been fed its regular amount to keep it healthy.

Minnie also mounted out that the music playing during the dance had a weird sound mixed in. Basically, whenever we heard the sound, Donphan would do a move like jumping or rolling over. The sound was similar to a sort of crash, but it was clear that it was a sound that Donphan was afraid of.

Now came the finale, "The Were-Lycanroc" however that part didn't happen, and instead they brought out some clowns and the Treecko Brothers again.

Thats when we knew what was really happening.

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I went back to check on Lycanroc who was sleeping like a log with Purrloin right next to it.

I didn't remember any cages with any feline pokemon in them so maybe it was just a wild Purrloin, but I wasn't going to disturb them to find out.

The doctor told me that it might take some time, but Lycanroc's spine and back legs were forced to move in positions they weren't supposed to for so long, that it would take some time, therapy and equipment to help it.

If there was a chance to help this poor pokemon I knew we would take it, but we also couldn't leave all of those other pokemon to suffer.

We were about to get really busy at the Ranger Base.

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The next day, Me and Minnie went incognito one more time and we had to sit through that horrible show once more.

We had Skip with us, helping to send info and let us know of any devices or intercept their communications.

Turns out we didn't know that was happening because they had police scanners to avoid getting caught and they had wireless security cameras inside the tent.

They were prepared, but so were we.

My whole team was on board, both Humans and Pokemon.

We had a plan that began with Kuriboh knocking out some generators by sneaking around and unplugging everything he could.

That caused some confusion for a bit while we got in place. While they went to secure their "precious cargo", we made our presence known.

Eddie was outside the tent, dealing with the muscle and moving crews, his Bewear is very strong and pretty quick too, so we didn't need to worry about them much.

However we still had Mister E.

I told Bliss to keep an eye on him so we wouldn't loose him in the panic, but we had a delay as some of the Treeco Bros fire got out of control and some of the tent started to catch on fire.

Minnie and her Cloyster were immediately ready to deal with it and she was ready to help the Treeco Bros as well.

Bliss was able to keep tabs on the ringleader who was trying to get into his van and split, most likely with his cash.

However, Sylvester doesn't like people who mistreat pokemon, and Jo's Tangrowth has some really strong vines. Strong enough to rip car doors off hinges.

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We had caught this terrible man, and we discovered he had been doing this for a couple of years, just now making his way through Sinnoh, and he was looking for some pokemon to add to his show.

We also watched some of his security tapes and we learned that "Were-Lycanroc" was really just a Dusk Form that he forced to stand up and slouch over by constantly whipping with a flexible stick. And with the assistance of red lights, smoke machines and music, hey could make people think it was changing forms.

We also learned that Purrloin was tossed into Lycanroc's cage, possibly as a "play thing" but I guess he actually made a friend either her and hiding her from Mister E, and she had been caring for him as well, stealing food and causing trouble for them whenever she could.

Needless to say, we were able to get them arrested, and we are now in the process of evaluating some of these pokemon, but we may have too many to deal with here.

We might need to reach out for some help.

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In the case of Lycanroc and Purrloin, they are comfortably resting in holding, and Lycanroc is be getting fitted for some equipment to help its spine and legs heal.

I'll be checking on them soon, but for now me and my team need to rest after this long day.

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