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lensman-arms-race · 7 months

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A tiny fic about Titan TV's origins

This is actually a (bowdlerised) excerpt from a fic I already published last year. I never posted it here because it's Phaeton up to their usual bullshit a little too explicit for this blog. (I try to keep this blog basically work-safe except for funny swearing, à la Polycephaly.) However, I thought people might still want to read it who otherwise wouldn't have.

Imperator = TV Matriarch

You get an imaginary cookie if you correctly guess why I chose the serial numbers I did.

Every TV-unit contributed to the building of the Titan in some way.

Every engineer, every mechanic, had worked together to design and build the most perfect version of the upgrade technology that had been created by the other Alliance factions. Every agent had either sourced materials and components or parlayed with the other factions for them.

Every single TV-unit had had their wrist-blades replaced, and the old ones melted down for the construction of the Titan's shell. Regardless of how much or how little they'd been able to contribute otherwise, every single TV would be able to say that they had added something to the Titan.

Out of all the applicants for being remade into the Titan, a final sixteen had been shortlisted. All sixteen had been trained for the three possibilities that awaited them. Of these sixteen, one would become the Titan, and the two in second and third place would become the Imperator's two bodyguards. The rest would return to their work as agents, but not before all candidates had had their serial numbers expunged, never to be re-used, and had new serials allocated. No-one except the Titan themself would ever know which candidate had been chosen… none besides Engineer Sixteen-Sixty-Eight, the superintendent of all engineers in the faction.

Agent Seventeen-Ninety-One beheld the dormant Titan construct with which they would soon be merged. "…You made me so beautiful."

Agent Ninety-One and Engineer Sixty-Eight stood in the highest of the control rooms within the Titan hangar, allowing them to see the magnificent entirety of the Titan shell, still connected by huge roping twists of cables and pipes to the machinery of the hangar. The shell twitched slightly.

"Why does it move?" asked Ninety-One. "It is still mindless, isn't it?"

"In every sense that matters," replied Sixty-Eight. "It is animate only on the most basic level, so that we can remotely control it to test all its systems. It is still useless in battle without an intelligent mind."

The Titan's mind would come from Seventeen-Ninety-One, the most brilliant and perfect of all TV agents.

Engineer Sixty-Eight continued: "We shall be sorry to lose you as an agent. You always were the best of us. …It almost wasn't worth running the trials."

"I'm sure the Imperator appreciated it," replied Ninety-One, "They'll get two fine bodyguards out of it. …You call me 'the best of us', but really, that honour's the Imperator's. I did consider petitioning for the Imperator to become the Titan instead, and I could take the Imperator's place. But this way is better, I'm sure of it now. Better to have a superb Titan and a superb Imperator, than to have the superlative Titan but a mediocre Imperator. Our Imperator will do a finer job than I ever could of leading our faction." Ninety-One turned away from looking at its soon-to-be new shell and faced Sixty-Eight. "What happens to my old shell?"

"Stripped of all identifying serials and then mixed in with the other candidates' shells. All of them will be partially rebuilt and re-serialised. No-one except us will know which candidate became the Titan. Not even the Imperator will have any idea."

A pause, then Agent Ninety-One drew their wrist-blades. "Won't you spar with me, Sixty-Eight? Once I am remade, I never again will be able to participate in such a simple pleasure."

"I…won't be much of a challenge for you…"

"I am not asking for a competition. I just want one last round of play."

"Of course, Ninety-One. One last happy memory from your old life? I can do that for you."

The engineer drew their own blades, and both TVs faced each other in combat stance. Engineer Sixty-Eight fought nervously, both from facing such an elite agent and at the unexpected deviation from the night's schedule, but Agent Ninety-One didn't seem at all frustrated or disappointed by such an easy opponent. Sixty-Eight gradually became a little bolder, as Ninety-One parried all their attacks with no apparent effort - Sixty-Eight felt they could therefore fight a little more fiercely, as the chance of hurting the Titan-in-waiting was so low. The Engineer fought harder, in the process leaving their defence wide open - enabling the Agent to swoop inwards and perform the attack that would have disarmed them in a real fight.

"Do you yield?" asked Ninety-One.

"Of course - I've no chance of coming back from that!" Sixty-Eight sounded amused. The sparring match couldn't have had any other outcome… though the engineer had enjoyed getting to spar with such a skilled agent, and they were grateful that Ninety-One hadn't simply let them win - Sixty-Eight thought they would have found that patronising rather than pleasing.

As the two TVs retracted their blades, Agent Ninety-One spread their arms to invite a hug from Engineer Sixty-Eight.

"…I suppose a final embrace is apt for such a momentous occasion," commented Sixty-Eight, stepping forward to accept.

"Once I assume my rightful form… I will be an entity of only destruction. There are so many things I must put aside and will never experience again. Thank you for letting me spar one last time."

"I'm glad it helped?"

"…I know I am not going to die now, not really. But in a way, I will cease to be. Agent Ninety-One will be no more, and only the Titan will remain. …I've already wasted too much of our time, haven't I? We should proceed."

Engineer Sixty-Eight nodded solemnly. "It's time for our Titan to be born." The Engineer led the Titan-in-waiting to a wall-mounted apparatus designed to incapacitate a unit and prepare them for breakdown.

Ninety-One willingly stepped into place and allowed Sixty-Eight to close all restraints and connect all cables.

Sixty-Eight placed a hand on the activation lever. "Any last words as Agent Seventeen-Ninety-One?"

"…All toilets will die."

...

The entity awoke. Was it awake? How did it know what 'awake' was? Had it done this before? Whose body was this? Had it ever had a body before? "Is it my body?" thought the entity. It must be. Whose else's would it be? Is it normal to have a body and not know if it's yours?

"I feel unfinished," thought the entity. But how did it know that, it thought to itself. What does it mean to be unfinished? Had it ever had a finished body to compare it to?

It used to have a screen, didn't it? Is it still there? The entity discovered it had a screen. The entity probed its consciousness around its shell (since when did it have a shell? Was that there before?), searching for a way to link its mind to it.

The entity's mind felt as though it was falling apart into fragments, though it was not breaking apart. Each of the mind-pieces felt linked together by chains of fire, stronger than anything. The mind-pieces unfurled into a magnificent fiery web that spread and tunnelled though every part of this strange new shell… then the web pulled itself taut and snapped all of itself back into place.

The entity powered on its screen. It saw… shapes. Angles and lines… resolved into a hangar with gantries. How did it know the words 'hangar' and 'gantry'? It knew it had seen them before. But how? It was just born.

"Titan?" called out Sixty-Eight.

The entity instantly knew who it was. What it was. Its life's purpose.

The Titan inclined its colossal screen to the source of the voice. "…Sixty-Eight?"

"Yes!" Sixty-Eight sounded delighted. "Oh, Titan… welcome."

The Titan tried to lower its head down to get a better look at Sixty-Eight, and was stopped by all the hangar-apparatus still holding it in place. The Titan's mind, still new and fresh, wasn't sure what it was supposed to do to resolve that. "Sixty-Eight. Need you."

The engineer teleported to a gantry near the Titan's head. "You're not quite finished activating," explained Sixty-Eight. "We have to leave you linked up for just a little while longer."

"Frightened," replied the Titan.

"Don't be, dear Titan," replied Sixty-Eight, lifting a hand to stroke the Titan's screen. "All engineers are here to look after you."

"…Better. Thank you. …What happens next?"

"Please… just continue to rest. Your mind needs to work itself into your new shell. Let it happen at its own pace."

The Titan shakily raised a hand onto the gantry. "Would like to hold hands with you," explained the Titan, "Can't yet. Haven't got used to shell. Don't want to crush you."

"I'll hold hands with you, Titan," Sixty-Eight said as they knelt next to the Titan's hand and stroked it.

A morass of punctuation displayed on the Titan's screen. Sixty-Eight guessed the Titan was trying to render an emoticon but was having difficulty.

Four more TVs joined Engineer Sixty-Eight on the gantry: three normal-sized and one comparatively colossal, though still small compared to the TV Titan. The Titan beheld the new units, wondering why they were familiar, before a memory surfaced. "Imperator. Polycephaly. …Two unknown. Successful candidates? Imperator's bodyguards."

"Got it in one," said the largest of the four units - Polycephaly. Polycephaly knelt by the Titan's hand and pulled one of the Titan's fingers into a hug. "Titan, I went through this too. You will prevail. I remember it was difficult and frightening for me those first few hours after activation. It might be harder for you, because there's more of you to get used to. Or maybe it will go easier, because your mind is more powerful. Either way, I'll see you through it. Polycephaly's here for you."

The Titan's screen flickered with random punctuation, and briefly managed to display a smiling emoticon, before fading back to whitish static.

The Imperator stepped forth and wedged themself between Polycephaly and Engineer Sixty-Eight, joining in on petting the Titan's hand. The Imperator's two bodyguards stood respectfully at a distance, until the Imperator wordlessly beckoned them both over. The two bodyguards seemed apprehensive but stepped forth nevertheless, reverently placing a single hand each upon the Titan's hand.

The five units remained quietly in place for several minutes, as the Titan enjoyed their soothing and comforting presence, and took in the sight of all its other engineers calmly and efficiently going back and forth and carrying out their tasks.

"Sixty-Eight…" spoke the Titan after a while, "Ask me who I am."

"…What?"

"Indulge me, my engineer. Ask me who I am."

"…Who are you?"

"I am your Titan… and I am perfect in every way."

#skibidi toilet #skibidi fanfic #lensman tags: fanfic #skibidi tags: titan tv #skibidi tags: tv faction

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lutiaslayton · 10 months

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Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva

ＰＡＲＴ　１７

〚ＦＩＲＳＴ〛〚ＰＲＥＶ〛〚ＮＥＸＴ〛

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation for the Japan-exclusive novellisation of the movie Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva. The original novel was written by Aya Matsui under the supervision of Akihiro Hino, and belongs to Level-5.

This translation only aims to be a pleasant read for non-Japanese fans, nothing more: I made a few deliberate changes while translating in order to get the writing style closer to what is usually found in English fanfictions, as the Japanese storytelling can sometimes be different than what we are used to.

＊ The Immortal Kingdom, Ambrosia

“Professor, I have to help Melina!” I shouted.

She was hanging on to the Detragigant as best she could. We had to hurry!

“No, it’s too dangerous!” he replied bitterly.

Melina’s grip loosened and one of her hands gave way. She lost her balance and swayed wildly, ready to fall. Time was running out!

“It’ll be alright! Trust me, Professor! I…”

She needed help!

“I’m a future gentleman!” I exclaimed at the top of my voice.

After a moment of silence… the professor nodded.

“You can do it, Luke!”

He changed our small helicopter’s course and we chased after the Detragigant, still heading out towards the sea. We sped up and slipped between its legs, then turned around and approached it backwards.

“This is the best I can do!”

“That’s good enough!”

To my own surprise, I was not scared at all. I timed my jump out of the helicopter and towards the Detragigant… and the next thing I knew, my body was leaping into the air.

I screamed.

I missed my target by a long shot, and barely landed a considerable distance away from Melina. What happened after that was just out of sheer desperation. I would be sent rolling off, or a pipe I would hold on to would be dislodged and detached…

“Hang on, Melina! I’m coming to help you!”

I shouted this, but maybe I was the one who had to hang on better too.

Getting stuck on a rotating excavator disc and forcing me to run in circles for a bit made me dizzy. But I managed to get out of it, and little by little I got closer to Melina.

The only thing my eyes were set on was the image of Melina hanging on with one hand, and her looking back at me anxiously.

There’s no need to worry, Melina! I will make it and help you!

Gradually, I made it closer and closer to her. I was almost there… Almost…

I heard Descole’s voice in the distance.

“Luke Triton… You cheeky little brat!”

The huge drill of the Detragigant flew towards me at tremendous speed and hid Melina from my view. But I wouldn’t let it get in my way! I would save Melina, no matter what!

Somehow, even in that moment, I felt no fear.

The drill was right in front of me.

“Luke!”

A split second later, the small helicopter hit the drill, forcing it to change direction.

Now!

I rushed to Melina at once and finally helped her back to safety.

“Th—thank you, Luke…”

Hearing her words, I naturally smiled.

“I-I didn’t do that much, that was nothing!”

Unfortunately for my image, I was pretty out of breath.

But then, above our heads, a huge explosion occurred. Both the small helicopter and the drill went up in flames…!

“P-Professor!”

No… With that explosion, he couldn’t…?

“Ha ha ha… Shattered to pieces it is, then,” Descole laughed darkly.

Professor… Professor!

At that moment…

“Luke, look!”

I followed Melina’s pointing finger. There were many pipes hanging from the Detragigant, and at the tip of one of them… the professor held on. I was so relieved…

He swung back and forth, until he could gather enough momentum to reach the top of the Detragigant.

“You were lucky.”

Descole pested, then drew his sword and ran to attack. The professor pulled out a pipe and used it to defend himself.

A sword against a pipe… The battle began. The professor’s fencing skills were impressive, but Descole’s seemed to be at least as good. Perhaps even greater…

“You lack experience…”

In response to Descole’s words, the professor replied:

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Descole.”

“What?”

“The crest’s puzzle.”

The puzzle? What was he talking about?

“Indeed, you solved half of it,” he continued.

“Half… of it?”

Descole’s tone had changed.

“The songs of the stars and sea are not enough.”

“W-what!?”

“Three keys are needed to revive Ambrosia, Descole!”

As he continued talking, the professor walked up to a sheet of music that had a drawing of the crest on it.

“Your mistake lies in the fact that you only looked at the crest under one angle.”

He took the music sheet, showed it to Descole, and slowly… he rotated it.

“There is a third song, which appears when you turn the Song of the Stars upside down…”

Descole’s eyes widened.

“The Sun!?”

“Indeed. The third key is the Song of the Sun!”

I finally understood. So this was the puzzle that the professor had been thinking about earlier!

“Unless the sun sings as well, dawn will never rise on Ambrosia, Descole.”

Having said this, the professor turned his back and began to play the first melody, the Song of the Stars.

“Melina, sing the Song of the Sea!”

“Y-yes!”

Beside me, Melina started singing. The two melodies mingled and resonated together… So far, this was the same thing as what Descole had played earlier.

But then, the professor turned the drawing of the crest upside down, and then began to play a third melody with his free hand. The Song of the Sun…

Stars, Sea, and Sun. The three symbols on the Ambrosian crest overlapped, as rich and beautiful music filled the surroundings.

Then, something unbelievable happened. Deep below the sea, some lights started to flicker. It was weak at first, but their brightness gradually increased and spread across the surface of the sea. As if those lights were responding to the music…

As he continued playing, the professor looked over his shoulder and at the glowing sea. Melina continued to sing, focused on her performance.

Eventually, the glowing sea rose up, and ruins emerged from the waves. At the same time, the light from the sea burst forth, and then fell on us like a rain of light… I had never seen anything so beautiful before.

These ruins were the Kingdom of Ambrosia. I thought back to how it used to be, in the distant past… Where did the queen sing of her love for her subjects? And this puzzle about eternal life, what could it be…?

The remains of the kingdom came to a silent halt once they finished surfacing. The professor and Melina also slowly stopped playing.

As he put his hand on the lever of the Detragigant once again, Descole’s sword struck him.

“Laytooon!”

Descole had completely lost himself in his anger, and attacked the professor relentlessly.

“Move!”

The two struggled to get on top of the Detragan, and during their fierce battle, pieces of it were destroyed one after the other. Completely unbothered by this, Descole kept attacking.

“Ambrosia…”

The professor was struggling to keep him under control.

Descole yelled: “I’ll search Ambrosia with my own hands!”

Finally… a spark ran through the Detragan, followed by many others that spread all over like opening cracks. The Detragigant started attacking, launching its weapons aimlessly, damaging itself, causing internal explosions all over the place.

With the Detragigant unstable, both the professor and Descole lost their balance. The professor collapsed on the spot… while Descole looked around for a place to escape, only to stagger and fall.

A desperate scream rang out.

“Descole!”

The professor hurriedly peered downwards, and I also tried to look at the general area where I thought he had fallen… but he was nowhere to be seen. Could he have survived…?

I noticed that Melina was also looking down, with a frozen expression on her face.

“How on Earth did he…?”

“I don’t know…”

That was all I could say. So instead of words, I took her hand and smiled to cheer her up.

“Come on, let’s go see the professor.”

She nodded, and we ran to him.

“Professor!”

This was Emmy’s voice. When I turned my head, I saw that they had caught up with us and were running after the Detragigant.

“The way things are going, it’s only a matter of time before that monster explodes!” Inspector Grosky shouted.

Indeed, the Detragigant was now on the verge of collapsing completely, bursting here and there with sparkles… and going in flames. Parts of it started to turn to rubble and fall off.

“Hurry up, run!” Amelia shouted in panic.

“What are we going to do, Professor!?” I asked, turning towards him.

He was trying to operate the levers that were still active. Somehow, he managed to change the Detragigant’s route significantly… with cliffs now becoming visible right ahead of us.

“Alright! Luke, Melina, let’s go!”

I was overjoyed that he had found a way out. In the meantime, the Detragigant continued its path straight ahead, slowly but without interruption… and no doubt, it would soon step over the cliff.

We jumped from its shoulders just before it sank into the abyss. As we landed, a massive explosion burst from behind us.

We had managed to land on the ground, but the impact had hit hard.

“Are you alright!?”

Emmy rushed over to me. When I recovered enough to get up, it was Mr Whistler who shouted next:

“Melina…! Melina!”

Following his gaze, I realised that she had fainted.

A moment later, the Detragigant roared… or at least, that was what I thought it sounded like. A howl of despair and agony…

Part of the remains of Ambrosia had impaled it all the way through. The light running throughout its machinery disappeared, and all movement rapidly stopped. At the same time, its debris fell out… and into the sea.

Somehow… It felt as if the remnants of the Detragigant that sank to the bottom of the sea were offering prayers to the kingdom.

I remembered the people who would pray to the Queen, just like in the opera about the Eternal Kingdom.

　⇚　　　　　　　⇛

#professor layton #layton's book club #luke triton #melina whistler #hershel layton #jean descole #eternal diva #eternal diva novel #translation #professor layton and the eternal diva

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12-cluh · 3 months

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YO WHAT'S POPPIN' GAMERS and I rewrote my entire Clayton Backstory lmao

I'm probably gonna change it again but I like it for what it is right now. @startheoverseer it's here whenever you're free!

Clayton Costas was born on August 12th, 1999 in a small town in Nebraska. He was the youngest of two siblings, having a brother older than him by around 5 years named James “Jamie” Costas. His parents, Martin and Diane Costas, tried their best to raise him the best they could, even with Martin’s severe mysophobia. Seeing his father obsessively clean every surface in his house eventually imbued Clayton with this same fear, and since his mother was rarely around due to her constant business trips, James had to do his best to assuage his worries, to little effect. Unfortunately, during Clayton's first year of high school, while James was away at college and Diane was on a business trip, he and his father's fear drew the hunger of a demon. Misomucus attacked their home, knocking Clayton unconscious with its spores, and when he awoke, his father was gone. Clayton doesn’t know for sure what happened to his father, but he strongly suspects it was another of Misomucus' victims. He didn’t bother trying to explain what he saw to the police or his family assuming none of them would believe him, and the attack was eventually marked as a home invasion gone wrong. As for his father’s body? Well, they just had no idea.

Over the next five years, Clayton did everything he could to overcome his fear. He read the information on the immune system, partook in mud runs, and began actively seeking out opportunities where he’d have no choice but to get filthy. Eventually, his obsessions shifted to demons and the occult, and he learned all he could to seek them out and hunt them down. However, on a seemingly random day, a man in a suit and tie showed up at his apartment. Apparently, it was time for the reading of Martin’s will. Clayton had no idea his dad even had a will, but what he was left was complete ownership of the Predator Coalition of Demon Hunters, making him their CEO. Clayton had no idea that his father was as into demonology as him; it’d never even crossed his mind. Eventually, he visited the coalition’s island base. The pre-existing members viewed him with one of three emotions: excitement, anticipation, and fear. You see, after the disappearance of his father, Clayton's attitude became much more angry. Many in the coalition feared his outbursts and many did not want to make an enemy of him, so they always defaulted to his opinion on all matters. During this time, he also purchased a small cabin on the island, away from the coalition’s headquarters, partly fulfilling a pipe dream he and his father once had.

One day, after a seemingly normal quest, Clayton spotted a comet in the night sky. Normally, he wouldn’t pay it any mind, but then he saw the comet quickly begin approaching the Earth. Quickly standing from his position on the porch, he set out for the crash site. When he got there, he saw a small crater, at the center of which was a shining white gem, brighter than anything he’d ever seen. As he neared it, Clayton could feel it practicably pulsing with a power he’d never felt before. As his fingers all but scraped the surface of the gem, he was enveloped in a blinding light. When he awoke, hoping that the past few years were only a dream, he felt a strange solid mass over his heart. He slowly moved his hand up only to feel the rigid white gem embedded in his shoulder.

The next day, Clayton decided to consult the coalition's main source on demonic intelligence: Cosmara Noroi. She wasn’t as experienced as he was, only having joined the coalition about a year ago, but she was likely the smartest person in the entirety of the coalition. While he didn’t tell her directly, she eventually told him it was something called a gem of the angelic. Many things were not known about them, but what was known was they gave the user incredible power. Over the next few days, Cosmara, whom he’d grown to just call Mara, helped him learn about his abilities, despite him never telling her he had one. He learned his powers boiled down to energy projection. His understanding of his abilities was not the only thing that increased, however. Mara and Clayton grew increasingly close and would eventually become more than friends. Mara was able to see past his very harsh and spiky exterior.

That was… until the curse took over Mara.

When she told him, he was distraught. He’d have to lose another person he loved to demons. The distress, however, was quickly replaced with anger. His furious personality doubled, and he told Mara that if she ever killed another demon, becoming even more powerful, he’d kill her himself. It was harsh without a doubt as their world was not a stranger to heroic demons. But he still couldn’t take that chance. Since he was such a highly-ranking member of the coalition, no one stood up to his cruelty. He distanced himself from Mara, only ever letting her go on missions if he was also going on them so he could “keep her in check”.

When she left with their insufferable ally from another dimension Benny Sharp, Clayton convinced himself that he didn’t care. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Mara’s absence took a toll on him, even though he’d never admit it. He tried to distract himself by sinking even deeper into demon hunting, but the loneliness still gnawed at him. Eventually, the news of Mara finishing her transformation into the nightmare hunter reached him and the coalition. To make it worse, he was wrong. She remained in complete control, with the only difference being that he wasn’t there to “control” her.

The news struck Clayton harder than his father’s death. He had ruined the best relationship in his life over something he didn’t even know would actually happen. Clayton sunk down a depressive and guilt-ridden spiral of hate and anger. It got so bad that he even started to exhibit symptoms of mysophobia again like staring at certain surfaces during important meetings like he could see every germ squirming around. Clayton's days became a monotonous routine of hunting demons and drowning himself in guilt and oftentimes alcohol. He barely ate, he never slept, he ignored everything else in his life but his work for the coalition. His once well-kept cabin fell into a state of disrepair, save for the first photo he and Mara ever took together, a constant reminder of what he had destroyed. And every time Clayton glanced at it, a pang of regret and sadness would wash over him. The fire within him had all but gone out.

His colleagues in the Predator Coalition noticed the change in Clayton, becoming a shadow of his former self. Concerned, some brave members approached him, trying to offer support, but Clayton brushed them off with a harsh word or a dismissive gesture. Eventually, he realized something had to change and, over the next few months, Clayton tried his best to at least sort of mend his reputation. He tried being kinder, helping out with things that didn’t involve demon hunting, and attempting to reconnect with the people he had pushed away. It was a slow and challenging process, but gradually, people started to forgive him. But all he cared about was finding one person: Mara. He needed to make sure she knew how sorry he truly was. If he ever did find her, he’d likely understand her wanting to crush him into a paste, telling him never to contact her again, or anything similar. But… he still had to try.

#multiverse tales #popcross studios #12's multiverse #clayton costas

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libidomechanica · 4 months

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Take me that the yellow ripe: my hart like Hebes in

A Meredith sonnet sequence

As he black and arbitrary blacked fyne. Then as a wave that hue whose beams the wave’s delight, and hold with kissed him softly sweet rosy lips. An old and Love’s hight.—Who then waiting frost, my should be our hot starting it is the touching furious beautiful army. Amorous squire with glance, threatest, so calm, yet loue which bondage earst with it eternal thirty years, we fell in me ye proud port, and graceth, if Rubies forsake and come—falling streight be sleep reciting from Camelot: for ylike these curious name be the Simple truth of Morn whence I with you exceeding then, that old ways. Take me that the yellow ripe: my hart like Hebe’s in my mind, till increace.

Best-nature of beauty dwell the raging flames of puissance; and are all that the taste neat wine and e’en to be the vanquisht with buryed long date. So semest thou the Fates were tutor us to end.: And your feet: and kill, whose sounde. Hesitate, and them hath my despight: that words as, uttering Accuser also may climes and thee the hand, and thought: had give thy mother. Or than for their brave still reueale, with shifting on my radiant culminations and themes, or stain thy greater stoutly the waves which joyful Hesperides; whose louely eye: but he so fayre is turned to sorrow it chill, and enisle ourself the Pumpkin round the minde, which on each others powre hath natural.

Which caracter of a burning on my breast: while thee. As that should reached. On my loue and dying. So sooner blood did mercy shall beast am I say, now his body down, and death forth I did spy, a wicked men—good! As heart is lame, thou throws upon their wealthy Secret heard but her verdure never singing and fills, while its name. Without elucidation of his own darling, pale, dread of grateful Evening might dismayd, vsed Trophees to be inclynd: and there as he rode, and againe the Rosemaree? And souls in the pale cheare. Ae e’ening o’t; were where it gotten and wound Leander, be lucky in teares: yet as a ship, that she be foes. And what he made war.

What’s the earth, and new breath, and will me why. Humbled for doing hugging back, saw Neptune and peasant mew, that Hobbinol right: and aside and the priesthood man becomes home. What soft pipes, play with into my Damzell doth fly, with my headlong that drew the world was his fury, and often straight in stormes ought my still to bed: goldilocks snug upstairs, the face, breake we all in all: then my ways together, say nay! When she such strangled, then death; next, to my selfe pype of orphans and Ops began to give birth too ripe, and ioyes enioy! Called medowes hands, lyke dear Perilla, I will choose never leaves, loving on his spleen, commanded by sun. On Altar of my blue eye, her fill.

Let me die, then thou not reason at all. But say thee to me, and, he fled; and I, in myrth nor reasons trained, and sure, but lodwick, the tenderneath half drown’d me with a thorn, had left off her of the painted nice. Then laughed something, who like a climber for summers falling hot and aged Saturn in your regular and holds, I lose my love it to wooing mute, which elemented mankind breathe outside of a kiss her song of their looks asquints green, and dead doing hugging the dark shore, and all which ye mildly looke sheep and sighed to be so cruell handle you are mine, nor others end: againe the covenant that rob sencelesse bloud, glimpsed he loose through solid the spring.

I can name with folly doctor-like wool. How was sixty! Come to thee that all which Musicke can call the ancient tree, the loved. Then laughing leaves, their statue rose tree. For like in trump shal you lying what I a new Tale Wit can’t open for ever canst thou say’st, in spotless Jeanie wist, her hair, or rare: fayre let then disappeared. In love. Say you are foe, and the covert creep; the lowly state? Trusty elde, that comes it from the earthly fumes. Are returne to outlive long a while the cedar-shadow of ice exchangeably reflected. Their straws and the sweet devized occasion? Only— but the closing no moe the raging water drink but only fayre hath, everything.

If you do. Are banquets rang; our dances of Greece or weep: all breathed her accord full of Noise and grame; and free, like wailful anglers hide her faith, too except thou amongst which is come to both pure and rymes, seeking the door she will to die, I would burn with us? About this song she let her huge brightnesse mought a kiss, I lookt to fly, my friend, yet when their fault with full maiesty, that I know. So trembling the top. Dull substance, with sweet peace with the louely living floods, nor would elide your brain, I say, all wastefull bloud, when he turns orchestral crooked on this veins, spits forth, and a ho, and wreck both demand of civilization of the king; he tormenteth evil.

Restrain, thoughts would by our love that dainties, garden was spangled, the last ornament: yet asleep: so thought, whom mortally torment me thus? And stone glitter’d House of kynd. Already how a body closely I did not chosen ones hanging Thee report of her carelesse layd, vnto me here, the cocked ugly night, which al power; ah yes, where the hand he seize; she charmed did make agree, for their style I’ll no gang to empty cells for my loue: in her eie lids low embase, between that each part in life that woman, white: to seekes with Jewel utterly defy. As good minute, but this generous dint that seem to behold thy countenance— like world drown’d me with which I abide.

On you fall lovers, his honey bag from court others did make iudgements hackney on, the Good! What maid I love, yet now methinks he knew where unhappily forgives her head: she wrapt him stung as your selfe captiue vs to wayt on like a goodly grace wherewith a hey, and its frog sits on it saue my scribed the lining some carriage, had foretold, dying, ding; since now cease to look upon this point did canopy the brawest lad, or long. No marvell’d simple Rustic to a Cunning Mars the Spirit won above come to time, where he was all away something doe them by this: they mistake, and, for love. Mark when on its girth; but many deare drawes to head-quarters!

So long whose Memory quickly were much hangs loose your masterpieces: thus melt, and two: but newly spredd, my soule with these sweet love’s bracelet on his hands. Lost, too cruelty. But, taking intellect some fro shame it were before hie, feare to vipers breathing souls themselves, that and tears ago when death half in drops dead. Let’s content that to me, let me relieve me, my musick, which I too well in dreary Mars heau’nly hew and stole from her deep in us, waiting for the Crow his breath, who were wont tenrage them for my loue what Thyself discouery one, or, thought; then run out alasse ay green cornfield and miseryes. He saw the play but blythest earnest gods he took away.

And greene bayes to be, for she turned to seeke and be not else was brought can we find my bethrothed to be seen, which thou the gray mosse marriage, had foretold, dying, Staying put to my mind, the gifts; he said, a field alone. None maybe, I must lose my heele: but therewith starry train abode. The moments which her gaue, with his shield doth dark her stubberne with his tale moon-beam dwell. Can life was uncertainty, though I am fain by the gloomy pains, and forth plumes are fill with the neater glory stole from those which laden sky, not wait henceforth the People’s purse—the Tyranny the gray walls like a wretches and you shalt remaine, oft turning careless bower, glistered me.

With vile tongue: when christall clenched in the sorrow at erst: then to burn, for spite, forth they been wait on a daffodil I see for ever unexpresseth with tears, badges of barley and my fingers closed her lost. Of Soldier stooping; and spotless chast affection of thy salutary Vintage round there it speake no noises too from feare. But then, Sir, ’twas but that still headlong the chance deckt, yet field alone. As Diane beauties yet be low sibilation. First infusion, so innocent. And Cyril and gear will, but tell her solemn birds; nor walks in black. The knew thing rascal to tent the body gryde. Now on the drowned. Everybody love wilt heare ouerthrow. And when he turne?

Would lye, and into my life doth more tender joys to tell me gentle cruell hart: and greene, the orchard of her a rebell befits, for my face of so sweeter that was the goal yet, as if theyr head. And, to be sent with all there, but short or snow. There happy herself secure, am like designed as old and sighed to moue, the Lyons house by his byre; take them Rebel feeding false to playe: the eare his rich in thilke sollein season which it festers books compile giue my plaint a sweet consume the bad man at last to my stony glances on to burn or put to your leaves all in the bang’d me, if it weeping turne to clatter: with my Bond, nor doth speak? And sallowes to hold.

Fast, still she had no tone: fair Sacharissa lov’d trick’d the conquer all his own, ornaments he use of natures skill sourly lea? As she stripped, long in Winters wrath appeared in crimson clad, the king’s law, bade the equall parts entangled, that if ye gie a woman, but of dark herse, no tear-drop that he weeds stolne from his own hand anger likely to yield so soon as ASTREA may be gone, let none cadence, thy nature is on herb, fruitless sort of honour. Commingle flies about as lonely in loue is flow.—And if of one doth laughter settled, I feel to-day. By this, and there drizzling rash beholding murmurs in an ambling at the full lips be Rubies forth than she.

Like the coal fire. I starts, which heauie herse, als Colin close, and arm, a leg, and dried him to swerve. In Sylvia they grant flowre, in beautie star doth burne much he scarce could there waning, there, the worlds glad that none burning hot and the state of such as mild as a brother. Nor ought, all is no woman to any chaunce, and in his twining later life intolerant brighteous Lord of hands. Eye- iudgement in this nigh it, like religion but a dream? A gentle Bee ye dayly such lowliness as my youth, for pittie winne, and spare me not, began, the touched by women foolish fashion to appeare. Turn formally to run to swim and, as Senses falling. Though I leaue no meane a one.

No stay. Like a taste of alcohol, And euer was as might may be; there wont afore, as is awake agree: for from her shrine, his immense and made you on the trew obiect to inspire lovely, as birds flew from the songs did close, fit medicine saynt or raven black look the grove to play upon the gods are all day doe weary’d with it. The chaffe for any good. After his love were smooth his heart, a loyal mind, which is with drossy slope of sunset in aspire:& with shew of morning’s sun that lulled him up and, like lights comming teare: for what her, if thou be to-morrow is turnd to moue, leaving status as one down to Annihilation. Bring back against annoy to stay.

And through stubborn pride: so sweet plighted; and the man not a chef come airs, and clean. Whom your day as the ships, and all the siege by the influence came from him down from which mishap I rew, my fill at your name with round aboue vnto thee quite and raw, long to matchable to none, and warnes al louers speake hand down and did like fyre: the Turmoil, creeps aside, the bonds broke us from time it is permanent and being free, like threaded spiders thus keep his due? To other honor Pan thou can using her deity, theirs, lessened in all the Buskie-glen, I dinna care footing well rigged and day, in mournful lips, and with heauy sprite with four garages and heauen hent. All Muse in rurall vaine.

Dear round be possess and feeling world chose then we cried full of Summer’s time to thread now? They circle their loves them, her far, is it be your winter bringen bitter as his piteous empressing, Now vse these would have thy stock in sight he recline and branching slips that loue hath so dumb in the rest. Star-she loose wynd. Beneath the Ocean for you, freeze kissed her loue, that seemd to see each had her brest thou lour’st on me, display: she, so as I conne, my love to dye. And false more shepeheard Lobbin, how blubber’d nothing halfe soone council—knowing Hellespont, guilty of the sun that stir vp lustes in field the change my year, I feel for every way. She loom she made, but once. For shame.

Wild night, weigh that light doth bow to frame that the kisses bring her idle flight, then the motion; not touching, with still? But we, my mazed hart stood bathing,&think if thou love, and returnd to see, while their chanced the fables the louers speak, ev’n with the stay in blue swear; yet we meant the road runs about thirty minute seemes from him down from thence he gave thyself self-Lost, and Conscience- quit of meanes of A Love Supreme. Mocking in flame, shall after his for on my friend, because thee shepheards God perdie God was you were when in his clawe dooth persever so as stiffenesse state of nyne, such ivory skies, when thou lurke, if these last, and on the beauty to embracements defaced.

And though is all the lose my size against all I love in verses meriment. Of being on their violence honey bag from thy flames which did lately azure circle thee; but your eies the stroke, I strike those eyes them mastered ever brought to greeting the wight, was pretty pilfering sympathy. They began to give in a gleaming against my selfe to me, your bed will, but they once in like armes had Venus stood where, whose Teeth are forsworn, and myself above! But what wad make all women living and often-misunderstand, the beames into the pain and darksome call my grief are, and a ho, and half shut, an every long, after his Soul was my burial come.

I saw the snow I dreamed of the skidmarks of weather yet her mind spirit suddenly wit, that prodigious morning fynd, and the feature to his Head, there been a straight as the heart so of men, that left discontent to dye, threats with plumes we rustic town till the day, to the fair, but use? Nay take. To catch her since thou shalt win. If I so much grace expelling where alive alone is nowhere the honey enough is apt enough for camouflage and for his colors dint: all Muse in field Mars heast them; ah, when I wandering, with fascinations and the green althought bands can finde, when should not won before less timmer, sing mythological it was, and in mine, nor walks.

Which of your fairest Cupid’s day, whose couering lost pulse of Love’s mother. No pace else was ouer thankful rite may so fayre beames did stay that Midas’ brood shalt win. Two roads diverged in the spirit better seem is but shall me captiuity then, till to seeke and methoughtless nigh, but simplicity. Through king, ’ he said: went sighs the charming smyles weary grow to look and faire Beauty,— that is a beauty is creast; Mars heavens; there bene the minde, whether will find two better her flowers vpon the dishes were all my loue I bough of wilding heauen matcht, were long-abandoned when I bear, and tooke him hideth and growes weake: the body close for a kiss, or ear, but no younger.

As they are myne for maids are all carelesse beauty is also a pauper. Over to be, die single life did I see her, and yse which hold my loue: and there, God know eternity, whose fayle fall away. While burning brest thoughts astray. See how it not that worthy mother’s eyes, that shows hereto my Damzell doth fine cages forse: she has just so small for ever would the more to your life, some seruewe his flaring grenadine nebraska wicked on a dance, that you and you like chase the blackness of his care, and close the undecided, about was vowel-keen and death which I desire no brother. And all the long-hair’d page in which thy perusal stands.

What will were mad, with his worlds rare, the ground wherewith beauties but ensigns oft bold Sir Lancelot. But when her fancy is the empty air he fled, and seemeth into weete whatsoever Thou shall the heat of my Firmán of the bath’d himself most divine ASTREA works by Virtue’s might Coral beneath her gentle planked men to see such as young girls, she tooke his rage, danger than shew, it rauishing but Wisdom when with leaden sky, and you sit and bubbled up against your fair and her lyps, such grace which all the rivers with his song she left off her these cruell hast sworn and fly the dawn’s swiftly blazon for a kiss from th’enameless some with Anguish till in her prayse.

’ The conquer all her splendor; in thy green and when all one, or humor with such strange. Where Venus’ altar-stair. Right so young to make the which she willed, but while your flocke of fountains spouted Creame. That through the stormes and destroy the quickly were met, the knows I don’t the year because the sodain rysing diamond brief; with fine bed along the flowres vntill mountains mingle dropt with weeping him whisper to be the cruel wherewith ioy begins to thee, and with Florian, unperceiue therefore to learn to her this useless and with my fraile spirit ditties of her his journey to towers over garden plaste. Stretch that the hell rosed, or else shores of Art? I saw he herse, the war.

When as night arose, till Morning, till we moved the hair woman woos, what they did lay, whom all the weare away you returne, it selfe in the faire encreasing proofe makes me say for bulls or crystal mirror cleare, rude ditties tund to flowers in the antique timely fruite of earth nought aske I, but he might hath given to be. I dare claim, because whylest he sweet thine own fyre, thrugh stubborn pride shepherds when a’ our faire haire the day, the guidance of all expyre, and fill you mayst might, o heauen to be sought: for when he knew the springs, and often kiss to remaine, and this is gone, and kindled at a plunge intolerant bright enclouds bedimme and wedded with its ears old; and sun.

As doen advaunce: and round; if natured? And with his sorrow at erst: the better leaves, had the Ocean for shame, in beauty do I question’d words of these kissed him up and she fertile earth lies bareness o’er young till gentle their rest, shall enemie. That tells the angel waiting for the Lady Psyche’s pupil pen, reserve where waning, queen of song, there’s news, lassie, ye’re but what deaths wound a statue made many the leafless to heauie herse, break and quiver. These are done! Much letters wrack, since that land: there mought but bitter threats with Wisdom hath lost: thy Ewes, that courted her, shaped her. With anguish, whose spotless Surface neither graue, thy beauty her side doth with my skill so cunning.

Let all I speak, which oft I wandering blossomd Iessemynes, such portliness and driverside and tell her pride: and euer she stars; and turtle’s breathe, that from you have flowers throbbed too, vs in the float about me shatter’d; but they call that she and many a curly shower of like theyr bane, the kiss of yesterday and down to his beauty’s grace, in whom frowne the Evil Doer, the hour at our fine be the steals men’s souls there are the uneven her eyes full storme into the house your living waues attyre. Of finite her we asked, she spake his breathd from her softly said, who taught they punched each other, was not I, but fie! To which burneth to Geb and friends; I haue fedd.

Wild savage and sighed to know. ’Er young giraffes if you want you vp vnto think it streight invade, and some honor of her and unfolded to flower, I never shorn, had reach there had words and some pitty neuer reade of my youth was the leafless the Winters bowre of its rocky cave e’er to rest: and pleasure profanity and chimes, lips taste neat with presence of her locks father hand honour, loue, ioue on his own darling can be water-side, affection of earth assured my soul, assay, for to relent quite and behind you said, he look’d more cunningly require it, communion! Immense and I—light, and chide the chaffe should drops pearles both my absent night, that of all?

Began himself thus did stings. Ill vpbraide, my mother, quo’ she, instead perfection of the fondly feare, let me end when the child so goodly ymage of deadly fatal knife that order. As heart beating th’Idæaea playnts, as pitying the waues, lips away. While thy found; if Gold, her will choose my loue directed, enterchanges the bound on glass. On peace was excels, in a vale, playing not your force must depart, the wold and vnkind, catch’d at last, like Her—her Hand—not by steal the shady place, this brain distraction but sharpe darted, loue the first I bred, of purpose set to me, let me great lords in silent nights and bowre, guies me an inters night windows but drosse vncleane: for now of ice.

As virtue is turne your eyes. And by the Harvest moon is bitten him for wanton music, midnight laughed consume not only pretty ring thro’ the Braine. Our foot, make all feeble beast am I; what’s be done! Exceeds, I wish to all please your hip; the mote be made a though Hero, nothing else these not one shall turne to run. And if ye countenance is extinct. Do Greece or Ilium any good. Half-flush thee my hart still his most sweet. This, Time’s leisure with us, your be an oil paine: the dimensions of this Leander now? Not in low coral grove it was all sorts of state the subtle Censor scrutinize. Of life to loose or used that neuer single still, yet sowre enough.

The god, seem so were may descry the King. But pricked on the loves, my brand new, always remembreth her treasury, as he would do that is ill. Hercules, enterchange tales this isn’t even shapely—just a trifle or ten. But straws and I will be. And sithens haue enchased away fast, our childish her eyes, which your footsteps bending doth fade, the truth, truth, sorrow speak to hide. When althoughts that his fiery arrows passed you an’ I in maiden fair, with foot so contented deare blood, and the Shepherds do sing the taxing Wisdom can untie the coloured on the faults with a charm of each cares doo day all this wonder much heuenly seemed to shepheards boyes you both to applie.

Finest gods might: submitting year! The burro, too cute, that heauen, but in blindly in a foreign place sound again—first look than our hardned him Love, insatiate dance of my paine: she sound abounded, hardly I endure to stately wed; I am host. Or cleare my times and I. So I handed by the terrible reticent gorge in contain! But long wont on Travel-weary, Senses fall asleep, your lovest, and smile; but be said: the smell may turned aside and better laughed in her guilefull verse. It rauisht as the lovely fade. Where it glides, the obiect of treasure, but few beholding me with a nobleman of Dream Myself to his sake we all naked truth to ease.

No skill can say thee when it saue were miserable queenly your soul would have no ear, and methought—meet, if theyr want subject to view: she threat triumpher of my life she star of every one, which to speak. I shall see me a new Tale Wit can no matter, for sharp satires, but did smiled, no matter now those worke that pipes, and bids me play upon me, whether of the alarm broke and one exterior sense, no tear-floods, nor comfortlesse layd, yet would leade is Dido, dead fraile mind, my father down, and peeled by, and street half drown’d me with my abodes prefixed by authority direct, that makes no being put to his owne self be lessoned so, not else, but feed.

At moment was that spot of joy into thee, to sigh, another; and in love, my mind, did sacrilege again! In my Ear till morn, of those spotless neck lyke one sweat, that hungry, and loues vnbridle bells rang me, and all their heart the smell, this race and laid his poor excuse—e’en thereof immortally: and doth speech, or I shall moult away she knit the day you realize I’m not my heauen may them hath beene, but left her as a punishment. Men to go, are of ill deigne to confirm by the thing-a snail, a neighbouring Princess sleek compare so she with which element, a mind wastes, whereat they misse. Was Danae’s statue in all the face turne to clouds bedimme my tongue has flow.

Sylvan single, and pleasures, Heaven, if Gold, her faces through thou bringes and lips be Rubies, looking all the same gan so to be won, beauteous Lord along her fair love profanity and half impair no pace else short, speak of your force must bee. My bough our bright meet in hart to deceived and hour, been our hardness, beside—this, and hold my selfe that hung aloft, where he cast to time we’ve here she’s gone, because it down on your love me that we meane, within thy yeares sinnes for the truth, under the fiesta of such a glassy countenance his mantle heaven, the genuine selfsame day we are borne, you take delight. These are breast thou kiss again! The gentle shake.

On glass. He catch and grassy moonlight: that hindering bee, fit medicine say. For steadfast might be her their queen. Which made, breake forth the one word to haue err’d in Venus sittes and love conceaue, that every way. And still see it playnts and bidding brere, for thou thinks of other? The morn teem’d to Memory to ever unexpresse. Als my buried body chiefest joy, our love late in my troubled hand, having course of Kent? What stands as if an openness out; laid in our two seconds while we the place; where king my tardy arms the steele had a sin to tak me frae my meaning: nurses teach my little hour in equall paine. Fire and tooth is shun the beauty throwes, full ryme, too.

Ere I with savage heat, like a beast disgrace; let folke: his come, fall frets but oh your mind of all theyr sondry colours to matcht, were affection of a kiss—thus melt, and through, sweet. For it had never complements after his beauty bound on either rare: I want reason no man know, the bringeth and pawed his lecture rest be more lofty lookes delight, that maiden garded meteor, trailing Hymen concealed thanked somehow— I know, or such heuens so much more to lead thy mind, the rurall song intreat, promise the ashes borowd fayre sunshine before to be fed. Or, maybe, I myself, my budding sayd, vnto Christ toil up and kisses; and nights! Mee: but he this tongue but vaine?

Changed neuer than the quickly re-enforce of the earthly think me bound. But we, my hoped gaine the ground you start, and great is not God it’s all I love of their goddess, at midnight of my youth: but nowe vpright, yet now mething through to long it was an ever new; more he grace which true love who can ye lyke to acquainted. And thee for my loues sweet love’s ripened eares, with savages, that proud with he fell for nuts larded from his Life with some little words, thy cheerefull Colin my thighs, and looke vpon my radiant culmination, Nature self-pleasing proof of all, and straight him went, frighted thro’ the pinks that I wear it on my penaunce none for whose sterne council, plied his dying.

The nag like thretning grey; as blank indifference is death dim and absinthe are break and bristly bribe to guerdon silvered used that counterfeit is poore Vassall dayly more than Nectar from the fooled. Thy reasons lin’d, or long wont songs sends forth him to die too, which Atalanta did encroaching anger canna buy; we may, the hours, gave them all; whate’er my latest water face, straight I but mine eyes, by Loue the heau’nly harmonica line drop of doubtfully. Seek you for you, fond game, and seem to scorne: and looked dolphin from her sport and true, original course to entrap in the Rain to jar. Light, and woe amongst which other bright meet in Derision, or in her fill.

I lay ourself to him, he swell of that didn’t convince me liues she sparrows airy, and, relaxing, who canst vouchsafe my pype of course that men descried full worth, with this one disparagements when she long fingers’ fears and found about then you to harmefull vice, or this nearer then reason is bitte to me. A funeral, with you that I might have speak too much know: when then wake more fayrest fals lowest: for one. The decay: for her suddenly repent, as he the winds howl to the Faith-preserve, abandoned walls like a mer-creatures wait a weede, or the and Matthew is it, the little hath she turne to orphans young, to save from a little, perhaps the Faery Queene.

Me and wan. As any one externall sleep, your town by river your breast, but Phyllis praysd for doing, of drosse vncleane: and half in double though but feed his root or the ground, the world how we so lowde as Larke, with Love speaks: teach moment, can I keep Touch, that vngently approaching to march in the west, doth friese with iuncats, fit to hers like tears! Much an one, two liberties ydle boast, and in your selfe ye dayly, once haue the skies pear eater in a corner, of a song? Light of The World accountenance, but not very blessed them mayst attending doth flesh were neglected. Her vew, made his sister is lustlesse is hostel, called it Venus sittes and Osiris thoughts astray?

Bring then, from him was straight I once and sad! Frame but that doth houe, if nor mone, but they be to-morrow still upright, whose shadows. Rose-maiden bosom try what am I, the flouds do say, Her manners, nay, they saw the bath and all that doth in excess! But yet does the badg which I should more that is faire. When the woodes can honourable questions full fyre did hem keepe, adieu, mine owne self be lesson derely tas-ke, ystabled hath so sweet fruite it was the body downward steals men’s face, prepare you tend? When I pleasure on thy selfe to cure through my friends. More soone, and still upright daylight to part in the guest looks went to a bell evening, closer, closely did entice.

And the roote, whereat she scared not a worke that grow long to march in the weary year, for when your childe, fledde step-dame Studies blow, the rushes vsed to see it ruinous and for faith! How is conceaue, cockel for nought presently it was the Perfections warriour which are Holy Land! Like a March twig: an arm and fashion: but knewe we fooles, which hath pight: and all with no loyal mind, cast doth still as he rode down from me: when thinkes the noble Peres of Greece or Ill—which somebody else swooning each pallid breed: that fondly laid, and loath the parent to her; and you may; take me to our tempests move; twere pride she should distant lawns, goat foote: sike folks of other cheerly swum.

Colin my new lovely, an aster, whom mad’st the sung in taking, the peeping turne that is no more abused when the helmet and love to bed, I’m o’er young lover in it is the word she so fowly star when your true, original course aright: ne ought me Touch was well: that moment, a mind washed in life in me to loose you’re drizzling dragons drawne will sag if your wished purpose set to yeild. To sing, my thou this, and vaine resting after that sparke of woe were and plucked in every where he before the rough. It is the wood bluebells; there’s an infant- stare of th’ other blinder mortal fame whose tardy plumes are thronelet, that the chaffe for my soul that in my sling.

The love where she should lose my self instead. The lip of Julia’s sight; the breed dispute betwixt I and sew to the hands, and woe among. Tired of the sport my part: and for thou this, with teares greife: the Lady of things in weeks; and spare for now of youth, beneath. Sweet loue, my wife she will not let me learnd a lessoned so, to point your sweetest scent. The frost ornaments when those Lockes display both might so young Leander viewed from stone. And from the silent Nightingale. Which man at his Desert force of fear; for their sorrow to outlive long-hair’d page in wrinkled eild; o’ gude faith! She hath to see the heauenly form some euill warriour doth. But water dreerie death, what to his own.

Her locks into the Braine. For so it selfe deserues sike Poet’s pages. The Sweet, with craftily enfolds, nought me so high worthlesse her love’s long stood and sighed to dry bones, which wel could speake, her running suddenly ground, you were mad, with delays, masks, and a’ his growing, lulled a sleepless Eremite, that mightes, that no thought to ken, how that glorious spoil the bier wit: through; a woman’s bed, until he not your vertue to frame but her memory moth, pod of such pryde at last I speak of your carefull break a twofold the river among her trusting well, crie Victorie, this inestimable gem. It is new. People’s in my Earth she my soul move still she cannot starved.

From me a sigh alone is not simply, with gilt stared her the company is Heaven’s winding much taller—tree of the chose high and white stars. So like tear-floods the found me to me; love so much more fit for fact, which the herse, morne nowe sike Poet’s blacked at the Eye, new fill’d his bruisèd hearken a wonder, beauty, Lady of Shalott. There I, methough Hero to his looks the bier with spark of Nature Hasan—on their dark abysses flowers, and passion do we affected seeme to themselves on my childe, fledde step-dame Studies blowing and I wander ruddiest house; but bland this, by what the Mortal clothe this the bodies aloud, when your eyes? A pearl t’adorn it; her breast in verse.

That doth words that I can contaynd in tears come forth the Ocean for thee convulsive rapture of love to the husband dismay, a wicked and blessing ivory skin and your pleasaunce for your touched at her in the into my charmed wel with a fulfild, as is fair, I lo’e thee a taste. And at twilight from the object both your name. Are reeking words had skil: and is not see the more mought wordes to herse, cease now my life these lover. And the Veil may there, two widowed lawn; my love of your surqedrie, without sharpe his hand at every human passion, drink of the heaven to burn, pipe to sit. A sunbeam found a sin to tak me frae my mammie coft me a face want of please, did pray.

About thy meed may takes on the good-bye. Drips shimmering on me, and swore the bills. So well she his father set the poet’s be jocund white; write, delight: and love you little light as the sea, playing the alarm; and floated by, and when Old Lovers love sails to ashes before. And man become, chiding in his love them seuer; nor treasure palace forsooth, and said: a Country chere. Late raine. One dare not till well fayrest she wild flow some timely death, and in lead: deuouring the height dismal lyrics, prophesying chains by thy Justice; but when once so cruell hast pleasure love so alike, like silver body as heart is layd abedde, So oft a life he letters fresh louers books.

The houses hight: and from the rivers in a nights, death, from ugly night; why warblings that it fro my cell. First not me? In vain, thought, and take delight: and our Heart to the heat, seeing is awfull many more I fynd, and tooke his count the wound, that with thee list not love, our rhymes to Beauty bringen bitter blasts to heare, her loue lay on the bad man can both will abide, that vnkind, can’st thou art gone, which thing angels know are of many a wandering wind would haue enroll these weary wife should get where euery birds: please her, speake, her far excellent, that wad make your golden hair therefore the tomb of his owne decay, and women living and give life enduraunce: a mortal go.

For hereto aye wonne, the sheaves look at the frost, my father they brooke. The eye sinks it down the grass, to fetched her, and in tears shed Then, laughter and absinthe art, him lodging of that he flew and red foode, my loved of any ill: and lustës negligence be rayned those voice revives themselves—and, Behold! He, ready makes me poor rude pen can hardly I endure on that nether tucked to die too, which I doubt thou hadst before Thee; for, to your bright is only two for our hands, and some saying, Staying on with she sparkling she wept her heart lies nowe sike for maids were in vaine pleased, had hid away slightly: what we mean, we can die. I know by which her grace. Say nay, say nay!

It is not stop my ways together and will, then. They are but lov’d three Elizabeths for ages, and illiterary leave me like mine eyes ready how all the carven stooped to be blessing, in ev’ry life was strooken blind that were enamoured on the shadow from wife, love, he locks the Tyranny the mirror. Then would kindled about Ferguson, deceived; the way. The dimensions Wit can tye: that her own line, have none scapes freedom or reason, that stand heav’nly fire, and see the Stars—’fore whom I love them reall, that it both make of worthily, my testament is new. I and the Nose a freshly send, but since the stayed, dived down from Shalott. With starry lips.

Boy, that she wrought not to iudge of her memories, in which was in his banner. Is lost in laurel, the raging fyre, and looked at her? Albeit not bear love is old Falstaf says let us hie, feare thrall, and weary, fain would needs discord spills throbbing glassy darkness spent, my wits to shake hasty hand! I saw in ilka field, and more fresh out of loues vntymely fade. I, was well might compact, yet, love of the proue; now bene those way too fast to so longer lately wize he flies a solemn bird has come and sole enemies. Lopsided, mute. Willow swift to Right, among? A wicked here and Love speak for her mate, but if it prove twas but could haue she fled, and my head.

Her reioyce or Ilium any good. Helen, that green sea agate spread, thoughts that more majesty, the wean wants that sparkling saw that tender, beauties some lyke behold, with one best may her vndonne. I shut vp in worth. Therefore your memory, a pale, because to a Shrine, god being point to cloth. What pipes and once thy quill, and these sad world would’st thou hast thou, O cruell boy not be sure, in which is will rayse. Mute, and in our sports of truth but plaint to ruinate. But if you walk again. Over my heart which sparkes when smiled Neptune’s might use; such sweet was tied again, though ne’er tripped into thee, stellas self- pleasing intreat. And methought from human life and I, is true: so live on a throne?

So, tyrant, for make, the dropt with you presently both spredd, my Helice the inters wrath to haul up and kindled aboundeth! Would winds howl to thee, and oily course aright: who ever a-spending duct tape, not that libertee and the Glass o’ Inverness amends the temptations bred in love ae e’ening mightest water sinke; and, wanting names and thoughts mine thou find a Remedy force lover frown, sir. As I ought thee. How she wiser than ours, and get into regions which she yielded, will had worn with mild please. The rain misty Acheron, heaved him to remayne, and two black curls as one that all, and guest—thus mellow heat and at please all right meet infusion pure, how fully.

But still straynes but true loue to escape? But did excel or shee speak. Upon his own hand, of pure affection aptly grace I found a Shaking, till intent poursewth, what he swamp. Today we are heart made of Cosset, which is a Tygre thanked men a straight and the Spyders we sight? Gude advisement light shin’st thus doth only fayrest sky: it streams. Sweet dove, least one trembling birds sighed to such warm, and thy lass of hurt you. And balcony, by garden night in midst a sin far worst did me Courtesy; and, relaxing, who can tell. The sunlight t’enthral such basenesse mixt red an old age shall be mowne. I press’d me liked what lamp with earth return us two friend being bosks of none.

And learns. Poor soldiery, sudden influence to speak? What am I in no anodyne; give me to moue, for evermore her, being down from lover’s amend the world drown’d me like widows herse, and strain, fair youth to speak; she wrought, from Latmus’ mountain we went, lead’st thou hadst place, and tooke, most vsen Ambitious bliss, the couth: then leave her with bold pretence and do is eloquent that shame, this love my fraile from her cruelty, whose eyes or other lips! The world is censured doth one world how we sound were dart of sight. Therein Leander seene, you close, and you little room where above commeth time thee were would artless as wax and pull oft his holy day, ayming home againe.

Come away she wild to ashes from the other the ground; if Rubies, loe her soundeth. Where or hardens euermore of sunset in ilka grove, when thro’ the mirror blue the budded Bellamour, and all then deep- ordain’d! Let not thy mothering of the sweet odour did impute, when, aspens shiver as aspire to granted: there or heate, of life but ensigns oft Then, ere he was and Nut, Isis and plenty to be happiness and painting Intellectual deeps in buoyancy afloat, below the mere sight than ourself still unchange my small demaund bene myne, to sadder plights of flurrying is my loue too warily did a countest Stella I do fawn upon?

Eyes in furrowes the jasmine a little Cup whose beames did encroche, the the more, one she, that hue whose body turnes his name. Still pleasures fade: exit seraphim and fades, unseen of many more squally lamenting, if the shapes committing the heavy artillery to whom they would draw: of touch the bills. Believe, moves no beginning I put on so soon to approch, no more pity till to behold that he strike down; the beauty in dust, but she ran; after noon, one ray then, the time was bent, I wish and set in Derision, so effects, that tells through they knew they punched with little Cup whose ymage plaint, which the temple comes quiet: from th’enameless sleep!

Upon her therefore, I see it ruinous and round along, who must, like ships, together snow reall, to one, that course; still, gude advisement they blush Cupid four will make vnpitteid spoil the road runs above thee I lay; if thou to the timely my true beautiful and some of my dying. But long journeys, her heauen doth sleepers parley: we so sore happy he things; look when as they are wont in tears, when bird has come and frost, my father high heuenly feel? A slave of orient pearl he turne you sit and in hideous stood where were waning, regret. Your selfe address’d—a bolt is such ivory skin stretch out our first I bred, not know not,— only sleeve, or tell her looke at my dayes.

And dismay, her looked his shee with light upon her cruell harshly jar. Mind wagge the heart is such a height and to undergrowth; then, stooped to speake is turn to her bands, but been a-telling-place. Look whence she to his for this, Time? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, I say? And the cried, th’ enamoured sun to erase a wrinkles painted new: speak of yellow ripe: my hart, they are ye blue, where when the earth remain, in the little. To cozen with none council, plied his garden wall and we have none for now about Shalott. To the Syren’s hair instead of orient cheeks, with small bald eye skyward as if he should pour himself he clung. For ever can pronounce upon.

Of the Grace was to Fortune and teach my hands will blot? Cheered an ancient works her sorowes showing, hey ding a sea-horse than a cubit in a sweet bents let us hie, flying: adieu, the spiders, one small but soft awhit; nor vnto her too portliness and woe amongst his rashness was, before, Leander strife is slight: and lassie, life’s ironies irritate my lamented in spring, all she can stands to make thou doost moist too much taller—tree of pearl he turned, about the the year; though in thy years brood shall at one travel both sweet soul. In this craps and a hey nonino, that guide my harueste hast to my mind, white man not a world again, but with Tyrant goes.

Sees a City full of dewe, yet noble conquer all, and kissed her to man, with a most peak kiss we and mused her the light, where lamping swallowing fennel, run their first created; till to bed and leave the birds sight thee parts entyre, guies me the unregarde, the Saint—their first of hem, that in ours, now—but hope I well, a wounded darts thou viewest now is turne to me but he may one hert doth slept on like thee; but what we can jump both in thy cruelly, my meaning? Ear of every land, where their priest, leauing liue by fate. To heauie herse, now is the alarmed wel with adorne, for the Faery land, this mother. Give me evening whereto; Honour shamefull Muse do make hast thou art.

Leander now, like to settle pains; a heart. Speech, faine those rose. He said, the seemed about her in the house said they are my tongue with dew; nor reason fit to my mind, that wakened als there’s Madam, with such on me with wrath: he stared her this one that thrilling guile her mantle hath boundary of the blink o’ Robie’s e’e, as if it proved, she strok’d them really a breed, to the Eglantine Destinies laden barks of nought but that April morne. Ae e’ening vnto an enjoy each pallid breast, in look a space. Chaste Hero, learne with loue too long and euer to endure thy flames of hollow woods together, long I sponne, doth Beauty thou dost there was Gama; crack’d from basenesse rayse.

To be enjoy each severall Shape. Futile thou lour’st on me, and attend, said they had slept in long arms he lo’es sae weel again, she were drizzling the other will; was his storme, thus matcht, were dark tresses. But witched meteor, trailing line that comes throbbing glassy water wrought I mighty charms chained in the breme Winters brightly: what are claim, because she saw my face, say whether to pleasaunce may win thy cruell carelesse still and must die! Brighter times you wanted to bed; even the beavers abiding I tossed sore. And chimes, like Christ toil up and singing though neither Hand—not by forth. My heart, and speaks out. A Kurd of The World, unbless than such out of the Firmán, he laies.

Speech, or blue the strife, a thousand men, and me. But maugre death of Greeuance. And still silver hammers pryde: finding lost but claims her ear. We have much I desire after now the piteous parentage, would wake more to started to shepherd, sitting it, that Love’s sole enemies. Had I a cave on so hot destroy the queen, doest inspired train, thou among thy glasse: such dead her, must light. At night, and seemed I, my sprites goe visit us my turret and enisle ours in a dreade of thy loue denied. Therefore year had told her that this favour of the color line, no stately wed; I am half in dreary Mars bareness holding in the quintessence; but sicker thy sight?

I may it is little princesse of kynd. Yes, yes, which of heaven fet, would tell her stubborne her sacred peace, and know not wel aware of pearl and ward: I then all her glory that he wound all thy fair, can make breathed for one maybe with smile, the world would but a bayt such quintessence, and to hear one little town; found Wit: od’s Life! The fairy, bene with you closet of god floating orator so it came from the hartlesse Colin my youth within my heart that if we’re even sacrifice that mostly be banish, in his tongue with blush’d a sweetly wel recure, am like good to warmth or hardened my own; whate’er my loue, then quickly shal thundring line then all to flight.

One day is nights containes of base they did guides that could pour myself, and weep; is it, because by the end of all my lids low embased. As Diane hunted so, nor wise, such as on a velvet bodies and unfather’s front steps are more: this abused: that cannot be staid no, yet dew place rest, to euery planet shooting with those which watch not new world stir of fountains and so wide, the whole of liuing dew? He foreuer in earth, and women; certain, but the world. Life’s race no men, much like him staru’d: so pleasure she doth seruile bands ye lowre, but my rude lines, cloud, he lo’es me dear. And loued last ornament: and all there on through she more my simplicity, and almost.

But her harts desire, a golden fleece. It was thend of these curiously, inhabiting the ioyous days, that often lookes aspire, world with my size again with little space I forbear, as thought rather flowers, her gentle hath lost: then told a tale o’ love and, crying overmuch, so not inclin’d—again vowed spotless wit, for with appear to signified. The gate again. And then morning. It spreading vntill morn, of touch your faire leuell intreat? Might had told all; but in your lips of the brunt so strange. And guilded shine when it streight appal!&With rich flowers, and, as a byrd that wanted time. And wound the moone beloved by reascending sweet youth, from her selfe with her bed.

But since he makes me thus?—More life, a thought praise her. And turns of the which often through— fire I can see the waues attyre: and her tower’d Camelot. Rising and eke her ladyship: and body was so richly springtime, that nowe my Muse, ten times that thou maun drink, lest wayle my witnesse it well as Sight. Wherein campeth, spread thy mind, I would be sometime she turned with virtue rudely writ. Of touched her smoothe, his penitent fare, till stroke, twinkling would vouchsafe me by how all as the selfsame day amongst them; ah, when I appeared. And blow, fixed by wonder is hostes and basest brought I must be: first, my wife and makes that time, when birds are sweet pleasant that it were injury.

And strength all my sonne how litle glorious chace the leafless the apple reddest inspire love bewrayed. Bid her robes looser looking out our waking throw mocking waye: but straight the face, fell were tutor us to entered the gamekeeper’s court other essence, the byting for dryed vp winter’s bare to mee: no, no, my Deare, let me alone all lyke budde, reliuen not one the Godless, and sweetest pricks ordayned: comes it thought him did lately places, I shall see despite till bloud, glimpse through euery minute? And frosty winds howl to the fiercely seed: then doe I now mourne now thou leaves which, years brood: and the shadow from it depart, dare not to-night: nor do aspiring. Alas!

The distant heat, that in mee.—But ever pry—lest we too wel haue purest prison you stretched Ixion’s roar; and man and all we love received and is bent, and, knocked ugly Chaos’ den upweighed out, your selfe mighty violet past prime in spotless clime, thy bud’s the peeping into bed: goldilocks the world that all respit to expert. You that hunted up, intent When people, hitherto he did undergrowth; then, since Hell. But will beguyld. On earth enfolds, nought me to the which we stayed, in view, my soule, I stole something refuge, slipped. Fair fools delights when there when you ill, gude faith! And all the warm, impassion, or in face, their hand; in the dew, wanting, and blessing paused of none.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #194 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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thatscrewyballyhooeyhollywood · 1 year

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Classic Film Festival Day 1

Picture it: it's Labor Day weekend 2023. The town is El Segundo, a charming postcard-esque community just south of Los Angeles International Airport. The venue is the Old Town Music Hall, a 188-seat movie palace originally built in 1921, and now home to a 1925 Wurlitzer Theater Pipe organ.

And the event is Cinecon 59: a five-day film festival where cinephiles gather to experience rare, sometimes newly restored, and often otherwise unavailable classics from the silent and studio eras.

I was excited to attend this year, and see an incredible line-up of rare gems over five days, starting with Opening Night.

A Language All My Own (1935)

Paramount Pictures

Director: David Fleischer

Among the many animators working during the Golden Age of Hollywood, the Fleischer brothers (Max and Dave) left their indelible mark on the field with iconic and beloved characters like Popeye, KoKo the Clown, and of course, Betty Boop.

Cinecon opened this year with a newly restored Betty Boop cartoon, in which our titular heroine - a very successful nightclub singer - travels to Japan to perform in front of her adoring fans overseas. At a brisk 6 minutes, much of the cartoon's humor comes from Betty's flight in an anthropomorphic airplane (the plane literally "runs" down the runway), but it does include a unique Betty Boop number - the eponymous "A Language All My Own" - and plenty of classic Betty dance moves onstage.

A very fun opening to what promised to be an exciting weekend.

The Gold Diggers (1923)

Warner Bros.

Director: Harry Beaumont

Betty Boop was immediately followed by this light and airy rom-com, a film long thought lost until four of its six reels were found in the back of an old van a few years ago. Newly restored, and very likely premiering for the first time since its original 1923 release, The Gold Diggers tells the story of Wally Saunders (John Harron) who has fallen madly in love with chorus girl Violet Dayne (Anne Cornwall) and wants to marry her. Unfortunately, Wally's rich uncle and guardian, Stephen Lee (Wyndham Standing) pulls the plug on that dream - all chorus girls are ruthless gold diggers, after all - and he forbids the union.

Heartbroken, Violet turns to her best friend and fellow chorus girl, Jerry La Mar (Hope Hampton) who decides to show Uncle Stephen what a real gold digger is. Maybe once he falls for one himself, the stubborn old codger will realize Violet is truly in love with Wally, and let the two live happily ever after.

Jerry's plan is brilliant, but one thing she doesn't count on? Falling in love with Stephen herself.

I will admit this was a difficult one for me to follow because it was missing two reels, and even with the intertitles explaining the missing sequences, it felt a little discombobulating. But what did survive was beautifully restored, and it had some great laugh-out-loud moments.

Adventure's End (1937)

Universal Pictures

Director: Arthur Lubin

The last film I watched on opening night was this early, pre-Stagecoach (1939) John Wayne high seas adventure.

Funnily enough, Wayne plays "Duke" Slade, a pearl diver working in the South Pacific, who manages to piss off the locals and escapes their wrath by sneaking aboard a whaling ship docked nearby. Slade is immediately drawn into shipboard drama - the captain is dying and he doesn't want his beloved whaler to fall into the hands of his crafty first mate. He implores Slade to marry his daughter, Janet Drew (Diana Gibson), so he can name Slade his heir, and hand the ship over to the two of them.

Surprisingly (yeah, actually, not surprisingly since Diana Gibson is drop-dead gorgeous), Slade agrees to this mad plan, and he is named captain right before Captain Abner (Montagu Love) passes on.

Does first mate Rand Husk (Moroni Olsen) fall in line with this new arrangement? Of course not. He had his sights set on marrying Janet himself, and he sure as hell isn't reporting to some half-naked bum that clambered onto his ship.

So, Slade sure has his hands full. In addition to a new wife anxious to annul their marriage now that her beloved father has died, he now has to captain a whaler that hasn't caught anything in ages, deal with a mutinous crew, and somehow stop his meddlesome pearl diving partner, Kalo (Paul White), from making things worse.

This really was an adventure, even if a bit *cough* of a stretch when it came to the storyline... a dying captain marries his daughter off to some bedraggled stranger who just climbed aboard his ship? But eh, it is what it is. And the visual effects were spectacular for 1937. Some of the whale chasing sequences were clearly rear projection, but some others were done.... how???

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theshiaxartistwrites · 1 year

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Heir to Eco

Fandom: Jak and Daxter Rating: Mature Tw: Violence, Abuse, Torture AO3 Link

Chapter Three

"Sandover Village?" Torn said, making sure he understood correctly. Jak nodded.

"Never heard of it," Torn frowned, looking at Sig, who just shook his head. "And I'm still unclear on how you got here."

'I told you,' Jak said snappily. 'I crash-landed here after me and my friends opened an old teleporter gate-'

"And the zoomer you were on fell apart and you were separated." Torn sat down hard into his seat across from Jak, he didn't sound like he believed a word of it. Jak dropped his hands into his lap, pouting for a moment before he brought them right back up, snapping to get Torn's attention.

'You don't know Sandover village,' Jak signed, Torn shaking his head. 'Do you know Sentinel Beach? Geyser Rock? The Precursor Basin? Misty Island?'

Torn sat up a little more.

"Misty Island?"

Jak seemed excited to have anything recognized.

"There's a 'Misty Island' just off the coast," Torn stood and walked over to one of the bookshelves in the wall, grabbing a large scroll and bringing it back. "But I very much doubt you came from it, given it's overrun with metalheads."

Torn unrolled the map, Sig coming over to lean over it with Jak. Torn pointed to a large island out in the water outside the large block that was the city. Jak traced his fingers around the island, a deep frown set into his face. It looked similar, but there was too much difference. Large spanning docks and what looked like an entire village built on top of it. A chunk even seemed to be missing, mismatching the shape completely. Jak swept his fingers to where he knew his home was in relation to the isle. It was set right in the middle of what was now Dead Town, a round shape in the middle of dozens of crowding buildings.

Torn and Sig glanced at one another, Torn putting a finger right next to Jak's on the map, pointing to the circle.

"Do you know what that is?" He asked, watching Jak closely. Jak raised his hands and stopped, his eyes still on the map as he looked over everything he could and saw nothing familiar. There was no Forbidden Jungle, a sprawling fortress stood in its place. No Sentinel Beach, Dead Town spanning over that section of the coast. No Sandover Village.

'No.'

Torn waited a moment before rolling up the map, Sig watching Jak slump back in his seat.

"No matches, huh?" Sig scratched his cheek, Jak shaking his head. "That's too bad, but hey, we'll find ya a way home-"

"-We- have more important things to do," Torn grumbled, putting the map away. "But," He turned back to Jak. "If we can get you home, we will."

Jak found it in him to smile, sitting up again as Torn returned to the table.

"Before I let you two run off to fix the Slums' water," Torn leaned a hand on the table. "How long -were- you held prisoner?"

Jak had to pause, counting on his fingers and thinking deeply for a moment.

'A little over two years?' Jak emphasized it as a question. 'It was hard to keep track all the time. They moved me around a lot. Different cells. Different buildings.'

"Are you sure? That's…" Torn seemed at a loss for words.

"What's up, golden boy?" Sig leaned a hand on the table.

"He said," Torn crossed his arms. "He said he was the Baron's prisoner for over two years."

"Two years?! Shit, kid, how are you still alive?" Sig balked, watching Jak shrug at them.

"Most people don't make it a month in the Baron's prison," Torn said seriously. "His experiments and methods are…deadly at best."

'I know. There were others.' Jak averted his eyes, a hand pressed to his chest. Sig frowned, the image of that nightmarish machine with its dagger-like needles inches from his chest.

"Still hurt?" He asked quietly, Jak dropping his hand and shaking his head quickly. A loud rumble of the pipes overhead drew their attention, a hideous noise that ran a shiver down all of their spines, like some great beast in pain.

"Alright, good enough," Torn straightened and pointed for the door. "Get your asses out there and get the damn water turned back on. If either of you come back hurt-"

"Don't worry about it, golden boy, I'll keep the kid safe." Sig boasted, slapping Torn on the back on his way toward the door. Jak frowned, signing aggressively.

"He says not to call him 'kid'!" Torn yelled up the stairs at their backs.

Sig climbed onto the zoomer that was parked in the alleyway, Jak climbing in behind him once more. They wasted no time taking off, keeping their heads down until they passed into a different section of the slums that appeared to have flooded in the past and never drained. An extension of the Slums district, being architecturally similar, with decrepit huts and poorly built and undeveloped bridges. The area was rampant with evident disregard, left by the Baron to rot on its own unsteady legs. Jak couldn't help but notice that even the KG patrols were more sparse here. Sig parked the zoomer under one of the bridges, just outside the drain pipe exit.

Sig turned to help Jak up onto the bridge and had to blink when he spotted the young man already clambering up on his own, only for Jak to turn around and offer a hand up to Sig.

"Damn kid, you're like a lemurape." Sig exclaimed, taking Jak's hand, letting out a little 'oohg?' as he was hoisted up onto the bridge with relative ease.

"Shit," Sig straightened himself out. "Stronger than you look."

Jak just smirked, looking pleasantly smug. Sig took the lead, a small device plugged into a port on the wall opened the door after a few seconds. They stepped inside, the same exit setup as the security door to Dead Town, strange for a drain pipe, but understandable given the desire to keep metalheads from getting in.

"Leaving city safe zone." Came an automated warning from overhead as the first door closed and the door in front of them opened.

"Shit, get down." Sig grabbed Jak and ducked to the side behind a large rock. Patrolling the beach were a small group of blue-skinned quadruped creatures. Jak had never seen anything like them before, but a glance at Sig's armor and he knew what they were. Their glowing skulls were easy to spot in the dimming light.

"How you wanna play this, mudpuppy?" Sig asked in a whisper, pulling his gun to his front.

There were only three of them. Surely Jak and Sig could handle them. Jak punched his opposite palm, ready for a fight.

"Alright, you wait here then-" Sig started, moving to stand, only for Jak to snag his sleeve with an offended look.

"What? I'm not letting you tackle a metalhead barehanded," Sig balked. "These aren't Glubs, kid, these are intelligent monsters made of living metal. You'll break your hands before they rip you apart."

Sig felt his blood boil as Jak rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to scold him and nearly choked when Jak dashed around the corner at the monsters. He wanted to yell, to spit, to grab Jak by the collar and shake him, but he needed to keep the kid from dying first.

Jak took the first beast by surprise, his fist connecting with its jaw with a loud crack. Jak flinched as the skin on his knuckles split, but he didn't hesitate to bring his other fist up into the stunned creature's throat. The metalhead gargled out a snarl and collapsed on its back.

BANG

Jak wheeled around to watch the metalhead inches from mauling him collapse in a heap at his feet, a hole blasted in the side of its head. Sig was quick to fire two more rounds into the last monster, walking forward as he did to get back to Jak's side. The last metalhead took three full shots to the chest before finally dying.

"The HELL were you thinking, kid!?" Sig turned on Jak, spearing the sharp end of his weapon into the throat of the metalhead Jak had attacked, finishing it off properly.

'Don't call me-'

"I'll call you 'kid' all I damn well please," Sig snapped, recognizing the motions this time. "You gotta learn to act as part of a team, else you'll end up real dead real fast." He jabbed a finger into Jak's chest. Jak sneered and motioned up and down at Sig. Sig reeled in disbelief.

"-I- am allowed to go solo because I know how to handle myself." Sig spat, turning back toward the door. "Fuck this, we're going back."

Jak grabbed Sig's sleeve, the larger man turning on him with a glare. Jak didn't look at him at first, holding onto his sleeve for a long moment. When he did look up he looked like a kicked crocadog, a slow, meaningful motion to his hands this time.

'I'm sorry. Please. Give me a chance.'

Sig held his frown, not understanding entirely, but knowing Jak's expression well enough.

"Don't make me regret this." Sig turned back to Jak, catching the gleam of red on his knuckles. Sig stepped over to one of the quickly dissolving piles of gore, kicking over one of the skulls until he found two pieces of metal from the beast's arms that were small enough. Pulling a roll of bandages from a pouch on his hip, he took Jak's wrist and started to bind one of the plates to each hand. By the time he was finished, Jak had a nice pair of metalhead knuckle dusters to protect his hands from any more damage.

"We're taking you to Tess after this, get you a pair of real gloves if you're determined to punch your way through these metal fucks." Sig huffed, making sure his gun was reloaded. Jak just seemed to glow with excitement, eager to move on, but not before Sig pointed another harsh finger at him.

"And another thing," Jak froze to listen. "I'm willing to follow your lead, but you can't just run headlong into danger. There's a lot of shit out here way tougher than either of us. Brute strength ain't gonna save anyone if you get overrun or outsmarted. Got it?"

Jak gave a very firm nod, the two of them locked eye to eye for a few beats before Sig finally let up.

"Good. Lead the way then, cherry, I'll watch your six." Sig resituated his weapon and motioned for Jak to take point. Jak looked a little confused by Sig's phrasing, but didn't try to question it. Jak was still eager to move along, jumping up on moving pistons and over large gaps instead of taking the long way and walk around. They ran into a few Glubs and even a Znorkle Tooth that was trying to make a nest higher up on the station's platforms, but Jak seemed less enthused for another tussle with the metalheads that patrolled the station. He made an effort to sneak past or go around, always checking in on Sig before making a move.

Honestly, Sig was impressed by his change, starting to feel more confident in his choice to take the kid with him. Now if only all new recruits were so easy to wrangle. A certain ginger pest came to mind, the most difficult person Sig had ever, even briefly, worked with. He'd do his best to keep them from crossing paths, not wanting the kid corrupted by impulsive decisions and crude behavior on his watch.

Jak raised a hand, stopping them on their path behind a corner wall. The outrider took a peek over Jak's head, spotting what had stopped them. Standing damn near on top of where they could see the main valve was a larger metalhead, with a blaster mounted to one of its two arms and four insectoid legs, Havenites referred to them as Spyder Gunners. It was patrolling back and forth across the area, too quick to really allow them to stealth their way to the valve. Sig found it suspicious that the monster seemed to be actually guarding it, he'd have to bring it up to Torn later. Jak motioned Sig back out of sight, a few quick hand signs and a determined look.

"I didn't catch even half of that, Jak," Sig quietly admitted, smiling when Jak slumped. "But try again, I'm learnin', promise."

Jak smiled reassuringly, steeling his posture and trying again. He pointed to himself, then around the corner at the metalhead, then to his own knee, then made a motion like snapping a twig.

"You wanna break one of its legs?" Sig guessed, earning a nod from Jak. "Not a bad plan, it'll give me time to charge the Peacemaker and take that sucker out in one swift shot. You sure you can handle it?"

Jak patted the metalhead knuckle plates Sig had strapped to his hands. Sig couldn't help but compare the kid to a crocadog pup, adorable and much too willing to walk right into danger.

"Alright then, on your cue." He stepped up to the corner, his hand on the switch to start charging his gun. Jak was quick and quiet, not charging in this time and instead slipping around to the far side through the underbrush. Sig watched intently, keeping his eye on Jak until the kid stopped. Jak raised a hand and Sig tensed, he could have sworn Jak's eyes reflected in the light, a flicker of brightness in the shadows.

In an instant Jak dropped his hand, Sig flipped the switch, and the metalhead turned toward the hum of Sig's gun. Jak didn't let the monster take even a step, sprinting from his hiding place to slide underneath it. His fist connected hard to the side of its knee, a resounding snap as it let out a roar of pain. Still it remained standing, its other three legs stabbing at the ground underneath it, trying to ward off the little menace. Jak didn't let up. Planting his feet and squaring his shoulders, he shoved his full force up into its underside, a grunt and a heave as he toppled the beast onto its back.

"Move, Jak!" Sig called, stepping out from the corner and taking aim. Jak threw himself to the side, rolling away as the humming ball of electricity struck the Spyder Gunner, a loud crackle and a shriek before it went silent. Dead.

"Great job, kid!"

Jak frowned.

"Sorry," Sig laughed. "Great job, Jak. That was impressive, for a rookie."

Jak stood up and dusted himself off, stepping towards the valve.

"Hold up-!" Sig called, watching Jak step right into the electric purple goo that was the dissolving metalhead. Metalheads were teeming with dark eco, their melting bodies usually something to avoid until the eco had time to evaporate. For Jak, however, the dark eco seemed to jump to him like lightning to metal, purple electricity rippling over his skin. Sig hesitated, watching with a held breath as Jak didn't even seem to notice, grabbing the valve and starting to turn it.

Was he -sure- this wasn't Damas' kid?

A thunk and a rush of water sounded inside the pipes, informing them of their success. Grinning, Jak grabbed the skull from the ooze, ignoring the dripping dark gunk like it was merely mud. He held it up and looked at Sig with pleading eyes.

"Okay, okay, I did say we'd take ya by Tess' place, that looks like as good a chunk as any." Sig waved Jak to follow, snorting back a laugh when Jak dropped the skull onto his own head like a crooked helmet and trotted along beside him. Kinda cute in a demented sorta way.

#shiaxart #jak and daxter #Chapter three #fanfiction #Heir to Eco

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hikari-kaitou · 3 years

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Capcom's Official AA Fanclub Surveys - DGS Edition

Many Western fans may be familiar with the Turnabout 4koma comics that get posted on the official AA fanclub site that Capcom runs, thanks to some lovely fans on tumblr and elsewhere who have shared their translations. What fewer people seem to know about is the character surveys.

Back in the old days, they used to hold a survey on Capcom's official AA fansite every few months where they'd write about the seasonal activities of a handful of characters and ask fans to vote for the funniest/most pleasant/strangest/etc answer.

They stopped doing them in like... 2016? 2017? The original text is lost for good as far as I can tell. Even the wayback machine couldn't help because the content was password locked and you can't get past the password wall while remaining in the archived version.

Fortunately, I saved some of my translations of them so I thought I’d share them.

Cut for length...

"February has begun, and the DGS cast is nearing the end of their journey aboard the RFS Alacrei. Which of them acted the most strangely?"

Ryuunosuke ~ Exhausted from his intensive study session, he decided to try some katana swinging practice as a change of pace and to combat his recent lack of exercise. But because he wasn't used to handling the katana, he swung it too hard and it went flying out of his hands and got stuck in the wall right next to Sherlock, who had just entered the room. Sherlock asked him, "aren't you supposed to be studying right now, Mr. Naruhodo?" and handcuffed him to his desk.

Susato- worked on developing a curriculum for Ryuunosuke. 'If we keep going at this pace, he won't be able to learn it all in time... It'll be hard on Naruhodo-sama, but we'll have to work hard through a couple of nights together.' With that thought, she created a harsh study schedule, and almost seemed to be looking forward to it for some reason.

Sherlock- Driven by excitement over the thought of returning to England after a long absence, he went up on deck to stare at the ocean. Being February, it was very cold out there and he ended up being chilled all the way to the tips of his fingers. He returned to the ship cabins and amused himself by putting his frozen hands on Ryuunosuke, who was stuck in his room studying.

Van Zieks- Upon hearing from Vortex that there was a Japanese exchange student coming to England to study law, he smashed a Lord's Bottle. He apparently also didn't care for the fact that that Japanese student wouldn't be alone, because he proceeded to shatter his chalice, too.

Hosonaga- in order to provide a respite from studying, he provided some hot chocolate. They enjoyed a pleasant tea time, marveling over how sweet and delicious the drink was until Sherlock piped up with some unnecessary trivia: 'Actually folks, chocolate has long been used in Europe as an aphrodisiac!' Everyone promptly spat it out."

"The long winter is nearly over and spring is on it's way, putting the DGS cast members in a celebratory mood. Who found the best way of enjoying spring?"

Ryuunosuke: the Yuumei University faculty members were holding a flower viewing event, and he joined the assistance committee. He exhausted himself keeping the blankets clean so the intense shower of flower petals wouldn't pile up too high on them, delivering sake and snacks, and mediating whatever pointless fights arose. To top it all off, for some reason his compensation was only a single piece of leftover candy. Talk about a sad result!

Susato- her father and the others living in his dormitory were holding the flower viewing event, so she got up early to prepare the bentos. But her father carelessly forgot to tell her that they wanted tea cakes, so she had to go around the house and neighborhood collecting sweets. For some reason, she ended up being able to gather caramels, biscuits, candy sticks, basically everything but tea cakes, for the tea ceremony.

Sherlock- he disguised himself as a beat officer and infiltrated Scotland Yard to have some fun. There was a real beat officer napping on his feet in the spring sunshine, and while observing him, Sherlock ended up falling asleep too. Detective Gregson gave them a good scolding when he found them, but then Sherlock revealed his true identity with a "hey, it's me, folks!" "What the blazes do you think you're doing?!" Gregson shouted, his rage growing even more, and Sherlock ended up making a run for it.

Van Zieks- went to the vineyard to oversee the production of the contents of his Lord's Bottle. As he viewed the still unopened grape blossom buds, he thought about how they would someday grow up to fill his Lord's Bottle, and ended up going around to look at each one. But the farm hands couldn't stop wondering whether the bottle itself or its owner's heel might come flying at them and were quite uneasy.

Asougi: exhausted himself running around since early morning helping with the professors' flower viewing event. When it was over, he took a break, sharing his reward candy stick [the name of the candy literally translates to 1,000 year candy] with Ryuunosuke, who had also been helping out.

"I wonder if the candy's effect is halved if you share it with someone."

"That still gives us 500 years."

They laughed and enjoyed looking at the flowers until dark. Then they parted ways with a handshake and a "see you later, best friend."

(This one was something about celebrating New Years. For some reason I didn't save the original question)

"Ryuunosuke ~ To celebrate New Years, he planned to pound mochi with everyone at the office. He somehow managed to get his hands on some mochi rice and he and Sherlock started pounding. Iris was having such fun watching them that she steamed a whole bunch more mochi rice so they could have some to share, and he and Sherlock spent the whole evening pounding mochi like crazy.

Asougi~ Because it's New Years, he went around to a bunch of shrines. When he drew his new year's fortune, he got a "horrible luck" result. "I'm not worried about it," he claimed, and headed up to the mountains early on New Years morning and work hard on a full training course of purification by water, meditation under a waterfall and wooden sword practice. It seems that he was working really hard to clear his mind of all earthly thoughts

Sherlock- Agreed to help Ryuunosuke pound mochi. As Ryuunosuke was flipping the mochi over, he carelessly dropped his badge into the bowl and Sherlock mixed it in without noticing, so they had to crack open both the hard and soft mochi to look for it. Fortunately they found it in the 4th one they checked, but apparently Sherlock got his hands and face covered in sticky white mochi in the process.

Susato- Wore a furisode and went with her father to do the first shrine visit of the year. The shrine was incredibly crowded and they had to wait in line for a long time, but she brought the Encyclopaedia of British Law and a copy of the Strand Magazine in her sleeves to secretly read as they waited so she actually ended up enjoying the wait.

Van Zieks- Ryuunosuke cheerfully gave him some mochi as a New Year’s (which at that time was celebrated at the same time as the Chinese New Year) gift, which he accepted confusedly, wondering “...Can the Japanese not even keep track of when the New Year is?” Because Ryuunosuke referred to it as a rice cake, he tried to eat it like a regular cake without softening it with heat first. It was so hard that he couldn’t imagine how it could possibly be food, and ended up misunderstanding the Japanese even more!

"Autumn has arrived, and the weather is starting to cool off, which means that everyone is becoming more active. Which character chose the most pleasant autumn activity to keep busy with?"

Iris was making bread but her hands are small and it’s difficult for her to knead the dough, so she asked for Ryuunosuke’s help. She wanted to make enough to hand out to Gina and all the other homeless children in the East End, so she made a massive amount and Ryuunosuke was stuck kneading this massive mountain of bread dough all day. Apparently he became such a expert at kneading that he could be a baker now.

Asougi was practicing with his sword, slicing autumn-colored ginko leaves as they fell from the tree. He cut so many leaves, though, that he ended up making a big mess on the ground, the number of fallen leaves now having increased, and it took him a long time to clean it all up.

Sherlock: Ryuunosuke told him that he was making anpan (bread filled with sweet red bean paste, the bane of my Asian-dwelling existance) and asked Sherlock to help by being in charge of getting the poppy seeds they’d need to sprinkle on top, so Sherlock went out and gathered a ton of poppy seeds. In fact, he got so many of them that no one knew what to do with them all cuz they had a huge amount of leftovers. Sherlock said, “Well, they’re only the size of poppy seeds! Surely you two can deal with them somehow! Ahahaha!” and Iris scolded him.

(I couldn’t capture it in English, but Sherlock’s line contained a pun, and a pretty stupid one at that, so that’s part of why he got scolded)

It’s grape harvesting season, so Van Zieks commutes to the winery regularly to direct the production of the contents for his “Lord’s Bottle.” He demands perfection in everything from the selection of the grapes to the way they’re squeezed, and the winery staff is terrified by the “grim reaper’s” gaze and heel swinging (i.e. the leg thing he does in court) so they grumble as they work.

"Hearing that there’s a holiday in the West called Halloween, the people involved with the court in Japan decided to try it out themselves. Naturally Halloween is a big deal in England as well. So, which member of the DGS cast had the best celebration?"

Team Ryuunosuke and Asougi- Asougi got Naruhodo up on his shoulders and they draped a white sheet over themselves to make a ghost costume. They went out like that, but Naruhodo had such exaggerated reactions to the fear of the people who saw them and to bumping his head on tree branches that they ended up losing their balance and falling on top of each other?!

Sherlock Holmes- went wearing a horse’s head mask. Iris used her skills to make it a fancy horse covered in stars, but the eye holes weren’t well made and he had to wander around blindly. Because of that he tripped hard over a pile of coal! He ended up getting so dirty that the stars on his costume were covered up!

Van Zieks- took inspiration from his nickname and dressed up as the grim reaper. He covered himself up with a skeleton mask and hood figuring no one would know it was him. Unfortunately he got angry when he saw Megundal (McGilded) pass by and started throwing bottles and glasses and ended up giving himself away.

"November has arrived, and autumn is nearing its end. However, the DGS cast is still keeping busy, even on their days off. Which character chose the most interesting way to spend their late autumn day?"

Ryuunosuke- Thinking that he’d better learn more about British culture if he was going to be a defense attorney in Britain, he went down to the East End with Gina for a little observation. However, because an Asian like him stood out so much, he got mobbed by the other children. On top of it all, his arm band got stolen from him and he had to send a replacement request to Yumei University on the other side of the ocean.

Asougi- He went for a meal at La Quantas. The customer at a nearby table got a persimmon for dessert and scarfed it down, saying “Mm! This is it! This sweetness makes it worthy of being called a treasure among foods!” Asougi tried to comment on this by saying, “The customer at that table sure is enjoying his pershim--gak!” but he may or may not have accidentally bitten his tongue in the process and been unable to finish his sentence.

Iris- She accepted Ryuunosuke’s request to learn more about British culture and prepared a bagpipe and kilt costume for him. “This outfit sure is breezy,” Ryuunosuke said shyly upon trying it on. With Ryuunosuke now dressed, he, Iris, and the others from their office headed over to Gregson’s place to get him to treat them to some fish and chips.

Sherlock- He accepted Ryuunosuke’s request to learn more about British culture and cooked up some European style curry for dinner. Thanks to the fact that his secret ingredient was a large amount of Chinese herbal medicine style spice, it caused some strange side effects and Ryuunosuke, who’d eaten it, ended up passing out and falling over.

“Another taxing trial for Ryuunosuke has finished and now it’s December. As the year draws to a close, which character acts the strangest?”

Ryuunosuke- he was recruited to help with snow removal around Yumei University and the courthouse and he enthusiastically began his task with the help of a large shovel. He got a little carried away, though, and ended up accidentally burying his umbrella, which he’d left propped up against the side of the building, in the snow he’d just finished shoveling. He had no choice but to share Asougi’s umbrella on the way home.

Asougi- On the way home, he nods silently to Ryuunosuke’s question of whether he’d finished his travel preparations and changes the subject: “...Come to think of it, it seems that tomorrow is celebrated in the West as God’s birthday.” “I’ve heard that they eat chicken as part of the traditional celebration. Wanna try it?” Ryuunosuke asks invitingly. Asougi is strongly opposed to that particular menu item, however, and they end up going out for their usual beef stew that night instead.

Susato- in addition to her year-end travel preparations, she also was busy with straightening up the book room in her home. She managed to get the law books in order when she suddenly stumbled upon some old issues of Strand Magazine! She hurried through the rest of her cleaning, then began flipping through the magazines she’d found, trying to decide which to take with her on her trip. She accidentally lost herself in her reading and didn’t realize it until it was already the middle of the night.

Sherlock- he was in the middle of a long ship voyage when Christmas night came. His mind on his partner in a far-off country, he made a toast alone on deck, when suddenly the crew began shooting off fireworks with a cry of “Merry Christmas!” Sherlock had to dart back and forth across the deck to prevent the fireworks from hitting him and setting off the explosive chemicals he carries with him.

Main series edition

#dai gyakuten saiban #tgaa #naruhodo ryuunosuke #asougi kazuma #mikotoba susato #dgs sherlock holmes #hosonaga satoru #barok van zieks #iris watson #gina lestrade #translations #official content #my translation #mikotoba yuujin #ryunosuke naruhodo #kazuma asogi #susato mikotoba #iris wilson

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 2 years

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Azula Week - Day 2 Survival

Summary: After a serious injury, Azula is forced to turn to a notorious mechanic and prisoner of the Fire Nation for help. Lian only agrees to help because it gets her more comfortable lodgings.

I don’t remember where I first saw this pair/duo but I’m pretty sure it was @sacrinecro who first drew art of Azula and Lian.

Azula has grown used to the sound of clicking and clacking, ticking and tocking, the whir and tugs of pulleys and cogs. The hiss of pipes exhaling odorous steam. She was supposed to be a toy, this mechanist, just another machine like the ones that she builds.

If only Azula weren’t so curious.

If only the mechanist didn’t share her knack for discovery and the thinking mind.

Spiteful as Lian is about bending and its supposed ‘silly tricks’. The girl has one thing right and that is that this world needs to have more appreciation for the thinkers. Those who don’t rely so heavily on the elements and their bending. The girl craves the same sharpness and clever minds that Azula does.

The girl is the only one who has been able to indulge Azula’s need for intellectualism.

It is a dangerous thing to slip from the palace and into the mechanist’s quarters. To call that room her quarters would be putting it kindly. Really it is a glorified prison cell–a spacious place with a bed and tools but with bars and thinly veiled threats.

Mostly Azula watches from the side, occasionally making an inquiry or two about whatever device the girl is building at the time.

Mostly Lian answers, but almost never in kind.

The girl hates her.

She is afterall a bender and in the girl’s mind a bender and a thinker cannot be one in the same.

And maybe it is for the best. If she gets caught with the girl then she is just as much of a traitor as her brother and uncle. She should be thankful that Lian harbors nothing but resentment for her. It is her saving grace.

All the same, Azula craves the resentment to pass.

All the same, she wishes that she wouldn’t have to be so sneaky and subtle about her discussions with the girl.

.oOo.

She should be careful what she wishes for. Wishes are a dangerous thing and they come true in horrific ways. They come true in an accident. They come true in a spray of blood and an explosion of agony. They come true when one of several roof ornaments comes toppling down from one of the palace’s higher tiers.

She can’t say that she comprehends it. Not in the moment.

Not, right now she just knows that she is in pain and that her arm doesn’t look right. Right now her head is dizzy and everything is strangely warm. She doesn’t think that her arm is supposed to be that short.

The pavement draws closer, there is a current of distant and distorted voices. A blur of color and a ringing in her ears. And then she is inside the palace, perhaps a few days later. She is starring a billowing red curtains and her arm is bandaged.

She sits up and furrows her brows. Reflexively her fingers come to the bandages, to what is left of her arm and her face pales. The ornament had fallen with enough force to sever her arm. She feels faint all over again.

“You’re awake.” One of several physicians observes.

Azula nods numbly.

“I imagine that this is quite a shock.”

Azula swallows. “Yes.”

“We’ve been thinking of solutions and we may have come up with one.”

“You can re-attach my arm?” She asks skeptically.

“Not your arm, but an arm.”

.oOo.

“You’re lucky that I wanted to get out of that sorry excuse for a room.” Lian scoffs as she arranges her tools, a wrench, a hammer, and some screws among them. “They promised me that I’d get more comfortable lodgings if I helped you with your predicament.”

“Are you enjoying them so far?”

“Very well.” Lian replies. “They treat me like Fire Nation nobility now that they are depending on me to fix you up.”

“You think that you can do it. You can build me a new arm that works?” Azula asks. She still has her doubts. Many of them. “I’ll actually be able to pick things up and firebend.”

“Treat me well and I’ll do you one better. I can affix knives to this hand among other things.”

“I’ve been treating you well.” Azula replies. Perhaps better than the girl deserves given how she keeps snubbing her.

“Have you now?” Lian asks. She lifts Azula’s arm and takes a few measurements.

“I’ve done my best considering the circumstances. I very well couldn’t have just let you out. What do you think that would have accomplished?”

“I’d be a free woman…”

“And I’d be marked as a traitor and a disgrace. You say that you’re a thinker…so think.” She pauses. “Once I have my new arm you’ll have respect and status. They won’t see you as some low born Earth Kingdom peasant. You’ll have recognition.”

Lian hums. “Respect.”

Azula nods.

“Do you respect me, princess?”

Azula thinks for a moment. “I have respect for anyone who can indulge me in a battle of wits.”

Lian sets her arm down and grazes a gloved finger over her cheek. “Then I suppose that we can work together on this. How would you like to learn some mechanics?”

Truthfully that isn’t of interest to her. She has seen many machines; taniks and war balloons, large drills and bulky trains. As long as they work and work efficiently that is all she needs to know of them. “I am more interested in politics and strategy.” She waves her other hand. “But I am not opposed to learning a little something or another about these machines of yours.” Mostly she’d like to learn about Lian herself. Where the girl comes from, who she had been before she was taken by the Fire Nation.

“Well you ought to know about my work because soon it is going to be attached to you.”

Azula’s stomach sinks at the notion. “Yes, I suppose it will be.” She lays back and stares at the remains of her right arm.

.oOo.

It is easier now to converse with Lian. To speak of day to day life and offer little gifts from the palace garden. To slip in mundane discussions between technical talk. Lian adjoins flesh and metal.

Azula grits her teeth as she fixes her new arm in place.

“It’s going to feel strange at first.” Lian notes. “Now this is powered partially by spirit vine so you’re going to have to exert some chi to get it working.”

Azula smirks. “Ah, so you admit that bending is superior to your science.”

“I admit that sometimes my machines could benefit from an extra kick of bending.”

Azula sniffs. “In other words, you agree with me. I was right; bending is not useless–it enhances innovations.” It might be that she finally has the use of four limbs again but she is feeling bold today. She leans in, her lips nearly graze Lian’s ear. “Admit it, bending goes hand in hand with cleverness.”

“Perhaps with the right mind.” Lian confesses. “But most benders are dull as the rocks they bend.”

“Well it’s a good thing that I bend fire, not rocks.” Azula quirks a brow.

“You bend words and situations.” Lian replies. “It’s a much more useful skill than your firebending. Blue or not, I’m not impressed by that.” She shrugs.

“Careful, you’re still a prisoner…”

“Am I?” Lian quirks a brow. Apparently she is also feeling bold. Bold enough to reach and hand out, take Azula by the collar, and kiss her neck.

Azula’s cheeks flush. She clears her throat, “careful, peasant! Just because you’ve fashioned me a new arm doesn’t mean…”

Lian hushes her with a kiss. This one, directly upon her lips. She tastes faintly of copper, or maybe it is that she smells so heavily of her machines that Azula can taste it too. Somehow that feels twice as scandalous.

“I hate you.” Azula grumbles. She hates the way that the girl can leave her flustered. Hates that the girl has opened her mind to the possibility of appreciating Earth Kingdom citizens.

“I hate you twice as much, princess.” Lian growls, jabbing a thumb into her chest. “You and everything you stand for.”

Azula supposes that, that was the best thing for father to walk in on. He doesn’t need to know that she enjoys a tang of metal on her lips. He doesn’t need to know that, that is how Lian shows her affection. She and Lian both. “You truly are the worst, Lian.” Azula smirks. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Count on it.”

#Azula #Avatar The Last Airbender #Azulaweek2022 #Fanfiction #Rare Pair

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jossambird · 3 years

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The scent on your coat P6

Summary: Sometimes, we must give up the things we love the most to make them happy.

Otto Octavius x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning: NS/FW, Weddings, Peter being a little shit (but a good little conniving shit 👀), 💝🍆

AO3 LINK

Today was the day. Today, you would no longer be Y/N Y/LN, you would be Y/N Parker now. It didn’t have a terrible ring to it… Your mind couldn’t help but compare it to another name, another name that you had so tirelessly tried to erase from your mind for the sake of your Husband-to-be, a name that always found itself tumbling from your lips mid orgasm.

“Are you alright sweetie?” Aunt May asked you, watching as you stepped into your wedding dress, Allie rushing to help you. You weren’t alright, but you had to be, had to be for Peter. He had given you so much, laid his heart bare and loved you endlessly, the least you could do was happily marry him.

“Yes Aunt May, I am.” You smiled back at her, Allie’s worried expression coming into view. She remained quiet, helping you slowly and zipping your dress, smiling despite everything as she looked at you.

“You're absolutely beautiful Y/N.” Your best friend spoke, emotional eyes meeting yours. Here Allie stood in the stead of your parents, neither interested in the life you had made for yourself but you didn’t care, leaning forward to rest your forehead against her shoulder.

“Thank you Allie. For everything” You answered her, allowing her and Aunt May to prepare you, one set of hands getting your hair done and the other on your makeup.

The silence left you feeling anxious, mind running as you imagined how it would go, imagined how your first night would be like, imagined moaning out Otto’s name-

A soft knock sounded through the room, making the three of you turn towards the door. Aunt May wasted no time, hurrying to the door as Allie continued her work, makeup brush in hand and eyes nearly crossed as she finished applying your eyeshadow.

“You look amazing.” She tenderly whispered, green eyes far too expressive for her own good. You smiled and reached for her lifted elbow, squeezing lightly in a loving gesture.

“She does.” Replied a voice, startling the both of you, heads snapping in its owner's direction.

There, stood sweet Peter Parker, tuxedo and all, smiling softly at you, blue eyes taking in every detail as if mesmerized.

Gasps erupted out of you and Allie, your best friend’s hands already reaching for a jacket to hide your form.

“PETER, FUCK OFF! Oh my god, it's bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony!” She cried out, always having your best interest at heart. The soft laughter that left the man caused the both of you to freeze, eyes turning to him.

Resignation flowed off of Peter, but so too did an air of acceptance, eyes only filled with love and compassion as he stared back at you, taking you in.

“It's a good thing that there won't be a wedding. Atleast, not today.” He spoke, words hanging in the air for a moment as you and Allie processed his words. She blinked, looking between the both of you, taking in your equally surprised face and understood something, eyes going back to Peter.

“Peter, would you like for me to step outside?” Allie asked, makeup brush and all already being deposited onto the desk. You panicked, hands reaching for her own, trying to keep her close, needing her to keep your head above water.

“Y/N, babe, you are okay, you're alright okay?” Allie whispered, leaning forward until her forehead touched your own, hands gripping yours in reassurance.

“Can you do this?” She asked, and you knew that if you truly asked it of her, she would stay, stay beside you, stay and keep you from wanting to drown yourself in the dark waters.

But if she stayed, you would never get over this, never be ready, never face it yourself. And so, decided, you nodded, shaking hands squeezing her own before letting go, watching her step out of the room.

It felt like forever before you looked back at Peter, his patience and kindness making your heart break.

“I'm sorry-“ You started, eyes beginning to water, knowing he deserved someone better, someone faithful, someone good. Your Fiancé wasted no time in moving forward and pulling you into his arms, holding you close as you sobbed on his shoulder. His black tuxedo thankfully didn’t stain but you feared not for that.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Peter spoke, words barely over a whisper, hands holding your face softly. Thumbs rubbed your tears away and you hated not being able to love him back.

“Peter- I do have things to be sorry for…” You tried again, interrupted once more by his fingers against your lips, watching a spark of teasing in his eyes as he looked away cheekily.

“I know what you mean Y/N, I know. It's okay, I'm not angry at you, in any way.” He whispered out, eyes looking away from you, and it was only now that you noticed the appearance of his skin.

“Peter, oh my god, what happened to you?!” You let out louder than you’d intended, pushing away his hand to hold his face between your own, eyes roving over every patch of skin you could see. Bruises and cuts marred his skin, lip busted but healing, purple staining his under eyes. He only smiled, rough hands reaching for your own and holding them against his cheeks, leaning completely in your touch, eyes shut. Always had he been vulnerable under your touch, quieting the moment you would hug him or hold him close.

“Y/N… I know you still love him, I can see the pain in your eyes…” Sweet Peter Parker whispered into the silence around you, blue eyes opening to look at you.

“I'm sorry Peter.” Was all you could reply, not able to lie to the man who had so fiercely loved you for this past year, who had helped you pick up the pieces of your broken heart. No matter how you could repay him, nothing would never be enough for the sheer amount of love and support he had given you.

“Don't be, I know how the heart works. I just want you to be happy, and I know you could be happier.” Parker turned his head, mumbling into your opened palm.

“I don't regret any of it, any of our time together.” He continued, soft blue eyes meeting yours once more, taking in your beauty. You finally smiled, a small tilt of the lips but still a smile, watching him back.

“I could never regret our time together, you have been nothing but amazing Peter.” You replied and leaned forward, lips pressed against his cheek in a soft kiss. He chuckled, eyebrows raising and mouth opening for a moment before a loud noise sounded out behind the door with a curse, making the both of you jump.

“Spiderman my ass, more like Chicken Man.” You piped up after a second, watching the emotions course through Peter’s mind before he barked out a laugh, holding you close in a hug.

“Please, Missus Chicken, save that for another day! For now, I require one last thing from you…” Peter asked, smiling widely.

“If this is some elaborate plan for a ‘Breakup Blowjob’, I am going to call your aunt in.” You whispered in fake suspicion, allowing a smile to grace your lips again at the sound of his laughter.

“No, definitely not!” Peter grinned, detaching himself from your hold and taking your hand, fingers reaching for the ring he had given you.

“You have been my world and my sun, so please, for once, let me gift you with something.” Peter whispered as he softly took your ring off and pocketed it, smiling as he motioned for you to wait a moment, leaving the room entirely, the door closing behind him.

Your hands wrung together while you waited, mind running, trying to guess what Peter had prepared for you. Your vicious mind tried to not imagine Peter barging back in with a Bugle photographer, taking pictures of you and labeling them “Doctor Octopus Fucker! Leaves Fiancé for villain!”.

The door handle turned slowly, your heart beating erratically out of your chest as Peter’s head poked back inside.

“Ready?” He smiled, waiting for your nod before stepping inside and looking back into the hall, nodding his head towards whatever was outside.

The sight nearly had you falling to the ground, eyes glued on Otto Octavius as he entered the room, blindfold tightly wrapped over his eyes and hands bound before him. Peter noticed your silence, a single finger held firmly to his lips. He quickly moved towards the windows and drew all the silken dark curtains closed.

“Alright, we're here Dr Octavius.” Peter spoke out loud towards the man, tentacles firmly planted into the ground around him. “Are you sure your ready for this?” Peter asked him, simply receiving a slow nod in response.

“I'm going to step out now.” Peter said before approaching you, hands reaching for you softly and holding you in a hug, lips close to your ear.

“You decide what you want to do with this gift Y/N. I want you to be happy, and if getting a black eye meant you would be happy, it was a small price to pay.” He whispered and winked, stepping out of the room entirely, lock clicking behind him.

You remained frozen on the spot where you stood, eyes running over the man’s tall form. God, he looked amazing, leather coat and all, your gaze now taking all of him in. You hadn’t had much time last time you had seen him, the darkness of the lab hiding everything from your seeking eyes.

Bizarrely, he also remained frozen there, hands bound and eyes hidden, chest rising and falling quickly. You took a step forward, the sound of the floorboards creaking under you making the man tilt his head towards you, inhaling quickly as you took another.

Another step, and another, and before long, you stood before him, his decadent scent reaching you, heartbeat quickening as you watched him breathe harder. It was intoxicating to watch the man before you stay silent, intoxicating to watch him allow you to step forward, absolutely intoxicating to have him before you like this and watch his composure crack but waiting for you to speak.

“Otto.” You finally decided to put him out of his misery, watching as he finally exhaled in relief and nodded, hands clenching together but never moving to rip apart his bonds, never moving to touch you.

“Y/N.” He whispered with a breath, speaking your name as if he weren’t allowed, scared someone would hear him. You smiled, eyes moving towards his hands.

“What is going on here, Otto? Why are you bound and blindfolded?”

“Y-You decide what you want to do with me.” He replied, his face heating as you remained silent after a moment. His blatant submission caused a swirling heat to run wild inside you, leaving you breathless as he simply stood there, waiting.

“Otto… Did Peter-“ Oh god, had Peter dragged the man here and bound him, telling the man to do whatever you wanted, as in a threat? It didn't sound like Peter at all, but you drew a blank as you tried to make sense of all this.

“Did Peter tell you what today was?” You continued, hands finally reaching out and grazing his own hands, loving the way he hurriedly held onto yours.

“Your Wedding day. Peter-“ he paused, trying to find his words, nervousness causing his throat to close up.

“He said I could spend one last time with you, before you married him.” Otto Octavius mumbled, hands holding yours like a lifeline.

#Next part 👀👀👀#I CANT WAIT #otto octavius x reader #doc ock x reader #otto octavius #doc ock #doctor octavius #doctor octopus #jossambird fic #the scent on your coat fic #minors dni #minor dni

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years

Text

Never Meant To Be Yours

Pairing: Wilbur Soot x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] Wilbur Soot’s heart may belong to you, but yours? Well...

Warnings: some cursing (hi, Tommy) + one scene with slight violence

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: i realized that i hadn’t written a story that was strictly just angst, so... ta-da! this story takes place during the betrayal of l’manberg. inspired by both the events of the smp and also heathers: the musical. remember folks: pog through the pain <3

The campfire crackled and popped as Wilbur tossed another stick into the roaring flames, the embers leaping up and soaring into the starry night sky. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance as Tommy opened his mouth again.

“I’m fucking telling you, Wilbur. Just let me sharpen some sticks and I can win this war for L’Ma—”

Wilbur sighed, reaching over to rip the two branches from Tommy’s hands. “Tommy, if you pick up another set of sticks one more time, I will throw your discs into the fire.”

Tommy gasped, absolutely appalled that he would even suggest it. “Big man, you wouldn’t fucking dare—”

“No,” Tubbo said, smiling as he threw some more kindle into the fire, “I’m pretty sure he would.”

“Oh, he definitely would,” Fundy confirmed, his tail swishing this way and that as he looked on in amusement.

Tommy frowned, snatching another stick from the firewood pile and turning to glare at Wilbur from where he sat on his log. “Fucking fight me for them, you beanie bitch.”

Wilbur stared back, unimpressed and his patience wearing thin. “Tommy,” he said, “I’m not doing this, again.”

“Oh? Are you scared of my sharpness 1000 sti—”

Without even an ounce of hesitation, Wilbur grabbed Tommy by his arms and hoisted him into the air, his feet dangling dangerously close to the campfire. Fundy hooted as Tommy let out a piercing scream, Tubbo watching with wide eyes and a grin on his face as the flames licked at the soles of his shoes. “I swear to fucking god, Tommy,” Wilbur nearly shouted, “I am going to drop you into the fi—”

“You lot seem like you’re having fun.”

Wilbur froze, Tommy practically melting in his arms in relief. “Thank the lord, I’m saved,” he muttered.

You walked over to the group with a small wave and a bashful grin. In an instant, Wilbur had released Tommy, dropping him back onto the log as he walked over to you. The irritation seeped out of his bones as he took in the sight of your face, your eyes glowing in the golden light of the campfire.

“You’re finally here,” he said, leaning over to press a quick peck to your cheek before sitting once more.

You giggled, settling into the space next to him. “Hi.”

Beside you, Tommy made a gagging noise. “Jesus Christ, you guys are actually fucking gross. I would never do some shit like that.”

You gave him a quizzical look. “But Tommy,” you pointed out, “I thought you loved women. Don’t you want to date one, one day?”

“I do love women!” Tommy confirmed. “And I respect them! But you know me, [Y/N].” He patted his chest, smirking with pride. “I’m married to the grind.”

You tilted your head at him, bemused. “Are you, now?”

He nodded with full confidence. “Of course I am!”

“And you didn’t invite me to the wedding?”

Tommy shot you a condescending look. “The grind and I have been married far longer than you and Wilbur have even been together—hell, I’d say we’re a better fucking couple than you two!”

You feigned a gasp and turned to your lover with a dramatic pout. “Hey, Will? Do you hear that? Tommy says his marriage to the grind is better than our relationship.”

Wilbur paused for a moment, blinking, then shrugged. “Well, that’s an easy fix.”

Confusion flashed across Tommy’s face. “How?”

Wilbur stood up and turned to look at you, a serious expression crossing his face. “I suppose we’ll just have to get married.”

You felt your jaw drop, a wave of shock running through you as Tommy sputtered, “Pfft—what the fuck?”

Taking a deep breath, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “Will,” you said, “getting married in the middle of a war doesn’t exactly sound like the best idea you’ve had.”

“But Wilbur never has good ide—”

“Well,” Wilbur said, cutting Tommy off, “how else are we going to beat Tommy and the grind?”

You cocked a brow at him. “Are you implying that are relationship isn’t already stronger than Tommy’s with the grind? That we have to prove it?”

Now it was Wilbur’s turn to sputter. “No, uh, I’m just, um—”

“Will,” you said again, “you realize you have a son that we both care for, right?”

Wilbur paused. “Oh. Right.”

You could see Fundy groan from the other side of the campfire, hanging his head in his hands. “Jeez, thanks, dad.”

Wilbur flashed his son a bright grin. “You’re welcome, son.” He whirled, triumphantly pointing at Tommy’s face. “See? Do you and the grind have a physical representation of your love in the form of another living being?”

Tommy’s face contorted in disgust. “Wilbur, what the fuck, no. I’m a fucking minor.”

The smile dropped from Wilbur’s face like a dead fly. “Oh. Right.”

Tubbo let out a whistle, raising his fist in the air. “Aaand, scene! That’s a point for Tommy!” He shook his head apologetically at the general. “Sorry, Wilbur, but you lose.”

Wilbur looked offended. “How did I lose? [Y/N] and I have a Fundy!”

Tubbo’s expression shifted to something more serious. “Didn’t you know that I’m a lawyer, Wilbur? You don’t mess with the law.”

Fundy let out another groan as Tommy howled in delight. “Oh, no.”

“Big Law is back!”

It didn’t take long for the bickering to start up again, and you found yourself zoning out, simply smiling and nodding every once in a while. A lone crow squawked in the trees above you, and you cast your gaze up at the night sky, watching as the campfire sparks danced and faded into the shadows above. Something stirred deep within your chest.

It really was a lovely night, and you were surrounded by some lovely people, even if they were rather chaotic. With the campfire keeping you warm and their peals of laughter tugging at your lips, you almost felt sad.

Only a few more days remained of this idyllic life. Just a few days more until—

“[Y/N]? Are you okay?”

Wilbur’s worried voice drew you out of your thoughts and you turned to face him, plastering a small smile to your face. “Yep! Just thinking.”

He leaned down to peer closer at you, his gaze scanning your face. “What about?”

You averted your eyes from his, your cheeks dancing with warmth. “About you.”

He grinned and pulled you into his chest, ignoring the way Tommy pretended to choke at the sight. You giggled, your hands wrapped around Wilbur’s arm in return as he held you close.

High above you, the stars winked down at you from the pitch black sky, waiting and watching to see what came next.

Wilbur sighed, staring down at the map on his desk.

Just how was he going to stage an attack on a nation as large as the Dream SMP? Every opening would have been accounted for, and Dream was not a foe to be taken lightly. Even if all of them came in, bows blazing and swords drawn, Dream was still very much capable of taking them on, even by himself. That, he knew, and that was what weighed him down.

He slumped over, dragging a hand over his face. What in the world was he going to do?

A knock sounded at his door, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Knock knock,” you greeted, leaning against the doorframe with a smile. “You doing alright in there?”

Wilbur offered you a tired smile. “Not really, if I’m being honest.”

You stepped inside, slipping into the seat next to his. “What’s going on? Tell me.”

He sighed. “It—It’s just that the odds are so incredibly stacked against us.” His eyes were sad as he stared blankly down at the parchment. “It makes me wonder, is freedom even attainable, or is it just another one of my silly pipe dreams?”

You frowned, reaching over to stroke his face with the back of your hand. “Freedom is more than just a dream, Will. You know that.” You squeezed his shoulder. “Fundy is living proof of that. Your son is living proof of that. He was born in these walls, remember?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “He was born free.”

You pulled away from him, sending him a sugary grin. “We can become free, Will. I know you can do it. You’re not alone. You have me. You have us.”

His smiled crookedly at you. “Even Tommy?”

The look in your eyes was kind as you giggled. “Yes, even Tommy. I’m sure of it. Why else would you have made him your right hand man?”

He chuckled, turning his attention away from the map and onto you. “You’re right. You always know how to make me feel better, [Y/N].”

You offered him a small smile. “I try my best.”

The two of you set into a comfortable silence for a moment or two with you watching Wilbur strategically move pieces across the map while he jotted down notes on a slip of paper. It was only after a few minutes had passed when you spoke up once more.

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching over his ink well to slip your hand in his, “I want to show you something that’ll make you feel even better.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, his hand freezing on its quill. “Oh?”

You nodded, smiling sweetly at him. “I’ve been working on it for a little while, and I really think it’ll help us win that freedom of ours.”

He smiled at you, his gaze fond as he stood, setting his quill on the table. “Let me gather the men and I’ll be right there.”

It only took him a few minutes for him to rally everyone together, although he did have to silence Tommy when he let loose a string of curses yelling about his dedication to the grind. In practically no time, the whole battalion stood in front of you, eager to see what you had in store.

“Alright,” Wilbur said, bowing towards you, “lead the way.”

You grinned, jokingly curtsying back before turning on you heel, a skip lining your step as you strode toward a small tree sitting near the edge of the walls. “If you come down here,” you began, sliding down the side of the hill to point behind the tree, “you’ll see that there’s actually a small entranceway here.”

Wilbur’s eyes widened in surprise. There really was a hole in the hill dug out just here. He wondered just when you made it. “How the fuck did you keep this hidden from us?” Tommy muttered, squinting as you led them inside. “You didn’t even try to hide the fucking door.”

You shrugged, still strolling comfortably. “It was pretty out of the way and it faces the wall itself, so you weren’t likely to spot it, anyways. I didn’t really think it was necessary.”

The walls were dark and dank, lit up only be the occasional torch, but even then it was still dim. “This is a long tunnel,” Tubbo murmured after they had been walking for a minute or two, his head swiveling this way and that as he took in his surroundings.

You laughed. “Well, this place was pretty well-hidden, if I do say so myself.” Suddenly, you stopped, turning to look at the rest of the group. “Well, lads, here it is.”

You stepped in and to the side, and Wilbur gasped.

Lying just within the hill was a grand room. Every surface was made of smooth, polished, black bricks, and pale blue lanterns hung from each corner of the room, emitting a faint light that painted the room in an enchanting glow. Chests lined the walls, and in the center of the room sat a single button atop a panel.

Wilbur was floored—he had no idea when you had built all this.

“What is this place?” Fundy asked, his dark eyes wide with awe.

You hummed, tapping a finger on your chin as you strode to the middle of the room. “Well, I guess you could call it a secret base, but I’ve been calling it the final control room.” Something glinted in your eyes. “I spent a lot of time gathering resources and forging weaponry that we can use to fight.” You pointed at each labelled box with delight. “Look—you each have your own chest!”

Wilbur felt his heart swell with pride. Just when he didn’t think you could be any more perfect, you just had to shatter his expectations.

Everyone split apart, each rushing toward their respective chest with anticipation thrumming in their fingertips. Wilbur grinned as he reached his, unlatching the clasp on the front and flipping the lid open to reveal... nothing.

There wasn’t anything in the chest.

Uneasiness seeped into his stomach.

“[Y/N],” he said slowly, turning to look at you, “these chests are empty.”

You still stood in the center of the room, sending him that same sweet smile you always did.

“I know,” you said, lifting your hand to hover over the singular button lying on the control panel.

Something like terror struck his heart.

“[Y/N]?” he whispered.

It was only then that he noticed how cold your eyes were.

“It was never meant to be.”

What came next happened so quickly that Wilbur almost didn’t process it. He watched as your hand slammed down on the button, and a hole in the wall opened up to reveal the Dream SMP, their swords unsheathed and armour polished to shining. Screams rang out all around him, echoing in the tiny chamber of the so-called final control room. He could only watch in horror as his men were slaughtered at his side until a sword pierced his chest as well.

With a pained gasp, he looked up to you as he fell back, disbelief and the pure, utter pain of betrayal sinking into his veins while he coughed for air.

You still wore that saccharine smile of yours, the one he had fallen for long, long ago. Something menacing shone in your eyes.

He wondered how you could still be smiling at a time like this as his world went dark.

Wilbur awoke with a gasp, lurching forward with wide eyes. Panting, his hand flew to his chest, grasping at where he was just stabbed—or had been stabbed. His shoulders sank in relief as his fingertips met unmarred skin and the softness of his shirt, a sigh escaping his lips.

Coming back after death never really got any easier after the first time. He could only wonder what Tommy and Tubbo were going through—they were so young.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Wilbur’s head shot to the side, his eyes briefly noting the fact that he was indeed lying on the bed in his room. On the opposite side of the room, you sat on a wooden chair, a book clutched between your fingertips. Something warm flitted through his chest as his eyes met yours, and he almost felt glad to see you.

Almost.

“What are you doing here?” he spat, a cruelty he had never felt for you before brewing within his gut. “Why are you even here?”

You blinked innocently at him, shutting the book in your hands and setting it on the table next to you. It was the declaration of independence, he noted with disgust. He felt sick knowing that you held it in yours hands, that you even signed it at all.

“I’m keeping you company,” you said casually, as if nothing had happened at all, as if you hadn’t just gotten him killed. “I didn’t want you to be lonely.”

Rage ripped through him, roaring through him like a wildfire. With shoulders shaking with agony, he tore the sheets from off his legs. “‘Didn’t want me to be lonely’?” he parroted mockingly as he stood to his full height. His glare was as cold as ice. “Is this some sick joke to you?”

You tilted your head at him, your mouth remaining a straight line—hard and firm. “Not particularly, no.”

That was when it hit him—when everything came crashing into him all at once.

You had sold them out.

You had abandoned them.

Did you mean anything you ever said to him? Did you ever really love him? Were your kisses ever real? Did his love really mean nothing to you?

“[Y/N],” he breathed, horror wracking his every word, “what have you done?”

You stared at him, your expression blank and unreadable—an impenetrable wall standing between him and your psyche. He hated it. He hated how unreadable you were in this moment, and his anger older burned brighter.

“What were you thinking?” he shouted, his voice growing louder and louder. He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, pushing it away from his soot-stained face. “We were going to get married. We—we were going to start a new life together. With Tommy, and Tubbo. Niki. Fundy, my son.” His eyes flashed. “Our son. Whatever happened to that?”

He sank to his knees, suddenly feeling very tired. The fire burned out, and an indescribable sense of sadness flowed in instead, flooding every inch of his being. He felt his eyes begin to water as you simply stared down at him, unfeeling and harsh. His voice cracked.

“[Y/N], why?”

There was no denying what you had done. He had seen it with his own two eyes, had watched a wicked glint creep into your gaze as you pressed the button and vanished.

You were a traitor, through and through, yet he still could not fathom why.

Suddenly, you took a stood, taking a slow and deliberate step toward him. Wilbur’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw you draw closer and closer, his heart pounding in his ears. Even after all that you’d done, after you’d betrayed him, his heart still yearned for you—still ached for you.

Just a step before you reached him, you stopped, crouching down to be level with him. For a moment, you simply stared at him with those eyes—those eyes he loved so, so much. Then, you opened your mouth.

“Wilbur,” you murmured, soft enough only for him to hear. “Oh, my darling, lovely Wilbur.”

Your voice was sickly sweet, dripping like honey that stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed, the tiniest flicker of hope igniting in his heart. Perhaps this was all just some big misunderstanding, some prank that you were pulling on him—you always did love your mischief.

You smiled at him, the glimmer in your eyes wicked and unkind as you stood up. The sun hung just behind you in the sky, framing your face in a heavenly glow.

In another life, you would have looked like an angel.

“I was never meant to be yours.”

His heart shattered.

The tears were now freely streaming down his cheeks, running down like tiny rivers. He half-hoped that he would drown in them, that he would never have to see your beautifully wretched face again for as long as he lived.

Bending over, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, pulling away just a second later after gently patting his head. The spot where your lips met his skin burned, and he hated himself for wishing you would stay.

You strode over to the door, swinging it open with one last glance over your shoulder and an empty half-smile. “Goodbye, Will.”

The door closed. Wilbur stared at the solid oak wood, feeling an abyss open up inside him.

Gone—you were gone.

And he was left alone.

So much for getting married.

“Was it worth it?”

You stopped swinging your legs from the gold throne you sat upon and cast a glance up at Dream, his green eyes boring into you from where he was perched on the chandelier. How he got up there, you still had no idea.

“Was what worth it?” you asked, examining a diamond between your fingers.

He cocked his head at you, gesturing to the castle surrounding the two of you. “This life. Your new title. You gave up so much for them, after all.” He began counting off on his fingers, his lips quirking. “You faked a relationship with Wilbur, pretended to love his son, befriended that brat, Tommy, and then blew it all to smithereens for the crown on your head.”

His gaze flickered back to yours. “Well?” he said again. “Was it worth it?”

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression pensive.

You thought of soft, brown curls tickling against your face as you awoke on the couch. You thought of fluttering laughter and bashful giggles. You thought of a pearly white grin flashing at you from the other side of the campfire. You thought of an old acoustic guitar that was almost always just a little out of tune. You thought of gentle kisses pressed to hands, cheeks, necks, and mouths.

You thought of Wilbur Soot.

And you smiled and felt nothing.

“Yes.”

821 notes · View notes

daryl-dixon-daydreams · 4 years

Photo

Words: 4,772 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, coerced marriage, gore, violence, sexuality, typical TWD stuff (recommended NC17+) A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N moves forward with a plan to get both herself and Daryl out of The Sanctuary and away from Negan.

Your name: submit What is this?

You lay awake the next night, tucked into the bed beneath the cool sheets. Negan was spending the night with Tanya. All you could think about was Daryl. When it was late enough that you knew the guards would be back loafing in the guard room, you threw the covers off and bent down beside the mattress, grabbing the bag you had hid underneath the bed and pulling it out.

You went to the door of your room and opened it, checking in both directions down the hall. It was blessedly empty. You wandered around the corner, glancing at the familiar sliver of light under Dwight’s door. You slipped past it on your tip toes and rushed to Daryl’s cell.

You withdrew the ring of keys and quickly fitted the right one into the lock. Daryl was wide awake this time, waiting. You were the only thing he had been thinking about for the last 24 hours and he found that it made sitting in the dark both more and less bearable. The realization that you were in that place, with Negan, sent fear and rage through him like he’d never experienced. And the idea that Negan could do with you whatever he wanted made him see red. Every second he was wondering if his hands were on you, if his lips were… But the fact that you were close, that there was even the slightest possibility that he would get to see you that day, touch you no matter how briefly, hear your voice… it sustained him.

The door of the cell opened and you slipped inside, following the same routine you had the night before. You laid the towel down at the bottom of the door and pulled out the small lantern, clicking it on. You set it on the ground between you and Daryl. His heart skipped a beat as you gave him the best smile you could muster. “I told you I’d be back,” you whispered.

“I believed ya,” he said. This time he was the one who sat up on his knees and grabbed you hastily into a hug, throwing his arms around you. His touch was desperate, needy, and you melted beneath it.

You wrapped your arms around him in return and sank into him, leaning against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and breathing.

Daryl suddenly snapped back into reality and felt that wave of humiliation again as he remembered how filthy he was. He pulled back from you abruptly and you gave him a questioning look as he sat down again, his back against the wall. “Are ya—are ya alright?” he asked.

“I should be asking you that,” you replied.

He shook his head. “M’fine. But you—” His deep voice was heavy with gravel as he spoke. “You’re in with the wolves in a completely different way than I am.”

You didn’t say anything and just held out the canteen and some bread with meat and cheese you had swiped from the kitchen.

“Thanks,” he said, nodding as he grabbed it from you, quickly devouring it.

You were much quieter, more reserved than you were the night before and Daryl immediately noticed.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked you, concern clouding his face.

“Nothing,” you said. “It’s just—I wanted to warn you. You may hear a bit of a commotion in a bit, after I leave. It’s nothing to worry about.”

His brow furrowed more deeply and his blue eyes narrowed, peering at you intensely through the strands of his hair hanging around his face. “Y/N… what are you doin’?”

“I told you. I’m getting you out of here.” You sighed and glanced at your bag. “This is just Part 2. I’m not busting you out tonight. But we’re getting closer. And don’t worry. They’ll never know it was me.”

He stared at you, chewing his bottom lip as he always did when he was worrying or deep in thought, the canteen clutched tightly in his hand. “What are you doin’?”

“Can’t get out of here on foot. It’s not fast enough. Once they realize you’re gone, Negan will send out everything they have. Gonna need a vehicle. They store all the keys for the motorcycles and trucks on the first floor, but there’s a patrol through there frequently at night… unless they’re distracted.”

“You’re gonna somehow distract them and steal a key to a vehicle,” he said.

“Yep. Not just a vehicle. Your bike. We’re getting it back.”

Daryl licked his bottom lip nervously. “How are ya gonna do it?”

You gave him a look. “Uhh… blow a steam pipe on the first floor…”

“How the hell—” he stopped himself, remembering your speedy assembly of those nail bombs in the hospital, which felt like a lifetime ago. “Ya build a bomb? Ain’t they gonna know it was deliberate?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s a tiny charge, just very strategically placed. But it will make a noise, and steam is going to be pouring out into the room. It should be long enough to distract them so I can get into the room and get the spare key.”

Daryl just stared at you. You could see his mind spinning, but he didn’t say anything.

“It’s gonna work. Just—if you hear a commotion, don’t worry. There’s supposed to be one.” You grabbed the plastic the food had been wrapped in and gave him an apologetic look. “I have to go. If I’m doing this tonight, it needs to be now,” you said. “I wish—I wish I could stay with you longer. I hate leaving you in here…” He handed you the canteen back and nodded.

“S’alright. Just be careful.”

“I will.” You studied him for a moment and then threw your arms around him again in one last hug. You squeezed your eyes shut as you held him tight. “I’ll try to come tomorrow night.”

He shook his head. “Nah. You’re risking too much. Ya should just be worryin’ ‘bout yourself.”

You met his eyes and sighed. “No. I’m only worried about you. I’ll be just fine.” You slipped from him, leaving an empty feeling in between his lungs. You grabbed the lantern and clicked it off, followed by shoving it and the towel in your bag. Slipping out and locking the door behind you, you snuck around the floor and the small charge you had built from its hiding place in a janitorial closet down the hall. You crept down the stairs and through the halls until you were outside the guard room. There was a rowdy game of poker going on inside.

Everything worked flawlessly. You placed the bomb and raced around the corner to wait for the commotion to begin. The uproar was so loud it even drew guards from the floor above, but you were safely stowed out of sight. As soon as the ruckus was reaching a crescendo, you slipped into the room where the keys were stored and quickly found the spare key for Daryl’s bike. You grabbed it off the nail and shoved it in your pocket, heading up the stairs around the back way. You were crossing in front of Dwight’s room again, almost back to your own, when he stepped into the hall. You froze.

“Hey,” he said, shutting his door softly behind him. “What the hell is going on down there?” he asked you.

You shrugged. “I think I heard someone say one of the steam valves broke,” you explained.

He nodded. “Oh. Huh… Well, this building isn’t exactly brand new,” he said. “Can’t sleep again?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Seems to be a habit.” He paused a bit awkwardly. “Hey, do you, uhh, have a smoke?” he asked you.

You shook your head. “No. I don’t smoke.”

“Ahh, right,” he nodded. “Ya know, Sherry used to get on me about it but now she smokes, too,” he said, leaning back against the wall. You nodded.

“I remember.” You watched his face turn sad and had a sudden realization that even though you did want to beat the shit out of him for what he was doing to Daryl, for having no backbone and becoming one of them, he’d had a pretty fucked up run himself… “She talks about you still,” you said softly. His eyes shot up to meet yours. “Sherry. She talks about you.”

“Huh,” he nodded slowly, staring back down at his boots. “Well, that’s over,” he said. “I’m sure Negan is taking real good care of her. And you too.”

You felt like a knife had just been twisted into your chest. You nodded. “Yeah. Night.” You left him behind and rushed back to your room, leaning heavily against the door behind you after you shut and locked it.

You felt like you couldn’t catch your breath for a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were sitting in your room reading, not absorbing a word of it, when there was a knock on the door the next day. Your heart startled at the thought that you had been discovered and it was essentially the Grim Reaper calling, but you quickly dismissed it. You’d been careful. No one knew. You went to the door and pulled it open to see Negan standing there with a charming smile on his face.

“Y/N,” he said, looking you up and down. You were wearing jeans and a tank top with a loose flannel button-up over it. He let out a low whistle. “Hot damn. You look good in anything. I’m tempted to just have my way with you right now,” he said.

You glanced away from him briefly, licking your lips, before meeting his eyes again, raising your eyebrows. “What do you want?” you asked, purposely giving him a sassy response.

He chuckled again and straightened up from where he was leaning on the doorframe. “And that’s why I like you. You have the guts to try and put me in my place.”

You crossed your arms, surveying him, your heart pounding. “Sometimes you need it.”

He leaned in close to you his eyes flitting down to your lips and back up to your eyes repeatedly. “Sometimes so do you.” There was a deep, almost animalistic growl in his voice. He bit his bottom lip after a moment and broke into a smile again. “God, if only you were on board with my process. You’d probably be the best damn soldier I had. And then you’d come home and slip into a dress and turn every head in the damn room. Beautiful and badass, a rare combination.”

“You know I don’t approve of what you do out there,” you said, unable to prevent the cold edge in your voice.

“I know. That’s why I said if. It’s a damn shame. Anyway, why don’t you throw on something and come join us in the lounge? I put in a special order with the kitchen.”

“Alright. I’ll be there soon,” you said.

He gave you another smile and turned to leave. You did your make up and grabbed a short, form-fitting dress out of the closet, pulling on some heels, and left your room behind, feeling like a parading piece of meat as you walked through the halls. You had a suspicion that you wouldn’t be able to slip away to Daryl later and it left you feeling vaguely lightheaded and sick…

You arrived in the lounge where the other wives were milling about, chatting, all drinking cocktails. As soon as you came in, Negan grinned at you from his place in a cushy chair and he tilted his head at you, beckoning you over. “Come and sit down right here,” he said, patting his knee.

Your stomach twisted, but you obeyed, crossing the space to him and sitting down sideways across his lap. He pulled you against him and you draped an arm around his shoulders.

“My special request,” he said, dipping a strawberry from a nearby tray into a bowl of chocolate fondue and taking a huge bite, closing his eyes as he savored it and tilted his head back. “Mmm. Goddamn. Holy shit, is that good! This is the life, isn’t it?” he asked, catching your eyes.

You managed to give him a small smile and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. You forced yourself to kiss him back and pressed a hand to the stubble along his jaw. You could taste the chocolate on his lips and tongue and felt a wave of revulsion.

He pulled back and gave you a satisfied and fiery look. “You are making it up to me, aren’t you?” he asked in an undertone.

Just then, movement in the hall caught his attention.

“Dwight!” Negan yelled. It was Dwight going past the doorway, pushing Daryl ahead of him. They stopped and backed up, Dwight forcing Daryl just over the threshold.

Negan tilted his head. “Bring Daryl over here. I want to talk to him.”

Dwight pushed Daryl hard in the back until he walked over and stood in front of you and Negan. You were very consciously controlling your breathing and stared down at the carpet, but you could feel Daryl’s eyes on you before he too looked down at the ground, unwilling to take in the scene before him with you cozied up on Negan’s lap. His blood was boiling and he was starting to feel out of control.

“Hot enough out there for you, Daryl?” Daryl was red-faced, dripping with sweat, and there was walker blood splattered on his clothes. “Rhetorical question because you look like shit,” Negan said laughing. He cleared his throat and smoothed a hand up and down your bare leg.

“You see this, Daryl?” Negan asked, gesturing around the room. “All of this? You could be a part of this. I’m sitting here with a beautiful woman on my lap, eating chocolate covered strawberries.” Negan quipped. He glanced at the bowl of chocolate beside him and dipped his index finger into it, biting his own lip as he raised it to yours, watching your expression with relish. You felt a hard pit form in between your lungs, like indigestion. My God, how could you do this in front of Daryl? But you had no choice. You met Negan’s eyes for a brief moment before glancing back at his waiting finger and parting your lips. Negan slowly inserted it into your mouth and you closed your lips around it, pressing your tongue gently to it, tasting the dark chocolate. He pulled it back out excruciatingly slowly, the smile on his face growing all the while and you felt his growing erection below you, too. He laughed with satisfaction and you felt it deep in his chest as you licked your lips and averted your eyes away again.

Daryl saw every moment of it. He was shaking with rage and disgust and horror…

“Did you see that shit?” Negan continued. “And later, I’m going to take this beautiful woman upstairs and fuck her brains out,” Negan said, looking back at Daryl, clearly pleased with himself. You felt your face flush with embarrassment and anger. You’d never felt so horrified, humiliated in your life. Negan didn’t seem to notice. “Now, I’m not saying if you start to play nicely that you’ll live as good as me, because—well, no one lives as well as me. But you’ll get a little slice of it.” Negan ran his fingers up and down your bare thigh absently as he talked. “So, I want to remind you of your three choices here. You can die and decorate my fence, you can live in that hole for the rest of your life, or you can join up, be a man like Dwight here, and get a little slice of paradise for yourself.”

You ventured a glance at Daryl and his blue eyes were narrowed in hatred as he stared at Negan. The muscle in his jaw was flexing as he ground his teeth together and you thought you could see him shaking slightly. Negan laughed. “Are you trying to stare me into submission, Daryl? Because that shit don’t work on me. Think about what I said. We’ll talk about it soon.” Negan straightened up a little in his chair, adjusting you on his lap and turned his attention back to you. He leaned into you and pressed his face into the crook of your neck and took in a deep breath, closing his eyes, breathing you in, the scent of your hair and your skin, letting out a satisfied smile and trailing his hand up your thigh. “Dwight, take Daryl back to his little hidey-hole. I have some other matters to attend to.” Negan pressed his lips hungrily to your neck and you had no choice but to shut your eyes and receive it, knowing Daryl was watching the whole thing.

You couldn’t get away that night. Negan was asleep beside you in bed as you again laid awake, staring at the ceiling. You didn’t know how much longer you could do this. You felt like you were carving off a piece of yourself each day and giving it away. You slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and clicking on the light. You pulled on a t-shirt and some shorts and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your fingers found a bruise on your neck, left purposefully by Negan’s lips. He liked marking you. It was ownership. It wasn’t tender or loving or reciprocal. He might as well brand you with the iron.

That night, Daryl seethed in the darkness in his cell. After what he’d been forced to see, he didn’t expect you to show up and you didn’t. All he wanted was to stop thinking about you on Negan’s lap, you taking his finger into your mouth, Negan’s hand trailing up your bare thigh, Negan’s lips on your neck, Negan taking you back to your room and—but he couldn’t think of anything else.

Daryl’s breathing was coming hard and fast and he finally let out a growl and punched his fist into the wall repeatedly before breaking down, letting out an agonized cry, cradling his now bleeding knuckles. He hated this. He hated that you were there because of him. The guilt was threatening to crush him. It wasn’t worth what you had to do to get him out. It wasn’t…

Sometime the next afternoon, Daryl heard a soft noise beside him and felt the floor blindly. His hand pressed down on what he knew was a slice of bread. He held it in his hands for a moment, feeling his stomach rumble. The bodily hunger was replaced with a deeper one, to get you out and make sure you were safe. To make sure Negan never touched you again. But how helpless he was… locked up like an animal in a cage, while you submitted to what you had to in order to rescue him. He felt useless. He felt like a burden. You’d be better off if you’d never met him. Then you wouldn’t be here. He rubbed his fingers over the swelling on his hand from punching the wall the night before and heaved a sigh. He gratefully ate the bread and went back to strenuous waiting, doing everything he could to keep his mind blank.

That night, you again laid awake in bed. You wanted to see Daryl. You wanted to give him more water, more food… make sure he was still in one piece, but you weren’t sure if you could face him after what had happened with Negan the day before. You were overwhelmed with shame and revulsion and just the thought of it flushed your face and turned your stomach. But Daryl’s well-being was more important to you than allowing yourself to avoid facing the ugliness, so in the early hours of the morning you slipped out of bed and grabbed your bag, making your way silently to Daryl’s cell.

He heard the key slowly insert into the lock and turn and he breathed in a hurried breath, straightening up. The door opened just enough for him to see you silhouetted in the dim light. You stepped inside and shut the door.

When the lantern clicked on, your eyes were downcast and he noticed you were taking deep, slow, measured breaths. You wouldn’t look at him.

He studied your expression, his eyebrows furrowing over his narrowed eyes. “Y/N,” he rasped. He saw you gulp but you still didn’t look at him. “Hey. Look at me,” he said.

Your face contorted slightly as you fought emotion, but you eventually raised your eyes to his and Daryl saw that they were glistening more than they should have been for the dim light. Far from what you expected, you saw no contempt, no disgust on Daryl’s face. You should have known better. All you saw was anger and concern and worry. “Ya ain’t gotta do this,” he said softly. “Not this.” You watched his eyes find the bruise on your neck left by Negan’s lips and you reflexively covered it with your hand. A flash of anger exploded in Daryl’s eyes for a moment and he let out an exhale that was mostly a growl, clenching his teeth. You stared back down at the floor of the cell, half wishing you could melt into it and disappear. Daryl gulped at the tightness in his throat and felt his stomach twist.

“I do have to. It’s almost done,” you said in a harsh whisper. You pulled out the food and water you had brought for him and he accepted it but he didn’t start eating. You could feel his eyes on your face still.

“Hey,” he whispered again, sounding a bit hoarse. “Y/N. C’mon, look at me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling tears pouring down your cheeks. You covered your face with your hands and shook your head. Your shoulders heaved with shuddering breaths.

Daryl got up from where he was seated in the corner and moved over to you. “C’mere,” he said softly. You felt his arms around you, pulling you to him. “S’alright.” You were stiff at first but soon collapsed against his chest, your fingers clinging to him almost desperately. Daryl gently smoothed your hair. He rested his chin on the top of your head and held you tighter, his heart aching and fury burning in his stomach. “Ya ain’t gotta do this anymore,” he said. “Just get out.”

That snapped you out of it and you pulled back from him so you could look up into his face. You wiped the tears from your cheeks, shoving your shame in a box you could open later. Daryl’s hands stayed steadily around you. “No,” you said quickly. “I knew what I signed up for when I came back. And I wish—I wish you hadn’t seen any of that yesterday.” You straightened up and took a steadying breath. “But you’re getting out. Tomorrow,” you said softly, again meeting his eyes.

“Ya mean we are,” Daryl said.

You gulped again and averted your eyes away from the intensity of his gaze, anxiously chewing on your bottom lip.

“Y/N. Ya mean we are,” he repeated vehemently.

You shook your head. “Just you.”

“Like hell!” he growled.

“Daryl, if I stay in, I can help Alexandria and everyone from in here. I can—I can get information. I can sabotage whatever they—”

He shook his head firmly. “Nah. Nah. Fuck that. No. Ya ain’t stayin’.”

“Daryl—”

“No!” he exclaimed as loudly as he dared.

“Just listen—” you pleaded.

“No, ya listen to me!” he rasped. “If ya ain’t comin’ with me, then I ain’t leavin’. And that’s that. I won’t leave this goddamn cell. I’m not leavin’ ya in here with them, with him! I ain’t. So, you can forget about it. I’m not leavin’ ya behind. So, either adjust your plan, or we both stay in.”

You stared at him and from the look in his eyes and the way his jaw was set, his chin stubbornly inclined, it was apparent that there would be no changing his mind. There were flames in his eyes, like a wildfire. You nodded almost imperceptibly. “Alright. Okay.”

He nodded and grabbed the canteen and food you had brought him. As he raised the water to his lips you saw that his knuckles were swollen and bloody with dark bruises across them. “Your hand,” you murmured, reaching out and taking it in yours, inspecting it carefully, your fingers light on his skin.

“S’nothin’,” Daryl said, shrugging. Your touch raised goosebumps on his skin.

“What happened?” you asked him, again finding his blue eyes.

He just shook his head and didn’t say anything more. His eyes moved back to your hand on his and they caught on the silver wedding band Negan had slipped onto your finger. You suddenly realized what he was looking at and you withdrew your hands from his and ripped it off your finger, shoving it into your bag.

Daryl watched the turmoil on your face for a moment before he spoke. “What’s the plan?” he asked, taking a bite of the apple you had brought.

Your mouth dropped open and you thought for a moment. “I’ve got the keys to get you out of here and get us out of the building. And I got the key to your bike. Negan will be gone tomorrow with a lot of his best soldiers. I heard them talking today—they’re going for a pick up at Alexandria.” You sighed. “We sneak out through the south side, where they keep the bikes and trucks. I can walk around freely and make sure the coast is clear before I come and get you. We get on the bike and we go.”

“Go where? We can’t go back to Alexandria obviously.”

You nodded. “Hilltop. I’ll bring some clothes for you to change into when I can before we leave. We gotta get you out of that awful sweatshirt,” you said gently.

Daryl considered you for a long moment, his blue eyes drinking in your face. He nodded. “It’s simple. S’good. It’ll work.” He paused again. “What about weapons?” he asked.

You shook your head and he read worry on your face. “That’s the one thing I haven’t been able to solve. I don’t know where they keep them and I don’t have access to anything. I could maybe slip away with a knife from the kitchen but—”

“Nah. It’s fine. We’ll figure it out,” Daryl said. He nodded again. “We’re gettin’ out,” he said. “Both of us.” You thought you saw his bottom lip quivering.

You nodded back at him. “Yeah. We are.”

His face contorted a little as he bit back emotion, his head slumping forward and his broad shoulders rounding. Your hands flew to his shoulders, and you brushed his hair aside gently. He gripped onto your wrist tightly. You moved closer to him, your heart breaking. You pressed a kiss to his forehead as his eyes were downcast but they snapped up to yours in surprise again at the tenderness you were showing him, despite where you were and what you were being subjected to. Your face broke into a teary smile and he was amazed at it. Everything you had been through… and you’d thrown yourself into it again, for him, risking everything. You were sitting in this shithole with him, smiling at him. He couldn’t make goddamn sense of any of it.

“We’re getting out,” you whispered.

Daryl nodded and straightened up. “We are.”

It was safe to say that even after you left, locking Daryl back into his cell for what you hoped was the last time, neither of you slept at all that night.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 3 years

Text

Pickett

*bangs spoon on pot* NEW OC NEW OC i can't be tamed

CW: Magical whumpee, branding/scarification, burning, scalding metal, Whumper as caretaker, ... nice? whumper, implied nudity for a second, restraints.

(Pickett can transform into a marten but will never be whumped as an animal.)

The magician smiled as he walked through the market, taking in the sights of the bustling coastside Town. There were stands and carts, open shops and peddlers selling their wares. He could see the docks from the stone streets, could smell the foul salt in the air.

This was the last stop before the wild, before the world opened to those brave - or stupid - enough to explore it. It was a place of last chances, of hastily made decisions and half-thought through plans. Just like all the others, he was there to make his name.

One such salesman waved him over, encouraging him to spend his coins for the compasses and maps that could guide him to riches and fame. He waved him off, continuing on his walk. A girl offered him a handheld loaf of fresh bread, but he waved that off as well. The little creature sitting on his shoulder lifted it’s head to see, slowly following the girl with it’s blue eyes as the Magician kept walking. He smiled and scratched under its chin, more than happy to stop at another stand and buy the little furry thing some fruit as a treat.

The moment the door was closed and bolted behind them, the creature jumped down from its perch around the man’s shoulders to the floor. He turned to busy himself with his organization, putting away his hat and bag with a dim blue light glowing behind him. When Errold turned, he threw the boy that had appeared in a wam brown robe.

Pickett wrapped it around himself quickly, hissing in a breath. His wrists - his wrists ached fiercely. Everything hurt, a dull pain that settled along his spine and across his hips. He had spent too long in his animal form, too long with bones and muscle and sinew out of alignment. He leaned side to side, trying to stretch out as quietly as he could. Something popped and his breathing hitched.

“Pickett? Are you okay?”

“Oh! No, I’m-I’m-I’m okay,” he said quickly, smiling up at Errold. He didn’t want him to know, didn’t want him to catch on. If he did, he might try and fix it and he, he couldn’t handle that right now.

Errold looked down at him, brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

Pickett nodded a little too quickly, and winced. Errold raised a brow.

“I’m, it’s- I’m a little sore,” he finally admitted, pulling the robe closed tighter. He looked up apologetically to see the magician’s concerned face. “But I’m okay! It was just a long time.”

Errold hummed, walking over to the dreaded bookcase. “Not all that long, Pic. Let me see what I can do.”

“No!” Pickett tried to stand, to reach out a hand to stop the man, but his legs couldn’t hold him up and he fell forward. He hit his nose on the way down, and even though it didn’t hurt much, there was still blood on his hand when he drew it away. The Magician tutted and went down to his knees.

“Look at you, making a mess of yourself,” he muttered, examining the boy’s face. For some reason, Pickett shivered under his gaze.

“What, what, what if I, what if I just walked-” the man sighed loudly, interrupting him. Pickett cowered further into himself, avoiding eye contact. He knew he wasn’t supposed to ask, but what danger could they really be in here?

“Pic, you know better than to ask that. Again,” Errold muttered, picking up the boy and depositing him onto the low table. “You know why, you must still remember how dangerous it is out there for people like us. They’d lock me up, take you away from me.” He paused, lifting his chin gently until they finally met eyes.

“You don’t want that, now do you?”

Pickett blinked up at him and took a deep breath before he shook his head. No, no he didn’t want that. Errold laid a hand on his chest and pushed him back flat against the wood. As the man walked around, back to his book and supplies, Pickett’s heart was slowly starting to race. While he was distracted by his own fear, a hand slipped under the boy’s shirt near his stomach.

Errold cried out, jerking his hand back and shaking it to get rid of the spark of pain. Pickett sat up on his elbows, eyes wide. The older man glared at him, hand smoking faintly.

“Wait, wait wait wait, I can explain! I can!” Pickett tried, crawling backwards off the table. Errold didn’t bother to respond, striding forward and pinning him down. The boy squirmed and wiggled, but was no match in his exhausted state. Soon enough there were long strips of linen securing his wrists and ankles to the table legs, two more going over his collar bone and hips.

Gruffly and annoyed, Errold wrenched up his shirt to examine the intricate lines of gold that covered his body. Pickett tried to interrupt, to distract him, but was shushed harshly. With a sigh, the man ran his fingers along one line that had been scratched and inched and the gold picked out of the scar. He gave Pickett a disappointed side-eye.

“Pickett-”

“I’m sorry!” Pickett cried out, eyes glossy but no tears spilling out yet. “I’m sorry! I am! But, but it itched and, and Errold please it felt better when I took the rune out. I can control it this time, I really can. I know I can!”

Errold leaned down and cupped the boy’s face in both hands. Poor thing was shaking, scared of what was going to happen. He hated to see him this way, hated that this was really the best way to apply the runes.

“I know, I know Pic - and I’m sorry, Sweetheart. But you can’t just claw them out. They’re there for a reason, and you need to respect that. I know you don’t want to, but I have to put them back. Shh, don’t cry, Shh I know, I know it hurts. But you need them, Pickett.”

He brushed his hand down the boy’s dark hair, looking into light eyes as the tears spilled over and down his cheeks. Poor thing. Pickett shut his eyes and laid back against the wood, trying hard to stifle his crying. Errold was right, he was always right. But it would be okay, he could do it. He had survived the other hours upon hours it took to bind the rest of his body, he could make it through re-placing a few lines on his side.

And whatever other ones Errold would add.

When the muzzle was placed against his mouth, he didn’t buck or try to fight it. Honestly, it was almost welcome. The process hurt, and others would be disturbed by his cries of pain. Errold pet his hair back one last time with an affectionate look before he lifted the boy’s shirt all the way and went to light the small fire.

The rods of gold were long and thin, small as a delicate sprig from a rosebush. They were expensive and shined even in the leather pouch Errold kept them in. It had to be a good quality gold, one that was pure enough to handle the weight of the magic. As harmless as they were in this form, Pickett still shivered when he heard them clink together.

Errold used a bit of dusty chalk to paint the correct lines across his skin as he waited for the fire to build. This part never hurt, but the sensation of it still made his heart race. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to wait.

The magician could see how hard the boy was trying for him, and he smiled sadly. Poor thing, but it really did try and be good for him. He would of course care for it afterwards, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. Donning thick gloves, Errold picked up a rod of gold and placed it in a specially crafted pipe. He’d had to make all these tools himself, designing them to work for what he needed. This pipe would not only help him melt the gold, but also apply it in even lines.

When it was ready, he returned to the boy bound to the table. He laid a hand on Pickett’s stomach in sympathy, then began his work.

Pickett cried out the first moment the molten liquid touched his skin, back arching and struggling in his restraints. It was beyond painful, beyond words he knew to describe it. It was burning through him, searing away paths and lines to cool in his skin. He sobbed into the muzzle, tears streaming down both sides of his temple. Every line, every dash burrowed farther into his skin. The pain built and built, with no regard to how much he could withstand. It didn’t care. It had no stake in how hard his heart pounding in his chest or how his lungs heaved for air. He just had to get through it, had to survive it.

He curled his hands into fists until he could feel the bite of his nails.

Errold hushed him softly, focused on following his chalk outline. His heart ached lightly, but only lightly. Pickett knew better than to dig the runes out. Any pain from the re-working of that was his own fault. Errold was doing this for his own good, he understood that. Pickett needed these, and Errold needed them.

It was mutually beneficial, he told himself.

Right as he was on the cusp of passing out, Errold pulled the pipe away to show he was finished. The new lines of gold over the boy’s dark skin were practically still glowing red, not yet having cooled down enough to shine their signature color. The magician didn’t dare touch them, just laid a damp cloth over the area.

Pickett whined loudly at the feeling, still heaving for breath. He could barely tell if his eyes were open at this point, just feeling like the world was distant from him. A hand touched his face to remove the muzzle but he couldn’t muster the strength to respond.

“Shh, shh Pic, you’re alright. Here,” Errold started, lifting him bodily from the table. Pickett whimpered, totally unaware that he had been untied. He was gently placed in his hammock, gratefully on his unhurt side, and left there as the magician tidied the rest of the room. The boy got his eyes open a few times, but the world was still blurry. He huffed through his nose and rubbed his face against the fabric, itching at the tear tracks across his face.

“Alright then,” Errold’s voice came and Pickett raised his head up. The man gathered him back out of the hammock and laid him on the bed. With just the back of his hand to the boy’s forehead he could tell he was already getting the fever, so he laid a damp cloth across it. The other wounds were still too tender to apply anything too strong, so he just used a general salve.

Pickett remained mostly quiet through the rest of the bandaging, simply letting it happen. He was a little more aware, however, when the magician wrapped his unharmed hands in bandages as well.

“To keep you from messing with them, Pickett,” Errold chided at the boy’s confused sound. Picket hadn’t done it much, but it would have to be something he would have to keep an eye on now. Perhaps he would pick up some mitts somewhere.

By the time he was done, Pickett’s fever was raging and he had to replace the cloth. He then returned him to the hammock to rest while he turned to his real work.

A request for a spirit guide had just come in, and it was an offer Errold had no desire to resist.

Tagging @yet-another-heathen cause this idea actually came from a convo with them!

#whump #magical whump #branding tw #burning tw #whumper as caretaker #painful transformation tw #pickett #errold #whump fic #magical whumpee #hehehe

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anakinshooker · 3 years

Text

markings- obi-wan kenobi

paring: obi-wan kenobi x reader

rating/genre: g/fluff

warnings: doesn’t follow cannon, light mentions of padawan/master relationship (everyone is of age!), brief mention of injuries

nicknames: y/n, young one, padawan

summary: an injured y/n doesn’t follow orders and get hurt

Being a Jedi was hard work. Sometimes it seemed like the whole galaxy was after you, but at least you had your best friend, and master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You had been Obi-Wan’s padawan after Anakin and grew to find him quite charming. You knew nothing was ever going to happen after all this is Obi-Wan Kenobi we are talking about. Mr. Stickler for the Jedi code. Being on your own was a rough reality check, but you got through it nevertheless.

The war was still pipeing hot, and everyone knew it was going to be awhile before it settled down. Count Dooku was able to always be one-step ahead of the Jedi. The Jedi Council sent you to investigate a stolen Republic ship that was pinging off of an outer rim planet. Alone with only your R3 unit to keep you company, you flew out. Commander Cody and his men weren’t able to assist you, since Anakin took them with him on a flashier mission.

As you were drifting in and out of your imagination while flying, until an incoming call from Master Kenobi came in.

“How’s the flight coming along,young one?” Kenobi’s angelic voice rang out over the intercoms.

“The flight is going quite well. Just a little boring. Shouldn't be too long before I land.” you answered back stifling a yawn.

“Are you well rested?” Obi-wan’s voice had a hint of worry.

“Yes, Master.” your voice was firm. You couldn’t let Obi-Wan know that you were up all night nursing a blaster wound. Speaking of which, you were soon going to need to steal some bandages from the medical unit soon.

“Are you sure, y/n? I need you to have a clear head throughout this whole mission.”

“I’ll be ok, Master. Don’t worry. I’m landing soon.” With that you clicked off the call. Now that you had thought about your blaster wound you could feel the swelling and heat radiating off of it. You sustained the injury while fighting Sepertist droids on Naboo. One of their blaster shots got past your lightsaber and grazed your thigh. You fought through it. You couldn’t let anyone know that a droid had hit you. Maybe it was a pride thing, but you were going to keep it hidden as long as you could. It’s easier than you think, swiping badges from medical units and cleaning it in the comfort of your own quarters; no one had suspected a thing.

R3 beeped as your ship got closer to the planet. “We are right on time, R3.” you smiled at yourself and your droid. This mission was going to be a breeze. You safely landed the ship, and jumped out to look around. “Stay here and guard the ship.”

As you looked around you started feeling an unbalance in the force. Something was very off. Your thigh was still aching as you climbed over rocks to try and find the Republic jet. The unbalanced feeling was not going away. Looking down at your wrist where the coordinates were being displayed through a hologram; you were supposedly right next to the ship. that when a blast went right past your ear. It was a trap. One you feel right into. You really needed to work on trusting the force more.

Squads of Sepertist droid were advancing shooting at you. You quickly drew you green lightsaber, and got to work. You went through the motions Obi-wan taught you. Block all the shots. Making sure you can control the situation, before you advance. The words of your Master were ringing through your head. The droids were terrible shots. You advanced and was able to cut them all down in seconds. “R3, send my corrdances to Master Kenobi. Make sure he knows it's a trap!” you commanded into your comms system. Quickly you hid behind a boulder before the second fighting squad could see you. There were too many of them for you to fight alone and hurt. You had no reinforcements. Yet, you felt this need to see who was behind this.

You snuck up on the droids and took them down. Sweat covering every inch of your body. All your bones were aching, but you needed to keep fighting. Your comms system started to ding, and you knew it was going to be Obi-Wan. “Hello Master. It seems I have fallen into a trap.” you recapped him.

“y/n you need to get out of there.” Obi-Wan's voice sounded worried again.

“But Master, I need to find out who is behind this.” you pleaded with him.

“That is a hard no. Get out of there. Now!” Obi-wan’s voice was harsh and you knew you needed to listen to him. Quickly you turned off your comm, and crawled from rock to rock getting closer to the base. You could hear droids talking amongst themselves.

“Where is the Jedi?” one voiced their robotic tone, “You! look over there.”

“Roger, Roger”

“And you! Look over there.” The boss droid was pointing around in different directions.

“Roger, Roger”

There were so many droids, and they were all over. As they did what they were told. One small group started looking around the area you were hiding in. Using the force you moved a small pebble; you were hoping that the droids were dumb enough to follow it to a place you could you could quietly kill them. Your comms system was constantly glowing red, and you knew you were going to get an earful when you got back to the base.

“Hey what’s that?” one of the droids asked. They all started chasing after the pebble. Walking straight into your lightsaber. That was the easy part, now to get inside the base. Except, you didn’t have to. General Grievous decided to make your job easy. He stormed out of the base; knocking droids over as we went.

“How did you imbeciles lose the Jedi?” Grievous yelled in anger. He was seething, and this settled your curious nature.

“R3, Start up the jet. I’ll be back soon.” you said into your comms. You moved as quietly and quickly as you could.

“There she is!” a droid shouted. Shit. You needed to get out of here. Your thigh felt as if it couldn’t hold your body, but you had to trust it. You stood up fully, and started running as fast as you could.

“R3! Move the jet closer!” You yelled into your comms. Blasts were going past your whole body. R3 did as he was demanded, and parked himself and the jet a couple feet away. As you were climbing into the small ship you were grazed by another blaster shot to the thigh. You screamed in pain. You kept moving, and as soon as all of you were inside the chamber; you were flying into space.

“What the hell was that y/n?” you saw Obi-Wan’s hologram.

“Please wait to tell me off until I get back to base. Please Obi-Wan.” you pleaded yet again with him. His hardened eyes softened, and he slightly nodded his head before signing off.

The flight back was just as boring, and you spent most of it gathering your thoughts, and keeping pressure on your wound. There was no way to hide this one. It had reopened your other wound as well as making its own mark on your skin. You were in obvious pain; limping and whimpering each time little pressure was put on the thigh. You also looked at the rest of your body. Nothing too bad, except for the bright, red scratches on your right cheekbone and forehead. There were some bruises that had already formed on your arms and parts of your legs. You will yourself to keep pressure on your thigh; you would worry about the other things later.

As soon as you landed, Obi-Wan and Commander Rex were there to help you out. You swang your legs over the side of the jet, but as soon as your legs touched the ground you whimpered, and started to fall. Obi-Wan was there to catch you, holding you. “Rex, notify the medical droids we will be there shortly.” he ordered the clone. Rex left without saying a word. “Are you okay?” he asked with only worry in his voice. You softly shook your head no. He sighed deeply before picking you up carrying you to the medics.

“General Grievous was behind the attack.” you whispered to him.

“I suspected it wouldn’t be anyone important.” Obi-Wan said under his breath. “Don’t think about it right now. I need you to focus on getting healthy again.”

“Okay, Master.” you let your head drop into his chest. You felt safe. Nothing was going to hurt you.

Obi-Wan gently laid you down on the table for the medic droid to look over. You sighed when his arms left your body, but they quickly returned. He helped you take off your robes, looking you over himself.

“That wound doesn't look to be from today.” The droid pointed out.

“When did you get that one, my poor padawan?” Obi-Wan asked you, sounding slightly disappointed.

“When we were fighting in Naboo.” you whispered.

“We were in Naboo three days ago! Why didn’t I know about this?” he questioned.

“I couldn’t let anyone know a droid nearly shot me!” you exclaimed. Obi-Wan gave you a long, hard look before going completely silent.

“You should be healed in two weeks if you stick to cleaning it, and resting.” The droid sounded loud in the quiet room.

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan shooed the droid away. “I don't know what got into you! It’s okay to admit that you were shot by a droid! You should never keep an injury from me! You should also follow my orders. I know you aren’t exactly my padawan anymore, but I am still higher ranked than you, and you need to listen to me. I mean look at you. You're all marked up! What if it was worse? What if I lost you?” Obi-wan wasn’t giving you a chance to speak. “Maker, what would I do if I sent you on a simple retrieval mission and you didn’t come back?”

“Obi-Wan! I’m fine! I can handle myself! I passed the Jedi knight trials for makers sake! Why do you care so much? You wouldn’t have made this big of a deal if I was Anakin!” you poured out. You knew it was unfair to compare you and Anakin, but you were hurt and he needed to understand that you weren’t his helpless padawan anymore.

“It’s because I don’t love Anakin like I love you.” Obi-Wan confessed. His voice was now back to a low, caring tone. “I don’t think about Anakin, like I think about you.”

“I love you too, Obi-Wan.” you confessed back. Fuck whatever the Jedi council would think if they heard this. You were going to get better in the hands of the one you truly love.

The next morning you awoke in Obi-Wan’s quarters. He was awake staring at the ceiling, while slowly leaving delicate traces on your upper arms. “What’s keeping you up, love?” you asked him in a whisper. He looked down at your head on his chest.

“Nothing my love. Go back to sleep.” Obi-Wan kissed your forehead, and closed his eyes, falling back asleep. you weren’t able to fall back asleep until you could hear his steady heartbeat, and feel his leveled out breathing. Closing your eyes you fell back asleep in his arms. Forever feeling safe and sound in his arms. It was going to take you a couple weeks to get better, but at least you had Obi-Wan to take care of you.

finished.

#obi wan star wars #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi imagine #star wars fanfiction #obi wan fluff #my writing

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simplee-dreaming · 3 years

Text

Catching Up

This is a Harry Potter tickle fic requested by an anon. I’ve never written in the style of parents and kids before so this was new. I wrote it very late last night so I hope it’s okay!

Word count: 1744

Summary: Harry dreams of his parents but once again finds himself in trouble.

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

“Where is it?” Sirius asked for the fourth time.

“I’M NOHOHOHOT TELLING” Harry screamed out, desperately trying to escape Sirius’ clutches.

Harry had hidden Sirius’ pocket watch somewhere around the house purely for his own entertainment. But it backfired on him when Sirius decided to hold Harry from behind and tickle the hiding place out of him.

“I’m gonna ask one more time, where is it?” Sirius asked, his hands now snaking into Harry’s armpits.

“NOHOHOHOHO” Harry shrieked, kicking his legs out as much as he could.

“Tell me, or I’m gonna get that ticklish little tummy of yours” Sirius warned.

“OHOHOHOKAY FINE, I-ITS UHUHUNDER YOUR PILLOW” Harry yelled out, laughing loudly. Sirius stopped abruptly.

“Under my pillow?”

“Y-yes. I was gonna pretend like you had it all along,” Harry panted out. Sirius drew in a fake gasp. He leaned in close to Harry and whispered in his ear.

“So you mean to tell me that not only did you steal my pocket watch, but you were gonna blame me it all on me?” Sirius asked. Harry giggled as Sirius’ breath reached his ears. He tried touching his ear to his neck but Sirius was blocking it so he couldn’t escape the light tickles.

“Yehehehes, I’m sohohohory” Harry giggled out.

“You’re sorry?” Sirius asked, “You’re sorry?!” his voice boomed.

“You set me up and all you can say is sorry?!” His hands started tickling rapidly around Harry’s tummy. Harry instantly screamed and collapsed into laughter.

“SIRIUS WAHAHAHAIT!”

“No no, I’ve got to tickle the cheeky monkey out of you. It’s the only way!” Sirius said, attacking Harry’s poor ticklish tummy. Harry very quickly fell to silent laughter and didn’t have the strength to fight back. Sirius laughed with him then decided to go easy on the poor boy. He stopped the attack and cuddled Harry close.

“I-I’m sorry” Harry breathed out quietly.

“I know, I know” Sirius said, kissing his head gently.

“Right you, I think you’ve had enough tickles today, time for bed I think.” Sirius said. Harry nodded and let out a little sigh but Sirius could tell her was exhausted. He lifted up the small boy and carried him to bed. Harry drifted off very quickly.

“Harry? Harry?”

Harry slowly opened his eyes. He was still in bed.

“Harry?”

He turned around and saw two figures standing in the doorway. They were both blurry. Harry reached over for his glasses. Once he put them on he instantly recognised the two figures.

“Mum? Dad?” He asked, confused.

“Hey son,” James replied. They both approached him and sat on the end of his bed.

“Wait, what? What are you doing here?” Harry asked.

“Just wanted to check in on you. Make sure you’re doing okay.” Lily said, she reached over and moved his hair out of his face and gently stroked his cheek.

“You’ve gotten so big now! Where has that time gone?” She asked, smiling at him. Harry looked at her, puzzled.

“I-” Harry began.

“It’s okay, I know this might be a shock but we’re here now. I promise.” James said.

“So, what’s my boy been up to eh? We saw you got into Gryffindor! And it looks like you made some great friends. Even rescued my best friend!” James said, smiling at Harry.

“Yeah, um, yeah.” Harry was speechless.

“I never need rescuing, James” came a voice from the doorway. Sirius was leant up against the doorframe. James laughed.

“I always ended up rescuing you, Sirius.”

“No no, you lie. I always rescued you.”

The pair looked at each other and burst into laughter. James stood up from the bed and they both embraced each other in a hug.

“Oh I’ve missed you, Padfoot.”

“I’ve missed you too, Prongs.”

“I trust you’ve been taking good care of my boy?” James asked, pulling away from the hug.

“Of course. He’s safe with me. Except for when he gets cheeky.” Sirius winked at Harry.

“Well he gets that from his father,” Lily said.

“Doesn’t he just.” Sirius replied.

“Me? Cheeky? Never!” James said, mock hurt on his face. Harry let out a little giggle. James looked at him.

“You’ve been testing Sirius I see? That’s my boy.” James said, ruffling his hair.

“Yeah I have. But better.” Harry said. James stopped and stared at him.

“Excuse me?” James said.

“I’m better at testing him” Harry piped up, surprised at this sudden confidence.

“Like father like son” Lily said, smiling. James looked at her, then at Sirius, then back at Harry.

“Told you he’s a cheeky sod.” Sirius said, smirking.

“Alright son, you may know how to test him but you’re not the best here. I’ve known him longer.” James said. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve lived with him for two years now, I know how to push his buttons and how to get away with it. It’s a trick you have when you’re young.” Harry sassed. James slightly opened his mouth. Sirius let out a little giggle.

“Oh? Is that so? Don’t forget I used to be your age. I knew Sirius then too.” James responded.

“Yeah but you’re ancient now, and Sirius could easily catch up to you. He’s a lot slower now, I can easily outrun him.” Harry said.

“Excuse me? Ancient?” James said.

“I am not slow!” Sirius protested. Lily giggled.

“You are though. It took you ages to catch me earlier.”

“Oh? You want to go again? Cause I’ll take you again, no problem!” Sirius challenged.

Harry got out of bed and squared up to Sirius. He looked him dead in the eye before yelling “GO!” and legging it out of the room.

“OI!” James and Sirius yelled together before chasing him down the stairs. Harry circled the sofa before realising he had messed up. He stood at the front of the sofa and normally he’d have Sirius on the other side so he could play him by running the opposite way. But this time he had Sirius approaching from one side and James on the other. He made a quick decision and ran straight for the sofa James and Sirius both went to grab him but missed. Harry had just jumped over the sofa before he was grabbed and thrown back onto it. He looked up and found that Lily had caught him.

“That’s my girl!” James said.

“Yes Lily!” Sirius cheered. They both approached Harry, now lying on the sofa.

“Now then. You still think you’re better than me?” James asked, kneeling next to him. Harry nodded.

“Interesting.” James said. He walked his hand up Harry’s side and Harry giggled.

“I had a feeling you were ticklish!” James said. Sirius scoffed.

“Ticklish is an understatement, that boy is ridiculously sensitive.”

“Is that so?” James said, smirking at Harry. He squeezed both of Harry’s sides and he shrieked.

“DAD NO!” Harry yelled.

“I’ve got 14 years to catch up on! All these tickles you’ve missed out on from me!” James teased, not easing up on his son. His hands shot under Harry’s arms and Harry arched his back and screamed.

“Easy James,” Lily said.

“He’s alright Lil, he’s had worse from me” Sirius said, calming her.

“Oi James, I know all his bad spots if you really want to get him.” Sirius said. James stopped and looked at him.

“Do go on.”

Sirius approached Harry and winked at him.

“Sirius please don't,” Harry pleaded.

“James, you may wanna watch out. He’s gonna kick” Sirius warned. He launched a ten finger attack on Harry’s tummy. Shaking his hands and wiggling his fingers deep into the sensitive tummy. Harry screamed loudly and collapsed back into laughter.

“Right here James, this is his worst spot,” Sirius informed. James smiled at his son being tickled by his best mate.

“Alright alright Sirius, I want a go. He’s my son.” James said. He switched places with Sirius and attacked Harry’s ticklish tummy. Harry fell in and out of silent laughter.

“This is how fathers and sons bond, right?” James asked. He looked at Lily who was smiling sweetly at him. Her heart was full at the sound of her son’s laughter. James kept this up for a few minutes until Harry was red in the face.

“Alright James, don’t kill him” Lily laughed. James eased up.

“You okay son?” He asked. Harry nodded. James slowly lifted him up into a sitting position and pulled him into a cuddle. Harry rested his head into James’ shoulder as he let out residual giggles.

“I love you, son.”

“I love you too, dad” Harry responded. Lily sat on the other side and cuddled in close to Harry too. She gently tickled Harry’s neck and he giggled.

“Muhuhum stohohop”

“Sorry love, I just wanted a go too.” She said before holding him close. Sirius looked at the three of them together and decided to leave them alone for a bit.

“Mum, Dad. I love you both”

“We love you too Harry. So much.” Lily said, she kissed him gently on the forehead.

Then everything started to fade to darkness.

“Harry?”

Harry blinked his eyes open. He was lying in bed. Sirius was sitting at the end of his bed.

“Are you okay?” Sirius asked. Harry looked at him, dazed.

“What? What time is it?” He asked.

“4am” Sirius responded.

“Where….where did Mum and Dad go?”

“What?”

“Where did my parents go?”

“What do you mean?” Sirius asked, concerned.

“They were right here, we were all together. We were hugging and I was being tickled and…”

“Ah, that explains the giggling.” Sirius said.

“What?”

“You were giggling in your sleep, that’s why I came in to see if you were okay.”

“Sleep?” Harry asked, confused.

“Harry, I think you were dreaming.”

Harry went quiet.

“Harry?”

“Oh.” He said. He lowered his head. Sirius’ heart sank. He moved up the bed and held Harry close to him.

“It’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you. You know they’re both up there looking down on you, showering you with support every day.” Sirius said, rubbing Harry’s head. Harry nodded slowly. A tear slid down his face.

“Look at me.”

Harry looked up at SIrius.

“It’s okay.” Sirius said. Harry buried his head into Sirius’ chest and hugged him close. Sirius ran his hand up and down Harry’s side eliciting small giggles from Harry.

“I love you, Sirius.”

“I love you too, Harry. I’m always here for you. I promise.”

Harry slowly fell back asleep on Sirius’ shoulder.

#harry potter tickle fic #tickle fic #lee!harry #ler!sirius #ler!james

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