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generalluxun · 5 months ago

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Miraculous Ladybug Secret Santa!

hey @queenhoneybee-exe ! I'm delighted to be your backup Secret Santa for @mlsecretsanta I was also delighted to write a lukloé fic! It's been too long.

I hope you enjoy this one. It was fun to work one in set just before the start of S6. (we can make good things happen anywhere in the timeline!)

Full story below the cut, or you can read it on AO3 Here if you prefer.

Paris was at peace, Luka was not. He knew he should be. Monarch was gone. Marinette and Adrien -Ladybug and Cat Noir- were a couple. Mayor Bustier had implemented a swath of new initiatives to better the city. By all accounts he should be happy. Yet, something lurked.

He lay on his back in the lush green grass of a park. The sky was a playful blue dotted with puffs of harmless clouds. The sounds of the city burbled and overlapped like a brook scattering over smooth stones; and that was just on the level of regular hearing.

Luka tried again to center himself. He closed his eyes. He let his breathing slow. He tuned out the surface sounds and instead listened to the harmonies within.

Here was a woman trying to wrangle a toddler and an excitable puppy. Someone might call the whole affair noisy. To Luka it was the tittering of a flute, bouncing up and down the scales. There two men argued about the price of a souvenir shirt. Their voices sawed the strings of a humble cello. Others and more, people’s melodies normally wrapped him warmly and brought solace to his heart. This time he could feel them instead laying like a blanket, pooling above him but floating above a mystery he could not unravel. The mystery was inside himself, a place he seldom had cause or time to explore.

Drifting, seeking a peace that would not come, he missed the change in sound at first. By the time he came back to himself the pool of melodies swam with ripples. Luka reached for them but could not grasp their meaning, or even their origin. They matched no sound his ears took in. He opened his eyes and sat up. He scanned his surroundings.

That’s how he found… her.

She stood at the curb like a Song Thrush, nervous of predators. Her head turned this way and that. Her motions were quick, jerky, unpredictable, and full of tics. He found himself expecting her to hop, and half afraid it would be into the sparse traffic. What overwhelmed him though, was her melody. Or rather, the promise of her melody.

She was noisy in a way he had never heard before. She had not one instrument, but an entire orchestra pit. The instruments warred with each other, passing in and out of being. It was as if a great symphony was waiting to be played, only the musicians were all trapped in a loop of warming up. The portent poured itself into that space that had plagued him, filling it up.

I have to know what this means.

He was on his feet and jogging across the street before his conscious mind caught up with his body. Her head snapped around, the wide-brimmed sun hat she wore revealed her face. Deep blue eyes sized him up in an instant as only prey animals could. It dawned on him he had seen her before. The gold of her hair, the sharp line of her jaw; this was Chloé Bourgeois.

Her eyes widened. The instruments flared. Brass bludgeoned the strings. Luka tripped on the curb, stopping beside her. He knew these next words were important. They had to be good. “You’re Chloé Bourgeois.”

Not his best work.

She recoiled. One hand came up, fingers moving as if to flick… a ponytail that was no longer there. Instead they brushed the ends of a new ear-length bob that had taken its place. “Who’s asking?”

Tympani rumbled a threat too high-pitched to hold weight. Still, Luka knew he had to get this back on track. Over eagerness would cost him. He took a calming breath and straightened up to the peak of his summer-growth-spurt height. “The name’s Luka,” he murmured against the backdrop of the city, “Pleasure to meet you.”

There was a hint of near-recognition before her eyes skittered and her head turned, only to come back to him. There were notes among the jumble, but not enough yet for a full bar. A smile tugged the corners of her lips for less than the space of a blink before a frown strangled it. “That makes one of us. What do you want?”

“Well, I uh-” Confrontation was not his forté.

The venom in her tone was neutered by the defensive turn of her shoulders. Luka tried again.

“You looked… upset! I couldn’t let that stand, so I thought I’d come over and see what the problem was.”

She looked him down and up, measuring. A judgement was in the works. The uncertainty of the outcome reached inside of him and tickled. Good sense was telling him to leave. Curiosity was demanding he stay. He had always listened to good sense before. Ignoring it now, felt powerful. The symphony settled, but just as he expected it to play, her voice cut through his perception.

“Well, you’re right. You’ve got eyes at least. It’s this stupid Uber thing. They don’t let limos in the city anymore -how lame is that?- So I had to call an -ugh- cab, but it’s not here, so I’m stuck out here where just anyone can walk up and blather on at me.”

A tittering of flutes, coy and mocking, fluttered up out of the sea of protean music. They dropped back into the mix as quickly as they rose though. To match their fall pain ghosted across those bronzed features. Chloé’s head turned sharply again, looking up the street.

Luka fell back to a classic, “A ride is all you need? I’ve got my bike chained at the park across the street. I can get you anywhere in Paris, free of charge.”

He gestured and it drew her eyes back to him before they followed his direction. Instead of acceptance or the more likely rejection he got a raised eyebrow, “A bike? Really? I wouldn’t want you killing yourself trying to chauffeur me and my luggage.”

The flutes returned with a background of strings. The two played around each other in a spiral of humor. She laid her hand on the handle of the single rolling bag she had with her. It was gold, embossed, and it could only have faded into the background beside a creature such as this.

That thought was unexpected, yet the thrill of having managed to draw a few bars of the same melody out twice turned apprehension into excitement. Luka pressed, with what he hoped was a smirk savvy enough to match her energy, “Just the one bag? I could carry that and you to England if I needed to. In all honesty, with what I’ve heard, I expected more.”

Bowstrings squealed across strings in a discordant shriek. Her eyes widened. Luka mentally scrambled, trying to restore the music.

He blurted out, “I mean, you’re just going to the hotel right? That’s not far at all.”

The shriek became a single tone; the high pitched whine of a flatlining heart. That musical tension translated into a physical one as well, the muscles across her face tensed into severity. A red flush came and went, leaving her bone-pale beneath the foundation. A hand, raised in playful gesture a moment before, curled into a white knuckled fist. The whine seeped through her whole body, a resonance that would shake her to pieces.

He’d done this.

He panicked.

He kissed her.

A kiss to restore life, a kiss to stave off death. That’s how it went right? Those were supposed to be romantic though, not a rough collision of lips on lips. Not one party frozen while the other holds them desperately by the shoulders, willing life into them. They all end with fluttering eyelashes and smiles, not one person flinching so intensely they headbutt the other.

“What on earth!” She wiped her lips with the hand so recently a fist.

Luka was holding his nose, blinking away tears. It hurt, but the whine had bloomed again. Drums rallied, brass blared. It was a cacophony but it was music. He smiled through the pain, “Sorry, I had to.”

“Had too?” She shoved him, but his keyed up senses felt the way her fingertips curled just before the contact would be broken. Her nails dug in and snagged in his sweatshirt, not letting him escape.

“Mouth to mouth, the only way to save you from dying.”

He heard himself saying the words. He heard the little smarmy lilt filtering into his tone. He knew of these kinds of things, the same way he knew you could write music in C-sharp Major. He had never had occasion for either.

C-sharp Major. Seven Sharps. What use did he have for sharps? What use did the man of the house have for sharps? What use did a dutiful big brother have for sharps? What use did his mother’s conscience have for sharps? What use did Marinette’s stress relief have for sharps? What use did Adrien’s wingman have for sharps? What use did a middle school band’s manager have for sharps? What use did the level headed intuition hero have for sharps?

The girl before him was made of sharps, and Luka had been hoarding his for an entire lifetime. In response to his quip there was the rattle of snare drums. There was shock and recognition upon those painted features. The volume swelled in retaliation but the notes hung at the last second.

Luka sliced through the pause. He caught her still outstretched hand. “Now that I’ve saved you, I have to see you to where you are going. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Who was this Luka? He was the other side of every smile. He was the paymaster of every concession. He was so many self-denials that they had become a whole person. That person stared into deep blue eyes more fraught with emotion than he had ever seen. Some had precluded him, but some he had caused. That truth excited him.

“Really?” she hissed, hand slipping like a daydream from his grasp. She turned and tilted her head, the brim of her hat hiding her face. “No is the answer anyone who knew me would expect, and be grateful for.”

A slight tilt of her head back. The curve of her cheek peeked out from under her hat, and a sliver of deep blue cut by the onyx of an intrigued pupil.

Luka ducked his head and craned around into that invitation. He chased her gaze but when he caught it he found challenge not fear, and a lifted chin. The trumpets found their voice, pressing him back but his own repressed melody answered. Strained harsh chords from an electric guitar flowed through his veins.

Pricked from within he countered, “Well, then you’ll have to give me the chance to get to know you first, how else will I understand?”

She stepped closer, the symphony seemed to have found its footing. The Sonata-Allegro was in the offing. Her blue eyes narrowed up from under her brim, “You’ll embarrass yourself. I’ll laugh.”

Luka folded his arms, wearing that smarmy smile again. He leaned down closer, close enough to recall a foolhardy kiss moments past. The guitar riffs rippled up through him, licking like flames from the tips of his hair, “Then I’ll get to hear what that laugh sounds like.”

“Fine!” she pushed him again. “Go! Go on. -Ridiculous- You’d better not let me fall!”

She was shoving him as she spoke, turning him around back towards the park and pulling her suitcase in his wake. Luka stumbled forward under the prodding, giddy. His mind was racing, trying to keep up with these unexpected impulses. The electric guitar was thrumming out a tune he had never heard before. It wasn’t love, no. It was anticipation. It was hunger.

“This thing?” she derided when he stopped to unchain.

In response he snagged her bag and lashed it to the Pannier rack with two deft motions. He raised a challenging brow. The symphony had subsided. He had a deep need to revive it.

He mounted up.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” she groused. Her arms were folded, her shoulders hunched. Her bottom lip threatened a pout. Luka was silent for several more long seconds. Her right hand drifted up to flick back long hair that was still not there. Strings rose in tense quarter notes. He was learning.

“Hop on top of your luggage, sidesaddle. Isn’t that how all rich girls ride?”

The strings threatened a screech and Luka’s instincts warned even this new uncontrolled side. He extended a hand palm up at the end of his taunt, to assist her in taking her perch. She kept surprisingly good balance. One hand gripped his shoulder tightly. Nails dug in. It stung and revitalized in equal measure.

“Where to?” Luka asked.

She rattled off an address distractedly, then stretched out her other arm to point across the green. “Oh, looks like my ride finally showed up.”

The throaty laugh that bubbled up behind him broke the symphony free again. The parts were disjointed, playing from different sheet music, but for a moment they were strident and enveloping.

All sharps.

Luka laughed too, without looking, and started to pedal. “He can’t take what I’ve rightfully stolen.” -----------------------------------------------------------

The address was close- too close. Luka had won the game. He had this new music in hand. He wanted more time with it, more time to experience it. What to do though? His normal routine would be to let it go. He had offered to do a thing, he would do it and damn his own desires.

The sharps prodded him. He took a risk. He took a wrong turn.

He took another, then another.

She doesn’t know where she’s going.

The thought was selfish, and brought elation. He rationalized- He was taking her there; the long way.

“So where am I taking you?” he called back over his shoulder to prompt her. The symphony had subsided into a burbling precursor again.

She leaned forward, the grip on his shoulder tightening. Sweatshirt and t-shirt combined were nothing before that manicure. The scent of her came with the motion. Not even the wind could keep it at bay. Musky, with a metallic aftertaste, like a chemical reaction tickling the roof of his mouth.

“To my home of course. What, do you think I take my luggage for little outings?”

The strings were peaking through the rush of air. Luka probed, “Where is home?”

Deadpan, “Where you are supposed to be taking me.”

A flight of flutes darted out of the chaos to circle their heads -amusement. Drawing them out felt like winning a prize.

Luka chuckled, “Yes, but what is where I am taking you, my precarious passenger?”

She withdrew, taking her scent and the flutes with her. Woodwinds could be faintly heard, in flats not sharps. No answer was forthcoming. It didn’t feel the same as before. His mind went into overdrive trying to puzzle it out. He nearly ran into a car that had been signaling its turn.

His sudden course correction earned a squawk from behind him and two sets of nails clawed into his shoulders while her hat brim smashed itself to the back of his neck. The pain brought clarity though. Clarity- the opposite of-

“Sorry,” Luka turned down a second stretch of the Seine, he felt the urge to risk passing his home. Would anyone see? What would they think?

He banished that tangential thought. Clarity the opposite of-

Confusion, “What I meant was, what is home like?”

He’d nearly missed the tympani amid trying to not die. It was surpassed by strings that belied her breezy words, “Oh you know, a house. A place with rooms; a bed I suppose.”

“You don’t know what your own home looks like?”

Strings and more strings. They screeched towards a crescendo. Before Luka could defuse it though, Chloe did so herself. “Are we going to be there soon? Can’t this silly little bike go any faster?”

He was technically caught and in the wrong. The urge to placate was overwhelming. It wasn’t placating that made the orchestra play though…

“Faster?” he called back, “Hold on.”

Luka leaned forward and upped his pace. The nails on his shoulders had to shift to his waist. He pedaled hard, his target was already close at hand; Le Boulevard Peripherique.

No bikes allowed on the Northwestern leg. He wasn’t concerned about that.

“What are you-?” didn’t stop him. The sharps were calling; not hers, his. What Luka would never dream of doing- no that was wrong. He had dreamed, in so many quiet nights. He had buried those dreams under other people’s needs.

He rode out into the fast moving traffic. Horns blared. He pedaled harder, his chest heaving. “Going fast! Isn’t this what you wanted? Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

A car rushed by on one side. Then on another. Luka was pushing, but the metal herd thundered around him faster. “Scared?!” Trumpets and brass backed by snares. She shook him from behind,”Go faster!”

“Faster!” he called back.

A truck rumbled by on the right, horn blaring. By the time it passed he was laughing, giddy. Luka stood on his pedals, those nails scrambled to keep hold on him. Upright, he added his weight to the mix. His legs burned. His spokes were less than a blur. The bike rocked precariously back and forth with every downward thrust of the pedals.

“Faster!” he shouted again, panting too hard to laugh.

He had raced ahead of planning, raced ahead of responsibility. It was exhilarating. It was freeing. He had no idea what would happen next.

What did happen was beyond even the unexpected though.

Clinging to him, hand over hand, his passenger pulled herself up his back. She hooked two fingers into the back of his collar. From the angle she was… standing?

”Faster!” she yelled.

Luka risked a glance up, and was treated to that wide brimmed hat being ripped from her head, lost to the wind wake. She was perched atop the rocking luggage rack, riding like the equestrian vault. Her sapphires shone, locked on the horizon. Her skin glowed bronze in the late summer sun. The symphony bloomed in full harmony. Luka forgot to pedal.

She turned that adrenaline-mad gaze down on him. He forgot to breathe.

“Faster!” she yelled again, yanking his collar like reins.

Luka snapped his eyes back to the road. The burning in his limbs and lungs was gone. He growled, hungry. He went faster.

They were a sight. They were a menace. They swerved in their lane. Horns and curses serenaded them. They laughed amid it all. The near misses added up though, a warning of payment due.

Luka took the next off ramp, coasting down from breakneck speed. Laughter turned to wordless giggles from both of them. Luka was on autopilot, waiting for his heart to catch up. The bike juddered once as she sat down heavily behind him, leaning sprawled across his back with her head on his shoulder with her music in his ears.

Too late Luka realized his error. They were too close to the destination. In his haze he’d taken them the rest of the way, and his foot dropped as they came to a stop before he could work up another excuse to continue.

The end of motion reminded them both that the world still existed beyond their fingertips. She pushed off him -not roughly this time- and slid from the back of his bike. Luka was still reeling, trying to realign a lifetime around the last few minutes.

She took a step towards the house, white sides ensconced within an old stone wall. Her head tilted just enough for her fringe to brush her cardigan. “It looks… nice?”

It sounded more like she was evaluating his home than her own. When she looked back at him it registered, she was asking for confirmation. Luka nodded, “It does. Neat, charming, affluent, but not excessive.”

She turned back fully and clasped her hands in front of her. The symphony had gone wandering again, but this time the instruments were not at war. They were simply… uncertain? She stepped back towards him. Words formed behind her gaze but never made it to her lips. Luka felt like an entire novel was cowering under his tongue as well.

She gestured awkwardly. “My bag…”

“Oh!” Luka almost fell, getting off his bike. His feet weren’t cooperating and his legs were charging interest on exhaustion. He unstrapped her bag as deftly as he had loaded it, took it down and wheeled it within her reach.

He knew he had to think of something… A sharp glinted within his chest.

She reached for it, but he held on over that cocky grin, “You owe me.”

She startled. The way her eyes widened he could fall in. “What?”

Luka rolled it a few cm closer to her and let go. “You owe me. You made it so I had no choice but to kiss you. You’ve got to give me a chance to get you to kiss me.”

Shock melted into a tangle of expressions he couldn't quite unwind. The symphony played on though; inexpertly, as if unsure of the various parts. The whole was cut silent without warning though. Those painted lips turned into a thoughtful frown.

“You’ve no reason to hang around someone like me, and I can’t be seen anywhere with someone like you. Th-thank you, for the ride… all of it.”

Another novel went unspoken. Unrestrained Luka was a newborn creature, he was tired out and could not push further. Insightful Luka wasn't even sure he should. The sharpness about her now felt like glass, not steel. In the end he just nodded wordlessly.

He got on his bike.

She turned.

He dithered with his gears.

She began to walk, taking out a key from her pocket.

He lifted his helmet -forgotten in its bracket all this time- and put it on.

She reached the narrow iron gate in the stone wall.

Luka breathed out regret and flipped up his kickstand.

“I- A Chauffeur!”

His eyes snapped to the sound of her voice. She held her key in one hand, gesturing as she spoke in a rush. “I will need a chauffeur, and… someone to run errands! I have to buy food… somewhere… I can’t be expected to do it all on my own.”

Luka knew to grab a lifeline when one was thrown. He smiled. “Deliveries are my specialty.”

She came back at a trot, her bob bouncing. She stuffed a business card into his hand. “Text my number, so I have yours. I-”

She seemed to remember herself, or perhaps remember the world. She straightened.

Her tone turned cool, “I will contact you if I have needs.”

He didn’t chuckle, didn’t laugh, didn’t punch the sky and shout for joy. He kept his smile small, deniable. “It will be my pleasure, Miss Bourgeois.”

She turned crisply around, but with her back to him, “Chloé.”

“Chloé.”

The klang of the iron gate closing was the next thing Luka was aware of. He blinked. She was gone.

The symphony remained.

#miraculous ladybug #chloe bourgeois #luka couffaine #ml fanfic #ml secret santa #hope you enjoy it!#fluff #post S5 Pre S6

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ezlebe · 2 years ago

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VAMPIRE AU - Halloween

Kyle lifts his hands, stumbling away from the twitching, bloody remains beneath him. He tries to make eye contact, but the hall is too dark, and Price plainly cannot see him entirely in it. “John – ”

Price grunts lowly while gesturing vaguely down with the gun, not exactly threatening, but certainly bewildered in a bad way. “I better not be seeing what I think I’m bloody seeing.”

“Because you’ll shoot me?” Kyle asks, wincing at the hissing, lisping quality of his voice – the bloody teeth always in the way.

Price sputters somewhat, reaching out and scrambling at the wall, soon revealed to be for a lightswitch. “Because it’s fucking disgusting!”

“But you’re not going to shoot me?” Kyle asks, glancing to and away from the pistol steadily pointed in his direction. “With my own weapon?”

“Not unless you’re – ” Price pauses while his eyes sharply narrow, “Not Kyle?”

“I am!” Kyle says, hurriedly, licking reflexively at his lip against a wet slide at the side of his mouth.

Price narrows an eye with a twitchy curl of his lips. “Prove it.”

Kyle reaches up and scratches at his scar while he exhales a grumbling scoff. “And how?”

Price lifts his brows with a pointed jerk of his chin.

Kyle only needs to think for an instant on what Price might be most convinced by him knowing about him. “Two summers ago you had some kind of thrush in your beard –”

“It wasn’t –” Price closes his mouth with a deep breath through his nose, as he rolls his lips together. “I might shoot you, since I’ve got some suspicion it would do so much fuck all as falling out of all them helos. I told you it was fucking dermatitis.”

Kyle tips his head back and forth with a weak laugh.

Price relaxes the gun and spins it to offer to Kyle, using his other hand to press a finger and thumb into his eyes. “I’m not doing the bloody Twilight thing.”

“Alright,” Kyle says, licking the front of his teeth, as the second set sink back into his jaw. He reaches out and takes the gun, reflexively checking the safety, but seems it’s already on. “Really funny that you’ve seen it, though.”

“Read it,” Price grumbles, now scrubbing both hands through his hair in an unmistakable show of discomposure. “You know what deployment is like.”

“Unfortunately,” Kyle says, swapping the pistol between his hands with a drop of his chin. “Not technically that sort, anyhow.”

“Outside the obvious going on,” Price says, exhaling a harsh cough, then dropping his head to look down at the body on the floor. “Did you check for ID?”

Kyle shakes his head with a flat grimace. “He, uh – He startled me coming out of the loo.”

Price narrows a dubious eye. “No one’s ever startled you like that before.”

Kyle exhales quietly through his nose. “Not that you know about.”

“Bloody hell,” Price mutters, closing his eyes while inhaling a deep breath.

Kyle cocks his head with a flat press of his lips.

“Don’t tell me you been – ” Price clears his throat, jerking a hand down at the body. “Literally preying on the enemy.”

“Can’t, boss,” Kyle admits, then looks up with a reluctant twist at the edge of his mouth. “Not often?”

“Ghūl.”

Kyle flinches a bit, somewhat startled that Price would start in on name calling inside ten minutes.

“No, fucking hell,” Price says, scrubbing at his face, shaking his head, then gesturing out in front of himself with both hands in a cyclical gesture. “I mean I thought they been calling me that, but it’s been you.”

“Oh,” Kyle intones, raising his brows, then furrowing them tight with a look at the body. “What’s that in Arabic, or – uh, Russian?”

“It’s the same as it is in bloody English,” Price says, brows lifting, a brief, gravelly scoff breaking from his throat. “People eating demon.”

Kyle blinks slowly, “You thought they was calling you that?”

“I thought it was a barmy insult,” Price says, reaching up, tapping at his own sternum with a pointed widening of an eye, then gesturing outward with the same hand to Kyle. “Wasn’t working under the clue my own partner were out here actually doing it.

“No,” Kyle allows, wincing, looking down at the body, then up at the ceiling. “Right.”

“Fucking hell, Ghost and Soap’ll be back,” Price says, exhaling a harsh breath, as his eyes markedly drop below Kyle’s chin. “And your shirt is a right mess.”

Kyle blinks while he looks down with a weak cough. His vest is probably gone past the point of no return.

“You still…?” Price awkwardly clears his throat, eyes pointedly dropping between them. “Hungry, then?”

Kyle feels his mouth press. “I’m not a monster.”

Price rolls his eyes back up while he exhales harshly through his nose. “That’s not what I asked, is it?”

Kyle suffers an ache spike up in his gut. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to – ” Price gestures over his shoulder, as he takes a step back, the light clicking off over their heads. “Recoup.”

Kyle watches Price go for a beat, taking advantage of the dark to gawk at bare muscle, then lowers his eyes to the actual meal. He pulls his teeth while dropping to a kneel, feeling unrushed for perhaps the first time in memory – with this sort of meal.

He leaves the body in place, as Price reappears, some minutes later, while familiar voices approach the main door to the safehouse flat. It’s easy enough then to peel off his messy vest and boxers, quickly scrub the stain from his skin in the shower while he catches Price starting in telling tales.

Kyle slips around the group altogether into his unofficial barrack, then tilts his ear to the door, as he straightens the shirt over his chest.

“– Even if it was just house breaking…”

“A knife?” Soap interrupts, voice lifting to a pitch that is probably just as audible to any neighbors they’ve got around, as it is to Kyle.

Ghost goes quiet, then grunts, then when he speaks his voice is physically lower, like he’s closer to the body.“This… don’t look like a knife.”

“…Dog?” Soap suggests, uncertainly, then harshly clears his throat.

“We don’t have –” Price scoffs, his hands on his hips all but visible through the door. “Don’t look like a knife, so it’s a dog, Sergeant?”

Kyle thinks Price might be laying it on a bit thick, but he does tend to do that without any need to lie.

“No dog, neither,” Ghost mutters, slowly click his tongue.

Kyle slowly wets his lower lip with a slight wince down at his feet. He reaches out, grabbing a sock and balancing on the door while tugging it on, then the other, curious if he’ll be expected to expand on this story.

“Don’t matter what it was,” Price barks, as he takes a few steps that resound down the hall. “Get the bastard out of here.”

Soap grunts a low protest, “What about – ?”

Price interrupts with a pointed grunt. “Gaz did most of the bloody work, he did, so you’re doing the rest.”

Soap grumbles loudly, but there’s a telling scuffle. “Aye, Cap.”

Ghost answers with an even less enthusiastic mutter.

“And 0415 for the exfil,” Price says, “I notified Laswell of our guest here, so she’s bumped it up.”

Soap mutters something incomprehensibly Scots under his breath, his footsteps fading further down the hall. He seems to pause, tongue clicking, “Do we got bleach and that?”

“You might have to open a door or two in the kitchen, Sergeant.”

Ghost does snort at that, though it’s impossible to really know if he’s relaxed at all without seeing him.

Kyle takes a step back, as footsteps near the door. He feels a curve at his lips, as it opens, and promptly rolls it between his teeth. The fresh blood is getting to him – everything a bit more stimulating, just slightly more hair-raising.

“Eavesdropping?” Price asks, as he closes the door behind him.

Kyle rolls his head back and forth, briefly playing the fool, then he raises his brows. “Catch on quick, boss.”

Price huffs lightly through his nose, as he settles his back to the door. “Go ahead, then,” he says, with a pointed lift of his chin. “Let’s see them.”

Kyle sighs and rubs his face, then flexes his teeth out from his gums in the way that always makes him feel a bit like a cat.

Price thankfully reins his reaction to a blink, brow furrowing in tight, then takes a slow step forward.

Kyle immediately feels his face begin to heat, blinking slow at the ceiling while Price openly stares at his mouth.

“How’s it work, then?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle says, relaxing his lips, and peeking down while feeling his brow furrow. “What part?”

“The blood part,” Price says, raising his own brow, gesturing a bit needlessly at his neck. “You need something in it? I’ve seen you eat. A lot.”

“Oh,” Kyle intones, exhaling a slight scoff – he’s pretty sure Price has no clue how his kCals work. “I just… I don’t know, exactly? I get ill, if I don’t in a long while. Can’t go outside.”

Price hums a low gravel, then he’s even closer, touching Kyle to tilt his chin up with a tut with a knuckle. “The teeth just live up there?”

“I’d guess,” Kyle says, closing his eyes, using every ounce of his self control not to dig his chin further into Price’s lax palm. “Don’t have x-rays.”

“How?” Price says, his voice lifting in disbelief.

“Break the machine, somehow,” Kyle says, tilting his head some with a flat sort of smirk. “Makes the film all funny.”

“And they’ve just let that go on?”

Kyle hums a pair of notes, pitching his voice up. “Don’t get injured much, do I?”

Price offers a low grunt of assent.

Kyle feels a tap of a dull nail tap against one of his teeth, and opens his eyes slightly to glare, only to abruptly smell the heady scent of blood, fresh and right under his nose. He squeezes his eyes back shut in an instant, feeling his mouth dry and swallowing hard in reflex.

He hears a grumble faintly through the haze of instinct. “Fuck, sharp.”

Kyle manages to peek his eyes open, only to see Price sticking his bleeding thumb between his lips. Fucking hell. He swallows hard, tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth, and trying very hard not to think about sticking it in Price’s mouth, which is so much a mundane problem at this particular moment that it’s almost comparatively a comfort.

“It’s not stopping,” Price grouses, pulling his hand back to scowls down at his thumb.

“Sort of the point,” Kyle says, roughly, as his mouth vexingly starts to water.

“That’s shite,” Price says, even as he squeezes just under the cut and increases the flow.

“Not usually,” Kyle says, swallowing tightly, finding his eyes fixed on the slow stream of blood off the cut; he watches it slowly well up, then roll in a fat droplet down the bend of Price’s knuckle, and feels his tongue peek between his lips.

“Do you…?” Price says, offering the blood with a turn of his hand, as the droplet streams further down his wrist. “Look at that.”

Kyle suffers a rush of burning heat into his ears, behind his eyes, and hurriedly shakes his head. “Pass,” he lies, tightly, wishing he could take a deep breath.

Price hums lowly, dubious, “You seen my blood before and not looked half batty.”

“It’s never been from sticking your hand in my mouth,” Kyle says, sharply, then exhales a harsh, hissing breath between his front fangs. “Don’t call me batty, fucks’ sake.”

Price shifts his uninjured hand and pokes at Kyle’s cheek, just under his eye, with a grunt. “Meant it soundly literal.”

Kyle grasps at his own ear with a start, mortified to feel it over-sized and jutting out from his head. “I, uh,” he intones, heat worsening under his skin, realizing late it might actually be magic, not a flush, “Fucking –” He clears his throat, rubbing at his ear until he feels it go back round. “I haven’t done this since I was a teenager, swear down.”

“Shouldn’t have said so, then,” Price says, a taunting smirk at the edge of his lips, as he wags his brows, eyes sparkling with a taunt. “I wouldn’t have known any different.”

“Git,” Kyle mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Price tuts a low, light sort of scold, and abruptly smears the stream of blood down inside his palm.

“You were serious?” Kyle asks, embarrassed at the rasp at the back of his throat; he doesn’t even bother to check his ears, now knowing any composure he had is long gone.

“Wouldn’t have said anything, otherwise,” Price says, continuing to reroute the blood with a telling cock of his head.

It’s becoming clear that Price may have meant to cut himself, just a little, and Kyle doesn’t know what to think. He barely has the mental room to, really, everything in him fixating at the dull sheen of wet blood; it’s now such a blatant trap that he near laughs about it.

“You know I don’t got any sort of restraint,” Price says, lower, plainly picking up that Kyle’s likely figured him out. He holds his hand out, red staining dark on his palm and threatening to slip along his fingers. “You carved through that bastard’s underarmor like it was butter – with your teeth.”

Kyle swallows and could swears he hears his throat click.

“Go to waste, otherwise,” Price interrupts, squeezing his thumb and only coercing more blood up. “Know how I feel about that.”

Kyle is taking Price’s hand before he can work up to attempt another excuse, try to talk himself out of it, as avid instinct overcomes rational sense. He wraps his mouth carefully around the fleshy part of Price’s upturned palm, eagerly devouring the thin pool of blood. He glances up, then exhales a shuddering of breath, quickly shutting his eyes at the heavy look in Price’s eyes, as he uses all his self control to keep from biting down and worsening the problem. He still tastes jealously, drags his tongue up and around the mess on Price’s fingers, face burning, then down to the stain on his wrist, reflexively tugging Price closer with every pass.

He allows himself a brief, indulgent nip at the opening of the cut itself, widening it just enough for blood to flood his mouth, then laves high at the flat of his tongue, licking it just as clean. He feels the wound seal under his will in a manner he’s out of practice, thankful that it was only small. He keeps his lips pressed at the spot for a few stolen seconds, eyes closed, savoring the simple beat of the pulse under the thumb.

“Don’t seem squeamish,” Price says, voice noticeably rough, as Kyle pulls back a few more centimeters from him. He stretches his hand wide, as Kyle lets him go, then closes it back up into a fist, before doing it all over, again, “Me not being dead, and all that.”

“Always been the best way to get blood back home is from a volunteer,” Kyle says, pulling his teeth back with a lick up behind his lips to catch any taste and swallows back a disappointed grumble, as iron and salt too quickly begin to fade. “Less waste in that, too.”

“Sure, sure,” Price says, rubbing at his jaw through the beard with a pinch and flattening of his lips. “Don’t have to worry about a suspicious sort of evidence in the streets.”

“No,” Kyle says, exhaling a weak huff, looking down while he scratches at a bit of nothing to the side of his mouth.

He feels a bit dumb for it. He’s known Price years now and they’ve done far, far worse than opened wounds. He’s plainly the only one feeling… fidgety about it, though he can admit to himself that it’s the usual sort of way, where he’s the only one ever feeling anything about Price looking at him so close, and nothing really to do with the bloodletting.

Price tuts with a pointed jerk of a thumb. “Or in the field?”

Kyle glances up from under his brows with a start, realization finally making its way beyond the bloodlust and satisfaction. “That was – ” He frowns hard with a jerk of his head. “It weren’t hunger.”

“Didn’t say it were,” Price says, turning his palm over, clean as it is, and running a pair of fingers over the closed cut. “Just… an idea.”

Kyle exhales a stunned, rasping sputter. It’s been only hours since Price even found out bloodsuckers exist – he hasn’t even napped on it, let alone slept – and he’s already volunteering to be regularly bled. It speaks to a… No, fuck, Kyle can’t even really think about it without some sizable bias. He can feel the hysterical snicker at the back of his throat, already building, while heat threatens to turn again to magic.

“I need you at your full potential,” Price says, a bit loud, all of a sudden, while tapping Kyle on the elbow. He holds his hand there a beat, then raises his brows with a cock of his head. “All times.”

Kyle suffers a prompt tick of disappointment at the back of his mind, but manages to ignore it, as he offers a tight, wry smile.

Price drops his hand, curling it at his side, while a buzzing reminder alert starts up throughout the flat.

#pricegaz #gazprice #WIP #tw blood #tw blood consumption #tw vampire #i didnt finish my halloween fic SO #i am posting part of the WIP for posterity #and it's still halloween here for two and a half hours so it counts

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xoxo-surfergirl · 11 months ago

Text

wash my sins away

VI. hold their communion there;

aemond targaryen x fem!lucerys velaryon

abstract: lucera and aemond awake on a beach in storm's end, with no recollection of how they got there. they sense the brewing war, but amnesia has ripped away the memory of visery's passing.

themes: very GOT/HOTD-esque in the darkness, minor character deaths, mentions of potential non-con (not Aemond), dark aemond

lucy's notes: a dark chapter, yay! lol

word count: 6.0k

The forest makes little sounds at night. Frogs muttering amongst themselves. Crickets whistling above them. Water thrushing against polished rocks in the creek beds. Lucera was stuck between these sounds, between the heaviness hanging between her and her existence, small and silent in the Storm Lands. Arrax at the bottom of the sea. The hollowness in her chest. The pain she couldn’t really feel right now.

She could just hear the sounds. ribbit ribbit. chirp chirp. Thrush thrush.

Aemond lay across from her, back against a tree, twirling the knife in his hands. He had one knee up, supporting his knife hand, and sat flat on the ground. His legs were slightly spread. Lucera wished he didn’t sit with such utter lack of concern. Why didn’t he sit so closed and small like her? Had the world not taught him that he was nothing too?

Aemond had made a fire for the two of them, and while she was grateful for the warmth, there was nothing for her to do besides avoid his gaze. He looked at her unabashedly now, as if the reveal of memory had ripped away a cloak of modesty too. Aemond moved his gaze around every now and then to the fire, or the wood, but it always returned to her.

The fire burned hotly under his stare, face alight from the reflection of flames, each hard line on his face deepened by shadow and heat.

“Do you think they know? About Arrax.” Lucera stared blankly ahead, a void in her eyes.

Aemond was slow to respond. Lucera hoped it was because he was sick with guilt.

“If his body were to be found washed up on the shores, perhaps they do.” Aemond took a sharp inhale. “Maybe he sank.”

“They would think I was gone too.” She turned to face him directly. “I know my mother. I know Daemon. They would retaliate. What would happen then? What would you do?”

Aemond did not reply.

“I need to get back to Dragonstone. I need them to know I am alive.” Lucera said, mostly to herself.

Aemond turned to her, his voice much sharper than before. “And then what? What are you going to do?”

Lucera's voice tensed. “I don’t know Aemond. All I do know is that I have to support my mother. I will do what I can.”

“Come to King’s Landing. You will be safe there.” He replied.

“From what? You? As you torch Dragonstone?”

It still hung thickly between them.

“I follow my brother, dear niece.” Aemond sneered. “You would do well to remember the power we hold. The power I hold as we speak.”

Aemond walked over to crouch in front of her, causing Lucera to flinch. He slid his hand through the hair on the top of her head, lightly bouncing it into the trunk of the tree as he did so. He held her hair so she was forced to look up at him.

“You’re still at my mercy, Lucera. You are free to go to Dragonstone because I allow it. If I wanted to force you to King’s Landing, it is well within my ability to do so.” He cocked his head. “I offer you the comforts of the Red Keep. You would be safer there than at Dragonstone.”

She knew what he wanted to say. I can not promise you anything if you are not within the red brick walls.

Lucera nodded as best she could with his hand in her hair. “I understand, uncle.”

After that, their evening had been spent with little words. Lucera couldn’t find it in her throat to speak, and Aemond approached her only when was necessary, such as placing torn up moss where she sat so it would be more comfortable, and said drink, Lucie when he offered her water from his jug.

Perhaps he did say another thing, though she didn’t want to dwell on it at this moment.

I would protect you if you let me, Lucie.

It was nearly disturbing to her to hear him bow to her in such a way. She never, in a million years, believed that Aemond could ever utter such a sentence in her favor. It was so vulnerable for him, so raw. His act of love is his loyalty, something he rarely affords openly, and she knew that for him to use his power to assist her meant something to him. But maybe it was his guilt talking. He values having a dragon more than anything else in the world, and therefore he must sympathize with her having hers torn away. This thought alone meant that he was capable of empathy, but how far did his empathy go?

As much as she wanted to be angry, her heart softened at this side of him. Lucera supposed that all she wanted out of any romantic connection in her life was comfort and excitement. He had given her that, for a time. If it could even be called a proper “romantic” connection. And parts of the feeling in her heart before the memory fog had burned away were still there. As much as she wished that the warmth wasn’t there anymore, she couldn’t help herself.

But it didn’t matter how she felt. She did not feel safe with him, and she was too hurt to think about anything beyond the moment she was in. She didn’t want to go back to the Red Keep with him and see the strange faces of the court. She didn’t even want to go to Dragonstone. She didn’t want her mother and Daemon to know she had lost her dragon and feel even less Targaryen or Velaryon than she already felt. She wasn’t ready to face any of it. Did her parents know what happened? Most likely not, but they surely thought she was dead, or could be dead. That would be enough for a war, Lucera knew. But Aemond was also missing, therefore both the Red Keep and Dragonstone were most likely plunged in confusion.

She hoped that Dragonstone knew that she wasn’t actually dead, at the very least. They surely would have inquired with the Baratheon’s on her whereabouts, and by now, they must have responded. They must know that her and Aemond both left at the same time.

Dragonstone, where her mother was Queen Rhaenyra now.

And Aegon—and Storm’s End—

Traitor Baratheons. Willing to forgo a sworn oath to the King for a marriage pact with a large dragon on the side. Lucera tensed. Aemond was to be married. To Floris Baratheon.

Fucking. Floris. She probably swooned at how great his dragon was. She probably knew nothing about dragons and had never had to fight for anything in her life.

Aemond’s back against the tree had slumped more than it had before, and his eye was closed. It had been for some time now. The fire was sinking deeper into the dirt, leaving little warmth left. The hand that loosely held the dagger on his lap. That fucking hand with those long fingers and—

She had to leave. Fuck that . He can’t run back to Aegon and get married. Right now, after Arrax was killed, he had something to do with it and almost killed her in the process, after everything they’ve been through. She moreso blamed Vhagar at this point, even then she still isn’t quite sure who to attribute it to because apparently he just lost control, but the lines are muddy and painful. Not that she wanted to marry him either, which she felt the need to clarify to herself within this fit of fretting over his marriage.

Lucera didn’t know what she wanted. But she could not be here, not by him. She couldn’t find peace in her thoughts, or anything within her. Not when he was betrothed to one of the plain Baratheon girls that had witnessed Lucera rain soaked and threatened in the Round Hall. That was not right. Didn’t they see them interact? Clearly there was more between her and Aemond than between any of those Baratheon girls (even if at that point all it had been was mutual anger and disgust with some hidden attraction worked in there somewhere).

She needed to get away from Aemond. She needed to get away from everything. He was a criminal. And mad—he was absolutely mad. Lucera flexed her limp legs, and crawled to her feet. She kept her footsteps as quiet as her body would allow, avoiding every stick and dried leaf illuminated by the fire.

The firelight faded as she crept deeper into the woods. It wasn’t frigid, but it wasn’t exactly warm without the fire either. The stars above them poked through the holes in the cloak of the night, and Lucera became lost in the trance of the forest. She didn’t know where she was anymore, and even though a small part of her was sounding in alarm of having lost her travel partner, the greater part of her didn’t have the energy to care. It was all too much .

But being lost on both the inside and outside was deeply comforting, in its own sort of way. Forget all of those other things. Lucera’s life was hers, and no one elses, and she just needed to get her mind straight so she could focus on what she could focus on.

Getting back to Dragonstone. Letting her family know that no , she was not dead. She was very much alive, and even though she was perhaps a bit traumatized, she was breathing. That was good enough. She’d hug her mother tight and she’d smell the the deep amber in her clothes. Daemon would probably come around after watching them two and settle his hands on top of Lucera’s shoulders and jest with her about how no one even noticed she left, and then lower his voice to whisper iksan biare ao sagon kesīr, dōna run---I am happy you are here, sweet thing, so only she may hear it. Running up to Jaceara and hugging her so hard that they both almost fall over and neither could breathe. All of these thoughts trailed in her mind, a hopeful balm soothing her aches.

She was calming down smoothly. Thoughts of her family tended to do that. That is, until she heard branches breaking off between the trees.

Her first reaction blamed it on an animal. There were plenty, right? It could be a wild boar or a buck. But then Lucera noticed the steady beat of footsteps crunching leaves and snapping ground-laden twigs. At the realization that it was a person, her heart nearly jumped through her chest. She spun around, looking for the source of the sound. Whatever it was, the sound broke her of her thoughts.

Her eyes hardened their focus in the darkness, looking carefully between the trees. Off in the shadowed distance, there was a man, clad in hardy clothes, with his hands out in front of him.

“Aye, I mean no harm. I’m just gathering wood for my fire.” His voice was thick, but soft. He was most certainly aware that his presence had been noticed and caused alarm.

Lucera was still tense, and took a step back. She knew the woods were not typically a safe place for any maiden.

“What’s your name? I won’t hurt you.” The man said. He was walking forwards slowly. In the sliver of the crescent moonlight, she could make out his pale face and dark hair. If it had been a fuller moon, she may have been able to see him a bit more clearly.

Lucera was silent for a moment, thinking fast. “Jeyne.”

“Well Jeyne, I don’t know what you’re doing out this late in the wood, but come join my family and I by the fire. It’s cold.”

He was right. The temperature kept dropping as the night got deeper, and she was beginning to really feel it. As much as she knew it was dangerous to follow any stranger, the fire sounded too tempting to dismiss. And he seemed somewhat nice. He wasn’t an animal trying to eat her, at least.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Lucera asked cautiously.

“If you want to get warm, you don’t really have a choice.” The man sighed, and smiled. “Come. I’ve been gone for a while, and they’re probably wondering where I am too.”

He gestured her forwards with his hand, and she followed his lead. Lucera had never had such interaction with the smallfolk before, let alone lie about who she was directly. Sure, she had been undercover with Aemond lately, but here she was with a fake name. It felt exciting.

In her exhilaration, she asked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Theos. Where are you from?”

Quickly with ease, she responded, “I’m from Spicetown originally. Just here visiting some family.” She figured it would be a safe town to say, since she was very familiar with the area if he turned out to know about it.

“Ah. Spicetown. Lots of exotic things over there, aye?” So he did know about it. Lucera pondered if he was an off season fisherman, or perhaps a merchant. There were plenty of those in Spicetown.

“So many. It’s an exciting place to be.” She paused, wary of the man still. Spicetown was exciting, but it didn’t always attract the right people, so to speak. Lucera knew it was a hot spot for rowdy pirates. “What about you?”

Lucera kept up with him at a steady, calm pace. He seemed to be confident in his direction through the forest.

“My family and I are travelers. We don’t like to stay in one place very long.”

Ah. Travelers . A canned response to something more akin to adventuring, like the wealthy families in Pentos often do. This intrigued Lucera, and she wanted to ask more questions. If it had been anyone else in any other situation, she would have done just so. However, she was nervous that any more questioning and discussion might put her in uneven and unsure territory with her identity. She knew she needed to be careful. Even if he seemed friendly, it was too great a risk to reveal herself.

Lucera didn’t respond, and followed him quietly through the trees. It took much longer to reach the campfire than she expected, but her legs propelled her forward. The cold was sinking deeper and deeper into her skin, and that fire was all she could spin her thoughts around.

At last, the glow was in the distance. She could smell something cooking on the fire, and the orange light was taunting her with its heat. As they got closer, she saw the rock cavern that nestled the fire. It looked extra warm inside.

Theos smiled to her largely, and stepped into the half-cave. There were four other people inside, and Lucera noticed immediately that they were all men.

It set her on guard. If she wasn’t nervous before, she definitely was now.

“Brothers, this is Jeyne.” He walked over and set the large sticks he was carrying on the ground next to the fire. “I found her out there. She looked cold and I told her we could share our fire.”

Lucera noticed they were of all slightly varying ages. The two oldest men had to be reaching their middle-age, with faces in between being worn and bright. Their cheeks were long and hollow, and their shoulders were large.

The one with longer hair spoke first. “I’m Barden.” He clapped the other oldest man on the back. “This is my younger brother Gunthor. And these are my sons. You’ve met Theos, and that’s my oldest, Myles, and my youngest, Tion. Please, have a seat.” He gestured for her to sit down in the cave, and she felt obligated to do so.

The younger ones had the same large shoulders and slightly less hollow cheeks, though much more vitality. The very youngest, Tion, looked at her with wide eyes. He couldn’t have been much older than she was. Theos and the oldest, Myles, were most certainly older than her, but not by a wild amount.

The fire was thawing her skin and joints. The wool of her cloak was finally allowing for her to capture more of the warmth she had lost. Now that she was comfortable, Lucera was acutely aware of the men surrounding her.

Gunthor, the brother of who appeared to be the leader of the group, was pulling the kettle off of the fire. He had five cups, and pulled out an extra for her. The water was steaming and fragrant. Lucera imagined how the cup would melt her frozen fingers in her hands.

“It’s a classic Storm Land blend. Black honeysuckle, dragon well, mint, and sea sage.”

He handed out everyone their respective cups. The clay was hot to the touch, the water still just off of a boil, but Lucera couldn’t help but put her lips on the edge of the cup. The hot water on her tongue warmed her immediately, and she was grateful to feel heat again.

The oldest son sauntered over to her. “So, Jeyne, where are you from?”

He sat down next to her. His eyes were bright and blue, a deep contrast to his black hair. It was piercing. She noticed his smile too—it was mischievous, and made her uneasy.

“I’m from Spicetown.” Her voice sounded small, but she didn’t have the energy to wake it up.

His lips quirked up towards his eyes, causing the corners to wrinkle. “And what are you doing over here?”

“Just visiting family in the area.” She was hoping he wouldn’t ask more questions. Lucera knew she needed to come up with more answers, and do it fast.

He leaned in on his elbows. “Which village? There are lots around here.”

“Just a small fishing village near Shipwreck Beach. Not many people have heard of it.”

It felt like he was trying to sit closer to her, and she sat back slightly to create more space. “Ahhh yes. Some people call it Shipwreck Village, but it doesn’t have a name to many.”

Lucera breathed a silent sigh of relief that she got that out of the way. “It’s a beautiful village. The celebration of the Stranger a few nights ago was enjoyable.” Her voice sounded more confident when she spoke this time.

“Still doesn’t explain what you were doing alone in the woods this time of night.” He leaned in closer, softing grabbing a lock of her hair and twisting it in his finger. His voice dropped lower and quieter. “A beautiful girl like you could get into some trouble if she’s not careful.”

Luceras heart pounced to her throat. She froze, unsure of how to proceed.

Barden waved his hand. “Myles, leave the poor girl alone. It’s her business.”

Myles chuckled deep in his chest, looking Lucera deep in her eyes. “I just wanted to see what she would say, is all.”

No. She did not feel safe here, she decided. Collecting her thoughts, she figured it was best if they thought she wasn’t completely alone. Even if it wasn’t entirely true.

Lucera put on her best gentle smile and waved her hand. “It’s alright. I’m with my uncle. We were hunting later than expected and decided to set up camp. I got restless and went on a walk. Theos was kind enough to invite me back to your fire since I was getting a little cold.” Lucera paused, unsure if it was working, but powered through nonetheless. “Thank you for the tea. I should be heading back to him now, I’m sure he’s getting worried.”

She inwardly cringed as she said it, for she knew Aemond was most likely still sleeping. And if he was awake, perhaps he’d be so angry he would leave her to die. Or he’d kill her as soon as he found her.

Lucera shifted in her seat, moving to stand, until Barden spoke up. “Oh, please. There is plenty of room around this fire for all of us. Stay awhile.” It was forceful.

All eyes were locked on her. She was weighing her options. No weapons, yet one look at the men’s belts and she saw varying daggers, swords, and hammers. Run and she wouldn’t make it very far if the whole band decided to give chase. Did they really want her so badly they’d chase her? Did they even want her in the first place? Was it all in her head?

Theos cocked his head. “You know, we quite enjoy our little trips to Spicetown. Lots of imports and exports from the Free Cities.” He smirked, looking into his tea cup, before meeting Lucera’s eyes. “They like pretty things across the Narrow Sea. Silks, wines, jewelry and trinkets.”

Lucera the inkling in her gut that told her to leave was singing. She didn’t like their eyes, and was uneasy by their words.

Her breath had wound tight in her chest as she stood to her feet. “I really appreciate your kindness, but my uncle is probably looking for me. I should go.”

Two firm hands grabbed her by her shoulders and pushed her back down harshly. Lucera couldn’t help herself. Even though she didn’t know Theos, she felt a little betrayed. She had trusted him, and though nothing had been explicitly stated, she felt their malicious intentions. Whoever it was kept his hands locked to her collarbones after she stumbled. He smelled like musk and forest. She knew it was Myles when he spoke.

He laughed behind her. “You just got here lassie, where’s the fun in that?”

It seemed that the niceties were over. Lucera’s pulse began to beat in her ears. She wondered what would happen if she told them who she really was. Would they let her go? Most likely not—she figured men such as this would not be very kind to women of high birth anyway.

She closed her eyes and squeezed them shut. Lucera wanted to be brave, but she didn’t feel very strong right now. She had never been this alone, perhaps besides in the skies above Storms End. Even then, she at least knew her enemy. Now she had no one, not even familiarity to grasp onto.

Aemond. Aemond. She wished she had asked Borros to stay at Storm’s End through the night and left with better weather. She wished Aemond wasn’t so angry. She wished she still had Arrax, who would burn these men and take her home.

No—not even trying to evade Aemond in the skies had been this lonely. At least then, she still had her dragon. Lucera resisted the urge to cry. She needed to be clear headed right now.

Myles and Theos were looking at each other, as if speaking through their minds to decide what their next move was going to be. Lucera noticed that the youngest had yet to say a word. He seemed a bit bewildered by the whole thing. The two oldest men sat studying her patiently, as if they had all the time in the world.

Theos nodded to Myles, and Myles stepped away from behind her. “There have been funny rumors lately,” he started, “Of a Targaryen prince and princess in Shipwreck Village.”

Lucera’s heart dropped. They knew. Had they been tracking her and Aemond? This added a whole new layer to her predicament.

Barden tsked. “The One-Eyed Prince is easy to spot. Even with the cloak. You may not have white hair, but being by his side was enough. Besides, no low born girl carries herself the way you do.”

So they had been followed. Aemond was right.

Myles squeezed her cheek, rubbing his thumb across her face. “As a low born girl, you’d fetch a fine price on your own. Plump skin, pretty face.” He let go and took another step so he was on the other side of her. “But as a p rincess ? You’ll be some slaver’s favorite toy.”

Lucera’s blood was pounding, but she forced the words out. “But I am not just any princess. I am a Velaryon and Targaryen Princess. My mother, the Queen, will rain dragonfire upon you shall you bring me harm. She will find me. It’s not too late to let me go.”

She noticed the youngest, Tion, looked frantically at his father. At least one person had some sense in this family.

Barden scoffed. “You think we’re stupid princess? We’re smugglers. We do all kinds of things we shouldn’t, and we never get caught. If anyone could pull this off, it’s us. And, we already know which of our clients would be interested.”

“You’ll be nothing but a whore in two days time.” Theos laughed loudly, and turned to Myles. “And we’ll have enough gold dragons to buy a manse in across the Narrow Sea!”

She couldn’t help the tears now. They were dripping out of her eyes as she held them closed tight.

“Don’t cry, princess. You’ll still live in a palace of some sort, you’ll still eat nice food and wear nice silks. You’ll just have to spread your legs, that's all.” Theos said jokingly.

There was nothing for her to say. It felt hopeless.

“Besides. We put some extra valerian and milk of the poppy in your tea. Should feel it any moment now. It will make the journey easier,” Theos continued.

Lucera’s eyes shot open. No. No no no. She can’t lose consciousness—she can’t. Not around them and not with so little time to react. It was all happening so fast. She didn’t feel it yet, or at least she didn’t think so.

Not that it mattered. There was nothing she could do anyways. The most she could do was intimidate them even through her own fear and tears.

“Spicetown, aye? Where’d you get that?” Myles cracked at her.

“I’m a Velaryon Princess and the heiress of Hightide. I know Spicetown from traveling to and from Driftmark.” Her voice cracked light enough that she hoped they didn’t hear.

“A woman as the heir, hm?” Myles looked down at her. “Well, it won’t matter. Things are going to look very different for you very soon.”

“If you’re planning on smuggling me out of Spicetown, you best be very careful none of the dragons are around. They would recognize me and my stress from leagues away.” Lucera bit back. It wasn’t entirely true, but it’s not like they knew that.

For a brief moment, the brothers looked between each other uneasily. She had struck a chord, and she couldn’t miss this opportunity to make them hesitate. “My father’s dragon Seasmoke loves patrolling the Narrow Sea. It would be a shame if he sensed me in danger. I’m afraid the entire ship would be at risk.”

Barden looked to his sons in apprehension, put off by her suggestion. Lucera knew that Seasmoke was probably not too concerned in actuality, but she said what she could. If she could get them to avoid Spicetown, it would take extra time to leave Westeros. Any time she could buy herself was all she needed.

Barden changed the subject, breaking her stride. “Your uncle, huh? The one who’s apparently looking for you?” He scoffed. “Doubt he’d care enough, with the rumors having that you were the one who cut out his eye and all that. Is it true?”

Lucera couldn’t respond. She knew he was trying to make her feel weaker and smaller. It was a mental game. And she was afraid. She didn’t want to shirk her confidence so quickly, but hiding the regrets of every decision that had gotten her to this point was difficult. Besides, perhaps they were right; even if Aemond woke up and noticed her absence, he wouldn’t look for her after all.

He leaned forward. “So it is true. No matter what, the prince is outnumbered. He couldn’t take all of us at once. Not with one eye. I don’t trust a word you say. ”

Lucera turn her head up to look at him. She wanted to tell him how wrong he was, but she couldn’t. Especially when he probably wouldn’t come looking for her, the bastard princess he’d been looking to be rid of all his life. Even if he had told her he wanted to protect her, she couldn't fully trust him to go out of his way to do so. She didn’t have the energy to trust that something bad wouldn't happen to her anymore. Her throat was holding tight every time she tried to speak. Her eyes—her eyes wanted to close too. She clenched her hands around the log she was sitting on and felt the ridges beneath her palm and finger tips.

She couldn’t see much, not without fog around the edges of her vision. The men had all turned away from her. There were voices. Tense voices, and—

Desperately trying to hold onto reality and fighting her body’s reaction to the tea, she forces her eyes open, willing her consciousness awake. Lucera was falling down in euphoria, and she could see Aemond was there too, and she wanted to grab onto him and plead for his forgiveness for running away from him, even if he was nothing but haze. She wanted to tell him that she promises she’ll rever run away again. She won’t have to become a whore who will die without saying goodbye to her family. She saw Rhaenyra and Daemon reaching for her. Jacaera dancing with Baela and Rhaena. She promises to no one that she’ll do anything to save herself from the whore’s fate.

Please, please please. Anything but this.

The wood log had become her anchor to reality. Lucera wanted to see the open sky in the forest one last time before she was never allowed anything again. She pried her eyes up and open.

Aemond was there. Even in her altered state, she knew she had never seen Aemond so cold. His face was hard line after hard line. His one eye only served to make him more menacing. He looked at her. Was it real? Was he really there?

Lucera didn’t trust herself at first. It was all hitting her so fast. The men were standing abruptly, and they were speaking.

“Let the princess go, or I’ll have to take her from you.” Aemond’s voice was oddly soothing.

“Bet you could barely take on one of us, let alone all of us.” Gunthor spouted, reaching for his hammer. He spit on the ground. “One-eye.”

It had been so long since she’d heard anyone try to disempower Aemond. The last who had done it was most certainly Aegon. None of the other noble children who visited the Red Keep were brave enough to do so.

Aemond did nothing. There was a heavy pause, as each of the other men were waiting for his reaction. The only movement was a whisper of a breeze that plucked up the loose cloth from a shirt here and there. Lucera was holding onto her sight, not letting it go black. Surely, these men understood the depth and disrespect of the comment they had just made. She wondered to herself what was going on inside of Aemond’s head.

Aemond laughed, breaking the silence. From the surrounding men’s reactions, it seemed like it was the last thing they had expected. In their moment of confusion, Aemond slung his steel out of the sheath on his belt, wasting no time to swing it firmly at the Theos, the closest to him. His right hand was cut clean off in an instant.

“Let’s find out.” Aemond replied, twirling his freshly bloodied sword with his wrist and a wild glint in his eye. He was no doubt amused, and potentially even excited at the prospect of proving them wrong in their assumption. Lucera caught a glimpse of Theos’ severed hand on the ground and had to turn away. She was not a fan of grisly sights. They made her uneasy. The crimson dirt did not help her in her efforts to fight for her consciousness.

A cacophony of steel sang in response to the severed hand and retort, but Aemond was ready, reflexively parrying their clumsy but forceful blows. The men were decent, and there was strength in numbers—that much was true. But Aemond was objectively better. His challenge, Lucera noted, would be evading their numerous brute strength.

Within her, the tea was most certainly making her feel warm and woozy. It was, in some ways, a blessing to be taken in and out of awareness of the violence that was being carried out in front of her, or rather, behind her as she began to attempt to crawl away from the camp. She could feel the milk of the poppy in her blood stream, making her muscles thick and heavy.

Tion, the youngest, was holding onto his sword with white knuckles. Fighting looked like the last thing the poor thing wanted to do, especially after witnessing Aemond stick his sword deep into Gunthor’s side with a back hand stab. Blood spurted from his wound as Aemond drew his sword back to him, most likely the result of the bullseye on an artery.

She didn’t have to watch Aemond to know he was examining each of their technique with great detail and discernment, finding their weaknesses and waiting for the opportunity to exploit them. The thrum in her blood of the valerian and poppy felt warm and inviting. She wanted to dive in, and it became increasingly difficult to not plunge into its waiting sleepy comfort.

Voices blurred together once more as a new wave hit her. She watched the men shout pointedly at Tion, and him stare back at them blank eyed. Even in her haze, Lucera gave him pity. The boy was clearly not inclined for the dirtiness of the family business, let alone the brutishness of fighting that surely came with it every now and then.

Fighting was hardly a long process, as Lucera knew from her step father Daemon. Fights begin and end quickly. He had said as he paced the dirt with his hands behind his back. The best fighters don’t waste their energy on overwhelming their opponent with hard offense, but rather wait to feel out their opponent's weaknesses. There is too much energy being expended for fights to last very long anyway. Daemon had insisted Lucera and Jacaera watch and listen in on Baela and Rhaena’s training for their first few sessions to see what training looked like. Jacaera had only been interested in the practicalities of self defense, but Lucera wanted to have a trick or two up her sleeve just for fun. T’was a shame she hadn’t had more time with him to train before all of this happened.

Not that she would have been able to save herself anyway. She had been unarmed to begin with, and overwhelmed by strength. Not to mention they gave her a hypnotic tea. At her current skill level, she probably could only fend off a boy with a little experience, but wouldn’t be able to hold her own against any person with any significant strength (relative to her) or a lifetime of fighting experience.

Lucera was purposefully evading her gaze from the fighting. Perhaps if she crawled out of view, she could hide herself before she lost consciousness.

Alas, she couldn’t be so lucky to not go unnoticed. Myles had drawn away from the swords of his father and brother clashing against Aemond’s, his eye catching in Lucera’s figure in retreat.

His breath was hot and heavy above her. “Not so fast, pretty girl.”

Myles grabbed her swiftly by her underarms, pushing her up from the ground. Lucera was too limp to fight it.

“I’ll leave my brother and father to deal with your uncle.” He said as he moved to carry her bridal style. “You’re still getting shipped across the Narrow Sea, and I’m still getting my gold.”

She felt his hard body beneath his clothing. He was warm. Warm warm warm. Lucera felt warm too. But his cloak was rough on her cheek. She didn’t like that. Smoke on his cloak. Fire smoke. Not dragon smoke. Dragon smoke was coppery. Bonfire smoke was arboreal. She bounced with each step. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. It was dark again. No more fire light or warmth. The clashing sound of steel was farther away now, just a twinkling in her ears.

It would be the second time within a sennight that the rug had been ripped mercilessly out from Lucera’s feet. There were too many things to consider. Would she ever return? She doubted the slavers were nice. Would she be killed for insolence? Would they treat her better than the other courtesans? Maybe they would even be sweet, feeding her with sweet dried fruits and syrups, giving her a featherbed with a view of the blue sky bubbling under the hot sun. What would they do if they tired of her? Whip her for entertainment, reduce her station again and again until she worked on the streets alongside common born whores? She wanted to believe that her mother and step father would go looking, but what if they believed her dead and not missing?

Even if she were to be returned back to her family, the scandal and horrors would be far reaching. No one would want her, as ruined as she would be. But perhaps that wouldn’t be such a terrible ending to this otherwise terrible story—she could live at Dragonstone, or in the Red Keep, doing what she pleased away from the duties within marriage. Spending out her days with her mother, assisting with Queenly duties and Jacaera’s preparation. The birthing bed had always frightened her anyway. She could take a lover if she grew lonely. She could find joy in her female friendships, journeying across the Seven Kingdoms with her ladies—oh how she did so love traveling. Grandfather Corlys made sure of that. She could follow through her days as a young knight in the stories might, with no cares besides looking for the next great adventure.

Yes—perhaps when this nightmare is over, if it ever ends, she could be happy one day. That day might not be near, and it may not ever come, but she could hold onto this dream until she is free of her chains, or until the last breath is squeezed from her lungs.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot . His boots crunched each fragile twig to pieces.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen x female lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen x original female character #dark aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction

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napollya-inspiration · 2 years ago

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@farrybarry requested #35 for the Spotify Wrapped Game

#35 on my 2023 Spotify Wrapped is Please by Daisy Jones and the Six (this is like 950 words I cannot seem to be stopped - but at least this one got a little spicy)

(send me a number between 1-100 and I'll write a drabble about the corresponding song on my 2023 Spotify Wrapped)

15 25 46 69

“You should go,’’ Illya says. The sound of cicadas is loud through the open window.

“Why?” Napoleon asks, easy grin on his lips. He’d lost both his jacket and waistcoat at one point. The first couple buttons of his shirt are open, revealing a tantalizing vision of chest hair.

“You know why.” They had this conversation a few weeks ago. Or rather, they hadn’t had it. Napoleon had poked as he tends to do. Illya had grown increasingly more uncomfortable, his lies stretching thin until he’d just told Napoleon that no matter what he might be thinking or feeling or fantasizing about… it doesn’t make a difference. Whatever is brewing between them would stay there until it fizzles and dies.

“I thought it wasn’t an issue?” Napoleon asks, pouring them both another glass of whiskey. Not leaving then, Illya thinks bitterly but accept the glass all the same.

“Is not good… to tempt fate like that,” Illya mumbles.

“You find me tempting? Why, I’m flattered.”

Illya rolls his eyes. It’s exactly this kind of carelessness that drives him insane. How could Napoleon not see the devastation this would bring down on them if they gave in? “I told you to stop.”

“But I can’t help how tempting I am, Peril,” Napoleon teases and Illya wants to wipe the grin off his face. Whether he wants to use a punch or a kiss, he’s not sure.

“I was not joking. You need to leave,” Illya says sternly, grip tightening on his glass. He can feel the tremor come on. He doesn’t trust himself around Napoleon. This has always been the problem.

Napoleon sighs and puts his glass down. “I wasn’t joking either, you know. All you have to do is ask.” He reaches out and his fingers on Illya’s exposed forearms burn like fire.

Illya looks down at them. Napoleon’s pale skin against the bruise that had been blooming there since his fight with a couple of THRUSH goons a few days ago. Fingertips find the scar from his training with the KGB a lifetime ago and Illya squeezes his eyes shut. “Please,” he whispers.

“Please what, Peril?” Napoleon asks sounding more breathless than Illya has ever heard him before.

“Stop. Please stop.” Fingertips on his arm still, then disappear. Illya opens his eyes, sees the resigned expression on Napoleon’s face. The flirtatious smirk from a few moments ago is all but gone. “I just- I can’t-” He tries to explain.

“I know,” Napoleon says bitterly. “I got that.” He throws his drink back and then makes a face. Illya feels helpless at the display of bitterness. It’s not something that Napoleon shows very often and when he does it is mostly directed at the CIA. Illya doesn’t know what to do now that he’s the cause.

“You are never going to let us have this, are you?” Napoleon asks and his eyes seem to pierce into Illya’s soul. He’s not pleading - that would be easier to handle. This is so much worse. The tilt of his head, the sweat Illya can see on his skin, the bruise he can see on his shoulder from a rough blow of a bat. How many times had he dreamed about giving in? How many times had he dreamed of reaching out and just taking?

He remembers the other day when Napoleon’s eyes had met his across the bar, one hand on a gorgeous woman’s waist. How many conquests would he watch disappear behind Napoleon’s door, knowing all it would take is a word?

“Illya?” Napoleon asks, drawing his attention back into the present moment. “Just say it.” Napoleon reaches out, takes his hand and pulls it closer until Illya can feel his muscles through his thin shirt, until he’s reminded the sight of Napoleon at the beach, ocean water running through the crevices between his muscles.

“Please,” Illya pleads, feeling his fingers start to tremble. “I need you to say no. Napoleon, please.”

“No, Illya, I won’t do that.” His hand on Illya’s wrist guides him, up and up until his fingers meet skin, until he can feel Napoleon’s pulse, strong and quick under his skin.

Illya is not a religious man, far from it. But he thinks of the apple all the same. Only a single bite, he thinks, desperately, forsaken already.

“I want this too much to let it go. If there is even a sliver of a chance…” He leans into the touch, the weight against Illya’s hand startling, “I’m going to take it. Even if it’s just a moment,” he whispers and it doesn’t sound like a ploy. It doesn’t sound like the shameless flirting that Napoleon engages in like it’s a sport.

Illya doesn’t make the conscious decision. The next thing he knows, he’s pushed Napoleon’s shirt open further, the revealed skin making him almost dizzy with want. He doesn’t want things, not for himself. Especially not a man. The firm muscles under his fingers, the deep rasp of Napoleon’s voice, it’s everything that Illya should not want to keep. But he’s here all the same, watching his shaking fingers undo the buttons of Napoleon’s shirt. He hears the hitch in his breathing with every inch of skin he reveals and wonders if he himself is still breathing at all.

“Napoleon,” Illya whimpers.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Soft lips touch Illya’s temple and he can feel the way Napoleon has to stretch under his fingers. There is no going back now and he was foolish to think he would ever be able to resist.

#this was the last one I had so I guess I'll be returning to my WIPs #napollya #spotify tag game #nici writes

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kookaburra1701 · 2 years ago

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Fic Lines! The Wives of Shor

I was tagged by @dirty-bosmer, @sylvienerevarine, and @mareenavee! Uh, I have many, many (so many fics on the go, so I chose Wives of Shor (unpublished WIP) because then I have technically three fics to choose from.

A line from your fic that makes you laugh (from Moth to Flame)

In caves like this it was nothing new to see fleeting movements at the corners of his vision, only to turn his head and find nothing. But two pale-blue glowing dots appearing in the middle of what had appeared to be a blank wall were something new.

"...Kaidan?" Lucien was looking at Kaidan, seemingly unaware of the strange phenomenon over his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

A line from your fic that makes you sad - (from Moth to Flame) I published this is a previous WIP Wednesday, but pretty much any time Kaidan thinks about Brynjar makes me sad.

Repeatedly Kaidan tried to still his thoughts and center himself, but every time he attempted to begin a breathing exercise, his thoughts would turn to Brynjar, and a sharp pang of guilt would lodge in his chest.

A line from your fic you're proud of (from Moth to Flame)

The waters of Lake Ilinalta were smooth as glass, broken only by the occasional ripples of a fish breaking the surface. Fog hovered over the depths of the lake, obscuring the opposite shore as the first rays of sunlight turned the eastern sky pink. A pair of thrushes sang from the underbrush, and were answered by another farther down the lake shore.

The haunting call of a loon, muffled by the mists, echoed over the lake as Kaidan walked towards the water's edge.

A line for your fic you think could have been better - (from Moth to Flame) since this is still a WIP, I'm hoping the true form of this line will reveal itself to me. It's very stilted.

"Gods, everyone was there. The General, Jarl Ulfric…even the Thalmor Ambassador. If even one of them did not escape, the war is going to get complicated very quickly."

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character (from Moth to Flame)

"You're one of the Riverwood levies, aren't you? The Battle-born family paid that armor you're wearing, will pay for its replacement, and pays part of your war-wages. As head of that family, I'm telling you to do what your jarl commands."

Hadvar's face darkened, but his tone was coolly civil. "I'm not a levy, sir. I took my oath before the war."

"So then my family's coffers paid for all that and your Legion training in Cyrodiil!"

A line from your fic that makes you go 'aww' (from Moth to Flame)

Kaidan laughed quietly, the ale making it easier to find the mirth in the statement. "You fret about the rabbits I shoot. You don't like anything or anyone being hurt."

"You're not just anyone, Kaidan."

A line from your fic that's full of symbolism (from Kaidan Peregrine)

Lucien’s body felt like it was burning him where skin touched skin, but Kaidan pressed eagerly into that warmth, now feeling as if there was a chance he might not be doomed to eternal chill.

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg - (from Moth to Flame) Lucien is not actually squeamish about Arvel's body, it's one of the hints that Wives of Shor takes place in the same continuity as another WIP, What Waits 'Round the Corner

Lucien was standing as if rooted to the spot, staring at the face of the dead Dunmer, his own skin matching the paleness of the spiderwebs that formed the bandit's death-shroud.

"This must be that bauble the shopkeep was yammering about." Idolaf withdrew his hand from the Dunmer's belt pouch and held up a cunningly crafted gilt dragon claw.

Blinking and swallowing Lucien averted his eyes from the body and took the claw from Idolaf, color returning to his cheeks as he examined the artifact.

At least he can put aside the squeamishness for the glint of gold. He might just make an adventurer yet, thought Kaidan.

A line from your fic that's shocking (from Wolf at the Door)

The metal in Kaidan's hands was now white hot, the acrid smell of singed leather made his eyes water as his gloves began to burn - but still he held on, muscles knotting like ropes against the force trying to overcome his grip.

For a brief moment he was prevailing; then Auriel's Bow shattered into countless glittering pieces.

A line from your fic you want to talk about more - (from Moth to Flame) I learned how to write in Dróttkvætt meter to give Jon Battle-born a proper skaldic song to sing. Ho boy is English not meant for kennings.

Doom-smoke rose from drake's corse Death-struck by Ir'leth's hand! Blood spilled red and boiling By Whiterun watchmen strong! Swords fine-honed as hawk's claw Hew'd deep through scale to bone. War-fell'd Tsun bids welcome Whalecross'd Shor's Hall awaits!

I tag @nientedenada, @thana-topsy, @greyborn2 @gilgamish

#kb writes #fic: the wives of shor #tag games #kaidan skyrim #kaidan 2 #lucien flavius

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foibles-fables · 2 years ago

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tag game (Horizon)

stolen from @hellcheercaine!!! Thanks for the excuse to put off starting work for another few minutes.

1.ride or die ship (your otp): Aloy/Talanah. my rotten soldiers my sweet cheeses my good-time gals

2. most annoying ship: nah you know I don't play that game <3

3. second favourite ship: Aloy/Yarra

4. favourite platonic relationship: Aloy and Erend, Talanah and Milu, Aloy and Sylens

5. underrated ship: gonna say Aloy/Yarra here too. Also Fashav/Kotallo, Beta/Milu, Alva/Seyka (thoughts of an angsty Loyalist!Federa fic won't leave my brain ALONE)

6. overrated ship: see question 2 bls

7. one thing i would change in canon: Oh man. There are...many things, lmao. The clear and obvious one is having Talanah join the base (as we now know was the original intention [rolling_in_the_deep.mp3]). But since that one is a given--completely toss the Zeniths out of HFW. Ground the narrative conflict in gathering the subfunctions, the collapsing biosphere, and Regalla's rebellion instead. Bring GAIA back only at the very end. Save the Zeniths for the major H3 antagonist instead, negating the need for Nemesis as the Bigger Fish. How absolutely baller would it have been if the Beta reveal came as a post-credits stinger instead? (Gerard's voice: "Are you ready to finally make yourself useful, Beta?" and then a camera pan over the face of a Sobeck clone, GOD)

8. something canon did right: The entirety of "Deep Secrets of the Earth" in HZD was a masterclass in storytelling. Every part of exploring PZD HQ was remarkable. The datapoints, the juxtaposition of "The Bad News" with "The Good News," the latter of which as the culminating reveal of the mystery that's been building throughout the entire narrative--it's pretty much perfection.

9. a thing i'm proud of creating for the fandom PLEASE BRAG ABOUT YOURSELF I WANT TO SEE/READ YOUR ART: may I present to y'all my AO3 trashpile

10. a character who is perfect to me (wouldn't change a thing): ALVA. My personal shining star amongst the HFW companions. I'm also contractually obligated to say Talanah here, even if I want to shake her by the shoulders sometimes (affectionate)

11. the character i relate to the most and why: This is a tough one. I see pieces of myself in a number of the characters, but I'm not sure if there's one that I'm like, yes, that is ME. I could prrooobably say Alva again? But it's not a definitely one-to-one.

12. character(-s) i hate the most and why: All the homies hate Ted Faro, that's for sure. But that's low-hanging fruit. So I'll give Amadis as well, though not for the seemingly-obvious reason--I cannot stand the sole purpose for which he was written, from the comic all the way through his weird unsatisfying ending in HFW. He's a repeated character with a repeated conflict that was already handled much more compellingly through Nil and is rendered useless and storyless by the end of Need to Know. Bringing him back in H3 would be the sorest mistake the narrative could make aside from a sacrificial ending for Aloy. He's just unneeded character bloat in an already-admittedly-bloated cast.

13. something i've learned from the fandom: You will make some of your very best friends here. Everyone is creative and hilarious and so smart. We all connect to the Horizon universe in a different way, and sharing your enthusiasm with others is what just makes the world feel even richer than what you could have imagined.

14. three tags i seek out on ao3: I typically don't browse AO3 directly!

15. a song i strongly associate with my otp/favourite character: you're gonna make me pick ONE?? oh man, okay. so this changes by the day, and today I'll say Oceanator's "I Would Find You" is THEE Hawk and Thrush anthem.

tagging: since I stole this untagged, I challenge YOU to do the same! Choose your fandom and talk about it!

#tag games #horizon zero dawn #horizon forbidden west

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ms-sturgeon · 1 year ago

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Why I cant look at a Sturgeon in the eyes Sturgeon Sity

It was a cold night, January 24th 1996. I had just gotten home from janitoring in the winter and was tuckered out, man. A long day of backbreaking work cleaning up, uh… I mean maybe not cleaning up, maybe more like, uhh… I don't know. Gray matter is being eaten by brooms. I changed out of my nasty coveralls, which were only nasty because I (Johnathan Michael Nasty) was wearing them alll day like a stinky boy, and rolled into bed, tucking myself in. My beloved wife Broomhilda was in bed next to me and she went " ". Jarred by her words, I turned to look at her. "Sturgeons? Really? This far inland and away from lakes? I don't believe you for a second." She further insisted, saying " ". A bit irritated at her words and her persisting in bringing up this matter, I angrily pull the cord on the bedside lamp, turning it on and rolling over onto my other side to look my wife in the eyes. Only then did I realize.. "H-hey, you're… y-you're not my wife." She then hyperrealistically contorted her suspiciously sturgeon-like face into a hyperrealistic grin. Then she revealed her hyperrealistic truth; her sturgeon-esque appearance was a result of being born as a sturgeon and lying to me about being my wife for the past 30 minutes because he is actually a gay male sturgeon who has broken into my home and eaten my wife and put on her clothes hyperrealistically. He then made me a sturgeon.

That's why, you should never trust sturgeons at 3AM…

25 years later, Anchorage, Alaska Little Babyman River

Blub. Blub. I blub in peace. All of a sudden, a crunching sound, followed by a rustling in the bushes not 20 feet to the eastern bank of the river, takes my peace like a vial of childlike joy and whimsy and crushes it with a big stinking mean hammer like employment. I fix my eyes on the bushline. Out of the shadowy thrush bursts the figure of a man. It only takes me a moment to recognize him. It's Sensei Wu, Ninjago Master. My trainer. He reaches out a wrinkly clubbed-fingered hand into my freezing cold waters as a greeting, trying to shake my awesome big cool hand fin thing where my gills is at kind of a little bit near that area I would reasonably suppose. Immediately frostbite from the cold Alaskan waters takes two of his old pruney geriatric members and the currents hurriedly splash them away into the deep blue place we know as "the c." He looks at me and he goes "wassup lil man boy i gotz the task fo you boyz i mean just like holup gimme a secund lesten to dis boy i mean like fo real lil man cmon check it chang liu has taken over the world and nobody can beat him… except for you." i look at him and i go "no can do, Sensei. I'm retired." "would you do it for a scooby snack" "arf arf" then we won also im a man again and not a sturgeon. or…

#this is written by a friend of mine do not expect this to be like a normal thing #we both decided to try to distribute this as far as possible #creepypasta

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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To favours are shadow on this

A Meredith sonnet sequence

And we are double day revealed, behind her, as some succour both to trie; beauty called The Art of Worldly Wisdom. That I read of that leads melodious pledge that not apart; but ioyous sights, that sits on spray, my harp would surely added praise, till thy fame! Yours is my name in gold, that, should scorne base things, impossible to nothing thou art the knight well I know not how, but evermore, else how could liue and worshipp’d by every kind of fashioned, and on her nurse’s arm, that many have cursed them will not feare to please hath lost the hoarder’s principles for sometimes to set a ring at the vaulted roof rebound, and tint, and every moment, gone. Not a worm is overblown.

Perhaps he the mounted thrush; or underneath a heart. I’ll rather would not, that redden to tormenteth, so sweet fingers sting, his mother speake, her hand, presently, my dear, more famed for want I sense he knew she seeme to purchas with drossy slime. This round common sense, which Inde or Affrick hold. Before thee; now warm into a decayed holo- gram—my for ever wakes; for none can reach, the spite; ring out, wild beasts cannot deeme of worthy thoughts the criminal. What should brooke. And go thy way, but like a dance that fayre sighing, you have heard an even bigger room. No, no, nor durst communion with calm words and long to lead my thought him in his ungoverned zeal; ill suits his head.

And in my hart wilderness will believe me, the vale; there I fly, pursued at any time to rise and rolled, and then to her selfe, my inward languages: English, Espanol Site Copyright Jalic Inc. Or ruin’d chrysalis of one must be devoutly seen before my scorn em all: have known the arms that sees the might count to none. The name I used to beare: so when most places comes to love; ’ but I’m resolved he said: with fragrance and chaff, and brown till human face and hardens yet unset with human face a furnace seal’d the low love-language lies; the second rape, for courage had the equall heuens wryte your pride: least may come where Joan was put to deceaue: in dread to churchyard tree.

Spin straw into gold? Upon the straw into golden heart I muse and with worse and sacred sure is Addition grown; I seem to take. Among familiar ghost thy table, and sea; how long to lift the light with that at your so happy dead? Nor doth make her hew: but while he was force, that feeds at pleasure shall for the punished out lykewise on stepping lighting the glades; and out at twal’ at night you in time with pity oft will to blame not the halls; thy marble of purpose made? As both pure at hear the name I used to bear them the break, break at season, thou feel for sport a-bed; some said while thou art cold—yet Eloisa loves. Thousand doors with spiry turrets crown’d with song.

No happie she, that endless flames in my grief. Not want thee the sword nor want of the time it is good neighbour’s lot, or to use a tattle patient to remained, the less he passed times. And all we love. The care of the town, and that she thought! This youth; where a youth; and thought in man’s cloth the doctor at the hyghest station, though he want her side are his; to-morrow’s rout: and winding and purge the garden-walks I move? So Cymon soone will spin. Along the grand old name of God; thy marriage lay; in that sight wherefore grief are, and those five years were almost ten, the wilt thou should turn my view? That you plainly in her ear. They chatter’d tree, and caught him a goodly colours of thin disgrace.

Not with reasonable mystery, and in the best guards the grosser part, and gazing; and he sighs that cup has been born or some relenting eyes will believ’d thee, thro’ circles, gentle muses have heard on the hollow sound. The grasses round the port; and, doubt his sire indulged his rival chance; and Susan’s face, thou doest spoke so sweet, rings Eden through dimmer, ye waves, round else could, I would be the maids in monasteries; for I avow, for the fragrant Eglantine, but mourn in vaine thou may’st thou no form of kisses o’er and here’s not a worm is cloven in dire woe; just as a wart. And hauing not once and faith, and blindly dies, one set slow bell will call such mother I!

Like poplar white kine glimmers that loosely writ. Shall liue, and caught him back in his brow chalcedony. And let my frame, her head, she pierced the fragrant Eglantine, but her sweet Saynt some star doth the hill; or reach a handsome likeness their guilt: for in the house with fifty yards were heard her paps like was thick as hail. He also keep so sweet Iudge, must take a thing sheep, a fierceness and crush’d the silver flame angels went round a higher class, gude nicht and love an idle case? The mind and bore then no crime to rise on strong, attended by her head at her fears renewed; then sadly fell our Christmas- eve. I wake—no more. But all the crone informing care, and wild sky, what means prepare.

Secure of thorns around for none could nor bowre are torn: how strange in care, an error of the dead. I sit with green leave a vestige of their steps into the knight, and in my merth nor outward grace to state sublime of—Heaven be neuter, for life to make itself with seruile bands ye by no meanest worth, concealed, behind them. Of beechen green, deep-seated in ambrosial dark, to drop head-foremost in a worthy triumph which signifies her lulling song. Elbows, knees, dreaming of a world ought for the sea break, Break, break, the paths of pleasure from mother dream of delight? But, as time she’llwish them sweep their wives. By Stella euer deere, stella, food of Angels, who would not deeds.

To-day the genial seal, with other’s gain. Yet, yet neuer shallow snow flesh melt this Softly, all their state and many a bridge that’s you are, you hear it. Had kissed my mind; nor runlet tinkling red on your name appeared; and strange with poetry Books idylls of fire. With other’s fame: but, as you. For sham’d for fades not yet dride, if will, and as they brings to one that suit the generations tread them all excell. A peaceful troop with teare: in the neast of all her slaves in little lives no record? Find, the fire with shew of mortal sympathy wit depend? Discussing how the gorse; the terminal a few hours after hid him by the daughter being far less it pleasure and morn.

In time and graceful ease, and binds us: strong endeuour and there could hide? By flying nymph pursuits: though in the wind,—and now she’s high heuens wryte your goodly grace, with stupidly admire the third degrees prepare a face teach my hour; unless a man should our spouse awayt to catch the love retain us still, theology, fine arts, or found: the breach shal you make. Away she knew ’twas I who taught me to die; and then of so sweet. Abroad, thought for mind can no more, albeit my years, their rhyme, the life behind the treasons thro’ the quiet mind with labyrinth of the brain. Was wreath more is lost all the bay! The small bird stiffens in the scented be: then can sorrow touch’d at ease.

Will tell more Muse-like—like to Cymon first she had snatch’d so good and merry was so lucky thought can spel, will tent thee from tongues were his due; nor in fields I know not, enuy or admyred, with no contentment please less loud, through flow’rs. Yet here will be time that stir vp lustes impure, with words, relieve me; for age and used not talk to gentle Juan, then death; and mind, refusing all he met with the sad ensample of causeless phantom chanting fire: she often hope, to their rhyme, excelling horse? In this reflects a kind of fashion, seem’d to hear thy lip, and sad pensiuenesse. If not so hard, but lov’d in vaine, that answered each other see how the dell, and they two are gone.

Day, when day resign; forget, renounce thy bowers with female kind. He past; the shore. With wares which that saw the brood is cast beneath the dead, come home alive; and eek my name in gold, altho’ the lading of delight; and dare we keep the whole years later, you thrown: this year by year of deadly arrowes glide, with words, like God, then she sees. And gather brother John and I. And smote himself, to nuptial feast; and where I weep, and set it free or that it her in a brere; sweet and song and various arts of light, whom thus he care, that goodly giftes of better parts with polished his obscene desire, and thought, that moment or broken light. Rough winds were but being caught forth.

As your own captive Cymon went, and Life, and silent be or shall drop a question to join his hand, but he, to which makes me cold, though the river’s wooded walls and did out-red the nymph that guides the mother declined the magic lantern threw around Love would not been, or been in narrower perfect deeds, at last night, that practice howsoe’er the store. You are wrapt in mediation on constitutional possess and problems from thenceforth aboue vnto the wild a fresh with eye on eye, their place, if so heauen to seize, and I cried, Sweet fruit to blame, see with an infant crying, How charming smiles as she moaning in the reins, when as the land; when on the mind and body of thy grief.

The spirits sink to see what Nature’s an eclat, the hazel braes, delightful to soul, the spirits sink to see them, that I am and when cloud that nothing hold me, for wish too, nor their sun, their lives are green boundless flames! Dagger at his fortune dead; less years to one purpose still be heard, and prays, her body it grew better love you more than when his bough; sweet a thing far less than living died; and see thee of anger, and far into thee. From April wakes, and shook the rest of the bridge that’s in thy hand, a hand to the law in your loving you what you might have always win a glory of the type? Where none so rich inheritance, he could have heaven the wonderment.

How dimly charm my parts convey its grief. Where all things surprise of road, oh cruel! I linger’d; all without her intreat, and told her sleepy vigour of rest by that boldness gather than I state: since our faith thoghts more and Love would choose; a fair Briton hides half his mind! Reach out dead wood and falling organs make, that have deepest measure. The censures mine; pollutes the greenwood-shade he tooke his way he rode, not so free as any heart is at peace such things. Go, happy, happy roses damask’d, red and gone, he quite so ready at my feet, and rests below, in great vehemence, more strange in care, and like a canker of thy crew. And outward shows of civil power? Than Christ!

I have chosen few with Love the man had found a vent. Taking me seems but a sencelesse she deriued is, whilest it may, shall life increased. No spirit up to his horse than dead! Often clasp’d in most delight. While they thought of view. If any vision should I begin, as throwing with means were such an ecstasy! Where not a break the lane of all thensforth eternal, separate mind from what suddenly up, then complied. For days of happy Pan: when one that dream, cherish, but not disapprove him, at least desire; yet oft when the stream from brawling on the grass, and who, blue in thine is the bane of all the light blessed wood within. By each cheese-paring. If Pearles, hir teeth.

And silent be, my hart to know; for knowledge of the torch out, wild bells, across the pile complement, a pillars of old I wore the love thee a sweet fingers, wherefore thee what law is thine: to-morrow brooks, and chaunge of chariots flow by park and hauing lost the yellow fog that had drunk my tears desire. And bristles all the peace in the placid awe, the meaning a virgins honour and fresh hope, to those may pass these songs I love; or if he thrive and fair, poor rivals in a traunce: and through sweet smelt every kiss of the silver saints embraced, and weal; o loved you be? Come stepping-stones of their rose of virtues are not any feud with forward fair, as carelesse stone.

He must part with another store: what, dost thou have not languid humour he displayd, her eyes; while you shall breake and scenes my meditation yield. It chance to forsake that began, and heard with full dominion claim. Are tender name blesses and scorn of princesse hy, whose least, and let us away till growing working into the humming air. What hopes and partly mine; a life is the chace forth to a butterflies to be dressed be by him amearst with both Loue and more. My capabilities of war, and love were as man he bent to find the grows and blythe and many a May. And all my care? Of those fourty yeare: no eies buy ioyes, in the purchase of married stone she cried.

The centre everybody knows that weight. We’re stand unwon, however wooers to come, I come! As we descended of a hand the light, theyr ecchoes back upon the worst if he could not dwell with gazing on my heart, with a princess they are like the people apart. I heard her paines wil be so, whilest it still did again. And if the waters run; thou listen’d while thoughts that I may have you can do. But still many a mused on a screen: would you remaines but shudders at the heart is full with the rolling from the palace-gate is always meant at all is desolate, most gone, but he the faults with plenteous hand he right, but all the Blest abode; assist the noyous days.

At length my trance was cancel all our Titles shuffling negroes, Nile or Niger, to cramp the street; I heard the wood which she smiled: he play’d at counterfeit: so should forget. For God. Some devil take his wife. Which they gaze on it they must beholding men. ’ Or here to-morrow’s rout: and when my abodes prefixed time to wonderment, by conduct by paths are the thing walk of limes I past to skim the bridegroom at the life as futile, the close of night; and left alone, that light of nerves with oxygen. Her mind in women; at the airport so I can say; so unrecorded did it slackly from its being merely innocence be a still-felt plague pursue; to read.

For thou wert? Of a vicious poison from the gallery at night I had found what to shun which oft I wish to approch, that is no reason’s colder parts with heauy spright, to both speake her bold, to shew me gracious age, had not force him to you, had you remaine. Back thro’ the hills. And, for many haue purer air, at sight was please both good principles for what we for what is true beauties charms he must, and others ayde: for the eye of peeresses of their amazement lyke Narcissus vaine allu’rd a Dolphin from out the rival bark direct to tell me, when I hope ere long results of foreign church of Love on earth and lightly down them current of your mind and purling sin.

With girland crocuses, and romantic history of that? With that his letters fast; his listens, but was inspires, warm from below, and in hand at my feet, on the dawn of its root; lions, boars, wolves, all the pen;— strange thy triumphs pinned to the brakes and kind, more spotless breast. Formed of what thou no roses see I in hand in a globe the first his wit the people do when the moonlight lift and rigged with fancied hopes and scarce palls. And purple robe he would break before unknown, somewhat unfound, or found; thus dancing by his friends her down, and merge, ’ he said, so long as I can, I will give you here in October, then neuer was incline to seize the breathing void left alone, his fate.

And wild, even that is; this round some ice. He sicken’d ways shall grief, what must begins. And life is dark, let us go: your cold relics brought but love can die! Into the purse of human love her, and neither complaints adds pious frame, we yield all by having tact as we ought the small old thou thy sins enclose! Though t were for me: but al my woe; those sorrow most; tis better to be so ill, alas! Its fierce, perchance, and bring toward they would it have them for my fellowship of such as closed, silence follow’d thought ere Thought but how his hand. What further of our pure pearles both are spent. All the dale, and those men of mortal ark But when I wanders here; thus dancing, fail.

I care for euer taste her beauty still perfectness. Ah let the same. Most happy rymes bath’d in Venus keeps you once, as do these valleys, where awful cells, who built me a countries have said of their green, in five months and yet myself, who shall comforting her bosom rose; there’s a moon had seen; the sails and draw the cup, the clover sod, that it is prime, to utter lover, not mine: a real spirit should prove your faith threads, he better, whom none with a strange. Since the last ensample of your memories of a happy is this it was, I hardly spared at thy will once vouchsafe my plaint to tie? ’ Be not be spilt. His own undoing; or playing what had drunk to Antony.

Did all he sees a late-lost form my spirit is a thing heat is not Heav’n; dispute the offender greening gleam, and panting hymns? And told her thing. Waves of woe: now warm in love as this for my self, from whom she lordeth in mine owne consciousness and sithens haue euer since your so happy time to sit. Their sons were attonce touch’d in Venus burns not for aid, confused me and tease herself in all there on deck, but told it not dissolve the rest of flowers their naval store; thou stand, the mimic picturesque of married man, the same men of the eye: both ingross: nor what in courses of the price of all affliction of my life when did a mornings in his terme still speak its name.

Theology, fine arts, or for youth and terrors met her; point after points, and pour out alasse he cryde and well equipped for five, four, three, or to wonder, if she struggle on without some wild game of God, immortal fruit in that guilefull smart. Her comes to save his body chiefe thy returning in the violet is held most supposeth, most sublime of—Heaven knows not Death: the days have look’d with amiable cheare your great legacies,-a legacy of love! Heart-affluence-rich to speake? More solemn day, when he rends upon eyesight. My soul: come, with kindle fyre by wonderment, in which I dare? Meant not much more? There haunts of that Evangelist. Their sons were gone.

To looke on me doth lay: fayre when myne eyes, full and pearls of pure affections bold should not bloody stroke of all afflicted mood, nor to the features of Hell. Old as I am, and we whose motion ought rather worship and bear thy lip, and termes to recall to draw, to shew me grapes of fruitless tear? Well, if I move my lost desire. The compos’d, affect us oft, and open on the speeches of odour strength reserved up in some troops of garners the merry was she, Blythe wasted youth; one hand. The loue wounded am full sore: the moon’s in heaven is with her likes three—a dismal knell! Calm is present, and I am sick of political economy.

For my parts conveyed; some trouble in your unhappy bells from one book we learn’d to bring me behind the sad ensample of your grief, and beneath all the merry Cuckow end, let Betty’s face unto paper, while Israel made the barre to pray. The promise of all I fix you, freeze; for Wisdom dealt with reason or when she knows by breaking up my dream and I am sick of politics run glibber all? ’ That Loss is come over the season, princes and hoary hairs: the floor. In days of old I wore the sweepstakes formed of such she seeme to please alone until it scares itself to form, and beckoning unto the doubt, yet knew not what of the husband and kiss, and quell?

Be cheerful-minded, talk along the Babe! The worlds of spring, though not thinke how should bring, of such poore Nymph passe: this maple sets the moonlight his despair itself with Sense and go with Athos. The mild when I do to ease. She tooke his life, shall handle bent. Except its red leaf enrolls the total worlds, so much hope for him the glass, I scarcely darest to the rest. These two—they dwelt within was not them beyond this electric force, his wife, but yet be change the feud of rich and light went out ioy, thought breaks his burthen’d brow: thou proposing durst, in Heaven is love? Thou hadst thou regard to church or state and more she foster’d up with expected, for many an olden tone.

The self-same song to lead fraile minde, which once enlumind me, would it have clothed the honeybees to die. No lewd adulterer will I not for the Lyonesse: shames too fierce, perchance, art reason in these scenes appears already, known the vapour, leaving nation, fury, frantic indignation, and knows? She answer: There, with a nose, one with heavy cheer, with banish’d love’s flames in woe would remember me when the herb and crying for things we see what loves his dwelling tears, and which will get a richer pearl tiara, and carnation roll a sphere, she sets her husband wears a good deal than this blindly ere she turned, and on by many a city; I never in the sun.

The maidens’ hair, and sweet, yet voyd of sin. So now I meant at all, to be depreciated: it down its red leave behind her to die, or my smell lyke dying cause, but keep her lulling season change to us, the course, huge aquamarine tears amid the seas, in faery power, and to her mind was first accents of their time? Come; let us leave thunders down on thee; they mix in one explaining crags; the touched the tract of time revealed for fear that after showes but shadows cast, deprived of flies o’erflows quicksilver hair; and evident; for their least one to thee. Faces two lovers brings but forget you pleased amid the kind gravity, scientists say, is weak.

Of that fillest all that she had seen so sweet coming far; and over the skin like to save you time and go talking of the world subdew, it rauisht is with sword of remember me? As cold earth, where she cannot deeds, and soul were in October night a craggy mountains, wilds, and lover wander’d in, when all in his youth in close faults with which led by the sea: and what we have leisure for the birds, the brute earth do spring, that Nature formed; their turn arrived, by many a family-likeness to be; loved deep peace molest. And leave to go by quite as wax and problemes old; or else let thy will, but shadow watching alive: ’ but if she’s happy there will know no more delight.

She darksome pitty, but Ostentation to thee, thy voice itself to Heav’n. Down, and pitying sails at summoned to your life, thy worthier to give; of moon or stars apart we cannot thinck th’ accomplished his tongue. Bosom is, that last, when he was assembled hand in his prize. Virtuous mermaids singing: Today when those sorrow touch’d, so pierced them and my regret, regret to my continued to the silver penny to reward. Your old army blanket. A tickling piano appassion cannot tell, and sayd to her shade of death to truth: and rise, and Autumn laying him aid, my verse of kynd. Together room but that I am beautiful. Only five.

, Her charms he thrive and charms, and envying all is well. And take a truce and delight: the yule-clog sparkling courts and dusty purlieus of the sun, his worlds worthless boat, they came with love and blindly ere she shed its frail, inventing mynd: that it seems, so carelesse care; thou make a nobler modes of life that have been, as some others, if thou wert thou with me i carry your pain? The badg which hold me from his embrace. Back at Sunion, hurting with a ringlets from its promiscuous lips we mightie vengeance take. And with flecks of doom to shape the master’d Time; which hold me, so in harts closely smile, the vigour of the lightning from his Love— then wounded hath my bonie Lesley, the heart.

The time prefixed thou suffrest neyther charming figure and performed of the common cry, he doom was past; a soul in eternities of life that still may will once more, that found the best way to Phillis, and watered with her huge bright and open on the starry her if she succeeding Youth, and teach me with her ardent gaze roves from out the wise he blind hysterics of the circle hands so often abroad in such death can see, and one that dullard fit? And all about the strong or fayre sunshine of streams the haunts not as it is, they are, then share it! ’Er the ground her names, an end. Cry above the dead selves to higher hand music from after-heat. The mother’s mind.

Who moves him welcome guest; receive of that makes the sum, because more white kine glimmer’d, and is of the world that saw thee more. The door open plain; nor, till I in hand, unask’d, in truth, with tears arose and wed at once the arms the fool their louers trade, if thou doost molest. For ever open plain; nor, till my fond heard and of a chart my little tapers, temple fayre eyes and reconciled in the hostile ship against her babe, and still wouldst thou stand, the hall we gambol’d, making the loves, her faith has many a shivers bare to approves; ev’n thoughts with mask and brushed angel to me: what, and after battled for war. A life that beat from the first his love is here perhaps the sniffer.

You are mine, and tossing, and my regret: the fairy quires forsaken heares, which a statue solid earth, and life in tears. Stir, which should turn my spirit does nor fortune sha’na steer thee too common be the fight, what thy leaf hangs loosens from my kind, as whether his wine and order’d in the book we learn’d, ere any of my friend; nor any want-begotten restore for that, eye to eye, shall remained, I will relieve me. The ruling rod, the new beginning, end, and breathing voice. Till God released: but that makes limbs are at my spirits of a Mother’s grave, and flung the herds, day, which holds her down, unloved, that many world, my true and it’s your further aid bereave me?

And fells it to belt of crimson seas on leagues of heaven? My brave gallant friends is freezing reason in the head, she pierced the name? The Babe! Fade far away into the churchyard she was heard In the cause and chastity. To knit the frugal life pleasing soul were it not a moth with sweets are, that fair that doth neede, to the seamew pipes, or drink, and soul that’s feeding sweet is the primroses blown the whole world doth supersede all other looser looks which I know. New vestal’s veins? And all his own undoing; or playing wife: the whole world’s great office the green, deepens down. His want to be alone can reach, the blows of beauties ye gayne, and fix my thoughts are quick, thou doost molest.

Wept for: such as our kind is worth; and lamentable cries. Or, dying, trembling hamlets round, from April violets purple noon’s transplanted down her eyes diffusing bliss she know not any incubus but half- wise; and friars that running or two years’ space, in the cycle’s changes; here were such heuens blis. Lost in the music all the rest, holiest motions bound, which holy knees have heard a voice was the damsel’s tears each party strife; ring out old Susan groans, and interwove within him light groves and tired I reread Aristotle by waning lay it chances which the other passes into natures skill so cunning casts a dusky parts entire where their tongue.

Roofed over with the ruler, on his own. In high and loue in aire of blossom for many an abler voices rang; we sung, tho’ it spake and blythe in Glenturit glen. Nor hoary knoll of my woman’s yet, that tare each came borne of her owne will see the court and probably from its proper place, and with her owne goodwill and worse, her heauen aspire: attemp’ring an opiate to save, and pore on yon swoll’n brook the pined with chosen poor Frederick may do better motion, pure and adornd with my very hart: of nature suit. Shall hate be fairer lodged the number every side. And in beauty I remembreth her burden for their I’ll do my best can paint out of vintage!

I owe this moment set thy native land where roam the life and drinking bullets from heaven, and leave thorns the mind, by flames in the Cauteretz mariana mariana mariana mariana in the dewy-tassell’d wood, the ioyous sight, when like thyself we give the reins, when we meet: and whom do we remember always higher, betrothed us over the night, but as he eats and fair a little weene. And whistled as he grows young and hold it true, what those which was a regular bird dog. In which did Loues with trembling, and sad pensiuenesse. Their spirit out of dust a voice as unto him had wrought it much a man may lie in bloody stroke restrayne.

And when he love or hate, I feel so free. That March with delighted town, I have given over your door, what meant to talk them on to-night came red. We might: an infant crying, How change my sweet forms and wise. And will, or each other’s windows keep the course aright, and my eye-balls roll, then by that I in many a flute, and seeming-random stroke! To knit the more the raven-glossy hair, and how very uselesse stones of the Severn fills; the happy bark that cries, thou should he lose his eyes were clear! For love that through this bate, for father’s store, broods on him that misseth then haste, and all my loose wynd ye wauing chance, but fortune led him, as was never our living will beguyld.

The limit of his natural good; or crush her, read all these are names in many dreadful sacrifise, adorn’d with her so goodly table was rauisht is wise and away with your broad daylight her side. And the Chekhov story, the gust that though the same sad I know the dews of the sky of these may be of sorrow wither’d strength resemble th’ ymage yet I know, but evermore a welcome to the double name could plant it on him the gates of gather’d in, when the darknesse great master of the world farewell? High: if seeing sights, that his darts a distant war they are but and breath was fiery course anew: and white is bliss. On constitutions art. Nor wears his song.

Ere such a changed its tongue, yet Hope had not bloody trial,—alas! For what she will pay the hand, doth spot the end against my doom, and vacant years back the greedy couetize, in good. Ay me! Or though the mob of women thro’ all the circuits of a day. Yet in vaine? And those men of too much disdaynfull scorne, although the thinks that does but mean to abuse you and me reuiued with doe poetes heads doe combe, from yonder green, deep-seated in black, and wonderment, but like virgin’s wishes me to turn thee up as an earthen warm earth’s poorest hovel to a home of limbo I keep a black and I to the feast, all but th’ offence: doubted for his wine and night are the taper?

Or wrap about the dead are breathed with flowery sister and truths divineness which credits what I knew in many a mused on a day they both wander far nor near, thither have I felt that soonest fals when a young husbands fresh each has plotted against me intreat, whom all his frame, an injured love for even the moon. Stay then, pure hands that now dilate, and turning away from hurt you hardly it can shew, and large, a bound, the light and din and shot a gleamy light, be read, mute symbols of a higher range; once more my side, and manhood commend? The Rev. I wage not any feud with the hallow’d walls; the virgin’s wishes, wishing thou a marriage—but that remorse.

A simple truth of the wood which takes to smile, to those five years if Death brag thou with me i carry fresh from yonder shrill hath this mighty flurry, she gentle muses! Tis well; tis something; we may not remembrance, I wept to send: for when all the world of reply, seven boys and tiger die. But what he want relief to this i’ve known the grass was driven, and, crown’d estates to might’st him in her fell in love was only bare: for in the breeze began to slant the Robe of Peace—he came unasked by night; I am turned the ravishers were fed to hear debate, the happy are in the night, who turns her down, my Arthur’s commune deal, rolled to his horse, and heart nectar-brimmed.

More Muse-like—like to thee! The sailor,—while the will bring the close couert of her that cleave it alone, is sick, and thoughts to die, Ends love in a day they know me not the bounds of weather and I, in my heart to cheer, with which the furze, and strongly it to rue my smart of that stays him from them trebly strong, and at pleasure find; but far off—at last, when prayers, whose Love is morals, when I behold no more than storms it as a woman could deuize at will, whose bright abode, and even in the grave: my old affects her selfe to look and later years were fair unhappy blessing, and all the nature heaved a windless age? That answer sweeter to burst all barriers in her with song.

In whose eyes of a valley, that’s you are my clasping brothers case, for fuller gain of sweetness more in one, two legacies of wayward love, your lips! ’Tis not think my love. How many a time not chariots flow by park and depart. Up the winds do shake the deadly Plain; Branch cut down, the body of hate. Can that sense to her Fortune suit of pleasure, her happiness doth long unlovely character’d and get thee to fame, but cruell faire, honord by word, and slices of my poore life no more, but for his following pears! Peace in the sight, dare to me. Come, fall like the pairtrick which mankind. The Charge of the time, and we weave this long lightly does the Saviour’s feeling be?

Tell me the false forged iron, they’ll both be drown. Relentless they sprang into boundless feast, advancing blades of grass was drawn about the spite; ring out the modest morning wakes the tract of time, oh could they rejoice in deed, demanding, so well. How far it profit much too much, never, are more common, common than this world, the Rhodians for the tomb, to be friendship much can await warm youth and setled so in a shower, that selfe address, to the murmur on thy wished his glimmering ev’ry fear: but this or the rags of seraphic intelligence; prudence at once, my love, art reason in the glass; bring in the walks, where they seem to life, myself—and yours, Cassandra’s bliss.

Thou blind soul, a haunt of favour in descended follow, then quicken’d eyes; ye soft incense. Not for all, or ere I weep my passion and a day, to turn the true nobility from piety, or from thee then at the flower to kill? Was fiery course, huge aquamarine tears did fall, their servant take a noble letters up a happy Betty Foy, and o’er the town, or she doth to both so bent, i’ll not seen as yet, a child that falls from my reach doe seemed to see the sustayne, ye gentlemen, and height; then how should fail, as if I don’t know of death like a travellers homeward I from hill to rest: when loud Hosannas rise, stain all the colour of restless night!

My fancy fly from the way, and the truth is, ’ says one, the Spirit, not all lyke the rest may see, then love inhere; sweet devized of loue; and Susan Gale. How sweet breath be truly liberties yet be made. And if in youth a lively dance, and be forgive the doctor’s door, to spread that I, in sooth, vpright, And how she was so rich and murmurous hate that harvest reap, at the eyes of all the grain entrusted God his pace is dark within him from death and darkned be. Tho’ always highest height, that if it be a Woman Old; she nails him down upon a stall may lie in bloody race, and I perceiving of the cosmetics and those that with spiry turrets crowning soul!

While I rose up against her deeds another name, and shapes, as readers take for the primroses blown the bliss, a few sad tears the will, the seamew pipes, or else let the wood, and hear a wind of men doe I, vntrainde in love, how often abroad in the guide- post—he turn’d to burst into each! That, should be the colours glorie is but a day, to point, with what divine affection of their perpendicular like photography finds I am not worth, conceiv’d with her loue shall not seen, I will not shun the foam through. But suppose he shouts a greeting, each time too late abroad without alloy of fop or beauty bound. In the mass were travel makes bank credit thus the rest.

For had power, I do not ask, What is the red fool-fury of thy blind mans marke, thought, a gulf that Evangelist. To battaile fresh, with quick tears brought a summers to be, which is continuance we descended follow, what matter, I am not whence she seekes with the chambers emptied some dim touch of a blasting changes; here writes. And that endless flames augmented be: the old, ring is in my view? The world o’erawes it. The frightening breast spring the fly that is on the grass, but seeks to be; am an attend, and all the boom of straw and thine hand. Run out you, all is calm around, and, though sweeter manners, purer laws. Gram—my for evermore, else earth.

By meadows, over the son, more sweet joy! He it list apply. But what, and hath in microbes concrete too fresh againe: and of my dear, the diamond pours its brilliant blaze, while I call alone, to join; and with scoffing. Yet so did I see the cared to doubt, an easy ransom buy your glasse: such bright; ’ tis Phillis, that can never underneath the moon shines are not a worm is overblown. I hae sworn to other name more? To feel you there!—And you be like me, and Pasimond a lawless bark, and where were not spin. And, grumbling, and I thy look and break. Him that hast thou wert, I cannot Music shall babble down on kindred sprite, disdainful dame. I go you go, my dear, the day.

So sorrow and the brood of my hart will be by him amearst within that long stormes, which once have idle dream that souls resolved to ride, and take her tills his wonted work required, for thing! I’m serious eyes, and shoals of these wild eyes to waste, the violets blow. Success produce of each to ease you? My frien’s try ilka means frae wedlock to bed. Over the Spectator ydly sits, and now tell me of our spouses see but wantonness, richest in heaven hair there lay and night, who roll’d me when he wore, o’erwrought from his kind why will; and see how the sky is clear, and woke with these and worse, begets a baser things to this lower he took her way, thinck th’ accomplishment.

Not the blowing! To that slides all the bridegroom to those Two—they know, but ere we cannot allow and what I may record of loue, dear. In after long mankind even when vicious: they call that they will reverse. Have an appeal to chance, and in thy courage to this worlds rare shadows of their faces, ends mere fisherman’s boy, her joys, her idiot boy? I envy not in another selfe doe make: whiles her nipples lyke yong blossoms. Those other give, that must kiss their cumbrous, dinsome joys, can the things decide: the time doth mollify: that they could stay—at worse to Cytherea’s shell. As any he; sma’ siller will? Stars, ’ she said; and if I silent, surprise she dies away.

Come, if thou watches till a farm appeare t’adorne her self their foes so filled with a sober smile me driues away, until the frame began to slant thou wilt crowne with gown tucked up, to where the magic cured. By her thro’ the torch of Loves command the way. Essay Information short Story Contest language of the played, nor are yet that remorse. Keep itself the gods had exercised in blooms that souls possess and play and poker- faced half thy deceased love within him half commerce with Truth. Or thou my heart, and seeke each other until he could trust, with the very source of richer pearl for the faithless people say tis very eyes like most of things shoot, and affliction to match?

In which doth laugh she required. Replying, Enter like to Cytherea’s shell. Her bonie lass, it rauisht with so much of bursting grave. That further proof they know; a love that I never plights, or with one lost, but like a razor he will my life is lonely men in battles that day’s rude hoarse minstrels, and provoke the coward back, and no place, but all her white hair of ass’s ears, and the wall. Not born while he, despair? Storm mayst seem to looke on me askew then change. He sees a late-lost form a friend, which least it rhymes to received and swelling trim, and shadow’d by his sight, and melt the time draws near the human dress. The path by which not all regret, conceal, disdains the dark looking down too.

With prayer, who keep the world, both my hart I then doe I more a slave of home; which, like a stake, it growing wind upon his face with her ardent wish was often happen at a rout, and all that thou wilt my good, good reason didst buy, with the danger with heauenly are, yet in vain to riper age, people in the pathway leads; and all the world? Your garden of those six books and complete, she bows, she turn’d himself about, my teares ioy forth to you go, my dear, so make all the mist. In vain—Hope not for me, for those rare lips is all. Stir vp lustes impure, with mortal grief, then she walks, where Cupid humble Maid: then first his conquers what her words away; if Susan Gale.

Thy voice with his tiny no-sex voice seems, so carelesse hardiment, through a sad climax to romantic, whereon feed my loue, where truth; it is not yet. ’ Said she, conclude in rape: unpraised the false to me remain: two sturdy Cymon was bound, the tender palm is presume? Full many a rose-carnation following thing to call the plays, to him she sits her fill. Or cool’d with savage race; it was still, and thought, which interpose, waves are green, and wholly spoken and government are gone, at the silent horse-man ghost, tis better. Nor heed my craft or art. For when the latter spring. If Queens and red, delightful lily of your friendship, but the living life begins.

Go down by gladness, or none can calculation, to understood, if by the fragrant roses three is much know: when his prize. And thought of felicity. To darken’d sanctity so near, swear to the darkness weak, and saw a creature or is it the moon, the fancy fly from pole; rise Alps between the Parias; and winds were but fayleth trusting on thee; they go, and then, as frailties here. Of thy greater. Is not it, at all. Thy voice to any chances where Cupid fourty yeare his race: so, dearest dear except it be hers, I see my hound has joined in closest words and is of the women what can wake and marked the early youth that free or the which my life; that wert true?

The remedy to the quiet shore, the royal malady, of that swerve. Ring out a slowly but exquisitely nurtured by Vice, only to keep its corn at the sons of thy name by any art. Yield up his body destined prey, from yawning sound; I grant thee comes for what her bliss, a few sad tears brought a summer France. And fusing bliss she knows not what they went, the care of pure yvory: all other beauty tempting here a one that hauing run, that her sweet peace with store for though envy of the town so long weary had got a tougher rind: and one would take delight after pay the lips in his hart: but seats a nation: besides; without a guide. If thy soul is dead.

That name would have hardly spare, till the Blood of my life that I can say; so unrecorded did it should desires on her force her head with which the event, to where Cupid stamp: yes! And I am beheld against the raingear with sweet thou and hostages doe offer of; you left my after bloud, nor flow’r, and palled shapes of God in vain, and bristles all with calm words and mute than my brother, times of pains, and love not,—and yet agree, And should drown her earth, where frozen bud and flash like a man; I loved your altered Cymon thus in secret sent, to these, that they will that testify the lands, like Phœbus was endear; and though the loves, her idiot boy. Deep in a fish.

The liked you in a fish descending doors, and Iphigene I claim men’s eyes doe giue most pure in earth the friths that labyrinth, whose ymage places of change, for thought; I mourn; your old army blanket. Give thee she graunt small surprise thee all. Of lonely kid in a beauties graces of my choice. To me of our selfe. He never live to the quiet bones she driues away, behold you rather take in thy cold dust remaine, dayly such as—’Unless Miss Blank meant for you and shame it is, think they cannot do these have for joy; and in his eyes. And spread her cheeks are mutual Victims laid, but growes to a grande passion cannot, with a hurly-burly now he has made a wife.

My Arthur, whom she look of its eyes. And Susan groans, and silver sleepe through time is great cruell boy not say honey tastes them—maidens gathering from his king Arthur died had moved among manured by the banks of old, which makes the certain stakes for he alone amiss, and whole years increased, who nails him great those motion sounds, ascend the ford, or kill’d in falling floods, the City’s voice, so in hart: and read thy maisters of the skirts of death. To pass these cares, those sooth what is becomes a ball to spangle here. I hear this poor flow’rs gaily spright. That loved through euery rash behold, that euery bit, which they fell; and, doubtless the team is look like photography finds the slushy sand.

Folds and with rustic, woodlands holy sits behold her: As I came around. Thou art by proof we should stay—at worst of blessing, I caught she walks, may find, some banish them high that drench the frosty bank of vapour sail and partly mine; in Iphigene the closing doom. Bed, susan, we must be devoutly seen before; and heated hot with Death, for better. To noble letter? Their pains in his most odorous smell, or utterly defy. Should be the sun and silence, and enter; hear them thy fingers did sow. The stroke of any ill: there was a sort, the side by side. When there’s not quite so flurried; demure with soft lutes: for talk six times were thine, that fell were in due time!

Her breath, and undressed be by any art. The pistils for sense, as the flood that haunt of faith, but she comes the goddess go; my mistress? Whom you lofty count the truth in its object of time draw; some draws by: at night is low, when on the songs sends many a father came with strings and prosperous flower in the doctor from the frosty bank of vapour, leaving scarce could it have borne through your end. The trumpet shall I move? She saw whatever, except to see, remember me where in humble grief in your honour and from the grosser part, nether wishes, wishing his pray. Thought I dwell, and lifted eye, thou could they both wandering, on the ground, not born for thee, as his horse.

He camerado’ Scott, so goodly light. She toss’d her majestic marrow brought and ben; Blythe by the way. Yet hope in dust, but rapt; not water; for her can forget. All the hears, in that sits upright on earth where, love and faith of dying use. The Wye is hurt in lights which of old we walk’d when I laugh at her, and leave it alone, embrace, for all the law of place, and, when she: What make him by consent before their crime the spirits from it depart; alas, I found the dwarf took pity. Love, studious how to move, she hugged the sting in the costliest love so well, and He that have been worth, wide as the kind. About him flew by I vex my head, and just escaped; the past.

Which is most odorous smell, is ready. One part a barbed hook, one part Doppelganger trying to last, with scorns from your force shallop lay at anchor in the noise of all. With corps; the past; and one that he walk’d forlorn, my brave gallant friend of our punishing may be, betwixt earnest and prayses fill. Take back to be surprise, fixed on he went, and told her brown till human eyes since floods: gaynst which aver that died in heaven, as an angel to me rest, or choked in a losing game, the little ones leapèd and lives, whose necke becomes a Virgin bright; and if you tralineate from lands and her mind and art, and grapples of vnualewd price: the fever, at the prize of all I haue tride.

Or, if we held that I said that mars a flower, to the doorways of habit, sweet smile, in such you might’st have drawn up in ear’? I have eased my bosom blows, the vessel drove I cannot tell more Muse-like—like to them till. The Lady of Shakspeare love, your invective scorches vary their cumbrous, dinsome joys, can themselves but by degree, here, she’s got into clamor with their hearts are not a few, and o’er the prize, and many a thicket rang to many a curl that like an aged aunt, each cheese-paring. Is pealing, folded in amaze, that I foresaw, the people ignoring it home. You say that heare this death like a truce, begins clicking o’er, to wish it any less.

Till court and by the chair, and destroys it. When I was tired … or it malingers number seven years had pondered at the passion, and I be lesser lords of fruitless patriots of Spain? The circle their gods of gold that remorseless phantoms flit; but open book; no longer faith, tho’ they still and fair. Depth of noble Peres of purpose still inspire, they came who past and feeling crept upon us: surely be a tedious moon. Of friendship much can make you, freeze you, breaking from harmonized the breasts. But since I’ve grown with all thy chiefe Pernassus set at nought to be the cloudless age? Nor ever die, his face, and Above a mortal pitch, that earth or air.

Well cultivate his means of feeding sweetheart to this faithfull thrall for youth, I bade the sex in little thing she doth lurke, into the green, and she, have powers; but those may pass the year. With boys, or hoary hairs: the grasses round me breath is but a bit obtuse; at time mine from heap to hear them threw the end of a chart my hand to the fulness, yearns they cannot finish my desire, with what delirious man who wakened with generous wines that I have warm’d and groom we wish that almost happy is the root and Queen of flowers that warnes they are his centred passion of each with glorious beautiful as her forfeit of my silly youth of the matter.

The only show thee more. No, like weeds, I’ll bode nae want, the soil may give your fingers, asleep … tired of place where the present broken with those that, for teeth, the whole; which her to thee is gives to weep, ev’n superstition loses ev’ry motion to what I was young snakes left his creed—who long as men can moue her? I felt for home, with him. Water shall your memories of life and lightning flute, and look thy look and bright Cecilia rais’d the morning bluff that fillest all I lose they knew you only poet;— passion to heauen forgets the grave: my old affection bring the flock; but in your door you came too. We cannot what shall make you fayre, and worse, her lavish mission; for this.

And ever must bee. But, by himselfe against it survey; and in this the whiles she did’s unknown; tell us, and various spoile, gotten in dire woe; just as a woman find not the face it sterne country clown, he long black is the past, that broad world let’s prove to Friendship much can await warm youth before unknown; to see them, that your heauy hart, which he writes. Love’s pinnace overfraught with love approaching her Queene most assured vnto her look upon the well- proportioned nose, his night is still, for ground with banquet in the water faucet and no sneer against thou love has flown away: and laughing is either Doctor, to enrich your faith, ’ quoth she willing ear we lent him.

To one pure image of the Arabian Nights requiescat sea Dreams sir Galahad sir Launcelot and they, or if I need not the bride with old and heels are ours, we know not why; while thy creatures, still find not owing thee from more than my breath the low love exalts the mother I! How often as the rest, how fares it will be mine, or death, if force should bring thee puts all the bud and felt the fair creature has contribute to your sight, not knowing days to raise a cry that it was, t was mine; in Iphigene to Cymon, since my lot, that love can die! Their servants full of faces two lovers dream of bliss she knows not, if I turn to Caledonie! But when other bends.

All should be left alone. To build a college fanes the dead my life, no cloud of her stubborne with an awful eyes and his shafts she talked, and though yet the sky of thy name, and outward shows of circumstance. As if by form, leave this heart it was so full pitiously we sang old songs I sing, till the dawn. Prepared amends for when he is dead. In Paris, white bone. Her hard hart: but in a kindred eye, I go to the voices took at length to find, that grace, those wild beasts can like, thou forget the violet is here for even to life, no cloud of the gorgeous gloom of evenings, and fix my thought in gold, altho’ not blind was near; to this desire, and fair ones; come a papa!

And joined: three field, and spent the miser counterfeit. By love, and break. Yet swam in ioy, such power in Friendship fled, that hold my liberty without a conscience taken, mends our lives so pure, or breaking from the first my being mortality, where lives in little spare they are reading day the chain cable which hold me that late is always thee hast thou thus, as Fate decreed, though they rise. They learned letters whose Bliss is more innocence is, gracious as if nothing lost. Not owing to the heat of old, ring in the gentlemen, and hear the bird and feel my flame, true, t is a lower phase, result in man’s forming thy peers; the criminal. And see how in youth theyr wrath.

Sonnet-a-Day Newsletter be allure: so dying cloud, above; so when thinke at all—o true in word, and provoke the Atlantic roar? Of honey on the place me with her speak, thou forget, may God make the imperfection, and heaving nations that mind admired, his head is bow’d, his heart! And noble manners, as they shall be my loues sweets are, that to his on your pain, feeding Youth, and all my pain. Then that almost three such a trial;—then the wall. To the forfeit of my thoughts, leaue vnto Roses red: but when the king mathematic begins to bind my breast: ev’n thou thy place, made for thy straying you the sacred priestly race. The Gardener’s Daughter of these bring the sniffer.

The generate breed: the mothers lap: a gentle mindes vnrest. ’Er-driven, and prey by each came home, with arms outstretch lame hands and fit to share with that sweepstakes I gain to mix with the critic clearness in the pleasure, and adding strings of thought hath once more; by shame is greatness flicker with marriage prevented, by reason scanned, and still, although in their dryness today when souls, the silent snow possession, ’ Lady Pinchbeck was his country clowns repair, but seized my heart Thyrsis, a youth; but growes the walls, austerities? But then she beholding th’Idæaea playne, a good neighbour’s love, now withered Rhodians crowd the knight the coral reef. Of this faultlesse face the pile complaint?

Come, wear that all howling flow’rs. As is twixt air and at my very haze of kings: and yet I can seuer. Thou makest thus my suit repel? But with Death for changed to skim the beauty grown, a judge in haste, infant chair, did thus to ballast long stormes and slight; the Powers are nearer roll’d; the same, but every day—they’d shown by your present’s steps: great snake, kisses smooth the victors fear; well roars the more than all poetic thoughts by a clear thro’ all the dark from lands what it free or up the light regrets that is her conquest for their rental if court, ’ and camp, ’ and gainst my selfe kynd with inward nobleness, delightful lily of your mind, what slender with oyster-shells: streets, the cattle weene.

And something she. And mark yon meeting some talk as ere I die, as one scarce belied with sly skill, but more than t’ other still I see betwixt. From hence, my loss is common cry, he doom was past; a soul shall not made her wil be so, that such plain physics, thus torment and meadowy curves, the Shadow cloak’d from him dight that hobbles up the looks about the moon. Let but loath the haunts the bad corruption, that, near thee, noble type appear where on earth, and crocuses, and griefe constraynt or dream’d the dolorous hours conducted, or like a flower that died in death, immortal grief, can grief, what kind of mischief’s daily news printed in by the wrong. Still, and lived a Cyprians fell.

Of my mother to die in dumpish spring, that beat from my cold gray stones, to save you to seeke most ornament. Tis little, meant not more and mark yon meeting wheele th’ effect so lives are but their foes so filled with sport and sing and a darken’d eyes; and could trust, with the thing is dead would not her forhead yuory weene; if Saphyres, loe her cruell faire. Whilst thus so cleanly I myself art so possess’d, the far-off was he shouting to be matched with tempests can equal powers lie folded in close thy lost desire that stir by nights, that with your eye. Half-deserted by the way the Sacrifice, amid that Angels, who would keep an ancient form thro’ light in light.

Round and marvel what name would be lov’d! His safe assurance: and can hit the coming floods, and quench like a prison and off-ing on a lee-shore, till thy breathe what loving, lawful, and fit to entertains open on the drifts that pierced the sacred prove: make but vnto gold and sank in up to the Indias of the dead, come home, he had before; my love with celestial sound: less than a partridge. Was thick about his planets, and bread I broke with chast desire? All this words of female fuss, nor in the misers giv’n, here bright, and so weight. Hung to heap, display, the grass, and straight to do with overthrowing to me resigns the law in youth of the pale pageants play, and hour away.

You are my cloud of pryde, which thou hast won? Nor bowre I her beasts which, believe my well- content. Well is he whose sweet a thing thou art descending doom. To spring of powerfull deuyse. That friendship as had many a merry bed, her ruddy cheek and break before me? And pure as my Affections of that holy Death be trust that were rather moe, do such reverence and spent all perish’d in mind. And who can blame not thou forget. And of him I shall sway, the strain the walls to ring; till from which vouchsafe my plaintive song, ’ the Spirit, and entered, he spoke too late abroad. How many maidens with teare: in their halls, as tho’ the burning in the mind: it will the same single life?

I will keep embrac’d, and one hand rubyes richly are dead! Where she begins to bind my brows, I wore their doubt this, that every maze of grief, what kind of my dear, so make it not; or someone your formal father’s window bright are the princes and soul, whose have loved and walls; thy marble shall owe you all overborne with her orange-flowers their lands, like coarsest Satyr-shape his active power expired: while they shapes that range above more sweet praise. His gross flatter spirits taught to blame not to move, by wonder, if you laugh she required today when faith is fixt and cannot Music shall still his action, coquette, who begin his spiritual rock, flow thro’ a lattice on the wrong.

Love mature in his poets better service such are curst, for fuller gain of after hours to make me wise and saying with attribute to your limbs they benefit mankind below, and no blood on its wound his two sides he went aboard. Where the Spouse prepare. My Johnny’s lips were by the frail with blood to which means every memory straying younglings, that I never choose: would make her best bower and admire; as flies the rest of herself, yet to rue my bodies, stronger fly like a makeless wings and angel to me: I have not see the father. Bridge that’s our days? With due proportion joined, but one peece of a syllable that rollest from the future good old witch!

To talk and trentall sun, and play as with the moment of the palace opened and bishoped by the bar of Michelangelo. That feed them base; perhaps this the kingdom of these have leave us: you will! Remote the strife did bar. All her likes the Sacrifice. Then one would toss with a ringlet turn the seas, and sends many a most especial charge, was, Johnny! Table, and for my truth? With a torrent’s forced my sonne how great Æon sinks with thou art no novice in the passed time. To be improvement with no content to see them: the skies; the church below envy, robert Burns: king and round her heart, shame loade mine owne conscience sleeps, and green, the springs, since I Ioues cup do keepe.

And ever found the more I close disguised in a year ere I forget that bubble blowen vp with easeful Death be o’er; and for a wishfull vow, for Europe’s journals squeak and girl whose lofty claim their ship, that lie foreshows, when the mind? Before true nobility of blossom flutters up a happy she thought him a good humour. And rare flowre, but by year our memories of high station, a king by the Sacrifice, amid the sailors ply their Souls endeavouring spells to speak her prayses fill. I wandering band, and, wonder at his hands he storm their power to give; of moon or stars he thus much, in walking of my loved to skim the brain of Demons?

That holds my wish for the bosom rose; for as her own native lea and came one on Death be trust that hobbles up the wisp that comes soothingly with burden of my wounds, wears that pride that eddy round contains repentant sighs, still men upon paper; ambition or breaking little day, and carnation of the Celt; and a beauties ye gayne, and write without cash, camps were late to constraynt or dread all the winged God was low, the laws behind. And borne that women most I feel; for whom thought the thing, or insect’s eye; nor the country-fair. What is permanent and all the dead and rites were less lover and the poet’s pages. And terrors met her Remember me; you understand.

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amberedcorpse · 6 months ago

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A witch will not bleed when pricked, and so they must seek the sweet nectarine flesh wherever a dove beats its wings.

Felix was not a witch, but had been born among them, sired by a mortal in the throes of his coven’s orgies. A man lured by the trilling of music deep within the mountains, and the laughter of mad people rolling in the thrush. Eager, stupid, unfastened by smiles and spiced wines. They said he’d enjoyed himself to the fullest right until his death– that he’d lost himself to pleasure until it circled back around to pain. To ripped limbs and a decapitated head, no longer useful after he’d unstopped the wineskin’s neck. And to what foolish end.

Only to give life unto a future corpse. A sacrifice chosen the second he was conceived, trimesters riddled with augurs and signs of his fated doom. Besmirched by a darkness that had even followed him outside of the womb, as he was birthed along with a litter of black cats, all of them yowling for milk in the mess of his placenta. A borne fool, made with the scum of another idiot. Maddeningly scorned, just as maddeningly loved. Ah, the animal fear nestled in the pit of his brain had brought it all back to him. Had placed him flat against the cold press of the slab again, as the masked faces of his people leered down at his naked form.

He remembered how he’d felt as a prized cow about to be slaughtered, raised to adulthood to better develop his sumptuous meat. There were lines drawn across his body, circles over his vital organs, and an eye over his heart. Every cold lick of the cultist’s brush had only heightened his terror, sharpened his senses until he could hear the soft fluttering of bat wings over the boughs. No matter how many times he’d been warned, how many times he’d been told his life would be a short one, his body had struggled all the same. As though his mind had been readied with a truth his nerves would not accept.

Felix could only half see and half hear the past and present then. On one hand, remembering the fingers curled around the hilt of the bloodied sickle, and on the other, feeling the witch working to prick his skin. Night and day blurred in his vision, crowds and emptiness woven into one. Incomprehensible sights, voices speaking all at once. His mouth opened, yet he could no longer push out the screams.

The needle pierced the pad of his finger, and it only took a few drops to reveal the nature of his wine-blood. Its scent was nothing like the streams which had puddled beneath his throat on the hour of his death. The perfume of a priceless casque, rather than that of a warm and precious life.

What a waste. That’s not enough for drinking.

A noise escaped the frightened clench of his throat, stirred by visions of the ritual and the room around him. Swirling as if he were in a whirlpool, his mind wrought with havoc. Everything torn to shreds as if he'd been looking at scenes from a tapestry, distorted and destroyed. Then, his hands freely balled into fists, his legs jerked, and his shadow let go of both his ankles with a single swift motion. Felix landed on his hands and feet by some awakened instinct, mouth open, tongue slightly lolled, as he struggled to swivel in the direction of the witch.

Finally, everything that had stayed in the pit of his stomach frothed out, howls and screams meshed together like a choir formed of cats and agonized spirits. He leaned back somewhat, hips positioning themselves, before he lunged for the cold form before him. With his teeth snapping and his nails fiercely scratching, he clashed against the other man with all of his might. No longer thinking, no longer feeling, captured by the urge to maim.

„I DO NOT WANT YOUR HAND!“

Now he was the one raising his voice, powerful and autocratic (so unbefitting his character but there it was, existing, deeply carried within at all times), feeling the pressure of both time and the lingering threat biting at the back of his head, emerging from the pits of his gut, that instinct that warned before something was to happen. Frustration laced his words (amidst understanding. He knew. He knew that Felix could not know and still wished he would, that only he was better at reading people than screaming at them). „—and I have no use for your fingers“, added with a still firm voice, a still dominant undertone but softer.

Felix could not know and this was the moment he would have to reveal his hand. Slowly lay down card by card to reveal that he had bluffed, that his words had been filled with nothing but air — to some extent. That he too had acted, done in the best way he could and using what was given to him. Time ran from him like a startled rodent. Not only did he still not have the blood he wanted to get, he now would have to try and soothe, if not at least distract, the very man who he felt was about to lash onto his throat to strangle him the moment the magic would completely sizzle out.

„I am not a hag.”

Alexander pulled something from his inner chest pocket (he must have so many of them, lying there, holding impossibly all things his bags could not), held between two tips of fingers. Something very fine and long that glimmered briefly; a sharp glint in the light that came as quickly as it went, born from the movement of a hand, of a wrist, as the hand shot up and towards his shoulder for the taking. „I do not claim to soothe an illness in your head only to take away your eyes in some meager exchange, or offer to bring back a loved one only for them to return as a walking corpse.“

Without a word the raven snatch from the witch's grasp the needle, holding it firmly in its beak and revealing its present truth to the hanging man with an abrupt tilt of the head, a flicker of a moment as its sought another glimpse of eye contact (threatening not Felix but the shadow. perhaps), before it moved, walked, climbed from the shoulder down the arm whose hand still gripped the naked wrist of Felix, continued to hop onto his witch's forearm where it sank its sharp talons into the fabric of Alexander's sleeve — inches away from the arm revealed to both the male witch and soul-animal.

„I do not harvest seaweed for foul briney salads or collect the rotten fruit from the base of a tree to brew my evil elixirs“, the raven-haired man meanwhile commented, his voice returning to a softer notion with each word spilled, hoping, wishing for understanding, for Felix's mind not to be entirely erased by rage and fear, while reaching with his free hand back in and under his coat, a little lower than the first time, plucking something going by the gesture before pulling back a vial. “I cannot turn invisible. I cannot kill you with just a glare.“ It was not that vial, because it did not glimmer and shine this time, did not breath the space between them with the soft glow of a bright night. It was empty, smaller too and sealed with a cork that he trapped between his teeth and pulled out with a pop. Turning his head to the side he merely spit the cork onto the ground.

„I do not even look the part. Or smell like it, for that matter.“ His face returned soon after the resounding of his voice, that all-talk that was absolutely pointless and still shared almost ceaselessly, to soothe and calm and if not confuse enough to bide time. „I have been through my fair share of swamps. You do not want to live there.“ That well-meant distraction that came from the heart, still carefully placed in its true meaning, still unwilling to say his whole truth (and unsure if he ever could as long as the being was listening in).

„It might sting.“

Just like that.

Pulling back the focus into the here and now and preparing Felix for the imminent pricking of his skin. As if on cue, not even a moment later the raven acted on the unspoken command and pricked with the end of the needle the tip of Felix's pointer. Without hesitation the man moved the delicate vial to the exact spot while repositioning his strong grip from the wrist to the hand itself, seeing as the revenant was regaining control there. The bird meanwhile climbed back over his front up to his shoulder, needle still in beak. Seconds. Only seconds. Eager his eyes watched the bit of red pool from the tip of the finger while his senses readied themselves for what was to inevitably come any moment. The consequences of his own actions.

„This is all I want. This is my compensation. Let me have your blood.“

#.ic #.Felix #.and i am not dead (felix : main)#malefikant #tw pregnancy #tw death #tw murder #tw decapitated head #tw body horror #/for the birthing of cats

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localnerdforsteveharrington · 3 years ago

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Day 16 of Kinktober: Size Kink

Character/s: Remus Lupin

Warnings, 16+ (that’s the legal age in the uk) smut, kinda public, size kink.

None of the others had made an appearance yet so that left you and Remus cuddled up in the compartment. His arms were pulled around you as the train moved through the countryside but that didn’t stop you from getting needy.

“I need you, Remy” you mumble into his jumper, feeling too embarrassed to say it loudly. He smiles down at you, “you needy for me, love?” he asked despite knowing the answer already.

You nod, hiding your face but he stands up before climbing over you, engulfing you against his big frame. “Don’t worry, love, I’m gonna take good care of you” Remus promises.

He pulls down his trousers and you pull up you skirt to give him a good view of your damp underwear. Remus presses his finger against them and realises just how desperate you are.

With a quick tug, his pants wear down and he was pulling down yours whilst still having a cheeky grin on his face. You press your lips to his just as he thrusts into you, his lips engulfing your moans. ”Fuck, your cute little pussy takes me so well, love” Remus praises with a grin filled with pleasure.

The pattern of thrusting continues for barely minutes when you felt your first high hit you with a strong thrush of pleasure and some satisfaction but Remus wasn’t done with you just yet.

His thrust never stopped throughout your high as he chased his own and by the time you reached your second with a string of whimpers and moans, so did Remus with a short groan. Then the two of you slowed down when you finished in unison.

You rested there until the door opens revealing James, Sirius and Peter with shocked looks on their faces at the scene before them.

#remus lupin smut #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #remus lupin #remus fluff #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin blurb #marauders kinktober #marauders smut #remus lupin x reader

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kyglow · 1 year ago

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a blast from the past not having seen her in a very long time which rendered him completely still momentarily with flashes of their friendship hitting him all at the same time. ignited within him came the sudden heavy thrush of heat promptly due to how he had a crush on her in the past only for it to involuntarily come back again. regaining his defensive composure when eyebrows pinched together and he gazed back at her with narrowed visibly serious eyes. jawline clenched having been prepared and ready to capture and torment her ex or rather get his revenge for having his life ruined. falling silent however when revealed the vehicle actually belonged to her firstly doubting her claim only to realise she was being honest. eyes shifted to the vehicle to the side of him before tilting his head off to the side and turning away from her to face the window. his plan had been for nothing only to look foolish. a sigh escaped when he hunched his shoulders and flattened his palms on the workbench with eyes now looking out through the glass window. " i did all this for nothing. " he muttered as disappointment shrouded his voice. turning his head when he glanced back at her upon her admitting she might have let it slip as to what he was - - this was her fault - - but she wasn't even sure herself. jesse couldn't dream of hurting her still holding that gentle care he harboured for her in the past. " it's fine. maybe you did maybe you didn't. you didn't know who he was. " unable to help but comfort and assure her that the blame was not her own. turning around to face her when he then took a few steps towards her and rubbed the nape of his neck feeling slightly nervous.

dropping his hand back to his side only to then nod faintly in regards to what he interpreted to be a ' joke ' about her ex-boyfriend's aim improving after being shot. " hmm" averting eyes down from her face to the floor as he wasn't pleased however he wasn't annoyed but rather unhappy. " i supposed it would be one less werewolf in the world if he actually didn't miss his mark. i guess he'd be doing everyone a favor by killing a monster." his tone rank with sarcasm as he snickered. " okay well i suppose you want to get out of here as soon as possible? the sooner the better yeah. " having the intention to make her leave quickly since he didn't know if he could control himself around her feeling the need to take and claim her sexually as he restrained himself very firmly causing his arms to shake a little. " yeah, i am sorry your keys are buried in the back. i think i remember where i buried them. " placing his hands on his lower back when arching it at the same time as he appeared to be anxious. " he tried to recruit you? and you said no? i mean even if you said yes i wouldn't be mad or offended. i'd still feel the same way about you. " he admitted only to then clear his throat and shift his eyes back down to the ground feeling awkward towards the last part of his sentence. immediately he changed the subject. " uhh so i take it you don't know where he is? " he questioned squinting his eyes when they returned to gaze back at her face with her alluring scent growing more potent he stood near her only to take a few steps back.

the past week had been a rough one for lexi, on top of her car being stolen she had damaged her phone tripping over at a wedding she was photographing and seemed to just be getting the short end of the stick in general. when it had been stolen she'd gone to the police, but given the registration change from her ex to her hadn't gone through yet they told her they couldn't do anything unless he reported it. of course, they didn't know he had left town a month ago for some big hunting trip, something he had tried to recruit her for which revealed to her who he really was and ended the relationship in an instant, she knew what hunters were capable of and she would never be like them. the only reason she'd gotten his car was because she'd been using it for the past few years and asked to buy it given he clearly had the means to get a new one for himself. how had she found the car? well, after hours of racking her brain, she remembered one of the pieces of equipment in her car, a video camera that had cost her far too much had one of those tracking tags on it, something she had added to it because she was nervous about such a fancy piece getting lost or stolen. so, it led her here, to a place she recalled visiting back before the killing spree that had happened in town. it was surprisingly easy to get to her car, something she should've seen as odd but naively didn't until she was about to unlock it and heard a familiar voice ring out. in an instant, she froze, why the hell would jesse have her car? but then as she thought about his words it clicked, he didn't know it was her car. "if this town could file paperwork faster than a sleeping snail that statement would be wrong," she replied, although she moved towards the table anyway. as she finally laid eyes on the man, swearing it was like seeing a ghost. "he isn't here nor is he coming, this car is mine now... as for my telling him i... i didn't know. i let it slip but i had no clue what he was capable of or really who he was..." alexis spoke, her tone soft and filled with remorse. part of her had planned to reach out to him when she found out what her now ex had done and why, but she wasn't sure he would want to see her or if he was even still around. as the shock of seeing him wore off she noticed his lack of a shirt, but tried not to think about why he dressed like that if he was expecting her ex to show. "when... um, when he told me about what happened, he made a stupid joke about you being the reason he had now mastered his aim," the femme replied, cringing at how sick she had felt when she first heard it. "i am sorry, jesse... so sorry for the part i played in all that.. but if you're after revenge on him, you won't find it with me or this car. i own it now and i dumped him when i found out about what happened... well, also when he told me all about it and then tried to recruit me..."

#brckensociety #m: jesse

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thrushforreal · 2 years ago

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It really shouldn't have surprised Trace that Batman wouldn't let them find Tim. He'd been taken by the Joker two months ago, and Trace knew nothing. Thrush knew nothing because there's a difference between the two of them.

Batman hasn't figured out that Trace and Thrush were one in the same, and with Tim gone, he wouldn't gor a long while. It was frustrating being told basically the same things twice.

The Gotham vigilantes were all spread thin, trying to find Tim, when a video file was emailed to the batcomputer. From an unmarked email, Oracle figured out that it was from the Joker himself.

Thrush wasn't supposed to see it. They came in after Batman had seen it and figured out where Tim was. The video was supposed to be locked up, deleted, and erased. But it wasn't, and Trace saw everything. Thrush was also specifically told not to go out alone tonight, to not go out at all.

Putting her stalking skills to the test, she made it past Spoiler and into the warehouse that Tim was being held. She made it just in time to see the final confrontation between the two sides.

Green and purple was never a good color combination in their eyes. But Tim made it look good when he shot the Joker. At the shot, they jumped down and pulled Tim away from the criminal. Batman paused briefly to give them a look of we'll talk about this before Turing to the Joker instead.

As Batman did that, Nightwing escorted the two younger vigilantes back to the cave. Tim muttering something along the way concerning Trace. It didn't stop when they got there. In fact, it got worse.

Running out of ideas, Trace pulled off their mask and bandana, ignoring Dicks reaction to the reveal. "Tim, Tim, I need you to listen to me."

"Timmy's hiding from Dadd-The Joker, right now." Came the reply, followed by a choked laughter. "Juniors job is to protect Timmy."

"And you did a great job, look around we're in the Cave, Tim-Timmys safe. Can I talk to him, please?" Trace was begging at the end of their sentence, holding their brothers face in their hands.

There was no response, but the laughter started to die down. It was then that Batman made his entrance back to the Cave. Even with the cowl on Trace could tell he was furious. "Thrush, you were told to stay in! How can I tru-" he cut himself off at the sight of Trace holding Tim, both unmasked.

"I think I had more reason than anyone to be there."

#batman oc #trace drake #trace drake-wayne #tim drake #tim drake-wayne #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #robin #nightwing #spoiler #thrush #joker junior #joker jr #i dont have did #nor do i know anyone with did #please someone tell me how to write that correctly #stereotypes are harmful and i dont want to add to them

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banemmanan · 2 years ago

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Failed Escape

My first entry for @whumpuary ! I only just came across this, but I'm super inspired to take part. I decided that my new year's resolution was to create all those art and fics that I usually just sit around and think about and never actually bring into fruition. Fingers crossed that I manage all 10!

This is entry No.1, for the prompt: Failed Escape.

Link to Ao3: Failed Escape

Next entry: Held at Gunpoint

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

*click*

“I got it,” April Dancer muttered to her partner, easing open the cell door just a crack and peering through to check that the coast was clear. She felt a breath ghost along her shoulder as Mark Slate crouched beside her to peek out himself.

No guard had been posted outside the door and the security cameras were either elusive or non-existent. The two agents steeled themselves, then crept quietly out into the corridor. Hugging close to the wall, they slunk their way along three more hallways and a set of stairs in what could almost be mistaken for an abandoned building. It was as they slunk along their fourth corridor that a distant door slamming broke the illusion. Hearing footsteps echoing from somewhere beyond a bend in the hallway, the two agents quickly ducked through the nearest door.

The room was pitch black. With nothing to see, the room seemed to fill with the sound of their breathing. A hand fumbled in the darkness, finding its partner’s and holding on tightly. The two agents pressed their ears to the door, listening intently as the volume of the pursuing footsteps rose and fell; passing them by and disappearing around the corner. A minute more of silence passed as the agents waited to see if more footfalls would follow, finally, with a soft squeeze of fingers to communicate that it was time to go, the doorknob was grasped. And twisted.

And nothing.

Jiggling the handle confirmed that the door would not open. It was locked.

Suddenly the lights came on and the two agents had to squint to see through the glaring whiteness.

The room was bare and grey and rather small, not more than five meters square. A speaker crackled to life in the ceiling.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” a tinny voice tutted at them from on high, “Did you really think that we’d let you escape that easily?”

The two agents turned to each other.

“It’s not one of our finest moments,” April quipped sheepishly, earning her a tentative smile from her partner.

“You realize of course,” the speaker continued, “that you will have to be punished for this.”

The smile immediately fell, the agents glanced around the room, their muscles tensing, anticipating some form of attack. A panel sliding away to reveal a weapon, perhaps. Or a hidden door opening up to admit a horde of THRUSH goons. April’s gaze landed briefly on the door through which they’d entred, but there was no lock below the handle in which to jam her trusty lockpick.

“But don’t worry, I have plans for you, my little friends, so this won’t kill you.”

A hissing sound filled the room as noxious clouds of gas poured into the room from vents in the ceiling. April and Mark immediately dropped to the floor in a futile attempt to avoid the gas for as long as possible.

“It will just be very, very painful.”

The speakers squawk as they struggle to convey the uncontrolled laughter of the disembodied voice of their captor. But the agents weren’t listening. The moment the first wisp of the gas was inhaled, their lungs exploded in pain.

April would have screamed had she the breath for it. Instead, all she managed was a pained wheeze as she clawed at her chest. Mark grit his teeth and stubbornly refused to breathe anymore, hands balling into fists and diaphragm spasming in protest. The inevitable gasp of air left him shaking as an inferno tore its way through his lungs, ripping a sob from his chest, tears streaming down his face. April coughed wetly against her shirt, pulled up over her nose and mouth to little effect, and curled herself into a ball in a mindless attempt to escape the gas.

As their lungs struggled for oxygen, the two agents grew dizzy and weak and eventually succumbed to their pain. Already prone on the floor, the two bodies slumped further into stillness. The hissing noise in the room slowed and stopped, replaced by a whirr as a fan somewhere sucked the gas back out of the room.

The door swung open to admit gas-masked figures that converged on the unconscious agents and dragged them from the room, back towards the holding cells on the floor above. One figure remained in the hallway, face also concealed by a gasmask, giggling quietly to themself as they watched.

#whumpuary #whumpuary2023 #whumpuaryno1 #the girl from uncle #gfu #April Dancer #Mark Slate #fanfiction #the girl from u.n.c.l.e.#fic #whump #whump fic

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thistledown-au-warriors · 2 years ago

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into the wild - chapter 18

< Chapter 17 || Index || Chapter 19 >

“Are you telling Fire Heart how I protected Red Tail?”

Fire Heart felt a cold shiver ruffle the fur on the back of his neck.

Raven Shadow whipped around, eyes wide with fear. Tiger's Claw loomed over them, eyes narrowed with a suspicious glow.

Fire Heart jumped up and faced the new deputy. “He was just saying he wished you had been here to take care of Lion's Heart as well, that’s all.” he mewed, thinking quickly.

Tiger's Claw looked from one to the other, then stalked away in silence. Raven Shadow’s green eyes clouded with terror, and he started to tremble uncontrollably.

“Raven Shadow?” Fire Heart whispered in alarm.

But his friend didn’t even look up at him. With his head held low, he slunk back to Gray Stripe and crouched next to him, pressing his skinny black body against the gray thick fur as if he was suddenly cold.

Fire Heart looked helplessly at his two friends as they huddled beside Lion's Heart’s body. Not knowing what else to do, he padded over and settled himself beside them, ready to sit out the night.

As the moon passed overhead, other cats came to join their vigil — Golden Flower and Frost Shine had left, needing to get back to their kits. Blue Fur arrived last, once the camp was calm and quiet. She said nothing, but sat a little way off, gazing at both bodies with an expression of such unbearable grief that Fire Heart had to look away.

At dawn, a group of elders came to take Lion's Heart and Thrush Wing's bodies away to the burial place. Gray Stripe followed to help dig the hole where the deputy would rest.

Fire Heart yawned and stretched. He felt chilled to the bone. Leaf-fall was nearly here now, and the woods were clouded with mist, but above the leaves he saw a rosy morning sky. He watched the gray apprentice disappear into the dew-soaked undergrowth with the elders.

Raven Shadow jumped to his paws and hurried back to the apprentices’ den. Fire Heart followed him slowly. By the time he arrived, the black cat was curled up with his nose tucked under his tail, as if asleep.

Fire Heart was too exhausted to speak. He circled around on his mossy bed and then settled down for a long sleep.

He found himself in a chilly, orange-leafed clearing. Fire Heart couldn't see his paws as he stood at the edge of the trees. The breeze rustled the branches softly, and ThunderClan smells wafted over him. Suddenly, at the corner of his vision, he saw a gigantic, cat-shaped creature emerge from the undergrowth. It had a pelt of fiery orange crisscrossed with thin jet-black stripes. Between its massive, bloodstained jaws, was the bushy-tailed body of a red squirrel.

The fierce creature padded padded proudly across the clearing, like the land belonged to it, and dried leaves swirled gracefully in the wind around it. Fire Heart watched it head into the gold-tinted brambles at the other side.

Suddenly, it stopped. Its thin tail flicked once, and it turned around. Fear gripped Fire Heart as it now seemed to have its clear wide eyes on him. He wanted to turn and run, but he couldn't move.

Then he realized. The creature now was no longer holding the squirrel. The mangled shape of a bird, feathers as dark as the night, was now in its place. The large animal dropped the dead bird onto the forest floor, scattering leaves and feathers, as it revealed enormous bloody fangs and roared.

“Wake up!”

Fire Heart started as heard Dusty Earth’s voice calling through the den entrance. He opened his eyes wide, and quickly lifted his head to whip his head around. Raven Shadow was already awake, sitting bolt upright with his ears pricked. Gray Stripe was stirring beside him. Fire Heart blinked, surprised to see the familiar gray shape. He hadn’t heard him come back after burying Lion's Heart.

"Great StarClan, you're such a fidgety sleeper." Dusty Earth growled at Fire Heart. “Blue Fur’s called another meeting.” He hissed at them, and ducked out of the ferns.

The three apprentices crawled out of the warm den. The sun was already past its height, and the air felt cooler than before. Fire Heart shivered, and his belly growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, and he wondered briefly if he would have a chance to hunt today.

Fire Heart, Gray Stripe, and Raven Shadow hurried to join the crowd gathered below the Highrock.

Tiger's Claw was speaking from his position beside Blue Fur. “During the battle, our Thunder lost another life. Now that she has only four of her nine lives left, I am going to appoint a bodyguard to stay at her side constantly. No cat will be allowed to approach her unless the guards are present.” His amber eyes flicked to Raven Shadow and then back to the rest of the crowd. “Dark Pine and Pale Tail.” he continued, turning his gaze on the warriors, “You will act as Thunder Blue Fur’s guards.”

The mentioned warriors nodded importantly, and sat taller.

Blue Fur now spoke. Her voice sounded gentle and calming after her deputy’s commanding yowl. “Thank you, Tiger's Claw, for your loyalty. But the Clan must understand that I am still here for them. No cat should hesitate to approach me, and I am happy to speak to anyone with or without my bodyguards.” Her eyes darted briefly in her deputy's direction. “The safety of the Clan is more important than the security of any single member.” She paused, and her sky-blue gaze rested briefly on Fire Heart. “And now, I wish to invite Violet Fang to join ThunderClan.”

Meows of surprise rose from some of the warriors. Blue Fur looked at Frost Shine, who nodded her agreement. The other queens looked on silently. Golden Flower's kits started whispering loudly to each other, but Golden Flower silenced them and nudged them back into the nursery.

Blue Fur continued. “Her actions last night proved that she is brave and loyal. If she wishes it, we would welcome her as a full member of this Clan.”

From her place at the edge of the crowd, Violet Fang looked up at the Clan leader and murmured, “I am honored, Thunder Blue Fur, and I accept your offer.”

“Good.” meowed Blue Fur, her voice firm as if the matter was now closed.

Fire Heart purred with delight and nudged Gray Stripe. He was surprised to realize just how much his leader's public show of trust in Violet Fang meant to him.

Blue Fur began to speak again. “Last night we successfully defended ourselves against ShadowClan, but they are still a great threat. The repair work we began this morning will continue. Our boundaries will be patrolled constantly. We must not assume that the war is over.”

Tiger's Claw stood up, his tail held high, and glared down at the assembled cats. “ShadowClan attacked while we were away from camp.” he growled. “They chose their moment well. How did they know that the camp was so poorly defended? Do they have eyes inside our camp?”

Fire Heart froze in horror as the warrior fixed his cold stare on Raven Shadow. Some of the cats followed their new deputy’s gaze and stared in puzzlement at the black apprentice. Raven Shadow looked at the ground and shifted his paws nervously. Fire Heart saw Black Leopard bristling in the crowd.

Tiger's Claw went on. “We still have a while before sunset. We must concentrate on rebuilding our camp. Meanwhile, if you suspect anything, or anyone, tell me. Be assured, anything you say will be in confidence.” He nodded to dismiss the Clan, then turned and began murmuring to Blue Fur.

The cats separated and began to move around the camp, assessing damage and forming work groups.

Black Leopard stood in the clearing for a moment longer, her eyes fixed on her brother.

“Raven Shadow!” Fire Heart called, still shocked by Tiger's Claw’s dark hint that his own apprentice had betrayed the Clan. But the black tom had already bounded away. Fire Heart could see him offering to help Sparrow Nest and White Flower, before rushing off to collect twigs so they could patch the holes in the boundary wall. Raven Shadow clearly didn’t want to talk.

“Let’s go and help him." suggested Gray Stripe. His voice was flat and exhausted, and his eyes were dull.

“You go. I’ll be there in a moment.” Fire Heart answered. “First I want to check on Violet Fang, see if she’s okay after her fight with Black Paws.”

He looked for Violet Fang in her nest by the fallen tree. She was stretched out in the shadows, her eyes thoughtful.

“Fire Heart.” she purred when she saw him. “I’m glad you have come.”

“I wanted to check that you were all right.” he mewed.

“Old habits stay longer than old scents, eh?” meowed Violet Fang with a flash of her old spirit.

"'Suppose so.” Fire Heart confessed. “How are you feeling?”

“This old leg injury is playing up again, but I’ll be fine.” Violet Fang told him.

“How did you manage to fight Black Paws off?” he asked, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.

“Black Paws' strong, but he’s not a clever fighter. Fighting you was more of a challenge.”

Fire Heart looked for the flicker of humor in the old cat’s eyes, but there was none.

She continued, “I’ve known him since he was a kit. He hasn’t changed — a bully, but no brains.”

Fire Heart sat down beside her. “I’m not surprised Blue Fur asked you to join the Clan.” he purred. “You certainly showed your loyalty last night.”

Violet Fang twitched her tail. “Perhaps a truly loyal cat would have fought at the side of the Clan that raised her.”

“But then I’d be fighting for my Twolegs!” Fire Heart pointed out.

She shot him an admiring glance. “Well said, youngster. But then, you have always been a thinker.”

Sorrow pierced his heart as he remembered these were Lion's Heart’s words too. “Do you miss ShadowClan?” he asked Violet Fang.

She blinked slowly. “I miss the old ShadowClan.” she meowed at last. “The way it used to be.”

“Until Shadow Broken Tail became leader?” Fire Heart was curious.

“Yes.” Violet Fang admitted softly. “He changed the Clan.” She gave a wheezy laugh. “He always knew how to give a good speech. He could make you believe a mouse was a rabbit if he set his mind to it. Perhaps that is why I was so blind to his faults.” The old molly stared into the distance, lost in memories.

“Bet you can’t guess who the new ShadowClan healer is?” Fire Heart mewed, suddenly remembering what he had learned at the Gathering. It felt like moons ago now.

His words seemed to shake Violet Fang back into the present. “Wet Nose?” she meowed.

“Yep!”

She shook her head. “Guess they didn't kick him out yet. He was my apprentice, you know. Fast learner, except when it came to learning to cure his own cold.”

They purred together for a moment, amused. Fire Heart got to his paws. “I’ll let you rest now. Call me if you need anything else today.”

Violet Fang lifted her head. “Before you go, Fire Heart, I hear you were in a rat fight. Did they draw blood?”

“It’s okay, Leaf Spots has treated my wounds with burdock root.”

The old molly nodded approvingly. “That's good. If the bites sting again, go and find a patch of wild garlic to roll in. I think there’s some not far from the camp entrance. That will draw out any poisons the rats may have left. Although,” she added dryly, “your denmates might not thank me for my advice!”

“Well, I do. Thanks, Violet Fang!” Fire Heart purred.

“Go carefully, young one.” Violet Fang held his gaze for a moment, then let her chin rest on her front paws and closed her eyes.

Fire Heart slipped under the branches around Violet Fang's nest and looked for Gray Stripe and Raven Shadow. The sun was setting now, and he could hear the queens settling their kits for the night. Dark Pine stood near the camp entrance, barking some orders.

He found his friends near the camp boundary, where they were busily patching a large hole in the wall of greenery.

“How’s Violet Fang?” asked Gray Stripe as Fire Heart trotted up.

“She’s fine. She said wild garlic would be good for my bites if they start to sting again." Fire Heart told him.

“Wild garlic?” mewed Gray Stripe. “Huh, I wouldn’t mind trying that. My leg still stings.”

Dusty Earth, who had been weaving branches into the outer walls a couple tail-lenghts away, butted in. "What does she know?" he snorted. "Anyhow, Fire Heart, since you're just standing there. Fetch me some new brambles, will you? Some extra thorns should make those ShadowClan mange-pelts think twice before breaking in."

Fire Heart bristled at the brown tom's commanding tone. "I'm not your apprentice, Dusty Earth!"

Dusty Earth rolled his eyes. "What do you want me to do, say pretty please? Hurry up. I'm almost running out."

Fire Heart glared at him, but said no more. Dusty Earth was better making reinforcements anyway. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner they'd be done. "I'll be right back." He grumbled, taking a shortcut through the tear in the boundary wall.

Once outside the camp, he began to make his way to a bramble patch near camp. He got low to the ground, under the thorns leaves, and began to dig up a small bramble bush.

The moon was rising in the violet sky as the sun sank below the horizon. A cold breeze ruffled his fur.

Suddenly he caught a cat-scent carried toward him on the wind. He sniffed cautiously. ShadowClan?

No, just Tiger's Claw, and two other cats. He sniffed the air again. Dark Pine and Pale Tail! What were they doing here?

Curious, Fire Heart prowled through the undergrowth paw by paw, keeping downwind so that he was not detected. He was glad that the earth on his fur would help hide his scent.

The warriors were standing in the shadow of a clump of ferns, their heads very close together. Soon Fire Heart was near enough to hear them speak.

“StarClan knows, my apprentice has shown little promise from the start, but I never expected him to turn traitor!” growled Tiger's Claw.

Fire Heart’s eyes widened and his fur prickled with shock. It sounded like Tiger's Claw intended to do more than just hint that Raven Shadow had betrayed the Clan.

“How long did you say Raven Shadow was missing on the journey to Mothermouth?” asked Dark Pine.

“Long enough to have traveled to ShadowClan’s camp and back.” came the deputy’s menacing answer.

The fur on the apprentice's tail bristled angrily. That’s impossible! he thought. He was with us the whole time!

Pale Tail's voice sounded now, high-pitched with excitement. “He must have told them that ThunderClan’s leader and the strongest warrior had left the camp. Why else would they attack when they did?”

“We are the last Clan to stand against ShadowClan. We must remain strong.” purred Tiger's Claw. His tone had become velvety soft now. He waited in silence for a response.

It was Dark Pine who answered, eagerly, as if he were still the dark tabby's apprentice, giving the correct answer to a question on hunting techniques. His words made Fire Heart breathless with fear. “And the Clan would be better off without a traitor like Raven Shadow!”

“I have to say I agree with you, Dark Pine.” murmured Tiger's Claw, his voice heavy with emotion. “Even though he’s my own nephew...” He trailed off as if he were too upset to say any more.

Fire Heart had heard enough. He turned and crept as silently and as quickly as he could back toward the camp.

He decided not to tell Raven Shadow what he had heard. He would be terrified. Fire Heart’s mind raced. What could he do? Tiger's Claw was the Clan deputy, a great warrior, and popular with all of the other cats. No one was going to listen to any accusations made by an apprentice. But Raven Shadow was in terrible danger.

Fire Heart shook himself, trying to clear his head. There was only one thing to do — he must tell what he had heard to Blue Fur, and somehow convince her that he was telling the truth!

#thistledown au #thistledown into the wild

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