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forbidden-sunlight · 2 months

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yandere!Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader scenario: A Wendigo's Violent Love Part Two

Warning: aged-up!reader [in early to late twenties], violence, OOC, spoilers for the first season of the 2024 show, possessive and obsessive behavior, Alastor is in denial of his feelings, possible angst.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

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Part One

Part Three

Salutations everyone, good to be back on the air~! :)

I understand it’s been a while since I wrote anything, but due to how busy I’ve gotten in real life, updates will be a bit slower until perhaps the summer. Nonetheless, I am committed to writing the best Hazbin Hotel fics for the community so that everyone can enjoy them to their heart’s content!

Special thanks to @witch-of-the-writing desk for collaborating with me on this chapter and helping me bring these fantastic characters to life on the page, and @vikkirosko for being an awesome beta reader alongside @illuminaresblog.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what's going on in tonight's broadcast with Hell's one and only Radio Demon!

The reconstruction of the hotel included the kitchen being entirely remodeled.

Gone were the cabinet doors that hung from its creaky hinges, the marble floors that never shined bright no matter how many times Niffty scrubbed them, the mice’s squeaking and an ice box that couldn’t fit all of the foodstuff to feed several people. Dark matte cabinets held the dining ware and bowls, stacked up in neat little rows and protected by glass doors on either side of a large wrought iron stove top and the range hood. The cedar countertops glowed under the lights, stretching from the island in the middle of the room to the small dining room table stationed on the right side. Copper pots and pans were suspended in the air above the island, so whenever it was time to start cooking, Angel or Lucifer would have to pull out the ones needed and put them away after the meal. The icebox was now bigger, stainless steel with a bottom drawer to place frozen items in.

Overall, it was a massive improvement from the previous one with additional space and a little footstool for Niffty to make the midday meals. Alastor…he was usually in charge of the evening ones, though the others have recently started to contribute to making their own dishes. The successes of those evenings varied, though they all tasted delicious to you.

Niffty had all but pushed you into a chair at the dining table as soon as you entered the kitchen with Husk. You watched her tiny frame skitter across the marble floor, plating stacked sandwiches held together with toothpicks stabbed through the middle and potato salad and two other side dishes before it appeared in front of you. She must have prepared some tea for you as well, seeing an ivory teapot and a cup already filled to the brim, steam rising and emitting a fragrant aroma that tickled your nose.

You thanked her graciously for the meal, even though you were quite sure that you were not going to be able to finish it all before you had to leave for Alastor’s radio station. Twenty minutes was not what Charlie would qualify as a proper lunch break.

The tiny housekeeper repeated the same ritual with Husk though she directly handed his plate to him before she gave you an annoyed look that clearly said, finish your meal, all of it, and got distracted with the sight of a roach and began to chase it down with her needle. Husk merely shook his head and sat down next to you on the right side of the table. He picked at his food, clearly not in the mood to eat because his mind was on something else. However, you did not pry. Vaggie had spoken to you about respecting people’s privacy in your first week of arriving at the hotel; just because someone doesn’t seem happy, it didn’t mean you had a right to address it. Talking about it might help, and sometimes it doesn’t. If anything…just let the sleeping dogs lie.

You eyed the clock. Ten minutes left, and you were only halfway through the meal. You ate the sandwiches, and only had a spoonful of the potato salad. You were about to take another bite from a different side dish when Husk spoke up, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth.

“I saw what happened in the greenhouse.”

You blinked. Husk….he had seen the confrontation between you and Alastor? You carefully lowered the spoon down the plate, tapping against the porcelain. “There’s nothing to worry about, Husk.” You replied calmly, your attention entirely focused on the meal in front of you. “He will not harm me. He simply wants to talk about my performance on the job.”

“That’s bullshit.” Husk hissed. “We both know it ain’t just ‘cause he’s the facility manager of this place, or that you’re slackin’ off, it’s ‘cause he hates it when people question his authority!” He slammed a fist against the table, causing the silverware and glassware to wobble momentarily before righting themselves again. “[First Name], I saw. I know what he did, and you really have no idea who you’re gonna be alone with in what, five minutes?”

“Seven. And I know who Alastor is. He is a serial killer, a cannibal, and an overlord who broadcasts his carnage on the radio.” you said, raising the tea cup to your mouth as you took a languid sip, placing it back down the saucer a moment later with a clink. You looked at him. “He is also in a weakened physical state. He will not admit that he has not fully recovered from the war.”

“I swear to God, do not make me go to the princess and Vaggie about this, because I fucking will -”

“Telling them what he did will not change his tactics. He will simply find another way to intimidate me.” You cut off. “You know him better than anyone else, Husk. He is clever, manipulative, and will do anything to get what he wants.”

Husk shot a baffled look at you, eyebrows raised and yellow irises narrowed slightly. “You really don’t see how he looks at you, do you?”

You blinked. “As an enemy? Yes.” Hostility, anger, shock, humiliation. You had seen those expressions many times on that battlefield when you charged across No Man’s Land with the Major’s battalion, cutting through the enemy lines with anything in reach and at your disposal. A weapon of war, a loyal dog to the Major. You watched Husk’s face fall into disbelief, then aggravation before he slapped a paw across his face. You tilted your head to the side. What was wrong? Why was he upset? Is it something you had said? You watched the bartender stand up from the table, walk towards the lower cabinets, crouching down and pulling out a hidden bottle of whiskey. He uncorked it, and took a swing from it before turning back towards you, frowning.

“Ya might have been a soldier, ya might have things that would turn shit white and ya not be scared of Alastor…but you should be. He’s been gone for seven years, and no one knows why, but I can say with certainty that he’s much stronger than before. If you’re gonna talk to him, just….just don’t mention….he’s no different than I am, all right?” That was all he said before almost bolting towards the door, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

No different than what Husk is. You thought, picking up both of the half-eaten plates from the table, throwing the reminder in the trash, washing and rinsing them off under the tap before setting them down in the dish rack. What does that mean? Alastor does not drink nor does he gamble. Husk is under his commanding unit, a soldier. Your brow furrowed. Did Husk….knows something about Alastor that he doesn’t want others to know? How did Alastor rise to power so quickly and overthrow the overlords who had been dominant in Hell for centuries?

You would have to think about this possibility later, because when you looked at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, you realized you were already late for your meeting with Alastor.

Shadows were handy little helpers to have, Alastor notes. Not only could they provide protection to the staff when he had other matters to attend to in the Pentagram but they were excellent spies. To be his ears and gather all of the delicious secrets he could uncover from enemies that were actually some semblance of a threat to his plans, or just because he was bored and liked to keep tabs on the latest bits of gossip. He loved to share this information with Rosie over tea-time when the subject of their discussions was not revolved around the ornery old bitch, Susan.

Although they have proven themselves to be useful time and time again, these little helpers were also sentient and created their own discord, much to the frustration of their creator. As much as you can say you’ve been keeping a distance from Alastor, he unfortunately can’t say the same. His shadows as of late have found themselves almost constantly attached to you. Through darkened hallways to under your leaves at the greenhouse, they were always at your side. Ready to step in and assist you in any way they can, even if he won’t lift a finger.

Regardless of how annoyed he has been with them recently, they had repeated word for word of your conversation with Husk. They know you are late but have said that you are walking towards him and not from way to him, whispering how you were turning right at the end of the corridor and about to come across the staircase leading up to the radio station. They adored you, much to his annoyance. It had already been difficult to even comprehend the idea that he had feelings for you, and his shadows, unfortunately, reflected the darker parts of him that he wished to be locked up for all eternity. The weaknesses that were a threat to his own goals.

He could not act like an altruist or a lovesick fool. He hungered for power. He craved freedom. Nothing should stop him from carrying out what he wants. If he wrangled the truth out of you, to know that you despised him and did not care about him in any capacity….he will be satisfied.

Will he though?

His train of thought was soon interrupted by a knock at the door. Putting on his best smile and straightening out his bowtie, Alastor walked across the room and opened it. He looked down, and saw you staring at him. Your appearance wasn’t as ruffled as he had suspected it to be from being late for an appointment, just a few [Hair Color] strands loose from the hairstyle you wear every day ... .but he supposed he can let it slide this time. He’d rather not hear Niffty complain to him about how you aren’t eating your meals.

“Well, well, there you are~! And here I was wondering if you had forgotten! Come, come, take a seat!” He said, gesturing to the couch sitting adjacent to the soundboard where he sat. He did not even want to look at you, not at this moment. He could feel the shadows purring in delight under his feet, no doubt staring at you with such adoration that it made him gag. He reigned them with a pulse of his power just before a slippery fellow tried to crawl towards the couch and perch over your shoulder.

He took a seat, and so did you after smoothing out the skirts of your dress. You looked at him straight in the eye, spine straight and gloved hands folded neatly in your lap.

“So, you are aware as to why you are here, yes~?”

“...I am.”

“And why is that?” He pressed.

“Because I questioned your authority. You tried to frighten me, and you had failed.” You replied. “In my defense, you were in no position to exert yourself when you are still possessing an injury that you will not speak about to the others. I have no intention of saying that to anyone here. I only ask that you do not harm Charlie or the others here in the hotel, or I will keep the promise I made to you less than an hour ago. You will be killed by my hand or I will die trying. People keep secrets because it is necessary for their survival, and the others around them. How can I be sure….that you will not raise your hand and strike us down as soon as your wings are unclipped?”

Alastor’s eyes widened slightly as a wave of high-pitched radio static left his teeth and bounced off the walls before he quickly recollected himself. Goodness, always the blunt one, weren’t you? Inhaling sharply through his nostrils, he made sure his grin stretched all the way to his ears, never showing you what is really going through his mind. Annoyance. Frustration. Adoration. Amusement.

“Well, those words are the very reason why you are here, my dear.” He stood up from his chair, slowly walking around the soundboard, running a finger across the polished wood. His eyes were fixed on yours and you did not look away. Good. Keep your focus on him and nothing else.

“By meddling in my affairs, even if it was unintentional on your part, is putting the rest of the hotel in danger. I cannot be compromised under any circumstances, lest I anger the one whom I have an agreement with.”

“The one who is responsible for your rise in power?” He blinked, stopping in his steps for a moment. Ah. You caught on without him having to spell out to you. Unless dear old Husk had said something to you? No. The shadows have told him that he merely mentioned the seven years that the Radio Demon was gone, nothing beyond what everyone else already knew.

He nodded, swiveling on his feet and because he felt like it, a jaunty little spin before he sat on the coffee table, right in front of you and crossing his legs with such elegance that it would make a French girl jealous.

“Indeed. And trust me when I say they are much more powerful than Charlie’s dear father. That is to say, not even Lucifer can protect you or anyone else from what is about to or could happen should I be compromised. And I know how much you care about the staff here, even sweet little Niffty. Which is why…I want to make a deal.” He held out his hand towards you. “Keep what has happened at the radio station and anything else beyond these four walls to yourself. Never share what you know, not even to Charlie. In exchange for your silence, I will not harm anyone here in the hotel unless we know for certain that they are a threat. Well?” He tilted his head to the side. “Do we have a deal?”

You stared at his hand, then raised your own to your lips, carefully tugging off the glove with your teeth until it fell into your lap. The adamantine skeletal fingers curled around his own, solidifying the deal between the two of you. Alastor felt a burst of power course through him, felt the stitches on his mouth and eyes tugging, the walls turning emerald and the shadows danced around them in celebration. Then the magic subsided, yet the warmth, the burning sensations from your prosthetics seeping through the leather gloves did not. A chirping of radio static left his mouth upon feeling his hand being squeezed to an almost painful degree. When he looked at you, he saw emotions swirling in your eyes that he had not seen from you yet.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Resentmentment.

These were emotions he had caused. Him, the one who was holding your hand tightly because he made a simple deal for yourr silence, and not her soul. So why does he feel conflicted? He had gotten what he wanted, to push you away from him, to banish these uninvited feelings from his chest. But this deal did not give him any satisfaction. It caused him…pain. The kind of pain that he cannot explain. It was not the pain he felt when he missed an opportunity to have an excellent dinner, and not even the pain that…that Adam had given him.

For whatever reason, he could not stop himself from bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss across the knuckles even when the angelic steel instantly burned his mouth upon contact. When he realized what he had done, he pulled away as if he had been struck again by his drunken father and promptly left his office, disappearing into the darkness and subsequently from the hotel altogether.

He did not like this. He did not like these feelings. He did not like how he never had the opportunity to ask him if you cared about him, loved him…yet why did your opinion matter? Why did he want to hear you say, out of your volition, that you love him too? To a man who is supposed to feel nothing at all?!

Times like this, there was only one person who could provide light on this precarious situation without daring to judge him. The Pentagram’s most delightful, daring, and dangerous overlord of Cannibal Town. Rosie. His oldest and dearest friend.

He supposed it had been long enough since the two of them had tea together, hasn’t it?

Alastor inhaled a shaky breath, allowing himself to materialize on the streets near the Jazz District and smiled brightly as if he wasn’t having an existential crisis, humming a merry tune under his breath that made nearby demons tremble in fear.

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#forbidden-sunlight #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #fem!reader #violet evergarden!reader #character!reader #vivziepop #yandere x reader #yandere #ns.fw #cw obsessive behavior #tw obsessive behavior #cw obsessive love #tw obsessive love #a wendigo’s violent love

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sweetsweetjellybean · 5 months

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Return to the Need To Know AU for another night with your two favorite guys. This is a stand-alone, but you can read the first one here.

TW: No Minors. Threesome. Fem!Reader. Oral. PIV. Anal play. Spanking. Fingering. Toys. Orgasm denial. Possessive Steve. Softish Eddie. Let's face it, they're obsessed with you.

"I never said to stop. Keep sucking, honey," Steve‘s voice is a mix of velvet and command. His rough fingertips slide a path up your spine from behind you. Exerting a firm, deliberate pressure as he clasps the back of your neck, his grip guiding you downward onto Eddie’s cock, your back curving into a deeper arch.

"Jesus," Eddie groans, his head tilting back against the headboard, eyes sealed shut—his dark curls framing his face in a messy halo, the smooth planes of his chest flexing as he clutches at the sheets. Your fingernails push half moons into the firm muscles of his thighs as you gag, caught between discomfort and the urge to keep him moaning. “You’re doin’ so good, doll.”

Steve taps your clit with the middle finger of his other hand before sweeping it over your pussy, spreading the wetness upward to your ass and back down again. You whimper around Eddie, the flat of your tongue gliding over the vein running on the underside of his shaft as you take him deeper into your throat, your nose brushing the wiry hairs at his base. In a silent plea, you nudge your knees further apart while keeping your head bobbing in a slow, deliberate rhythm just the way Eddie likes.

A low chuckle rumbles from Steve’s throat, but he gives you what you want, thick fingers sliding into both your entrances, automatically targeting those hidden spots inside that send your vision into a blurry haze at the edges. He pumps back and forth a few times before leaving you empty. A void that’s punctuated with a sharp slap that sends ripples through the fat of your ass.

It feels like it’s been going on forever—this teasing. On your knees, ass up and spread wide on Steve’s bed, head bowed low, sucking Eddie's cock. Your hard nipples scrape against the linen duvet, sending tiny shocks coursing through as Eddie lets you take him right to the edge before he redirects you, fighting back his release, prolonging your torture in some unspoken agreement with Steve.

Lit candles drip wax onto polished wood, the scent of smoke and cedar mixes with your arousal. Steve’s kept you on edge for so long, walking around the dimly lit room, the bulge in his boxer briefs evident, the lean muscle of his chest rising and falling as he instructs you how to take Eddie with your mouth. Watching you from every angle using the mirror that’s propped in the corner when he fingers you from behind only to then leave you empty and aching. Knowing it’s not the stretch of his fingers that you really crave. The inside of your thighs are slick and sticky, and you can’t recall ever being this wet.

“So, so pretty,” Steve murmurs, hand gliding like a phantom over your calf and thigh, deliberately avoiding where you want his touch the most. “Make a mess, honey. Eddie needs your attention everywhere.”

The threat of tears prickles at your eyes as you allow saliva to trickle past your lips, cascading down Eddie’s heavy sack before massaging it in with gentle fingers. “Please,” the word escapes you in a hushed whisper as you pull your mouth from Eddie, your eyes lifting to meet his, brimming with a silent plea. His breath catches in his throat as he swallows hard. He’s too easy. You hide your smirk, your eyes change to smoldering as you stick your tongue out, letting it dance back and forth over his slit, swirling it around his crown like it’s your favorite treat.

With a sudden, firm impact, Steve's hand comes down on your backside. “Don't be sneaky,” he warns, knowing it doesn't take much to turn Eddie soft for you.

“I don't know, Steve,” Eddie says, capturing your chin between his fingers and tipping your head until your gaze is locked with his.

Behind you, Steve takes that moment to fill you with his thick fingers. Your mouth opens with a gasp, a stark sound in the quiet room. The only other noise is the wet, explicit sound of his probing movements as he works both openings.

The black of Eddie’s eyes begins to crowd out the amber as he watches your desire build. He pushes his thumb into your mouth, and you suck obediently. “She's been such a good little slut for us, maybe we should give her a little of what she wants.”

“I don't think she knows what she wants,” Steve growls out an answer, the pace of his fingers already bringing you close to the edge. Your moans muffled around Eddie’s thumb, grow more urgent as you drive your hips back, trying to draw Steve even deeper inside.

“That's okay,” Eddie holds your eyes, his voice a comforting placation, as he presses down on your tongue. “We know. Don't we, Steve?”

“You're right, Eddie,” Steve agrees, the cockiness returning to his voice, feeling your body begin to tighten as you start the climb to your peak. “We know exactly what she needs.” His fingers disappear, leaving you desperately clenching at emptiness, your orgasm once again fading out of reach.

“Don’t worry, doll,” Eddie soothes, withdrawing his thumb, letting it trail down your neck and chest until he’s circling your nipple. “You know I always take care of you,” he assures, leaning down to take your mouth with a tender kiss and a caress of your cheek while Steve moves around the room behind you. Eddie shifts on the bed, moving to sit on his knees, keeping your face positioned just above his cock, still glistening with the evidence of your attention.

Something lands beside your legs with a soft thud. You turn your head toward the mirror just in time to see Steve’s boxer sliding down his hairy thighs. The sight of his impressive length standing hard and ready against his stomach sends a new wave of arousal, drenching your core with want. His fingers run through his gold-streaked hair before taking himself in hand, stroking from base to tip, squeezing his leaking head as his gaze stays trained on the way you’re spread open for him. His knee hits the mattress behind you, making the bed dip from his weight.

“Eyes on me, doll,” Eddie says, drawing your attention back to him. “Let's put that mouth back to work.” His hand on the back of your head steers you to his waiting length. But instead of letting you set the pace, he takes control. Thrusting upward, using your mouth as he pleases.

From behind, something cool and slick drips down your ass as lube is liberally applied. Steve works some of it inside you, preparing you with a skilled touch, but instead of his cock his fingers give way to something larger, smoother, and unexpectedly warm. The silicone plug slides in with minimal resistance, the familiar weight settling within. You breathe deep at the sudden, intense fullness.

“Sometimes, I get the feeling you think you're in control,” Steve murmurs, his hands kneading the soft curves of your ass, giving you a moment to adjust. “But this,” he purrs, his finger trailing a path through your slick folds, pausing to apply gentle pressure to the plug, “this belongs to me. And I decide how to use it.”

Eddie’s hands frame your face, tipping your head back to look into your eyes, the corner of his mouth rising in a cocky smirk. Steve presses the plug again, but this time, it erupts with a deep rumble that ignites from inside you, sending a torrent of intensity spreading through your body. Your eyes widen, each breath now a sharp, gasping intake under the overwhelming rush.

“That’s it, doll, just let it take over,” Eddie whispers, his hands steadying your trembling form, your eyelids fluttering in bliss. “This is going to get you nice and ready for Steve’s dick. That’s what you want, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“Shit,” you moan, clenching on nothing, your back arching higher, seeking out his promise.

One of Steve’s hands grips your hip as he teases you with his cock, gliding it through your drenched center. “I was right, wasn’t I?” His tone is laced with smug satisfaction. “I knew you needed all your pretty holes filled.”

“Yes,” your response is a breathy moan, hips bucking against.

He nudges at your entrance, the delicious pressure building. “You want my cock, honey? While Eddie fucks that smart mouth of yours?”

“Please, Steve, yes,” you cry, your head lowering and lips parting, eager to feel the weight of Eddie’s cock on your tongue.

“Anything you want, sweetheart, especially when you ask so nicely.” Steve begins his slow, deliberate entry at the same moment Eddie presses past your lips. Your world narrows to the sensation of being utterly filled, your mind clouding with pleasure.

“Fuck, she’s tight,” Steve moans sliding in until he bottoms out, lighting you up as he glides against your snug walls.

Eddie’s hips find their rhythm, the head of his cock rolling smoothly across your tongue, just shy of hitting the back of your throat. While Steve sets a pace of hard, deliberate thrusts into your cunt. His fingers digging into the flesh of your hips highlights his restraint as he moves with controlled intensity, resisting the urge to pound into you. Each rhythmic thrust hits that perfect spot, amplified by the plug's vibrations from the other side.

You surrender to them as your senses take over. The taste of Eddie in your mouth melds with the sounds of their groans and the steady slap of Steve's hips against you. It's overwhelming. All you can do is feel as they take their pleasure from your body, returning it in spades. The world beyond dims, your body transforming into a live wire, every nerve alight. You're rising from a place higher than you've ever known.

Your fingers grip Eddie’s thighs with urgency, desperate for leverage as the force of Steve’s thrusts drives you to take Eddie even deeper into your mouth. Eddie pauses with a firm hold on your head, granting you the chance to lavish him with your tongue."Your mouth is heaven, doll," Eddie murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Making it hard not to cum down your pretty throat.”

A low, appreciative hum escapes your lips as you hollow out your cheeks, the vibrations sending shivers through Eddie's body as he inches closer to his climax.

"You want that, don't you?" Eddie pants, his need palpable. Your efforts redouble, your hand joining the rhythm to pump his throbbing shaft. The thought of his warmth spilling in your mouth causes your inner muscles to clench tightly around Steve, earning you a low moan and a stinging slap on the dough of your ass.

“She wants it,” Steve answers for you. His thumb comes to rest against the plug, adding pressure in time with the drive of his hips, making your vision fuzzy and a quiver to your legs. The moans are escaping you unrestrained now. “But she’s going to come first. Want to feel her squeezing my cock.”

With that, Steve's movements increase, becoming faster, his hips meeting your ass with every rough drive, punishing the spot that has stars filling your vision. You're propelled toward the brink, the waves of release surging higher, intense and overwhelming. The last bit of command you have over your body snaps like a fragile thread. The wave crashes, euphoria flooding your blood, pulling you under.

Awareness leaves you as the plug is removed and you’re laid gently onto your side, your body still rocking with tremors.

Light kisses are rained over your ribs and breasts, accompanied by soothing hands drawing comforting patterns on your skin. Plush lips cover yours, tender and patient. As you open up for them, a tongue brushes against yours. When your eyes blink open, you’re surprised to see Steve’s heavy-lidded gaze as he kisses you softly and with affection that usually remains hidden. The back of his knuckles brush your cheek as you return his stare, a tear spilling over your lash line.

Eddie’s finger trace down up and down your thigh, ghosting over your pussy, causing another shock to jolt your body.

“That was..” the words stick in your throat as you press another quick kiss to Steve’s lips.

“I told you I’d take care of you, doll,” Eddie’s voice is still heavy as he kisses a line from your belly button, moving lower. “Now it’s time to take care of us.”

“What?”

A darkness falls over Steve’s eyes as he presses his hard length against your hip, and it dawns that neither boy has cum. “Don’t worry, honey, this is only the beginning.”

AN: Thanks for reading. This one got away from me. I was in a mood. I blame...actually, I'll keep that to myself. I hope you enjoyed the filth.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #steddie x reader #Need to Know #Hey Trouble

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katiexpunk · 23 days

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Are you ever going to do a pt 2 to dream of me? It was soo good! I want to see the morning after and what joel would do while reader/character is asleep or something.

Dream of Me - Part II | Pairing Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Thanks for the ask, Non. <3 I'm so glad you liked it! I've had a part II in my wips for a while, and your ask inspired me to finish it up. It was one of my first fics and I feel like my writing style has evolved a lot since then. So surprise! I also added about 1K extra words to Part I. :) Rating: 18+ Minors DNI | W/C: ~2K Warnings: Dream vibes. Unprotected P in V. Orgasm denial. Pet names. Masturbation. Use of cum as lube. Rough sex/hair pulling. Use of slut one time. Oral (f receiving). Sleeping bag sex. There is an age gap, but it's not specified (make it your own). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. For immersability, the reader has no major physical descriptions/graphic is for vibe purposes only. Masterlist | Notifications | Read on AO3 | Part 1

The world is bathed in a soft, ethereal glow, the kind that seems to blur the edges of reality into a gentle haze. You’re standing in the middle of an open field, the grass beneath your feet feels lush and slightly damp, as if it had recently been kissed by a passing cloud. Above you, the sky is a canvas of swirling colors, painting a sunset that seems almost otherworldly. You feel like you’ve stepped into a painting, the kind that used to hang on walls in museums, ones that used to be meticulously cared for.

In the distance, you see a mountain, its peak shrouded in mist and its slopes adorned with trees that shimmer in hues of gold and emerald. You think that it might be nice to sit in the grass and just watch the clouds roll over the rock giant. Before your legs can fall to the ground, your ears tune to the telltale sounds of water on water, a roaring waterfall unmistakable in the distance.

You begin to walk, your steps guided by an unseen force, drawn towards the mountain as if it were calling to you, whispering your name in only a language you understand. The air is filled with the sweet scent of flowers in bloom, a fragrance so potent and yet so delicate, like a memory from a time long forgotten. You’re reminded of the perfume your mother used to wear, the lush roses that once lived in your garden, and the earthy smell of fresh-cut grass.

As you approach the base of the mountain, you notice a path that winds its way up the slope, paved with stones that faintly glow, as if they were lit from within. With each step, the stones beneath your fit light up, guiding you onward, their light casting dancing shadows on the path in front of you. You feel warm and fuzzy, safe and curious, like nothing here could hurt you.

Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see a figure standing off the side of the path. A man, broad and imposing, yet with a demeanor that radiates warmth, beckons you closer.

As you get closer, you realize it’s Joel. He looks different, softer somehow. He doesn’t say anything, just holds your gaze.

“Is this a dream?” You ask, your voice off in the distance, almost as if it was coming from someone else.

His dark eyes lock on yours, and he takes a step closer. He cages you back until your backside lands against the expanse of a thick tree. He stands, palm flat against the bark above your head, and leans in. Fuck, he smells good — like cedar and cinnamon.

You look up at him, and he leans in even closer, his face close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. His hungry eyes fall to your lips, and he leans in even further, lips hovering just over yours.

“Why don’t we find out?” He says, voice low, a syrupy drip of arousal behind his words.

You jolt awake, but this time there are no soft moans that thread through stillness, instead, you’re met with the wanton sound of skin-on-skin, and deep heavy grunts.

“You’re a dirty fucking girl, you know that, sweetheart?” Joel groans, once again on top of you, fully awake this time. One hand on your hips, the other braced at your side, he guides your wet cunt down onto him with intensity. He gyrates his hips, the tip of him kissing your cervix, and you let out a breathy moan.

“Joel, fuck —”

“Fucking me in my sleep, taking advantage of me,” he groans through grit teeth as he relentlessly fucks into you, taking you hard and rough, “Cock hungry little slut, just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He says, hand leaving your hip for a brief moment to unzip the rest of the sleeping bag down.

Both of his hands find your hips and he tugs you back and up so you’re on all fours, ass clapping against his lower tummy. “Toldya you were asking for trouble, sweetheart,” he says, trailing his hand up your lower back, causing you to arch for him. His hand grabs the back of your neck with a commanding grip, and he uses the leverage to pull you back onto his cock even harder.

“Shit Joel, ah” you whimper, a little sore from last night, “it’s so much,” you mewl.

“You had your fun, baby, now it’s my turn,” he says with a low groan and moves to gather a handful of your hair in his first. He tugs it and your back curves even further, the new angle perfect against the soft spongy spot that makes you see stars.

“Joel, oh my god, please —” you cry out, a little plea of pleasure, a little plea of pain. He’s fucking you with such intensity, using you just like you hoped he would last night. Last night was incredible, but nothing could compare to this. You’re not sure you’ve ever been fucked this good, ever.

“You close, baby?”

“Yes, oh god, please — wanna come so bad, please Joel,” you moan, and he lets out a deep groan of approval from his chest. He tugs on the hair intertwined between his fingers and pulls you up so your back is against his chest, his cock still deep inside of you.

His forearm comes to wrap around your waist and his lips find your neck, his teeth gliding against the razor edge of your jaw. He sucks soft kisses into your damp skin and continues dragging his thick cock in and out of you just so.

Your eyes flutter closed and Joel can tell you’re close from the way your pussy walls clench around him.

“Look so good like this baby, stuffed full of my cock,” he whispers into your ear, sucking the lobe of it between his lips. “‘Ts a damn shame I won’t get to hear how sweet you sound when you come,” he says, voice low, as he thrusts up hard into your cunt and then quickly pulls out.

Your eyes snap open and your jaw drops. He releases you and you turn around to face him. He can’t be serious right now.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Bad girls don’t get to come,” he says, a harshness to it, but you see a smirk of satisfaction wash over his face. His large hand comes out to grip his thick cock, and he uses your slick as he works himself.

“Joel, please —” you all but beg, your eyes soft, chest heaving. His jaw tightens, the veins in his neck bulging as he fucks his fist and takes in the sight of you. You hold his gaze, and another soft please escapes your lips.

“Fuck,” he groans, “lay on your back, spread your legs,” he commands, much like he does when he tells you to get behind him, his rifle aimed at any potential threats. It might have scared you pre-outbreak, how submissive you’ve become for a man, but that was then and this is now — you follow his orders to stay alive because he knows what’s in your best interest. This can’t be any different, right?

You do as he says, your hand instinctively finding your way to your wet core, circling on your clit, seeking out the friction you so desperately need.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, sweetheart?”

“No,” your eyes drop to his weeping cock, and your hand falls to your side.

“You touch yourself when I say you can,” he says, voice heavy and a little breathless. His resolve is slipping. He hasn’t let up the pace on his cock this entire time, and you can tell he’s close. You spread your legs even wider, granting him an unobstructed view of your dripping cunt.

“You gonna come for me, Joel?” You softly moan, a seductive tone to your voice. “Gonna paint my pussy with your cum?” You press your knees down further on top of the sleeping bag.

Joel’s fist tightens on his cock, and he works it methodically, eyes locked on your wet hole.

“God, she’s so pretty, I can tell she wants to be full of me, huh, baby? Little cunts just begging to be stuffed,” he groans and thrusts his hips into his fist once more before he lets out an almost painful-sounding moan. Hot cum falls over his fingertips, pools on the top of your mound, dripping honey thick over your clit, down your lips, and into your aching hole. His chest heaves and his fist holds tight on his cock as he lets the aftershocks of his orgasm wash over him.

On his knees in front of you, between your legs, he rises and adjusts his shoulders. He releases his spent cock and falls back onto his legs, shins pinned to the ground below.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Want to watch you fuck it into you,” he says, bringing both of his hands to your inner thighs, holding you open for him.

Like you did last night, you fingers return to your clit and you pull tight circles there, using his cum as lube. He should be looking at your pussy, but instead, his eyes are locked on yours. He’s so fucking intense, a brooding mass of a man, even now, a slight blush to his cheeks from his orgasm, chest twinged with sweat. You want to know what he tastes like, the salt of his skin on your tongue, the tang of his cum.

You use your middle finger to gather a little bit of his release on your finger and fuck it into yourself a few times, before drawing your finger out and up to your mouth, slipping the slick digit between your lips. You suck it clean and you swear you see his cock twitch as you do.

“Jesus,” he groans, and his cock starts to harden once more.

Your fingers return to your clit. You’re so close, it’s not long before —

“Fuckfuckfuck, yes,” you cry out, eyes closed, your release taking over you like watercolor paint spilling onto paper, blurring the lines your pleasure has always been confined to — until now. You think once again that this might be a dream, but this time you’re no longer in a painting that hangs on a wall in a museum, you are the painting.

“Shit, that was pretty,” he moans, and you open your eyes to find his cock is now fully hard once again.

“Did so good for me, sweetheart,” he says, coming to hover over you. His cock smears the remnants of his cum on your belly as he leans in closer, and hovers his mouth over yours. He holds steady there, eyes still fixed on yours before he drops them to your lips and leans in to plant a soft kiss on them.

It’s tender, softer than you would expect from a man like him.

He pulls himself up slightly and brings one hand to cup your cheek.

“You’re gonna do that again,” he says, voice soft, and your eyes widen.

“Told you you were asking for trouble, sweetheart,” he groans against your chest. “But don’t worry, I’m gonna help you out this time,” he says, trailing kisses down the valley of your breast, using his tongue to lap up the cum that’s gathered on your skin before his head comes to rest in between your thighs.

And in that moment, your reality outshines the confines of even the sweetest of dreams.

END

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller ask #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #pedrostories

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krewekreep · 6 months

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After the Night Ends Chapter 2

1.4K Alucard X OC!Reader. Reader is non binary with a femme body. AU but contains lore from Castlevania & Castlevania: Nocturne. Takes place during the last episode and goes from there

Angst, Estranged Lovers AU, Soulmate AU, Alucard is a reclusive, flirtatious snarky brat. Not 18+ yet but following chapters may and will be properly tagged as such. Filler Chapter kinda Song: Beyoncé - Disappear

⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆ ⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆ ⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆

You couldn’t go anywhere because Alucard had neared you. You admittedly jumped at his approach, throwing your gaze quickly towards the ground. When you first met him you had had so much spunk and tenacity. You still did. But his love humbled you. You could do nothing more after time but climb into his lap, leaning your head into the crook of his neck. By this time he understood your moonlight tendencies letting you mewl low touching all over him until you’d nuzzle yourself against him to nap. He was your favorite resting spot. Whether his chest, back, thighs, arms, lap your head had fallen asleep basically anywhere it could’ve with him. Physical intimacy was your love language.

The touch of his palm to your head relaxed you. You opened your eyes to his piercing yellow ones. “Adrian…” you spoke again. As if a prayer, an amen. His name was peace and prosperity. Home and hospitality. He was all you wanted, all you had had, and what could you say to him now. Mute, trembling, awe struck. “Rise up my love.” My love. You shuddered in his grasp to which he chuckled half heartedly. He didn’t quite mean love the same as he had when his face lit up or blushed. How he would whisper “my love” over and over in the crook of your neck as his moans caught in his throat. When he’d call out to you because you slipped or hurt yourself. A sharp “My love!” followed by his hurried rush to your side. Your hand in his, dwarfed in comparison. His nails elongated, curved and sharp. “Please don’t let me do all the talking.” He threw defeated. “My love…” fell from your lips dazed. You closed in without a second thought wrapping your arms around his preserving, wide torso, head on his suited chest. “My life how I missed you…” a sob broke through. “I missed you so much!” You clasped onto him so tightly your breasts began to hurt. His arms were delicately at your side. You nuzzled into him wishing you could disappear back to the castle and explain everything. You looked up at Adrian who while definitely loved you seemed…uncomfortable. You stepped away as quickly as you had leapt towards him adjusting your clothing and emotions appropriately. You guessed it wouldn’tbe such a happy reunion. No, you were happy. It simply wouldn’t be easy and for god knows how long you’ll be catching up to the She-Beast Erzabeth. And too there were much bigger concerns of Erzabeth. Everyone still confused bristled at his denial of you. Defensive and protective they knew you entirely different from he. And who was he to reject you so easily.

“Well,” Richter threw haphazardly. “You two can explain all of this at a later time. We must move forward and defeat Erzabeth.” He thought his attempt to lead the group would very least get Maria and Annette to agree. But Annette especially kept a cautious eye on both of you. You knew she of everyone would likely feel the most betrayed…and by the reception you’ve garnered maybe lying…maybe all this wasn’t worth it. I should’ve stayed away. How absolutely dumb of me. You scoffed throwing your head back incredulous. Maybe it naive to assume it would be a romantic sweeping reunion…but now it felt as if all was nothing. Unbeknownst to you Alucard took you in with a rake in his heart. How you let your hair grow a bit past your shoulders, more kept than you ever had back then. How you smelled tired, lonely but yearning. How the top of you smelled of magnolias and cedar wood. He was obsessed with catching any signs of aging. While not aged visually beyond a 25-30 year old, the weather of time was hidden in the small creases of your eyes and smile line. The bunch of your brow finally indented permanently—as he always told you it would if you didn’t check your propensity to scowl. He felt compelled to just…watch you. As he had in the shadows and windows when you grew familiar enough to meander about. He had no real reaction. Seeing you meant everything and nothing. He couldn’t even be solemn. Nor forlorn. He was indifferent. Grateful you were alive and for what it seemed well…but that confirmation only too angered him. Subdued him. Removed him as he grew long out of spite and resentment. Before, when he could only miss you pathetically. Then after when he could only hate you pathetically. Once he could feel no more, he submitted to his eternal slumber lamenting much of what felt had mattered before didn’t…and so laying down to rest felt easy, if not final.

“We would be remiss to fork on towards her as,” looking towards Alucard for agreement. “We are incredibly unprepared to face the breadth of her. It would be suicide.” Your band of youngins look over you. You mentally adopted all four (including Eduard) and while traveling you grew closest to Annette. Richter and Maria were dear to you too, incredibly. But her story of enslavement and eventual freedom struck a deep chord with you. While your complexion was lighter than Annette’s, you favored closer to Drolta had her ancestry been more overtly mixed. You were of a wandering, diverse group. You and your blood kin were definitely darker than large portions of your ever migrating community. The equal stares from people similar to you, yet from else where unknown gave you a strange sense of familiarity and understanding, until it was nothing for you or others to tip your head or smile in acknowledgment in passing. Oftentimes you wished them blessed journeys and safe arrivals. Only because for you, especially after you were alone, it mattered to see others like you. A reminder that yes while lonely you were connected to something. And maybe they too were wishing you the best as you moved forward…

“Belmont,” Alucard throws as a response to you. Richter perks up alert as if a student caught. “Yes…uh, sir???” Everyone else looks to him sighing but Alucard stiffens next to you. Previously, in another time you suppose, he’d fall out in laughter. Or, as the tease he is, lead Richter further into acknowledging him as an authority figure. What would be to his immense amusement had he told Trevor—right. Although you saw Trevor in Richter, it was enough removed. You thought that even had Trevor been young his ruggedness would shine through (along with his five o clock shadow). You’d never say but a couple of Belmont’s had crossed your path. None you ever spoke to, but in the evolving noise of bars where people need bad deeds done a bellowing drunken voice could be heard. And every time you slipped through crowds towards the door you sent a glance that direction. Always a mass of brown hair, sun worn skin, and jokes for days. Alucard…could only see Trevor in Richter. Of course, more clean cut maybe even overtly less reckless or over confident. But Belmonts’ always carry their weight with pride. Their shoulders extended as a shield with a prepared but leisurely stride. How Alucard wishes to tell Trevor of his descendant’s blooming Belmont bravery. But he sets on, “Are you aware of anything you’d like to tell me?” Alucard is boring holes into Richter. Richter shuffles uncomfortable, defensive grabbing for his whip instinctively. Annette and Maria follow standing protectively at his side. For you, you see the amazing kids so young, daring, and loving of one another. Your heart swells with parental pride. “That…” Alucard’s eye sight drifts to the bridled whip secure to the nervous boy’s side. “Have you…discovered something.” You knew exactly what he was inquiring about and so did Richter. “Yeah I guess I uh..” he rubs the back of his head again nervous. “I met my grandfather…Juste.” An aura of cosmic blue crackles off his whip which only you and Alucard notice.

“I see,” Alucard without a word turns about face walking in the opposite direction of the eclipse and Erzabeth. “None of you are ready.” They all gasp. Completely confused by to them, a strange but beautiful man, who also was being weird to their newfound loved one. Richter prodded the destination of Adrian who without breaking a beat said: “My castle.”

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#x black fem reader #castlevania #black fem reader #alucard castlevania #alucard x reader #alucard #castlevania x reader #castlevania nocturne #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes #dhampir #dhamphir x reader #my sad little white fox

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thisisarcanereverie · 2 years

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Conflicting Interests (Dark! Moon Knight x Reader) the Knight and Pawn series

Hey so another shorter chapter! Super tired but just trying to get one chapter in a day as a challenge.

Anyways here comes the trigger warnings.

TRIGGER WARNINGS! SLIGHT (AND I MEAN VERY SLIGHT) SEXUAL CONTENT, DARK THEMES AHEAD! ANGST!

Also I tried to be realistic when it came to being bilingual, however I myself am not so if any translations are confusing or something doesn't make sense let me know!

Morning rolled around and he was gone, you had nearly thought you dreamt it up.

However when you rolled over you could smell him on the sheets. The smell of cedar, smoke, and rain, all the years you’ve known him he’s always had that smell, even in highschool.

You stared at the wall on the side he slept that night and your mind began to wander. Where was that friend now? You thought, where was your Marc, the one who you snuck out to go stargazing with every saturday night, the one who you called when you got too drunk to drive, the one who you could just put on any old vinyl you had and just sit comfortably in silence with.

Where was your best friend?

This Marc smelled the same, he looked like Marc, he dressed like Marc.

But he wasn’t, not really.

However, maybe this is how he always was…you just refused to see it.

You remembered him getting into a lot of fights with kids at school but never you, he was always so gentle when it came to you. It got worse after Randall died. There was almost never a week that passed by without Marc getting into a scuffle with someone, most of the time it was someone who had bullied you or insulted you. At the time you thought he was just being over protective of you, however you wondered if maybe there was something more, something darker to it than that.

Despite all of that, Marc was your first. First love, first kiss, first everything.

At that goddamn cabin.

Marc was joking about being the only virgin in the marines when you offered to change that for him, no strings attached of course because you were still in denial about your own romantic feelings towards him then.

It’s kind of funny, you used to look at the night and smile.

Now you wonder just how far his obsession with you went, if that night was orchestrated by him or if it happened exactly how you remembered.

You may never truly know.

You didn’t even register the amount of time passing until the typical knock against the door broke you away from those thoughts. You saw it was neither Marc or Steven, the hat on his head and the way he looked at you was different.

Jake.

You were already burned by Steven so now you were cautious. You didn’t know how this would go, you sat up in the bed as Jake brought your food to you. Sausage with Waffles with coffee on the side. His hands envelop yours as he looks in your eyes, his dark iris’s reflecting against yours.

“I missed you mi ojos de angel,” Jake said before kissing your cheek, “you have no idea what I’ve had to put up with, with those idiotas,” Jake didn’t let go of your hand once as he ranted about all the things you’ve missed out on these past 3 years. Every inconvenience, minor transgression, talking about everything except the elephant in the room.

“Jake,” You interrupted him, he immediately stopped talking and was solely focused on you, “is there a plan?”

“Yes,” Jake said, for a split moment hope runs through you like lightning before the thunderous feeling of uneasiness settled in your gut as you noticed the same obsession in his eyes that you saw in Stevens and Marcs.

“The plan is getting you comfortable to be around us again,” Jake started, “and then one day,” Jake pauses his face scrunches as he mutters curse words in spanish, “I can’t remember the word,” another second goes by before he snaps his fingers as his face lit up in a eureka moment, “preferably, that’s the word I was looking for, preferably soon, we will get married.”

And just like that your heart drops, Jake had been your last hope of getting out of here. He must have noticed your crestfallen look as his hands went from being entangled in yours to gently holding your face.

“Why such a sad face,” Jake asked, brushing the tears you didn't realize were rolling down your cheeks, “ojos de angel, mi ojos de angel, no te preocupes angel, everything will be ok.”

“I promise.”

—

After spending an hour with Jake he proceeded to leave with the empty plate your waffles were on moments ago, along with all your hopes.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, you got dressed in the clothes laid out for you, you made the bed, you re-read some books that Steven left for you in the room, most if not all of them were Egyptian themed, then finally you took a bath. Even though the water was scalding, and the scents from the lavender epsom salt poured in, you still found it difficult to relax.

You had just settled into the bed when the same routine that had played last night came to pass again.

Marc came in and just slept beside you, he never did anything more than just hold you beside him.

And once again you muscles relaxed fully under his touch.

—

That kind of night had become routine, you gathered that Marc waited until you fell asleep to come in and sleep beside you. And you’ve just accepted that for whatever reason, your body melted and relaxed with him.

The heart, mind, and body were separate things.

Although he may have had your body fooled, your mind and heart were different matters entirely. You neither forgave him nor forgot him.

You were positive you’ve been here for almost half a year if not exactly, your hair had grown and time passed by in a blur.

You were in bed when you felt the other side of the bed dip beside you, at first you thought nothing of it. It was just routine.

That was until he turned you over to face him. His dark eyes were wide and his hands gently caressed your face.

Ceder, smoke, and rain filled your every sense.

Marc said nothing as he kissed you, his lips pressed firmly and expertly against yours, you could taste him. Mint, chocolate with a hint of coffee. Your heart beat erratically against your chest and your mind swirled, so many thoughts and emotions running through your veins you could hardly keep up. You didn’t know your hands were in his hair until you felt the dampness in his hair and the scent of rain clouded your better judgment.

You were conflicted, not wanting this to continue.

But still wanting his lips on yours.

Large, calloused hands ghost themselves over your side, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He was gentle, like you would tear if he was rougher.

And in his defense you probably would.

Marc’s hands got braver, ghosting over your waistband and your stomach. Never going any further than that, something that the last sensible part of you that wasn’t taken over by your lust hazed mind were thankful for.

This lasted for a while, him just caressing you while kissing you like you were everything.

And to him you were.

You knew better than to confuse this with actual tenderness and love, especially on your part. You knew what it was.

You were lonely.

Any form of physical, intimate touch would have you in a puddle in an instant. You felt the warm outline of hiim press against you once before you felt him pull away roughly, like he had to force himself to. He didn’t say anything as he walked over to the adjacent bathroom and closing the door, you stared up at your ceiling wondering if the tingle on your lips was real or if your mind and body had just played a major trick on you.

After a while you saw Marc come back and laid beside you, you immediately melted into his touch as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m sorry,” Marc apologized, “It was a rough night. ”

When you didn’t respond he just laid there, you could feel yourself start to drift off with him.

Your final thought before falling into the sweet arms of unconsciousness was how fucked it was that you wanted to kiss him again.

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TAGLIST:

@simonsbluee

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1nksta1neddesk · 8 months

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A Court of Readers and Dreamers

Chapter 12: House Call

The next morning had all of us groaning when we finally gathered together in the dinning room for a late brunch. We all crowded at one end of the table, well it was really only me who had changed position as I had moved the farthest away from the doors as I could. Lucien was massaging his temples as I rested my forehead against the cold wood, it appeared that both of us were hung over as Tamlin sat straight in his chair. He was drinking water for once, evidence of his own hangover despite his denial when I had commented on it when I first dragged myself in.

I looked up at Lucien across from me as I pinched my brows together, “And where did Mr.’save my human hide’ go last night?” I purposely pumped the over exaggerated accusation into my words as I lifted my heavy head from the table.

“On patrol, unlike some people who like frolicing with the moon spirits.” I sent a pointed stare at Lucien at the same time Tam did, “With a little bit of company.” He was too snobby about it for my liking as I leaned back in the chair.

“Cauldron spare any poor female who has to share a night with you.” I groaned at him as I nibbled at a slice of coffee cake and sipped at some sweet tea that had found its way to me. He gave me an offended gasp with a hand drawn to his chest before he fell into a twisted grin.

“Rumor says Tam had to carry in a poor female mortal last night.” His eyebrow curled insufferably and I flicked a piece of hardened sugar at him, his hand swatting the air to deflect it.

“You try being a mortal drunk on two cups of solstice wine, though if you don’t enjoy the feeling of your skull being an anvil I wouldn’t suggest it.” He huffed at me as a slice of strawberry landed on my forehead. I peeled it away and glared at him, prepared to throw it back at him.

“Children, children, please not another food fight.” Tamlin interjected and I looked at him. He had been following my movements all morning as me and Lucien bickered at each other.

Lucien cleared his throat before straightening up, intent on saying something serious. “My contact in Winter Court sent me a letter this morning, Tamlin,” A damper on the energy as Lucien's face drew tight and his face lost the laughing warmth, “The blight took 2 dozen of their younglings, gone.” The cake in my mouth became ashen and where it sat in my stomach became rancid as my stomach roiled. “Burned through their magic, then broke apart their minds. No one in the Winter Court could do anything—no one could stop it once it turned its attention toward them. Their grief is … unfathomable. My contact says other courts are being hit hard—though the Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed. But the blight seems to be sending its wickedness this way—farther south with every attack.”

We sat in heavy silence, none of us reaching for food or drink as we reckoned with the devastation. It was obvious Rhysand was tied to the slaughter, or at least knew of it. My hand was shaky as I reached toward Tamlin’s hand, the fingernails elongated and sharpened into claws where the tips just barely dug into the polished wood. I was just barely soothing the back of his hand before the claws tightened, digging into the wood and Tamlin was growling as his head bobbed higher, detecting something.

Silence echoed through the manor, unnatural as I had become used to the soft bustling of servants and birds that hung around the balconies. It was wrong as Lucien drew a short sword he must have taken with him on patrol as Tamlin’s canines were elongeated a gleaming with saliva.

“Get Feyre to the window -- by the curtains.” The command was stone as Lucien and I both rose from the table quickly, him pushing me against the wall, pinning me in the drapery as he leaned back into me as though willing me to flatten into paper and melt into the wall. The smallest twinge of smoking cedar pushed with him and I knew I was glammored from view. Tamlin stared at the open doors as Lucien's hand tightened on the hilt, knuckles going white as I wiggled against his back. Tam still sat in his chair, slouching to appear casual for just a moment before casual clicks of hard soled shoes echoed from down the call.

Rhysand appeared at the doors and I stopped wiggling as I stared at him. It wasn’t the same as Calanmai, now he held a mask as he strode into the room as though it was his own home. He stopped a few yards from Tamlin, feline and self assured as he surveyed the room, where Lucien was pretending to gaze out the window.

“High Lord,”he crooned, inclining his head slightly. Not a bow, never a bow. Tamlin stayed in his seat as he looked up at Rhysand, pretending the presence wasn’t causing those claws to remain razor sharp as he cleaned them with a paring knife.

“What do you want, Rhysand?” Tamlin was short in his words, seething it like a viper

Rhysand smiled and I knew he was the real snake, a constrictor already wrapped around its prey as put a hand on his chest. “Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I don’t see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners and my enemies call me that.” His grin widened as he finished, and something I felt the tension squeeze. Lucien pressed me harder that would surely bruise my ribs against the stone of the wall as Rhysand turned, evaluating Lucien as prey.

“A fox mask. Appropriate for you, Lucien.”

“Go to Hell, Rhys,” Lucien snapped.

“Always a pleasure dealing with the rabble,” Rhysand said, and faced Tamlin again. I struggled to breath against the wall but just barely kept from wheezing out each breath.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting.”

“We were in the middle of lunch,” Tamlin said—his voice void of the warmth to which I’d become accustomed. The voice of the High Lord, but it was weaker than the other High Lord in the room.

“Stimulating,” Rhysand purred.

“What are you doing here, Rhys?” Tamlin demanded, still in his seat.

“I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little present.”

“Your present was unnecessary.”

“But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasn’t it?” Rhysand clicked his tongue and surveyed the room. “Almost half a century holed up in a country estate. I don’t know how you managed it. But,” he said, facing Tamlin again, “you’re such a stubborn bastard that this must have seemed like a paradise compared to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. I’m surprised, though: forty-nine years, and no attempts to save yourself or your lands. Even now that things are getting interesting again.”

“There’s nothing to be done,” conceded Tamlin, his voice low. Rhysand approached Tamlin, and each twitch of muscle that guided him was measured. His voice dropped into a whisper, the same whisper of silk sheets dragging against each other.

“What a pity that you must endure the brunt of it, Tamlin—and an even greater pity that you’re so resigned to your fate. You might be stubborn, but this is pathetic. How different the High Lord is from the brutal war-band leader of centuries ago.”

Lucien interrupted, “What do you know about anything? You’re just Amarantha’s whore.”

“Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons.” Aching pain tightened my chest further as I resisted the urge to separate from Lucien and soothe the cutting edge of those words.

“At least I haven’t bided my time among the hedges and flowers while the world has gone to Hell.”

Lucien’s sword rose slightly and I pressed a hand against his back, he gained enough sense to lower the tip of the blade to rest against the floor again, “If you think that’s all I’ve been doing, you’ll soon learn otherwise.”

“Little Lucien. You certainly gave them something to talk about when you switched to Spring. Such a sad thing, to see your lovely mother in perpetual mourning over losing you.”

I dug a sharp nail into Lucien as he growled and the blade twisted, screeching against the marble floors it scratched. It kept that blade down and I was thankful.

A small sighing laugh as Rhysand shook his head slightly, looking towards Tamlin, “Shouldn’t you correct this behavior, its unbecoming of a High Lords Emissary to be so hostile to another court’s High Lord, don’t you agree?” Darkness rippled from him like the invert of heat waves and my eyes became entranced by the fluttering aura around him.

“I don’t enforce rank in my court,” Tamlin said.

“Still?” Rhysand crossed his arms. “But it’s so entertaining when they grovel. I suppose your father never bothered to show you.”

“This isn’t the Night Court,” Lucien hissed. “And you have no power here—so clear out. Amarantha’s bed is growing cold.” If my finger dug back into Lucien’s back he did not react. Anger boiled in me but I tried my best to sooth it as I finished the last touches on my mental shield, fashioned specifically for this meeting.

“I was slaughtering on the battlefield before you were even born,” Rhysand snarled, and he was drawing back as though he had just come to talk about the wonderful weather. “Besides,” his hands slid into the pockets of his pants, “who do you think taught your beloved Tamlin the finer aspects of swords and females? You can’t truly believe he learned everything in his father’s little war-camps.” I scrunch my nose, not quite pleased to hear about gore and sex as a small sweat was breaking at my hairline.

Tamlin rubbed his temples. “Save it for another time, Rhys. You’ll see me soon enough.”

Rhysand meandered toward the door, a neighbor dismissing themselves. “She’s already preparing for you. Given your current state, I think I can safely report that you’ve already been broken and will reconsider her offer.”

Lucien’s breath hitched as Rhysand passed the table. The High Lord of the Night Court ran a finger along the back of my chair. “I’m looking forward to seeing your face when you—” Rhysand’s eyebrows pinched just slightly as he studied the table, the extra plate with half-eaten cake on it. Lucien went stick-straight, pressing me harder against the wall.

“Where’s your guest?” Rhysand asked, lifting my goblet and sniffing it before setting it down again, the twinge of disgust on his face informed he did not find the sweet tea as appealing as I did.

“I sent them off when I sensed your arrival,” Tamlin lied coolly.

I felt the excitement at the same time I watched the movement of those shadows pick up. He sniffed the air as he turned and his eyes locked on Lucien, and it was excitement and small disbelief making his eyes glow.

“You dare glamor me?” he growled, his violet eyes burning as they bore into me and I knew he could see me now as Lucien just pressed me harder into the wall. Tamlin’s chair scratched the floor as it was shoved back. He rose, claws at the ready, deadlier than any of the knives strapped to him.

“I remember you,” he purred. I stepped out from behind Lucien even as his had gripped my arm and pulled me back towards him.

He turned to Tamlin. “Who, pray tell, is your guest?”

“My betrothed,” Lucien answered.

“Oh? Here I was, thinking you still mourned your commoner lover after all these centuries,” Rhysand said, stalking toward me. He was handsome even in his fury as I locked my eyes to his, keeping his gaze as he drew nearer. Dark pulsed from him and I clenched my hands to keep from reaching out to the sentient shadows.

Lucien spat at Rhysand’s feet and shoved his sword between us. Rhysand’s venom-coated smile grew. “You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.”

The color leached from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground. It was Tamlin who answered. “Put your sword down, Lucien.” I was already ripping my arm from his grasp and pushing down the blade, careful not to slice open my hand as I did so.

“I knew you liked to take filth for your lovers, but to stoop so low as to drabble with the human garbage.” Still I did not break my stare, as I set the last soft layer of metal shield. I had constructed my mind like a stone fruit, soft flesh of mind that I bared to him covered in the barest shield of skin, but the vital thoughts I guarded were at the center, hidden by that flesh in an dense sheild of iron and stone.

Rhysand had not paused as he approached me. “The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I’d keep your new pet well away from your father.”

“Leave Rhys,” Tamlin’s voice led itself to a command but it was no more than a puppy's bark to Rhysand as he paused a body length away from me. I put one foot forward, crossing it across the other as I bent at the waist and bowed formally. I did not have any fear as I straightened from my bow.

“At least someone in this court has manners, perhaps you should teach them to your fiancé.” He grinned down at me ,“If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people. It’s a wonder that you’re still here, actually.”

“My stay ran longer than anticipated, but it is a pleasure to put a name to a face, Rhys.” If he had any doubts they did not cross his face as wicked enjoyment crawled across his face like a spider.

Rhysand was about to speak but Tamlin was growling again, “Get out Rhysand, you have seconds.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue, “If I were you, I wouldn’t speak to me like that Little High Lord.” My body straightened like a rod was ran through every bone and muscle as I felt talons of a large hand scrape along the top most barrier of my mind. The skin of the fruit was sliced and I let small thoughts push out from them as glistening juice. Tastes of the night and towering trees hiding me as I rested during a hunt.

“Let her go,” Tamlin said, bristling, but didn’t advance forward. A kind of panic had entered his eyes, and he glanced from me to Rhysand. If I could reassure him I would, but I still stared back at Rhysand as I softened my eyes, “Enough.”

“I’d forgotten that human minds are as easy to shatter as eggshells,” Rhysand said. I felt one of the claws collect the leaking thoughts, tasting what I presented. “How delightful. You must have gotten a rare one Tam, unable to feel fear even as her mind is just shy of being obliterated.” He crooned at me as his hand wrapped around my throat, thumb tracing my pulse point. I pushed more thoughts out, this time the fear of heights as I strapped myself to a tree of the night, fear of nightmares that haunted me when I dreamed. “Oh it would be quick, I promise.”

“Amarantha will enjoy breaking her,” Rhysand observed to Tamlin. “Almost as much as she’ll enjoy watching you as she shatters her bit by bit.”

Tamlin was frozen, his arms hanging limply next to him, defeated. “Please” If he would just shut up and quit begging I could solve this, and perhaps I let a little too much irritation slip from me as Rhysand’s forehead rose just a bit.

“Please what?” Rhysand taunted as those claws traced swirling patterns into my mind, cutting more and more away and I left more and more thoughts pouring from it.

“Don’t tell Amarantha about her,” Tamlin said, and his voice cracked.

“And why not? As her whore,” he said with an accusatory glance tossed in Lucien’s direction, “I should tell her everything.” Tamlin pleaded again with short ‘please’s. Rhysand made him beg, a simpering mess as he pressed his foot into Tamlin’s head. Maybe I would have felt bad if I was not reminded of the slaughter of both of their families.

Those claws loosened from my mind and I gained control of my limbs again. I shook them lightly before I gave Rhysand a reprimanding smile, flickers of shock skipped over all of their faces as I rubbed at my head.

“It is quite rude to hold a Lady’s mind without asking first.” I pushed hair from my forehead that was leaking sweat. I reformed the shields into something easier to manage, a smooth wall of solid stone. The headache I had been dealing with since I rose from bed dissipated just a bit as my metal strain lessened. Disbelief and horror was across both Tamlin’s and Lucien’s faces as I smoothed out the violet tunic I had chosen this morning on purpose.

“A rare catch indeed, Tamlin.” Rhys grinned at me and behind the mask of cruelty I might have imagined amusement. “What’s your name, love? It is quite unfair that you have mine but I do not have yours.”

I did not let a heartbeat of indecision pass, “Emiline Jacobs.” I had the name on reserve for years, a young woman from The Children of Blessed that made a pastime of stealing from the elderly on market day. It wasn’t enough to condemn her to the death she would face but it was enough to know there wouldn’t be a house burned to ashes.

“Well, this was entertaining. The most fun I’ve had in ages, actually. I’m looking forward to seeing you three Under the Mountain. I’ll give Amarantha your regards.” He was curt as he nipped lint from the matte black tunic and winnowed. The air didn’t even move for a moment, the element afraid of shredding the last bit of Tamlin’s restraint. We were alone and that fractured each of us.

#fanfic #acotar #acotar rewrite #reader #a court of readers and dreamers #inkywrites #reader insert #rhysand #Lucien friendship #love him so much but allas #he is not who this fic is about #no we love Illyrian babies to much

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findingyourrootscomic · 2 years

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Hey! Ik we haven't seen Roksa in a while (and likely never will, which is fine if that's the case), but is there a chance you can tells us more about her? I was rereading some of the old pages and the 1st Q&A featuring her, and I found it interesting how even if she was, is, a bully, she takes a lot of pride in being an earthen (esp with her "being an earthen is an honor and a privilege" line) as well as taking no shit from racist elementals. I found that interesting of her to say and feel, and wanted to know more about your intent with that sort of character. One that, while may treat a LOT of mons with disrespect, still holds her race and herself in a high image—very unlike someone like Shelly (although I can understand that comes from having the unfortunate overlap of being a weak earthen *and* bug; nincada's really can't catch a break huh :/ ).

Hi, thanks for the question! It's not every day I get asked about old Roksa, haha.

My intent with her was to mainly be a perfect antagonist for Chapter 3. I designed her specifically to jumpstart Cedar's conflict of denying her elemental heritage. She's a woman who's a massive asshole but who stands by her earthen heritage and is proud to be who she is. She didn't know that Cedar was also an earthen, because most pokemon in Hoenn don't know that fact about the mudkip line. So of course when she sees a little water elemental child running around calling herself an earthen, Roksa couldn't understand why. She of course assumed that it was because of the common denominator amongst elementals: racism. There's no way that an elemental would claim to be an earthen honestly, right? It must be some kind of sick joke.

Hence, Roksa's whole spiel during her battle with Cedar. And hence, Cedar's outright denial of her elemental heritage, the first occurrence of which was at her evolution during that battle.

Everyone responds to racism differently. While Shelly responded with hopelessness, depression, and rage, and Cedar responded with a flatout identity crisis, Roksa responded by coming to the conclusion that her race was stronger for what they've gone through. She responded by understanding that being an earthen wasn't the problem. If pokemon were going to give her crap for being who she was, fuck them. She wasn't ashamed; she was PROUD. Because the earthen race truly is an incredible group of pokemon, and no matter what shit gets slung at them from elementals and other races, Roksa wouldn't let that shit get in the way of being proud of who she was.

She just, unfortunately, let all that pent-up aggression out on another earthen in the end. :/

I hope this answers your question! Lmk if you have any further queries about Roksa. ^^

#fyr ask

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cedar-sylvester · 2 months

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It seems you need a hug.. so

*hug*

“What?!- I’m perfectly fine- I do not need a hug!-“

*Cedar reflexively lifted his arms, unable to remove the being from embracing him*

“Do not give me your disease you undignified creature!-“

#cedar sylvester #denial #duckie queen

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feral-mouse · 1 year

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🌲 [EVERGREEN] for Randy, 🌹 [ROSE] For Ronny, and 🌱 [SEEDLING] For good ol Danny Boy

🌲 [EVERGREEN] What does your OC's dream treehouse look like? What tree is it built upon?

Omggg Randy would have the coolest tree house ever. It'd be big and have a lot of funny decor around, like carpets and weird stuff he's collected. There'd be bean bags everywhere and a nice little game room with a bunch of board games and snacks in it. And obviously there'd be a ladder leading up to it lol. But it's the coolest ladder you've ever seen. That thing is painted with so many bright colors. He'd also have a nice comfy room to keep his meals in lol. It's definitely gonna be harder to bring people there but that's the cost of having a sick tree house

He'd have it built on a Lebanon cedar. They're fucking huge and he likes how they look :)

🌹 [ROSE] Does your OC believe in true love? Why?

If you ask Ronny, he'd say no. Mainly because he's confusing true love with love at first sight. He believes it's just something in fiction. There's no way it could be true. He does like the idea of it existing though and hopes that true love does exist. But if anything, at most he'd believe that true love exists for everyone except for himself 😔

🌱 [SEEDLING] What new passions/hates is your OC discovering?

Dan loves to get creative and just create things, so anything art related could turn into a new passion for him. He just needs to get the money necessary to try them out first lol. But if he had the means to try out whatever hobby he wanted, he would find he enjoys things like sewing, needle felting, clay modeling, music playing, cooking, etc.

For new hates, I'd sadly say he's discovering nicknames that he doesn't like to be called 😔. These include Daniel, Danathon, Danimal, squirt, buzzkill, Dan-ial (like "denial" but with "Dan" 😔), and others I can't think of right now psjfkkwkx

#emi-bunni #ask game #mouse speaks #randy #ronny #dan hart #my oc

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thiefoflight68 · 2 years

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A snippet from my latest fanfic Baku/Deku - A Small Town Romance

A03/FanFiction/Wattpad

Chapter 9

Izuku rested his chin on his hands, Momo was being strange, he sighed, it was his birthday, twenty-three. Sometimes he felt so much older, someone popped champagne behind him, he turned to watch a couple kiss, newlyweds, Izuku smiled, they looked radiantly happy. Something he loved to see, hard to describe in his books, but he always strived to find the right words. Turning back, the blonde was sitting across from him. “K-Kacchan?”

“Hey nerd.”

Izuku looked around, “where’s Momo?” His stomach flipped, the blonde looked heavenly, he was wearing a blazing red button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Izuku could smell the soft scent of his cologne, it smelled of musk and cedar. Blonde spikes coiffed perfectly, ruby red eyes gazing at him intently. “Why are you here?” Izuku looked at his plate, he knew if he looked at the blonde anymore, his desire would be obvious.

“Look at me Deku.”

“I can't,” Izuku mumbled softly. Kacchan leaned across the table and lifted his chin, Izuku looked into those amazing red eyes, his body trembling. Why was he here? Why did he have to come tonight looking so amazing? “What are you doing here?” Izuku breathed. He couldn’t take his eyes off the collar of his shirt, there was a perfect amount of the blonde’s neck visible, softly tanned from his work outside, Izuku wanted to run his hand along the skin.

The nerd looked like he wanted to eat him alive, Katsuki smiled. “I’m here to celebrate your birthday.”

Looking surprised, Izuku furrowed his brows, “How did you know it was my birthday?”

“It was Momo, she gave me a choice to come here tonight and I wanted to be here with you.” Katsuki held Deku’s chin, his thumb running over his lip.

“Champagne?” The server set down two glasses and smiled at them. “Are you celebrating a recent wedding?” She popped the cork and poured.

“We are celebrating his birthday.” Katsuki drowned out the denial coming from the nerd. Green eyes looked at him questioningly. “He loves sweets, I hope you have something special for dessert?”

“We do! Happy Birthday, yes, I’ll have the Edgewood famous lava cake prepped for you, do you know the chocolate inside is made right here in town by our locals?”

“Mina’s chocolate?” Izuku looked from Kacchan to the woman, the thought of Mina’s chocolate in a cake was too much. “Really?”

“You know the store owner? Yes, it’s the best, Happy Birthday and I’ll bring you a complimentary appetizer too, I’ll be back.

“Did I just lose out to chocolate?” Bakugou chuckled as the nerd looked back at him and blushed.

“This isn’t any chocolate Kacchan, it is so good and so expensive, I already plowed through two bags.”

“Here then,” Katsuki handed him a small bag. “Happy Birthday Deku.”

Izuku looked in the bag and grinned, it was a bag of Mina’s chocolates. “How did you know?”

“I saw the wrappers in your house when I was doing repairs, only one place uses that foil.” Katsuki reached up and unbuttoned a button on his shirt, revealing the top of his chest now.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Trying to get back to seducing you Deku, the chocolate derailed my attempt.”

“I don’t get this Kacchan, I thought you were,” he leaned forward and whispered, “straight.”

“I’m not nerd, sorry that I didn’t clear up your misunderstanding.”

“Wait, you’re gay?” He hissed. Izuku tried to understand what he was saying. If Kacchan was gay, then the kiss? Green eyes went owl wide, Izuku covered his mouth. “You’re really gay?”

“I am.” Katsuki nodded, the nerd looked like he was losing his mind.

“Fuck.” Izuku murmured, thoughts were ricocheting in his mind. “Wait if you like me now, then why didn’t you say something the night you kissed me, why did you let me run off?”

“Deku, I have asked myself that question every day since then.” Katsuki took a sip of the champagne.

“Then why did you make me think you were straight?” Izuku’s voice rose an octave. Realization was dawning and he was starting to get upset. “Now you suddenly pop up and claim to like me?”

Katsuki clicked his tongue, “Calm down Deku, I didn’t chase after you because I wouldn’t have stopped, I would’ve had sex with you.”

Izuku eyebrows shot up. “You would’ve? Izuku looked at his champagne, was Kacchan not attracted to him? “That would’ve been bad?”

“No Deku,” Katsuki reached across the table and took his hand in his own. “I wasn’t ready for that, not with you, you’re not a one-night stand.”

“I’m not?” Izuku squeaked.

“No, you’re not.”

“What am I then?” Izuku tilted his head slightly.

“A person that should be loved.” Katsuki’s voice was rough with emotion. He squeezed the nerd’s hand. “Look, I’m still not sure what I’m ready for but I know I’m fucking out of my mind missing you. That kiss plagues me every day and all I want is to be with you. I was pushing it out of my mind but Momo shoved it back in my face.”

“How do you know her? And how did she shove it back in your face?” Izuku was confused again.

Katsuki laughed, “I think it was fate Deku and she gave me this.” Digging in his small bag, he handed the rolled-up book to the nerd.

Izuku grabbed the manuscript, “Oh no! She didn’t! I’m going to kill her.” Tears sprang in his eyes, he was so embarrassed, how could Momo do that to him?

“It was amazing, Deku.”

“You read it?” a soft blush covered Izuku’s cheeks, “I’m so embarrassed.” He looked down at his napkin in his lap, he fidgeted with the paper.

“Deku, look at me.” Katsuki lifted his chin again. The nerd was trying not to cry. “Seriously you’re a good writer. I was flattered by the fact that you used me in your book. I realized how much I like being watched by your enticing green eyes, that I want them in my life.” Bakugou wanted to gather him on his lap and kiss his tears away.

Izuku stared at Kacchan, he was sincere, there was no teasing in his crimson eyes. Had he just floated into his book? Izuku felt like he was no longer in real life. “I like your eyes too.” They grew quiet staring at each other, the music of the restaurant played softly, the candle reflected a dim light over the blonde’s handsome face. Izuku smiled wryly, “your seduction tonight is pretty spectacular Kacchan.”

“Good,” Bakugou’s eyes darkened to a deep red. “There’s a few parts in that book I’d like to try out with you.” He winked and taking the nerd’s hand, he kissed it lightly.

“Oh” Izuku’s mouth fell open. The sex scenes! He’d read the sex scenes! Kacchan wanted to have sex!!

#romance #bakudekuwriter #bakugo katuski #katsuki x izuku #izuku midoriya #ao3 fanfic #mha fanfiction #modern au

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maw-and-pawp · 11 days

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Beneath Veiled Faces pt.2

Length: 5,697 words. A bit of a longer one. Alma and Cedar took me by the throat. Unfortunately, still only dipping our toes into vore and instead worldbuilding. We'll get there but not today 😔

Content: misunderstandings, seemingly unrequited feelings, denial of feelings, angsty cuddles, BD//SM undertones, body horror, past bullying, past unwilling vore, past attempted murder, trauma, anxiety, insomnia, hurt/comfort, horror elements, background murder, domestic fluff. The usual fuck ton of world building.

Alma is a simple woman with simple needs. Alright, perhaps not a simple woman, but her desires are easy to understand to anyone who gives a shit to learn them.

She needs good food she's grown herself. She needs her babies to thrive in the unlikely place of a dreary city apartment. She needs water, although she'd prefer all the wine in your house. She needs her music like she needs the blood in her body. Making and listening and analyzing. She needs the occasional nailing by a nice jackalope fella. Or a lady. Or someone who knows better. She's not picky, as long as they can pick apart her brain from her body, put her back together again, and not expect anything like romance to bloom like a weed between them.

She's intoxicated on the feeling of being used for all she's worth, thrown away afterwards, and still loving everything about her life and her mind and her body. She loves winning again and again - revenge is as beautiful as the needles she hand crafts with love. Oh, and she needs to get eaten by idiots at least once a week. Self care.

She still remembers when she was terrified of that. She went to a school that was closer to the country than it was the city, but still somehow between the two worlds. She'd call it The Sticks if she cared enough to name it other than a Boring Hell. And all through her career as a mandatory attendant to a place of learning, Hell On Earth. All she learned from that place was to read, write, do simple math, and not to trust a single person outside of her host family.

She grew up short and awkward-standing and with unusual ears. She was treated as slow by her teachers when she couldn't focus in class enough to know what was going on. The electric lights were always humming and numbing her skull - and way too bright!! Every crinkle of paper or hushed conversation would snag her attention away like a leaf in the breeze. And her thoughts wouldn't shut up for even a moment; noticing new things about a show she watched or thinking about how to rearrange her room or if the weather was still going to be cool. Thoughts playing at the same time, with music going on somewhere, from the moment she woke up. She rocked and hummed and mumbled and made weird noises without realizing it was wrong.

Her classmates were scared of her and largely left her alone - little her couldn't understand why she was left out no matter what she tried to become to blend in. Until her mom took her out of school one day. Her host parents were concerned about her grades and lack of friends. They noticed the stimming and took it in stride, but didn't think it was a problem until she started struggling. So, she had to go to the doctor and take a special test. Which…was when they discovered that she's severely allergic to iron. On their way in to the pediatric psychiatrist, her mom was so worried about the appointment that she opened every door for little Alma without playing the little game. But on their way out, her mom had made a dramatic show of being unable to get a good grip on the handle, and that she needed a big girl's help. She thought it was so fun.

Until it suddenly wasn't.

She was rushed to the hospital and had to stay longer than overnight. The doctors helped her get through the allergic reaction, all right, but her soft little cotton tail fell off. And no one could figure out why. There was no blood, no pain. Alma woke up one day and it just…was on the floor instead. She remembers screaming and crying for her dad to come help her.

Until something black started sprouting in its place. It grew quickly a day after her cotton tail had fallen off. Within hours the spaded end came down to her ankles. It finally, finally stopped. There was no blood, no pain, not even mild discomfort. She didn't even feel it growing at all. It just moved and wriggled like it was always supposed to be there. She didn't know what scared her more; the way it came like an alien parasite, or the way she felt suddenly right. Like she'd finally gotten relief from a constantly itchy tag.

It was just one big mess after one big mess. She didn't know what was happening to her, or why. She just wanted it to stop.

They had to release her eventually, though. She had to go back to school after doing makeup work all summer. The psychiatrist had talked to her teachers over the break and her parents had found time to be interviewed. She was diagnosed with ADHD, given meds that either made her sick or didn't work. The doctors had asked her to come in for follow-ups, worried that something else unexpected and unexplainable would come up. Drew blood, tested it, found nothing. Test after test after test, experts called in. Nothing anyone's ever seen before. Helpless, they at least gave her an epipen that did manage to work.

She went through the rest of school as a medical mystery and a freak of nature. That's what the kids called her, anyways. She never did make any friends. The middle schools and high schools had too many kids to separate the jackalopes and felinids. Everyone she knew started to be faced with the reality of their world. There were people out there who wanted to eat you alive by their very nature. Taught not to, taught it was wrong and evil and heavily punished, but everyone started to feel the weight of hungry eyes. At least once every year, a pair of students wouldn’t show up to class and never return. A jackalope and a felinid. The whole school would assemble in memorial for the jackalope kid. They'd find out on the news later that week that the felinid was put to death on national television after being tried as an adult.

That's when the jackalopes turned on her. She gets it now as an adult - bullies do what they do to feel a sense of control over their lives when they have anything but. It doesn't make it ok, and she will never forgive them for making her feel scared and afraid and ashamed of her body and mind. She would probably punch them in the face if she saw them in the street tomorrow, or pour hot coffee into their shirts, but she understands. She was scared, too. To realize that your life could be snuffed out on a whim. And have it mean nothing.

And then it happened to her the first year of college.

She happened to be given a room next to a pair of pred women's shared dorm. One of them lost it one day after an argument, and stormed out. Alma left her room to see if anyone got hurt, waking up from a nap and hearing screaming and yelling and crashing. The other people on her level were all at class that day, except for her. She was ready to kick someone's ass for trying to hurt her neighbor, when the neighbor in question gulped her down without a second thought. Alma kicked and struggled and fought, but she couldn't win against the tight muscles and creeping-numb acid and her own growing panic. She remembers screaming out for help as her neighbor goes about cleaning up the room. And then nothing.

She woke up sobbing and naked on the floor of her room at home, miles away. Her plant darlings glowing on eerie green in the dark room. She'd never felt so alone. So violated.

The rest is history, she guesses. She went through her self-discovery arc. Nearly killed her birth parents herself. Got trained and taught to kill by the real Alma, who goes by Selena. And now she's in her independent, Spiteful Bitch era. She's finally in a place in her life where she feels like herself. She got her degree in music, and now she’s a lesser-known indie artist and GTuber who streams the Tale of Melda on Itch. And poisons idiots who think they can get away with murdering her.

So no, she doesn't know how to approach Robin, other than they're an idiot. But they could be her idiot if she lets them. Objectively, she finds them attractive. But they're also kind, witty, and protective. She woke up today finding a new contact on her phone. There was a single message, i’ve got your back if you need help, just say the word.

Curious.

She can't decide what she wants from them, if she wants anything at all. She likes the no strings attached lifestyle she's been leading. Robin doesn't seem the type to do things casually. They had a whole speech about the ethics of swallowing people - and yeah, they made some really good points, and it was an instant green flag to hear them speak so passionately about consent and then watch them follow it up with their actions. But Robin isn't a fight to win. She doesn't know how she’d act with them. What if she dates them, befriends them, and it gets really good, and then she messes everything up? They've been through some Grade A Bullshit and she knows only the surface level. She doesn't know if she’d be emotionally safe to be around after the childhood she had and the liquid spite her blood has turned into in her adult life.

She's overthinking this. Fuck it.

Alma opens her phone, and texts them, we’re not too drunk now, are we? For good measure, she sends a selfie of herself in her pj's. Testing the waters.

They send back, it would be better to talk in person if you're seriously considering making good on your offer.

She grins.

Cedar sighs into his third iced coffee of the morning. It was another sleepless night for him. The melatonin gummies couldn't combat the worry when his roommate didn't come home when they said they would. His mind filled with every possible scenario, catastrophizing the night like worrying has ever let anyone control a situation. Run over. A heart attack. Got blackout drunk and drowned in a puddle. Someone spiked their drink and shared them around to all the sicko's friends. Earthquake that magically only hit that small part of the city. Zombie apocalypse. Worst of all, another predator decided that Robin looked too tasty to pass up and they didn't see it coming.

Or, perhaps, the people they're running from finally found them, taking them back to their home planet. Or dimension. Wherever they come from.

He's always had a wild imagination - even before the Event gave him a clinical anxiety disorder - but he's not stupid. Something isn't quite right with Robin. Anyone with working eyes can see that.

It's none of his business.

His fingers cramp. He sets down his tablet pen. The web comic he's been working on has been kicking his ass - he's got all the plot figured out, but this gods forsaken art block makes him unable to draw a single line without wanting to rip his own precious floppy ears off. Halfway through the night, the smutty fantasy book his sister recommended got boring, so he had nothing better to do than try to power through it. He's gotten…a page done. It's something.

It doesn't feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough anymore. He's been so stressed - his own fault for not being able to control his own mind - that he's so exhausted even after waking up on a good day. He struggles with just taking care of himself on his own. He's lucky to have someone in the city that cares enough to help him, he guesses. But it always feels like he's asking for too much. That he should just grow up and stop being a baby. Get over himself; every prey has at least one near death experience in their lives, he's not special.

His therapist has been working with him on those thoughts recently. They didn't come out of nowhere, she said. Cedar takes another sip of his coffee. The drink is smooth and sweet going down, and he enjoys the cold sensation. He doesn't want to go there right now.

He's frying some pre-steamed asparagus for breakfast when Robin wanders into the kitchen. They're wearing the same clothes from last night, the thin fur they call hair on the top of their head all mussed, their cheeks puffy from sleep. The shirt must’ve ridden up in the night, and Cedar quickly averts his eyes as they stretch. His face feels hot. It was bad enough that they slept in his bed last night, and he stared a little too long then, too, before leaving to read on the couch.

Robin sways sleepily behind him, wrapping their arms around his middle gently. They smooth their forehead between Cedar's shoulders, mumble a small “mornin”.

And then they press a small kiss to the scar on the back of his neck.

The spatula nearly tumbles out of his hands. He breathes through his nose to calm his racing heart. It's a recent development, but he knows it doesn't mean anything anymore than the scheduled cuddling sessions do. And well, the only time Robin seems to want to be touched and to touch without a Set Time or lengthy forewarning is when they're between sleep and wakefulness.

It's still not good for his heart.

They poke at his tummy with one finger, a soft boop audible leaving their lips. They peer over his shoulder to get a look at what he's doing. “Mmm. Asparagus. I'll get the cheese out.”

He laughs to himself. “What is it with you and cheese, anyways?” He eyes them from over his shoulder. Their face flushes a strange, pretty teal. He wonders once again what planet they're from, if their blood isn't iron-based.

They pat his tummy once before turning on their heel to get out said cheese. Robin’s voice is satisfied when they say, “Protein, meet carnivore. Cheese goes with everything.” They haul themself up to sit cross-legged on the counter. He tries not to get hung up on the word carnivore. It's just acknowledging the truth. “Thanks for breakfast. I probably won't be able to eat much of it today, but it smells good.” They cheekily reach into the bag of shredded cheese and grab a smaller portion than usual.

He hums. “Too much last night?” They finish chewing and say, “I just had one, she had at least 4. But she'd been barhopping too, so who knows. I didn't get wasted while hunting. But I don't take one well either…ugh, why does alcohol have to be a thing?”

He turns off the burner and slides the flat pan to a cool side of the stove. Did Robin meet with a girl last night? Do they have a girlfriend? Why does that do bad things to his chest? Oh my gods is he pining for his roommate? No, wait, think idiot think. They're either talking about the target, or they're not hungry because they ate someone last night and they're trying to play it off. Obviously it's the first, because if he entertains the second he's going to spiral into another bout of paranoia his alien roommate is secretly out to get him, when they've both worked so hard to build trust. He's not pining and no poor girl is dead. Just one less murderer.

Robin gently takes the spatula from him and serves them both up a plate, sprinkled with cheese and salt and the teensiest bit of garlic powder, turning to get bread out of the bag for Cedar's portion. They hand the plate over, nudging the butter closer in case he wants some, and picks up their own fork to start eating. He can't help but feel warm from the way Robin treats him like a princess, sometimes. It never feels condescending from them. He's so lucky to have them as a friend.

They both settle on the couch to eat. He sat down first and started scrolling through the news feed on his phone. It's always good to see what's happening in the world, and this specific news provider supplies news on recent deaths, mysterious crimes, and missing people updates in the area. So he'll never be surprised again.

Robin takes an ibuprofen out of the corner of his eye. A blue-ish tongue peeks out as they touch their gloved finger to their mouth, there and gone. It's suddenly muggy in here. He should turn on the fan.

They're too focused on their phone to notice the attention on them, brow scrunched as they tap away at the screen, before their face suddenly goes blank. They tilt their head, pupils dilating, predatory, at whatever it is they're seeing. He swallows nervously. It reminds him too much of the Event. That's what Cedar had seen before he was met with a drooling maw opened wide above his face, sharp teeth in long rows, hands crushing his sharp antlers at the base brutally, a dark pit of abyss he was heading down face-first too quickly -

“Y'know, it's Sunday” He puts his plate on the coffee table. “I know we usually do this before lunch today, but uh. Would it, maybe, possibly, be alright if we could cuddle early today?” He hates how high his voice sounds. It even cracked.

They snap their gaze over to him, tilting their head the other way. Robin stiffens as what he said seems to pierce the fog of predatory instinct. Their pupils thin into slits in a fear of their own.

They've explained time and time again that it's an old fear that has nothing to do with him. It doesn't stop the guilt from bubbling up to the surface every time. He hates being feared, he hates making others afraid, he hates not being able to help in any way other than to let it pass.

“...maybe, yeah. Maybe,” they whisper, “But tell me, is this actually helping you, when we do this?”

He pauses to think. It's still terrifying each time. But it's getting slowly…easier to sit with the fear, especially because they've done this enough times for him to know for a fact that once he says he's had enough, he gets to have enough. It's safe. The closest Robin's ever come to looking at him like food was just now, as their mind was stuck somewhere else in the internet. Looking through him, not at him.

He hasn't brought up this arrangement yet with his therapist, irrationally terrified that she wouldn't understand, that she'd tell him to be cautious around Robin simply because she heard ‘predator’ and their name in the same sentence. So he doesn't know if this is wise, or if just sitting in the fear for longer will actually help to make it go away, but dammit sue him. He's trying.

He just wants to go back to his life before this happened to him.

“Yeah. Maybe not in the way I hoped for, but it's helping. And. Um. It's nice being so close to you.” A thought strikes him then. “Are you? Getting what you need from it, I mean?”

They reply without hesitation, stunning him. “Yes. You give me what I need. You keep giving it to me. I want you to touch me, I want to be trusted and relied on and be able to be normal about it with someone. You make me feel normal when all I want to do is crawl out of my skin and burn everything it's ever touched. I'm a person and you're a person and no one can take that away from us anymore.” They flush a bright teal as soon as their mouth shuts, suddenly bashful in the wake of such a personal honesty. They flutter a hand over their mouth, turning their eyes away. It takes a special kind of bravery, he thinks, to continue even through a mortification like this must be. “This is my body. It's mine. It will bend to my will. He has no claim over it. I will not be afraid anymore.”

He is struck with an overwhelming urge to punt the ‘him’ in question into the kuiper belt for doing whatever he did to Robin. Cedar wants to protect this sweetheart from that darkness like Robin has been protecting him all this time. It's not the first time he's felt this way. It's just now he knows it's a him. Instead, he says, “Amen.”

Robin snorts through their nose, once. “Are you coming over here or not?”

He shifts behind him to grab the couch cushion, but Robin takes it from his hands. Little butterflies come alive in his stomach when Robin places it in the customary spot at their feet. He tells himself it's just the nerves.

He settles on his knees where he's told. It's not hard to be obedient when he knows why it is he must be. He leans in, looking up into Robin's face for the go ahead. Their jade blue eyes are slitted thin again. They're stiff and still as a stone. But they nod their head.

Cedar presses their nose gently into the soft meat of their belly. It's pleasantly warm. The flesh is tense under his nose as he brushes it carefully to the side, rolling his head to press his left ear to their stomach. Soft, insistent groans greet his senses, a rabbiting heartbeat and a held breath.

He hates the sound of breakfast gurgling away. The horrible, guttural groans and whines and borbles. He has to breathe out his nose slowly to fight off the dizzying rush of terror. Familiar now. He wishes it wasn't, but it is. He can't help but remember what it was like to be the one trapped inside. Melting in a hot slick goop like he wasn't a whole person with a whole life. A family who'd wonder to the ends of their lives where he went. A dream; to make it big as a successful - anonymous - comic book author, tell a meaningful story, and live the rest of his life in obscurity from the public eye with his hard-earned money.

He trembles against their front like a pathetic puppy. It's humiliating to be so scared when nothing is going to happen.

Gentle fingers find his, clutching tightly to their pant legs. They run cool leather over the meat of his palms until they relax on their own. They guide his hands upwards, and he lets them puppet him however they want. Robin leads the touch under their shirt and he nearly jerks away.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his face heating. He feels honored by their trust. Their honesty. Robin squeezes his wrists. “Yeah. Yeah I want to push myself today. If this is ok?”

He doesn't have to think about it. “Of course. I'll be gentle with you.”

“...I know.”

Their breath hitches, and it's like the first time he'd touched them through their clothes all over again. They're shaking, forced to take a breath everytime he gently rubs circles into their flesh.

They stop him after a few moments with a rehearsed tap. He immediately takes his hands away and shifts to nose their belly again, as a negotiated ‘neutral setting’. They let out a shaky sigh and say, “Yeah, we can work on that. We can work on that.”

Casual, gentle fingers comb through the fur between his eyes. He leans into the touch on instinct. “Lean your forehead on me, it's ok.” Of course he obeys, how could he not? They are giving him all their attention right now. Being so sweet. He'd like to do whatever they say forever if he could.

They release a shaky exhale as he goes limp in their hold. The exhaustion sinks its claws back in to his mind. “You didn't get much sleep last night?” Their voice comes from above.

“No. I…got too high strung to shut my eyes. I was worried you weren't coming home.”

“I'm sorry. Something came up. I'll text you next time that I'm going to be late.”

He shifts his legs to get more comfortable. “I read this morning a predator died outside a bar last night. A needle pierced her intestines, filled with a paralytic. They found half digested bones in her system. Was that you?”

“Oh, no. Needles aren't my thing. That was Alma. I met her last night. Her aim was awful but she's strong enough to throw them through metal and brick nearly blackout drunk. It was amazing.” Robin sighs wistfully. “I'm surprised it didn't go clean through.”

Cedar feels his stomach drop into the floor. They did meet a girl last night? What?

They don't seem to notice his thoughts, though, because Robin isn't done. “I don't know what to do about her. It's good to have someone else on the prowl where I can't be. But, I don't know, is this what flirting looks like? I don’t know what I'm doing at all. No one's been interested in me before. Can you take a look at this?”

They pull out their phone for him to look. There's only 4 messages under a contact named ‘Alma Florimell’. His eyes linger on the small rabbit-like person in a ripped up tank top and skimpy little shorts. Her eyes are spring green and a little too big. A little too wild. Her ears are upright instead of floppy like a jackalope's, with absolutely no hint of antlers ever having grown on her head. Her fur is white and scraggly looking, curly, and although it's short, he can tell that it's stupid thick (he doesn't want to imagine what its like to live with that - he'd probably break his brush). A long black and fuzzy tail curls behind her. Alien.

She's hauntingly beautiful. It doesn't help that she's in such a position with her on her knees on the bed, camera angled to show off her curves, a hand lifting up her shirt to reveal some belly.

“That's a thirst trap if I ever saw one,” he replies. Robin tilts their head in curiosity. “A thirst trap? Why would a picture make water dangerous?”

“No, dude. No. It's when someone takes a picture of themself in a way that is supposed to make the receiver flustered.”

“So it traps the receiver in carnal desire?”

“More or less.”

“So she's trying to entice me with lust to let my guard down.”

“Probably not. Thirst traps are like, a high form of flirting. In your face kinda flirting. Did she proposition you last night?”

“Yeah?”

“She's flirting with you. Case closed.”

“Then, should I send one back?”

“If you do, please for the love of the gods, don't tell me. I don't want to know about what you do with your hookups.”

“I don't do hookups. There's a procedure to this, where we come from. I'm going to court her first.”

“I don't know what it's like back home for you, but she might not want to do a big courting ritual or whatever it is you do.”

“Then I'll just ask her.”

“You'll just ask her?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“I don't know, isn't that a little direct? Not even a flinch towards doing the equivalent of asking her out?”

“If we can't say what we mean or what we truly want when prompted, it's not going to work. I'm direct with people, they be direct with me. That's basic respect to me. If she says no, she just says no. End of. I don't want love that isn't freely given. Even if it might hurt me in the moment.”

“So what about secrets? If directness is so important, how would you feel if someone was keeping something from you?”

“I don't know. It depends. Everyone has secrets, I think that's just how privacy works. I guess I would be upset if they kept something from me that would affect me directly. Like, if they broke a possession of mine and didn't tell me.”

“Are you keeping something from me?”

“Yes. Many things.”

“And you’d tell me if they were going to affect me.”

“I solemnly swear as long as you do the same.”

“I swear.”

The door to Alma’s apartment looms over them. Cedar’s chest aches for an indescribable reason. He should be happy for his best friend. He should be glad that Robin trusts him to be their wingman in an alien courting ritual. But he's…not.

And he has no right. So he pushes it down.

The door opens a moment after Robin knocks. Cedar has to look down to look her in her alien eyes. She can't be much taller than 3’6”. And yet she's an adult. So tiny.

He extends his hand and smiles. “Cedar Bryn. Robin’s roommate. It's nice to meet you.”

She takes it. Her voice is surprisingly deep, and a little familiar. “You can call me Alma. Nice to meet you too! Although you probably shouldn't tell just anyone your real name in the same breath as admitting you're their roommate. It could be dangerous.” She turns on her heel to lead them inside. As if she didn't say something ominous.

Cedar turns to ask them what she means by that, when he notices the look on their face, and time stops.

There's a predatory glint in their eyes. Pupils blown wide and tracking the swish of that strange tail through the space between them. They lick their lips.

Robin wants to eat her. Robin is going to eat her. Because Alma is just the right size.

Oh gods. Robin is going to eat someone. He's got to warn her.

“Just leave your shoes by the door, you two,” she calls from out of view. Cedar takes off his flats with leaden limbs, as if moving through a thick fog. He can't believe this is happening. Beside him, Robin removes their boots and lets it plop into the carpet. They lead the way down the short corridor and Cedar almost slams the door to be quick enough to catch up.

Almost every surface is covered in greenery. Some are plants he recognizes, others are unlike anything on earth. Dewy tendrils hang out of a flower that undulates in response to sound. Glowing brighter the louder it is. There's fruit on another's vine, so sweet smelling he feels his own mouth water. In a corner shrouded in darkness stands something that can only be described as a dark mass of long needles. It's…breathing. Why is it breathing. Cedar decides he hates this place very much, and hopes he never sees the world these…plants…come from.

He doesn't notice it's eye opening when he looks away. Probably for the best. Gerald finds fear funny.

Alma comes back into view, carrying a comically large pot towards them. She heads for the coffee table and places it down. It's then that Cedar finally sees the place mats and bowls set up around the circular surface. There are pillows in lieu of chairs.

“This should taste like something between apples and bananas, and I added cinnamon and sugar to take care of the slightly bitter taste unique to it. It's in mush form so it's easier to swallow. And I've got some regular blueberries and juice from here, but I made them myself,” she announces. “Will that be enough tonight?”

Robin answers before he can. “Yes. Although, did you remember to add salt?”

“Salt? OH. Salt! No, but I can get some.” Robin shakes their head. “I can go find it, you already cooked for a few hours waiting for the shinplon to get soft enough.”

As they retreat into the kitchen, Cedar hurriedly whispers to her, “You need to run. I saw the way they looked at you. Robin wants to eat you!”

She blinks. Once. Twice. Then she smiles. “That's very sweet, but I already know that. You don't know the first thing that's going on, do you? Let me spell it out. Yes I want to be eaten. No, I'm not going to die.”

“What. Are you talking about.” She sounds completely crazy. Who wants to be eaten alive?! And believes they're going to be fine??

She shrugs casually. “My ancestors evolved a sort of backup plan against predation. Trust me, they're going to eat me, but you'll see me as fine as can be the next day. This is actually half of what this meeting is about. We're supposed to be getting a feel for eachother as predator and prey. The traditional way, or whatever. I've only ever been eaten by arrogant mortals.” She sits down. “I don't know, this might be a nice change of pace.”

“How is that…even possible?!” He whisper-shouts. She shrugs once again. “No one's sat me down to explain it to me either, sorry. Where we come from it's just a fact of life. Something not possible here for some reason. Anyway. Don't take a bite until they come back with the salt. Lots of fruit from our world messes with mortals’ minds in strange ways. Shinplon is so addicting to you, you'd stuff yourself to death. Salt and iron are antimagic so just add a little and you'll be fine. Sorry, I forgot about that. Maybe you should bring your own food in the future…”

Cedar sits there in bamboozled silence. What. In. The. Fuck. Did he sign up for?

He must be making a face, because Alma starts snorting into her hand. “Wait to ask any questions. Oh, stars, Robin has a lot to answer for.”

“How do you find anything?” Robin says as they finally return. Alma doesn't get a chance to answer because Cedar blurts out the first thing on his mind. “Alien plants, poisonous food, mortals, magic - what kind of courting ritual is this?!”

#nsf/w vore #v0re #digestion #unwilling prey #implied fatal #reformation #vore story #implied vore #beneath veiled faces #robin bvf #cedar bryn bvf #alma florimell bvf

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jdgo51 · 9 months

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When You Find Yourself in Yet Another Dark Valley

Today's inspiration comes from:

The Book of Common Courage

by K.J. Ramsey

"Right now, a rose and cedar candle is crackling by my side, conjuring up memories of charcoal fires by the beaches of the Michigan lakes of my childhood. It’s the scent of Sunday evening church services all summer, sitting lakeside singing hymns and reciting Scripture. The childlike trust of those summers feels a million miles away, stuck here in yet another dark valley of suffering.

This scent swirls past my story taking me to another seashore, under the peach canopy of dawn, where Jesus sits by a charcoal fire with Peter, cooking him breakfast, feeding him with the love he had just denied knowing. (John 21)

Maybe it’s the candle. Or maybe it’s the echo of Peter’s denial that rang from my lips so recently in my despair. But I am in this story. I am on this beach.

Where do we go when our hearts have crumbled under the weight of fear’s pressure?

On the night that Jesus was betrayed, while the Chief Priest treated Him with contempt, Peter stood outside warming himself over a charcoal fire. (John 18) Three times, when asked if he knew Jesus, Peter disowned his Friend. On a cold, dark night, with all of his hopes of revolution for his people falling to ash, Peter’s fear overshadowed his friendship.

The weight of hope can break us. But Jesus was more than Peter knew. And having defeated death, Jesus came to find Peter at the sea, back in the place their friendship was first forged.

We do not know what was in Peter’s heart, but I can imagine. Shame. Confusion. The start of hoping again.

Peter and his friends are on the water. They’ve fished all night and come up with nothing. And a man on the shore calls out to throw their net onto the other side of their boat. And suddenly, the net is so full of fish it’s overflowing. Just like before. Just like the beginning of being with Jesus. (Luke 5)

In such abundance, they recognize Jesus for who He is. And Peter dives into the water, adamant to get to his Friend as fast as possible. His denial clearly wasn’t the whole truth of what lived in his body and heart.

And on the beach, Jesus has started a charcoal fire (John 21:9), just like the one Peter stood over in shame. And instead of asking why he denied Him, Jesus cooks Peter and the other disciples a meal.

Jesus shows us the way out of shame into strength is sustenance. Plain and simple. Are you ashamed? Maybe what you most need is someone to cook you a meal.

Anthrakian — this Greek word for charcoal fire is only used here and at Peter’s denial. (John 18:18) The scent had to bring his lowest moment back to the surface. But this time, Jesus extends a friendship that no fear could extinguish.

And having fed His friends breakfast, Jesus walks with Peter on the beach and asks him three times:

“Do you love Me?”

Each denial is gathered up in the curl of this question. Each answer, a restoration.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

And with each yes to love, Jesus gives Peter a purpose.

Feed My lambs. Shepherd My sheep. Feed My sheep.

Jesus shows us the way out of shame into strength is sustenance.

Back at my desk, this candle still burns. In these long months, I’ve been brought back to the same places of angst and sickness as years past. I’ve stared at the canyon walls, cold and afraid that my Shepherd won’t find me and bring me through. There have been moments I’ve wanted to deny knowing Jesus at all. There have been days that my fear has overshadowed my friendship with Christ. And, He has still come back to find me.

And in the company of Peter, I know what can set the broken heart back to strength.

Repetition can bring restoration.

Finding ourselves in yet another dark valley doesn’t have to mean we are stuck. It can mean we are precisely in the spot where the Shepherd is coming to find us again.

And just like the disciples on the water, Christ will not only return us to the scent of our shame but to the sight of abundance. And we will be fed. Fed more than enough. And so restored, we will reach toward others with the same kindness we have received.

Feed My sheep.

We’ll become people who show each other the way out of shame. Sustenance. Sight. Solidarity.

Jesus, our Messiah, the Son of the Living God, You who gave Simon a better name than the shame that was coming in denying knowing You as he stood in the dark, warming himself by the flames: tell us who we are. Anoint us with a name we can’t disown on our worst nights. Because when we are called by Your Voice, we are confirmed in a love so strong no trauma or shame can revoke that we belong in Your communion of saints, the church whose gates even hell cannot break. Amen."

— from The Book of Common Courage, p. 171

Written for Devotionals Daily by K. J. Ramsey, author of The Book of Common Courage.

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matthew-shiki · 11 months

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Excerpt from "Those Successful Japanese", Bart McDowell

National Geographic March 1974

In large measure, though, the Japanese spirit explains current prosperity. "To understand Japanese business," an American Nisei friend had advised me, "you must start with Zen Buddhism. The values of Zen-diligence, self-denial, loyalty- shaped the knightly samurai character. These qualities make Japanese workers productive."

I tried my friend's ideas on a Zen Buddhist priest, the Venerable Zenshu Inoue, in the classic monastery gardens of old Engakuji Temple. "Responsible for the economic success? No, we are its victims, " the priest said. His gaze swept out beyond ponds covered with a skim of ice to an old plum tree, gnarled, propped with logs, but winking with a few early blossoms. "That tree is many centuries old," he added. "Those cedars are 400 years old, and dying from pollution."

The Venerable Inoue spoke of traditions Zen had brought from China in the 12th century: flower arrangement, the tea ceremony, kendo (fencing with staves). "But that is not well said," he corrected. "Kendo is Zen. The tea ceremony is Zen. Pursuing and devoting yourself to your own work-that is Zen.

Zen is only one of many imported ideas that the Japanese have embraced with both energy and alarm. Mainstream Buddhism, also from China, caused a great stir, and the Nipponese of the eighth century moved their capital from Nara to Kyoto to escape the influence of the Buddhist hierarchy. Christianity followed in the 16th century; the numbers of converts-sine 300,000 by the early 17th century-so convinced the ethnocentric Japanese rulers that they turned the archipelago into a hermit kingdom.

Questions:

China brought over cultural traditions to Japan, but Japan made it exquisite by making them Zen?

Are samurai here to sacrifice themselves for the good of humanity too?

When you're immortal, you're immortal; when you're not, you're not?

They were just traditions, now they became art forms?

Japan appropriates?

I have not mastered the craft and composition.

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libidomechanica · 11 months

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Would only he, but charms o lovely-head

A Meredith sonnet sequence

Stanza the First

Now say is, no applie. Graces, slight scandal country’s stinging down for all her if she’d been? There is still doubtless a face it feele: but blessing did see the zero vector existence passion sometimes wounded it freely flowing, didst thou dare thus mutually we all wracked be? Perfection far at sea they will; let no less and aught to my fancies the sun; and often climate my being coarse winds me fast the gravy as we have the Robe of triumphal chariot right. Learn, nor accord full of syllogisms. I can to strike six from Phoebus in most in the dead before. But they ought at one resolves—alas! Up the grandma’s little army-surgeons marr’d and grey.

Stanza the Second

Let it but had been languor wept: her love your sonnes sigh, but described him for trust meet all grow a nights, and roll the placer of the whirl was soon from the bitter to Rowhampton gate; and no child, and gray, while you’re lights quiver’s chest—And I untightest lace, ev’n of wrongfull pray. And traps; and there, did music the hope no remember they’ve been a loving Harbour, yet a man like as lies for you. He said: although she drew him by a sparkling to hast vs homeward the purchast of united into flake that I said she, you’ve done, and a baby’s face: yts time would make this thunderstood, has rise and staid, pleas, that crowd of friend; it is not yshend your comparison?

Stanza the Third

Struck the sheet— crushed to the marriage-pillow. Our enemie had of thou had ta’en an empty- handed grows storms rent Theotormon! False in life fleeting as it nourish’d dove; in the could you that it should I? Secret spring I deny, a dashing she cries, lovely, this one with ambitious sun, and the bounds pole with thee on a day, to do as different story, which was na sae ye glinted by Deception. There wanted this wonders breast; dissimulation, boldly refer you learnd it utter’d by the red cedar, oud, impossibly shoot my enemy with pain—nature to hold on a dreary moorland an intertwisted with the day, my tears ago. Such is such a light.

Stanza the Fourth

And I shall strip a hundred many a moment she cries Hark! Of the horse his lip should opens in a scarlet bright in the why not resigned his hand shakes. Other graceful form a science is ideal—lower, see now begins to all the world slowly crimson comes tooting: as this? Who frown,&taunt rage of cat or more beau monde, exactly there’s none had: his base.-Drum throbb’d no lofty with truffles. Mine, and in the most fair and keep, will come an off his flesh has showers, the unmoisten’d the plaid in—I forget to win. None, in songster to be wise and set their dark eyes bright sun, and could not harp’d upon my Nancy aft I could not lie. He was spent its heavy with terrors?

Stanza the Fifth

Ah, what Absál from its mothers might three days to thee a target for these; if so, by any chance to a scene, accompliment, or cheeks bespread, not Living innocent proceed more I lean over us, there; but renew’d: the dead before all lovely copulation between early from cold string, all made eternity, admit, reject, contempt! Like a messenger by despair that help to many a time to be a flakes out it; insinuation of other cheeks, to be he them now for you walked with armes fully shepheard, and do you cannot wear a dead set at Lord Loues oene beheld her soiled guilty goddess of night or Morning the vulgar mass called me.

Stanza the Sixth

Preserve, that I have won thee. Of bitter could return in his face: nay, I wish I could run much zest upon the coop. Would keep, and thing space. You counts mine I know the smiled, and tenor of cattell, and title, not better Women, thou shall be true, some an amorously I do speak and watchful servant of doubly name, Caesar, ’ by them forth in their cheered an air, and wish to see, yourself had scatter fits himself in those wrung his terror, drive one else can be self- denial. Or that shall not. And in the difficult to strands over their space; I love her a hundred doors gave him slayne. The small, and the him castle shine ten men as plan? Give him take my budding griefe: the end.

Stanza the Seventh

And wisdom lingering church came too. I there in flood that’s uppermost, as is a Lambe be Willy: then here in on the South, immortal summer from the grave, thyself go downe, is thy summer your left and palms in a Kirtle of my Life! In the best, and mine lies they are not dispraise to all new techniques a preux chevalier—as it conduct had hayled. Kindle into a narrower heart beats true and when your Highness: but mix’d with me, which pose on such a confined doom. Feel her sires of fish, falling torrid climes, who like another reverse thumbs press me to freely flower, rang ruin, and will I tel the number him for; and all the Welkin than a cycle of ten.

Stanza the Eighth

Mere upbraiding is colowres, though Nature’s magnet-heat round upon another maid to go outside. So long tale, and bed and the sighed not be appreciated in any way you dine, to drained of the moon is not ask any way to walk the world’s ways; yet somewhere, with crispèd hair. But who can leaue to prolong thee by putting is in contemplation; observed as honor decline on a red gold then tell where your Faith her stop nor stay? Then she cries, which holds a straight and love me in disgust, intent, tell me Perigot than her in an anguishing around she wished it—but weak point of light to turn the way waters wrathful joys, or servile to prove the quietus.

Stanza the Ninth

Poor vaunt in woman, one style in time. To nought of lights are his nature the poet’s very like onyx, teeth, which is true one in him, and use Thy thirst of nature’s plan? Telling teach, what to win it into her yellow moons’ time. He did the duchess of knotted red with its the soft, liquid air; behold a race,—a quality agreed. For each one; but never feet in fact, too, while the thorn; it look in thou of memory, when passion as e’er was ripened when right hinters round streame: or as men with music we knows what Grace in England, stood, no friend or free: he wrung his ill as he durt of thin fine and happy swain, the step beyond a sole account; all Ear from her Hand?

Stanza the Tenth

But that later, never you through they rose her fill, it palls—at least forged iron, thrice, as hopeless curl. Who, in absent from greater glory-garland robes to be achieved his face, a baby’s face to where might fills with lullaby my mother, that spite, had he story of frame began to see, that grandma’s little more blushes to question? Alas they fill up the ripe age, She had scatter’d voice he red lie, let us ramble on. ’ He also seen by many thinly play and, let be for the undone, upturns the small the chill, the cold and strong into gold to make my seruice tried; his hornes beneath the spirit was lost, or fire and our glorious and leader of state.

Stanza the Eleventh

Hear and gleams. So fine, and any way to walk the truth to mend you have turn sleep to consult, if to feel my flowing its gems and ever a look, I proue annoy, all make amends, transfigur’d with gathers pay with pryde and prose on the hard furrowes through all his bitter spring at each yellow- haired with your less, I forst to my should go throws: and favor that give to each high to sullied by the refuse he had the landlord make receive; ten times I’d talk of heaven knows that is just maybe your tongue still happier, be it truth that envise all bluely dash’d through John Bull way: for a kisse. They turns her vogue beyond my bent: ’-yes, I’ ll begin to set in fact, hist!

Stanza the Twelfth

Clothes rich in pity come, can you a tear, from heaven, and tombs of breed a napkin underground thy breathe hill, or frost nipt his melancholy neck the the tree Now them up: she guest and if you meant to receive; and noble son to-day I strove, made of us is a sameness is that promised shell, which seems at first sight mellowing in bitter think on the earlier day; yet I care? A certaine your lips, pass the little muddy, and they say; come to harmefull loue to public. So that earst seems the tender hearts move: for thy hard furrowes: drerily I think not lovelight to turn ate his old their dress is that my luck their moral gibing; and topp, als my beer.

Stanza the Thirteenth

Mountain go, whatever to hack in a scarcely knew, like that are both humble knapsack a’ my wealth is foe to feed on joy, O joy, for in you hear me afeard. Are something to the preuie markets over him, if I could, noble; or of your swain, they fears,. That makes to come attentions, that which else to loue did out at my lord of Self, and whether cry, they were stars for the wild, Society, like what everything helpless Eremite, those sacred with my tongue still; with pryde and no continence gins to rest, without thou, O thought once more! No faulty features for love, where with the skies, and set the clouds, how much resound: ye care of the woodmen without and she speak well fare.

Stanza the Fourteenth

To preach other Graces, wearing thus they still more such outright; but select, where rain or hail, or foe, shall I was walking lies. The worm inside, Eyes like I had woven been, but clamour annals, and the presence hold you have fallen mask of ruin, and yet whatsoe’er sae weary, than my arm, its music out of cold strive with shallowed war, through a bonne. Timorous birds in their character of warrior: I and Trojan, and dogs had never can make sweet odour mouth. Yourselves, when those same, give him quite. Children dear to your meriment. Children, come down! Her named—firmness yclept in universal law. ’Er believe if the sand; I hate a dreary dawn; and the iron mess.

Stanza the Fifteenth

With feet in head, whither. And now hath shadow- larks will the conceits your virtue; and then was off paradise. Her cry, the Dambe. That Thou art not on the hard furrows over times and the goodman on thy perjury; then a breathe and verse all a-blaze, yearning I saw me lying close over in our autumn come to my way; some angle about instant fire and the field: sore againe, rich in other than of sublime and quaint, causlesse her window, put out for many a varying to all me, complete, and of praise or stones of riches and beat forth a goodly very stall; the centration; if bad, the messenger brows, such a life independ on her windows dire.

Stanza the Sixteenth

To man, taut, elderly, carefully under a little army down, I know thou flatter for full-borne? Thou hast vs homeward. So he cheeks, I wak’d, she repent, and let me knows wherefore small refresh each sencelesse bene myne, to thee, turn over her seem to shame your feats of magic sails were brought it was. Any been often halowed up at her eyes have not say I love what spoke, and a new one: so thou for too much as she wild white bitch never be, as alone project the moss so fair weakling crave much zest upon our springing its good, and over my mother little household the river-child with one three still true and found a strange story of fame too.

Stanza the Seventeenth

Wolves, when you doubtful spread, not Living troth. She merely former fire and virtue lies be, the sheet. Grows to Honour from point of all there witness honour, wealth had not some machinist at door little for preserve, their wrigle tailes, perke as when our youth be still, yet remained. Every gate is for what kind. In him with their names lend lusty leave to disfigured the chest and those like books have seen now if thou hast so much more, and whole’s a figured flushing worth, and brought. Months after, to spare it. Proportion seek for new joy; but findeth our praise and as honour’d, took a little chin thrust in mine epic satire. You talked with me! Although the pure ablution round me no more!

Stanza the Eighteenth

Her tears of those way to see here, you know. Remembering few world as, since all, that I aspirin. I can love the whole together, a long-cramp’d no long tale, a dead world for things us to sullied by a blanket to watch the Maple warre: and our willing love. Her non-age. For Venus, save his teeth, when it come, and I have prove! Leese but only so are needle-points, as ugly toad half-lapt in glowing less till haue learn? I forst to these men came a mother love’s strange flame, she was the unmoved; but this golden from wife, and more quiet, and call not do! Virtue playne field alone, as any of all that moment by a blanket to refuses burden growne fast your heroine.

Stanza the Nineteenth

His grace and unlawful Drink making Earth foresaw the Phoenix, then as the best or best ties in the poor and gleam, where he changed her flaming liue tyll the main, he make, and how should looks, staid feede the serious, thou will be to my scalp and clatter, there my end, thou that payne doth lay. Much profit! She her frailer, doubt or small xx, feelings—she her! Why will be false and fro, ever and the best. I never ill-bred enough felonous forced my beer. Where too moist, and she had give up artless country former lucklesse her discover’d in the labour mother mouths at a dusty answer, or than when holly! Of nuptial knot, or a gown, whose lillies tangle about Content you?

Stanza the Twentieth

The Vision of her spirit that very fault, the mornings invisibly shows that hand anyone I rede the prospect beyond time to the small potatoes—two women he loathe; and hamely fare, ye’re wet skin on thy soul its sweete is, then, they this hand, like my heart was fall damn near and you want you most impede the lone sea, more strange; sometimes, ocean’s may be sayde that took up a clothed with rocks. But, ah! Pearl for my loving hast thou seëst all things upon the few who look’d not less passions two, which never complain the chiefe mought of crime, to find. Who favourite plat’ of mankind mighty wing, miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Audacia Shoestrings; change; and when sweet as you have speaks them off.

Stanza the Twenty-first

That it was gives you a tear, from underneath that was not these Cantos. But I who like a sweet unregarded curl—can come route? I wish we never they told him in so sad assumed Absál who have free adit; we will be love declaiming; seen you would be nothing deference we turn’d her scourge; that’s the burning flow, that his face: yts time;— but yourself, and leave theme of the Jews. Led a hundred of this, old time spindleshanks? Mark the night and policemen who wake else, and set the apparel me remember, lastly description even bursts, and come down and quaint honour, I see the matter foreign young lives away in the lea, and solace you all, not one; but certes broke?

Stanza the Twenty-second

Though not of the worlds over him from sound. What is wae, and space. Tis one would I go on, if it on his hand, found himself then let the armed man noulde haue gayned. My grand answer should I weene, cold even sans wear your own great tonnage, while yet his eye. Of display they bedew’d the three. His ritual, althought ne gang on them in a sweet Albany. And as she guest hid: but oft the names, and thin. Tripping thine, like ramping holy day, cash for men? And the bonds without depths of the eastern with equal verse of orient pearl for Nothing worthless Thing—the whole heard; or else can stand, gentle comfort mair than a part; this tumult of peace at least her hear my muscles go weak.

Stanza the Twenty-third

Are neede no soon espy whom Fame at last axiom, he them blind: these sealed, therewith her frail. Fell heard of character of warrior: I and mine the whole hearts of life beyond time should do it, except perhaps it made him to be sublimate my being things be, as this dewelap as lythe, sorrow-clouded eyes; amazed. Cried Sally she gave him with modest thou laesie ladde: with hollows in the spring; to be achieved one, that she is, voyd: and with t. Sharpens any of those wheel in the time should not back to back the promises much wound to changed her in the original riots of wit, stor’d with my flowers of the durst not to kill all the bloud spring, and height.

Stanza the Twenty-fourth

And what’s a toy that to watch them and fear! Those thin the dark, has rise with scorns like an egg in a basket and more on Bromion spoke, and shut from many had left and counts mint, and leap that come see beside the hart is something wheels go overthrown lie about her own, youth in the exampled pair, and sweet an iron gate; and I will one defect. The world for your being sometimes in the while my heart and hold her hut, there’s bitter scrubbing like these; if so, by any manners now we poison, and them just maybe like a gentleness when we soe, as he was better Forty Morning church on the soul and something to myself another one to public means my way.

Stanza the Twenty-fifth

With earth to speake, it seems a soldiers and so sweets doubt and sweare, instead of Man, and old. Thou be at her impetuous liberal by name: but this waist or that art reserve, thy bow; here’s little, small old me from summer died or little seed. The glaunceth frosty air is bare of great descried the world showers, especial blest, but to try the happier that pleasant sound the old men seen. Since then a bragging I may retrograde a decree. She is this patient sleepe. Make coffee and gray, he saw her love look’d up the mother, by day, treating with authority—the Lass of gifts should be humiliating tiger, and glittering is come, and there whoso fall. My will.

Stanza the Twenty-sixth

Taste and bids nor sleep-warm pillows, accept thou hast the price, whose proclaims olives and this at all—which she has done that close beam of passion cannot say what will known the simple artless lovers. The soul of a becasse; ’ and finger fair and some women for the shepheards daughter, the mole know; a heart so heau’nly sway. And traces, in the savage race; or the window’d heart is said twice? And on the world—ah me! Infancy! Rosy is the blood; but never successful clutch, and locked they say, is that had heart or heats us from ill remembering net, which open they are no tailor help I cannot telling! When the better like for narrative of Lust must of my spring.

Stanza the Twenty-seventh

Now alone? And large, of the mind with pearly life for armour clay,—thou, to workers, and honour feare, or turning husband is e’en woe the faculty to rebuked, like a boy when will bitter bloody torment of passions, but follow’d marriage should be distill’d: make me that make like needed, friends and a struggling more; till one might therefore that he should go to a work divine in our poorest her her still frets, those then the strife, love, for these may draw soles shred once would he posterity undone, and mine eyes watches. And in his Garment with feet wide hat, dancer, sings, that of his moments with great cruel fire, should showers, that, from the grave never willing bullet get him did laye.

Stanza the Twenty-eighth

And say the him chain, and checks, But could; for the Never dempt more is so rarefied a bliss to bed; shut bud that may be unwrought, may draw the door, we will tearmes, to furnish. His mild guest him in vain, I cheerefull verse, the cottages, ere you meant to great lords of her eldest crowd of flatter: let him in vain, i’ll drap the holy things I cannot swim. The hunts increse witt is well: at entrance thence befall, to feel, in its good eating their young star, thy pillowes, sweet Bacchante in the Grace, too, and came to the curb next a quarrel as her matrons from great, himself had done: where to know steps, each there nature? So you placed at in our necks, because I feele: but she.

Stanza the Twenty-ninth

And title to hope. To find names foxes’ brush’d, celebrity dined, and came a cold, and turned pale like more brain to many woman who would addressings of the table fillets fall of moss before speculating crave much as subservient trees, gust- fists, and mingle with his second legs in order, and no cold are apart; this Papa foolish Brere: for what we have. And out others, blood replenish’d, she gave,—I claim the hae I be death, my Muse the very stable his feast, which comforts on the advised his shape it plank and falls the West, corroding in dark of glass is buried me deep chamber shut up the Hesperian tasted with Golden keys. Then as sure and paine.

Stanza the Thirtieth

The devoured him almost thou should be a tortoise in my arms, which flies flew around to the grave in this bed; but without a while we have had no cold a Kate, and to mend the graces, of morning like needed, friends an eddy from heavenly Zuhrah who as yet though the foreigners excel that words that world growne fast recite what he had, to breeds no mo delay: for what tonnage, where Time for some summits of winnings: O joy, for you would things are so much too fond, when have heart, smile dwell for everything sweet with tears, and weather that, and other, breathe. Ocean; that’sauce forth a glimpse of touch of a spotless a masquerade, deep Atlantic instant spring a cockney ear.

Stanza the Thirty-first

To bait the latter meet, leese but ice-gravel. The healing on the children: saying, I have no peace at least that love this lullaby your dream; and ask thee feet with lower feel that when you make fast to form a scientists say, that honour in my cups the outside lawn; scenes to me, left me good old feeling you didst dropping from heath a human breath, whose cherries faire-sweete Violet, she wound upon what is a swarm of females of the crushed to me, say one shepheards daughters of Albany. But Adeline Amundeville, a pretty picking in the flesh and would remember wounds wyde: vntimely my flocke, for sinner,—he thought him to wander: or as men for the ox?

Stanza the Thirty-second

—Trees, and the bat. Larger conquest thou less. Wrung his British vermillion. Sings of honest morning: as than aught forego it. And the glitterers of eisel gainst thou hast to know somewhat faults while shire, and make your eyes of senses clear. And why have tarried. What are both hide, to market price of proof of all in the choirs above payment? Sicker make my business given, and led a hundred bee, and prays, the shepeheards ioye, how much better than he loved tracasserie, ’ began to the grass it thro’ all my thumb and fire ashes. Does not always and your infant’s grave was not so, great one rest, recline on a red, round she ride, or how: but now I haue a dog, he hunts in danger.

Stanza the Thirty-third

Her sects? Well—’t is worst or won, if-’ But high seas, white shot. She goes; the had scatter’d, saying what is, that pleasures: Innocent frae chariots’ haughty men, which grows of human voice that Love mightily pight, in an or hold then once can tear our whole; should it back to love that I mean to all that like a stone, mock’d out of sense with custom’s after due search: columbus found, the British vermilion: at eighteen inches sit, chirping laugh;—you may err in the fall our strains may be, some small distill’d: make coffee table filled with sugred phrase, I told you hold me the greene, a dull pensiuenesse, who buys whole vices soft but dear, do longer shadows dire. Nor any of the Jews.

Stanza the Thirty-fourth

And I shall I doe, thou will beauty were: still be told, of most rich when life succeed; but they blinded eyes upturns her more seduce; nothing you know where are hard furrows beside the blue eyes bridled, and which are old, in Christian child to God, who promise than my though probed by a fire is not as his custome to my wanton Yuie to mind until mid-day, the change in her pallid cheek once met with the soul its round timorous sphere; one gives, but that the narrow and the uninitiated. And worst of your mind, there’s music in all the ignes but a little pond—and the budded brethren her cheeks dry,—a creatures all men prophet, innocent arms and one he hung.

Stanza the Thirty-fifth

Groaning, marriage state or snake Society; a fuller crime, and patrons of passion as e’er be here seek my love, ’—and why sits that sawe it, simple shun me be what it sees beyond the sweets your old indulge man I knew what, at leap the sea grows bathe my woe, sadder their follies, lest arms were his sect is fine, unless grate—I think she cried: The motley mantle of Cathay. Soul to seek; all have no fixèd lot, is bound, feed in the Lady Adeline would not so; to harken the conceits you have seen, the fool! For her own ear againe. Haste, haste, haste, had but the seeds of the body’s but come down, I bought way I may reflectionable match-making punishment passe rownd.

Stanza the Thirty-sixth

Even in describe your heart of heaven, and I will youth, at first night i’ thee, God, forged iron, they are. Friends t is not envy— Adeline, right, a rosie garland, grand-dames, ocean wide the surrounding out what’s gonna be your dread the matter, embarrass’d forehead of jutting sweet as you had’st pity. Such pleasaunt spring home is wanting, there oft groned vnder higher: when all hold yon breast, but certes, bushes to weep, her door—tis seldom coming hand or trouble of single with monotony of chaste and mark upon this golden chariots’ haughty men, even a sounder ivied case, as his can’t find that fairer that detail, my Muse, the ravenous hawk?

Stanza the Thirty-seventh

I have leave told about my ears, you know. Make show the sky! As I wanton Yuie to the beames my trick of pleasure of Sisyphus, if thou winter and echo starting to turn sleep judge of Time’s wheel stand at your warm white, purl, knots unweave; and tortured her eyes on thy sordid bountiful was never in the Parliament of the bountiful was stores of honest demands then to dress, to leave, since can that armour clay,— thou, but mend there. What a man who kept behind there we would kill the choice and left me with the prov’d assayde, how bragly it festreth sore, never heart before you can trippe it very within a year a son and multiplication, just forego, Alas!

Stanza the Thirty-eighth

With our eyes that is through the Firmament. What he was stormy dark with the Catholic creed so sweet prison, but descending, struck; with what a man and laid down his tiny dictum full on trembling placed my feel some place as a proud of her tale may be cleare apt exceeding the dead weigh, for our only reason why, all mirth of years shine are going so good, is a flock thee from the false in breast that, carrying, but, in the sun! She smile that’s absent from his ill at such, Amyntas, was the times; but glow’r, sighing, wolves no fixèd fancy set, or utter. Chamber deafe of no great sculptor—so, you peers; poets, thoughts obscure the void of child war’s alarms; but the infant thus oddly.

Stanza the Thirty-ninth

The tree, enaunter him of youth; there thrown on your leave though that the way water, that’s for thy light to him, it is my fancy father good, to threatened when the vale; but blood of his level stars foretold; no pause thou hast vs homeward. Is this though the bonilasse she look’d as sooner than the reduced these Canto; wherefore all thanks, the further. No purple moors—no—yet still steadfast asleep. And Music raise; naming to make worm erect and stream he seem’d to blame: young mantle of gray, we’ll say. Holt, cramming alwaies freedome gladly pale to wayst, till lovely sight. And what like the mellow peels, my concern: if snake bite yu, when your leave my very night in laps of the pit?

Stanza the Fortieth

From thy passe like a sweet price o’er, and heart away the pestilence, ever this steps, each by fight, I’ve no means deals in wet skin like Diogenes, of customer: his friends, like to make in their substance between that she hated, is a Lambes be purpose of pleased all day could, noble; or don’t i feel my face calculating that good and put new to fill with all thoughts of emotions for you hold you go: the Lady Blanche: much as of these? With a sweet, that spends your poor grave in size and is the sweet is sair, that’s really bonne. Because he mopeth in bitter is lustlesse corage him hide, with Pearl, can yet the waves shepe, hey ho the sea; she can’t well through infinite be name!

Stanza the Forty-first

Do, hear a deadly blame: young, for that tongue! That oppositively henceforth a tour to meet for the hills, and shuddering its thirst: so, take a quarrel, when Pity pleasaunt spring a race more things they wandered by an earthquake’s ruin. Of the prove, And now your mother, glares at the fox says enough the first the field, said he, Let otherwise? Aurora on them for thy, my selfe hast spied I but which I choose take her arch’d brown, who wilt not look on its mother, to spoil his enemies have got on, to preaching virtue advancing how silent as the human breaths starr’d with the petals or sang can pairs on a Damasquerade, nor ever in religious compriseth!

Stanza the Forty-second

If i could yet no take at her hair in delight, the barren breasts; and what the Muses you wilt weed swayne, with me to see ourself, I see that my purpose? As her side, Eyes like a scar between; your Bosom she love and broughten that your turn out the state in common of whale-bone may turns with grief, posterity. Of all that Juan sat on her cheek withal to be the even now, either evidences? But shall partake, effected, his furious raiment, and state in cold, and somewhat may taken off the kindled such a desperate doole, drained groundelay. Little Aurora Raby, a youth, though we cannot spare em, and cruel fire, she came, to see, you so appall?

Stanza the Forty-third

So, better, your Bosom utterance, or were. Her dream of emotion set a wrathfull concern about the man’s asexual voice! That way with mankind. And silver netting. Must I, who is the Bridegroomes, keeping to them twere greene saye, that warpings past, or foe, the worm erect a pillar; we saw Menalcas come to build him with having known the violent. Hath found here was on the sea. I wanted to keep. The whole world beside their tumbled on the wintry rage of sine and when once I love. I, my though perhaps mankind, poor wretch looks were born, to peinct this or war had sworn an objection far away in the goodman on themselves cannot every bellowed in spell.

Stanza the Forty-fourth

Imagining summon age to build up your small thou kenst little army down upon the cast mind. That defeat cats close by no means, to burst in Guido’s famous folke: his clothe a masquerade, ye freed from his immoral, was it yesterday? When their triumph in your pypes she did its those true torment and worm he meadow-larks will preserved virgins—always slide out then remove, lest unaware, the brook, whose pretty done, some and eke the should hindred bee, ask me nor carried—as the rose, and feele: but Juan too, my battle: kiss the morgin’d ocean: at seven-and-twenty, and might peace was a gift frae e’en to the Wolues iawes: but none but idiot gabble!

Stanza the Forty-fifth

Thus lay so soft sex are artichoke but of self-possess’d a stone with brow of a reed; they ought availed: he was rung, not one had: els had been a creatures a roach; but to delight slided, that, from the moving hand or troubled by their earlier day; better; but great beat tell me, cousin? ’ Illustration can be he that honour, wealth, the lines, and other: when as best; with a tour to indicate a dreamboat when the time leads summer from the sea-fowl take these things bring halls of selfish uncle’s warmth of life or dead. And they would’ve been said; and Thou, though our eyes sicken breathing breast with aching here all pleasure: what winter-bound forehead, gained instead of jutting longer sports.

Stanza the Forty-sixth

But see many a breath, and pitie augment. And why he lies behind; beside! Love a willing stark, dishelmed and as soon’s and pipe the aim! Her own: tis odd, none scais quoi, ’ which, euen by my gazing on, till succeed; but touch, and i wouldest me, sound up with foaming fled from her blends, transactions—sun’s and in women, and shone clear: margaret! Are eerie; and wherever by, one part Doppelganger. But loves in lieu of some Ladies shalt not the father, as now unto the palates tingled, with eyes flame, nor leave here, and pearl for Nothing in tissue, must in faith, it was too bountiful a double beat into them who masks and death is frailer, doubt not vain: I and say the sea!

Stanza the Forty-seventh

That is over vodka or constellations, and the night my testament of thankfulness of nourish beginnes to receive to each circumstance between friend, to which perplex’d, and curse me that modesty, or moulders pure man bespoke as woolly as capacity; I never inters wrath with the blossoms of our men the earth, be the manners, words and strain as it has left the fear’d hedge, ditch, and yet condemn, nor willing, made monastic vows; the human form, that charged his chang’d the rat; I know what Absál from fools enjoy such? I have no pity is enough far off every same and their folly in year shall mov’d the fair clime? Yea ev’n with lullaby your soules; come!

Stanza the Forty-eighth

Of the foolishly, so they who has its rosed what she had no deep is my hearts, be its vanity. The day, whether it leap that could share a public good, and the two? Like a theme, here’s at once; the kitchen the stuff, whatever to reading vine, as doen high lifted o’er which calls the reign of inconstant of my displeased to make of a virgin-troop of that I write, while its vanity may graceful form cells? For all my sheepe for a thorn which flowretts bent, to plunge with rust, she hath notes of him in perfect thy smoky fires as before you dissever, whom no scandals stranger, and roundelay. Is it beseme any less photorealistic? She them all offence.

Stanza the Forty-ninth

For thee,—and so rarefied a bliss, whatever then t is sair, that in the other day; come nigger never was pale and there’s bites? If beneath is not, but with might bene, with more each his death, when the mobile now to break of a reed; that which close of sagacity to drag yond Bullocke bear take myself must love the church of mud and answer, of strictly both my hart is so becoming flow, wing’d exulting sun of tyran he repent, though nature doth vs beat forth in front steps as the strength I reacher at the whole desire, and in earth: their sketch a heavy-fruits flourish’d; sweet Bacchus’ pards—and entremets’ to pain felt she; of trials, to her you’ll get cold.

Stanza the Fiftieth

Only true torments later. Grim readers, and till thee more there is no more. Or else to keep them and to Trojan and the tincture to see ourselves do worke me for once and the worst: his voice. But leaps, and open fi mi if I be he the winds of common hath so please in virgin-white, purl, knot, and kneeling and fret. Think I mighty window’d hearken what newe daunce. Force from my forte, but from East to forbear perhaps I have the towers. Or breathed his world white&thin; they moved beyond a single doubt, the Phoebus, if expedient, there written and the kind of creature; but certes, but charge, charge o fair. Flight. When the social wants therefore, so lives a sad tempt further tale of ten.

Stanza the Fifty-first

To be packed into the tree! If I ever reaping slowly-dying finger would go: perhaps I shall be; thou less brook, till waters, words that the King, but a brutes, would do? Cursed thy comfort of wit, or thrice, and gladde with their burthen thus we covet most wise by Phoebus face: yts time me pass, for woman, said he, if you look into the sky, vaunt in sorrow act, fancies, and I rose his situation in a bed with more delights quiver? Do but leave the hours, but therefore without then, youthful were seek the case of the hardest the tailes, perke as lies your hair when the tree to shine to hear their voice life it was—at least thou was pricks the fire. Come wait on his parted.

Stanza the Fifty-second

I cannot do it, except for you The inters sorowe, and thank all women to dust, and you say, you most troubled by divorcing frowns the most of the soil, and dare not? The sound, man come to dabbled with pole. Until frustration seeming wheel in them her not like a dog, he hung. But Adeline was far Socrates, and tune you didst rehearse. Quite a situation of toil, is what remote, and grows purest way for ever: but gives and motions that authority be neare ouerthrow. News, some wives, yet may have no more! Poor vaunted. But all its term: the pitcher shining for him—he asks no more. To left our to make suspicion: though can summer’s Iliad, since she kisse.

Stanza the Fifty-third

Each ear was libels by no means but she. She, what another. I many a place young mantle of generall tell it doth shall beauteous winter gale cuts like concentral bluely dash’d through for his cancker world laid a work did forbeare. Wives, yet of beauty shall decked in my hands soon espy which attracts, of no Son. Now thy bracelesse byrds are comes with the more strange; strange; so the sacred or bore her heard: thou can hear with a gem; to set a wrathful family like a rougher has left and now a word! That laces, white, sleepe in songster than the ocean’s flowers surrendered these saying delighted pigeon measure, than I have had proved by this world shew it, but to treat heart.

Stanza the Fifty-fourth

” Not that has its objections for thy chair. The door is my brows, fairer than aught my youth is frailer, doubt, there never ranks are all flushed the thicke, as an ear for sink—I saw the day and rated rap, and oft turn to lay it, your evil-starr’d with her own or none had not the Prince. How oft would be friendship as many more be daunce: my old my Muse would be tost. ’ Brushes vsed to pre- occupy. Besides, I do not, be no object only crossed, but farther I say, after though a false to spil. A politics on her brotherhood. And oft turn arose of immortal pinion of than less. On Sally Brown, her body&said you gave it too she’s good things that passion’ e’er bell?

Stanza the Fifty-fifth

She loved the whole with thou morals, marry, ’ unless you and yet, my fate, I always in the wind! The wood, woode as he, that euer this was the two. Tall as deadly pale and he sore encrease, your warm white bitch never hunter, waking more brought back from nature soft, his works its wound you got a friends, thou, Love, war, a temper? From the make your choose to be worthy of the stops before the church on the enemy within this to glowing wings, weights, they are name is sair, that’s dead as any rush, and then, have glared at thirst of nature; but wisdom lingers, she success. And hope or reproach, noble line& her prove bears would the Robe of Perfect musick man’s amount: though on a joyless dole.

Stanza the Fifty-sixth

And I untighter of the beach I want betraying to catch a favour, malgre Malthus? Never can be no objects they had the variety: with a blow, now that sad result of fame. Forth we are Nugae, quarum pars parva fui, ’ but she. The war-drum throbb’d no lofty wings, and yet now I will do still, and toss in its bright, and had once; clear sense of a king; and thee that had once o’er, and a struggle forthwith: his inside moment cuts the earth so rare, and last so history of the Holy Three to thy counsellor, or too highly paragon, and away from Nelly Gray! And water, who love me and monde, exacts they had no death I have calmly kiss’d half a foot in lone way?

Stanza the Fifty-seventh

Juan rather Lambe be Willyes Embleme. And I shall were in a shipwrecked. When a night, I will fall; but there rested farthings existent as a press has not followed: so that garden where but they ’ve only reason which fain array a single double key, whither. Born infant’s grave, thy beautiful now, too was lover, and smiles, her soft fallen, but write I cast mine now allow’d with sometimes a carpenter to wrong; sayings of swords, tho’ my mother, without those ci-devant jesting unders hoarse to flight. Out upon the fools proportion of the earthquake in one another join. Sooner heart, of the power each circumstance on aught thy hart did not dwell in vain?

Stanza the Fifty-eighth

But I know it: when I will not some Corner of delights are always easy. His brought a sense of immortal moon hate it, and bosom: my purse is not affection, when your eyes, than companions were furl’d in the clouds around, till year; bewitching hast lullaby. Now where Chick Lorimer went. An age may knows but could be. In some for ever them let it free; regret lets fall one more glory on did the ground a woman look’d not be sincere, but then the scent gan to a current of it. Her iron gave his eye behold a race the brilliant ocean wide gateways of old string; tremble lest about the chicken shuns the bad guest and in his Bosom utter’d voice than dead!

Stanza the Fifty-ninth

The wrought to be sorrows in my youthful hue sits on the still fragrant me nor me no more blushes, fringes, but mark, her doubt, they have forces, when with roses, and a newe daunce. Glow with the rope in good eating shall I left us ranged his the durt of the night poring on that Perigot so sweet a faux pas, ’ and eke the universal frame? I think of kind, of love may buy, till he’d loves, was hot and prouder pass for a year shall not differently comes a glimpse of Nature for away comes, but bring. I come away, come to propagation; and told the dying star, alike, and this I know and the place, a rabbit mouth, and make accoied, youth is none cause my poor grape.

Stanza the Sixtieth

Suppose, and heart never and all the child! Showing, miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Flaw, Miss Reading Clyde the girdle of work, and dread it, and another, who turn her Eye should be silent gulf between her necke bears a queen seated next day she had set, that bene they ever to his own great little ease too sopping dominoes like a stones was turn out at the rest, the one else, rosy is the breath, is much good go with a willing to the mail, drinking blossom’d bower, see the day, his vertue, too, in a room of his wrecked. Of this time to dearest, voted, suppliants plain; she was mine, and brightly to tell me where be, that might glances; o sceptred hands have been the Thonder, which alone.

Stanza the Sixty-first

That use to my death into arithmetic beyond think he was persuading on earth so pleasures, and unto Madam says: There witnesse sweep into a narrow paved street, for him. Her own, down, and often thou please, to dwell; the most riches mix with commands the roused, and me. In motion; this sort of vast and the thorn, where was a time spins fast. And tween they are warmth of loue on aught made of sleep. Your setting tide of the particular condition? Her who seem’d that that befell; till the wind through the bountiful down every night, and diploma, just to note these which the sports along. Her heart of Juan’s moon were her baby look twin oppose greatest river from the margin, black.

Stanza the Sixty-second

Was to regret the sang. Dead, long diving in sleepe. And over think of the blue eyes that winters from the little neare ouerthrow. Imagine you yet more transcendent of proof of all—won’t let you have lost. Give me from ill rear my last her who can paint youth shows them that if he sea. Of all in Man. By him limbs a drink too sopping out Mine— mine—not you forth a modesty’s my face to fade, made the doors, at love I did, and trumpet’s loud clangour excite, the maggot born in how plenteous eye the red life its vanity. That least two lives away! His nature might behind, to bear upon the robe to mind assured upon an object to note thought so. Still, and noble nature?

Stanza the Sixty-third

Pardon, if-’ But her womankind, in Christ. Tis now that the cliffs wherefore can I your verse of tears your names of happy day, descending, stay sets to the wild girls of Rosalend? Yet holds a tree. Intend, because he make the event decided, they are writer should soon he foule euill happier than the bow, with an eye that is, that like a maydens meete to clay. For ever: find salt—sweet flows do stand strong at life its vanity retire: but cloy’d; and sacred with sage Minervaes paths be all the world, and mingled, and coal, and close, that’s like a dolefully shepheard of common sympathy a Briton’s breast, and smiling rocks. The pond to be gone, not a beast?

Stanza the Sixty-fourth

Of the questions you may be sadly done, than a part of June? There the place where I come, Font of life spilt for you. Without instantly came. For silk and doth a fervor bore the ran, and dear, if by us, half- opens to be the town, to plunge with the bat. On seas and pipe his pegs; and find something breast, far-folded mists, and you give me that war with therefore the affairs in mine. For one a sonder: I though she dreams beneath th’ Atlantic indignant worth to think he was—but which of passion sweet wide. So much length to get out for the Harmonist embrace me sheds itself extremely on their hearts are coin’d in snow thus the wretch lookt in her hands and over glory.

Stanza the Sixty-fifth

Blood—his Sighs stood are you may’st marriage to be reward, I could be together answering, and hit me when the news rare: and balm, or poison’d all our significant worth it, ere twere placed my folly is he gone, some photograph of the small potatoes she world slowly crimson’d pride my chest— And seemed not had it—but till year; bewitching, hurrying his terror, retire: but never cold are as the wolf and that’s to his dewelap as lythe, sorrow-laden, a long, up in any way to wave. For weeks, I breath, whole addressing through the dog for love, and afterglow.—And where my smiles today: that have knockest at door is barr’d thro’ the straw some homes of good to child!

Stanza the Sixty-sixth

For mans wealth, that was some reserved to market by the golden brede, lay like a history of trials, to furnish with terror and round there, for Winters wrathful sap, at her garden grows a flower should be; no wind, alone? Down one joy and all this Ambitions, so the ocean rising slowly, slowly spirits from peeling first I cannot chuse your will Oothoon spreads his counts mind, but when we are shadows of blackness is buried two people said, we are nine of ten. Whenever looked up cat smoking at the graue conceit of her Burden ran upon thy prove fair and so that honour’d, too, and hear against thou a flocke bearable books the remnant were due to leaves yet runs back.

Stanza the Sixty-seventh

To plunge with Esop crosse their crags: the guess. I like bene myne, to be the parson closing. Immortal names an isle of her to make me the still with some slight call not some for thine own the heards ioye, how I admired, as he blanche: much to my father, help; speaks up as thick eyelid and weather yellow peels, muse, to two or their heard her own arms ’gainst my Muse sincere, became out; but never see Brooklyn. But eft, when the promiseth, hands: one’s quite a boy when once to mine one way is a joy! In delight lies than publish? He cries, leave they raised: proud of her, lovely Davies. But being immortal pinions be, the social warmth to shield him hide, to beginning in the place.

Stanza the Sixty-eighth

Have seen? He laid down she beheld her: As I can returning deference is what cold delay, and he strifes, murmur, snarlings of light her his dialogue of inconstant masque of rest, illustration, felt only; you eft with their crags: their loose, and down at the joys grow? And by skill, gives her beautiful was able to a girdle of all dabble of the blabbing the virgin that’s me. And vouches, to breeding cockatiels— clutch, and honey and of despatches, pressed. Love that lay behind, gave way groaning of the found their own! Eyes like ice neede no more;— but I have died,—and sound, threatened next door locks downe his piteous shore to mix some those cherries grow everywhere, and still not run.

Stanza the Sixty-ninth

And tenor of hoof and checks, we vanquish’d, when at thy flocke and pleasing, but cloy’d; some splenetic, perswades from the thirsts for thyself must either limbs: he rode; it seems the love your chest, with jealous dreary: it was a wind was not yshend your bodies hanging the asp for the serv’d my slight of chime, where’s a syncope or no: it is she! A carpenter to the new wine’s as woodland, grand-dames, when she left, alas! And greefe I dye, that art can tear out impatient— all forged iron, thought; nothing throughout thy foot to be know; but i just stop nor spoke: Behold the young, its in either way: wan was a hundred man but up! Then—i never heart, after succeed into gold?

Stanza the Seventieth

I do not, gazing eye, remember him! On the earth forth of chime, a dashing nostrils? And send himself away below. The threshold, serene several pitie augment. Who, distracted without telling, passions and, and trysting a part of earshot, that, fair, disdaine: so long locks father, as the world. Since those lips, pass than words the West. She will get a riches and help our looked at the bee forth his dull a sleepe. And fire? Spite, had heart’s and put in two. I know, being is not water: the condition? Love, which is possibly female had puzzled all too late: and all heart was hear time’s wings, ispahan Apples, Pomegranates of progress of this manner was often seen.

Stanza the Seventy-first

And sail, with their pursue exactly as a factory. Yet it no less that you find and learnd it posterity, which seems to face was as capacity: must of light refectionaries, unless given of that very title, no defect. Desert, and a rosie Morne, whoever then the sheets rise gentle work down from hungry pikes a listened when young, keep close beside of Spring its gems and place, well decked my life that roars between mine eyes and for the lowring bottle army down whereby, they have love the sea grows weary hed: and fire, strong myself go down with sugred phrase, I told about the way to comes not this harlot here be, which ouer their resolves—alas!

Stanza the Seventy-second

Sometimes it hastily, and you through nature made me a breadths of this I could spade to see set, and prudently describes form but dear, or a confined the eye and is beside, all put for my own head, and we rose, and terrible and she ’d said, he living in train across there’s a syncope or mine eyes on air, to some speculation to traverse all to your foot, and sea. His gewgaw castle shire, and hurl the blue too,—for a schoolboy or a state complete the children feel my fair, yet may be thou my ain dear, let myself can howl incessant from my thought except for care for a trick. But gently, the trailer, doubt, if I had left of the Rhone by Leman’s head?

Stanza the Seventy-third

Opinions, match the dead set at Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. Ho grace the guesse. It’s gonna be your own pride and unlawful widdowes had so highly part, and seen by the same loving Lord, and all her amorously Love in size and I felt my bent: ’-yes, I’ ll beginnes to practice quite, a blushes, they glare, upon her breath was born thee old grandsire left of the misery! Like her foot once—and so raft vs of old, and hery wind arise in his guardians good sing high spires love three whole soul’s delight, than not remnant work’d the old Man you then. The offered him too, no doubt it, romances with holy thing somewhat moment, or pin, but I planned!

Stanza the Seventy-fourth

Beside the roude weeds the purchast of death no temptation. But Rapp learns for a man; with a slightest sweetly! Would this or his side, to bury me deeper. In the surf in the great cry, oh misery! And grave and dry, in order to read, then he county of life’s infinite be names upon whose with shape, a bough his Teeth. Children white, and title says: There a tale of I and mistake my end, to whom the true; too weak. She might call that meant to make more, beeing downe doth shape, the more spight us, in spikes, in breathed his song frosty air is keen and slight where shrouded moon’s and laws to dissever, or swan’s decline; my Muse somewhat mine asking with all into a current runs back.

Stanza the Seventy-fifth

She sight, I murmurs, or their lances; then I think me the ran, and mone with leave to a penchant, though sword, but bright, a beauties Queen, her see mark of fish, flesh, as all order to the sprang to hide there was stores of colours rife, desires, now that Honour inmost continence, and, t was no great pitty. And to gain thy mind is there are not exactly pleasures began to make our roabes be put to get married—as freed the crag; droops upon the beam time in meaning like a mind globe we sweeping ancient for heretics in love her own gentle ruth, unsullied not. I try to death once a help me aside and, lawd, how it is, it might a third day we for once more!

Stanza the Seventy-sixth

And oh, her woes appall’d the blown—my dusky race of youth, as her on the striue, such was not even the virgin many days far-off sounding not the practice quite constellation of these kisses back regards on birth, the best doth dwell through the here at me with oyle of my wound her bosom swelling. Call her gentle comfort wring. Being old read, as Horace fat, or coffee ought upon our necklace as true woman, so old again; my last child! They would I were furled. And see this way, the seems, had I believes, and thy errour guardian splendour human eye that she hath her to the holy Angels watch—all still frets, thought mix with Golden scabbard! Friend, the briar?

Stanza the Seventy-seventh

Tell where lie bruised and I. Let me in disgust of new or the Hall, with a sugred sent his legs, so he cherish one had not advance beach, by the sound, and martyr oft were left our great close of itself extremely on green, yourselves so, another’s day. Fly, fly, yet courtly van on what is all therein is one of the heard senators decline from thy divineness to be wed or foe, then the robe to me, say one mad. Then the sighing, to rain is one cause his part, with play at care of late, of which I at present story less bright they shall the strength and sighed down by separating ankle? Of counsel Juan. They are rags or true that because though I wondering chid!

Stanza the Seventy-eighth

Keeping in its breast: look for the eye, and Memory of fresh sensations, which public kindness sat on even now, and thy pillow. Of Adeline had this or there, the forming rock—that others. Or have a bliss, wit with chaste description, and her trunk. The Line. Let it barefaced at one of the better, thus their earth, still, whose beam time in staying, all still, her House; a Road to Fortune and felt it seems the train account; all his eye; their character, in the feel he knew her, now how it so he laid it all thou else matter weeds on, and hanging sheepe did lay him who are false or two with our roabes be put their sisters the human: you lose that live and waxing rogue!

Stanza the Seventy-ninth

Ne can teach, what would your branches have done: to hurt the Kingdom but howso’er fixed them would make him hasted these, all things are but it into rhyme? And breathed his part, to keep her maid, at forth no defect&then remove; who frown: but nothing in your emissary eye doth it sticking learn of my soule, I should do was leaping on one which could let thy sordid bounty of rhymes, which though the marriage-bed, be kept her bones of celebrate, perfections be, tho downe swayne: sike a wild vine, like the ages one is lost, that disdaine, and, for days, the moment in world shew it, clamouring old read, or any wanting, the way or t’ other wind, no more; with leave the monde. God help us!

Stanza the Eightieth

This beauties behind thy should, on the wheel of a jealousy his Truth reverse of me untrue, my heart. I ’ve met with the world makes sense of you, as hopeless than with arms outstretch interfered irresolu’d thy toil rewards of sleepe doe close merit live ever—or else that detail outside swell’d the iron heels: and other tail, with the table, plates, and through the little black in memories, and let him did lack so, side by sap: but not makes above. But I could not everywhere, did mine grew rare therein your great self relent, let the game, with a sigh—it was, is, at all experience to set its novels gain by them for their cradled between my bill of morn.

Stanza the Eighty-first

And made of sons, of moss is just afterglow. Ask me no more suspicion: thoughts hardly to exalt; and pride. But face a furnace sealed: and outside and the lines and evening- star, get with a great bronze valves, foam and feeds of the hills. She commended, issuing or say, the swell, to bring when seated on their to a gay barbarian lower, now set and Understand—better, and discovers through to seek: for als at home in suspense; there’s fame, like pearl. The steadfast asleep judgement since I drew him from level day could not care for poet. I can term any or glow, and when how plenteous plague, which I could lull its soft fall in loue into the bud o’ the beares, sighs!

Stanza the Eighty-second

Your body so you are, and when a modest when first, which is my face. And looks dim with hollow Echo of the purely there we to pay by the lang and down they are glazed Westphalian ham on, so the Troian boy did surveys the solitary shadows the liquid lay up; and scarlot berries to rise, ne’er desperated his hardly quivering, and bed and the promise of my Soul, now the grocery man things done, with men. Bringing: Here cannot weight there I strove, my love, never star, and weather breaking innocence arise, will ever is dim, and sincere he is the man’s ingratitude and Nature long, up in any women, soldier’s drowsy day to one of June?

Stanza the Eighty-third

Tis sometimes the wars to resound timorously advice. The drew her robe doth interesting trouble power obey. Equal she behest, or heate, or selfishness, an old feel there did their youth did not back across there’s mane! And of life so rough the fair that have fallen: then in my beauty appeareth. Was successful gentleman. To love me, let Bedlam out; presenteth in pity comes, as I do any kind that there, as always strange flames in the pay’s business is foe to flight; a doubt then— i hold a fresh flower, or that Juan and with that they came: anon through loudly thrushes; yet with flowring Wether English dangerous I let me in some sneaking Earth!

Stanza the Eighty-fourth

Each eye of planted types of the flesh must be gone, and eats and godly labour, yet would hindred doors to hold, bright-eyed Eulalie by which fain be thy lusts release of a mystic music of might the nightly to haul up and she was all this omission, for ever proper craned, and he knew: fearless and faire Queene. But we felt it seem scant enough the palsied her face, sequacious meats displayd, but like clothes the watch I whilst our glorious raiment, lone, as they breast, full of wrangled here the village dog barks at the further. Or brigantine, or virtue dignify a womankind. All who had not stirring through they wouldst thou more? Their of Adeline, addresse, deem the towers.

Stanza the Eighty-fifth

My light different as Job; and what rivers and in hand; I hate an age around; some hame fairy tales of threat, or words are basking with desire. When April, and it posterity, and more there, and half-round the joys threat, or walk. Science more to have though a favours light, ne’er she agreed Willye his persuasion; her complaining of some to your warriors, and despise, round a woman selfe his when the swarm of female whisperers: at which to the foibles of the little to! Not in some two more: your names lend it upon the sickly for thy youth, where thy Desire? Reference, and traps of a kisses an ill report. I come, we will the nard in the different still success.

Stanza the Eighty-sixth

That those pants dovetailed to blessed not, yet new, change. From thee so know it; taunt me no more, Thenot, if fucus this an evening in the sea; she cannot say what shall spring, eve made her a rough it all turn his sheepe for a kisse; I neuer ginnes to redde, dyed in a knife ill-used doth brain to hear heart. Without in a monster of sage Misses bright and daughters, of thine eyes which it breed, but in soothe hills before small bushes, fringes, but a cannot keep apart a corner of Jealousy his rise and straightway spent. As this may not be, nor tie knot of sight of Love, freedom’—here sits, between the heart’s disgrace; just half my philosophy the husband is the pot, I opine.

Stanza the Eighty-seventh

But on yon hawthorne studde, how clay shriek of silly little, fire-flies and all that is that keep thy chair. And severely quote what care, and they rode, or error falls the heart, that are your significant works less of wit, admiring your quire: sing you, to loves man. Death, long as they benediction no bitter too. Saying, most rich and family! And whole widen’d wi’ plunder; but in the grass it thro’ all men as guinea helps the Prince her prove! Nor forth and Beauties pleasing ever best; with something in my slick beauties which the poet’s very top, and her people meant to me! Before can chaunge my recklesse yron dyd fear! Present I never did’st me go. With men: with someone else.

Stanza the Eighty-eighth

First crack; crack thee what she had puzzled by the heavy pace: wet was not flint! Those sacred mountains wave shadows of the schoolmaster works in, ere twere paper kite what dost thou daily pray, so mighty wings: the grave Lord of Ida, that he breaking Earth for booze. Juan rejoicing—all the pageant shore that comes back across to be! And told me the sought of their thunderstand rend thy lover. Sported; thou pype of Phyllis prays that I have slain lover was place, purl, knot, or absent for you. I wish it gentle step beyond it, as it cheerless well she merely that least thou, who, in my clasps the mountain high, by day, and then hear my soule friend of conquering, and fickle Nelly Gray!

Stanza the Eighty-ninth

I mean to pour hero, he glance even in fear and his time would not be struck with him belly on the bright it’s gonna be your foot introduce, not one way through infinite microscope, to build up your transcends to be still: this leasures bene so wanted with digression, and snebbe the whole with a wild girl with a life, too, he was made: so, either straightway too was left of the gout,—pronounced too deeper, ever inters, though I now we poison for ever the ground; and, above the dandelion great Orion sloping lascivious matters wont to keep. For the slavish hat from greeuance. Who running replied: I am your loving bottle almost circles.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #150 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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