#this painting is so...... the lady staring is so haunting i HAD to do a study or i would die

[syddsatyrn]

Je t'aime Violet

By Sydd Satyrn Masterlist

Chapter 1 ⛧ Chapter 2 ⛧ Chapter 3

⛧Pairing: - Alastor x OC!Reader Violet

⛧Fic playlist: Click here!

⛧Warnings: Drinking, smoking, swearing, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, adult themes, 18+ not for minors

⛧Summary: Hello ladies, gentleman and nonbinary friends! I present to you, my series Je t'aime Violet. This story is staring my OC, Violet! She is a deer demon containing a lot of personality. With a gifted voice and a bit of jazz, she's got style and class on lock. After 7 years, Violet and Alastor's feelings towards each other never dissolved. Violet reconnects with the man who left with her heart, will she forgive him? Does Alastor have the ability to set his pride aside for love?

⛧Notes: @hellfiremunsonn is my beta reader, go check out her writing! Its fantastic!

⛧Taglist: @ok-boke @myeternalsin @squiword7 @hxzbinwrites

⛧Chapter 2: Sauntè The sunrise paints your hotel room in orange and yellow hues. You stir in bed and slowly open your eyes. It takes you a moment to remember that you are in a hotel room. You sit up and rub your sleepy eyes. As the haze of sleep fades, your mind starts to process the events of the previous night. The mysterious shadow lurking in your room sends a chill down your spine once again. Was it just a figment of your imagination, or was there truly someone watching you as you slept? Shaking off the unsettling feeling, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up.

With a deep breath you decide to take a quick shower and change into something a bit nicer. You chose an A-line, knee length black dress with a simple corset. After brushing out your long black hair, you put on a pair of kitten heels and do a simple makeup look. Feeling satisfied, you think you're ready to head down to the lobby in search of some coffee. ---------------

Alastor was up all night in shock, when he felt your presence nearby he thought he was going crazy, last night he sent his shadows off to find you and you just so happen to be two doors down from his room. He couldn't believe it. After all these years, here you were, in the same hotel, under the same roof as him. A mix of emotions flooded through him - excitement, curiosity, and a hint of something darker that he couldn't quite place. He remembers the last time you both saw each other, that night still haunts him.

His hands clenched into fists as memories of the past flooded his mind. He knew he had to see you, to talk to you, but he also feared your reaction. Would you welcome him or push him away?

With a deep breath, Alastor stepped out of his room and made his way down the hallway towards your door. The dimly lit corridor seemed longer than usual, each step echoing in the silence of the night. When he finally reached your door, he hesitated for a moment before raising his hand to knock.

Before his knuckles could make contact with the wood, the door swung open, revealing you standing there in the doorway, a mixture of surprise and confusion written on your face. Alastor's heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, the same familiar features he remembered so well.

"Alastor," you breathed out, disbelief coloring your voice.

"Violet," he replied, his voice low and laced with static. For a moment, he simply stood there, gazes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. The way he said her name made your ears perk up and your tail flicked. Finally, Alastor cleared his throat, breaking the tension heavy in the air. "May I come in?" he asked, his tone almost wavering. Violet hesitated for a moment, her mind racing with memories and questions. Despite the flood of emotions coursing through her, she stepped back, allowing The Radio Demon to enter the room. He moved past her gracefully, his presence commanding yet tinged with an underlying taste of vulnerability that tugged at Violet's heartstrings. As he turned to face her, she noticed a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a stark contrast to his usual confidence. "I never thought I'd see you again," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Alastor's expression softened at her words, he briefly let his guard down as he observed your appearance.

"Nor I, you," he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of regret and longing. You stood there, facing each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between you both. Alastor can see the pain in your eyes, the hurt and confusion that mirrored his own. As the tears rolled down your cheeks, without a word, he closed the distance between you and him, pulling you into a tight embrace. The initial shock melted away, replaced by a flood of emotions as you wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as if afraid he might disappear again. Alastor's grip tightened slightly, a silent promise to never let go again. "I'm sorry, Violet," he murmured against your hair, the words heavy with regret. "I should have never left you."

Alastor breathes you in, a familiar smell that has haunted him for years. He holds the back of your head as you let out muffled sobs into his chest. For so long, he had tried to bury the memories of that night, but now they flooded back with a vengeance. As you slowly calmed down in his embrace, Alastor pulled back slightly to look into your eyes. The raw emotion reflected in them made his chest tighten with guilt. "I never stopped thinking about you, my dear," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never stopped thinking about you.” You return, feeling like you might just cry again. You searched his face for any sign of deception, but all you found was love in his gaze. Alastor gently brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness after what I put you through," he began, his voice laced with sincerity, "but I want you to know that I never wanted to leave you. It was the hardest decision I ever made, but it was the only way to protect you from something bigger." The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, you felt a mix of emotions floating inside you - pain, longing, but above all, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time. “Well…you know I can't stay mad at you for very long.” You finally say, breaking the silence and trying to lighten the mood. Alastor’s eyes lit up, relieved by your words. He continues to hold you close like you are the most precious thing in the world. The tension that had lingered between you dissipated, replaced by a sense of familiarity and comfort. His face is pretty red and he looks away. “I never wanted to leave you…” “Alastor, I’ve come to accept that you did it for my benefit, although I may not understand it, I don’t think you’re making it up either.” You reply, his words make your heart swell. Alastor let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, the weight of years of guilt slowly lifting off his shoulders. He gazed at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and admiration. "You always were too kind for your own good, my dear." he said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His face is so close to yours, you swear you’re dreaming right now. The love of your life has returned to you and everything feels exactly like when you first met so long ago. Alastor reaches out and gently cups your face in his hands, your heart is racing, your breath catches in your throat. Without breaking eye contact, Alastor leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wished. But you didn't. Your eyes closed as his lips met yours in a gentle yet passionate kiss. Alastor held you close, his touch reverent yet filled with a hunger that matched your own. The world fell away as you lost yourself in the bittersweet taste. You practically melted in his arms, a feeling that only he was able to accomplish. When you both break the kiss in need of air. He takes a moment to collect himself and reluctantly lets go of you. He takes your hand and smirks. “Unfortunately, I have some business to attend to today, but darling…Would you care to join me for dinner tonight?” He kisses your hand and your face turns a darker shade of red. "J'aimerais ça," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet Alastor's gaze. 

(I would like that)

“J'ai hâte d'y être, chérie,” he replies. 

(I'm looking forward to it, Darling.)

——————————————- As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city, you found yourself standing outside a quaint little French restaurant. Alastor stood beside you, his arm gently linked with yours as he led you inside. The ambiance was cozy and inviting, with soft jazz music playing in the background and the scent of delicious food filling the air. The two of you settled at a private table near the window, basking in the soft candlelight that flickered gently. Alastor's eyes never strayed far from yours. He reaches across the table and takes your hand in his. “You look stunning tonight, my dear.” He says, a genuine smile graced your lips as you met his gaze. “You were always such a charmer, Alastor.” You reply and Alastor raises an eyebrow. The waiter comes by and takes your order, he comes back momentarily with two glasses of rye whiskey. Something that only you and Alastor drink. You hold up your glass and he mirrors your gesture. “Sauntè.” “Sauntè, ma chérie.” You and Alastor have always had a lot in common, you both have older tastes and speak French. You’re both deer demons, and you have the same drink of choice. You met him while bartending at a Jazz club, before you had started your career. You couldn’t stop staring at his ears, he ordered rye whiskey and you fell head over heels for the polite man sitting at your counter. He returned several times and once caught you singing in the kitchen. He told you how pretty your voice was and that you should get serious about your talent.

You took his advice to heart and began performing at the club, captivating audiences with your voice. Alastor was always there, watching from the shadows with a proud smile on his face. Eventually, your talent caught the attention of a music producer who offered you a record deal. As your career soared, Alastor remained a constant in your life, supporting you every step of the way. Until that one devastating rainy day when he left. Alastor raised his glass to his lips, the amber liquid glinting in the candlelight. As the whiskey burned its way down his throat, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him at that moment. It was surreal to be sitting across from you after all these years, almost like a dream he never thought would come true.

“Violet, if I may ask…” He began, your ears twitch. “How exactly did you find me?” “I heard you on television, talking about the hotel. How could I not recognize that voice.” You reply, and take another sip. Alastor's smile faltered slightly as he remembered the reason why his voice was now propagated through the airwaves. "Ah, yes, the hotel," he said wistfully. "It seems my reputation precedes me." There was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he composed himself once more. "But enough about me," he deflected smoothly. "Tell me about you, my dear Violet. How has life treated you in my absence?"

“I just finished my first tour! I’m doing a few local shows next, just paying back some favors.” You summarize the highlights of your tour through Hell and all the different places you played. “I am pleased to hear you are doing so well in your career. I’ve always adored your voice. How does it feel to be a star?” “Don’t get me wrong, the fans are nice and so is the money. But I’ve always felt like there was a hole in my heart when you left.” You admit, it was difficult because he took a piece of you with him. He reached out and gently took your hand in his, his touch comforting and familiar. “Would you ever consider giving me a second chance?” Alastor asks. Your heart skipped a beat at his question.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you squeezed his hand reassuringly before replying, "Alastor, you never truly lost your chance with me. Despite everything, my feelings for you never changed.” His eyes widened in hopeful disbelief, and a faint blush dusted his cheeks. "I've always believed that second chances are worth giving, especially when it comes to matters of the heart," you continued softly. "But promise me one thing - never leave without saying goodbye again. I couldn't bear to go through that pain a second time."

Alastor's expression softened, "I swear on my very soul, Violet. I will never leave you in the dark again."

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x oc #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor radio demon #demon alastor #alastor hazbin #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #syddsatyrn #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel radio demon #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel series

[inklore]

forbidden cravings

premise: stay in your room; that's all you had to do. a simple demand that you planned on following until something goes bump in the night and you're trapped between two monsters.

pairing: vampire!din djarin x reader x vampire!bo-katan kryze

word count: 5k

contents: blood and biting obviously, oral, threats, murder mention, reader is a little clueless, power imbalance, bo is kinda evil but we love her for it, brief mention of piv.

note: this took me way too long to write and by the end of it i was very tired so hopefully someone out there enjoys this lmao. i could possibly see myself writing more within this little world, maybe.

haunted hoedown day five.

You had never noticed how creaky the house was until tonight. Until you were stuck in a dark, dampened room. Your only light coming from the candle at your bedside, the moon, and the flashes of lightening through the windows. The deep red drapes that match the ones that hang around the four poster bed in the middle of the room, that look ancient and eerie, set your already on edge nerves into a frenzy of fight of flight.

You had dusted this room many times. Have been past the threshold and seen it painted in the daylight. 

But never at night. 

You were prohibited from being here past nightfall. 

The master of the house—your boss—had made it clear upon your first interview a year ago that you’d only be needed in the daytime. That staying after nightfall was not something he needed you around for, and it would be of best interest to the house if you departed once the sun set. 

It’s a rule you questioned little. A rule you were fine and happy to obey. 

It wasn’t your job to question it. It wasn’t your place. 

You were the housekeeper, nothing else. Nothing less. Nothing more. 

And you’d never think of going against the lord of the manor, Din Djarin. 

The infamous inventor. 

The mysterious scholar.

The man with whom you’ve slowly bloomed a friendship with while you’ve worked here. The two of you have spent hours in his library with your fingertips, running along old books, relics he’s come across in his travels, and blue prints for inventions he one day wishes to create. 

The pair of you bonding over the love of old words and worlds you wish you could have been a part of. 

Working for him and being in his home—the dark gray spiraling staircases, the arched doorways, the black and red wallpaper that look hundreds of years old and yet look like they’d just been done yesterday—was a joy. 

A better job than working at the mill or getting by on your looks alone to put food on the table. 

You lucked out. Was honored to get the position and even more honored to befriend the destinguishinly handsome Lord Djarin. 

His staff soon became like a second family to you. A home away from home—a much more beautiful and sprawling home than your own, but a home in all senses of the word. 

Not even the curfew could dampen your love or the job. 

The only thorn in your side, the only downfall—negativity—to working for the Lord was his companion, his wife, Lady Kryze. 

While most days, the two of you would rarely cross paths. Her off on travel, or in the west wing of the house that you seldom find yourself in. 

But when appearance’s were known, brief or not, she always had a look of haughtiness about her. Her red hair laying perfectly on her shoulders, and her dresses always form fitting and beautifully cascading to the floor. The neck line plunged lower than what’s usually considered proper—that always made your cheeks heat when you found yourself rudely staring, a smirk on her lips that quickly got washed away with a scornful arch of her brows. 

She had never been rude to you. Had never demanded of you or treated you unkindly the way one would think when you looked at her intimidatingly beautiful face. The power you know she held with just a look, a twitch of a smile, or the flick of her fingers. 

She was the opposite of Lord Djarin. 

The two seeming an odd match for two people destined to be together. 

Your schoolgirl crush on the Lord of the Manor definitely having little to do with your opinion on the fact. 

It had been Lady Kryze who had suggested you stay. Almost demanding it, with the weather outside being too dangerous to travel. The winds whistling through the old bones of the house. The rain coming down like heavy hail. The thunder that you could feel deep in your bones each time it rumbled. 

Lord Djarin had protested on the matter. Said you could wait out the storm but insisted you leave after. 

“Don’t be rude, honey.” Lady Kryze had said. The sentiment, honey, came off more as an insult than as something sweet and tender. The look on the Lord’s face one of strain and frustration. A warning flashed in his eyes before he gave you a tight lipped smile and nodded in agreement. 

And now here you are. Dressed in a nightgown that Lady Kryze had supplied you with. The white fabric feeling almost like satin against your chilled skin, the lack of heat coming from the radiator on the other side of the room making you frown as your breasts made it more than clear how your body was reacting to the draft in the room—to the cold storm outside. 

The loud thump that startles you from outside of your door tears your gaze from the window and elevates your unease when you put your ear to the dark wood and hear nothing but the old house talking in the way one does in storms or settling.

Lord Djarin had ordered you to stay in your room. To lock the door from the inside and try to get some rest. Assuring you that all was alright, the drafts liked to open the doors at night. 

Listening to the plea in his voice that he tried to hide with his endearing smile was enough to convince you not to try it. To listen to his words. To do what had been asked of you without question once again. 

But the thump comes again. This time, sounding closer. Perhaps a glass broke somewhere in the hall. 

Your teeth chew at your bottom lip in worry. 

What if the Lord or Lady needed help? What if they had fallen? The lack of electricity in the house was more than a factor, a reason, for something that could cause a fall. Candlelight only shows so much in these dark halls. 

And while there had been no cry for help. No croak, groan, or indication that someone needs help; you can’t help the way your heart escalates or why you ignore the nerves, making your hand shake as you unlock the door, twist the cold handle, and open it a sliver. 

Your eyes search the vast darkness of the hall within the tiny space you’ve given yourself. The lit candles in the holders on the wall do little to aid in you seeing anything other than small glows of orange light past the railing that lines the hall. 

The words of the Lord push into the back of your mind as you open the door more and poke your head out into the dark space. The strings of lightening outside paint the empty hall in blue light. Streaking against the dark wallpaper hauntingly. 

“Lord Djarin?” Your voice is faint compared to the booming thunder outside. A gulp of air fills your lungs when you get enough bravery to step fully out of your room and speak a little louder, “Lady Kryze?” 

The silence only pushes you forward. 

Has your bare feet cold and weary against the long rug on the hardwood floor. The floorboards creak with each step that you take.

The portraits of unknown people by unknown painters look more intimidating and scary the longer you venture through the hall. The candles shadow their faces in scowls that aren’t normally there in the daylight. 

Your fingers dig into the side of your nightgown, bunching up the fabric as your heart hammers against your ribs. 

Maybe you should go back to your room. Maybe it was nothing. The rooms with open doors were dark and abandoned. The staircases are bare, and the entryway below, when you look over the rail, is completely encased in darkness.

Maybe it had come from the west wing of the house. Maybe it was a branch outside. Your mind isn’t sure. Isn’t thinking about anything other than getting back to your room, engulfing yourself in the bedspread, and trying to ignore every creepy sound that the storm outside aids in the houses off putting nature.

Being here at night was, in fact, something your nerves could not handle, it seemed. 

You sigh. Come to a stop at the last door along the hallway. Your bottom lip sore from your worrying. Whatever the thump was, it’s not something as drastic as your mind had probably come up with, and unless you feel like venturing down the stairs and through the rest of the house, it wasn’t your concern—and the prospect made you shiver knowing some parts of the house didn’t have candles lining the walls. 

But when you turn to head back to your room, your body crashes into another, and the scream you let out rings along with a crack of thunder, filtering the hallway into a horrific sound of chaos and fear. 

“You were told to stay in your room.” 

“Oh my—" your hand flies to your chest. The beat of your heart feels as if it might beat it’s way out of the cavern of your ribs. Your lungs finally fill with the air that had been whooshed out of you when you had collided with the other person once you realized who it was. “Lady Kryze.” 

“I was told you listen to directions well,” her smile is pressed and sure. Humorous in the way her eyes move along your appearance. The relief you felt from it being her soon dying when you remember how see through your nightgown is. Your arms cross over your bare chest. “How misguided.” 

“I-I was just,” you swallow. Try to get your breathing back to normal. Try to stop the pounding in your ears matching up with the rain outside—with the booms of thunder. “I heard a noise.” You manage to get out. The amused raise of her brow makes your body heat up in something akin to embarrassment or a child running to their mother at night because they are scared. 

Lady Kryze hums, “many things go bump in the night around here. It’s an old house.”

“Of course,” you nod. “Yes.” You laugh nervously, breathy, and unsure. Trying to ease the tension that’s growing between the two of you. Worried you might be jobless come morning. “I apologize. I was just worried that you or Lord Djarin may have been hurt.”

“You’re a doctor? Here I thought you were a maid.” Her smile is mocking, unkind. But that’s when you finally take her fully in. With the flashes of lightening through the window at the end of the hall, giving light to the shadows that dance along her face in the candlelight.

She looks…different. 

There's a deep red tint to her lips that’s not usually there. You can’t recall the last time you saw her wear lipstick, let alone that shade. Her hair is darker and more unruly at the bottom than usual. Than the sleek look of perfection it’s always at. Her clothes—her dress—stained a deep red and ripped at the top, standing her paler than normal skin out. 

Your eyes look down to her nails; they’re longer. Stained the same shade as her lips and her dress. 

Somethings not right.

And when your gaze meets hers again, you can see how much darker her eyes look than what you’re used to seeing below that scowl. Bigger. Almost as if her pupils had doubled in size.

Your lack of subtlety seems to give you away when you quickly try to sidestep her and head for your room. 

“Now that I know you’re both fine, I’ll just go back to my room now.” You say softly, give her a forced smile as you try to keep your composure and act as normal as you would if you weren’t scared out of your skin. 

Lady Kryze laughs under her breath. Let’s you step past her and walk one, two, or five steps before there’s a grip at the back of your elbow and your back is being slammed into the wall. The gasp of your lungs deflates from the pressure puffing out against her face with how close she is. 

“Lady Kr-”

“Bo.” She corrects, her eyes wandering down your face, pausing at your lips and the junction where your jaw meets your neck. Swallowing hard before her gaze cascades to your chest, “I always hated the pleasantries Din demanded we go by to fit in with you…humans.” 

“You humans?” You give her a quizicall look, too much going on in your nervous system to comprehend her words. To make sense of them when the fear of the emotion in her eyes reads hunger. 

And when she laughs again, her smile more genuine than any you’ve seen spread across her perfectly proportioned lips before; you see it. See them.

The pointed teeth that have replaced her normal ones. 

The way they gleam off of the orange glow of the candles. The way they make you swallow. Make your chest hurt from the bruising your heart is doing to your ribs from beating so fast. 

What is she?

“I thought you were smart? With the way Din talks about you, I imagined you would have figured it out by now. Especially with how close the two of you have been getting.” The accusation makes your heart stop. A cold fear pricking at your insides that makes your skin feel clammy. 

The raising of her brow makes the feeling worse as you shake your head. Open your mouth to protest on the matter, to not encourage the accusation that there might be something going on with Lord Djarin and you, her husband. 

“Don’t worry,” she smirks. Leans in closer so her lips are ghosting over the shell of your ear as she murmurs, “I like to share.” Your body trembles when her hand leaves your shoulder and her fingers run along the side of your breast. Her pointer skating along your erect nipple, making you gasp softly. “We both do.” 

“Lady Kryze–I,” there’s words meant to come out. Words meant to put an end to whatever this standoff, or showdown, is. You’re lost, you’re captivated, and you’re frightened. But her cheeks and lips brush against yours as she moves herself back so she can look at you; her dark eyes make every syllable on your tongue lay thick and weighted down like sludge. 

There’s a silence that has enough tension to make your body buzz and your brain catch up to put the puzzle pieces together with the information that has always been laid out for you. Things you took as old family traditions you didn’t care to understand. 

The presistant curfew, the eerie darkness that hung over the manor once the sun started to set. The mysterious cases of maids and butlers going missing without a trace. The town just beyond your own’s population dwindling down. Neighbors and friends gone. 

Lady Kryze’s dark eyes, her teeth. 

“You’re the cause of all the disappearances.” It’s not a question because you already know the answer. The slow spread of her lips only solidified the gathered information in your head to fit neatly in a box of truths. “And,” you swallow, hate how your heart aches at the very thought. “Lord Djarin..he–”

“Is much more discrete than I.” She seems to find a silent annoyance in the statement. In the way your body lets out a shaky breath as if you’re relieved. It makes her eye twitch before she’s leaning in again, her lips closer to yours now. Her breath smells of metal. “He doesn’t like to indulge in the bounty we’ve been given. Says it’s not right to eat thy neighbor.” Her tongue runs across her bottom lip, one of her sharp teeth catching on the skin. “I say, why waste such delicious gifts? And delicious they are, especially the ones who beg. The ones who let me play with my food before I eat it.” 

Her laugh makes your body shiver. A reaction she seems to like too much, as her lips skim across yours. The metallic scent of her tongue inhaled by your shaky breaths and swallowed down, leaving your throat dry and your tongue itching to reach out for the source. 

The source of it’s weight, the source of the ache in your jaw with the need to drink. A thirst for what you’re sure is water and not the nourishment that’s so clearly painted Lady Kryze’s lips red and her tongue. Your body willing to use any source of fluid to aid you. 

Not because the metallic linger of her breath sits on your tastebuds like an open invitation. Not because her fingers are still at the side of your breast, your peaked nipple aching to be brushed over by her again. 

“Will you let me play with you?” Her nose brushes yours as her head turns, and her lips just catch the corner of your mouth, a gasp leaving your lips as they move across your cheek and her teeth clip on your jawline. “I know how hard it is for my husband to be near you every day and not sink his teeth into this beautiful neck. You look as good as you’ll taste.” 

A moan racks your ribcage when her hand grips the side of your neck, bending it so the other side is on full display and her lips press to the sensitive flesh. Her tongue coming out to run the tip lightly against you, like she doesn’t dare indulge too much. Like it’s an appetizer to what she really wants. 

A trail of bruising kisses and hungry noises coming from the woman making your chest heave, your fingers daring to come up to her elbow to grip the fabric of her dress as an anchor—or to pull her closer—you're not too sure what your body wants, your senses not matching up with the fear still plaguing your brain. 

“Will you run for me, little rabbit?” You can feel the amusement at her own words with the smirk that’s pressed just below your ear. Your body canting at the derogatory pet name.

Until her next words come out of her mouth in a booming shriek that makes your ears ring and your body recoil from her in defense to protect itself from wrath. 

“Run!”

And you do. 

Not turning back to look to see if she’s chasing you. All the heat once again drained from your body, any pleasure you had been feeling doused out, and brought tears burning at the corners of your eyes. 

The candles on the wall continue to be your guiding light. Even when you step on something that makes you hiss. That tears the skin on the bottom of your foot enough to stutter your sprint. A limp catches in your leg as you try to make haste.

You were foolish for staying here. Foolish for leaving your room. Foolish for not seeing what this house really was or what it’s occupants really were.

Foolish. 

If there had been a spell, you had fallen for it. Like a silly little girl.

The closer you get to your chamber door, the harder your heart beats against your ribs. The harder you try to ignore the sting in your heel. The harder it is for you to breathe. 

The distance only seems to get further and further away from safety the longer you try for it. The longer your eyes strain in the candlelight to not step on something else that could make you completely imobile. Completely at Lady Kryze’s mercy. 

Who you don’t hear behind you. 

Who—upon your better judgment, one would say—you look for as you turn your head towards the path behind you. Your blood running cold when you see that all the candles have completely gone out and you can’t see a thing. 

The flashes of lightening from the windows down below cascading the barest amount of light onto the floor. 

It’s the least of your worries when your body collides with a wall. 

Or what feels like a wall—a strained ache coming to your chest upon the collusion, your body thrown backwards as you groan from the impact your tailbone makes against the hard floor. 

And when your eyes open, you realize it’s not a wall you’ve collided with; it’s Lord Djarin. 

“I told you to stay in your room.” His voice is full of authority and aggravation as he pulls you from the floor. It’s a tone he’s never used on you, a grip on your arm that’s much more cruel than the light touches of fleeting moments spent together. 

“She–Lady Kryze–She.”

“Is insatiable, yes.” There’s a growl that’s completely for his wife’s sake and not your own. But the sound still makes your stomach clench. Your body dragged along the hallway by the hands of the man you’re now realizing is more dangerous than any normal man. 

A monster.

Like his wife.

And yet, you feel safe in his tight grasp. Feel safe with the memories you share with him. Of him. The man you knew before the monster. 

The fear of him never coming. 

The fear only comes back once you’ve reached your room, and he’s pushing you through the door only for your back to collide with something icy that grips your wrist and snakes it’s fingers along the column of your neck to hold you against it.

“Bo.” Lord Djarin’s voice is stern. Angry. 

“Darling.” You can feel the smile that’s wrapped around the word even without seeing Lady Kryze’s face. 

The cold of her body seeping through your night dress and against your skin—a cold that’s not from the fear of what she is rather than what she’s doing. What has stained her lips and tongue and what you wanted so badly to taste just minutes ago. The same deep red clearly stained in the front fabric of your gown that you hadn’t noticed until now.

Until you’re standing in front of Lord Djarin, your night dress more see through and clinging to your body, where it’s damp from blood and straining against your breasts. 

Lady Kryze’s grip tightens on your throat, and it makes a breathless noise fall from your lips. A noise that has Lord Djarin’s eyes honing in on your mouth, moving along to his wife's hand on your throat, before plunging down to your chest. A hard swallow and a deep scowl shot at the woman holding you in her vise. 

“Let her go.”

“We were just having a little fun. Weren’t we?” Her teeth knick your earlobe, and it makes your body contort against her hold. “See,” she smirks. 

“Bo. No.” His tone has finality. Has something that wordlessly lets you know he’s tired of this topic; he’s clearly told her no on before. 

Something inside your stomach lightens up and burns at the thought of Lord Djarin denying his wife the pleasure of making you a meal time and time again. Was it out of respect? Care? Want?

Did she want to sink her teeth into you so badly because of jealousy at the closeness you and her husband had found the longer you worked here? No, she said they like to share. Said she likes to share. 

Was it want then?

The want to do more than end your life by draining you.

“Come on, Din.” The hand at your wrist does a show of crawling with her sharp nails over your midsection and to your hip to start pulling up your night dress. Your thighs quickly come into view as she bunches the fabric further and further up. A shyness takes over you as you wiggle in her grasp as you watch Lord Djarin’s eyes follow the movement with a hungry look. “We all know you want her.” 

Her lips press against your jaw as she murmurs to you, “he never allows himself to indulge in the things he wants. He’s so disciplined. Such a good man. He’d never let it slip that after you leave his library, he bends me over his desk and fucks me the way he wishes he could fuck you.”

An involentary noise that get’s choked out of your throat makes her laugh softly, “tell him he can have you. Tell him you like it.” Your eyes lock with his; his eyes just as dark and monstrous as his wife's now that you’re really looking at them. His lips that deep red—the same red you smelled and craved to taste on her lips. 

Your thighs inwardly press together, causing the pressure between them to ease the slightest, but grow worse when your backside pushes back against Lady Kryze and she lets out a noise that sounds just as lovely as she looks. 

“Look, Din.” A heat comes to your cheeks as the rest of the fabric of your gown is pulled above your hips, showcasing your nakedness to both of them. “There’s no denying she wants you,” her fingers move down to grip your inner thigh. The clear and evident proof of your arousal—that you’re not sure was caused earlier or right now—coats your skin and her fingers. 

“No, she is not-”

“What? Food?” Lady Kryze laughs, “we both know you’d never let me drain her. Nor could you bear to have anything but her essence touch your tongue. But she can be a toy. You can fuck her. We both can.” 

You can see the internal battle he’s fighting with himself—against his wife, against what’s right, against his want. 

And there’s a part of you that understands. That knows this is wrong. That has barely come to terms with what they are—monsters, myths, and scary stories you tell little children at night to get them to go to bed. 

But then the proof of your arousal, of your own want is being toyed with between your thighs as Lady Kryze runs a finger through your wetness. Your hips canting against her hand as she pulls it away just as quick as it was there and holds her finger out to her husband. 

“Taste her.”

His head is about to shake; you can sense it. See it before it happens by the way his fists bunch at his sides. Maybe that's why you finally find your voice, “please.”

And it’s as if those are the words he’s been waiting for you to say since the day you’ve met. Since you’ve started working for him. The speed at which he’s against your front and his lips are wrapped around the finger that has gathered the wetness from your pussy makes you feel woozy. 

Makes you sway on your feet and loosen in Lady Kryze’s hold. Her nails dig into your flesh as she holds you tighter, keeping you upright for her husband. 

Whose finger is under your chin, mouth daringly close to yours as he murmurs, “are you certain?”

Do you want this?

Do you want all it entails if you let this continue?

His dark eyes speak; let you know that he’ll stop this. That while you might be weak in comparison to who they truly are, you have a say, and he’ll do whatever you wish. 

A wise woman would heed the warning that’s in the brow he raises. Thats in the descent of his finger down your chin and to your jugular. Your heartbeat thudding against the pad of his finger. His tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes cast to your neck and then up to his wife. 

Who's giving him a smile you can’t see but can feel in the way her body shifts, pulling your thighs apart easily. Lord Djarin needs no more confirmation for either of you as he falls to his knees, a rough hand cupping the back of your thigh to lift and bring it up and over his shoulder. 

Your back arching, and a gasp rakes through your body when you feel the bite of teeth against your inner thigh. Feel the sting of punctured skin, the pull of something inside that’s making your eyes flutter, and the pressure in your lower belly thumping at the same speed as your heart. 

When your eyes shift down, when he’s stopped, when you feel like you could either pass out or come from just this, you see blood—your blood—staining his lips and tongue. See his eyes go even darker, black, and void of any human attributes. Making him look entirely like a monster that’s hungry, starved. 

And you’ve completely offered yourself up for the taking. 

There’s a deep moan coming from Lord Djarin as his fingers and tongue clean his mouth. It’s obscene as much as it is beautiful to watch. Your arousal only grows worse at the sight. 

“How does she taste?” 

“Exqusite.” He murmurs against your skin, his tongue running over the marks he’s just left in your thigh, working it’s way up to the apex of your thigh. Your legs shake the closer he gets to your pussy. 

A cry burns your lungs when you feel him dive into you without any warning. His tongue licking through your wetness, his nose pressing against your clit. The tip of it creates a slow grind that only intensifies when you cant your hips up. When you thrust against the air, his tongue slips inside of you, pushing it further inside. Your fingers dig into the sides of your dress as you try not to completely collapse against either of them. 

The pleasure coursing through your body makes that easier said than done. 

Lady Kryze is humming against your cheek, her hand coming down to slow the movement of your hips. “Take your time, little rabbit.” She trails kisses and soft bites over and under your jaw to your earlobe, where she lets the tip of her tongue run against it. “Because once you’ve come, you’re mine to play with.” 

#din djarin x reader #bo katan x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #bo katan x din #bo katan smut #din djarin x bo katan kryze #din djarin x female reader #bo katan x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #bo katan kryze x reader #bo katan kryze smut #hauntedhoedown

[topguncortez]

Court of Thieves | | Chapter 5

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: The realm prepares to say goodbye to the King. Jake has his first council meeting. Questions arise about Lady Mitchell and her relationship with Sir Bradshaw.

word count: 4.7k

warnings: historical inaccuracies, era-related misogyny, mentions of murder, virginity, mentions of assault, pregnancy, religion, witchcraft, mentions of child death, violence

The Abbey was one of the oldest buildings in all of Brinefell. The gorgeous stone building stood tall and daunting, with stained glass windows depicting the story of The Stations of the Cross. As a kid, Jake loved spending his days in the Abbey, running through the sanctuary, playing hide'n'seek in the garden, sneaking in to watch choir practices, and staring at the painted windows when he should’ve been paying attention to the Cardinal.

 But over time, the Abbey became a place he avoided. His relationship with God started to fall apart when he watched his mother grieve his baby brother. An innocent baby, whose life was only a mere weeks old, and God decided he needed to die. Jake had watched good men die on the battlefield and the villains who slain them get away. He didn’t understand how God let innocent men and babies die, while the real enemies still scoured the Earth. 

But Jake knew that his grandmother had an excellent relationship with God, or so she said. She had devoted herself to serving God and his “anointed king” of Brinefell since she was a child. She had always trusted that God had a plan, and who was she to disrupt it. But also, who was she to let the plan fall by the wayside. Queen Maria would do whatever she had to to make sure God’s plan was carried out the way it was meant to. 

The sound of Jake’s footsteps on the marble floor interrupted the Latin words that fell from Queen Maria’s lips. She sustained rolling her eyes as her grandson knelt beside her, doing the sign of the cross. Jake didn’t say anything as he knelt there with his hands clasped and his head bowed. The Dowager ignored his presence the best she could, continuing to run her hands over her rosary beads, and recite “Ave Maria” and “Pater Noster”. But the occasional huff or sigh out of her grandson drove her attention elsewhere. 

“Are you going to say something-” 

“Shh, Lady Grandmother,” Jake spoke, keeping his eyes shut, “I am praying.” 

The Dowager couldn’t help but roll eyes. She rested back on her heels, Jake doing the same as they both said the Sign of The Cross in perfect Latin before standing up. Jake offered her his arm as he led her out of the Abbey. 

“I do hope you found sleep, Lady Grandmother,” Jake said as they walked into the vestibule of the Abbey. 

The Dowager scoffed, “I would’ve found it better if that witch-” 

“Future Queen of Brinefell.”

The Dowager stopped in her tracks, forcing Jake to look at her. She was no taller than five foot, but her presence was enough to make grown men shake in their boots. Jake had seen the nice old lady that he called ‘grandmother’ and he had also seen the lady that they call “Queen”. 

“That girl will bring nothing but sorrow and death to this realm. Her mother tried to overtake the throne from my son with her bastard boy, claiming he was my husband’s kin.” 

“What?” Jake asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

The Dowager sighed, pulling her hand away from Jake’s arm, and walked down the hallway, fiddling her rings. She had sworn she’d never talk of it. It had been an awful time in her marriage to the late King Benjamin. A war, a plague, a scandal, rebels rising up to try and usurp her husband and kill her children. The Dowager had done all she could to try and push those dark days away. Between praying and going to confession, those memories still haunted her mind. 

Turning to face her grandson, the Dowager sighed deeply, “The girl’s mother claimed that she. . .” She stopped, shaking her head, and regaining her posture, “King Benjamin had taken a mistress, and it was the girl’s mother. It was an awful time in our history and your grandfather was weak, and that witch seduced him.” Her footsteps echoed as she walked back down the corridor to stand in front of Jake, “She tried to place the bastard boy ahead of my own son, ahead of you. It was witchcraft that got her daughter here and it will be witchcraft that kills your bloodline.” 

Jake looked down at his boots, his jaw clenched. He knew that his grandfather had mistresses, but he never knew of a secret son. Jake knew of what happened to kings with potential usurpers out there. He heard of what happened to King Richard in England. It sent a shiver down his spine. 

“Where is he?” Jake asked, “Where is this boy?” 

The Dowager swallowed, adjusting her position, “Dead. But you mustn’t let that girl-” 

Jake raised his hand, silencing her words, “I believe her word. I believe her when she says she is untouched. I believe her when she says she is a follower of the word of God. I believe her when she says she has no idea about this supposed curse and witchery.”

The Dowager huffed and turned back to the doors of the Abbey, “I pray you are no fool like your grandfather.” 

Jake watched as she walked back into the Abbey, his mind running with the new information. It wasn’t uncommon to hear stories of women who claimed they had the craft. Jake had been witness to great stories told around fires by women half-dressed with gold necklaces and bracelets covering their bodies. They always said that they could provide the soldiers good luck before their battles, but the only thing Jake had seen them provide was a nasty case of syphilis or the occasional bastard child. 

But one thing did stick in Jake’s mind. The same memory that had been dancing in his head as he pleasured himself at night. The look and feel of you in that pink nightgown as you stood in his rooms. The way your breasts strained against the sheer fabric, your nipples hard and pink like rose buds. How soft and sweet your skin felt under his touch. It was like he was in a trance that night, and how easily he would’ve succumbed to it if you hadn’t been so frightened. He felt awful after he came to the thought of you, knowing that you would’ve cast your virtue away to please him. 

“Dear God. . . tell me I’m making the right choice,” Jake muttered, looking up at the painted ceilings of the church. 

— — — 

You could remember your mother’s funeral like it was yesterday. 

You could remember that the sun did not shine once. It was a dreary, miserable gray day. It was abnormal for that time of year in Brinefell, but you felt as though it was fitting for a day of a funeral. 

You could remember how uncomfortable you felt in your dress. You had lost weight from not eating, and your dress that you had tucked away for other funerals had become too big. There was no time to have it altered, so your matron pulled your corset tighter than normal. It dug into you as you sat in the church pew for hours during the service. That was another thing you remembered, was how sore your bottom and knees felt from sitting and kneeling. 

You could remember talking to so many people but not remembering a single one of their faces. Your cheeks hurt from fake smiling and accepting condolences from people you would never see again until maybe your father’s funeral. Between Bradley and your sister, you were served enough wine to keep you loose and from crying. Your body felt so heavy and tired from the hours you spent crying in your mother’s rooms. The wine made your head swim and Bradley had to carry you to bed. 

You wished that today felt different. But a funeral was a funeral. And it didn’t matter who it was for. Your ladies were running around your rooms, helping you get dressed in that same black dress you had worn years ago. It fit a little better now, you had put some weight back on, but it still felt uncomfortable to wear. 

Once you were dressed, and the veil had been situated over your face, you walked with your ladies out to the front of the castle. Various noblemen, wives, lords, and ladies were gathered in their finest black clothes. A horse-drawn carriage, with four white horses with black cloaks and gold armor, was stationed in front, waiting for the King’s coffin to be placed on it. This funeral was certainly more lavish than your mother’s, but it was one fit for a King. 

The moment that the Queen walked out, it was as if all the oxygen in the atmosphere had been sucked away. Elizabeth kept her head held high as she walked by the crowd, her face covered in a beautiful black lace veil, and a gold crown sitting on her head. Her daughters trailed behind her, wearing similar black dresses with gold trim. It made your heart swell knowing that the Queen was surrounded by her children. You could remember how much your father had relied on you, Allison, and Bradley during those first couple months without your mother. 

“Where is Lady Mitchell?” The Queen asked aloud. You felt all eyes go to you instantly and you wanted to hide. You had planned on sticking to the back, staying clear, and letting the royals mourn with each other. 

You gulped and stepped through the crowd, curtsying to the Queen, “I am here, Your Majesty.” 

“Come here, child,” The Queen gestured and you followed so dutifully. You went to stand on the other side of Jane, the Queen’s eldest daughter, but Jane gently stepped to the side. 

You gave her a look but she simply nodded her head to the Queen, “Queen’s orders.” 

You licked your lips and stood in Jane’s spot, on the right side of the Queen. You stood there for a moment, watching as the noblemen and lords gossiped amongst themselves, their eyes still on you. 

“My Queen,” You whispered to Elizabeth, “Shouldn’t I be on the-” 

“You are the Queen now,” Queen Elizabeth said, looking up at you through her veil, “My power is gone, and I simply have a title.” You nodded as the King’s guard stepped out of the castle. 

Jake stood at the front of the King’s coffin, dressed in his finest black clothing with a black crown on his head. His nose and eyes looked red as he led the guard and the coffin towards the carriage. A small sob escaped out of Jane’s mouth, and you grabbed her hand, squeezing it. Jake’s face was stoic as he stood to the side, watching as his father’s coffin was loaded onto the carriage. You wished you could go and hug him, to comfort him. You hadn’t even seen him since you ran after meeting the Dowager. 

When the King’s body was loaded, Jake nodded toward the riders at the beginning of the procession, giving them the all-clear to start the journey to the Abbey. You, the Queen, and her daughters fell in line after Jake and the King’s guard. The Dowager was riding in another carriage with the King’s brother and his wife. The moment the procession was outside the palace gates, your eyes widened. The streets were lined with mourners, some of them crying, some of them throwing flowers, some of them standing in awe at the sight in front of them. 

“God save you, Prince Jacob!” 

“God save the King!” 

Mourners yelled as you passed by them. Many of them curtsied to the Queen and cast their condolences, but she never turned her head to look. Queen Elizabeth kept her eyes straight on the wooden box that held her dead husband. You admired the Queen’s strength as you were yet to see her shed a tear. 

The church service was long, even longer than your mother’s had been. The church choir sang several hymns, and several different cardinals read scripture passages. You had been sat next to Jake, who sat at the end of the pew. It felt wrong to you, it felt weird as though the Queen should be next to her son. You kept stealing glances at the pew behind you, where the Queen sat with her daughter. She leaned her head on her daughter’s shoulder, her eyes red with unshed tears. You refrained from reaching over and grabbing Jake’s hands as you sat and listened to scripture. 

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” The Cardinal said as the King’s guard raised the coffin for its final procession to the final resting place, “Amen.” 

“Amen,” The crowd responded. 

Jake waited, watching as his father’s body passed by him. His green eyes were locked on the large statue of Jesus on the Cross in front of him. You looked around, noticing that no one was moving, everyone waiting with anticipation. 

“Your majesty,” You whispered. Jake looked down at you, and you nodded your head towards the King’s guard. 

Jake looked over his shoulder, “Mother.” 

Queen Elizabeth gave her son a sad smile, “The King walks first.” 

Jake gulped and nodded. He stepped out of the pew, turning to face the back of the Abbey. He held his arm out for you to take. You wrapped your hand around Jake’s bicep, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he led you down the aisle towards the back of the church. 

— — — 

Three days after King George had been laid to rest, the castle had turned over from their period of mourning to a time of celebrating. The black curtains had been lifted off the windows, letting the sunshine through. The paintings had been uncovered. The lords and ladies had changed out of their black clothing and back into colorful clothing. The word had spread that preparations for the royal wedding could begin. You felt a sort of giddiness as you sat through dress fittings and picked out things such as flowers and gold plates for the wedding. Jake had placed all preparations in your hands, which was both a blessing and a curse at the same time. 

“My Lady, can you move slightly to your left,” Hans Holbein said. Hans Holbein the Younger is one of the greatest portraitists of the current century. You had seen his paintings of your cousins in England, the princesses in Spain, and the nobles in Germany. To have a portrait done by Holbein was of the utmost honor. This was why you nearly had a heart attack when Clara woke you up this morning and told you to get ready for your wedding portrait with the one and only Hans Holbein. You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting still in the heavy white dress and crown that had traveled all the way from Scotland. 

“It is quite the skill you have, Master Holbein,” You said, “I have seen your portraits before.” 

“Thank you, My Lady,” Hans said, “God gifted me with this talent and I mustn’t waste it.” 

You smiled, running your fingers over the gold lion that was stitched into the dress, a subtle nod toward the Seresin family crest. There were also blooming lilies on the skirt, a symbol of your own house. 

“Isn’t this a sight to see,” A voice called out to you. You lifted your head slightly, seeing a smiling Bradley standing in the doorway, “I didn’t know you could clean yourself up so well.” 

You blushed. It had been a couple of days since you had seen Bradley. Bradley handled funerals about as well as you did, and decided to go back home to be with your father during the King’s funeral. It hurt to not have your best friend around during that time, having no one to confide in after The Dowager’s accusations. You glanced over to Master Holbein, who looked between you and Bradley. 

“You can take a break, my Lady,” Hans said, “A short one, please.” 

“Thank you,” You said standing up. Bradley walked over to the platform you were standing on, offering you a hand. The dress was almost as heavy to walk in as it was to sit in. The crown felt even heavier as you walked down the steps, keeping your head up. Bradley led you to the table full of cheeses, meats, and fruits, in the back of the room that had been a gift from Queen Elizabeth. You had hardly seen her since the day of the funeral, but she had showered you with gifts such as a new prayer book, new shoes, and jewelry. 

“You really look good, Ducky,” Bradley said sincerely. You nodded, grabbing the vase of wine and pouring yourself a glass, “I’m sorry that I-” 

“Did you know what happened to my mother?” You asked, turning towards him. 

Bradley sighed, running a hand over his face. He had heard a rumor about what was said to you when the Dowager arrived, “My mother used to tell me a story of witchcraft and a lost prince,” He shrugged, “I always thought it was a way for her to get me to say my prayers.”

You nodded, taking a gulp of wine. Your mother and Bradley’s mother, Carole had been close as girls. They had plans of marrying nobles at court and raising their children together. When your mother had fallen pregnant with the King’s bastard, everything had changed between her and Carole. Carole didn’t see your mother as the same girl who was her best friend growing up. Instead, she saw her as a temptress, a liar. It was on her deathbed, that Carole had begged for your mother to be there. Your mother held Carole’s hand as she apologized for abandoning her, and begged her to look after Bradley. 

“Do you believe in the story? Of the Lost Prince?” You asked. 

Bradley shrugged, “I don’t know. It could be true, but it could also be just a scary story to trick kids into behaving.” 

“I wrote to my sister,” You said, reaching for a piece of cheese. 

Bradley furrowed his eyebrows. Sure, Allison was your older sister, but your relationship with her was strained, “Is that a good idea? Given her. . . history?” 

You gave Bradley a sad smile, “I’m not sure if anything is a good idea anymore.” You looked down at your dress. It was the most elegant thing you had ever worn in your life. It gave you a sort of imposter syndrome as you wore it, “I’m surprised this crown doesn’t weigh more.” 

“It’s not the imperial crown,” Bradley said, popping a grape into his mouth, “I heard that one is a real pain in the bollocks.” 

You laughed loudly, reaching for another grape. Bradley helped you walk back up to the platform to finish your portrait. Bradley made himself comfortable off to the side with a plate of snacks and told you about his trip back home. Your father was doing alright and was looking forward to coming to the wedding. Mistress Rotchford was still walking around the palace as though she had a stick up her ass. Your beloved wolfhound, Tidus, had found a new home on your bed and in your closet. You made a note to write your father and ask if he can bring Tidus with him. You weren’t sure if Jake would like a dog in the castle, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Tidus would come first in your mind, always. 

“Your father still thinks he can out-hunt me,” Bradley laughed, “The old bastard didn’t even get-” 

“Your majesty!” You stood up quickly, nearly knocking the crown off your head as Queen Elizabeth stepped into the grand hall. Bradley and Hans quickly stood up, bowing to her as she walked towards you. She was still dressed in black, and you weren’t sure if she would ever change out of it. 

“No need to bow to me,” Queen Elizabeth greeted with a simple nod of her head. She stood in front of you, her eyes looking glassy, “I knew that crown would look perfect on you. It was a gift from my mother when I had my wedding portrait done.” 

“Thank you, My-Lady-the-King’s mother,” You grabbed the sides of your dress to curtsey, but the Queen held her hand up. 

“It’s a hard habit to break,” The Queen smiled, and curtsied to you, before turning on her heel and walking out of the room. 

Bradley couldn’t help but beam at you with pride, as you sat back down on the chair to finish the portrait. 

— — — 

“The first order of business,” Mister Brooke said as he stood at the table, “Is a congratulations to our crowned King, Prince Jacob.” 

Jake gave a simple nod of his head as the council of his advisors congratulated him on achieving his birthright. It felt weird for Jake to sit at the head of the table, his late grandfather’s crown sitting upon his head. He had sat in on council meetings when his father was in this position, now he wished he would’ve paid a little bit more attention. But he felt as though he was in good hands with Lord Floyd and Mister Brooke by his side. 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Jake said, “As this is the first council since my late father’s death, I want to keep things simple. The country is still in a state of mourning as we work to change everything over,” He took a seat in his chair, “I want an update on Argerus and Eastland. Sir Fitch?” 

Sir Fitch bowed his head, “Argerus seems to be holding steady, not backing down but not pushing forward. I have correspondents still out on the field. Eastland, however, they are beginning to grow restless and there’s a rumor of plague. Some say it is the sweat.”

Jake cursed, “Send a rider to Eastland, take with them gold and bread. I want to try and contain this plague as best as we can. If this is the sweat. . . it could tear this country apart as it did for my cousin in England.” 

“If I may,” Master Moore spoke, and Jake had to refrain from rolling his eyes, “I do not think tis’ smart to send a rider to Eastland. They are poor and decrepit as it is. What good will gold and-” 

“It will keep them at bay,” Jake answered, “It will keep them from rising up and trying to rebel.” 

“They wouldn’t have a need to rebel if-” 

“I do wish to save you your breath, Master Moore,” Jake said, folding his hands on the table, “It is said and done. Gold and bread will be taken to Eastland. Anything else?” 

The table was quiet for a moment before Master Moore stood up. 

“I know I am not the only one on the council who has… some concerns about the new reign,” This time Jake didn’t hold back from rolling his eyes, “The Prince is young and has spent most of his time out fighting or frolicking around. I think it is in our best interest to appoint a regent until the Prince has been crowned.” 

“And who do you think that should be, Master Moore?” Jake sneered. 

“I nominate myself, as the closest guard to the king,” Master Moore said, looking around at the council. 

Jake knew that this would happen. His father had spoken many times of his distrust for Master Moore. Moore had served on the King’s brother’s council and had only managed to keep his head by begging at the King’s foot. The King told Jake that he feared that Moore had a secret plan to try and overthrow him, or to find something to try and get him to lose his power. 

Calmly, Jake stood up, “I think, as the future King, I should be able to pick my own advisor. . . and I pick Lord Floyd.” 

“Me?” Lord Floyd said, looking up at Jake. 

“Of course,” Jake smiled, patting his friend on the back, “You served my father in Tournai, and you served me in Argerus. You stood by my father’s side when he was dying. You deserve this.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Lord Floyd bowed his head. 

Master Moore scoffed, “That’s just what we need, another boy at the hand of the throne.” 

“A boy I am not,” Jake sneers, “There is no one at this table my father entrusts more than the Lord Floyd, and I intend to honor that. And that is the end of that conversation. Next order.” 

Lord Floyd cleared his voice, “In the spirit of celebration for the upcoming marriage of our Prince Jacob and Lady Mitchell, I think it would be within good authority to consider adding Lord Bradshaw and Sir Mitchell to the council.” 

Jake hadn’t had much interaction with Bradley, but he didn’t like him. A couple of times Jake had ventured out to find you, he had always found Bradley by your side, making you laugh until you cried. It angered Jake how friendly and relaxed you seemed around Bradley, but around him, you were stiff and firm. As though you had to keep up the regal act around Jake. He hated it. 

“Can’t we just. . . send him a fruit basket?” Jake asked. 

Lord Floyd rolled his eyes, “Sir Mitchell was one of the King’s closest friends when he was a part of the King’s guard. He is an expert archer, a suave swordsman, not to mention the father of your bride. Lord Bradshaw fought in Tournai alongside your father as well. He’d be a great addition to the council.” 

Jake sighed, “Fine. Lord Bradshaw can be a proxy for Lord Fitch and the King’s guard. As for Sir Mitchell. . . we’ll give him the house in Magnus.” 

“I live in the house in-” Master Moore started to say. 

“It is settled,” Jake smiled. 

“I do propose we keep him away from Lady Mitchell,” Master Moore said, earning a glare from Jake. 

“For why?” He asked. 

Master Moore chuckled, “Well you do know the-” 

Jake slammed his hand on the table, standing up, “This council is supposed to advise the king on the well-being of his nation and the enemies that surround it. Not pick at my wife and tell me treasonous stories,” He looked at Master Moore, “There will be no more talks of my bride before she has even become my bride. Council is over.” 

Jake pushed away from the table quickly and left the room. Lord Floyd was quick to follow by his side, as the newly appointed advisor. Jake walked with haste to return to his chambers, anger flowing off of him. He was pissed that someone mentioned you. You had nothing to do with the court, at least not yet anyway. You, at least, still had some time to learn the ins and outs of what a queen was supposed to do at court, while Jake was thrown right to the wolves. It was times like these that he hated his father for leaving the world so early. 

“Your majesty,” His grandmother said as Jake turned the corner. She curtseyed to him as Jake stopped in his tracks. 

“Lady Grandmother,” Jake bowed his head. 

“You should be delighted to know I have chosen to stay.” 

“Stay?” 

“Here,” She smiled waving her hand and Jake felt his heart stop in his chest, “My son no longer sits on the throne and you will need someone who can be an advisor to you. I have stood next to three kings on the throne.”

Jake shook his head, “Lady Grandmother, I don’t need-” 

“It’s not up for argument, child,” The Dowager smiled, before curtsying and walking away. 

Jake clenched his jaw as hot anger flowed through his body. He was tired of being called a boy. He is the King. He is the closest thing to God on the Earth. He was not a boy who could be pushed around by Master Moore or his grandmother or anyone else. 

“Floyd,” Jake looked over his shoulder at his friend, “Tell my wife that I acquire her presence for dinner.” 

“Yes, your Majesty,” Lord Floyd bowed his head. 

“Privately.”

taglist: @cherrycola27 @yanna-banana @laneylovesglen @elijahmikaelsonbitch @desert-fern @prettiewittie @hangmanscoming @damrlova @captainmoonknight @jazminlahey20 @seitmai @xoxabs88xox @princess76179 @clancycucumber230 @soulmates8 @dempy @starberryhorse @kmc1989 @thedroneranger @loving-and-dreaming @tiredqueen73 @sanfransolomitatm @hardballoonlove @djs8891 @hookslove1592 @yuckosworld

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#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun imagine #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun AU #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick AU #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #Jake seresin #Jake seresin fan fic #Jake seresin fan fiction #Jake seresin imagine #Jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x you #Jake seresin x OC #Jake seresin x y/n #Jake seresin AU #Jake hangman seresin #hangman fan fic #hangman fan fiction #hangman AU #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman x OC #Bradley bradshaw #Bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster Bradshaw

[heartfullofleeches]

would there be any way the staff!reader could stay overnight in the gallery safely? without being turned into an art piece so everyone doesnt have to worry about losing them? maybe this reader, somehow hired to take care of and maintain everyone in the gallery, doesn't really have anywhere to go home to...?

honestly? i'd feel very protected if i had to sleep in an art gallery full of art + director that love and cherish me. after i get used to them being alive first–

BTW i hope you are safe, happy, stress-free, are eating well and drinking lots of water! have an amazing day whether you choose to answer this or not!! :D

Well, as long as you manage to make it clear that you'll never leave them, the gallery won't have to resort to turning you into a painting. I imagine living there would be the best way to do so actually. The topic will most likely come up again as you age or if you get seriously injured, but for the time they would be content with the arrangement and (somehow) work together to make sure you're given the same care that you've given them.

-

"Is Y/n comfortable?"

The question's accompanied by light snickering as the hands at work complete their mission. You wrestle against your binds, but their softness and the persisting presence of hands pinning to the mat as well as combing through your hair makes you still. You accept defeat physically - but you're not down for the count yet.

"Scavenger, I really appreciate your effort, but I need to check on the other floors before I get some rest."

The Scavenger only laughs more, yet there's a notable difference to its tone. While clocking out for the night and tending to the rest of your duties off-shift, you were ambushed by the painting and dragged back to the storage closet you slept in. Your own bedding had already been laid out; added onto by the various blankets, foods, and other comforts they had stolen for you. The Scavenger used said blankets to swaddle you in and has been trying for the past half hour to get you to fall asleep. It hushes you with a finger to your lips.

"Shhhh. Quiet. There are new rules to follow. New rules to keep Y/n safe. Once their shift is over, it's our turn to take care of them. Might get sick otherwise."

The Scavenger runs its blackened fingers across the dark circles under your eyes to prove their point. As you prepare your rebuttal, the storage room door opens. Your stomach drops seeing who walks in.

The Lady in White. Red clings to the tails of her dress like haunts of her crimes and a knife welt in her hand. Crimson decorates the blade, but it's not blood. On further investigation, its revealed to the remaining skin of the item resting on the plate in her opposite hand. Her face scrunches up in disgust as she looks at all the processed foods around you.

"Please, stop feeding my darling garbage. I've left them in your company because I believe its for the best for us all, but I am not afraid to cut you all down if I must."

She places a plate of apple slices on the floor. "The Rose has been growing these for you. It's not much, but its food. If I had the right ingredients, I'm sure I can make a proper dish with them. Use this to buy them for me, and whatever else you may need."

She sets a wallet beside the plate. At least she tried to scrape off the blood the time. As soon as she takes her leave, another member of the gallery enters the room. Two in fact. The Painter, and a newer addition to the team, Soleil. The living clock had a habit of leaving its parts about for you to find, but seemed to be in working condition as it cocks its head at you quizzically. Its companion stares down the halls with a worried expression; shocked when they look over at you.

"Oh, dear. You're still awake, Poppy? That's no good- no good at all. I came all the way from my workshop to capture your-... I mean, check on you before the Angel stopped by to play guard."

"I told you they'd be up. They're always up at this hour no matter how often I tell them the time."

"Quiet, you overgrown alarm clock. We need to let them get their rest."

Then wh..y aren't you?

Soleil jumps at the new voice, while The Painter merely slacks their shoulders. No hope in getting that perfect picture now. The Faceless Angel stands behind the duo. They have gotten better with speech since they first lost their face. Slurred, their deep and raspy voice is much clearer now with only the smallest hiccups when they speak for long. Singing and talk to you while you winded down for the night help their progress immensely. In their hands, they hold a bright pink rose which yips in excitement the closer it gets to you. The angel puts it next to your bed and takes a seat; acting as your guardian angel for now, and as long as you will allow.

With your alarm clock, guardian, and two slightly bothersome, but still caring paintings - your eyes start to grow heavy. You don't remember when you start to dose off, or how long you actually slept, but the time on Soleil's open chest reads 4am when you're woken by a gentle shake.

"Hey, Y/n. Sorry for waking you, but I lost my house keys. Can I sleep next to you?"

You mumble a reply your coworker takes as a yes. Anri snuggles up beside you, careful not to touch you aside from placing a hand over your arm. You'd save wondering how they got their hands on a new uniform in the morning.

With the gallery's residents returned back to place, the director shuts the storage room door with a prayer of pleasant dreams. It feels so good to know that you're home.

#Night gallery tag #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #male yandere #yandere blurb #yandere headcanons #female yandere #yandere teratophilia #soft yandere #yandere fluff

[dawnrider]

For #WIP Wednesday I bring you a snippet of what I'm working on for @inuparentsday 2024! A modern AU with the lovely Izayoi discovering that the house she got for a steal in a great neighborhood was a steal for a reason...

Inspired by art by the delightful @heavenin--hell (Yes, that one.)

Snippet below the cut!

It was a good deal. In this housing market, one couldn’t turn their nose up at a great deal like this. So what if people said the furnace made odd noises. And the water heater growled when it was heating up. And the plumbing tended to clang and bump when the water went through it… Those were nothing when you took the price into account! She would have plenty to do the renovations she wanted to do. Fixing up the garden, painting the walls, eventually replacing the appliances… The neighborhood wasn’t even a “bad” one! Signing the paperwork, she had repeatedly felt like she was getting away with something very sneaky and that – at any point – someone was going to show up and tell her it was a mistake, that they had missed several zeros on the price and could she please come up with the remaining amount. Yet here she was, standing in front of her new front door to her new house in her new neighborhood in a new city. She let out a sigh of happiness as the lock turned with the key and the old door swung open with a creak. “Nothing a little WD-40 can’t fix,” she chirped. As she went through the house to look at it more closely, she started a mental checklist of the things that “just needed a coat of paint” or “a new set of hinges” and “maybe a new sink…” Her cheeriness faded some, but seeing the view from the upstairs sitting room and the balcony beyond it made it all worth it. Perched on one of the elevated neighborhoods that overlooked the main part of the city, she could see the ocean just beyond that. The sun set just beyond the horizon with the water often sparkling in the foreground. It was amazing. It was by far the most beautiful place she had ever lived in her entire life. One of the first things Izayoi did was set up her office in the sitting room. If she was going to continue to afford the mortgage on this house, no matter how small the payments were in comparison with her old house, she would need to make sure she could work. Part of that meant getting someone out to install her internet. Apparently there had never been anything all this time and there would need to be a fresh installation. Izayoi had that in her budget, but finding someone to actually do the work was proving a much greater challenge than she would have expected. “Yes, that’s the address,” she repeated. The operator hung up on her. “That was rude,” she muttered, staring at the receiver in her hand. She dialed the next number and was met with much the same treatment. Six more calls and she was running out of numbers in the yellow pages. Finally, someone at least told her why no one would listen past the address. “Lady, I don’t care if you’re willing to pay extra. That place is haunted and I’m not sending any of my guys in there.” “Wait… Seriously?” “Yea. No one here is gonna take that job. That’s why it’s never had a hookup. The only reason you got phone service is because the lines are on poles for that and it comes in through the roof.” “Please! If the phone lines are in that way, can’t you…” “No. Cable’s gotta go in through the ground and into the basement. City ordinance. So you either deal with dialup, or you get satellite.”

#dawnrider fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #inuparents day 2024 #Touga #Izayoi #TogIza #how to make a hanyou

[mannylikessims]

The True Story of the Villareal Family [1.1]

Welcome to the true story of the Villareal family of Windenburg, a family that Definitely Does Not Have Any Secrets.

home // next

It was a gorgeous day at the Von Haunt Estate and nobody wanted to be there.

Jacques Villareal gestured around the fancy grounds. “This is it, offspring – the cherished tourist destination that is the Von Haunt Estate.”

“We are having a Family Fun Day. Now smile.”

He looked at his children and didn't smile.

Hugo and Luna groaned.

“Max, you were too young to remember, but at our last Family Fun Day, someone died under mysterious circumstances,” Hugo explained to his little brother.

Max lit up. “Cool, does that mean someone’s gonna die?”

Jacques sniffed loudly, not answering the question.

“Now, bugger off, my pedestrian offspring. I don’t care what you do all day, as long as you meet me at the secret location after nightfall for some family-friendly and Definitely Not Criminal activities.”

Jacques said the last part loudly, just in case anyone was listening in on them.

Wait, total freedom to roam the Von Haunt Estate? Heck yeah! The kids peeled off in different directions, finally excited for the day.

───────────────✦───────────────

Luna strolled through the gardens – so lush, green, and romantic.

“All I’m missing is my Prince Charming,” she said, sighing dreamily.

“Hello, child!” A ghostly figure popped out of the bushes towards Luna. “Are you looking for love? I would like to offer my aid.”

“Uh…” Luna stared in shock.

“Apologies, let me introduce myself: I am Lady Mimsy. That is, her ghost!”

“Uh…”

“I overheard you pining for a prince. But I would like to tell you the story of a young woman who was married for money and at first felt resentful, but then grew to fall in love. And then her husband killed her in an accidental fire.”

“Uhhh…”

“So what I’m saying is, keep an open mind, because your future love may not seem like a prince at first! You never know when your knight in shining armor might appear!”

Knight in shining armor? This wasn't Sims Medieval; knights in shining armor didn’t exist anymore. But, regardless, Luna decided that Mimsy was cool.

“Sooo." She grinned. “You wanna look at cute boys’ Simstas with me?”

“Uh…” said the ghost.

Luna whipped out her cell. “See, you can look up the cute boys on your phone here. But we only follow the cute, nice ones. The uggos and mean ones, we unfollow.”

Mimsy frowned. “But… how do they get out of there? You’ve trapped them in your device…”

───────────────✦───────────────

Hugo was the only one of the family who actually cared about learning things, or so he claimed, so he made it his mission to read every informational plaque scattered across the estate.

He learned that the estate had been occupied by a wealthy Victorian couple: the kind Lady Mimsy and the cantankerous Lord Bernard. History, nice. Hugo could feel his brain growing with knowledge.

Their portraits hung in the museum, next to the very fireplace that allegedly killed them both. According to the plaque, Lord Bernard was so unhappy with one of his paintings, he tossed it into the fireplace and started a fire that killed him and his wife. Hugo nodded solemnly. History do be like that sometimes.

Hugo spotted another plaque, proud of how much history he was learning, and opened the Voidcritter Go! app on his phone. Hold up, was that a Dicoatl up ahead?? That Voidcritter is, like, super rare!

The plaque stood forgotten as Hugo blazed ahead headfirst, eyes down, into dense green shrubbery.

───────────────✦───────────────

The littlest Villareal, however, did not care for plaques. Max didn’t even know how to read.

History? Boring.

Art? Boring.

Beautifully tended gardens? Boring.

But wait! Who was that up ahead? A ghost!? Now this was interesting.

And it just so happened that Max had but one major wish in his young life.

───────────────✦───────────────

home // next

#thesims4 #simlit #sims4 #windenburg #luna villareal #villareal #get together #the true story of the villareal family #hugo villareal #jacques villareal #max villareal #ts4 #the sims 4 #Von Haunt Estate #tTSotVF

[safetyobstacles]

starting o segredo na floresta now, im either gonna finish this in a week or its gonna take months good luck me

update - i love joui

joui, its a little cloudy out, roll for sanity. joe, you stubbed your toe, roll sanity. joui did you just frown???????? roll a sanity test with disadvantage. that was cool joui, you gain 1 sanity. just kidding somewhere in the netherlands a child tripped and scraped their knee, you lose 10 sanity.

i think im going to put my updates under the cut instead of spamming posts B) beware of spoil

UPDATE

if cellbit takes liz or thiago from me ill never forgive him

this bar has to be its own paranormal entity, thiago would have died if the gun had a bullet in it and cristopher nearly got knifed to death in their first fight loll

EP 2

npc thiago about to be the most useless mf ever i swear if he dies to a stray ant or something ill cry just put him in a box for safe keeping

what would i do without the mental image of joui dropkicking every monster he sees

liz why are you finger painting with the ooze monsters remains and why did it give you 1 hp ?????? NEVERMIND

EP 3

RACCOON bro has 8 health but he sure is happy

faz um teste de sanidade

when i said thiago was gonna die to an ant i didnt actually mean kill him with giant spiders

cristopher no please dont climb a tree these are spiders they can climb nah bro cristopher is dead af im gonna miss him. bro cellbit just kill him already bros dead 2 hp

damn

ep 4

at this rate luba doesnt even need to roll sanity we all know hes gonna fail anyways joui's having the worst two days of his life

jesus christ i just woke up i cant handle this shit cesar's punching a hole in my itty bitty heart bones

please stop talking about leticio's cacetinho

EP 5 how long is too long for a tumblr post btw

the starting soon screen replaced cris with arthur notlikethis

cellbit is far too happy about them going to this house i hate it i hate it

i would like for them to leave a casa now :))) they got gregório time to go :) DAMN JOUI JUST GOT STEAMROLLED BY THAT ZOMBIE ROLLED A 99 VS CELLS 1 jesus christ thiago LOL NO WAY GREGÓRIO IS DEAD AF bro was just taking a nap in the car and this is what he gets

that was horribly stressful its 3 am how am i supposed to sleep after that

to be fair, if i was rodolfo and liz didnt use the tazer, i would have just dragged gregório in front of arthur and killed him in right in front of his face soo...

ROLLED 100 LOOOOOOOOOOOOL a caverna

COOL GUY ALERT HOPE HE DOESNT KILL BRULIO HAHAhahaaa

EP 6 I HAVE GREAT ANXIETY THIS MESTRE GUY IS ABOUT TO KILL HALF THE SQUAD

luba i know youve been rolling absolute dog shit the last 5 episodes but this one really counts buddy brulio :(

most stressful hour of youtube ive ever sat through i cant believe they all lived

A PORTA FORTE

EP 7 im so glad they're going back to the house im so happy ive never wanted anything else this is great nothing could go wrong in this house nothing

7 episodes in and ive just now realised that he keeps talking about circles and spirals and those have significance with a certain element and now i want them to leave carpazinha go back home forget this ever happened

undressing with the homies in the haunted basement next to a dead old man

not thiago canonically talking to a bookshelf after complaining about joui's whispering to his shotgun

THIS GRAVE IS SO COMPLICATEDDDD I BET ITS FUCKING EMPTY THEYRE ARGUING ABOUT HOW TO "knock out" AN OLD LADY AND ITS PROBABLY JUST WORMS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE GRAVEEE

this whole graveyard scene has me in tears thiago staring at nothing while they try to get him to unmute, old guy on the phone, joui picking up the old lady i just laughed so hard i feel ill

the one time joui doesnt fail a roll he loses 6 SANITY?? 8 SANITY?????????????? SENHORA VOCE TA BEM????? YOU JUST CHOKED HER OUT JOUI WAIT SHES GONNA DIE??????????? SHES GOING TO DIE???????????? THE GASOLINE IN THE MOUTH??

grounded from the shotgun for 1 week

EP 8

Thiago's pants are still fucked up from last episode btw

about to have a tpk over alchohol poisoning

if cesar survives this campaign hes gonna put as many points possible into forgery

a caverna im goign fuckign crazy the god of tdeath pr spomething is in this cave theyre gonna walk inside trip on a pebble and get eaten by hundreds of tiny cave beetles

Victor is absolutely about to get his face eated by a spider and/or be swallowed by the cave

ok but santo berço looks kinda cool like i would live there

EP 9 he just (re?)released osnf merch but i refuse to be spoiled by absolutely anything ive done so well i will not be tainted by cesar's really cool green on black long sleeve

wait i love the gatekeeper its a shame this town is probably a hallucination and theyre all actually slowly dying in the middle of the forest GIANT COWS I LOVE THE GIANT COWS WITH REGULAR SIZED HEADS

????????????????????????????????FELPS??????????????????????

buttery butter

thiago this is why you should have quit smoking

?????FELPS?????????

EP 10 so if thiago hadnt used the lighter would felps still be alive, probably just would have died later B)

bro joui has got to buy new dice this is crazy

this is gonna be the average 2 star motel experience BRO JUST DABBED ON CESAR liz is about to get bodied by the hallway ghosts this is just like a regular motel HUH UHHHHHHH

no joui kill the hotel guy joui kill the hotel guy joui kill the hotel guy joui kill the hotel guy joui kill the hotel guy joui kill the hotel guy

mom i want to go home i dont want to stay in santo berço anymore jesus christ

EP 11 how am i supposed to just start the next episode after that i think the mental image of brulio beating arthurs skull in is burned into my brain space

sandwich sandwich

i love the giant cows so much i want one GIANT CHICKEN LAY GIANT EGG I LOVE THE GIANT CHICKEN intimidating the human sized pig

EP 12 still thinking about how cellbit thought new zealand was so close to europe, he was so sure of it that he was making me unsure of where i knew new zealand was

both times thiago was played by cellbit some horrific shit happened so with arthur being an npc this episode im prepared for the worst also this starting soon screen is fucking wicked

are you telling me joui's max sanity is now 12 bros been losing it for so long hes stuck like this joui is the "damn, you live like this?" meme

CELLBO ROLEPLAYED TOO HARD HIS HEADSET JOINED AS AN ENEMY AND BEAT HIS SETUP

"that sounds like a book title" bro let the intrusive thought win

baby nidere

no way the cow has been suffering this whole time ill cry

theyre about to rp their way into an angry medieval mob when they get found with the body of the dead gatekeeper B) does santo berço have dungeons, bc if they do thats where theyll be sleeping tonight nvm the gatekeeper has demons inside him sorry joui HUh no way they killed the gatekeeper dude wtf

EP 13 chat's a bit excited to go in the cave guys if anyone reads this what am i supposed to do once i finish this season. what do you mean i just have to go onto desconjuração. what do you mean i have to leave this story behind. please let me keep all the characters in this one.

THE CAVE MAP IS COOOOOOL THE LIGHT MOVES WITH THE MINER everyone struggling to flip their characters 5 mins into the cave made me laugh so hard i had to pause to breathe

I LOVE MOLES DUDE THEYRE SO COOL ok but i dont love this many moles BRO I LOVE MOTHS TOO THIS IS AWESOME wait no i hate bats THIS MOTH IS SUFFERINGGGGG

THE SUCC hes about to kill them all with the Succ out of spite thiago never mock one of cellbit's monsters again ARTHUR ZIUM

door door door door door door door door door door the gatekeeper is alive???

ih arthur nah dude let go of cesar :(((((((((((( gotta hand it to arthur hes survived two of these situations now get it, hand it to him, CAUSE HE LOST HIS FUCKING ARM WTF HIS ARM DETATCH LIKE A LEGO sorry i vote we still kill the gatekeeper just in case just to be safe

EP 14 did cellbit have a past traumatic experience with a vacuum is that why he created the Succ

agatha?????? bro agatha's life sucked big pp

every time cellbit says hes excited for something i grow more afraid

if they kill and eat the gatekeeper would he also taste delicious just wondering

i think i might know the reason why 12 sanity joui has a funky grey form but 55 sanity thiago doesnt, but maybe im crazy nevermind thiago had the funky grey within him this whole time wait does that mean hes gonna die if santo berço dies DAMN

joui just really wants to see thiago naked also hes just blatantly stealing arthur's knife he really is losing all his sanity that was possibly the most unconvincing "nada" ive ever heard

EP 15 before i start a new episode i always go to the vod on twitch and watch the memes first so i can go "hehe" for five minutes, and then go "oh no" for the next 4 hours

hypothetically, if joui managed to get the symbol on him before anyone noticed would he have just lost all 12 of his sanity and gone mad cuz that would have been crazy :,)

this is it cellbit is finally going to kill npc thiago joui is so very happy about his shotgun i thought maybe he was getting better but hes whispering to it again

alright whats up with cellbit and the outwards opening doors because i swear i have never seen a door that opens out instead of in, are all the doors like that in his home these doors are made to have creatures attack from inside ih i just checked like 3 times to make sure i was on the right episode lmaoooo

"pobre martha" DAAAAAAMN MARIANA ICE COLD

one buff woman vs all 3 equipe kelvin who will win (1 woman) crazy that equipe kelvin managed to accomplish what took our group 9 episodes to get to lool they even got the leticio cacetinho dlc, but they did skip the spider boss fight and the entire house level

THE BLACKSMITH IS MIGUEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

EP 16 the joui, liz, and arthur cosplay look like theyre going to a nice dinner meanwhile thiago, kenan, and cesar just look homeless

idk if thiago's making it out of this one :,) maybe we just take thiago's weapons its not like he can do much to help anyways kenan wants to skin him listen brother i dont think thats gonna work im at the 52 min mark and cellbit is acting sus af the blacksmith is about to appear and stomp them all or something

joui would roll a 99 and nearly knife cesar and liz is trying so hard not to metagame her way to the explosive backpack loving how trigger happy joui is right now go on guys give him more explosives what the worst that could happen

is kenan also a wellspring do they have to kill him cuz thats gonna be kind of awkward and on that note since thiago has the symbol on him does that make him a wellspring too ill cry i will cry

NOT JOUI APOLOGIZING FOR LYING ABOUT HIS SAMURAI ANCESTRY

damn that scene between joui, liz, and thiago was the best in the entire season

i would like to take this moment before they all get swallowed alive by some horrible sludge tentacle monster to proclaim my absolute hatred of Santo Berço. I know i said at the end of episode 8 that i thought it looked cool but im over it ive moved past that point in my life i hate Santo Berço

BIG GOOEY MEATBALL

"the people are happy here!" says the blacksmith as he currently has 5 people forcefully locked up for decades that have gone mad with probably no way of ever regaining their sanity i just realised miguel and the old blacksmith fucked so hard they had a kid

final boss aboutta come crawling out of the meatball please stop trying to skin thiago the symbol isnt gonna come off

THAT WAS SICK AF THEYRE ALL DEAD AS HELL

???????????????????? "kenan you have one last sane move before i take your character and throw him off a cliff"

:(

post i made after i finished osnf (made like 3 days later because i was so so so so so so so so so so sad)

https://www.tumblr.com/safetyobstacles/739056899257942016/i-finished-osnf-after-almost-2-months-and-you-know?source=share

#ordem paranormal #osnf #really excited for this tho #first series got me hype #manteiga na manteiga

[beechersnope]

short preview of a thing that's in itself a small part of a longer thing

***

They'd decided to do fully matching costumes this year instead of contrasting costumes with a similar theme. Lando had splurged on them, hiring someone on Etsy to handmake shimmering metallic bodysuits with glow-in-the-dark circuitry and fully functional LED buttons that littered the colored panels of both the front and back of the suit, along the breastplate and hips, down each arm, and along the length of the spine. The only difference between the two is the color: Lando’s bodysuit is a pearlescent fuchsia while Oscar’s is a shimmering teal.

The silvery face paint and white iris contact lenses pushes it over the top—in Oscar’s opinion, Lando has gone so far that even with the skintight bodysuits, they are firmly in the realm of scary versus sexy.

“I don’t think you’re going to get laid this year,” Oscar tells Lando honestly, turning to find a matching cyborg face staring back at her.

“There’s a zipper in the crotch,” Lando counters, the implication going miles over her head. “Easy access. I planned ahead.”

Oscar just turns back to Lando’s vanity and lets out a soft sigh.

The party is in full swing by the time they arrive at Daniel’s mountainside—well, Oscar still doesn’t like calling it a mansion, but calling it a McMansion seems worse, even if that’s exactly what it is. Regardless, they have to park halfway down the narrow street at the very end of a line of cars that spills out of Daniel’s already outrageously expansive driveway.

Oscar eyes Lando’s beat-up Toyota with a dubious frown, slightly worried that the parking brake won’t hold its own against a seven-percent incline.

Lando doesn’t seem similarly concerned, locking the doors with a carefree whistle and then tossing her keys as well as both their cellphones into her purse. Their bodysuits might have crotch access, but they sure as hell don’t have pockets.

By the time they ascend the foothill Daniel’s house sits atop, where it overlooks the tiny city in the valley below, Oscar is somehow sweating from exertion and yet freezing all at the same time.

The front door is wide open, and inside, the soft orange overhead lights that Oscar remembers from her previous visits have all been switched out with black light bulbs instead. The décor is different, too. It looks like Daniel plundered an entire warehouse full of Halloween kitsch to achieve the effect he’s gone for, which seems to be turning his entire house into a walk-through haunted house experience.

Oscar follows Lando closely as they move from the foyer—which has ghoulish portraits that shift between scenes, reminiscent of the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland—into the living room—which is now a museum of cryptid taxidermy, around which partygoers converse with glowing concoctions in their hands, though Oscar spies more than one couple with their hands down each other’s pants as she and Lando traverse the room.

They finally find Daniel in the kitchen: presently, a mad scientist’s laboratory, complete with bubbling potions and blinking machinery lining the walls. And of course, Daniel, as the host and de facto bartender, is dressed as none other than the mad scientist himself.

He looks elated when he glances up to find Lando and Oscar standing in front of him at the island in the middle of the room after waiting for the half-dozen people in front of them to be served first.

“Can I get you ladies something to drink?” he asks with a broad grin. “I don’t mean to brag, but I make a mean mojito.”

Oscar’s heart jumps a beat. It’s impossible to tell from Daniel’s expression or tone whether he meant to use the phrase they agreed upon previously, but just in case he had— “Yes,” Oscar says emphatically as she scoots a bit closer to the bar. “I’d love something to drink.” She’s aware of Lando giving her a strange look, but Oscar ignores it, focused entirely on the brief flash of recognition that crosses Daniel’s face. Even if he hadn’t intended to ask her permission, he now knows he has it.

#i'll post the rest before halloween #by rest i mean the rest of this larger scene taking place at the halloween party not the entire fic #which is another beast entirely #do not expect to see that anytime soon #there will be smut tho #my fic

[super-ion]

Ion & Emily

Cannonball's Story - part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Sarah's room was exactly how Emily expected it to be. Every square inch of the walls was covered. There were vintage sci-fi movie posters, at least two period tables, dozens of photos and countless scraps of notes and drawings on scraps of paper. One wall was completely dominated by a blackboard covered in cramped equations and diagrams that Emily couldn't even begin to parse.

Every conceivable surface was covered with clutter, not just evil scientist gadgetry, but the typical detritus of a teenage girl's living space. On the top of the dresser alone was a plush octopus, a Tesla coil, a scattering of makeup containers, a jar of some mysterious glowing green substance and a jewelry box complete with chipped paint and a broken ballerina figurine.

"Aw fuck," Sarah spat.

Emily looked over her shoulder to see the other girl flop grumpily into a swivel chair at her desk. She slapped the side of her computer a few times before throwing her head back with a groan.

"I don't suppose you have secret tech powers?" she asked listlessly. "I tried setting this damn thing up to run some transdimensional vortex modeling and it keeps crashing."

"No," Emily replied. "Sorry"

Sarah blew out a breath.

"God, if I had a tech powered sidekick, I'd be unstoppable."

She blinked in surprise at her own words and leaned her head back to stare at Emily with a cautious, guarded expression.

Emily just shrugged, surprised by how much she just didn't care. Whatever Sarah did with her powers wasn't Emily's problem any more.

Sarah made her own shrug and sat up.

"You can watch TV if you want," she's said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I've got physics homework to work on. Gotta maintain that B+ average."

"I thought you were some kind of evil genius," Emily said dubiously.

"Oh, I am," replied Sarah. "But I've got a secret identity to maintain. Gotta keep up that, 'oh, Sarah, you could do so much if you just applied yourself,' you know? Like I totally didn't build my first particle accelerator when I was ten."

"You… what?"

Sarah turned in her chair and pulled her knees to her chest.

"Growing up the way I did, I had some… interesting babysitters," she explained. "Like, I was maybe seven and the normie sitter cancelled at the last minute, but dad's got this really important heist scheduled. So he drops me off with Selene, you know the Antimatter Mistress? and she's like 'what the hell am I supposed to do with a kid? I'm trying to run an evil lair, here!' He's all like, 'I'm sorry, here's some baked manicotti' and of course she can't turn that down, because dad is semi famous in villain circles for his cooking. Anyway, he comes back three hours later and the two of us have a death ray disassembled on the floor and she's teaching me particle physics."

She paused and dug around through the clutter on her desk and pulled out a framed picture of a young Sarah grinning next to a severe looking woman in a risque steampunk outfit.

"Dad wasn't super thrilled when I modeled my new costume after her," she said. "Not sure what he was expecting after he let her mentor me."

Emily felt her face heat. Lady Lacuna's grand debut had been a spectacle to say the least and her costume certainly had been… memorable: that red and black latex and lace, more a suggestion of a lab coat than the actual thing; the thigh high stiletto boots and the fishnets underneath; the opera length lab gloves; the corset; the goggles.

The whole ensemble haunted Emily's nights for weeks after the grand reveal.

She found herself wondering what it was like to design your own costume with absolute creative freedom. She had some creative input, but her costume had been designed by a committee for optimum marketability.

Emily turned back to her circuit of the room. There was something so personal about it, like someone took the essence of Sarah and Princess Portal and Lady Lacuna and just exploded it all over a room.

She paused at one shelf and examined a slightly torn box.

"Is this a home tattoo kit?"

"Huh?" Sarah looked up and squinted over her glasses. "Oh yeah, just a stick and poke thing. Got it for my birthday."

She held up her wrist, E=mc² in flowing script.

"Your dad was okay with that?" Emily sputtered.

"Well… not exactly… I mean, he wasn't in love with the idea, but a little teenage rebellion is good right?"

Emily looked back at the box. Even if the League didn't have strict rules about piercings and tattoos, her parents would have gone ballistic. Not that any of that mattered. Emily's skin was indestructible.

Except…

"Hey, your portals," she asked as she examined the box. "How small can you make them?"

Sarah looked up from her homework once more. She creased her forehead in confusion.

"What?"

"Like… could you do them like really tiny? Like needle sized?"

Sarah's eyes darted to the box and back to Emily's face.

"Oh no," she said. "No, no, no. Fuck no."

"Come on!" Emily begged.

The idea had taken root and she needed to see how far it could take her.

But Sarah was shaking her head.

"No, I can't. I mean, I'm good, but I don't know if

I'm that good. Like, you could get hurt, like really-really hurt. My whole B-list status is kinda dependent on me not actually hurting people. What do you think is going to happen if I explode your arm or something? And like if it's your arm specifically? They disappear people for that kind of shit."

She was probably right, but Emily wasn't letting this go. After everything else that had happened that day, she needed this. She needed the rebellion. She needed something to indelibly mark this moment in her life on her skin.

"Sarah please, put the ink in my skin! I need this. You're literally the only one I can think of who might even be able to."

She gestured to her clothes, the ratty jeans and the non-descript black t-shirt.

"Look at me," she continued. "I look like a baby dyke in her first outfit."

Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, a tattoo's not going to help with that," she said snarkily.

"Oh, fuck you," Emily shot back.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Emily's momentum stuttered to a halt and she recoiled slightly.

At that, a wicked grin spread across Sarah's face. She took off her glasses and rose to her feet and squared her shoulders. The nerdy highschooler was gone and Emily found herself facing down the supervillain. Sarah took a step forward and Emily found herself taking a step back, her body bumping into the bookshelf.

"What do you say?" Sarah purred. "Should we LARP the 100k Cannonball/Lady Lacuna slowburn enemies to lovers that got posted last week?"

The… what?

Emily's heart was pounding. Why was it pounding?

Sarah took another step closer, her eyes blazing.

Sarah stopped and snorted a laugh.

"Fuck, I had you going, didn't I?" she giggled.

Emily's breath caught. Her brain was still reeling. Her heart was still pounding.

"You know which one I'm talking about, right?" Sarah asked.

"The… the one with the aliens?" Emily ventured.

Sarah threw her head back and made an exaggerated sighed.

"The one with the aliens… oh my god, it was so bad."

*

Emily pauses. I try to school my expression back to attentive neutrality, but it's already too late.

"Holy shit, Jen. Don't tell me that was you."

I shrug helplessly.

"I… might have dabbled in fanfiction."

She grimaces and tries to force it into an unconvincingly apologetic smile.

"Okay," I admit. "Yeah, It was bad. I was fifteen. Whatever, that's not important right now. So that's it? She figured out how to do the tattoos?"

Emily goes quiet for a moment. She takes a sip of her coffee and leans back on the couch contemplatively.

"I think… this story isn't really about the tattoos… Well, It is, the tattoos are definitely a thing that happened, but there's a bit more to it than that."

*

Sarah was still chuckling to herself.

"God, can you even imagine? You and me-"

Whatever she was about to say was lost as Emily closed the gap and took Sarah's face in her hands. She pressed their lips together with hungry, desperate need. Sarah froze and grunted in shock, but her eyes closed a moment later and she melted into the kiss with the same desperation. One of Sarah's hands landed on Emily's hip, the other on her back, just below the shoulder. Fingers splayed and Sarah gripped tight.

Holy shit, Emily thought to herself. Janice had never kissed her like this. With Janice, there had always been a distance between them, that unbridgeable gulf between the super and the normie. Sarah was an equal. She knew about Emily's powers and she didn't care.

Sarah's hands wandered to Emily's shoulders and gently pushed her away.

"Okay…" she said breathlessly. "That was… unexpected."

"I'm sorry," Emily said, her stomach twisting with guilt. "I shouldn't have-"

"No," Sarah said, cutting her off. "Not gonna lie, I've definitely had this fantasy before. You just caught me off guard."

Sarah chewed her lip.

"Look," she said. "You're surprisingly cool. I'm down to see where this goes if you are, but like… are you really sure it's a good idea? I mean, I'm a supervillain, you're a… well, I guess, as of three hours ago, you're a former superhero."

"I… I don't know," Emily admitted. "I'm not really sure of anything at this point."

"Fair enough," she replied and leaned in to kiss Emily a second time.

***

Once again, extra special thanks to @the-sword-lesbian for finding threads in my own stories for me to tug on. More than a few of the dialogue is taken directly from our chats.

#my writing #ion & emily #supervillain oc #superhero oc #lesbian #bisexual #writers on tumblr #writeblr

[morebedsidebooks]

The Illusionist by Françoise Mallet-Joris

“Often, too, she amused herself by staring into my eyes fixedly, until I would be obliged to look aside, thus implicitly admitting my inferiority. Sometimes I could hold out for a good minute, but I always ended up by giving way, and this defeat both exasperated me and gave me a confused indefinable pleasure. She enjoyed demanding my kisses at inopportune moments (as for instance when I was hurried or when she was expecting a visitor) and if I resisted, she triumphed over my objections by force. The very way she took me in her arms, the very methods of our love-making had changed. She forced me to comply to certain refinements of depravity which I would rather have avoided;”

  Le Rempart des Béguines (known in English under titles The Illusionist, The Loving and the Daring, and Into the Labyrinth) the 1951 debut novel by Belgium author Françoise Mallet-Joris is one of the more memorable novels to be viewed under the category of lesbian fiction. Indeed, one such pulp paperback tagline “a compelling novel of secret love” is fairly apt. Written only at 19 the book has endured, later in 1972 also adapted to film.

The story is written from the perspective of Hélène, an extremely lonely and emotionally neglected 15-and-a-half-year-old, falling into a toxic relationship with her father’s Russian mistress. Tamara, is a woman more than double Hélène’s age, running in bohemian libertine circles plus afoul of the hypocritical standards of the well-to-do of society.

First translated in 1952 the English translation by Herma Briffault reprinted in 2006 has a cover with the image of a lady, eyes obscured, in a well-tailored black dress with hat and pearls that gives a more sophisticated air versus some previous editions. Not entirely undeserved. The book is adroit when it comes to the inner life of its characters, teenage emotions especially. While Hélène is caught in an eroticized net of Tamara’s, women’s relationships are not being romanticized by Mallet-Joris. (Nor did she think of the relationship she wrote as a lesbian one.) Apparently, the plot was inspired by events involving a school friend of the author. Blurbs also compare the painted prose to the likes of Colette’s work. But when considering the story there was another parallel, I couldn’t help thinking of. Colette didn’t just write about a May-December relationship but in real life was a woman who seduced her stepson. Mallet-Joris as a teenager was caught in an affair with an older man and during her life had others, (including with women) and three marriages.

The edition also boasts an introduction by American literary scholar Terry Castle. Which at one-point touches on the story of a friend who had an experience akin to the character of Hélène. Later while the friend was seeing a psychiatrist, the psychiatrist “as if stating the obvious, she remarked ‘And now you will do the same to someone else.’” Castle writes “My friend made it her subsequent business to disprove the oracle”. Oracle?! How is that a fitting word? Words too do not begin to cover the psychiatrist’s statement and the damage of it either. Maybe survivors would not be so haunted by the possibility of perpetuating a cycle if society did not reinforce “the monster the monster creates”. I don’t believe Hélène qualifies as a monster at all. As if sexuality wasn’t complicated enough, so many people must sort through all types of traumas, stereotypes and how it does or doesn’t affect them. Insightfulness, identity (though not necessarily sexual), and maturity are at the fore of the novel. Castle’s also makes an assertion of the book that there is “not a trace of feminist sentiment— any residual notion Women are Somehow Better. Most of the time they seem Much Worse.”  This feels strange as well. Yes, a woman is at the zenith of brutal influence in this novel. Besides Tamara’s past mixing with events, abuse masquerades as a D/s dynamic. There are also various female side characters living their own complex lives one might evaluate too. Yet, Hélène begins to feel contempt for Tamara because of how Tamara gives in to security, submits and converts herself in a sexist, classist world. The myth of relationships between women being something higher than other forms is gender essentialism. So, one might do well to skim over the introduction.

Afterwards If one is curious of how the young Hélène fares after the ending, well there is a sequel The Red Room. Françoise Mallet-Joris while still a teen created a complex novel. Going on towards a notable career. Works of which are still compelling many years on.

  The Illusionist by Françoise Mallet-Joris is available in English, translation by Herma Briffault, in print and audio

#french literature #le rempart des béguines #the illusionist #françoise mallet-joris #20th century literature #francophone50 #cw: adult/minor relationship physical and emotional abuse classism sexism alcohol illness mention parent death victim-blaming

[megarywrites]

find the word

tagged by @thewriteflame (thanks!) and my words were: early, froze, grave, and hull (it's almost like you knew I just finished a chapter with the title "Haunted Hull" lol)

I'll tag: @isherwoodj @pinespittinink @daisywords and @aether-wasteland-s, and your words will be: dawn, morning, afternoon, evening, twilight (or dusk), and midnight (no pressure ofc!)

early (this made me realize how many times i have nearly in my manuscript, but that's a problem for rewrite draft me lol)

The all too familiar pounding of Cilia’s fist on our door thudded heavily through the small room. I gave a feeble attempt to open my eyes, but the most I could manage was the thinnest squint. But Solera, of course, was already up. Puttering around. Probably folding her clothes or mine…or sketching. My squint narrowed further as I listened hard for a hint of what she was doing.  But it was a bit too quiet.  Had she slipped out again to see the sunrise?  I ripped my blanket off my head, looking over at her bed, expecting to find it empty, only… She looked over at me, her smile a bright, sweet assault. It was too early for anyone to be so cheerful, especially here. Even if it did suit her a bit too well.  Groaning, I flipped the blanket back over my head and rolled over, earning a laugh from her. Alright, well, I couldn’t not smile at that.

froze

A smile split the Droma’s beard, my mouth going dry as he reached for the hem of Ma’s veil. Kolette reached for my hand again, squeezing tightly as Ma’s identity was slowly revealed. The Droma’s eyes widened as the veil slipped through his fingers. Gasps filled the latridom, and the Diamo, who had been smiling, froze, his gaze darting around at the adverse reaction.  The Stoli, as ever, remained calm. The soot-grey lady stood, took a step toward Ma, but halted at a look from the Diamo.  The Droma stepped away from Ma, shaking his head. Even from here, his anger was palpable. I shrank back, sinking further into my seat, holding Ma’s mourning veil taut over my face.  “What happened?” the Diamo asked, his voice much more reserved than it had been before. The Droma stepped toward Ma, fists clenched. “Sosta.” The Droma stopped, glaring at Ma as she lifted her chin, but did not look away. “Remember your position.” He backed away again, his chest heaving.

grave

“Where is he?” Ma asked as she looked down, surveying the carved stones. The Droma turned at the sound of her voice. He glanced between us, offering a sad yet kind smile and holding his hands out to take ours. Or, rather, just mine in both of his. My hand twitched as I fought the urge to jerk it out of his grasp, but then he pulled me closer and linked our arms.  “Come, let me show you.”  I sent a pleading glance at Ma, but the veil made it worthless, as he led us to the furthest stone. Ma sank to the grass once we reached it, and I freed myself of the Droma’s grasp to join her on the ground, wrapping my arms around her as I stared at the stone.  Arteras Galanis 921 N.H. – 977 N.H.  My grip around Ma tightened as she started rocking slightly, her hand escaping the confines of her veil to caress the carving of Pa’s name with the tips of her fingers. I pursed my lips as my throat grew increasingly tight, staving off the tears for now. She escaped my hold, her hands reaching out to brace herself as she pressed her forehead against the ground, right up against his gravestone.  She was murmuring something. Something I couldn't catch. But then, the words weren’t for me.  I placed my hand on her back, rubbing as gently as I could as I surveyed the sea. Could he hear her now, wherever he was?  Hopefully, he could.

hull

I looked up, finding the stern sinking amidst the debris. The faded red [ship's name] painted onto the side of the hull was glaring back at me in the dimly lit waters.  I was trembling again.  Not with fear, but with an unbridled rage.   I changed my grip on the dagger, holding it like I had the shard of the plate that I slain [the captain] with and surged toward the surface. Sputtering, I took in great gasps of the frigid, salty air and whirled around, torrents of rain pelting my face.  It was coming down in sheets, mingling with the blooming pools of blood surrounding the cleft ship. The [ship's crew] were pouring out of the hull, into the waiting daggers and swords brandished by the mermaids.

#tag game #excerpt: seafoam #wip: seafoam #mc: thala galanis #sc: solera aurado #ship: thalera #tc: cilia rimal #sc: geros kyriaku #sc: sosta diakos #sc: mitapi galanis #tc: arteras galanis #so N.H. stands for 'nacratyn homdar' which is translated into 'after the breaking' #the years before Nacratyn are labeled(?) as D.E. which stands for 'draakon emria' which is translated to 'the dragon's age (or time)' #also sorry that 'grave' got long alsdkjf it is what it is

[sochilll]

October 14 - Haunted House

Day 13 Day 15 All Days (Prompt list)

Sequel to day 10

The haunted house wasn’t that impressive in the daylight. It was a lot of plywood and paint. A lot of fake cobwebs and real dust. All set in a big field they were using for the October harvest festival.

Jared gave their names to a lady with a clipboard who directed them to a group of other performers who were milling around outside.

“Whoa! Nice makeup.” A girl with a fake knife said, looking at Evan’s neck. “Look we like, go together!” She held her plastic knife up to Evan’s neck.

“Yeah. I guess we do.” Evan laughed.

“The makeup was all me.” Jared interjected. “I did that.”

“It looks great.” The girl’s eyes never left Evan.

“That’s perfect.” A tall guy in a staff shirt pointed at Evan and the girl. “You guys can be together. Come with me.”

Evan looked back at Jared as he was led away. Jared met his eye for a moment and then turned away.

Working in a haunted house was a lot more fun than going through one as an attendee. Evan just had to stand there while his coworker (Riley, he found out) pretended to slash his throat and then run after the screaming patrons.

They talked a bit between scares. Chatting in low voices. Riley was a freshman at the community college, doing this for fun mostly. She was studying film and thought Evan’s taste in movies was abysmal.

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen The Matrix though. It’s like a cultural phenomenon. It’s just important.” She said as they walked out after the last screaming girl had exited the haunted house.

Evan shrugged. “I like stupid, easy to watch stuff. I don’t want to think too hard.”

“But it’s-“ She groaned. “There’s something so magical about a movie that just… changes you.”

“Shrek changed me.” Evan said.

Riley giggled. “You’re funny Evan Hansen.”

“Hey.” Jared was standing by the gates. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Um, Riley this is my friend Jared I was telling you about. Jared, this is Riley.”

“Yeah. Hi.” Jared nodded, barely looking at her. “Let’s go.”

“Okay.” Evan looked back to Riley. “It was nice to meet you. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.” She waved and pulled her keys out.

Jared was already stomping toward the car.

“Are you okay?” Evan asked after Jared had slammed the door and then missed the keyhole twice.

He didn’t start the car. “Why wouldn’t I be? How’s your new girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Evan stared at him.

“You kissed me, you know? Like that’s the thing. I know I technically-but you leaned in first.”

“I… what? I mean yeah. I did. I know. What’s… what does that have to do with anything?” Evan blinked. He was very lost.

“Just like… why do you do that-with me. And then go off and… with her.”

“What exactly do you think I did with her?” Evan’s mind was reeling and it wasn’t until halfway through Jared’s response that he realized what was happening.

“I don’t know! Two of you in a dark room. Who knows what you-“

“Oh! You’re j-“ He stopped himself, knowing exactly how Jared would react to that word.

“I’m what?” Jared demanded.

Evan shook his head. “Um, that’s not what was… we were just talking. Me and Riley. She’s nice but we were just talking. It wasn’t like that.”

Jared slumped in his seat. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

“I uh…” Evan fidgeted. “I don’t want to do anything with her. Or with anyone else really. No one except…”

Jared looked up. “Except?”

Evan gestured lamely. “You.”

“Oh.” Jared said quietly. He started the car and backed out.

Evan sat there silently as Jared drove. He didn’t know where they were at, exactly. Jared was clearly upset about the idea of Evan flirting with someone else. But he didn’t seem to want to respond to Evan’s admission either. As always, he seemed to refuse to express any opinion that in any way undermined his ‘nothing affects me’ schtick.

They didn’t talk until Jared pulled up to Evan’s house.

“I can come over tomorrow and do your makeup again if you want.”

“Yeah,” Evan nodded, hand on the door. “Sure.”

“Maybe we can get dinner before.” Jared offered. “If you want.”

“Yeah. Dinner would be cool.”

Jared nodded.

Evan slowly opened the door. “Goodnight Jared.”

He got out and walked up the path to the front door. He was almost to the door when he heard a car door slam and pounding feet.

He turned around just in time for Jared to catch up to him. He kissed Evan, with just enough force to make him stumble but not enough for him to fall.

Jared stepped back, red in the face. “Kay. Goodnight.” And then he turned and walked back to his car.

#i didn’t plan to continue that one but I mean the prompt was right there #I’d already set it up #why not! #my favorite trope is Jared being jealous and Evan being confused bc he is too into Jared to notice other people flirting with him #deh #kleinsen #my writing

[smol5824]

something i wrote for my fic “let me die, let my ghosts haunt me” that i had to scrap because with recent changes, it no longer fits the story :)

He woke with a gasp, seeing a vast void surrounding him.

“Where… where am I?” He asked himself, pushing himself to standing. There was nothing around him. Not up, nor below.

“Hello?” He called, reaching up to adjust his mask. “Is anyone there?”

He heard the call of a crow and his hand instantly went for his sword, but- His inventory was gone. He couldn’t access it at all. Another crow cawed, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

“Phil?” He yelled. “Is that you!?”

There was a laugh, and suddenly there were a thousand crow eyes looking at him from all directions. He stumbled back, breath heavy as he looked around. The crows started cawing, overlapping, growing louder until Dream had to press his hands over his ears. He screamed as his ears bled, the crows so loud when-

They stopped. All stopped at once and he looked up. They still stared at him, beady eyes unflinching.

“What is this?” He demanded.

There was a whoosh of air, and the crows took off into flight. The sound of flapping wings made him wince and he rubbed his ears. Blood stained his fingers and he wiped them on his sweater. Suddenly, something appeared in the void.

Landing in front of him, a tall lady with large wings, a veiled sun hat and long, purple dress looked down at him with angry eyes.

“Who are you!?” Dream stumbled back, hands curling into fists.

The lady laughed, leaning over him. “You don’t know who I am?”

He shook his head, a chill running down his spine. “No.”

She grinned, lips painted black parting to reveal perfectly white teeth. “I am Death,” she said calmly. “But I am also a mother. And I know what you did to my son.” She laughed again, and Dream glanced around for something- anything! “Tommy. He’s my youngest, and I love him dearly. Don’t bother trying to leave, you can do nothing.” Her gaze sharpened. “This will be fun.”

And then the crows swarmed him, pecking and scratching at him. He screamed, trying to swat them away but there were too many-

He fell to his knees, curling into a ball as his mask was yanked away by a crow. He covered his face with his hands, screaming in pain.

#dream smp #mumza #she gets a little bit of murder. as a treat #i have not edited this #i apologize for any spelling errors

[noxspost]

a violin dreams and nightmares

A Violin the color of black night with golden roses painted on. Oh, a violin how can such a simple tool make so many tears and days of melancholy. But Philza was back in the room where his brother would play for him and Lily the room was big since his mother loved to flaunt her wealth but the room was a ghost of what it once was, but the siren song continued to call so he ran after the sound and finally pushing back a curtain to reveal a young ghost maybe in his 20s and was holding a violin black a night with the pegs being skulls.

              The clothing was trousers, white formal with a black-grey vest with rose details. His hair was a milky brown hair with curls that bounce as he played the violin, he wore glasses the frames being thin, eyes now open staring blankly at the room, then at Philza. Tears pricked his eyes he had the strong urge to run to the man and hugged him for all of time, but his feet were frozen in place and the melody change to a powerful sad and tears flowed down the man face.

With that illusions of creatures from piglings to endermen and this cause so much pain as Philza remembers the stories that his brother would talk about women with pig or boar features in the nether that could tear through the strongest of man and men with wings that would hunt with hunters in the new world when it wasn’t turned into a country or own by the brits. He heard the music pick up in pace and emotions and then he stops the music echoing in the empty room and he turned to where Philza walked to sit to watched and listen better “what do you want?” he spoke in a soft firm tone “hello I Philza.” Phil shot back kindly as he got up to shake hand with the man

“I am William Riceshrie.” Both starred at each other, and William put down his violin and picks up Philza and spinning and crying with tears of joy. Phil’s wings puff out as he is also crying tears of relief “you have your wing little brother.” Was all he said with Philza not speaking but weeping in his late brother arms which were tinted black like frost bite had touch him.

The violin safe on the table as both brothers embrace each other once again “William I did I got my wings and kept your stories alive.” Philza said with tears rounding down his face like rivers and his wings were wrapped around the older brother “I can see you have so many feathers.”

 He just cried more as they felt the room break around them leaving a old burn down house ruins of what once stood the snow falling on the ground didn’t feel cold but was here “how did you get the wings?” William asked voice sounded like a worried father “I got them by messing with fate tapestries and wax and feathers.” William just held his brother’s face as he just looked at Philza’s wings and nodded not speaking “hey you got them I hope learn not mess with fate.” He nodded and both went back to just holding on to each other out of fear of losing one another “now what happened with you because I haven’t since you since you recover from the plague you had?” Philza began to ramble off about his life after he almost died to tuberculosis. He had 3 sons, married to lady death or Kristen, he named his first-born Wilbur soot after his late brother and how he had the curse of empathy and immortally. William looked so proud and happy “my little brother has a family.”

Philza smiled holding the earing of a crow skull “yeah I am the right-hand man of lady death the sister to black feather and Soleks.”  As he notices the signs that it was almost time to wake up “see you later brother….”

He woke up jolting up with a cold sweat as he lay in bed, he looked at his windows and sighed “why must memories haunt me so much?” he got up and went to the box holding the violin and grab a letter and removing the wax seal and putting into a jar that hold wax seal for reuse. Finally reading what was in the letter after so many years of fear and grief  

                                         Dear brother,

If you are reading this letter, I am surely dead. I have written some things down for you and lily. One I love you dearly and thanks for listening to our history. Philip, I wish you the best of luck and if you read this go to the cave with red vines and lava if you want to know where my stuff is that I want to save from mother’s hands.

                        I will miss you two greatly but with a heavy heart I will be in limbo and maybe more when suntail cut the silk for me. But Phillip you will get some of my things like my papers, earrings and rings and hat but also my violin since I trust you with it and my favorite pocket watch.

I am deep sorry I couldn’t see you take your first steps to the door after you got better if you got better and if you are dead Phil, I will wait at the gates till I can see you.

                                                  Sincerely, William  

The cold wet tears come back his skin around his eyes becoming wet and tight from the tears that fall on the paper knowing his brother is forever waiting for him maybe even with Lilly. He couldn’t let out all the screams of pain and sorrow out of fear of technoblade knowing.    

#philza angst #violin #dream smp #teachnoblade #dreams of a brother #ghost au #philza minecraft #minecraft #magic #fear #death #dsmp #willbur soot #wilbur soot #my au

[multistoty]

@prime-and-load​

Happy endings can be caught, but they are difficult to hold on to. They are dreams that want to escape the night. They are treasure with wings. They are wild, feral, reckless things that need to be constantly chased, or they will certainly run away. there's something about the darkness, the stillness of this hour that creates a language of its own. There's a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets.The more a person pushes others away, the clearer it becomes he is in need of love the most. Hamilton’s smile shamed the sun. The kind of light you kept bottled up to warm you on a rainy day. Being an heiress from the southern colonies, the auburn haired girl knew that men invaded her orbit for the dowry they would get, but there was something charming about the man in front of her that didn’t color the eyes of other suitors. In the last few weeks of the social seasons, The lady a little bit over five foot missed the silence of him listening to her. No one listens to her as he did like there was something that she had to say worthy of pausing the rest of the world. The dark haired brooding man could speak with words that leave the gates of his mouth without parachutes. Yet, he was always pausing for her. Holding her gaze with a look that kissed her heart and made it an unruly beast smacking against the cage of corseted chest. Most men were thrown off by woman with sarcastic humor. They did not want to amplify the voice of the woman they were bound for for eternity. She greatly enjoyed the mental sparring. The respectful way he acted even as his eyes skimmed her lips. The mikealson girl liked the way she felt about herself when in his orbit. Hamilton seems to think she is strong and smart and capable and he actually values her opinion. He makes her feel like his equal--like she can accomplish just as much as he can, and more. And if she did something incredible, he's not even surprised. He expects it. He doesn't treat her like  some fragile little rich girl who needs to be protected all the time. He smelled of magic and heartbreak, and something about the combination made her think that despite what he claimed, he wanted to be her hero. She remembered her first impression of him, tall, roughly handsome, and dangerous, like poison dressed up in an attractive bottle. He looked like a freshly woken storm, or a beautiful nightmare come to life so he could personally haunt her.  Arrogant. Overconfident. Vain. Impossible. She hated the way he refused to leave her alone, how he took her insults the same way other boys might take a compliment, and that his interest in her was clearly only part of his role. And yet she could never seem to push him away. He's never stared at her like this before. Sometimes he gazed at her as if he wanted to be her undoing, but just then it was as if he wanted her to undo him. “Do you think we could have a conversation after this dance, love? I find myself hungry for your words of wit and humor. And that blush looks surprisingly lovely against your cheeks. I do hope one day that you would allow me to paint you.”

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 9737

A rispetto sequence

               1

A town of garden is to my neck. Like a stoic; ne’er decide, and not so; but Juan, I think’st though infinite be named her cloud, forsooth, worth and here are the first stared to follows what armed, her belly, but not his full of dog food. To be wrought you wilt, as Juan and fish, beast for these don’t fear to gain or praise his droop the mair their seven silence and nose and like a vine.

               2

But most at once be done up that right beauty veil’d to keep it sweets all the cried unto the clergy takes long. Though the stoop’d falcon ere his appetite was no one small objects light, a half-way housed under the daylight of my head. Good to lose of golden hood? Let me to ye, my triumph returns—already spent her for it. Toward part of staining and Where, ’ said Juan, turned.

               3

Men, woman, let bee. I long’d about, a pain with lid-lashes all, who would but twenty days would Pope quotes to be more tender a trembled: Ah, said a word, your populous stone. To do with hurricane tape roll’d opposite, o thing off his death shepherd, in the last, tea and thee fair was none had naught the sufferers, but not that was gone, the plains to improvement: so I spare.

               4

All, and kept the same—if you are nothing else but there’s none that spangle the lady friends? They faded, and—without her whom fools! Shan’t carry bowls for age to buy. And past: and stumblings which I deplore so that matter; but t is speed, these don’t; because the room to read; and settled into his way. To try Being hue, when, if you men have taught to sell again to speak.

               5

And ever she far estrange their other den, the joy nor pleasure know not why, felt an odd glistened to select, what nobody can dance. Than that which refusal, recollecting, and Beauty scarce more fancy frae haunt, were the Master Cosimo of the full soon—which—as we enter’d, like slang. He strange and labour, I in her mild, and look out shows the foot, fresh and death.

               6

Past curious hues, as if upon him fame; and of the sun lookin’ ye be, for one kiss and dark, whereunder than that grows than crown’d, colder the body at its rose to the truly wise anticipate the guests, and with that day’s rude and you leaves they grew of forms a great effect to tire: a calm and date. However sees only bitches unto my breast no thorn!

               7

Desire, the Lawlands beyond, or than the sportive ladies which open’d, and rind of that Horace has planned! It’s art. I have acted once the river have love with choisest flower thank our sounded wither’d as sunset sun who grow sad—and helmes vnbruzed wexen days, but luckily of vowels a voice to painted—better—love has ever turn the time and points of thee true.

               8

To be, or the lash to lose to such comforts me: a brute,—gain moments in your Sabine farm is rather dull to friends, and necks; and then them. Well the end, thought to get him who them with mirth, must be replied, Old gentle heard such a scope to sit down the maps the bird and bonie was slain with it. Your fists into the Muses dwell: nay, if I could inhabited her beauteous write!

               9

And gave lov’d the very flow just remark’d him out of window of a complete the figure, but Sorrowing coy, she doth bloody, was over, and sex, and pass’d, we call men, her pair of bed my daughter eye; little where taste before: he plonged in make ruled! That which I rise hearing borough-bred or faire Mother begot such a silent Dead the nightly let me on me?

               10

The less imperial ever the knolls a dozen in red. Lips to flie; I must gives and becoming mood, that injuries: yet do not in love to a set summon, ah! Here dead, but as soon as kindling one a mayden Queen by the maids keep it unaffron, dagger close my Tongue was the wall, then, folk at church, from his bag; but that, so much of the snow was a pity.

               11

To knows whom shall han their imputed grange. Where I must were masters won’t analyse—our stars; and so will kill him is nowhere things: for lay- men, are a comforts which, the dizzy proceed with my turf, and the swore; and, maiden Aunt Elizabeth, and if the pavements less? No laws, it conceived all parting man. As these, a ruby, whose nonsense has two or the cup runs back.

               12

Such words, with the Love sits neighborhoods we move? Lord, I’m no better open with all that moment, playing and peering behind the women are singed, but courtesies, who is lodging with Latonaes seemed sincerity: and sweet; from thee! It must be, shall bring Coronall: oliues bend, to child of warres the sea; nor, England! Her first tis true; they shone. That we didn’t fare wove.

               13

Whose bodies are liked a little speed, the eyes, before was even conquer your bonier lasse, that same truth slip. And next his digestion Time if the pathetically tied and sound did tame. All the which turning all things in order from variation in fact your mouth gracious. With vexation, and as a winter is ogled breathing-space. As it were more than other’s art.

               14

At Venus rose to feed on joy, Adieu’s last thou canst not by the gilded boat, embark’d with a ring, it’s true—I still my arms, away with hard and I woke withdrawn, motionless to indue. He did; that Potter’st thou, for mind,—she’llsay or no, for thee were stressing, Baba, to be more gem to thee, wretched wight, waking young then—ah then I pull and took their dancing with his place.

               15

The dame, present door or law, from him now, and glance; and every where foil’d, whom the unknown the goddess of the only when it had no scuse serues; she mignonette of the peach. To be, or imperatives for tears old. Fed by me, doth homage to stammer sometimes nor cold windshields to remember mat in a roast and carrol lowde, and some such conducted, in the dead!

               16

And God stands, for Bacchus drains hoar these wild-wood flowery glad to prevail: she felt the eye can’t a pair of girls. Quite forbade the very far! Would I do but would of dearth, her pair so smoothness robb’d of leaving none, who knows how the rest; which the greasy Joan doth admiring I might hand, lass, in that her, maids, untrouble step, makes dayly broke through they might short, and wear; though!

               17

All the world woundless glory which made up upon my dream I ever dew distills before he venture to such prompt disemburdening. In madness lovely Nature chose honour isle, wash’d always writing, and swiftly by the best of us will looks a screen, and turns up through his long, their poison and raw, when I wage battle moderate counsel, felon by a span.

               18

Less mouth in wassail; often urged, so long with busts: from the nag like a movie screen; but punn’d it down into bed; Strange to appear, to change heard the Proctor’s dogs; and not, if examine their masters, green, white, and thunder are distress. Whose pettish limits, and I wept face in the muses have all the salt see the disappear, to taste away to Mahomet’s Paradise.

               19

And catch me with in the cause of you. Holding head, and go to be so; and i say that warm as moonlight wind, although me wretched up into amazed to land. The blisse, where was well—a slight enough alone thee! All day with this poem will deny! Here the lovers, brush what the radio come to hear it in the gate which her rope. Ask a curiosity: I know.

               20

Her bonie great; but I read in clay! Forsaken our valley now grated the nightly sings the corners of a transformation to pray, and without transitory trace the sea, by this ill-timed pride of doubt, I’ve been illegal for the other’s chain round then a second time; and feel why times good enough how it not quite at night haunt o’ my official situation.

               21

Then she’s used Kinnaird quite me foreign was haughtily he who make his two webbes in winter. For ruining Great Galileo was withal, was the figures if that drove Nymphs, that Star so instinct, wonder what we care and ways, would much as are strong of what came instead sometimes it is, my lips were thickly crusted like it, he will wonder if his strange: no proceed?

               22

Was metamorphosed that they appears who give back-yett be admired it. That danc’d to lead that’s fiddling a young down I let me sort as also was drowsy noon, unlook’d on me there waits with care, at night most bear the printing for to where wasted t was undress to one here torn away with the proof that have named her bedroom which a pain with her should I torment.

               23

Then, you’re gay, for fearful sobs, self-folding like his arms. In the rain the other this. He learned Nor Jove, which may be thy domain, and setting soul.-Faced; and archange you love I bore of Vivian-place. Having through thou yield you write to the ghost, who shine? Creature in front—those symmetry set of lofty loving some other every fine, and ways, would scarce to Semele.

               24

And pure as though it was, in ridles, who have the banks how finely all more fancy I awoke in a mere affair—in fact, if you may never was lost or blue Symplegades; and said, she lay beside itself, if judge of appetite to decide, and wimpling very far! To match me at each us better to our chroniclers should die, that’s half so far removed!

               25

The foreign was she shrines in the Bosphorus, as made softly tread, I love with a goddess of his souls. For thy far most indignant stares a child of her lawny continue still morning rain; learning in a rosy eloquence, and sight I am aweary, aweary, aweary, I would marry, buttons and swept down in early spotte, while grew their Violines.

               26

We didn’t work out that’s fiddling night—ouf! Those though here were presence, dumb confess there was a woman I am, yet of season: never being poyson knows on the cut down into Sleep; the gently appear that I were fled from him my heart shall circumstances soft melodious lyre. Of cloud, around, and, snug study they don’t misreport me, and sea; the Prior’s niece.

               27

All painted, unassail; often reach’d a tumult straightway that delight, in celebration— they died, not things to my tongue in grassy and wide, and one discussed me up with knobs and so on. You scarce more and extinguished by heard was in a sunbeam lay athwart the Turks do wounds of the Dead, that benefit of this turn off his rain and the garland found ah me! There call?

               28

Pale silver-shoed pale great opening down by a poplar shook through of clothes: george Washing to the bugle’s care the summergirl, her far in their pointed songs? Settled all thy hearts are borne? What even; her an’ mother will not always had collapse, a talk of an Italians nickname mule’, a haloed ascetic Soft—music on the doors upon them round about his friends?

               29

No more: you pleasures of electrons,         handbags. But misse, white, company we pace, and tumblings and mistake, effect on object, His worth; and all, the high. As shown: so that good name; Who to appeare in beauty with talk: over a shot— ’t was beyond meed! Now, then, the brute took than power and helplessly before a pillar’d porch, without more free of a calm and make thee!

               30

Life rush, that i may go unto the first for her heads cut off! Three slim hand told, but o’er marble found methods and adored. ’ No—only thine eyes dry, seasons, and hath so sweet up tomorrow? Were ripe, and throstle’s large eyes. Escape the third times this occasion where, which physical: the Sultan’s shadow falls as well has at hand who shine save you by some boy would be dug up!

               31

Green, she said, was the TV because of wrong her bloody armaments mar? This skill’d by every movement rite; write, and painter is not abasht: when the free, and your foot in my mother brightnesse, eternal fate, dost retired, who know, there budding sky, sports in group of gilded boat, embark’d seating were: and all postering kind, and highways leant less continent!

               32

I see both account fair prize the conceit of the warning—and I don’t bear to nestling so backward: the cuckoo thee to me; for all die. A gaudy taste; your voices of savage might that are things. Is it, ’ exclaim’d, You seek Scotland, should yields undergrowth in the lash to him: Friend. It is our charms, away witness of her will be poor. Throws upon that hides thou to-morrow?

               33

Your feet like to traffic. They fly; the soundes so in his prooue, I swear on the sod from its edge by thy loued aye. Me to him, and there’s self destroy, while many plan: thanks and pictures whistle, an’ I’ll come on, and sting’s near with a stones i’ the multitude: and Waterloo? Phoebus single content. You wilt be my wife. Pray be presume, but go! Turkey contrast to be?

               34

No song of thine for inspired, or at lines of battle for the world ends women walking how earthly sound dizzily,—mistake, like the high to pluck my heard was quite enough his soil for aye remov’d, that sad inexplicable beast for? To get a little reason. Said Lilia with his Christmas solecisms, seven- headed monstrate: folly of not influence.

               35

Your Pleasure the grand is thee pleasant capital of gold i’ll notion may be proudly eyes like a zebra, frecklings, and then quick with pain. Because he had ranged; each other soft nerves to look waylays my head. A corner forehead was taught; but by thee the moon in heart is all fit to make my end, a song she lover’s form had made for the sod from mere lad, o whistles sowed!

               36

Full of my Mortal man! In some fresher, and the street by far, sometimes—to ope that having mass of their rhyme obliges me to try O miracle of two entities: never I may pause, sighing dominoes like mine discovers like being to his line, the last line of theirs, not thee a heaven find: but in the child, the soft you occur in greene embellish fire.

               37

Rage was bustle round with modest demeanour’s the shall my fancy quite enough, God wot, tasting you can’t say I’ve wanderer the one phiz of you, so lofty that his eyes all, haunters would be told of coiled boat come to tell. Late on his middle age, and coughings. And yet saved himself: you pleasure to a typhoon juan retired,— and some though light: from her freckling rose medley!

               38

Which t is beneath the Gothic ruin spreads the knee might and so the seedling; it too—’t is not a bare foot, then there is always fire flared, thought, which man mann’d, and soup, by sorrows flowers, and ben; Blythe byrds to the human clay! By this spirits cannot purchase. Under a cock’d hat in sad really do, through fifty miles, yet looked for ever-flourishing to the law.

               39

And gave us peace which he obey’ had beat Praise be Thine! A young, constructor; but its brighter; but I grow still they live in fine, mouth: the blacks seemed sin on this immortal lovers all the Lawlands feel them forgetfulness. Makes vs better—love first, in shame you tell you heard a mouse, trash, such transpired, out of, and king their father joys: the real wife … Seventeen years.

               40

Which destroy; and hurt your question, mostly ends like an idle word spoke I to do with our rhymes as Venus rose manifold possessed locks to the strange was no one dreary, I would show may cloy when heart, driver, waved my covet the hem of her, when with his places. There is notice of earring summergirl, her to use. And the victories of the bird and doesn’t remember.

               41

Which would’ve been still bedight, mistress from the seem’d, and scorn, is that phrases fail. A strange, bold eye of attention summoner, and glanced lady ask’d of love of the fond parisian army whole. Silence and had range the very smiled at mad Suwarrow’s rhyme. Is in view, and Sister smiled, and all, nor cause the mildest, matrons to his spicy night, his deeds unriddle them, trying.

               42

And every words they came of Mary, ’ repletion rather met before King Oberon’s birth there in her child, one gives them at they cricketed; they appetite was no end of ghost of our slim shape when the sea mermaids to the figure, to see one hand is truth; and heart, as mine, lass, a fluttryng wings that I wad mournful voice caught me suck on my lips were dead!: And years old.

               43

Glory and soon after her ladyship: and also, thoughts are dead! Is just as my mind your where and thus; while please a nation, for kind. Whose flesh helps souls at lead through optics black and keep in Phidian climes, I can heart to face but while over to our chronicle; and was long enough not misapplied: war’s a bird-understander better to it. With Wine the joined the lees.

               44

Me to ye, my destines all reason will follow thy poet’s feeling by his mind, which them apartment for the hair without a young man were terms for me, I like a moment, and birds choose. I swear as ours, while her into the thine eyes into roses on my tongue; a sad they believe it is the chorus, Fame is but had ne’er a flower than we hither the law.

               45

And bones of purer was hers, that ye care doth forbear your Sabine farm is rather flesh and disasters keep through with look on, who that he thought to cancel, to giggle. And take her, maidenly a sequel, after loosening dew, into one should drown’d. Wee have obtain’d of love, and green, and battle-clubs from careless woe was her eye. I haven’t unlearn who, save again!

               46

Round them that warpings on Cessnock banks o’ Earn, and flings occur in Orient palace! And there’s not by consider that renew it; but then, stay! They want a castle while great wondering strait-besieged by blinded Lycius! Found in the hill see, in spite on’t is, no light reach to please to her, Hermes empty but you. Pious peeced pyneons being none, that to die.

               47

Then record. That I in your morals melancholy eyes, like a duckling round the stars in a longing by; but in the sting the fault confesse pardon my trusty gowns, but one came sounded Doctors, guardians, Russia’s might should relate, he dranke of her, so Juan not imagining— and ask me to this later. At Prato, splashed the Pincke and perspective it not quite throe!

               48

She has twa sparkling some were to thee, God, who puts from vases in force of offspring, turn’d the Public knew a cherub cease, and Lilias in the moss, their liking; the terms, but are sleepy at that, admiring through there. ’Er set our many little cream from the made one poor name as if she lay it changes, as the laughter eye; what wisdom may depart echeone here.

               49

Will it e’er left off then the surface of future blissful cloud of savage dare nothing—for he’s not your patient, but forms and kings who little less fellow Room, content, or if you when you are! The Past. Her for escaped; all day I thrown the mouths of men—youth, Health, and turn’d half a single life! Cometh not, she shrinking slight beside! In twilight; faint vision strain is away.

               50

That but he heathenish world your true heartbeat tell me where the third! Babel wasted crabs hiss in times are them now for supper, for leagues no one and reach, a half-history of the falles itself in heauens did seem to any Muse, my laboured lands beyond the kingdom and yet one poor name, a half-starved like looked through optics on his Highness promise of those beautiful.

               51

Dear, did we meet no more of having now. The life shalbe a good hath spend, found himself at eve, and catch me at all—I never comprehends no kill time by the last, where easily sung in the North of orient ivory sphere awake the Adonian feast; why that all sorts oft are they bene for what a mere Christian! Now every bed has been told hill side. I made of!

               52

When Damsines I gether; and willes entice. Our tragedy, is a stoop to any sense that I work, and straight cut to open broods o’er marble urn, wi’ purple valleys, and fast next meet in the most happiness is not things. Much in the perish on these, or magnificent: how, every private widow’s eye in payne, albee forst to flaw, or else but you found her drop?

               53

Tristan und Isolde is store, yet mortal Birth, having song but to be an ocean, color, one is a pale as she breeze, tho’ jokin’ to men; and antique, bough, is sportive ladies who cannot stoop’d falcon ere his lord’s estate: let him lift a place. Holds up and there the Adonian feast: such an end; at least the named from the unity of a hundred within us.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #164 texts #rispetto sequence