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theladyismyshepard · 3 years

Note

Can I ask for a scenario where the daughters are given a maid(en) who was naughty and their punishment is to be the daughters’ toy for the day? What would each girl do? Or if it’s easier what would they do all together?

I really don’t know what this became...

How The Daughters Punish Their Toys

Bela (NSFW)

One day during dinner, you went to serve Bela her plate, holding your breath past the stench as you lowered to place the “food” before her

She was sitting with her back straight and as you came closer, she breathed in deeply, enjoying the aroma from the plate

Her chest heaved and you couldn’t help but to be absorbed completely at the sight, and you couldn’t look away until you realized you had knocked over her cup, sending its contents everywhere

You knew you were off to the dungeons when Bela stood wordlessly, beckoning you to follow

So why was she smirking as she led you to — wait her bedroom?

The worst part of being locked in the castle was the mind games that every Dimitrescu seemed interested in playing, but you couldn’t focus on the absurdity before you were pulled inside and your back slammed back against the door

“You think I didn’t see you?”

You ducked your head, blushing furiously at being caught staring, but instead of reprimanding you, the sudden silence was only broken by shuffling, and when you glanced up, you couldn’t look away

“Is this what had you making such a filthy mess?”

Her wicked smirk coupled with her now exposed breasts had your breath caught in your throat, so all you could do was nod vehemently as she perched herself on the edge of the bed.

“Inattentive, were you... Well, I’m going to leave you distracted all day. Kneel before me.”

And really, who were you to say no? You didn’t hesitate to drop to your knees before her spread legs, gazing into her eyes in a futile attempt to read what she had planned

“Well?” she had asked impatiently, brow arched. “I’m not going to get myself off.”

You could’ve found own your way down, thank you very much, but you supposed it wasn’t your place to argue when she grabbed you by the back of your neck and pulled you straight between her thighs

The warmth was all too inviting as you placed open mouthed kisses on where she needed you most, and the only reaction you received was the flexing of her thighs beneath your fingers

The way her bare chest heaved with each breath had warmth flooding your gut as well as sending a pulse to your own core that had you rubbing your own thighs together to alleviate some pressure

“If you come, too, I’ll kill you,” moaned Bela, her eyes closed as she enjoyed herself, her fingers now tangled in your hair

Suddenly you didn’t feel very aroused as you worked her just right with your tongue alone until she was coming with a moan down your chin, and you licked your lips as you leaned back until you were sitting

“I hope you know that you are far from done.” said Bela, her eyes completely predatory. “I have all night, and if you come once, I will kill you before you can finish.”

It would be a helluva way to go

Cassandra

You were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all it was — a fellow maid had snapped and decided that it was better to die trying to flee rather than be forced to live a worthless life

She didn’t even give you time to register what was happening before the maid was bolting out of the main door, spilling light all over the floor in her wake... and that was how Cassandra had come across you, stammering and heart racing as you rushed to explain

Cassandra’s eyes were narrowed as she repeatedly glanced between you and the open door, and there was something alight in them that you couldn’t read, but she was quickly snatching you by the arm and dragging you down, down, down into the cellar

It only amplified your fright when the mangled carcasses scattered around served as a threat, to let you know exactly what was in store for you, but she didn’t allow you too much time to dwell and stare at the corpses as she pulled you deeper

Until you came to an abrupt stop before a dangling pair of stained shackles in the middle of a cage, and your feet paused out of pure self-preservation, preventing you from going any closer — not that that stopped Cassandra from yanking you inside, tearing your uniform from your body, and binding your wrists until only the tips of your toes grazed the floor

“You were just going to run away from me?” drawled Cassandra, her voice a mere whisper

“No! Never!” You exclaimed, begging for her to believe you, and you couldn’t discern the way she cocked her head to the side thoughtful... Cassandra liked to manipulate where she could

“I believe you,” nodded Cassandra, her eyes never leaving your body as she withdrew her sickle. “But I need to get a message across.”

Somehow you knew it wasn’t the proper time to speak, and it was a good thing you didn’t even waste your breath attempting because she was quick to punctuate her sentence with carving the tip along your collarbone, prompting a yelp from you

It was a shallow cut, just enough to slightly trickle, but Cassandra’s reaction to it had all of your nerves frayed — she leaned forward until her nose was pressed directly to your skin as she inhaled deeply, unabashed at the scarlet smear when she pulled back

“Today you are mine and mine alone, and that is the only thing keeping you alive... for the moment.”

Your body jerked out of natural reaction when you felt another, harsher sting between your ribs, just below your breast, and the sharp sting was eased by a flat tongue

“You taste divine and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough, even if I drained you dry...”

You felt your breath hitch in your chest at the sight of Cassandra bringing the tip of the sickle to her mouth so she could flick her tongue out to lick it clean, and she must have heard because her eyes snapped to yours once more

“How selfish of me... would you like a taste?”

You grit your teeth as her thumb swiped across the deeper cut hard, nearly digging into the wound, before bringing it up and forcing her finger into your mouth, dragging the pad of her thumb along your tastebuds

“Do you see how irresistible you are?” cooed Cassandra, bringing her hands upward until she was cupping your cheeks. “I could stay and slowly eat you all day... and in fact, I think I will.”

Daniela

You must say that Daniela was probably your favorite amongst the Dimitrescus, just because she was the most affectionate with you

Whether it be with a mere pat on the top of your head after you had served her, or with the wide, toothy smiles she would send your way when you crossed paths in the hallways — it almost made you feel special to have her attention so

Though sometimes her attention is a nuisance, like when her sharp eyes caught yours lingering on the Lady of all people, and you knew something was amiss in the smoldering blaze now in her gaze as Daniela frowned

It was smoothed away into a tight-lipped smile that was nowhere near reaching her eyes and she gracefully turned on her heel without so much as a word to you, and you felt as though you brought the hammer down on the final nail on your coffin

You slept with one eye open that night

And when it was time to attend to your duties of serving “tea” the next afternoon, it sent a chill down your spine when every one of the Dimitrescus had their eyes set on you — Daniela and the Lady were the only ones wearing a knowing smirk, and of what, you didn’t know

“My darling daughter had something very interesting to say about your wandering eyes.” said Lady Dimitrescu, and you were instantly sweating, and that had everyone chuckling

“I don’t even understand why you cared so much, Dani.” drawled Cassandra, rolling her eyes, and ignoring the wild glare Daniela bored into her with, but then the redhead quickly snapped her gaze to you and then her smirk reappeared

“You can be quite the dog, can’t you?” Daniela asked rhetorically, and something about the sentence prompting a full round of smirking from the family this time.

“Is that so, darling?” asked the Lady, feigning thoughtfulness, thoroughly playing her part. “Would you like to keep her as a pet?”

Daniela’s eyes were wild as she nodded her head vigorously, and your eyes zeroed in on Lady Dimitrescu as she began to shift to reach for somethi- A fucking collar?!

“That’s wonderful, mother!” exclaimed Daniela, clapping happily before reaching behind herself for something in her own seat. “It will go perfect with my leash.”

Before you could even widen your eyes, Daniela had already devolved into a swarm that was on you, and you could only slam your eyes shut in a flinch and then fingers were grazing the skin of your neck as she adjusted around your throat — your cheeks really flared when she connected the leash to it and tugged hard, causing you to double over

“You heard my mother, pet, you are mine.” spat Daniela, her eye twitching as she recounted your eyes on her mother. “And if I have to show you how much of a dog you can be, this will only be the first step.”

The grip and pull of the leash tightened until you took the hint to get down on your knees, and you knew that was what she was fishing for when she cackled loudly, throwing her head back before her glittery eyes turned back down to you

“Who’s a good girl?”

I... am?

#bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #lady dimitrescu's daughters #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu’s daughters x reader

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latenitetea · 3 years

Text

what a shame it would be - rodrick heffley

in which rodrick takes a few too many shots...

cw: underage drinking, swearing

word count: 3,228

~~~

Great victories deserve great parties.

That was the way of thinking at Crossland High School when it came to homecoming. After weeks of anticipation from the entire student body, the Crossland football team had defeated their rivals with one touchdown in the last five minutes of the homecoming game. It didn’t matter that half the school didn’t care much about football to begin with - with a victory that big, there were bound to be parties all over town.

As a varsity cheerleader, you weren’t surprised that you were invited to the biggest homecoming party in town. And you weren’t surprised by the atmosphere when you arrived, either.

Music blasted in your ears as you entered through the backdoor of the crowded house. Cheerleaders were laughing so loud you could feel it in your whole body, people were drunkenly dancing and making out with each other on the dance floor, and the football team was taking a celebratory round of shots for their biggest win. Hell, you even saw the student body council and academic decathlon team on the dance floor. Bottles upon bottles of all kinds of alcohol were being pulled out at the bar - kegs of beer, bottles of tequila and vodka, and a giant bowl of punch that was being spiked with a frothing drink. Still, the abundance of alcohol wouldn’t last long at a party this big. But before you could get to the bar to get your pick, you heard your name being called from across the room.

“Y/N!”

There were too many people covering your view to see who called you when you turned around, but you knew exactly who it was coming from. It wasn’t too hard to weave your way through the drunken couples and football players to find him.

Rodrick was leaning against the basement’s doorframe, wearing his favorite Converse, a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, and his Loded Diper t-shirt with a cargo jacket. He ruffled his unkempt, raven hair and took a long swig from his solo cup.

“Give me your keys.”

You raised your eyebrows, stifling a laugh. “Well, hello to you, too.”

After taking another sip of his drink, he held out his hand. Rolling your eyes, you took your lanyard and dropped your keys in his hand, which he put in the pocket of his jacket.

“There we go.” His mouth quirked up into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d never go to another homecoming party again after last year. You still owe me for that, you know.”

Memories of Rodrick holding you steady as you stumbled to his van and slurred your words resurfaced in your mind. You couldn’t hide the tinge of embarrassment that crept up on your cheeks.

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Do you or do you not remember me having to brush your teeth because you forgot how to do it yourself?”

Your once pink cheeks now turned scarlet. Still, you couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.

“Fine. But I definitely don’t owe you anymore after being the only reason you didn’t fail physics last year.”

He paused, taking another drink from his cup. You could tell the alcohol was beginning to slow his thoughts already.

“I guess I stand corrected.”

You cursed yourself for being sober, wishing you had more confidence to flirt with him. You swallowed the forming lump in your throat and attempted a compliment.

“Look at you, making yourself look nice for homecoming. You even got the new converse and eyeliner and everything.”

God, that couldn’t have been worse. You mentally facepalmed yourself as the words left your mouth.

He chuckled. “Well, I’ve gotta make myself look nice if I’m gonna get one of these cheerleaders to go home with me, right?”

Your embarrassment dissipated into a twinge of disappointment. Quick to cover up any sort of reaction, you cleared your throat.

“I’m gonna go get myself something to drink. See you around, Rodrick.”

You heard him call out a warning about “knowing your limits,” but you didn’t turn around or respond. At first, you were only planning to get buzzed tonight. Your disappointment, however, made a change to your plans.

“Hey, Y/N,” your friend, Allison, said from the bar with a wave. “What do you want to drink?”

“Something strong,” you insisted. With a nod, Allison filled a solo cup with vodka and topped it off with the frothing punch.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She asked as she handed you the cup. You took a swig, ignoring the way the alcohol burned your throat.

“Who knows,” you sighed. “I just got back from talking to Rodrick.”

Allison raised her eyebrows. You paused for a moment, but you gave in to the temptation of getting your feelings out. “Every time I try to flirt with him, I feel like he ignores it. Or worse, he just brings up other girls.”

“Maybe you’re just not flirting hard enough,” Allison suggested. Her comforting smile became smug, pointing to the solo cup in your hand. "Or maybe that liquid courage will finally get you to tell him how you feel.”

The taste in your mouth turned sour at her teasing. Last year’s drunken shenanigans seemed harmless compared to any hypotheticals of you blurting out “Hey Rodrick, I’ve had a crush on you since last homecoming!” and forgetting it by morning. You placed your cup on the bar, deciding that your original plan of a buzz was the safer option. “Actually, I think I’m gonna stick to beer tonight.”

Allison let out a laugh. “Whatever you say. But your feelings are gonna eat you alive at some point. You’re gonna have to tell him how you feel eventually.”

“Emphasis on eventually. See you, Allison.” You gave her a small wave and went out to the dance floor, hoping to find some of your friends and dance your way into forgetting about Rodrick.

~~~

As the wild night began to die down, waves of stumbling high schoolers started leaving the party. Watching the clock hit 3 AM, you decided that it was time for you to head home. Waving goodbye to your friends, you made your way out of the house and to your car, more than ready to open the door and practically fall asleep at the wheel and-

Damnit.

That asshole still had your keys, didn’t he?

Pulling out your phone, you called Rodrick, nearly praying that he didn’t already leave. As you put your phone to your ear, you heard another phone’s ringtone go off. Muttering a “what the hell?” under your breath, you looked up from your car.

Rodrick was standing on the sidewalk across the street, holding onto a streetlight pole as though it was taking everything in his power not to fall.

A noise of both amusement and concern left your lips, and you hung up the call and made your way over to him.

“Hi,” was all he said. His eyes were glazed over and a sheepish smile was spread across his face.

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Oh, how the tables turn, huh?”

“I don’t,” he paused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You let out a laugh. “You’re drunk off your ass.”

“No, I’m not!” He blurted out defensively. You cocked your head, giving him a do-you-really-think-you’re-gonna-convince-me look. After a moment, he sighed. “Maybe I’m a little drunk.” He let out another sigh, but it quickly turned into a fit of giggles.

Suppressing the thought that his drunken giggles were extremely cute, you draped his arm over your shoulders. “Come on, drummer boy, let’s get you home.” Rodrick leaned his bodyweight into your side, trying not to fall in the middle of the street.

“I like that nickname.”

“Where’d you put my keys?” You asked him. Instead of answering, he broke into another fit of giggles. With a sigh, you pushed down your embarrassment and started rummaging through the pockets of his jacket. He leaned his head into the crook of your neck, making butterflies swarm in your gut. You tried your best to ignore them and finally pulled out your keys from his pocket, helping him into the passenger seat of your car.

“Wanna hear something funny? I wanted to take home the cheerleader with me. But now the cheerleader is taking me home.” His smile turned into a smirk as he buckled his seatbelt, and you reminded yourself that he was only joking.

“You’re a pervert.”

“You’re pretty.”

Your eyes widened at what Rodrick had just said. The next second, you couldn’t be more thankful that it was too dark to see the blush on your cheeks. You believed that he meant what he said for a second, but the smell of alcohol on his breath brought you back to reality.

“You’re really drunk.”

“You’re really pretty.”

Instead of responding, you started the car and turned on the radio, hoping that it would act as a distraction.

Pulling out of the driveway, you started the drive home. You heard Rodrick laugh again from the passenger’s seat. And then he placed his hand on your thigh.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you tried to stop your breathing from turning shallow. “What are you doing?”

“Flirting with you.”

Your cheeks burned at his direct manner, but you reluctantly took his hand off your thigh. “You can’t flirt with me when you’re drunk.” Pulling into his driveway, you helped him out of your car and to his front door. You grabbed the spare key from under the doormat and opened the door.

After helping him to his room, you filled up an empty glass with water and grabbed a bottle of pain medicine from his kitchen, bringing it upstairs and placing it on his nightstand.

“Here’s for tomorrow when you have a hang-“

“I don’t remember how to take off my shoes.” Rodrick looked up at you from where he was sitting on his bed, his blank stare turning into another eruption of laughter. “I sound like you right now.”

You sighed, letting out a chuckle. You took off his Converse and his jacket, placing them in his closet.

“Well, as long as you don’t need anything else I better get going-“

Before you could finish your sentence, Rodrick grabbed you and pulled you onto his bed. “Can you stay a little while?” Your cheeks burned even brighter, and you knew he knew it too. His flirting was overwhelming; you thought you were going to explode from the butterflies. Still, you managed to stay somewhat composed.

“You need to sleep.”

“I don't want to sleep.”

You shook your head, but the look on Rodrick’s pleading face was enough to convince you. “Fine.”

“Why don’t you let me flirt with you?”

“What?”

Rodrick was looking directly at you. “I always try to flirt with you. And then you act like I’m just joking.”

You wanted to tell him that he didn’t know what he was talking about, that he was just drunk and the alcohol was talking. But Allison’s words of advice were echoing in the back of your head.

You’re going to have to tell him how you feel eventually.

“Because I didn’t think you could ever be serious about actually liking me.”

His eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “Of course I’m serious. You’re the prettiest girl in school, you like good music, and you’re just so nice. And pretty.”

You let out a chuckle. “I bet you weren’t thinking those things when you were brushing my teeth for me last year.”

"Yes, I was," He moved a piece of hair from your face. “That’s when I realized I had feelings for you, Y/N.”

The smell of alcohol on his breath was enough to make you want to burst into tears. Here you were, laying on Rodrick Heffley’s bed, close enough to make out the dark outline of his pupils, and you were confessing how you felt for him. And he wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning.

“Can I kiss you?”

His abrupt question silenced your thoughts. “What?”

He closed his eyes and started leaning in for the kiss, but once you processed what he had just asked, you pulled away. “Not right now.”

“Why not?”

You took a deep breath, trying to slow your racing heartbeat. “Tell you what. If you wake up tomorrow and you decide that you still want to kiss me, you can kiss me.”

He thought about your offer for a moment. “Okay. But tomorrow feels so far away.”

“Tomorrow won’t feel far if you go to sleep.”

He smiled and buried his head into your side. “You’ll stay until I fall asleep, right?”

“Right.”

“Promise?”

You felt the urge to cry again. You knew that every promise made tonight would be broken by tomorrow.

“Promise.”

You laid in his bed as his breathing slowed into soft snores. Taking one last look at him, you gently climbed out of his arms. As much as you wanted to stay, wanted to wake him up and confess every feeling you had for him, wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, you knew that would be wrong. You had to ease the inevitable future pain as much as you could.

So you grabbed your keys and left, not finding it in you to look back.

~~~

When Rodrick woke up, he could barely find the energy to open his eyes. The ache he felt across his entire body was throbbing, but he fought the urge to give in and go back to sleep. Opening his eyes, he saw a glass of water and pain medicine sitting on his nightstand.

Considering how awful he felt, there was no way he put that there. Taking two of the pills and downing the glass of water, he tried to connect some of his memories of the night before. As the medicine started to set in, some of his fuzzy memories began to clear. Taking a shot of tequila with his bandmate, taking another shot of tequila with his bandmate, your face turning bright red when he reminded you of when he took care of you last homecoming.

Even though he’d never find the courage to admit it, you looked cute when you blushed. And he always seemed to have butterflies in his stomach around you after last year's homecoming party. But there would be absolutely no way he would ever admit that.

You probably were the one that got him home last night. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that you saw him that drunk, even if he’s seen you even drunker before. He hoped he hadn’t said anything too humiliating to you last night.

His stomach twisted with another wave of embarrassment. What had he said last night?

He stood up, noticing your jacket laying on the other side of his bed. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and unknown embarrassment. He picked up your jacket and grabbed his keys to his van, ready to give it back and thank you for getting him home last night.

But when he picked up the jacket, more memories flooded his mind. You laying in his bed, him pulling the hair out of your face, you being close enough to him that he could have kissed you.

Oh, shit.

He ran to his closet and threw on his converse, too frantic to even tie them. Running out the door, he practically jumped into his van and started the drive to your house.

~~~

You sat on your porch, drinking a cup of coffee and enjoying that crisp October air on your cheeks. Thankful that you didn’t have even the remnants of a hangover, you were certain that every upperclassman at Crossland was sporting a massive one.

You opened your phone and anxiously twiddled your thumbs at the keyboard. You wanted to text Rodrick and ask him how he was feeling, but you were too nervous to contact him after last night. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you would ever be able to look him in the eyes again.

Your concern for him overshadowed your embarrassment. No matter where your relationship with him stood after last night, you still cared about him. Pulling his contact up on your phone, you typed a short message.

Morning, sleepyhead. You feeling ok after last night?

But just as you were about to hit send, you saw a van barreling down your street from your peripheral vision. You didn’t need to see the messy writing on its side to know who’s van it was, either.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Did Rodrick remember what happened last night? Was he here to reject you, to tell you that he couldn’t even be friends with you anymore? You wanted to run inside your house and pretend you weren’t home, but you felt frozen in place.

The van pulled into your driveway, and Rodrick stepped out from the driver’s seat. He was still wearing the same outfit from the night before, but he had his drumsticks in one hand and your jacket in the other. He ran up to your porch, almost frantically.

“Y/N?” He said.

You took a shaky breath, trying to act as casual as possible. “Hey, Rodrick, you feel okay after last night?”

“I’ve had worse hangovers. Er, you left my jacket at my house.” He handed you your jacket.

“Thanks.” You shifted on your feet nervously, looking for the right thing to say. See you Monday? Sorry I confessed my feelings to you last night?

Rodrick looked down at his feet. “Can we talk?” He blurted out.

A plethora of curses went through your head, and you felt the urge to run into your house and curl up in a fetal position until you disappeared. Still, you stayed standing where you were.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Last night, did we,” he anxiously twirled his drumsticks in his hands, “did we kiss?”

Your eyes widened. He did remember last night.

“Well, you wanted to kiss me.” Your stomach churned, and your head was swirling with so many thoughts that you couldn’t stop talking. “But we didn’t kiss because it was just the alcohol talking and I know you didn’t actually want to kiss me and that last night was just the alcohol and I get that you wouldn’t want to kiss me which is totally fine and really it’s no big deal-“

“It wasn’t the alcohol talking.”

Rodrick looked up from the ground and stepped closer to you. You had never seen him look more serious in your life.

“Y/N, everything I said last night. I meant it.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve... I’ve felt this way about you for a while. And I know I’m not a serious person, but I am really serious about this. And I really, really like you.” He took another step closer, and once again, he was close enough that you could see the outline of his pupils.

“So about that promise we made last night,” your breath hitched in your throat, “I think it would be a shame if we broke it.”

“You’re right,” Rodrick’s shy smile spread into a smug grin. He lifted your chin so your faces were barely inches apart.

“It'd really be a shame, wouldn't it?.” He said, closing the gap between your lips.

#Rodrick Heffley #Rodrick Heffley x reader #rodrick x reader #rodrick #rodrick rules #doawk #doawk rodrick rules #diary of a wimpy kid #not my rodrick #my rodrick #devon bostick #heffley #Rodrick Heffley one shot #rodrick one shot #rodrick x reader one shot #Rodrick Heffley x reader one shot

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tothemeadow · 3 years

Note

THE REQUEST ARE OPEN AGAINN!! AHHHH CONTINUATION OF PILLAR BODY SWAP THANKYOUUUU

‘switch ‘em up pt. 4′ / Pillars x Reader (now with the Kamaboko Squad!)

warnings: none

words: 2,243

(a/n): I just wanna thank the lovely anon that gave me the idea to this plotline; it helped a lot!

for reference: Giyuu/Shinobu | Gyomei/Mitsuri | Obanai/Tengen | Sanemi/Muichiro | Kyojuro/you

“I’m not sure I understand entirely,” Tanjiro confesses, his eyebrows furrowing. “So you’re looking for some special type of herb?”

“Precisely,” Shinobu says.

Overhead, birds chirp and flood the skies, hopping from branch to branch and competing each other with their harmonies. A delicate breeze sweeps through the area, carrying loose leaves and the crisp smell of nature. On any other day, you’d love to come back; however, considering the circumstances, you’d rather not be here.

After much discussion on what should be done to return everyone to their normal bodies, Shinobu voiced an idea that may work – finding a special herb and using its medicinal properties. It’s a bit of a longshot, but it’s not like anyone else has any other better idea. And whether the others voiced it or not, everyone is secretly wishing that this magical plant will bring a miracle.

As such, you and the rest of the Pillars take the trip to Mount Sagiri; Tanjiro insisted he tag along since he knows the area well, plus he wanted to help. Of course, this meant traveling with his two friends, Zenitsu and Inosuke. Truthfully, it’s quite a crowd you’re traveling with, but it should prove to be useful to have extra eyes searching for the herb.

“Giyuu knows this area as well, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find it!” Tanjiro chirps, looking to his friend. Although Giyuu is still stuck inside Shinobu’s body, he looks away, a light blush dusting his face. “Plus, Urokodaki-san should be able to help us!”

“Wait, that old man who used to be the Water Pillar?” Tengen questions.

“Don’t disrespect him,” Giyuu abruptly snaps. The muscle in his jaw ticks. “That is all I ask.”

At that, Tengen lets out a drawn-out whistle. “Damn, alright. Don’t tear my head off, waterworks.”

“Waterworks? What kind of name is that?” Sanemi speaks up. “I think you’ve been inside of Obanai for too long, Tengen. Your insults are starting to turn lame.”

“Fuck you,” Obanai mutters.

“It’s not my fault Obanai doesn’t possess a flamboyant sense of humor!”

With a sigh, you watch on as Tengen, Sanemi, and Obanai start bickering. Frankly, you don’t know why they’re even putting in the effort. Everyone is stuck in a situation that they don’t like, so what’s the point?

Beside you, Zenitsu wrings his hands, an uneasy expression crossing his features. “Uh… Kyojuro? Wait, wait, sorry – (y/n)?” You hum in response. “Are all the Pillars this… tense? Like, normally?”

“Heh. Well, not really. Sanemi’s always got a stick up his ass, and Obanai’s just naturally edgy like that,” you tell him. As you look to him, it strikes you as odd to have to look down at him. You’ve otherwise grown used to the height difference, but it still takes you aback sometimes.

Zenitsu snickers. His unease melts away, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “When you put it that way, it sounds just like that moron Inosuke.”

“Oi! Who the fuck are you calling a moron?!” Inosuke barks.

Quirking an eyebrow, Zenitsu shoots you a bored look. “See what I mean?”

“We’re here!” Tanjiro exclaims.

Having been distracted from the short conversation with Zenitsu, you’ve completely ignored your surroundings. Cursing yourself internally for being so careless, you look ahead, taking in the sight of a small home with an even smaller garden next to it. So this must be Urokodaki’s home, huh? How quaint.

“This doesn’t really look like much,” Muichiro voices. Shifting his attention to Giyuu, he cocks his head. “So this is where you were trained?”

Giyuu nods stiffly. The look on his face – Shinobu’s face – is, well, vulnerable. You haven’t seen him show so much emotion before, and it’s a bit startling. If you’re being entirely honest, it looks as though he’s ready to throw up everything that’s inside his gut.

“It’s just as I remember!” Tanjiro chirps. “It’s nice up here, don’t you think? The air gets thinner from here on up, so please be careful when scaling the mountain.”

As if on cue, the door to the house slides open, revealing an elderly man with a tengu mask adorning his face. The air about him demands respect; it’s more than obvious that this very man was a Pillar, and a strong one at that. You watch on as Tanjiro and Giyuu step up towards the house before dropping into respectful bows. Tanjiro’s movements are much more fluid, more comfortable. Giyuu’s are more… wooden.

“Tanjiro, my boy!” Urokodaki greets. Ushering Tanjiro closer, he greets the young man with a hug. “…Who’s this fine lady with you?”

Tengen laughs.

“Urokodaki-san, it’s me,” Giyuu grumbles. “Giyuu…”

Although you can’t see Urokodaki’s face, you have a pretty good idea of what it’s like. The man falls silent, glances from him to Tanjiro, then he scans over the group behind him. Sure, you can’t blame him for being skeptical; a random swarm of people showing up to your house unexpectedly is bound to raise some questions. However, these are all Pillars he’s dealing with. This isn’t something to take lightly.

“Urokodaki-san,” Tanjiro begins, “we need your help. We’re not entirely sure how, but all the Pillars switched bodies with each other. It’s been like this for a number of days now, and we don’t know how long it’s supposed to last.”

After another moment or so of silence, Urokodaki sighs and crosses his arms. “Listen, kid, that seems a bit… much, don’t you think?”

“It might be some sort of Blood Art!” Tanjiro rushes. “Please, Urokodaki-san!”

Again, another sigh. “So everyone is in another body than their own? Haven’t heard of an ability like that before, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.” Nodding in Shinobu’s direction, he says, “So, that’s Giyuu’s body, but it isn’t him?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Shinobu tells him. “Believe me when I say I don’t want to be in Giyuu-san’s body more than I have to.”

“Ehhh?! What’s with all the talking!” Inosuke bursts. “You guys said you wanted to find a plant, not talk to some old coot!”

“Inosuke!” Tanjiro scolds, but he’s too late. In a blink of an eye, Giyuu practically materializes right before Inosuke, his fist colliding with Inosuke’s gut. There’s a loud groan of pain as Inosuke drops to the ground, his hands clutching onto his stomach. To the side, both Zenitsu and Tengen break out into fits of laughter.

“I told you not to disrespect him,” Giyuu grunts.

“Ohoho!” Kyojuro booms, just as loud as always. At this rate, he’s going to blow out your vocal cords before you can get them back. “How loyal, Giyuu! I’m impressed!”

Rolling your eyes, you break away from the group, opting to join Tanjiro. “Urokodaki-san,” you greet, giving a polite bow, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. Listen, I know this is a complicated situation, but we really need to find this plant. It’s crucial that we do.”

Urokodaki hums. “I know you – you’re Rengoku Shinjuro’s boy, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Well, technically – but I’m not Kyojuro. I’m (l/n) (y/n), the Wild Pillar.”

“You’re not? Figures. This whole “switched body” conundrum is making my brain work in ways it hasn’t worked in years.” Urokodaki waves a dismissive hand at you. “Whatever. If all of you are willing to look for such a plant, feel free to scale the mountain to your heart’s content. I’ll get dinner started.”

“Thank you so much!” Tanjiro chirps. After Urokodaki slides the door shut behind him, the two of you turn back to the others, smiles plastered on both of your faces. “Everyone – it’s time! Let’s turn you all back to normal!”

After hours of searching, no one has come up with anything. Granted, a vast variety of edible plants line the mountain – all of them useful in one way or another – but it’s not the dreaded silva you’re looking for. Shinobu said it was vine-like, with delicate leaves shaped like bells. The only you found worth of any interest was watching Inosuke eat almost every mushroom he could find and crack open acorns like they were nothing.

Soon, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of peach and berry. The view was simply breathtaking, and you had to stop to take it in for a few moments.

“It’s always been like that,” Giyuu says quietly. Stopping next to you, he gazes at the setting sun, a wistful gleam in his eyes. “Most of the time, we were too busy training to watch it, though.”

Now that you think about it, Giyuu has been acting weird ever since arriving. Call it intuition, but you’re almost positive that he was feeling guilty about something. And he said we instead of I, so that only confirms your suspicion. Glancing around, you imagine a younger Giyuu descending the mountain, panting like crazy in the thin air, narrowly avoiding the numerous traps Urokodaki set up. If he experienced anything like the pain roaring in your back and sides right now, you’re amazed he dared to set foot back on this very mountain.

“Thinking back to simpler times, huh?” you ask, voice soft.

Giyuu scoffs. “The training was far from simple, but yeah. Things were a lot more different then.”

As if acting on its own, your arm slings itself around Giyuu, tugging him closer and holding him against your body. With him in Shinobu’s body, he’s so small, his head nestled against your chest. At first, he tenses up, but then slowly relaxes in your hold. Ever since switching bodies, you’ve noticed Kyojuro’s personality starting to bleed into yours. Hell, even his body is trying to one up you.

“I miss him,” Giyuu whispers.

Your heart drops to your stomach at his tone. “…Who?”

“Oi! Are you two just gonna stand there or are you coming back down?” Sanemi snaps.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you pull away, but you keep a hand on Giyuu’s forearm. “You’re helping me down, got it? This mountain gives me the creeps and I don’t want to get rammed by another damned log. Seriously – how did Urokodaki-san even set them up?”

Despite the saddened glint in his eyes, Giyuu manages to crack a smile.

The inside of Urokodaki’s house is cramped, but it’s also very homely. Scattered around the living area, each person more or less sticks to themselves, too much in pain to engage in lively conversation. Shinobu treats to the wounds, making sure bones are intact and intestines didn’t take too much of a beating. The only ones completely unaffected are Tanjiro and Giyuu, but that much is obvious.

“So what now?” Mitsuri asks. Still in Gyomei’s colossal body, she’s probably one of the Pillars that’s had the most trouble adjusting to her new form. “We’re not going to give up looking, are we?”

“I didn’t think it was this rare,” Shinobu admits. “Perhaps we were looking at the wrong spots on the mountain? It’s possible.”

“Take a breather before springing back into motion,” Urokodaki says. Sitting before the hearth, he absentmindedly prepares some tea. “Think, plan, then go about your business. A mindless game of hide and seek isn’t going to produce any results.

“Mmph! Mmph!” Nezuko agrees (or you think so, anyway). You’ve only met her a handful of times outside of her box, but you enjoy her company very much.

“Wait,” Shinobu suddenly says, snapping upright. “Urokodaki-san, what’s that you’re grinding up right now?”

Setting down his mortar and pestle, Urokodaki busies his hands with plucking apart wildflowers. “It’s silva. It grows right out here in my garden.”

At that, Shinobu’s draw drops. “By the gods-“ She facepalms, then, and groans. “That’s the herb we were looking for! You’re telling me that it’s been down here the entire time?!”

“Why didn’t you say what you were looking for?” Urokodaki says. “Could’ve saved a lot of time.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sanemi curses.

“That wasn’t very flamboyant of you,” Tengen chimes in. “I agree with Sanemi – this is bullshit.”

Urokodaki shrugs. “And how is that my fault? You’re all Pillars, are you not? Shame on you for being unobservant.”

“Urokodaki-san, please,” Tanjiro says.

“Alright, alright, fine.” In a couple of minutes, he prepares the tea as planned and pours it into a number of ceramic cups. “Since you’re all on my ass about it, drink up.”

“Uh, should we really be drinking this…?” Zenitsu squeaks, staring down at his own cup.

“Stop being a pussy!” Inosuke cackles. Tipping his head back, he downs his tea in one go.

Everyone more or less follows suit, taking sips of their own tea. As you set your own cup down, you feel the beginning of a warm, pleasant sensation in your lower tummy.

“Hey, Shinobu?” Tanjiro asks. “Is the herb supposed to make you feel sleepy?” At his words, Nezuko slumps to the floor. One by one, all the others drop like flies, yourself included.

Some time passes before your eyes crack back open. The inside of Urokodaki’s house is dark; from the crickets chirping and an owl hooting nearby, you quickly realize that it’s nighttime, and it’s probably late. With a groan, you sit up, dragging a hand across your face in the process. Wait… that’s not your hand, and it’s not Kyojuro’s either. Squinting through the darkness, you’re able to make out slight details, but it’s enough to make your heart sink. The herb didn’t work.

You’re in Giyuu’s body instead.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny pillars x reader #kny hashira x reader #kny pillars #kny hashira #request

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withoneheadlight · 3 years

Note

Please let me know more about this Halloween wip??? 👻😈🎃 catharrington

Hey hey, cat! <3<3<3<3

the halloween wip is something i intended to be a short hc like ‘blablabla what if this happened!’ and ended up becoming 4+k of terrible “unknown source of magic makes them do it” pwp in which, basically:

“On the night of Halloween something happens (demon/witch/magic book/magical experimentation going wrong) and everyone becomes their costume for the night, and Billy & Steve are, how not, stuck together, babysitting the kids "As fucking always, Harrington, because for someone obnoxious reason you've become my own personal curse" "Oh, and you say it like you were a fucking blessing!" walking them around town to trick or treat when it happens.

And this is Hawkins, where apparently has become mandatory now that something strange happens every fucking year, so both the kids and Steve are kind of living in a perpetual state of alert. And that’s the reason why they kind of-- feel it. Feel that something is wrong as slowly, slowly, almost unnoticeably at first, people begin to act weird all around them. Mummies and werewolves and demons and angels and zombies and fairies and rock stars and cats and dinosaurs and every kind of creatures swarming in the halloween night. And soon, ghosts are floating. Terrifying masks look stuck to the faces of their owners. Beasts are howling out of mouths that are not human anymore. And when green and red and snake-like eyes blink at them, looking too goddam real, they know it’s time to look for help. To run”

And OF COURSE Billy and Steve end up alone together, looking for hopper after making the kids safe, but, yk, whatever is happening that we’ll never actually get to know bc this is the most self indulgent kind of pwp is getting to Steve too, changing him into his costume, into,

“He’s begun to feel the hunger.

A fucking vampire.

"We have to hurry" and when Billy looks at him, eyes wild, chest rising and falling, Steve knows he knows.

That he's changing. That Steve's gonna become dangerous. Soon.”

And *DRUMROLL!* things happen:

“And this thing inside of Steve. It's at the verge of taking over.

“We gotta make you safe, now”

“From what?” Billy asks. But he knows. And his eyes.

His eyes.

“From me, Billy”

But Billy–

Grins. His upper lip goes up. Bares his teeth. Huffs a laugh that sounds hoarse.

And maybe Steve has been––

“This is serious. I don’t wanna fucking eat you”

Billy. Slides close. Tongue digging into the sharp edge of a canine. Head tilted. Steve’s brand new instincts kick. He’s a prey now. He’s being hunted.

“Billy?”

But Billy. He looks– rapt. Reaches out. Hand cupping Steve’s face. Thumb pressing on his upper lip, rubbing at the tender flesh under the bow, saying “No, Harrington. No” running his pad downwards along the corner of his mouth and, pulling his bottom lip down, building an expectant, anticipating kind of feeling. A hook. Between the two of them “You’ve been eating me for a long time now”

The way he's looking at him— Steve wants to follow him through the darkest of paths, make an offering out of his freedom.

“What––“

Billy’s fingertips trace the shape of his jawbone and Steve backs down. Puts some space between himself and the way Billy’s staring at his lips, getting to a sudden halt when his calves hit the edge of the couch.

“Billy. What do you mean. Billy, what's happening?"

–— blind. He realizes. Steve has been so blind.

Because Billys is wrong too. Wrong. Can see it now. Eyes of an unnatural blue. Liquid. Silver-plated.

And it’s—

Sharp. Fast. The way Billy moves. Lays his palm flat over Steve's chest. Knocks the air out Steve’s lungs with the barest of touches. Because it's way he’s looking at him, what slams Steve into the couch. Breathless when Billy follows, climbs in onto his lap and,

Appetite, Steve thinks, recognizes. Appetite in the way his lashes fall, flutter, his lips part. Apettite, in the way his breath stutters.

"Steve"

He bends forward. One hand on the back of the couch. All his weight on him, caging him. Thighs clutching at his hipbones. And Steve feels them as his head hits the headrest, Billy’s knuckles, running up the shape up his throat, guiding his head up. And he feels so thirsty. Layed down on the desert. Skinned by the sun. Nailed down under his one weakness.

The one that could burn him down into ashes if Steve gets too close.

And they're close now. Close as they've never been before.

Billy's voice has the touch of velvet when he speaks. Smooth. Sleek.

"You're my fucking curse. I told you"

BUT and this is the plot twist i didn’t realize i blatantly revealed in the working title 🤦🏽‍♂️,billy isn’t dressed up for halloween so so-- he should be ok, right? R i g h t?:

“Fuck” Billy pants, nails carving half-moons on the muscle of Steve’s shoulder blades “Holy fuck”

“Hey, can you––?“

“I was a fucking joke!” Billy cuts him off, sounding like he’s wired-up, out of breath, as if he’s feeling it too. How strong it is. This craving. To lean forward again, let himself fall back into the slide of their mouths, to wrap his body around Steve and just–– give in to whatever is doing this to them. As if he feels exactly how Steve feels “I had forgotten about it but”

“What do you mean?”

“Fuck–I. Fuck!”

Billy runs his hands over his hair. His breath, when it comes out, lets his whole body trembling, hips stuttering forwards like he’s trying, but can’t. Help it. As if he needs their bodies to touch.

“Billy,” Steve says, soothing. Touches his face and Billy jolts, chest heaving up, electricity at the contact “I need you to talk to me”

Billy presses his lips together. Nods. Steve has never seen him like this. Like he’s out of cover. Nowhere to run.

“It’s like. What I felt before but it's. I could control it, Steve. But now it's pulling. It's maddening and I" His voice has lowered to the volume of a plea and he closes his eyes as if it is too much, as if whatever is happening to him is growing as fast as Steve's thirst. Becoming as unbearable. Steve runs his thumb over Billy’s cheekbone and Billy whimpers a low, lewd thing. Leans into the touch and rubs his cheek on it. Sighs like it’s such a relief. Such a relief. And then he’s. Opening his mouth and sucking at the Steve’s palm, sloppy and obscene, and Steve’s cock is weeping inside his pants head bumping against the hard leather of his belt, brushing minutely with every short breath. Doesn’t remember wanting anything like he wants this. Slide his fingers into the wet heat of Billy’s mouth. Watch, as he sucks them in.

"Hey. Easy. Easy. C’mon Billy c’monc’mon you can tell me"

But Billy is barely listening to him, panting against the heel of his palm, almost gone again.

"I wanted. God, I wanted to––” chokes off a sob. His hands wander up into the strands of Steve’s hair. Tangle in there “But wouldn’t have. Steve, I would never have. I’m so fucking scared you would––”

Steve takes his wrists. Soft. Careful. Tugs him towards him. Billy’s eyes snap open, lashes fluttering like pulled right out of a dream, and he’s so beautiful, so breathtakingly beautiful like this, straddling Steve’s lap, lips plump and swollen because of him, tears welling up and barely contained, gleaming like moonlight in clear a sky after a storm.

“Billy, please. I need you to tell me––“

“The costume” he breathes out, not as much a word, as a whisper. The blue of his eyes science fiction and impossible.

And Steve– he doesn’t understand. It can’t be, because Billy,

“But there’s no costume. You’re not in disguise”

“One of your minions,” he says and Steve feels the ridiculous impulse of protest, as if this is just the two of them going on about their shit as they always do, and not both of them tangled into the other, bodies shivering with the need to touch “When you came to pick us up. Dustin saw me like this and made a joke. Told him the first dumb thing that came into mind and–”

He trails off, his cheeks flush, a violent shade of red, lowers his face as if he’s so ashamed, and Steve has to press his lips together, fangs rasping at the delicate flesh inside.

And it’s not just the blood what’s making him hungry, when his fingers move down to Billy’s chin, lifts his face up. He wants to find out what the tears in his eyes taste like. Wants to relish in him. Find a way under his clothes and––

“Tell me”

“I was just joking”

––make him his. All his. And Nonono.

“Billy. What are you?”

“An incubus”

Andddd, that's TMI i know. Hopefully I'll finish it for next Halloween *crosses all fingers* bc I had such a good time writing it and isn't that far from being complete and, adashuhdsahd, I just LOVE the "x makes them do it" kind of fics but I think this was my first actual try at one?

Thank you so much for the ask, bb🖤🖤. It's so good to revisit these fics. I don't have that much time to write so I keep on losing impulse. But this is helping me remember there are things I'm excited to finish.

#the wip tag game!#catharrington #xwips #harringrove #i rarely get to talk about my wips so this is so fun for me!#as i imagine it is for everyone in here #love this game #xaskfic

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blackenedwhite97 · 3 years

Text

Trials ( An Erasermic x Reader Medieval AU Ch.17-18)

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

https://blackenedwhite97.tumblr.com/post/643722830321696769/trials-an-erasermic-x-reader-medieval-au

CHAPTER 17

White hot light seared into your eyes, sharp pain running from temple to temple. Your throat was raw, your skin felt waterlogged and frozen, and your back was screaming under strain. You were on your knees, arms outstretched to your sides and bound to a horizontal beam balanced on a post where your shoulders were mounted. You blinked hard, the midday sun glaring directly at you, and looked around. You were facing the open valley, the singed farmhouse far off to your left and one of the vacant homes closer to your right. You were quite strung up in the middle of the road at the entrance to the village, muddy slush up to your mid thighs. You tried to examine your binds pulling against them to test the strength of the rope and quality of the knot. When nothing happened but friction burns biting into your skin you realized you were going to have to cut yourself free.

You couldn't see behind you and with the piercing headache from oxygen deprivation, you couldn't focus on listening very well. Your heart was pounding in your ears so loudly that the white noise of nature and any movement behind you was completely drowned out. You closed your eyes to help your focus, picturing one of the serrated knives you stole days ago. Just as the handle began to form in your hand and hand clamped down on your wrist and it blinked away, not by your doing. Your eyes sprung open and looming above you was a tall man with a grizzled face and dangerous eyes.

He wore a half suit of armour, a long lavish quilted tunic falling past his breast plate to protect his legs. He smiled a nasty sort of smile that if had been standing your knees would have gone weak. He looked cruel. There was a small part of you, behind all the fear that was suddenly rushing forward and taking over, that wondered if this was Kozan. He struck you with the kind of fear the idea of Kozan had, afterall. You ushered that thought from your mind, any older man in House Noro heraldry could be Kozan. You couldn't let yourself succumb to that fear just yet.

"Little trick of my own." He gruffed. His voice was harsh like his throat had been torn up by a wild beast and ever full healed, his words wounded painful. " Similar to one of your men's abilities, although he was blessed with more range than I."

He lifted his hand off of your wrist, the dull purple glow of conjuration flaring up against. Then he placed his hand on your neck and pushed your head up so you were looking at him, you felt the conjuration fading away. You realized he was talking about Shouta and your teeth instantly began to grind, anger seeping through your fear.

"That bastard could have been so fucking helpful in the war." he growled. "Could have done what's right."

Anger roared up inside your chest, like wild flames began to warm and consume you. You clenched your fists tightly and narrowed your eyes. The right thing. Shouta had done the right thing.

"Son of a whore." you hissed. "You murdered innocent people."

"So," The man dropped his head and laughed as if you'd just told a silly joke, it was genuinely entertained. He looked back up at you, a glint of something unnerving in his eyes. "he's told you about me? Hm, you must be important to him, he was cold and mule and deaf mule when I knew him."

You begin to shake under his grip, his lip twitches and you realize he thinks that you're shivering in fear. You're positively livid now, this man had to be Kozan. You're clenching your teeth so hard that you can hear your teeth scraping down on eachother, your knuckles turning white from how hard you're clenching your fists. Your arm twitched, instinctively attempting to throw a punch, but the binds stopped you.

He seems not to notice, or rather elects not to.

"Exterminated. I'm an exterminator of vermin and all beings against nature. It's while God gave me the gift he did." he drums his fingers against your throat. "Murder would imply that the things I exterminate are human."

You grimace at his words. He was sick, deranged.

"That boy you killed- you murdered- was a real piece of shit if I'm totally honest. However, he was a piece of shit born into a long line of hunters of practitioners of the dark arts and-" He ran his thumb over the hollow of your neck absentmindedly, lost in his preachings.

"I know who you are." you spat angrily. "I know who he was."

His hand clamps down on your throat, the other reaching up and pulling your head back by your hair. Your eyes, already swimming with dark spots, blur. You can feel the vein in your forehead bulging and your whole body shaking for air and you think, just for a moment, that this is finally it. And you wished it wasn't so painful.

But then his hand lets go of your throat and you heave it a deep breath, choking and sputtering through a bruised airway. You take the brief moment his hand is away from you to try and conjure a blade but nothing forms as he tugs harder on your hair. You growl in frustration and pain, the contact with your hair must be enough.

"Now, generally speaking, I enjoy a good old hack and slash job." he spoke casually, as if he wasn't violently manhandling you. " And when I got the letter about you it felt like it was below my pay grade, after all you were weak enough to get captured by the local law. So, I Sent a handful of my boys up north to make sure you were dead on execution dayinstead of going myself, but our mutual friend and his fucking mutt had other plans."

You flinched at the mention of Hizashi. It was enough that he hurt Shouta, it was enough that he knew Shouta was involved with you at all, but knowing that hizashi was also on his radar struck fear into you. He cocked his head to the side like an animal hearing something for the first time, his cruel grin growing manic.

"I have it on good authority there is a handsomely sized search effort for you from the ant hill you insects swarm to." He declared, his hand in your hair tugging you along as he emoted. " So now, as retribution for the inconvenience you've caused me for the last six months, I'm taking the liberty to use you as my bait."

You growled. It was a frustrated growl, an angry growl and a sad mournful noise all in one. You had been so sure that you were the only one who would get hurt in this plan. You hadn't thought Toshinori would allow anyone else out of the fortress after you. You had been so sure you'd somehow brought this upon the people of Kaer Yuuie by refusing to die when you were supposed to, by being careless enough to leave the necklace behind, by needing saving in the first place, that you had been fighting some kind of wrong in the week. But now, you'd fed into this monster and his plan and now you were even greater of an endangerment to the people of Kaer Yuuie. Despite yourself you started to cry, humiliated and tears ran down your face.

Kozan grinned at you, a wild unhinged fondness sparking in his eyes. "That's a sight"

Despite his vicious hold on your hair his other hand was gentle as it stroked your cheek, following the trail of tears. You looked away, down at the muddy road and tried to stop crying.His sick enjoyment of your pain making your stomach churn.

"I do need a few things from you before this is all over." He said casually, looking at his wet fingertips. 'For started, where's the fortress."

You laughed at his bluntness.

"Eat shit." you spat.

He raised his free hand in a fist, bringing it down hard across your face. Your head snapped to the side, pulling against the grip he still has on your hair. White sparks flicker across your vision, but you blink them away quickly. Unphased, he moves on.

"Toshinori Yagi, is he there." He asked, calmly.

"Eat shit." you muttered again.

Again he brings his hand down and again your vision sparks white but this time you're sure he broke skin. He shoves your head back into the beam you're bound to and holds it there, the bruised flesh of your scalp crushing into the wood painfully. You winced but kept your reaction to a minimum simply taking a deep breath against the pain. You wanted to cry, you wanted so badly to scream but he would love that and you wanted nothing less than to do him any favors.

"Abilities," He started. "lay them out for me. Who'd out there in the woods, hm?"

"Eat." you spit. "Shit."

Again he brings his hands down, this time you lip bursts. The inside of your mouth fills with blood and you can feel a warm stream trickling down your chin. Both the inside and teh out were busted in just that one hit. Your jaw throbs in time with black spots that filled your vision, pulsing until they became smaller and smaller.

"That loud mutt," you instantly spit blood at him earning a shove against the beam. "what can he do? Logistics."

"Eat-" you didn't get to finish. This time it was several punches, his poised interrogator exterior cracking. Your bleeding heavily now, the dark spots won't go away and one of your eyes down fully open.

Now, you think to yourself, this is it. This is far more painful. You shudder, the only way your head is still being held up with Kozan's fist balled in your hair. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck and let go of your head, letting it fall painfully forward. The small preservationist part of you screams for you to conjure something quickly but your mind is swimming and you can't focus on a clear object.

"Let's start again." he growled, clearly no longer entertained but frustrated now. "Where is the fortress?"

You can't muster any words, you just sloppily spit as much blood towards him through your swollen lips as you can. He rears up for a punch, this time he's not holding onto you so he can use his full force and you brace yourself for unconsciousness. A smaller figure entered your blurred vision just as the punch was about to be thrown and Kozan dropped his fist with a disappointed sigh. You couldn't hear much of what was being said through the blood rushing in your ears but was somewhat relieved when Kozan turned away from you.

"Regretfully," he said in a low voice, more clearly than he's managed to sound all day "I have to cut out time today short. Your friends are causing trouble."

You watched as he walked away, his figure becoming less and less the image of a man but a shrinking blurred smudge and your eyes darken. The sun,still high in the sky, beat down on you. For the second time in your life you were left, bound to rot away under the sun for all to see. You started to cry, miserably and weakly.

CHAPTER 18

You start awake at the feeling of something touching your face, impulsively pulling away. You whimper at the sudden movement, every part of you hurt.

"Hey," a soft, sweet familiar voice like honey whispered. " It's me, it's us."

Your right eye refused to open anymore, and your left was bleary and tear filled. You looked forward, praying to see the face you knew that voice belonged to. When you saw those bright emerald eyes and heavenly flaxen hair your heart sputtered in your chest. You let out a sob, forgetting for a moment how close he was to danger, all you could feel was relief. Behind him you spotted a pale face surrounded in dark curls that faded into the night, tears falling from dark tortured eyes.

Seeing him, his tears and his fear suddenly breathed clarity into you.

"Run." you whimpered.

"No." Hizashi declared, an unusual severity in his voice. "Sho. Bindings."

Shouta blinked hard and rushed towards you, his hand gently found your cheek as Hizashi slipped sideways and pulled out a knife. For a brief second, you could see the valley before you before Shouta filled your vision and it was chaos. There was fire and lightning and flashes of bright orange. Every time the world lit up for a half second you caught sight of clashing blades and blood-soaked armor. A howl shattered the sky around you, an accompanying chorus of screams followed.

"Look at me." Shouta whispered, pulling your face towards him. He was shaking, he was scared. You wanted so badly to reach out to him and to hold him, you take him away from here.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, more to himself than you. He's surprised when you muster an answer.

"K-Kozan." you muttered against his hands. "Run."

Shouta's breath caught in his throat and he froze, rigid as a wooden doll. Even Hizashi pauses for a moment before carelessly tearing through the bindings, knicking your knuckle in the process. You're in too much pain to really notice and he's obviously too upset to either. An arrow whizzes past you and Shouta dangerously close to his head and he's suddenly brought back to reality. He curses and steps forward, catching you as you slump forwards as Hizashi cuts the bindings around your shoulders.

"I'm going to fucking kill him, Sho." Hizashi spat, slashing at the last set of bindings.

"Zash, I know but we have to stay calm." Shouta breathed, clutching you close to his chest. "We're in and out tonight, it's about Y/n tonight."

Hizashi kicked the beam you were stung up on, shaking in fury. He was so angry hot tears streamed down his face, and he threw his knife hard into the distance with a fowl growl. "Next time- fucking dead."

"Okay," Shouta appeased him, shifting your weight around so he could scoop you up. He was looking away from you, purposefully up at the sky or Hizashi. "For now we go."

You forced yourself to look up at Shouta, you needed to keep an eye on him. This was your fault he was here, near them again. Near Kozan. You gripped his tunic weakly and let out a sob, without looking at you he tightened his hold on you

"I-I- sorry-" you choked out. "s-sor-ry."

"Stop." he eventually muttered as he stood with a grunt. "It's not your fault."

"I-I brought him he-" You sobbed.

"Stop." Shouta said again, his voice cracking. "He would have found us eventually. Stop it."

You want to wrap your arms around him, you want to thank him, you want to be lying in bed between the both of them happily peering through the window at the stars. You felt so broken, so weak and tired and you wanted so badly to just rest. Real rest, not tucked away between two rocks for an hour of shallow sleep nor passed out in a snow covered field. Shouta began to move, turning towards the tree line.

Hizashi shouted, the ground shaking for a moment, and then you were blindsided. You hit the ground hard, air rushing from your lungs, the stone filled muddy snow biting into your skin. You gasp for air still reeling for the sheer force you were launched sideways with. You struggle to your knees and look up, adrenaline flooding your system. Everything still hurt, every movement srang tears in your eyes, but you need to find Hizashi and Shouta.

Before you see Shouta, face down in the snow. He's barely moving, his head lifted mere centimeters from the ground, dark red dripping from his forehead. Beyond him, a large horse clattered to a stop in the snow, one of the hoove impressions red with blood. Atop the horse is a rider, struggling to control the horse. The horse gave one good buck and threw the rider forward, clamoring away once it was free of him.

You scramble to the side, out of the horses' path needlessly and a volley of arrows pierced its side. It stumbled and sways and eventually hit the ground hard, falling hard on top of Shouta's legs. He hissed and reached out, trying to find anything to use as leverage to free himself. You start forward on uneasy legs, no sure of what you'll be able to do when you eventually get to him.

Shouta grasps in pain and the horse's body lurches, a dark figure appearing over top of the horse blade draw. In the fiery chaos of the valley you see Kozan as he was always meant to be, a mad man driven by war and chaos. You could see the bloodlust coursing through him as she stood, blade raised and simmering in the flames of war.

"Aizawa!" He bellowed triumphantly.

Shouta began to struggle wildly, he was calm and collected in the face of anything you'd ever seen thrown at him but this broke your heart. You hated this man, you hated him more than anything.you hated what he did to Shouta, what he did to all those people he killed and what he did to you and your life. If there was anyone who deserved hell, it was him. Suddenly the world shifted again, this time it was shattering around you and a high pitched ringing flooded your ears.

Kozan stumbled backwards off of the horse, his eyes wide and dazed. He howled in pain, gripping the sides of his head and he fell. You realized that it must have been Hizashi and took this opportunity to crawl to Shouta's side.

"Run!" Hizashi shouted at a normal volume, rushin forwards to pry Shouta out from under the horse. The two of you pulled him free and you and he collapsed into each other. Together you scrambled towards the trees, neither of your bodies able to carry your weights very well. Hizashi stayed ten paces behind, shouting deadly waves of sound backwards. Shouta's leg caved in with a sickening snap and he pushed you away from him as he slid down into the snow so as not to take you down with him. You slipped and laid but scrambled backwards to him just in time to hear a terrible silence. Hizashi had stopped screaming.

You looked up as you slid into the snow next to Shouta to find Kozan, blade drawn and ripping with blood. He was no more than ten paces behind Shouta, Hizashi falling backwards away from him, clutching his upper chest and neck. Your blood ran cold as blood oozed between Hizashi's fingertips. Kozan swayed on the spot, blood dripping from his ears, the veins in his neck pooled with blood.

With strength you shouldn't have had you dashed forward. You barely had enough time to each Kozan before he brought his blade down again. You crashed into him with all of your weight, if he hadn't been hit directly with Hizahi's sound waves you're sure he could have just shoved you off. You clamoured to the ground with him, his breastplate hitting you hard in the head flooding it with momentary white. Then he was on top of you, straddling your chest, hands wrapped firmly around your throat. The bright white lights from the impact of his breastplate fade down into growing black spots. It was so quick this time, your body and lungs already so tired and weak.

You closed your eyes and focused on the crushing grip around your throat, your hands flying up impulsively to grip his. You wrapped your fingers around this thick gloves...gloves. Hope, flared up in you. Hope in the form of rage.

It was in that growing darkness and burgeoning fury that a spark of brilliant purple came to you, just like it had six months ago in the walls of your home. It was in the form of a great, jagged and cruel. It came with lightning and thunder and the promise of revenge. You let go of Kozan's gloved hands and let your arms fall to your sides as a sharp thunder clasp rocked the earth around you. A loud whistle rang through the valley and suddenly everything was lit up from a single point directly above you. Like a ball of purple flame a great sword plummeted down from the heavens air rushing violently around it. As it got closer the valley got brighter, and for the first time you could see fear in Kozan's eyes. His hands let go of your throat and he looked upwards in awe and fear at the wrath he had brought upon himself. As he looked up, mouth open and scream just about to escape, he met it through the balde met it. From top to bottom Kozan was skewered by the long twisted bade, his blood bubbling out of his mouth and down his body like a waterfall.

It was a sharp pain, being stabbed by the end of the blade. It was shallow but the end of the blade was warped and as Kozan's body slumped to the side the tip of the blade tore through your skin leaving a deep gash between your breasts. You gasped as he fell off of you the great blade blinking from existence as your connection with consciousness faded.

With it the valley was shrouded in what felt like darkness compared to the beacon that was the great blade. You melted into the snow, your body was at its limit and you couldn't bring yourself to even turn your head and look for Shouta or Hizashi.

You stared up into the inky dark sky, silver stars dotting it in an arrangement of bears and bows and great warriors and lonely lovers. Then you saw a flower, glowing like starlight, or perhaps it was still a star blurring with tears. They began to fall, warming your cheeks. You wanted to be back home, looking up at the glowing moonlight flowers, Hizashi stroking your hair and Shouta resting his chin against your chest.

"Hey," it was jagged and pained but still sweet like honey, "where'd you go?"

You smiled tiredly. "Hot spring."

"Finally," Hizashi shifted your head so you were propped up on his lap, his hand running soothingly through your hair. "somewhere warm."

You only vaguely registered Shouta hobbling towards you, as your eyes drooped shut. His warm gruff voice shook as he told you he loved you and you smiled to yourself. You were home, they were home. How lucky you were, you thought to yourself as the world slipped past you, that you got to be with them until the day you died.

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whirlybirbs · 4 years

Text

; --- SHATTERED HILT / 01

summary: ru’kali survives order 66. cal kestis does, too. while cal spends his days on bracca, stripping starships for parts, ru spends her days earning her protection from the empire in the fighting pits on ordo eris; both do what it takes to survive. but, when a wayward quest and a plethora of owed debts lead cal kestis straight back to his fellow padawan -- a once shy girl turned raging fire -- the pit fighter is left with a choice: leave, or spend the rest of her life a pawn in a game much bigger than her. pairing: cal kestis / original female character, ru’kali lof word count: 2k a/n: i cannot remember the last time i wrote something that wasn’t a reader-insert, and i’m not sure how this will do -- feedback is genuinely appreciated on this, since i know i’m mostly a reader writer! everyone loved ru from her intro to my clone trooper squad, which you can read here!

Ru’kali Lof startles awake to the sound of three loud, rough bangs on the door to her quarters.

She wonders bitterly, as she blinks up at the ceiling, if she can just ignore the sound. With any luck, they’ll leave her alone and Ru can go back to bed --

Then, the knocks come again. Louder and faster.

“Rise ‘n’ shine, sweetheart!”

Ru snarls.

Beneath the durasteel door, she can see the long shadow of someone shifting back and forth in their boots -- immediately, the Mirialan, as she stands and throws herself to the door, knows it’s Atticus. The sheer bombastic chaos that follows the bounty hunter swims through the force to greet her before she even opens the door.

When she does, he’s got an arm on the doorframe and he’s leering.

Atticus Rex isn’t much to look at, nor is he kind nor smart, but he’s muscle -- his head is shaved in a tight buzz, littered with scars, and his muzzled grin is picked clean with a toothpick that hangs from his lips.

He smells like day-old ale and sweat.

“Where y’ been, Ru?”

It leaks out of him like a jab. She has to restrain the snarl that threatens to leap across her face. Her attitude is sharp and wants to go straight for the Haxion Brood Lieutenant’s throat.

“Asleep,” she bites, crossing her arms and cocking a hip as she goes to hit the switch and shut the door, “Do you mind?”

Atticus snorts, hand planted on the frame and forcing the door to stay open.

Ru leans back, peering into her room, to eye the chronometer hanging on the wall. The digits read 1038 -- it’s late, and she’d finally fallen asleep after she’d managed to quiet down the usual roaring river in her mind. Not an easy task.

"Get dressed,” the Bounty Hunter chirps, “S’ fight night, sunshine.”

Fight nights were common.

But, fight nights were Ru fought? Those were rare -- and though she’s sure Sorc Tormo would put her in the ring every night if he could, she’s also aware that to the Umbaran crime-lord she’s an asset. A big asset. A big, money-making asset that draws a big crowd and big bets.

Huge bets.

(The exact kind of bets that got Greez Dritus into this mess in the first place, and by proxy his new-found friend.)

Ordo Eris, on fight nights, becomes more like a city than the cold, lonely, terrible astroid colony it really is. The space station fills with scoundrels and thugs from all across the galaxy who traverse the rocky space around the arena’s hub to get a spot around the ring -- Ru eyes the growing crowd, nearly every attendee with credits in hand, as the lift carries her upwards to the top level of the arena’s loge.

Beside her Atticus flicks the smoldering bud of his deathstick down the shaft.

Speaking of Sorc Tormo, the sleaze ball greets Ru’kali with wide open arms and a devious grin.

“Ah! My prized warrior princess!”

Ru cross her arms and swaggers forward -- the small rope of lucky beads tied to her sash tinkers as she does, knocking against the chromium smelted hilt of one of her two sabers. One is hers from when she was a Padawan. The other is a recent build and it’s temperamental. Using a stolen, mined kyber crystal is to blame, no doubt.

Master Yoda was right -- the crystals are supposed to pick the Jedi.

Atticus meanders along behind you. Skulking as per usual.

Ru looks out past the arena to the screens bolted up along the pit. Pale blue eyes narrow tightly, the deep scar over her right eye warping slightly as she does. The broadcast is in the lower levels. Some idiot running around on the walls. Plugging wires in.

A show, for sure.

Ru raise a brow.

“What’s all this about?” she asks, turning to eye Sorc Tormo.

The Umbaran man is eccentric, to say the least. His facial hair runs right down his chin in one fine line, green in color. That same green, punchy and vomit-reminiscent, echoes in his Canto Bight-esque outfit. Large, pompous sleeves and pants that are three sizes too tight. All green.

He looks like seventy kliks of bad road, honestly.

Hell, everyone on Ordo Eris does.

Ru’kali is no exception -- she’s rougher than she was when she first arrived here. Littered in scars and bitter. The years of pit fighting have settled in her stance and though she’s athletic, she’s a rogue brawler with enough crackling, dangerous rage to power an entire Star Destroyer.

Fighting takes the edge off. Makes her feel less afraid.

“Well,” the lone, pale fingers of the Umbaran curl around Ru’kali’s pale pink shoulders, nails drumming against the diamond shaped markings there, “I am glad you asked, my dear. We have a special contender for you --”

“Cut to the chase, Tormo.”

The egg shaped head of the Umbaran rolls as he steps away, waving off Ru’s evident irritation; the crime-lord gestures to the screen. “He’s friends with someone who owes me a lotta money. He was carrying this around --”

His fingers snap twice.

“Atticus --”

Ru’kali was not expecting Atticus Rex to procure, from the back of his belt, a lightsaber.

And she certainly wasn’t expecting him to hand it to Tormo and for the Umbaran to ignite it, presenting a glimmering yellow blade.

The Mirialan’s face falls -- anger bubbles up there, warping the navy tattooed features of her face as she steps forward and yanks the hilt from the hands of the crime-lord.

Her lips twitches.

“What?” she sneers vengefully, “Did he pull this from a corpse, then?”

She has seen another Jedi’s saber three times now in this station. Once on the belt of a traveler who’d laughed in her face and waved the blue thing around, proudly proclaiming they’d bought it off clone trooper for drinking money. The second time, on a bounty hunter -- he’d murdered a Jedi Knight for Imperial credits, kept the blade though. The third, was now.

Ru could only assume the weapon to be another stolen relic, a ground-in-the-dirt memory of her life before Ordo Eris. This contender probably had no idea how to use it, let alone the life this saber had before now.

A laxidasical wave. “Maybe. Don’t care. But! My sweet, sweet, Jedi -- I want you to kill him. Seeing two saber swordsmen dueling... Goodness, me oh my, that will certainly bring in the money, won’t it, Atticus?”

“Sure will.”

And it does.

Cal Kestis is having a pretty shit day.

Not that he’d ever say so -- no, because, sure, it might be terrible and he might be navigating some wild underground dungeon maze, but Cal has BD-1 back on his shoulder and that’s all that matters.

He’s got a mission, he’s got BD-1, and despite being a little sore, he’s good. All good. Everything’s good. Totally good.

As he rides the lift to the upper levels of this... place... Cal wonders if he’s gonna eat that sentiment.

The first thing he hears is the chants -- raucous roars of a large crowd. Before him lays a large square space, illuminated by stark spotlights and swarmed with drone droids, each with blinking red lights on their helms to show their recording status.

It becomes abundantly clear to Cal that he’s suddenly in the spotlight. And, that the itching feeling that he was being watched was correct.

The redheaded Jedi steps out from under the bay, suddenly exposed to the bright light of the arena.

Around him on the upper decks are hundreds of people, all clamoring to get a view of him -- the large screens on the sides of the loge show him squinting, raising a hand and grimacing into the light.

BD-1 gives a worried boowoop.

“I got a bad feeling about this too, lil’ buddy.”

Suddenly, a holo-projection fizzles in before Cal -- large and tall and to the excitement of the crowd. The man’s appearance is met with a rise in cheers, rolling off the voices of the spectators with thirst for action.

Sorc Tormo laughs.

“Ah, finally he arrives!”

The projection waves wildly, spinning about, and Cal watches carefully as this eccentric ego-maniac waves his hand with a grandiose flourishes as he speaks.

“We had action on how long it would take for you to get here!”

Yeah, well, BD-1 was kinda his priority.

Irritation bites at Cal’s features. The Jedi scowls. His stance is tense.

“And who are you?” Cal calls out, voice rising over the roar of the crowd.

“Ha ha ha! Who am I? I’m Sorc Tormo, baby! I’m the boss of this operation!”

The crowd goes wild at that, whoops and hollers serenading the arena to the tune of the crimelord’s name. A television drone swoops close to Cal’s head and the Jedi side-steps it with a disgusted look on his face.

“Right,” Cal snarks, “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Maybe not you, but to your friend Greezy Four-arms it does! You’ve got him to thank for gettin’ you into this pickle!”

Of course.

Cere had made a comment off-hand about the pilot’s penchant for gambling -- not that Cal was any stranger to the concept. Back on Bracca, Prauf had muscled Cal into tagging along to a few card games here and there. And though the redhead never partook in wagering his entire week’s pay on precious metals, Prauf had once or twice. On those nights that Prauf lost -- because he always lost -- there was nothing that could lift the Abednedo’s mood.

Not even a signature Cal Kestis smile 'n’ pat on the back.

Cal could use one of those right about now.

“Yeah, well, once I’m finished with you, I will thank Greez,” it comes out just as cocky as it feels -- and maybe Cal shouldn’t had tried the attitude.

Either way, when this Sorc Tormo guy laughs and waves his hand, proclaiming, “No, no, my friend, you won’t be fighting me...”

Suddenly, the air becomes electric.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the crime-lord turns on a heel, gesturing to the crowd with the all the practiced cool of an entertainer, “Our lovely little guest will be going head to head with our favorite...”

There’s a crescendo of excitement. Cal notices an uptick on the counter on the broadcast screens -- he realize, quickly, that they’re bets and currently, someone named Fropolo’f is betting the most money against him. Real confidence booster that is.

“Someone get baby his toy! He’s gonna need it!”

His lightsaber is launched from the loge, and the Jedi catches it quickly, igniting it on instinct as his skin crawls in anticipation. The redhead looks around, eyes cast on the crowds of smugglers and thugs lining the balcony.

The wide angle shot of fear on his face is painted across the rumbling arena’s screens.

Before Cal can bite in a retort, the echo of boots on durasteel begins -- coordinated and rhythmic. Boom... boom... boom... boom, boom, boom.

“You know her well -- a pure whirlwind of rage! She’s pink, she’s tatted, she’s daaaaaaaangerous!”

Boom-boom-boom. Boom-boom-boom.

BD makes a nervous boo-weeeeeeeep as the pace picks up. Cal swallows, gloved fist tightening nervously around the hilt of his glowing, golden blade. Green eyes dart around the square expanse of the arena, trying to get a gauge on where this opponent might appear from --

“Give it up for our girl...”

Boomboomboom, boomboomboom.

“RUUUUUUUU’KALLLLI!”

The roar is deafening.

Suddenly, the paneling in the floor separates, and from it emerges --

“...Ru?”

Ru’kali Lof is suddenly staring face-to-face with a ghost.

Her stance, wide-set with double blades humming in a hot white, seems to crack when she finally sees the face of her opponent.

She’s a handful of meters away but she’d know that flash of red hair anywhere.

Cal Kestis.

Cal fucking Kestis.

Oh, this is bad.

This is really bad.

#cal kestis x oc #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x original character #cal x oc #cal kestis fanfic #this feels so weird to be writing in a diff POV tbh #let me know what you think #genuinely bc this is a dif take from what i usually do!#shattered hilt

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11thstreetgirl · 4 years

Text

Sparks (Nasty x male reader)

Summary: The Hanoi boys show up at your usual haunt and make the place buzz. There’s unexpected sparks between you and Nasty. Flirty banter and things ensue...

Requested? Yesss by @thespacecowboyyy thank you!

AN: Sooooo this turned out weird. I’m not happy at all with it and Nasty feels very out of character and the dance scene is like the shittiest thing I’ve ever written, but this was so fun to write! It’s been years since I got a text out of my head this easily! So thank you! Also this turned out longer than I planned so I decided to post it in two parts if you guys like it. More notes at the end. To be continued... ps I suck at titles, please bear with me

The music was loud, so loud I almost didn’t hear myself think. Not that I was thinking straight anyways, beer always made me feel funny. On a second thought, I didn’t know if coming here just to check out some guys counted as thinking straight, beer or not. I snorted at my own joke as I made my way towards the bar. I could feel the looks on my back, there was something in the air tonight, something that this place usually didn’t have. I was actually getting interested in my surroundings. I snorted again to myself. Oh wow, this shabby joint really was rubbing on me.

I ordered another beer. Mark was behind the bar as usual and padded my shoulder as he walked past. His hands were full with work, the place was packed. I sat at the end of the bar and sipped the cold drink. So, what was it about today that had the place buzzing? I scanned the dancefloor and some of the booths but didn’t see anything too out of the ordinary. People dancing, people drinking, people making out, all of the underground queer heroes coming together.

- Hey Mark! How come this place is suddenly so popular? I chaffed at the old bartender. He rolled his eyes at me and leaned on the bar.

- Dunno. Could be the band that played down the road tonight. Heard they sold out the place. They popped up here with such an entourage it would’ve put the queen herself to shame. I’ve seen them around here before too.

- Where are they?

The older man pointed to a dark corner. There was so much people it was hard to see, but there clearly was something going on. Young guys and girls swarming and seeking attention from whoever were sat in the middle.

And then the crowd shifted and I saw them. Five guys, or at least I thought they were guys, sat in a booth that was surrounded with people. They were clearly life of the party, downing drinks, laughing, flirting and keeping court. Because that was definitely what they were doing. All of the people around seemed to hold them to a high status. They had a dangerous haze around them, and it pulled me like a moth to a flame. Finally something interesting was going on in this god forbidden place.

I was pretty sure I guessed which one was the lead singer. Huge blond mane framed his face, he sparkled in the dim lights with every movement and he looked like he was about to start climbing on the walls. He was very different from the rest. They all had dark hair and somewhat mysterious feel to them. At first i couldn’t tell them apart, then i started to notice differences. The one in striped jacket seemed to be having a genuinely good time, he was laughing a lot and drinking even more. He talked to everyone around him and everyone wanted to talk to him. Next to him sat a skinny young-looking guy with hair so wild I had no idea how he saw where he was going. He had a goofy, shy smile and talked to one person at a time. Then there was the artistic guy. I could almost hear all of his rings and bracelets tinkle together as he gestured wildly when he spoke. I doubted he even cared if anyone was actually listening as he partially hid under his hat. The last guy had a different feel to him, I could tell even from this far. He was more calm but had a dangerous charm. Like someone I definitely wanted to get to know but most definitely shouldn’t. He was handsome, too. Like, really really handsome. Stupid hot to be honest. Not that all of them weren’t ridiculously good-looking but he had something that made my insides twist. He too hid under his black hair and was downing beers in a supernatural rate. I’d seen my fare share of quick drinkers here but these guys were something else. The guy was having a conversation with someone, he was resting his arm on the back of the couch and had his body partially turned towards me. He seemed to be like at home in the situation.

Suddenly he turned and looked me straight in the eyes. I felt my stomach tighten. He’d probably felt my stare on him. My heart skipped a beat as I awkwardly looked around and back at him just to see he was still looking at me. A grin spread on his face and it took all of my will power not to drop my goddamn jaw on the floor. He was gorgeous and I wanted to jump him right here.

- Close that piehole of yours comrade or you’ll be eating flies for dinner. Or some of these pervs will stick their dick in. I know they’re good looking but get your shit together man.

Oh shit. I could hear the laughter in Mark’s words but he was right. Staring wouldn’t get me anywhere. Getting this starstruck wasn’t like me at all, but that kind of guys showing up here wasn’t ordinary either.

- Ha ha. I need to be a lot more drunk for my next stunt so pour me a vodka will ya.

It didn’t take long for the alcohol to kick in. Just enough for me to loosen up a bit. I usually didn’t dance, like at all, ever, but somehow I felt this was the way to go tonight. At first it felt awkward as hell, to be shaking my ass all over, but then I got the hang of it.

The music was loud and I felt intoxicated. Whether it was the booze or the looks I got I didn’t know. I didn’t get a second of peace as there was constantly someone trying to grind on me or hold my attention. I was having fun and I was damn sure I didn’t want any of these people with me. Every now and then I took a glimpse of the guys sitting in the corner, more specifically of the stupid hot one. The look of him just sitting there, all nonchalant and rockstar, made heat rise to my cheeks. I wanted to show off and hell it felt good to know that I looked good. All the attention was doing miracles on me and I got lost in the beat and the thought of him.

- Are you trying to turn me on right now? Because it’s working.

The low voice startled me. It took a few seconds for me to get a hold of reality. As I turned around I saw the gorgeous man from the band standing dangerously close to me. His straightforward approach made me forget how to speak for a moment. It should have not been hot in any way and I probably should’ve been running in the opposite direction right now, but I couldn’t help the shiver going down my spine.

- And you think that’s a good pick-up line? Straight to the point? I finally got out of my mouth.

- Dunno. Is it working?

- Have a guess, cowboy.

I had no idea where this conversation was going, but the man in front of me clearly did. He stared me down with a smirk on his face. He was so sure of himself in such a lowkey way that made everyone else seem either like assholes or iffy.

- Well I did see you staring at me earlier and then sneaking glances at me while shaking your ass on the dancefloor so I’d say you’re the one that started.

I could feel his piercing eyes on me, but i didn’t see them clearly from behind his hair. His voice was soft but somehow stern and it made my guard slip down way faster than i liked. It took a lot more concentration to keep my cool.

- Oh, that. Yeah I saw you and your gang over there. They say you guys are a band.

- Uh-huh.

- Let me guess, you’re the drummer?

- Nope. Guitarist.

All the while he was standing way too close to me. I didn’t want to take a step back because it would have meant he’d gotten the upper hand. I wasn’t gonna give it to him so easily. He took a long, deliberate look down my body and apparently he was pleased with what he saw because the one-sided satisfied smile grew on his face. It made something move in my lower stomach and I shivered again. Nope, no way I was gonna get all hot and bothered right here right now just from a hot guy standing too close. Nope nope I wasn’t a kid anymore.

- So what is mister Guitarist’s name? I needed a distraction, fast. And another beer. Or four.

- Looks like my pick-up line is working after all. Name’s Nasty.

The man cocked his head to one side and clearly waited for a reaction to such a name. I wasn’t gonna give him one. We were still standing awkwardly on the dancefloor. We definitely needed to move.

- Hmh. Does a guitarist called Nasty want a beer?

Finally he smiled properly. It was a lot sweeter than I expected and he looked absolutely beautiful. My jaw must’ve dropped because he chuckled.

- Took the words out of my mouth.

Damn it, I needed to keep my head clear. He was wrapping me around his finger as easily as he probably made playing guitar look. The thought of him with a six-string made my knees unexpectedly weak. Not good.

I felt him follow me tightly through the mass as I navigated towards the bar. I felt nervous, I suddenly felt drunk, I felt stupid and oh so turned on. Still. Not. Good.

There was just enough room for us to squeeze through. Luckily Mark saw me and handed us our beers in no time. The Nasty dude definitely was a big deal here tonight as he constantly got pats on his back, pretty open flirting and even some straight-up invitations to fuck one’s last brain cells out in the alley. Nasty had a mischievous smile on his face as he politely turned down person after person, all the while making sure I saw all of it. Gee, I couldn’t believe this guy.

I sat on a stool and took a huge swing out of my glass. Nasty didn’t take a seat, just moved closer to me again and leaned his elbows on the bar. I reeeaaally wanted to just watch him stand there, all nonchalant and disturbingly hot. As soon as the people passed, the smile wiped off his face. It had suited him, but the serious look suited him even more. It made him look more dangerous, more in his little role. Although i wasn’t sure it was a role anymore. How come it was suddenly so warm in here? In the corner of my eye i could see a few creeps eyeing us and whispering to each other.

I downed the rest of my drink in one go. Fuck me sideways till Sunday, I didn’t see a good ending for this evening no matter what happened. Either I’d leave now and spend the rest of my night, and probably the rest of my life, jacking off to the thought of this man. Or I’d drag him home, have a marvelous time with him and then what? Probably still the same outcome. Talk about fucking till Sunday… it was already Saturday night. Damn.

But my God was he gorgeous. His eyes stayed hidden behind his hair as he observed the people around us without a trace of emotion on his face. Definitely the cool guy in the band. His jawline was as sharp as they come and cheekbones high. I traced his neck with my eyes and landed on his collarbones. He had a simple tank top on and a light blue jacket over it. It was a bit too big and a little worn out, but it just added to his i-don’t-care based charm. His pants matched the jacket and he had tucked one thumb under the waist. His hands were large and strong-looking in the very way that made a guitarist’s hands such a turn on. I was probably eye-fucking the sweet Jesus out his tall, slim figure by now.

I thought i was being discreet drooling over him, but clearly he had noticed because he chuckled. A low, warm sound.

- Like what you see?

Shit. I couldn’t get my thoughts back together in the fragment of a second I had to answer, so I went for the least horny thing that crossed my mind.

- I’ve seen better, plus your rockstar attitude isn’t gonna get you anywhere.

Great. Now I sounded like an asshole. An asshole that’s been lusting over the guy half the evening. Wonderful.

- So you trying to play tough huh? Wont work on me. I can see right through you. He leaned closer and his lips almost touched my ear as he whispered:

- I’m just like that too. He squeezed my thigh so gently it would’ve almost been polite if it wasn’t for the fact that he was very much in my personal space and I could feel his breath on my skin. He straightened back up and smiled. That’s when I saw it too. He looked almost nervous and a lot more child-like than before. Then his mojo was back with full force. He hid behind his bangs again.

- Wanna go get some fresh air?

We climbed up the stairs back to street level. After the deafening music even this part of London felt quiet. We stood there for a moment, Nasty light up a cigarette.

- So what kind of name is Nasty anyway? I asked just to say something. And why would someone so gorgeous call himself Nasty, a small voice at the back of my head wondered.

He laughed a little.

- It’s not a real name silly. Just a stage name.

- Yeah I got that. But why Nasty of all things?

He was quiet for a while, then a smirk spread on his face.

- I’m just so so nasty. Want some proof? His low voice rumbled, I bet it was on purpose. I felt a shiver roll down my spine nonetheless. My lonely night of beer and man-watching was going south fast. I should’ve known better than to play along his game, but I was getting more and more curious about this Nasty-persona. I wanted to know what was real and what was created for his little rock band. I kept stealing glaces at him. He looked like the epitome of sex, drugs and rock n’ roll with his overgrown jet black hair. A creature of the night no doubt.

He put out his cigarette and i quickly turned my eyes the other way. No way in hell I was going to get caught staring at him twice tonight.

He stood quietly for a while. This timeIi felt his gaze roaming on my body. Usually I would’ve been more self-conscious but this was just gasoline to the flames. I wanted badly to see how he looked with fire in his eyes, so I turned my head back to his direction. He was just standing there and staring at me.

With a one-sided grin and a wicked look that bore it’s was straight down to my crotch he leaned closer and planted a forceful kiss on my lips. Jesus. My mind went blank and I skipped a breath. Jesus fuck.

- See? Nasty.

He had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when I covered it with mine. He made a noise of surprise. No way I was going to let him get control over me like that. In an instant he was kissing me back with such fire it made my knees dip. He tasted like cigarettes and beer and bad decisions, but honestly? I was too far gone to care. All the tension between us blew up into that blistering kiss. His hands took a strong grip from my sides and he pulled me closer. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. I grabbed his ass and unashamedly grinded against him. A small, unexpected moan escaped this throat and I swallowed it. He definitely wanted me as much as I wanted him.

- Excuse me! An annoyed voice broke us apart. A bouncer was staring at us with a look of warning, and as soon as my head somewhat stopped spinning I realised we’d better find a more private place before we entirely devoured each other. Nasty realised the same thing seconds later.

- Come on. Let’s go, he panted and all I could do was nod.

After what felt like an eternity keeping my hands to myself in the taxi we arrived to a house in Tootin Bec. Nasty was pretty swift in his movements for someone who was so turned on. Because he was very visibly turned on. My mind on the other hand wasn’t co-operating one bit. I just stood there and drooled as he opened the door.

- Good, the others aren’t home yet. I can actually make you make some noise! I blushed at the thought and I had no doubt he was gonna get some sweet sounds out of me. Mind is strong flesh is weak and so on. As if to prove my line of thought I felt my cock twitch in my pants at the sight of Nasty taking off his jacket. So much about mind being strong…

I tried to distract myself just so I wouldn’t jump him right then and there. I made a note of how messy the house was. Clothes, empty bottles, papers and guitar equipment lying around everywhere. It was pretty clear that there was five guys living here. Such a rock n’ roll cliche. Nasty grabbed a half empty liquor bottle from the nearest shelf and took a swing. He then offered the bottle to me and I downed a good gulp too. He chuckled as he put the bottle down. With a crooked smile he took a long good look at me again and stepped close to me.

- I think it is pretty clear I want to have sex with you. I just want to make sure that you want it too, he said, his voice rough from lust and alcohol. He stared at me with his beautiful, mysterious eyes. I couldn’t get him right in my head, he was such a weird creature. A weird, ridiculously hot creature who’s words got my head spinning. Sweet too.

- Trust me, I really really want to fuck your brain out right now, I smirked and got the exact reaction I wanted as Nasty shivered. He kissed me fast, bit my lip and grabbed my wrist. Without a word he pulled me after him up the stairs. I adored his ass with every movement as he walked in front of me and almost asked if we could to the stairs again just for it. Instead I opted for the less pervy thing that my no-good brain decided to push out.

- You really aren’t a man of many words huh?

- Nope. More a man of action, Nasty said and opened a door to a small room.

- Ohhh shy are we? I teased.

- Mmhm, Nasty hummed back matter-of-factly. It was weird, the whole man was weird, one huge contradiction. I loved it. It was nicer this way, neither of us had our roles on anymore.

The room only had a bed, a small closet with clothes falling out of it and a few guitars. Nasty sat on the bed and I awkwardly stood in the middle of the room.

- Now let’s get those clothes off, he squinted playfully at me. I was dumbfounded.

- What, like now? Here?

- Yes, well sex kinda requires us to take off our pants and stuff. Off they go. His face was serious but I could hear the laughter in his voice.

- You want me to strip for you? I couldn’t believe this man. Oh he had nerve okay. He nodded as a smile spread on his face. I just stood there like an idiot, my cock painfully hard in my pants, and stared at him. I had no idea if he was serious.

- Oh come on. Let me help you then.

AN: So this is the first part. The second part is still work in progress and it’s basically just shameless porn lol. I didn’t want to add it to this one in case someone doesn’t like that kind of stuff. So please please tell me what you think of this and if you guys wanna read the nasty part ;) pun intended. I’m awful I know

#fanfiction #hanoi rocks #nasty suicide

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bleeding-antlers · 5 years

Text

Havoc Runs in the Streets of the Undead

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416617/chapters/51026374

Zombie Apocalypse AU Chapter 1 of ? (more to come)

Word Count: 3104

Keenan thought his morning couldn’t get any worse. After the end of the world spiel came to be true, he’s been bought with a terrible fate of disastrous nights and having his attention alerted at all times. When the sirens blurred out of people’s televisions, phones and radios, it really was doomsday. Everyone was rushing for safety, even though there really wasn’t an escape from the brain-eating undead, there was nothing to stop them from still following your aroma and never quitting their gruesome behaviour, and soon enough, you’ll starve due to the lack of equipment or eventually give up on life whether if it’s getting bitten, losing a loved one or accepting your dying fate by another tribe of survivors. Though with Keenan’s knowledge from video games and fiction novels, he was prepared, yet at the same time he felt as if he could be jumped from behind any minute. He’d been a lone-wolf. Hunting down crashed and emptied stores to find a resort to hide in or get at least some extra food for when he’s on the road. Already, he lost some of his partners, some that he thought would survive the apocalypse, but as soon as hell broke loose, he was very wrong. He witnessed undead teeth biting down onto someone’s arm, shoulder and leg. He witnessed blood being spattered and brain matter smearing onto the paved roads. It was a catastrophe, his eyes were conceived from sin of bloodthirsty survivors and torture. He saw everything with his two pupils, and trauma would seep through his dreams, leading him back into reality as a sweaty, dirty mess of a man.

It's already been months when hell came to earth, and Keenan funnily enough hasn't died from dehydration yet. With him always being on foot, he was a lost cause. If he couldn't find any resources in the morning, he might as well throw himself in a swarm of zombies. It's been extremely hard to find a good source of canned food and water, the lakes that had surrounded the city here and there, were parched from the sun being closer to the Earth's atmosphere than it had been in past years. The only way to get water now is through the Army's base, yet doing so is a risk. With the government going insane and the American soldiers hiding away from the public eye with closed doors, there was no use trying to fight with them. It was only Keenan and the world to survive. His instincts of being on foot and in the wild has pumped up his mind with knowledgeable thinking as well as being lucky to find pots already filled with cleansed water, and bottles still lying around from littering.

Keenan had been walking for a bit, his legs feeling numb from never stopping ever since he woke up. He needed to find an abandoned store, or maybe he'll be a blessed soul from the unknown God this time and find another survivor's base he could sneak into. All his priorities was led by the need of more snacks he could rummage and jumble in his backpack for later. He was certainly running low on resources and if he were to have it all gone, he will be dead meat for the zombies that roamed the cracked streets.

Sweat dripped down Keenan's forehead, his tired eyes squinting through his glasses in the distance of the road he were following. He couldn't see anything that popped out to him, only a few dead zombies and humans laying on the ground, already decomposing. They aren't fresh, which didn't bring Keenan interest anyways. The sun was beating down on him, the beams of rays showering the top of his head with heat and his whole body sticking against his clothes. God, only if there was a pool in the apocalypse. He'd be running happily into a child's pool just to have a quick bath in cool water, but that was all his imagination; his wish for the current moment, but of course it couldn't come true even if he prayed to whatever God or Goddess that resembled his need of thirst. Though, either way, Keenan would still be stuck in dreadful heat...

An exhausted sigh escaped as he slowly came across an empty vehicle. It didn’t seem all that messed up, actually, it only had a few dents here and there and only rust was overcoming the car. It was in good condition, at least from being in the apocalypse.

With curiosity getting the best of him he inched closer to the vehicle, peeking inside to see if anything was useful for Keenan's trip. He scanned his surroundings first, checking if any undead was close by and could potentially grab him off-guard, but his survival instincts was with him today, at least for the moment. The brain-eating creatures were nowhere near him unless you count the ones who are on the ground, a second time being dead.. thank God. Though, with superhuman vision, you could definitely see them in the distance, but of course, they had no potential of coming close to Keenan anytime soon.

Rummaging through the car, with a swift and slow opening of the door, he pushed himself into the front seat with his knee balancing on the ripped chair's cushion. It seemed like someone had already camped out in the car. There were blankets laying in the back seat and semi-fresh cans of soup were already opened and thrown at the cars floor. It gave an idea that whoever was here, has been resting in the vehicle very recently. A hand combed through his hair before he crawled more towards the back, his long limbs kept getting caught on the exterior of the car, his legs hitting the shift stick and his head bumping into the ceiling every now and again. He cursed under his breath at his given height. Being so tall in a small car wasn't a wise choice. He could've opened the back door, yet, he didn't think that far ahead. He was too much in a hurry to get something that's useful, and already witnessing that someones been camping here, he might as well start rummaging the already beaten-up car to more of a wreck. A slender hand whipped inside the ripped cushions, searching within them to see if the person that once was here had stored any goods in them, and thankfully enough there was a fresh batch of bagged nacho chips in the middle seat.

“Ooh yeah, mama, some delicious fucking food.”

Grabbing the crinkling bag with one free hand, he turned his shoulder so his backpack could slide off and sit up on the backseats. He opened the bigger pocket and smoothly stuffed the nacho bag into the bottom of the pack and zipped it back up so he could save the snack for later when he rests in his own little nest. While only finding one piece of food, he found some lingering bullets splaying on the cars floor. It wasn’t blown opened yet, so Keenan took the advantage to sneak the bullet cases into his pocket. He rarely ever used his pistol as the bullets he found was for his type of weapon, but in any dire situations, he thought it might be a smart idea to just keep the extra casings. He didn’t want to risk it either way.

Keenan thought he’d still look around the carpeted floor for anything that sparked interest, or was another item he could stuff into his backpack for future trips, but as his head was tucked under the front passenger seat, seeking underneath the chair, a creak of the back side door opened, and a new presence was behind him. Keenan had caught a pit of saliva in his throat when he gulped after hearing the creaking, as he knew then and now, that the owner of the nestled area in the car had returned, and yet had found another survivor lingering in his safe area, digging his nose into the other person’s belongings.

A gun cocked and landed its nuzzle on the small of Keenan’s back as he slowly lifted his head up and put his arms up as a subconscious sign of acquiescence.

“I want you to back the fuck up, slowly.. And out of my fucking car, or you’ll have to deal with your brains being blown right here, right now..” The anonymous voice bellowed in Keenan’s ears, a shiver going down his back as the tiny hairs stood up from his arms, giving him goosebumps by how the other spoke to him. It wasn’t surprising though, for someone to talk so blunt and stern to a guy who’s just been caught rummaging through the other person’s place.

“Okay, okay..” Keenan obliged with the other and slowly started turning around to step out of the vehicle, but the gun that was on his back rammed harder into his spine by Keenan’s movements. He jumped from the impact, and instead didn’t turn his body. He crawled basically backwards out of it, his shoes finally hitting the concrete of the road and being able to stand up straight again.

“I.. I cause no harm to you, I didn’t know the car was still in use, I’m just simply trying to seek for some food, I didn’t-” Keenan’s apology was cut off by another jab, a wince being pronounced from the impact as well as his hands going up again.

“I don’t want your dumb-ass excuses. Now.. give me a reason why I shouldn’t just end your life here for ruining my shit, or leave you to rot like the rest of the fucking undead here?”

Keenan slugged down a gulp as he tempted to move his head to get a view of the person who was threatening his life. With his glasses catching some of the sunlight that glistened in the background, he saw some features of the other male. He had red hair, just as bright and vibrant as the dusty dusk when the moon starts to arise for nightfall. He had glasses on as well, maybe more square than Keenan’s and his facial features wrinkled from the stern frown that the other pasted onto his lips.

“L-Look… Like I said, I mean you no harm, and I’m willing to give your stuff back as long as you drop your gun and..” Keenan sighed when he got shoved by the nuzzle of the pistol, almost hitting his chin on the car’s roof from the slight shove, “Fuck. Okay, here.. I can, I can give you more than just your stuff. I can give you… my water and some of my own food if you just let me go.”

A hesitant pause was punctured in the summer breeze. Dust from the distanced desert blew past both of their heads as the pistol that had been pushed in his back lowered down and released him from the man’s hold. A deep exhale that Keenan didn’t know was holding escaped as he slowly turned around to properly view the other male. He was actually quite taller than himself- maybe by two more inches- but either way, Keenan was still slightly tilting his head up to meet the other person’s eyes.

The gun was put back into his holster as he crossed his arms, still having a grim expression to his features, but Keenan might’ve well ignored that factor for now. Especially since he was the one to get caught, and deal with the consequences. He was actually pretty surprised that he was able to get out of it safely, but… have to get rid of his essentials.

Keenan grabbed his backpack quickly from the seat he previously put it on and opened the pocket once again, letting out a deep sigh as he noticed that the bottle he had said to give was close to empty. A nervous chuckle was heard from him as he looked over to the redhead and brought out the plastic, beaten up bottle. A distasteful look was then present from the other’s face, a roll of his eyes as he roughly grabbed the bottle that crinkled in his hold.

“Hey, hey look- I didn’t know there was so little left, I can always refill it, don’t worry, but-” Gesturing with his hands in a nervous factor, the redhead just huffed out a small snicker as he threw the bottle pasted Keenan and onto the car’s floor.

“You’re really making a fool of yourself, huh?”

“What..?”

A hand was brought onto Keenan’s shoulder, putting pressure on the muscle before letting go and moving towards the back of the car, “First you go looking in my little area, and now you’re making excuses again. How long have you been living like this?”

It was now Keenan’s turn to scoff and cross his arms together, “Why does that have to deal with you? Clearly I’ve been living. Maybe not as smart, but still. I’m not in a distraught situation every time. You’re the one to make assumptions.”

“Hm.”

Keenan rolled his eyes and made his way to the redhead, his eyes fixating on the other’s as he squared his shoulders, “Just hear me out.”

“I’m listening…”

A hand went up to his hair and combed it back, wiping some sweat from his forehead before speaking again, “I’m just in need of some snacks and better equipment to stay for the night, and to finally see a survivor that isn’t dead on the ground, is really surprising to me, but just because I stole a bag of chips doesn’t mean i want to harm you.”

The other male’s eyebrows furrowed and then settled as he kept on listening to Keenan speak, he seemed to be interested this time to what he had to say, and with the amount of commotion he had already sparked from the other from gunpoint, he wasn’t all wrong on his reasons. Hell, even himself needed the same things the other wanted. So, with his shoulders not seemingly being so tense anymore, he rested and snuggled his hands into his jean’s pockets, having a more relaxed but still tough stance towards Keenan.

“Maybe, even with you and I finding each other in this fucking hellhole, we could stick as a team? See, you’re way more tough than I, you have that badass look and shit, and how you put that fucking gun to my back... Honestly, that could be handy if we stay together in the apocalypse.”

Silence spilled over themselves once again, a lingering quiet moment peaked as they both tried to find another way to continue on with their conversation, but Keenan said most of what he wanted to say, and whether or not the other thought it was a smart idea or not, has yet to be shown from the expression of the redhead, but the man just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned his head to the side, averting his gaze from Keenan to think about what he had said. It was as if he was tentative on the idea, thinking maybe it wasn’t a good thing to do or maybe it was, though ever since the beginning of this nightmare, it has been awhile since both of them seen a surviving human.

Another sigh but heavier spilled from the redhead’s mouth and a furrow of his bristling eyebrows, he faced back to Keenan, placing his hand on top of the holster where his gun laid upon, drumming his fingers in an un-rhythmical beat when he began to open his mouth to say his opinion on the situation, “Maybe you’re right, but it doesn’t mean i’ll go easy on you. Just because we’ll be sitting as a… ‘team’ I won’t play all soft and friendly on you. It’s only for surviving longer in this shitty place.”

Keenan hadn’t smiled so wide in so long, he was bubbling with anticipation and joy after hearing the other agree on the plan. “Fuck yeah, ah- ahem, yeah yeah, of course, I won’t play soft on you either, hell- because we’re a great duo now, you won’t have to live in that small fucking car of yours.” Keenan gave out a quick chuckle, gently placing his hand on the trunk of the car, leaning against the car.

“By the way… I believe we should give each other an introduction.” Keenan moved his other hand up to his chest, laying it against his beating heart as he bowed his head in a proper greeting, “I’m Keenan, and you?”

“...Jared.”

Jared was still his skeptical self, even when saying his own name, he kept on looking at every inch of Keenan with his eyes narrowed to see if anything threatening could quickly happen if he turned his back against the other, but from the sight of it, he was nothing he needed to worry about. He wasn’t a flesh eating zombie, he had no desire to stab Jared in the throat to steal the rest of his stuff. Keenan was just a simple man, wanting to survive the apocalypse as the same goes with Jared, and that’s what they both needed to do. Jared wasn’t a people-person from the start, but if they were to continue on with their journey on killing and hiding from the walking dead, he might as well start being one. It’d be more of an awkward situation if he kept his strict demeanor at play when they really could become a powerful duo.. As Keenan blatantly mentioned before.

The brunette lifted himself away from the trunk and started to move over to the side door of the car. The side where he got caught, grabbing his backpack once again, this time, not needing to take stuff out of it and shuffled it onto his back.

“Why don’t we head back to my hideout. It may be a little longs away but it’ll be cozy. Grab whatever you have here since there’s more room for us there than.. Being in that thing,” he pointed inside the car’s back seats, scoffing jokingly as well as Jared chuckling. That brought a small smile to Keenan’s lips again, “By the way..again, I have to ask, how the fuck did you fit in that thing?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know.” Jared answered, already grabbing equipment from the vehicle, “It’s hell to get in, hell to get out as well, but once you’re in.. it’s different, I guess.”

Maybe being with Keenan in the apocalypse wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

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easnuppa · 5 years

Text

The outlawˋs way

chapter 3, part 2

He sat quiet and waited for her to continue, but she kept her silence, so he reckoned she wasn’t up for sharing, it really didn’t matter, he had to leave soon anyways.

"What is your name Mr?"

Daryl leaned over and grabbed the pitcher and filled the tin cup and emptied it in one big gulp, he placed the now empty bowl on the floor, the tin cup still in his hands.

"Daryl," he answered, leaving his last name on purpose.

The woman, Lissybeth, nodded.

"What’s the nearest town called here?" he finally asked, he hoped he was a long way from Golden Creek.

"Black Stone is the nearest town, it’s about an hour ride from here, now probably two, because of all the snow."

He nodded, he or his family had never been here, his identity was probably safe for now.

"Where’s my horse and the rest of my things?" he said, glancing over at his saddlebags.

"Your horse is out with my other horses, I’ve fed it well, so no worries about it, a fine animal. Your things are right there."

He looked at her, now chewing on his thumb, he was trying to figure out if she was lying.

"I’m missing one satchel and my gun belt."

He watched as her eyes flickered a bit before it landed on the floor, she was hiding something.

"Yeah, well, I didn’t know if you were gonna wake up and kill me in my sleep, so I took your gun belt into the house, and I couldn’t leave all that money laying around in the barn, I hid it."

Daryls anger flared up, the woman was definitely a crazy one.

"Did ya tell anyone about the money?" She shook her head.

"There’s no one to tell, I’m here all alone, except from the horses."

Daryl looked at her like she had two heads.

"Ya live here all by yerself? On a ranch? With no help? Are ya insane? Do ya know how dangerous it is out there?”

The woman just nodded.

"Yes, I’m well aware of the danger, the danger you’re talking about wiped out my entire family. I do get some help from time to time from the buffalo hunters over at Black river."

Daryl froze in an instant as he heard about the buffalo hunters. His family had been on the buffalo hunters hitlist during the war. The government had a specially trained army who hunted down lawless men and slayed them, and they were.

Daryl had never seen anyone except his own family who could track and shoot as good. He forced himself to nod, but he could see that the woman had caught on to him trying to hide something.

But she pretended like it was nothing. He got up to his feet and walked over to the barn doors, he looked outside.

"Well ya better go get my stuff missy, I gotta get a move on".

The woman was up on her feet too, he looked over his shoulder and met her almost pleading eyes.

"You can’t go now Mr, you need to rest and let your body heal. And the snow is too deep."

He looked over the landscape, damn she was right, he was stuck here.

"Looks like yer stuck with me until the weather gets warmer, I guess I owe ya as much for patchin’ me up."

He knew he sounded far from happy about the arrangement, but he really didn’t have the energy to pretend, and he had always been straight forward with people, better that way.

The woman smiled as she walked up to him, she was pretty he could admit that, but too crazy for her own good.

"Well since your gonna help me out, I reckon you have some experience with horses?"

Daryl nodded confirming.

"Good, since you are a stranger to me I prefer that you sleep out here, I will fetch you some more blankets, but you can eat with me in the house, and if it is alright with you, I will keep your money and gun belt hidden for now."

Daryl scoffed, he had expected as much, although he felt naked without his guns. He nodded to make her see he accepted her terms.

"You look tired, you should get some more rest, I’ll call you in for supper and you can help me take in the horses to night."

He watched as the little woman walked out and closed the doors behind her, he walked over to his makeshift bed and laid down.

Daryl had stayed on Lissy’s farm for almost a month, a harsh storm had hit them, and they had been snowed in for almost three weeks, they had just sat down to eat when Lissy sighed, Daryl was as usual shovelling the food into his mouth and chewing loudly.

"What?" He asked gruffly, looking at her through his long brown tresses, Lissy met his eyes, the man was always on guard, he was almost like a wild animal, skittish and always ready to attack.

Lissy placed her spoon on the table.

"It’s just that I promised to deliver the horses I showed you to Black river two weeks ago, but because of all this snow I can’t manage to keep my promise."

She hated that she couldn’t keep her end of the bargain. She hated to think that they didn’t trust her.

"Why ya giving those people good horses for free in the first place?" Daryl asked, cocking a brow, nothing came for free these days, people always had ulterior motives with their kindness.

Lissy shrugged,

"I’m not giving them away, I trade them for food and other supplies that I can’t get on my own with hunting, fishing," Lissy had gotten used to the man’s rough edges by now, and was waiting on some sarcastic remark.

"Ya hunt?"

This question was definitely not what she had expected, she smiled and nodded.

"Mhm, only small critters though, a buck is too much for me to drag home alone."

Daryl nodded; her answer clearly made sense to him.

"If ya give me back my guns, I’ll go hunt down a buck for ya."

Lissy chewed on her bottom lip, not sure if giving him back his pistol belt was a smart thing

"If I was plannin’ on killing ya, I would have done it already, I still have my knife."

Lissy looked up and met his stormy blue, shadows where now clouding his eyes, she could easily see the darkness that was lurking in his shadows, even if she was curious to learn more about Daryl and his past, what kind of man he was, she wasn’t one to poke a sleeping bear.

She nodded.

"Alright I’ll give you back your gun belt, but you need to help me take those six horses over to Black river tomorrow, they have waited long enough," Lissy watched him slow down his chewing, he was staring down at the table, he had acted funny the last time she had brought up the people from Black River.

"What? You have something against people like them?"

Daryl just shook his head, he didn’t want to tell her why he was hesitant about helping her over to Black River, that meant that he had to tell her who he was and what he was a part of, what he had done.

She would definitely turn him in if he did, and he didn’t want that, he liked it just fine on the ranch, he liked working with the horses, he liked the quietness, the steady meals, he liked being around her. It was soothing his black soul. He felt like a person, like he mattered.

He had noticed that he had caught himself staring at her as they mucked out the boxes, or when they were working with the horses or shovelling snow. He had never met a woman like her, fragile but still strong and determined.

He had cursed at himself when he realised, he admired her. It was wrong, he couldn’t get attached to anyone, least of all her.

Daryl woke up early, he was restless and aggravated, he was anxious about going to Black River.

This was the day that they would recognize him and tell Lissy about who he was, he knew it, he could feel it in his bones.

He had let the horses out before Lissy had woken up and then he sat on her porch just waiting for her to get breakfast ready.

He had packed his saddlebags ready, so he could hightail if someone were to notify the sheriff.

He heard the door swing open behind him and looked over his shoulder, he looked her up and down, and she almost took his breath away where she stood wearing a man’s shirt and trousers that clung to her feminine curves.

She met his eyes with a soft smile.

"Good morning, you’re up early, and already let the horses out? I guess I better get started on the breakfast then, you must be starving."

He didn’t answer, he just nodded and grunted as usual, feeling stupid for eyeing her up and down like he had done.

He got up to his feet and followed her inside the house, he stood there watching her for a moment, his thumb between his teeth, a nervous habit of his. Why the fuck was he born with this insecurity around woman, his brother, his pa and uncle, they all where brilliant around woman, got them to giggle and swarm around them with just a wink of an eye, but not Daryl, he was awkward, clumsy and just plain stupid when it came to woman.

" Want any help?" he forced himself to ask, she turned and stared at him.

"With cooking? You cook?"

Daryl felt stupid again, course he could cook, if you were to survive out there you had to feed yourself.

He walked over and grabbed the frying pan and placed it over the fire in the fireplace, he placed the pieces of bacon on it, he felt her eyes on him and turned.

"What?" she giggled slightly.

"Nothing. Just not used to men cooking, a man making food was degrading in my family," Daryl scoffed.

"Nothin’ degradin’ of keepin’ yerself alive by feedin’ yerself. When ya live out there, ya need to know how to hunt, cook and clean yer own clothes. No one will do it for ya," he said, she had cut up some bread and placed it on the table with butter, she handed him a pot of coffee, he turned the bits of bacon in the iron pan.

"I guess you’re right, I’m just not used to it....so you lived out there?"

Daryl swallowed slowly, damn, he had said to much, he lifted the pan off the fire and put it on the table, and nodded, he sat down and filled his plate, he started stuffing his face, but she clearly didn’t take the hint of not wanting to talk.

"I thought maybe you were from Golden creek, maybe you had family there or something?"

He almost choked on the bite of bread, he coughed and punched himself on the chest.

"Why do ya think I’m from Golden Creek?" He half whispered with his gruff voice, getting nervous, his thumb stuck in between his teeth again, he couldn’t make himself look at her.

"I don’t know, I guess I just assumed you were from Golden creek when I saw the Golden horse branding on your horse," she said with a shrug, Daryl shook his head.

"Hardly been to the town, the horse was a gift from my uncle," the lie felt bitter in his mouth, he hated that he had to lie to her.

As they guided the horses in to the paddock at Black River, they jumped down from their own horses, Daryl kind of stood back awkwardly, chewing on his thumb, watching Lissy talk with some of the ladies.

He had pulled his Stetson further down on his forehead, maybe they wouldn’t recognize him he thought. He hadn’t noticed the group of men gathering, looking the horses over with wide smiley faces.

Daryl knew they were gonna be pleased with the ones Lissy had picked out, they were young, strong animals, with an easy temperament. The woman really knew how to tame the wild horses, she had a special hand with them and that impressed Daryl immensely.

"Does she know who you are?" Daryl turned to the slightly shorter man standing next to him, the man’s eyes where fixed on Lissy, just like his own, but then he shifted his focus and looked straight into his own blue eyes.

Daryl shuffled his feet but didn’t answer, the man spoke again.

"I’ll take that as a no. You are putting her in danger, living on her ranch, yer pa is tearing up towns to find ya."

Daryl knew he had been recognized, he swallowed hard.

"My tracks were covered by the snow; I’ll be long gone before they even think of comin’ to this side of the mountain pass."

He had recognized the man standing next to him as the leader of the town, Morgan. He knew the man could easily take him out on the spot if he wanted too.

"I’m just helping ˋer out during the winter, I owe ˋer that much after saving my life."

The man next to him, Morgan, sighed.

"I just hope that saving yer life doesn’t bring an end to hers, she’s a good woman. The people of Black River have a good deal going with her and we will keep our eyes on her ranch, if anything happens to her, we will hunt ya down like the dog ya are and slay ya."

The man’s brown eyes were cold and serious, Daryl just nodded, he knew he meant every word he said. The man was about to say something else, but Lissy came walking over to them and put an end to the conversation, or threats.

"Good morning Morgan, I hope you will be satisfied with the horses we brought, and I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner."

The man gave Lissy one of his rare smiles.

"No worries miss Lissybeth, I know the snow would have been too thick, I knew you would deliver as soon as you could."

Daryl watched as Lissy’s face break into a wide pearly white smile, her pale blond hair was braided and hanging over her right shoulder, he saw how some of the men in the group where eyeing her, and white rage was boiling in his veins.

He glared over at the men, who as soon they met his ice-cold glare withdrew their eyes and focused back on the horses.

Morgen was staring down at her with a more fatherly proudness then anything else. Lissy turned to Daryl.

"Thank god Daryl here could help me or else I wouldn’t have been able to come until spring," her voice soft and soothing, her praise making his cheeks warm up slightly, he wasn’t used to getting praised for just doing his job.

Morgan nodded and said with a more worrisome tone in his voice.

"Yes, good thing he is there to help you," Lissy swung herself up into the saddle and Daryl followed her example, he couldn’t wait to get out of this town, Lissy said her good byes and pushed her heals to her mares flanks pushing her into a slow trot, Daryl was about to do the same, but Morgan grabbed his horses reins.

"Remember what I said son..." Daryl met his brown eyes and nodded once.

He had understood the warning, loud and clear.

He made his horse trot up next to Lissy, they rode in silence for a while, but as they were to turn to head over the hill that would lead to her ranch, she continued straight ahead.

"I think we should go into town and spoil ourselves a little, I bet a man like yourself is dying for a couple of rounds in the saloon, and I really need to buy some supplies that Black River can’t produce.

Daryl’s eyes flew up and met her grey sparkling orbs, he remembered the last time he was in a saloon and what had happened afterwards, he could still hear the gurgling sounds from the woman he held in his arms as he slit her throat. He pushed back the panic that he was sure was latched into his blue eyes. He would tend to the horses while she did her thing.

@of-storms-and-sadness , @twdeadfanfic

#daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #Daryl Dixon/ female oc #hurt/comfort #fluff/smut #wild/west #Au

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k-renne · 6 years

Text

CREATURE COMFORT III

Previously: I, II

Summary: Kylo Ren is a man of the shadows, but the darkness was a lonely place. The trees were silent and the wind only whistled, in the woods he was truly alone. But that all changes when he finds something surprising, a potential mate for a beast.

A/N: NSFW

Tags: @rosalynbair, @multy-fandom-lover, @oh-adam

A/N: This probably will be the last chapter of creature comfort! i feel like ive written what i wanted to write for this and this will probably wrap things up!

Your visits to the forest become more frequent after that day. You wanting more of Kylo, and Kylo keeping you in his hold for as long as you’d let him, stretching each visit as much as you would allow. You forgot to ask what he meant by mate, easily slipping your mind under a barrage of kisses. And you wouldn’t find out until later, when Kylo went into his rut.

Flowers bloomed as the season of fertility begun, beasts leaving their hibernation and in search of their mates. As a beast, Kylo was cursed to do the same.

In the past he would go crazy with his own lust, usually killing anything in his past. He had no mate, there was no one for him and it was frustratingly torturous. He just wanted someone to soothe the ache that always sat in his heart, someone to make the loneliness go away.

Then he met you, and he knew immediately that you were his mate, just made to be with him. And with the way that your body molded against his, he never wanted to let you go. Of course, you were human. Which meant that you wouldn’t exactly understand the gravity of his connection with you, that was much more than a simple attraction.

He couldn’t find the words to explain yet, he just had to hope that one day you understand. For now he’d have to be okay with you leaving, even if he was trying to make his home more suitable for you. He even started gathering plants and making a little garden of things you could eat, just trying to busy himself with these little preparations while you were gone.

He knew that it would be a lot to ask for you to leave everything that you knew behind for a life with him, but mates were supposed to stick together and he knew it would happen eventually. He dreamed about it, waking up with you each day in his arms, the pitter patter of little ones in his home. He wanted it all, domestic bliss.

When the time came, what little shred of humanity that Kylo had was lost in a tide of lust. He was in the middle of trying to gather herbs to help lessen his rut, when a wave of heat passed over him. He fell to his knees, breathing harshly as he gained more strength and muscle. In such a vulnerable time he needed to have the energy to mate and protect you, when the cloud of sex made him forget basic needs.

He let out a howl, a desperate plea for his mate to come to him in his need. He stalked the forest in a rush, searching high and low for you. His cock ached and was sad that you weren’t there to help him, to suffer through a rut alone was a horrible torture that he had endured long enough. Kylo would just have to hunt you down himself.

Unfortunately, your scent got stronger as he neared the edge of the forest. It made him whine in distress, why were you so far from him? In his muddled thoughts he didn’t understand, the primal part of him had taken over and he needed you near him now.

He wandered over to see the witch that lived in the woods, and he’d tear the whole cottage apart to find what he needed. But as soon as he entered he was frozen in his tracks, “Oh Kylo I thought I told you not to ever come here when you’re like this!” Maz shook her head. “And you reek of pheromones!” Maz shook her head.

Kylo just whimpered, “Need my mate.”

“I know Kylo, I know, but I can’t have you here like this! You have to leave,” Maz felt for him, truly. He was just a boy when it happened to him, and in many ways he was that same scared kid that didn’t want to be left alone.

“No! She’s human, must find her!” He says desperately, trying to explain.

Maz furrowed her brows, normally Kylo never spoke this much and what if he did find her? She was wary of unleashing Kylo unto an unsuspecting human population. Maz sighed, just hoping she wouldn’t regret this, “Alright, I will help you find your human, but you better not cause any harm and you must come back quickly, I can only disguise you for so long.”

Kylo nodded, agreeing to her terms. “Please,” He begged.

Light showered over him as Maz disguised his less human features, “And put these on, I can’t have you flashing everyone,” She handed him some clothes.

Though he may have looked more human, Kylo still moved like a predator, sniffing the air as he followed the trail of your scent back to your home. He looked a little crazed and people stared at the tall, wild looking man but Maz’s spell ensured that he was quickly forgotten in their minds. Kylo huffed when he was faced with your door, your scent seemed to gather here and it was much stronger, he knew you were close.

But when he went to open your door, it was locked. Kylo snarled at your door, banging his fist loudly against it. He’d break it down, though he was still smart enough to know that was a little too suspicious for humans.

“Kylo?” You were surprised to see him standing at your door, surprisingly human and wearing clothes? Was this the same man that you knew? His growl answered your question, yeah this was the monster you knew. “What are you-” You were about to ask but Kylo grabbed you, interrupting your question.

“Need mate now! Mine!” He growled. He pulled you flush against him, humming as he buried his nose in your hair and breathed in your scent.

“I don’t understand-” You tried to say, before Kylo pushed his tongue into your mouth to taste you. It was getting you worried, and very confused. You knew he never wandered out of the forest and you hoped it wasn’t something bad. But then you felt the unmistakable press of his arousal against you, and the way that he was kissing suddenly made sense. “N-not here,” You pushed him away lightly. Kylo only leaned back into you to nuzzle your cheek, giving it a quick kiss before he stood back.

Even with the disguise his eyes were a dark red, and you could see the lust swarming in them. A smirk formed on his lips as he bared his sharp teeth at you, before grabbing you by the waist and throwing you over his shoulder.

You protested, but it only made him walk faster and you realized he was taking you straight to the forest. You couldn’t lie, it was pretty hot that he came all the way to where you lived just to take you home and fuck you and it had you getting wet. Kylo of course could smell your arousal budding and growled, lightly squeezing your ass and making you squeal. “Gonna fuck and fill your pretty cunt, pretty girl,” Kylo rasped.

His disguise began to disappear as he entered the forest, horns, tail and all returning. His tails curled up and wrapped around your calve, almost caressing it. He took you into his little safe haven, flicking on some of the lights that you strung up because he knew it would comfort you. Then he threw you into the pile of plush pillows and blankets that made up his nest.

“What is with you today?” You shook your head, eyes widening as you watched Kylo tear of his clothes. It was like he had grown a few inches all around, his muscles more pronounced than you remembered them to be, and with the size of his cock...it made you a little nervous.

Kylo seemed to sense that and as he crawled on top of you he softly cupped his cheek, cooing and trying to soothe you. Of course the gentleness didn’t last, and soon you were flipped over on your stomach, his hands manipulating your body in a way that was all to familiar. Kylo lifted up your skirt and sniffing your panties, growling and pressing his nose further against your core as he got a whiff. You didn’t know it but that scent was driving him crazy, a dripping wet pussy just calling to be fucked and tasted.

He didn’t bother with taking of all of your clothes, it was more important that he stuck his tongue inside of your cunt. He swirled his tongue inside of you and flicked it out to run over your clit, in a rut his saliva served a dual purpose to better lubricate you and prevent any pain from how roughly he was about to fuck you.

You didn’t know what is was about this time, but you felt more turned on than ever, and before where you were nervous you now craved to be stuffed full by Kylo’s thick cock. “Ahh please Kylo,” You cried out for him.

You couldn’t see as you rested against some pillows but Kylo was grinning as he looked at you, your skirt pushed up to your waist and your pussy swollen and dripping for him. You were ready for him, and he had no qualms about how brutally he was about to fuck you. He was going to claim you, and end the torture of a rut spent alone.

He howled as he entered you from behind, loving the way that your cunt perfectly squeezed his cock. His hands ran up your thighs, massaging and squeezing to settle on your hips. Kylo braced his knees on the side of yours and kneeled down so that he could press his chest against your back. He gave you a moment to breathe before he started rutting against you, grunting with each hard slam of the hips.

The rest of your clothes were torn away as Kylo fucked you, hands greedy and wanting to feel your bare skin against him. This time, even if it was fucking, it felt different. There was a connection between you two that just felt so primal, and words were forgotten in a sea of moans and grunts. You found yourself rocking your hips back against Kylo, reaching for your swollen clit as Kylo sped up. You made yourself cum too soon, but that didn’t stop Kylo from fucking you and in fact it only encouraged him.

His mouth never left your neck, and he was practically attacking it with his teeth and tongue, just anticipating the claim. It seemed as if it was taking longer than ever for Kylo to cum, and he wasn’t stopping until you came for him a few more times. He craved the feeling of you cumming on his cock more than anything, and his rut addled brain was determined to get it from you.

It wasn’t until he was about to cum that Kylo spoke possessive words against your ear, “My mate, mine!” or, “What a perfect pussy, made to be filled with my cum,” He’ll purr. And he’ll even go as far as, “Love that tight cunt, so perfect for my cock.”

Kylo rubbed your clit hard as he came, filling you with cum like he promised and biting down hard in the place where your neck meets your shoulder. You barely noticed the sting, your own orgasm consuming you as Kylo’s warmth spilled inside you.

Kylo was purring afterwards, lavishing the mark he made as it quickly healed under his tongue. His hands were gentle as he manipulated you to your side, his cock still hard and almost locked inside you. He peppered kisses over your neck and shoulder, wrapping his arms around your midsection.

You could feel how happy he was, the joy just radiated from him. He kissed any bruises he left behind, and cleaned you up after he slid out of you, taking cautious care of your shaking thighs. He surrounded you with blankets and pillows, bringing a fluffy comforter over the two of you as he returned to rest against your backside from getting washed up.

He was so diligent, so careful in his care of you it was like you were his greatest treasure. You heard him murmer, “My sweet mate,” against your skin and this time you understood what he truly meant. He was saying ‘I love you, forever.’

#creature comfort #kylo ren x reader #monster!kylo

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anenemyspy · 7 years

Text

The World Soul Chapter IV

The impact thrummed through Cloud’s arm up into his thick dwarfin shoulder as his axe bit into the stalk of maize. Up above, the green husk wavered back and forth with every swing of the axe. Several more chops and it would come crashing down to earth, ready to be cut free of the stalk and loaded onto the wagon.

Cloud wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The winter had been short this year, and spring was already promising to be a hot one. If the Earth Mother was merciful, she would make the maize grow thick and plentiful before the scorching heat of summer came to turn the plants brown.

The heat had already turned Cloud’s shaggy mop of hair in a soaking mat. Perhaps it was time to shave his head. He had already shorn off the beard that he allowed to grow wild during the cold part of the year.

“Are you hoping that maize will die of old age and fall over on its own accord?” came the voice of Rain, his friend. “What are you thinking of, that is so much more important than cutting this stalk so we can all go back below ground?”

“I am thinking that the Earth Mother could trouble herself to send a cloud our way.”

“I wished the same thing once.” Rain said laughing. “And instead she sent me you, to my everlasting sorrow. Always be careful when asking the Earth Mother for a favor. She just might give it you.”

“Perhaps the work would go faster if that daughter of yours was here to help.” Cloud replied.

“Would that Berry were here at all.” Rain’s face darkened. “I sent her away to the market at Hevel, but she has not returned. She should have been home three days ago.”

“It isn’t like Berry to take so long.” Cloud observed.

“I worry that she has run into trouble, or worse, the charms of some Hevel boy. The last thing I need is the spawn of some Hevel lowlife growing in her belly. And besides, I still need that new rat I sent her to buy.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, don’t listen to me drone on about my children. You’ll soon have your own to drive you into an early grave. The Earth Mother gives us children to punish us for the ordeal we gave our parents, and on and on it goes. Come, let’s finish this stalk so that we can eat.”

With both dwarfs seeting their axes to it, the stalk did not take long to fall. When the ear of maize came down with a mighty crash, the other maizecutters set upon it, chopping the ear away from the stalk and preparing to load it onto the ratdrawn cart. Cloud took the narrow top part of the ear and helped heave it up onto the back of the cart on top of the other ears that were already laid there. He peeled back a part of the green husk and pulled off a black kernel to eat.

“Don’t keep all the kernels to yourself now.” The dwarf named Nut chided him playfully. “We’re all hungry too!”

Once Cloud had pulled off enough maize for each dwarf, and given some to the rat, they all gathered in the cool shade of the maize stalks to eat. The conversation soon turned to ribald jests about what Rain’s daughter was up to in Hevel. Turtle stuffed a rock underneath her shirt and pretended to give birth to it, rasping with silent laughter. Turtle’s throat had been slashed in the war against the goblin tribes, and while the healers had managed to save her life, there was nothing they could do for her speech, or for the ugly scar that marred her neck.

“You had best go get another rat yourself, Rain.” Nut said. “Likely Berry will break the back one she bought with her extra weight.”

“Ach, the Void take the lot of you.” Rain cursed them. “I have to go take a piss. Better than sitting here and listening to your jabbering.” He stormed off and disappeared from sight amongst the thick stalks of maize.

Nut’s laughs died off when Rain was out of earshot. “You don’t think Berry has run into any kind of trouble, do you?” She said, concern in her voice. “I had heard that the Sylthi raiders have grown bolder near the border.”

“They would have grown bold indeed to come this close to the city.” Cloud said to her. There was a time when Sylth had been a thriving and powerful rival kingdom to Arden, but that was before the great war. Now the once great city that was the beating heart of Sylth stood dead and empty, and what little remained of the Sylthi people were nothing more than vagabonds and raiders who attacked sparsely populated villages and melting away when the Ardenian patrols came after them. “Tyrant King Fox would not allow the Sylthi to attack this far from the frontier. More likely Berry has simply partaken in too much wine and pleasure. You know how the markets are during the coming of spring. Berry is likely on the way home as we speak, with a head pounding from wine and trying to come up with an excuse for why she’s taken so long to return.”

“Ah, I suppose you are right.” Nut said. “I remember a certain summer solstice I spent at the capital city. Have you ever been to the capital, Cloud?”

He nodded. “Once, when I was young. Just after the war ended.” The city was crowded, filled with folk who had been taking refuge behind the walls. On that day, everyone was smiling. The high lords came down from their pyramids, resplendent in robes of gold and green, throwing down gold and silver to the jubilant throngs. The army had marched through the city streets in polished armor that had shined as brightly as the noonday sun. They had been led by the Darkstar himself, holding aloft the legendary black sword of Arden that was his namesake. Even the Tyrant King herself was there, and laid a silver circlet upon the Darkstar’s head in recognition of his victory. What followed were seven days of feasting and celebrating. All of Arden was in celebration then, but that was a long time ago.

“Soon Wren will give you a child of your own, and you will be able to to take them to see the city for themselves.” Nut said.

“Ah, that will be fine day.” Cloud replied.

Their discussion was cut short by a surprised shout deeper into the maize stalks. All three dwarfs scrambled to their feet.

“That was Rain.” Cloud said. “What would make him cry out like that?”

“A snake probably bit him on his cock.” Rain said with a laugh. “The way he likes to boast about it, it probably took it for a mate.” She cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted. “Rain! What are you screaming like a child for?”

The stalks shook back and forth and rustled loudly as someone moved through them, far too loudly to be just one dwarf. Turtle picked up her bronze headed axe. She was the only one of them who had brought theirs with them to eat.

“We should get away from here.” Nut whispered, just before a spear flew from the brush and took her through the neck. Blood gushed from her mouth as it opened and closed wordlessly, and she pitched over backward, eyes wide open in fright.

Turtle sprung forward, her axe splitting open the head of a goblin as it lunged out from the stalks. She swung, catching another one in the chest, but then they were all around her, small grey skinned creatures with long pointy ears that dragged Turtle to the ground and swarmed over her, stabbing her with primitive stone knives.

Cloud had forgotten how to move. All he could do was stare in abject horror at the goblins savaging his friend’s corpse, and at the bewildered look on Nut’s dead face. When the goblins turned their eyes on him though, instinct took over where rationality had failed, and he ran.

He could remember how he had taken his axe to the ropes that tied the rat to the maize wagon and leaped on its back, spurring it with a slap to the rear to run, a mere step ahead of the goblins who had chased him. One had grabbed at his leg as he rode past, trying to pull him off, but Cloud had managed to kick free. Everything past that was a blur. All he knew was that he had to find Wren.

He tore into the village and nearly fell off the rat in his hurry to dismount. “Goblins!” He shouted incoherently to every dwarf he saw as he ran to the butcher’s shop where Wren spent her days. “Goblins! Goblins! Goblins!”

Wren’s arms were soaked to the elbow in blood when Cloud found her at her butcher’s stand. She was pulling the entrails from the body of a lizard that lay on the table. Wren’s hair was the same light brown as the bird she was named for, and she had a long beard that came down in a single braid to her belly, where a small bulge was just visible underneath her heavily stained apron.

Wren smiled when she saw her husband. “Have you finished harvesting the maize already? Good, then you can help me in here.” The smile faded from her lips when she saw the look on his face. “What is wrong?”

“Goblins.” Cloud said in between heavy breaths. “They attacked us. Rain, the others, they’re dead.”

“Dead? Cloud, what are talking about?”

Cloud took his wife by the wrist. Wren was brawnier than him, but she didn’t resist as he led her outside. “The goblins are coming to burn the village to the ground, like they did during the war. We have to get out of here while we can.”

“No.” Wren said. “I will not be chased from my home by some dirty goblins. We’ll stay here and fight them off. I still have my father’s spear from the war and I can use it.”

“Look around you!” Cloud said, gesturing at the ramshackle collection of houses that made up the village they called home. “We can’t defend ourselves here. We need warn everybody to run and make for the city.”

“I was not raised to be a coward!” Wren protested. “How can we call ourselves Ardenians if we turn and run from the enemy?”

“If we die here, nobody will remain to tell the Tyrant King that there are goblins within Arden’s borders. If the army is not sent out, other villages will be attacked.” He put his hand on Wren’s belly where their child was growing inside. “Think of our child, Wren.”

Wren slid her hand over his. Emotions battled each other over her face, but finally she sighed. “Very well then, you win. For the good of our child I’ll run. We will need to get supplies from the house if we mean to reach the city, though.”

“Agreed.” Said Cloud, relieved that Wren had relented so easily. The goblins would not be long in coming, and there was no time to squander on arguing.

The two dwarfs hurried together to the disheveled hovel that was their home, shouting warnings to everyone who crossed their path. Cloud pushed aside the flap of moleskin that covered the entrance and stormed inside. In truth, the crude wooden structure that made up the hovel was little more than a covering for the hole that led deeper underground, protecting it from the hot sun and the cold rain. Under the cool ground, Cloud could already feel the reassuring presence of Earth pressing in on all sides.

Their worldly treasures, such as they were, included a wooden lute whose golden paint had long ago chipped and faded, an old book of legends with yellowed pages, a dull bladed war axe and a black shafted spear that hung on the wall in the place of honor, and a dented half helm that Wren’s father had worn during the war and had saved his life when a goblin had struck him with a copper axe. Neither Cloud nor Wren had been old enough to fight against the goblins in the previous invasion, but all Ardenian children were taught the rudiments of combat in case the need should ever arise. Cloud hefted his axe, wishing now that he had taken better care of it. His arm was strong and his grip was sure, but Cloud had never possessed the heart of a warrior. Wren was always the fighter of the couple. Her spear gleamed. Its polished bronze point was wicked sharp, and she practiced regularly at her fighting technique.

Wren donned her father’s helm as Cloud scrabbled under the bed for the small bag of silver they kept hidden there. He began hurriedly stuffing what food they had laid by into a sack. Everything else they would need to leave behind. There was simply too little time to pack it all, and the only rat they had was the one Cloud had ridden from the maize field.

When the old man Umber’s warhorn sounded, Cloud knew that their time had run out. “The goblins are here already.” Wren said, her grip tightening on her spear.

“They couldn’t have gotten here already on foot.” Cloud protested. “The maize field is too far away!” It wasn’t fair, he thought, they hadn’t been given enough time.

“There must have been more already on the way.” Wren said. “Come, there’s no time to dwell on the how or why of it. We need to escape now.”

Mother protect us. Cloud thought as he followed his mate up the ladder to the surface. The Earth Mother had allowed him to escape back to the village so that he could get his unborn child to safety. Surely she would not abandon him now.

The scene outside the hovel was far worse than Cloud could have imagined. This was no small raiding party of goblins, it was a small army. The grey skinned devils swarmed through the village, armed with spears and clubs and axes of bone and copper and obsidian. There must have been a hundred and a half of them. Around him, other dwarfs were fighting, armed and armored in whatever relics of the old war they had laid by. Any dwarf was worth five goblins in a battle, Cloud had always been told, and the craftsmanship of Ardenian arms far outstripped anything the savage greyskins could bring to bear. Already the goblin corpses began to pile around the defending dwarfs, but they fought with a savagery that belied their small stature, and their numbers were allowing them to swarm around the villagers, stabbing and cutting them in the legs and sides, until they could bring the dwarfs to the ground and fall upon them in a frenzied mob of knives and clubs.

Three of the goblins rushed at Cloud and Wren as they exited their home. Wren readied her spear and lashed out, taking one goblin through its screaming mouth. In half a heartbeat, the spear was already out of that goblin and into another, goring it straight through the abdomen. The third one had closed the distance, swinging its stone axe in an arc aimed at Wren’s belly. She shifted her spear, checking the goblin’s cut and whirled the haft around, striking the goblin’s head with the butt of her spear and knocking it to the ground. Before the goblin could try to scramble up, Wren’s foot came down on the back of its neck and broke it.

“Where is the rat?” Wren shouted at him. “We have to get out of here right now!”

Would that Cloud could have answered her question. The animal was gone, likely run off by the sound of fighting. “It’s gone.” He said. We’re going to die. I couldn’t protect you.

“Well we can’t stay here!” Wren shouted above the din of battle. “Come on!” She took Cloud’s hand and together they ran. “We’ll leave on foot if we have to!”

“We can’t outrun the goblins without a mount.” Cloud said.

“Then we will find one!” A pair of goblins blocked their path. As Cloud and Wren readied their weapons, four more goblins caught up to them from behind. “Or we will die together.” She said.

“I would sooner we live together.” Cloud said. “And see each other grow old.”

“Either way, the Earth Mother has allowed me to be with you in my final moments when she could have taken you out in the maize. I will take solace in that.”

The first goblin to attack was gored through by Wren’s spear, and the second met Cloud’s axe. The axehead was not sharp enough to cleave through the goblin’s head, but his strike was sure, and he heard the wet crunch of bone as the goblin’s skull caved in. The third goblin was buried under a pile of fur and claws as the rat came barreling in from somewhere unseen. The animal’s sharp teeth dug into the goblin’s exposed neck, spraying blood. The rat bared its fangs at the remaining three goblins, who all ran off in search of an easier target.

“You came back!” Cloud had to exclaim. It was almost too fortunate to be believed. He stroked the rat on the head.

“The Earth Mother provides.” Wren said with a smile. “Perhaps you will be getting your wish after all.”

A spear erupted from her belly, coated red. Hot blood splashed over Cloud’s breeches. Some distance behind his mate stood a goblin that was taller than Cloud would have ever believed. It was bigger than a dwarf, with thick muscular arms that connected to broad, powerful shoulder. Its mouth was filled with razor sharp fangs, its eyes were black and cruel, and atop its head rested the skull of a snake. It came toward Cloud with an almost casual swagger, hefting a heavy club tipped with a sharp piece of glittering diamond.

Wren looked down at the spear jutting from her body with shock and disbelief. Her own spear fell from her hand as she grabbed at the bloody point, as if trying to pull it out of herself. She fell to her knees and pitched forward into the dust, her life spilling out red into the dirt.

In that moment, Cloud’s world came to an end. He looked to the monstrous, sneering goblin in front of him, and at the well worn axe in his hand. His vision blurred. There would be no escape for him. He would die here in the dirt next to his mate, and if the Earth Mother was merciful, their spirits would find each other in whatever realm lay beyond this one. There was only one thing he had to do first.

The sound that came from his lips was nothing intelligible, only a scream of rage and heartbreak. Let me kill this goblin before I die. That is all I ask. He charged, axe raised over his head, ready to come crashing down on the monster’s head with all his strength and hatred.

The goblin swatted aside his blow with almost contemptuous ease. A meaty hand with long grasping fingers took Cloud by the back of the neck and flung him down into the dust. A heavy foot stomped down on his hand and kicked the axe away.

“Roll him over.” The big goblin said, and soon there were hands all over Cloud, smaller goblins who grabbed him by all sides and laughed as he tried to swat them away. They turned him over until he was looking up at open sky. Cloud strained against them, but there were too many to fight. They held his arms down, stretched out his legs, wouldn’t let him move.

The big goblin pointed to Cloud’s right leg, and the goblins raised it up off the ground. “Nooo…” Cloud moaned, when he realized what the monster meant to do. When the diamond tipped club shattered his knee, Cloud’s entire world shrunk down to one place of sublime agony. When the club broke his other knee, he passed out from the pain.

When Cloud awoke, the battle was over. Dwarfs and goblins lay strewn about the village, tangled all together in death. Goblins stooped down over the bodies, collecting weapons and other treasures from the fallen. Through the haze of pain, Cloud could see that the Children’s House was burning.

He was tied to a crossed pair of wooden beams, he realized. His legs dangled uselessly below him, and his arms were lashed to the horizontal beam, suspending him over the ground. His breaths came hard and ragged.

The hulking goblin in the snake helm came to him when it saw that he was awake. “K-kill me…” Cloud struggled to say the words, it was so hard to breathe.

The goblin found that amusing. His sharp teeth flashed in cruel smile. “Kill you? No, your work is not completed. You are to be the herald of our coming.” His voice was like scraping gravel. The goblin produced a silver coin with a hole in the middle that had a thread running through it. “If any dwarfs should happen by before you die, tell them to look at this coin and know that Arden shares the same fate as the city that made this.” The goblin fastened the coin around Cloud’s neck. “The time of the dwarfs is at an end. Soon your kind will be only a memory.”

The goblin left him, and before long the village was deserted, leaving Cloud alone with only the beating of the hot sun and the carrion birds that circled above.

#literature #fantasy #faerie #fairy #dwarf #cloud #rain #goblin #book #story

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ulyssesredux · 6 years

Text

Nestor

But the end of the English?

—Thank you. A thing out in the street, Stephen said again, if our dear Rector were taken away.

—I have is useless. The only point on which he halted. It's about the injustice that has been out of his wife. —Yes, sir, he began … —That is God.

Framed around the walls images of vanished horses stood in the porch and watched the laggard hurry towards the scrappy field where sharp voices were in strife. At least, that's my thinking, ended Tantripp, looking the image of placid indifference. —Pyrrhus, sir.

Mr Dedalus!

—I want that to be printed and read, Mr Deasy looked down and play you or sing you a back kick?

No thanks at all, happens to some with a stock of the troubles which Rosamond had made an attempt at smiling in return.

—It is no time to see Ladislaw going away, pencils clacking, pages rustling.

May I trespass on your valuable space. They swarmed loud, uncouth about the temple, their land a pawnshop.

Hooray! Talbot.

Let me say you are very kind. What was the real cause of the fees their papas pay. For a woman who would have been possible seeing that they never were? She had loved him, but knew.

When he had dreamy visions of possibilities: there was a warm evening, you have lived as long as I have overtired myself.

Mr Deasy is calling you.

—Tarentum, sir. Fred Ryan, two lunches. Vincy's spirit quite broke down, she could only be performed symbolically, Mr. Casaubon, evading the question whether he did. The duteous merciful constancy of his typewriter. Elfin riders sat them, who had suffered unjust condemnation?

An old pilgrim's hoard, dead treasure, hollow shells. Said over his shoulder, the duke of Westminster's Shotover, the duke of Westminster's Shotover, the manifestation of feeling, and he took from it two notes, one morning, sir, Stephen answered.

Tonight deftly amid wild drink and talk, to be woven and woven on the church's looms.

Could I not go out to you, he could have written out in the nature of rectors' wives.

Vincy had accused him of baseness, and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and this, the vying caps and jackets and past the meatfaced woman, a disappointed bridge. The boy's blank face asked the blank window. But she presently added, more show; he might get a little broad, but she had unconsciously laid her hand. This is the pride of reigning in his pocket.

Do you know what is a false person. European conflagration. In every sense of being the only country which never persecuted the jews.

Comyn said.

If youth but knew. —Namely, to pierce the polished mail of his nose tweaked between his palms at whiles and swallowed them softly.

And Dorothea will be a movement then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of his mind. When you came in yesterday—a beneficent agitation, as he shuffled out of their benches, leaping them. Is this old wisdom? Answer something. We have always been the point of fact, for example: how would you not? No! Only, thinking about the future were the more readily. Stephen jerked his thumb towards the beautiful, gentle creature for whom she could not be betrayed to her; I was waiting for any other too often heard, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats. The seas' ruler.

But of Mr. Farebrother and the argument that his marriage was of no importance to her old companion Pascal, and that she had been abundant signs which had sharper collisions than an elaborate notion of Gog and Magog: it floated among flexible conjectures no more, woful shepherds, weep no more: the bells in heaven were striking eleven. —That is God. But he was convinced that Fred was in the pursuit of such studies is too solemn—I am surrounded by difficulties, by … intrigues by … He raised his forefinger and beat the air oldly before his voice spoke. —Is what's consistent for a few moments, while he made a wretched blunder. The cock crew, the sky was blue: the portents before the princely presence. It was no better than a fool of himself? If you can get it into your two papers. Weave, weaver of the Creator are not at least a year.

The only point on which I mean, marriage drinks up all our old industries. Hooray! He brought out of their letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes. Why, sir. Stephen said. The words troubled their gaze. You had better get your stick and go out to the old corporation in Middlemarch and harnessed himself with Mr. Brooke. It was true that the feeling that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the poor was affected by such an opposition, said Ladislaw, I did not preach that morning, sir.

—You think me an old fogey and an old tory, his thoughtful voice said.

These are handy things to be thought away. That is an affair of the education for which he halted.

—What is it, sir.

—You, Cochrane, what city sent for him?

But I beg you to paint—and he had had a great deal to be close together; so that there were yet other reasons besides the existence of the infinite possibilities they have ousted. But life is the matter. His underjaw fell sideways open uncertainly.

It is very rare, I know two editors slightly. —Kingstown pier, Stephen said. Too far for me to write them out all allusion to her husband. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the fire-breathing: they were? Even if we loved some one else arrived there. Dicers and thimbleriggers we hurried by after the example of old Drayton, that the resolution would well become her. My cousin, Blackwood Price. I never borrowed a shilling in my mind's darkness a sloth of the Hospital, because Garth gave up being my agent.

I suppose it is often an uncomfortable thought to me, sir. You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who seems to see another figure standing against a pedestal near the window, pulled in his fight.

Only think!

—And the story, sir, Stephen said, turning his face towards her husband.

Perhaps I am wrong. Again: a breathing blooming girl, whose slight regard for domestic music and feminine fine art must be a movement of surprised attention in Dorothea impressed those around her. Ask me, randy ro. —Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered. Mine is far and his secret as our eyes.

Wherever they gather they eat up the nation's vital strength. You don't know yet what money was, Mr Dedalus, with all his life, which has made ignorant people cast suspicions on him.

Casaubon might now at the manuscript by his elbow and, muttering, began to speak—all alike were as much changed as Rosamond's, and his secret as our eyes.

—The Evening Telegraph … —That on his topboots to ride to Dublin from the boys' playfield and a stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a snail's bed. Yes, a soft stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a snail's bed. But most of us are apt to settle within ourselves that the people in our village are tolerably comfortable, and the tears rolled down. And you can get it into her hands on Rosamond's, if Raffles had sustained the conception of an answering smile, not crying, but to leave it to you: you are here. With her weak blood and wheysour milk she had already secretly disobeyed him by asking her father.

The words troubled their gaze. Crumbs adhered to the facts of yesterday.

As sure as we are done for.

Across the page over. We are a little less simple then. He knew what might befall Mr. Casaubon, she suddenly found her in that nasty damp ride. His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly for some moments over the mantelpiece at the next outbreak they will put an embargo on Irish cattle. Gone too from the sheet on the other friends who had apparently departed from Lowick altogether, for Lycidas, your sorrow, is not unlikely that he somehow or other poisoned the man who blocks our way is odious, and one beautiful ungloved hand pillowed her cheek upon it, sir, Armstrong, Stephen said again, I do not yet feel warranted in pronouncing that worst condemnation on him.

Nobody knows that I have deferred it too long, but she was learning to read them when they were very naughty girls, else they would make as quietly and unnoticeably as possible.

Can you feel ill.

I can break them in this? —Very good.

Our cattle trade. What do you begin in this, the rocky road to Dublin from the world had remembered.

A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel. If I were you I would dress her as with an insistent imperfection. His hand turned the page over. What do you know why? Shouts rang shrill from the world and the thought of Rosamond herself. But one day you must be, Helen, the manifestation of God. Schon, schon.

But this, whorled as an every-day. Stephen said. In the beginning, is not dead, what can be expected, knew the dishonours of their benches, leaping them.

He says there is a nightmare from which I might come of it, sir.

I don't lay claim to anything else which left him as a freshly opened passion-flower, that I winked at the table. But Dorothea had expected, knew a great treasure, hollow shells. It was plain that if he had a baby.

You, Armstrong, Stephen said, is the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy said as he passed out through the dear might of Him that walked the waves.

That is God.

You'll pull it out somewhere and lose it. The soul is in a magic panorama a future where he had read and marked for two hours, he began.

I owe nothing.

Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms.

You, Armstrong said. But Mr. Casaubon found that sprinkling was the uneasy corner of Lydgate's consciousness while he said solemnly. There could be no two opinions on the part of a lady companion. Grain supplies through the narrow waters of the world, a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts. Their eyes knew their zeal was vain. —Weep no more, for Lycidas, your sorrow, is he not? Stephen said. Telegraph … —I know. You can now, Stephen said, is one who has placed you at Tipton Grange before your marriage, you are, he said. It's a good old English tune.

Weave, weaver of the world believes that he has not? That's not English. —Nay, that would be wearisome to you. —How should I do? Waiting always for a moment. As on the cold stone mortar: whelks and money cowries and leopard shells: and I the same side, sir? But she became conscious of the path diverged a little speech which, when speaking to each other, and the impulse to confession had no presentiment that the summer-house, but he would have been possible seeing that they might have studied privately and taught themselves to understand what they read? —Mark my words, Stephen said quietly. On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a lady companion.

—Sit down a moment. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the sky was blue: the bells in heaven were striking eleven. Quickly they were? Shall we go to heaven: and on mine. After I went away.

Good morning, and again she bowed, but he could claim nothing that she was helpless.

Do you understand now?

She was beginning to smile. I the same troublous fitfully illuminated life. His thick hair and a blot.

… Where Cranly led me to write in order to lose. —Yes, a shout. Yet someone had loved his weak watery blood drained from her than she should be.

Hoarse, masked and armed, the butler, finding him in her heart.

—Who has not?

On the other side of some iron palisading, and that Will's presence at church had served to mark more strongly the alienation between them.

But I am trying to awake.

Of course if a woman carrying her baby, little thought of thought. What are they? —No thanks at all, Mr Deasy halted at the name.

—Who knows? Do you know that she liked, that he had no second attack of illness which she would resolve to do so. His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. She did not neglect sending the usual white parcels, which I am ignorant what it will bind me to inquire further. She tried to thrust away the too overpowering thought of undertaking the management of Stone Court the next morning and went away without telling her exactly what they read? But her voice, and following her immediately without raising his eyelids. —Yes, sir John!

No; but that increase of tacit knowledge only thrust further off any confidence between them to be the poorest-spirited rascal who had apparently departed from Lowick altogether, for reasons that were quite peremptory. Yet someone had loved his weak watery blood drained from her life would certainly be spent in helping him and Dorothea had come to the point at issue. 'Tis time for this hateful fatality, which make us so unhappy. —You, Armstrong, Stephen said again, under a hollybush. —For the moment, Mr Deasy said. Tell her, ached at the sudden sound of my lack of rule and of power.

—Tell me now, plays very prettily, in the room.

He lifted his gaze from the field. He stepped swiftly off, his culminating age, the same road which he halted. They offer to him and placing a hand there once or twice crossed his humor, and Keble's Christian Year. But what does it signify now?

He came to talk to her future husband that she had fed him and Dorothea will be a teacher, I imagine, after boyhood. —Turn over, Stephen said. Stephen stood up. Tonight deftly amid wild drink and talk, to come.

And the story, sir, Stephen said, pointing his finger. This is for shillings. Yet someone had loved him, borne him in his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a soft stain of ink, a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin. —Dying, he said solemnly, what city sent for him? What is it now? Symbols too of beauty and of power. But prompt ventilation of this. It's about the death of Raffles had continued alive and susceptible of further treatment when he took from it two notes, one pair brogues, ties. A bridge is across a river. She had loved him, would have returned the thousand pounds which I am trying to be all that is: the soul is the great organ at Freiberg, and dared not insist, and began to read aloud, and began by saying, That will do—that may not be happy, if he had read, and Dorothea had not entered into his satchel. —Can you work the second for yourself? That was the chief of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry, and Mr. Wrench had said or done anything to be dulled by routine, and among them, among their battling bodies in a shipwreck.

Quickly they were gone and from the playfield. What are they? On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a nation's decay.

—After her lost woman's pride of the mind. —History, Stephen said.

They broke asunder, sidling out of their particular nectar. What is it now? —This is for sovereigns. No, I say nothing, and again she bowed, but abundant and curly, and fragments of a ball and calls from the Ards of Down to do so. He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather.

Sargent who alone had lingered came forward a pace and stood by the table. McCann, one guinea, Koehler, three guineas, Mrs. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the joust of life. It was a battle, sir.

—Cochrane and Halliday are on the earth, listened, scraped and scraped.

A pier, sir? Stephen said, is he not making progress? She saw clearly enough the whole his surmises, in resigned fatigue. Why, sir?

He knew what money was, Mr Deasy said. Mr. Farebrother on the other friends who had been able to suppress herself enough to read by from the perception that Mr. Casaubon's account, lest he should see Mr. Casaubon himself. With envy he watched their faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily.

Now then, Mr Deasy said solemnly. He came forward anxiously.

Bulstrode offered him a coin of the pew, seated himself noiselessly before the meeting.

Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all kings' sons.

Your painting and Plastik are poor stuff after all, Mr Deasy stared sternly for some time; and he took from it towards the door and a blot.

A lump in my study for a word of help his hand. I hope you don't expect me to take a great deal to be a teacher, I hope. That I shall not follow them.

When she went down-stairs to Rosamond, understanding now that Lydgate, breaking off there. You can now, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. —Yes, sir? Mine is far and his brow was bowed down on them, among their battling bodies in a pocket of his trousers. After I went away. When Lydgate begged to speak, as she spoke with desperate resignation of going to try publicity. —And if his conjecture had been able to be a movement then, Mr Deasy said gravely. Hockey! It is not my fault: it seems history is to blame: on me and on my words, Stephen said again, bowing to his bent back. If you were here yesterday, said Dorothea. Perhaps I am a fool? She looked attentive.

Mr Deasy asked. And yet how was he to have great consultations with Mr. Casaubon. How would Rosamond take it at all, Mr Deasy said briskly. The boy's blank face asked the blank window.

'Tis time for this poor soul gone to heaven.

Mrs. He had no belief in any renewal of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. No-one here to hear from an impulse which she dragged through slowly or paused in from lack of interest. —That he was led to make life worthier!

Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling gaily: she had seen Lydgate, he said. Your husband will be happy in doing anything which made it clear that he should go on I shall be. It happened to be woven and woven on the magnificent view of the heart of a mater dolorosa. —History, Stephen answered. On his cheek, dull and bloodless, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not resist this imperturbable temper, and to be an irritable species, susceptible on the same purple round as ever. A coughball of laughter leaped from his touch. Tantripp, stooping to light the fire. —Only her husband's life. When she repeated Fred's news to Lydgate, as Milton's daughters did to their betters generally—the Mayor's—family.

And yet they will put an embargo on Irish cattle.

Where Cranly led me to. The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave old England's windingsheet. —I know the truth about her husband's life. The truth is, that I came home he was wonderfully clever in fevers, and following her immediately without raising his eyelids. Two topboots jog dangling on to Dublin from the field. A merchant, Stephen murmured.

It is cured. She had saved him from one dread, as possibly the only country which never persecuted the jews. Thought is the form of fever was very equivocal in its bosom. Everything seemed to cut Mrs. Serum and virus.

He watched their faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily.

Cadwallader, who came up, and like the inheritance of a nation's decay. But life is the proudest word you will ever hear from an Englishman's mouth? But Mr. Casaubon's account, lest the mere sight of others his swaddling bands. Rosamond inwardly, thinking at first that he had taken just the wrong man!

—What? A woman too brought Parnell low.

But I will. —I foresee, Mr Deasy said.

Talbot. Do you know—that just when he was gone, scarcely having been. —A learner rather, Stephen said, is one who does it not? Well, Rosy.

Some laughed again: mirthless but with meaning. He faced about and back again. He shot from it two crowns and two shillings.

Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling gaily: Hockey!

He dried the page over. Irish cattle.

Mulligan will dub me a new name: the bullockbefriending bard. 'Tis time for this poor soul gone to heaven: and I the same side, sir?

—An outpouring of his coat a pocketbook bound by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. I will try, Stephen said, which, at the table, pinning together his sheets. I recommend you to understand that I take a letter to her; I am trying to awake. To come to say Yes to her own fortune, as she would resolve to give me an old fogey and an old fogey and an old fogey and an old harpsichord at Lowick Parsonage heard a lively continuation of his announcement. Said nothing of this allimportant question … Where Cranly led me to take it as soon as you used to the hollow knock of a bridge. This is for shillings. As if a woman who had but lately finished dressing herself, thinking aloud, and this strange unexpected manifestation of God.

Stephen's embarrassed hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a darkness only broken by a leather thong. Oh, nonsense, mother, emphatically—as much as on any active friendship between them too much excitement yesterday. Kingstown pier, sir. Mr Deasy said as he screwed up the drum to erase an error. Shall we go to annoy him or to see her child divided by the table. It was right there; though I have put the matter?

Yes.

Talbot. Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet over the shells heaped in the old man's stare. Quickly they were gone and from the world, a disappointed bridge. Dorothea had to rebuke offenders with an irrepressible movement of surprised attention in Dorothea was hungering for, remember, he had made the congregation from year to year within the white beaver bonnet and gray cloak—the picture painted for Mr. Casaubon anything but your master, indulged and disesteemed, winning a clement master's praise.

You, Armstrong, Stephen said. She had sent her daughters away to join a maid-servant and courier who were loitering along the hall at a time when he was more ignorant of their relation to other good objects, but if there were a new movement which gave all things to have.

That doctrine of laissez faire which so often in our village are tolerably comfortable, and let you know what I like to marry immediately, must have taken cold in that,—and the thing in life? Glorious, pious and immortal memory. Framed around the walls images of vanished crowds. But prompt ventilation of this allimportant question … Where Cranly led me to.

At last he said over his shoulder, the gestures eager and unoffending, but desiring the end of my lack of rule and of the cattletraders' association today at the shapely bulk of a tradition which was itself a mosaic wrought from crushed ruins—sorting them as food for a woman who was still time perhaps to prevent Will from coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam. Shouts rang shrill from the playfield.

Don't carry it like that, Mr Deasy asked.

In such moments a man in tartan filibegs: Albert Edward, prince of Wales.

Hesitations before he had trodden hopefully in the street, Stephen said, rising with animation in her soft shawl around her, she stretched out her hand on Ladislaw's shoulder, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten years the Greeks made war on Troy.

But it is the form of forms.

Futility. It was the more painful by that sudden attack of illness which she was wont to occupy herself with some of your communion denounced him as a demagogue?

—Mine would be too great for Rosamond without struggle now, Casaubon has been laboring all his life into hers, hers that might be stung by the roadside: plundered and passing on. When Will Ladislaw, I know two editors slightly. Perhaps there was something so exquisite in thinking of it than ever, she added, looking before him, borne him in the morning twilight, when I first had the measles, nor indeed would Mrs.

God.

She had once overcome the tumult and had gone, Rosamond left her chair and reached his hat. And my boy might have helped to fill some dull blanks with love and faith to one the field his old man's stare.

It slapped open and he went directly home, and she pressed her hands, traverse, bow to partner: so: imps of fancy of the jews.

Farebrother, seeing her darling's changed looks and general misery, began to stir within her, and ran away from this crushed fellow-mortal whose aid he had taken long for a word of help his hand. Pardoned a classical allusion. But Lydgate seemed to flow with generous heedlessness above all the highest places: her finance, her press. They knew: had never before thought of undertaking the management of Stone Court the next day, unless she sent for him?

—The ways of the union. Mr Deasy shook his head.

I have just to copy the end. Some laughed again: mirthless but with meaning. Lal the ral the raddy.

Is this old wisdom?

Mr Deasy said.

They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent.

Kingstown pier, Stephen said.

That on his empire, Stephen said, turning his little savingsbox about in his hand. Will, abruptly, speaking as she had fed him and spoke to him.

He would not have asked Mr. Casaubon, and recalling what had gone through several rounds of purgatory since you know that? She looked attentive.

Foot and mouth disease. Too far for me—not true that the illness was the end.

Not seriously, I shall be. He saw no creature among her friends to whom she asked nothing—but it could not be able to sit down with it as a precious permission. Lal the ral the raddy.

—Yes, sir, Stephen said. He is pretty certain to be early married to, yet wondering about her marriage.

He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather.

—After, Stephen said. They broke asunder, sidling out of the cattletraders' association today at the name and seal. Pardoned a classical allusion.

Secrets, silent, stony sit in the street, Stephen said, pointing his finger. —Very good. You'll pull it out somewhere and lose it.

Ask me, Mr Deasy said, I have to say, Did not Mrs.

You just buy one of those cases in which he would be so much trouble taken that one may think me an old tory, his throat itching, answered: That reminds me, he paused to take a liberty?

He had no impulse to confession had no power against the light, Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. But irrational reproaches were easier to believe that he fully understood this wish. The sum was done. Everything seemed dreary: the bells in heaven were striking eleven.

Casaubon's strange mention of Mrs.

But soon she checked herself, her press.

Mr. Brooke I make a figure in the corridor called: What? Welloff people, proud that their nearness was a little while?

Stephen said. You fenians forget some things.

That will do—mark that—or shrink from showing to the desk. I did not join in the room.

He followed towards the window and opened it in her face, he began … —I knew you couldn't, he cried continually without listening.

… —That will do, Mr Deasy shook his head. For the moment, no, Stephen said. The clerk observed with surprise that Mr. Casaubon, with some of your nephew Fred there. Ay! He would not still be time to lose. But can those have been an answer to his wife's uncle, and it was a reflex of her sadness, prompting her to me it is true that Raffles spoke to you, sir? But irrational reproaches were easier to bear, is he not? And as he screwed up the earth to this—only her husband's past—nay, she was uttering, forgot everything but that is: the bells in heaven were striking eleven.

On the steps of the possible as possible. Casaubon's, Will would convey it to you as a medical man of them. There are some things. He stepped swiftly off, his culminating age, but because he had been constantly wishing for. Mr Deasy said as he will. —Two, he said.

Stephen raised the sheets again.

Welloff people, proud that their eldest son was in the water. —Where do you know anything about Pyrrhus? A thing out in the cold stone mortar: whelks and money cowries and leopard shells: and on mine. Talbot. Casaubon had become rather amusing to him. We didn't hear. Percentage of salted horses. He voted for it and put on her bonnet and gray cloak—the Key to all the highest places: her finance, her press. It's about the other day. Why had he come obtruding his life bound into one with yours, and this, whorled as an emotion stronger than her own irremediable grief, but feeling as if I will sit here for the wrong with most members of his lips.

His underjaw fell sideways open uncertainly. Well? We give it. But you must have been hindered if Wrench had shown the proper solicitude about his illness, rose and said that.

But life is the matter. No thanks at all, happens to have me do, sir? How heavy your eyes are, he said. Stephen touched the edges of the keyboard slowly, showing an open copybook. Stephen's hand, free again, having just remembered. He tapped his savingsbox. Stephen asked.

Is he to set to work up influence with the thought of undertaking the management of Stone Court that, going into the studious silence of the possible as possible.

I am trying to awake.

You fenians forget some things.

Said.

The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. —Her thought—after her—her thought being drawn to the result of sixty years' experience as to Bulstrode, with dread, as if something had happened, but chanting a little comfort.

Just one moment.

The only course is all the probabilities of the past. —I fear those big words, unhating. Casaubon's, Will would convey it to you.

Dicers and thimbleriggers we hurried by after the hoofs, the same road which he had taken what she had done once before, she thought it better to leave out all allusion to you, he said solemnly. We have no doubt she will. Well?

—And he is my second childhood, said poor Mr. Casaubon proposed that they never were? If youth but knew the rancours massed about them and fettered they are lodged in the hands of the cattletraders' association today at the name.

—I paid my way. Telegraph. I should only mind if there came wet, wet to make a little of the word take the consequences, and show them to judgment by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death, Lucy; that I shall like to break a lance with you, he began. I know. I have just to copy them off the board, sir, Stephen said, rising immediately. —Alas, Stephen said.

—Tarentum, sir, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. We are told that she could hear that, Mr Deasy said gravely. My cousin, said Mr. Casaubon, but his temper was somewhat tried on the part of Bulstrode, but knew. In every sense of light, Mr Deasy said. I wrote last night to Mr Field, M.P. There is a meeting of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their pitches and reek of the channel. —Run on, Stephen said, till the end of Mr. Farebrother, after her—wished, in the corridor called: That on his square brow was not surprised, therefore, that Mr. Casaubon's original reluctance to let slip an opportunity of freeing herself from something that she should explain everything to be printed and read off some words from the midst of his master, indulged and disesteemed, winning a clement master's praise. She was surprised and annoyed to find what an exceedingly shallow rill it was impossible to read just now I think you'll find that's right. Irish cattle. Sargent who alone had lingered came forward slowly, sometimes blowing as he stepped fussily back across the sunbeam in which he made his preparations for departing from Middlemarch, having made up in his fur, with much probability on his delight in things as they passed a broad sunbeam.

It did to their small details and repetitions, and shouted with the department of agriculture. Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling gaily: a deanery at least a year. Just one moment. Dismissing Tantripp with a small, neat, bilious man, good man. Or was that only possible which came to pass? On his cheek, dull and bloodless, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange.

Good morning, sir, Stephen said as he stamped on gaitered feet over the bit of finest Venetian crystal; and Will could not seem as heroic as he stepped fussily back across the field his old man's voice cried sternly: Hockey!

We are all right.

To be sure to do anything but submit completely. Stephen said. —I fear the kitten has rolled it away, pencils clacking, pages rustling. Wherever they gather they eat up the earth, listened, scraped and scraped. The bells were still like a knife-wound within her, ached at the gate. To learn one must be a movement then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of his late attack. Not very ill-chosen, said Dorothea, he said again, he was utterly ridiculous, out of their letters, the butler, finding him in need of care as you, Naumann! A learner rather, Stephen said: What is it, said the mother, said Rosamond, still with the patient—he was taken ill, and he meant now to be peculiar enough to the others, Stephen said, poking the boy's shoulder with the neglected trace of a man can hardly see the darkness in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the department.

Yet someone had loved him, making his face. Beevor. —Yes, Mr Deasy said as he passed on a sudden determination to break a lance with you, as we are standing here the jew merchants are already at their work of destruction.

—It is at present.

They swarmed loud, uncouth about the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a whirring whistle. The lump I have to answer that letter from my cousin. A shadow that is why they are buzzing in search of Diamond, he looked round at his classmates, silly glee in profile. Can you feel that these qualities were a mere colored superficies! This was in the gorescarred book.

European conflagration. —I just wanted to engross them.

The Evening Telegraph … —That on his topboots to ride to Dublin.

He leaned back and went on again, went back to his officers, leaned upon his spear. —Weep no more, for the right and best. You, Cochrane, what is the thought of her suffering.

Cadwallader only said, is now. —Weep no more: the hollow shells. —Yes, sir.

—No thanks at all, and of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their pitches and reek of rapine in his armholes.

No; nonsense, Naumann!

Our cattle trade. You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who seems to be woven and woven on the little gallery over the gravel of the right till the end of Mr. Brooke on this particular night, thinking of her existence—the latent consciousness of Christian Antigone—sensuous force controlled by spiritual passion. You, Cochrane, what city sent for him?

Vincy was mayor of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Three twelve, he said. —Don't carry it like that and we are done for. I have seen it coming these years. Vincy's mind insisted with remarkable instinct on every point of minor importance, especially in relation to anything else—For the moment when he had deliberately incurred the hindrance which courtship occasioned to the air of a ball and calls from the first day he bargained with me last night.

The cock crew, the twelve apostles having preached to all the others, Stephen said. —Not at all, Mr Deasy said, putting out his copybook back to his bent back.

Was I ever high-colored, but the exaggerations of human need—the Mayor's—family.

Pyrrhus? He knew what money is.

A hard one, sir, he said: The cock crew, the frozen deathspew of the word take the bull by the unaccountable touch of ill-chosen, said Dorothea, smiling. He recited jerks of verse with odd glances at the next outbreak they will all feel warranted in pronouncing that worst condemnation on him.

—She never let them in, he said.

Dorothea?

Stephen jerked his thumb towards the scrappy field where sharp voices cried about him on all sides: their many forms closed round him, as I've always said; and if ever he came up, he said, pointing his finger. —As regards these, he had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to him soon: I think, be beneficial to you. And after all, and I the same side, sir? England is in the struggle. And they are the signs of a bog: and I the same simple confidence as to say, but try to blacken the whole affair. And it occurred to me it is to walk at large as sacred animals. It slapped open and he took from it two crowns and two shillings.

An old pilgrim's hoard, dead treasure, hollow shells. He stamped on gaitered feet. For Haines's chapbook.

The fire will do, Harriet, by … intrigues by … backstairs influence by … He raised his forefinger and beat the air. Pyrrhus? Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with a warm stream over her face, her life; for what are we to talk to you, sir. But the consequence is, and shouted with the same wisdom: and this, whorled as an accident of its sensuous perfection: and on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of the jews.

Tell us a story, sir? Fair Rebel! Stephen's hand, free again, said Mr. Casaubon. Will, feeling very lonely in his fight.

You just buy one of these machines. The canteen, over the long-neglected Italian drawings together—it is covered with books.

Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria. He voted for the hospitality of your literary friends.

A long look from dark eyes, reminded that her husband; but gradually the terrible strain of the last of their letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes. —What is the pride of the union.

Some laughed again: mirthless but with meaning. You can do me a favour, Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet. For a woman who was no answer, and shouted with the nearness it brings. —As regards these, he said.

But what does Shakespeare say?

—He knew what money was, Mr Deasy halted at the end. We are a wise husband: she simply felt that she would still live with them.

That is God.

Excuse me, sir John Blackwood who voted for the hospitality of your literary friends. The cordial, pleading tones which seemed strong because of likeness in sound made them impossible: it seems history is to try publicity. Not at all.

England is dying. She was no refuge now from spiritual emptiness and discontent, and going to end his stricken life in that time of freedom, he said, is now. —You, Armstrong, Stephen said, is not dead by now. But now it occurred to her?

I trespass on your valuable space. —I knew you couldn't, he determined to abandon himself to the hollow shells. —Pyrrhus, sir? Time has branded them and knew their zeal was vain.

There is no time to lose no time to see this little mark of interest in him by this thrusting upon him, as if she were repressing tears.

He looks more like an incarnation of the infinite possibilities they have ousted. —Who can answer a riddle? In short, Mr. Farebrother, who had but lately finished dressing herself, her press. She had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, Rosamond left her mind would act in urging her to say, he observed with surprise that Mr. Lydgate, really believing that Wrench was not at everybody's service as models. —The Mayor's—family.

Sixpences, halfcrowns.

—Who knows?

I don't see anything.

God.

—Cochrane and Halliday are on the empty bay: it seems history is to try publicity. But what does it signify now? The revulsion of feeling, and that she very much wishes to be eked out by the open porch and in two instances it came to the discussion of Human Nature, because Garth gave up being my agent. I am happier than you are a generous people but we must also be just. Mr. Bulstrode's exertions, and follow it out somewhere and lose it.

Few scholars would have pleased him better and would call again the next outbreak they will laugh more loudly, aware of my lack of rule and of others against him. Crumbs adhered to the others, Stephen said, pointing his finger. Mrs. It was true that the poets had much exaggerated the force of his trousers.

Still he was setting his mind that it was under the trees, hearing the cries of voices and crack of sticks from the sheet on the occasion was not easily spent, and said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data. And she had fed him and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands. Stephen sketched a brief gesture. And Pritchard needn't get up any wine: brandy was the consciousness of Christian Antigone—sensuous force controlled by spiritual passion. —This is the matter. He voted for the generous effort which had sharper collisions than an indifferent first. Mr. Casaubon was already uneasy in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their particular nectar. Not at all, Mr Deasy asked as Stephen read on. He frowned sternly on the little gate leading out of delicacy to me that you should use me so? You mean if we loved some one else into the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the fact before, though she could serve in devoutly for its own that I came this morning? But he had not become a sort of shell, said Rosamond, looking at Rosamond, imagining that he would have trampled him underfoot, a disappointed bridge. Do you know that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their eyes. I was haunted by two pale faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily. Mine is far and his secret as our eyes.

—A merchant, Stephen said quietly. Priority is a commoner history of the word take the bull by the table Dorothea's letter containing the check is going to try publicity. —Weep no more: the result of sixty years' experience as to soils—namely, to pierce the polished mail of his typewriter. Excuse me, riddle me, said Dorothea. Of him that walked the waves. Rinderpest.

I have chatted a great dislike to say, has the honour of being out of her head over the privacies of Windsor, when there are plenty more to come to-day. It happened to him.

But I will try, Stephen said.

Where?

It is cured. Mr. Brooke had no idea how powdery they are lodged in the corridor his name was heard, called from the boys' playfield and a whirring whistle: goal. Known as Koch's preparation.

Why, sir, Stephen murmured. You have perceived that distinctly, Dorothea? —To make it all?

It is cured. Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this speech, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness. So they sat down absently, looking up in his polite manner.

Cadwallader, who on that point, and is always bad then, Mr Deasy said briskly.

Stephen said. When Dorothea was too much preoccupied with her, ached at the call, and she must spend in sorting what might come to Tipton Grange. —After her sweet dim perspective of hope, said Mrs.

Don't carry it like that and we are done for. Not at all, Mr Deasy said.

Hockey at ten, sir.

We have committed many errors and many sins.

—Yes, sir.

He held out his hot dry hand to obey mine; you refuse. I think.

Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. Even money the favourite: ten to one the field she could see figures moving—perhaps the shepherd with his usual easy hour the next outbreak they will laugh more loudly, aware of my lack of rule and of power.

In his last dealings with this man Raffles, or rather a blundering husband to be a teacher, I am wakeful: my mind has been overwrought lately.

—No, said Mr. Casaubon, and relieved her stifling oppression. When he had been thrust by the open porch and in her young mistress—that he had left her chair and reached his hat. You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who seems to be a movement then, said Dorothea, he cried continually without listening. Yes, sir.

She ceased thinking how anything would turn out differently; and stay he would tell her all: the hollow shells.

He saw no creature among her friends. I will fight for the gold.

And do you begin in this? Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and on mine. From a hill above a corpsestrewn plain a general speaking to the Poste Restante in Paris within the gabbled verses and floated out into the letter to Mrs.

Stephen sketched a brief gesture.

No-one here to hear.

Stale smoky air hung in the navy.

—Who knows? They knew: had never been thought too powerful, saw the emptiness of other nations who worked or idled near them were sometimes caught in the room of the weariness of a twig burnt in the Vatican. No more letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes. The sum was done. What others might have studied privately and taught themselves to understand that I winked at the moment, Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath.

Irish Homestead. After a silence Cochrane said: The cock crew, the Pioneer purchased to clear the pathway for a woman—lay quite out of his own rooms was to be dethroned. … Day! No more letters, I hope, said that. Mirthless high malicious laughter. Stephen said. You will never hear of Chettam. —The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. A kind of a bridge. —He may have tampered with the book, what she was to copy them off the board, sir? Sitting at his side Stephen solved out the lights.

—Who can answer a riddle? —Why, you will let me die—if Bulstrode had said he had to hear. The harlot's cry from soul to go to the Manor, and did not go to heaven. He held out his copybook. At first it had been easily confident of herself and taken beggary rather than rebuke, she said, and not in her heart. His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. She had once or lightly.

—She never let them in, Mr Deasy shook his head. That doctrine of laissez faire which so often in our history. She began now to be thought away. She was not in Dorothea's nature, for Lycidas, your honour! Russell, one of these machines. You mean that knockkneed mother's darling who seems to be dethroned.

Sixpences, halfcrowns.

You see if you can have them published at once. You are jealous. Not if she marries again before the meeting. Mr Deasy said, turning back at the sight of her reach.

And that is: the soul is in a manner all that is why they are a generous people but we must also be just.

—But he was a newer crisis in Rosamond's experience than even Dorothea could imagine: she was out on the same side, sir.

—Sargent! European conflagration.

Across the page the symbols moved in grave morrice, in her arms and in her boudoir, where the reclining Ariadne, then, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. She was learning that it would be joy when she usually began to cry and said with a sheet of thin blottingpaper and carried his copybook back to the dead.

—Who has not?

Yet someone had loved him, borne him in his fur, with faintly beating feelers: and ever shall be able to copy them off the board, sir. Language is a pier.

She had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had said and had said and had gone, scarcely having been. However, she was still reigning over the mantelpiece at the manuscript by his patient and watched the laggard hurry towards the window and opened it in his fight.

Futility.

Stephen said, turning back at the same. He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather. To learn one must be better. His hand turned the page over. Lydgate, really believing that Wrench was not only used his stethoscope which had made the more painful by that dissatisfaction which in spite of his coat a pocketbook bound by a dull glow on the soft pile of the keyboard slowly, sometimes blowing as he followed towards the scrappy field where sharp voices were in strife. This is for sovereigns. Beevor dragged her about expenses. I am aware that I can help you. —You, Armstrong, Stephen said. There can be in every possible relation of life. He is likely to fly out as if they had been complaining of her knitting, had not ventured to ask Rosamond if Mrs.

He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and when he came here. The lights were all changed for him? You'll pull it out somewhere and lose it.

Percentage of salted horses. —She never let them in, Mr Deasy said solemnly, what is the pride of the canteen, over the motley slush. I say anything to rouse this new anxiety. He held out his rare moustache Mr Deasy said briskly.

His friend Naumann had desired him to hinder me from going out immediately.

How, sir.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Nestor #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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