Hushed Willows blu(m)enmond

i am ... so sorry ;-;

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it took awhile to break his focus from the cankerworms defoliating the boughs of the ash tree above him.

her scent is tinctured with faint sourness, but elicited the blood in him to palpitate in response, a highly condensed substance vibrating to the so discrete frequencies. every time the spoon tried to stir him, he proved to be too viscous, the handle snapping, always far enough to avoid women in his venturing (for the most part).

besides that woman—any other iteration was an electric boogaloo that would prove to be an unnecessary and frankly inferior sequel. besides, what women would want his only fractured seaglass eye? all the imperfect clefts of his face—far too ghastly, surely!

his muscles are pulled taut by clothespin and he's hung like a laundry line, the wind blows and and the ache in his loins seizes him, should nature lay its things on him and swing him dry.

though she'll ply at him and find the mollusk in living armor, and he would not last. it wasn't just an immoveable object versus perpetual motion, it was a river that would run him through and erode him to the pebble-bed beneath.

River see man.

River want man.

River take man.

There was no shyness to her approach. No coquettish charm. She simply looked upon him, moon eyes cold and dispassionate - until they weren't, when icy silver gems seemed to turn molten as she assessed the nightfox.

The scarring aged him, but she could tell he was still early in his prime. Probably as virile as he’d ever be, right now. At the height of his potential, right now.

Desirable, right now.

And there was no defect she could see that led her to believe his genetics were objectionable. He was tall, thick-coated, lean (possibly due to the lack of a packscent), with a complexion and eyes to die for. What more could anyone ask for? Maybe a sound mind, you say? Ehh, sanity’s overrated in River’s not-so-humble opinion. Plus, she believes in keeping the corporal punishment card in play to course-correct any “maladjusted behaviors.”

Nothing but his own preferences would keep her from adding this specimen to her alchemic womb. She would collect this trophy and be proud to have captured him. And she conveyed these things, her ultimately vampiric intentions, with every sway of her tail, beckoning him nearer.

maybe ftb after this post? we can continue or do another? up to you!

but his bones and heart certainly made him feel he was virtually passé, no matter virile he naturally was (though realistically he’d probably gag at the word like a child, the same way a curious percent of the english-speaking population finds the pronunciation of ‘moist’ an auditory slight).

she beckons him like a dog.

all his autonomous senses scream to—go! go! go!

all his natural senses coincided, though suggested to him the opposite direction.

he was going to regret this, he knew. but he approached her anyway, wanting to receive this boon in full.

every step the contrast between his crudely shaped airbrushed soft edges contrast with the sharpest, his chest lurched as if an unsteady hull. his snaggletooth lacerates his bottom lip as he crudely reaches for her neck, a scripted machine-language command truncated by years as a virgin mary rogue.

he didn’t want to comprehend his base attraction to her at all, feeling the grief [word] againsts the facets of his deep emotional impediments.

he just wanted to supplant her being with his until the morning light.