Jade Fern Grove [m] cause i'm just one of those ghosts

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Heat

It had started two nights prior. Bedbound with sluggish limbs and nauseated by just the thought of eating. There was a spark of worry when it turned to fever. Warmth radiating throughout her body. She was keen to sleep off whatever illness afflicted her, had she been able to sleep at all. So she dragged herself to her feet and left for an cool evening walk.

And kept walking.

Some of the fatigue abated with movement, albeit not all. But the night air did not free her from the burning beneath her skin. She stopped for respite briefly in the Overture Downs and slept the day away half submerged in a shallow stream. Her travel continued upon waking.

Vale was not oblivious to a woman's season, but she hadn't placed much thought into her own. She hadn't paid much mind to her body the year prior. Perhaps it was brushed off with travel fatigue as she made her way to the Teekons. Although, she was certain she never felt this before.

It seemed she could not outrun this fire. So she continued north. Choosing solitude over her home in Kvarsheim. The young leaders did not need to deal with any attention her heat would bring to their home. Nor did she want any attention from her packmates, even if she did trust them. Heat, generally, was not a well-kept secret.

She had run herself ragged upon reaching the fern grove. The trees reached for the night sky above as a mossy stretch on the forest floor called for her to rest her head. With a huff, she lowered herself to the ground.

When she found sleep to be illusive yet again, Vale sat up with a frustrated groan. Irritation pinpricked its way across her skin. How did almost every woman deal with yearly? She directed her ire towards the disheveled portions of her coat.

At least, for the moment, she was alone.

For @Andras

vale i'm so sorry

but she was not alone.
andras was lucky to have reached her first. the scent came to him from miles away, and he was quick to sneak from the iron curtain of the bypass before one of the little boys prancing about in rivenwood thought to spread more of their seed, as if they hadn't done so enough.
it was his turn.
he was not keen on recreating what had happened with the red-faced whore from months before. instead, he upholds his mountain shelter persona; he walks with gentle steps, he keeps his head down. hopefully this one would be more receptive, as she ought to be.
when he gets a good look at her, he is not displeased. she is small, frail; it looks as though her season has not been kind to her, which is a shame, but he cannot discern just how good or bad of stock she will make quite yet.
pardon me, miss, he peers from between the trees, the hum of crickets chirping alongside him. he puts on his best gentle façade; he reaches his white-robed arm out toward her, offering her the touch of holiness. are you alright?

She jolts upright when the shadows learn to speak. Eyes rounded as they dart towards the source of the sound. The voice. The— the question?

Golden eyes land upon the murky silhouette between the trees. The break within the long cast shadows by the grove was accompanied by a pair of metallic eyes. Heart pounding against her ribs, the hair along her neck blades.

No, she wasn't alone.

She squints through the darkness, taking a step forward. Nose twitching, she did not recognize the scent he wore. His pack was foreign to her. Another step. Did a pack live nearby? She was certain the grove lacked any markers. Was she too close?

She almost forgets herself. Her condition.

Ears airplaning, she takes several paces back. Her gaze never fully leaving the stranger.

I am well, sir. Thank you.

She collects herself, ears setting forward. Chin lifted ever so slightly to hide her uncertainty, although her eyes would betray her. Was that all he wanted?

she is wary. he loved when he could smell the fear rolling off of their backs; but now is not the time, here is not the place.
here, he is amadeo. here, he is a retired general turned priest. here, he is kind, thoughtful, passive. he is the shepherd these fat-breasted cows need. his lip curls into a small smile as he pads a few inches closer to her. forgive me for being forward, but, i-- ah, couldn't help but notice your... affliction.
he doesn't posture like he typically would, but does not shy away either. he leans closer to gather a taste of her scent, where she is coming from and where she will go, belly round with his spawn. he is innocently curious, perhaps a little hopeful. do you come here in search of a man?

The paper-thin façade she held up rippled as he removed himself from the treeline. Tongue flashing between her lips as she suppressed a nervous whine from passing her teeth. The few inches lost akin to several feet to her addled mind.

There is a smile upon his face. Why? The ever present burn intensifies across her face, blooming down her throat and singeing her ears as he comments on the obvious. She supposed she couldn't fault him for having a working nose.

There is a subtle shake of her head to his question.

The opposite, actually. Her eyes break from his form, dropping to the ground between them. The irony was not lost on her. Despite her efforts here she was, entertaining a conversation with a man.

She drags herself to awkwardly meet his gaze again. I'm on a little bit of a vacation of sorts.

well this was quite the predicament, wasn't it?
a misguided broodmother. just his luck. she says no, but every other signal that wafts from her says yes! he could easily ravage her anyways, this pitiful thing. such a gorgeous little moth.
but he doesn't. not yet. he must at least try to appeal to her feminine sensitivity, lest rivenwood discover it and leave him homeless.
forgive me for assuming, then, he backs away from her as if to disarm her. are you local? it is the busy season. i cannot say i blame you for wanting to get away.
oh! where are my manners? my name is amadeo, he settles down into a sit, easing onto his aching joints. he tries not to stare so obviously at the delicious curve of her hips, her slender belly; ah. my pack is not far from here. i came out for a little stroll, and then... well, you know. i ran into you.

A part of her manifests the expectation the he would dismiss himself at her refusal. Proven incorrect, it is replaced by a flash of guilt. He lived nearby. It wasn't fair of her to dictate his movements around his own home was it?

Nonetheless, he eases from her space. The hair on her neck flattens, yet her skin continued to prickle. Hormones, she assumed. Caution begins to give way to weariness and she mirrors him, slowly reclining into a neat sit. As much as a restlessness gnawed at her flanks and placed embers beneath her feat, she had little energy to abide it. But she could try and put less strain on her body. Sit down just long enough to recollect herself before moving onward. Yes, she would move again soon. But for now, she swallows the stone in her throat and entertains her new acquaintance.

My name is Vale. There is a weariness to her gaze as she regards him—Amadeo. Yes, I live in the valley, just further south. She gestures over her shoulder in the direction she came from. Leaving Kvarsheim nondescript until she could glean more information from this Amadeo. I was not aware of a pack near here, what is its name?

frankly, andras was losing interest by the second. she was positively boring him! there was no game to be made from this. andras was meant to make her feel safe, secure, as if he was not a man and she not a bitch, sitting here and denying him his right to her.
and now she was asking him about his home. as if she deserved to know! he considers whether he should lie or not, if she would perhaps come crawling to rivenwood seeking child support once she grew fat with pups.
he also considers striking her across the face.
i'm not surprised if you haven't heard of it. it's very secluded, way up in the mountains. he flashes a deceptively patient, playful smile. i'll share with you if you share with me, miss vale.
perhaps he'll have to try a different approach. you know, i know you hadn't come here to find a suitor, per se, but... i cannot help myself from being captivated by your beauty. you have wonderful eyes, he ponders reaching out toward her, but stops short; his ears splay to the sides of his head. ah-- i'm sorry. i'm awfully out of practice with the whole... chivalry thing.

He answers in a manner similar to her own, a fair exchange by—what she assumes to be—his standards. The game laid out, in that regard, was simple. A pack name for a pack name. As easy as the terms were, Vale couldn't prevent the spark of disappointment over her miniscule gain. Though, she knew her attempt was halfhearted at best.

Her eyes closed briefly, reviewing what she knew of the terrain surrounding the valley. The Sunspires were the obvious choice to consider for a secluded mountain home. Although her own crossing of the mountain range was rapid with the intent to get to the meadowland beyond. She never took the time to explore the territories within. Within the valley itself, there were some smaller mountains. Some closer to home than others.

He didn't live with the new neighbors right next door, did he? Oh no. No, no. That would be just awkward now wouldn't it?

Gold eyes reopened to settle upon the swarthy man. Her mouth parted to inquire before she was left speechless by what he said next. Her mouth hung slack for several seconds before she closed it again. Her own ears splayed as a flush spread across her face again. The tip of her tail curled around her leg, wagging reflexively before she weighted it with a forepaw. Idly fussing with the fur by threading it through her toes.

In the following moment she considered Amadeo briefly. In the time spent in conversation she became attuned to his form amidst the shadowed grove. Any sway in the boughs overhead would occasionally strike silver across his pelt as moonlight illuminated the graying fur. Despite silvering, she could see he retained his strength as he aged.

A small voice in the back of her head, seeded in emotion and addled hormones, told her that he was not a bad option. Another voice, grounded in cold logic, reminded her that she did not know who he was.

A near apologetic look came across her eyes. Her head tilted as she gently queried, You won't even tell me where you live. You barely know who I am. There is no accusation in her voice, only sincerity. Are you sure?

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: GROSS misogyny i'm so sorry i felt awful writing this

it was working.
he sees it, every nervous twitch and flutter of her lashes, the delicious, natural attraction she could not ignore. now, she saw. finally. finally!
he revels in this, all of it; savoring every bit of wariness that pours off of her in buckets of sweet pheromones and the joyous, dangerous game of fucking a stranger. she, however, all she would see is the soft, bashful look of an older man who felt humbly flattered by her — assumed — return of his affections.
she raises a valid point, but amadeo had a counter, flashing a winsome grin. well, you only live once, he chuckles and shakes his head, pulling away from the magnetic honey eyes. but if i was to-- lie with you-- and something were to happen, and you did not want to do it on your own, you would have a home with me.
it was bold, all of this, but bold in a way that was unfamiliar to the stalking predator. she wanted to be wooed. never before had a whore deserved such a thing from him — but she is not a whore.
her name is vale, and she has striking eyes and a wonderful cinnamon coat, and she would, as he decides, make a wonderful vessel for his children.
surprising perhaps himself, amadeo drops down to his belly, crawling along the velveteen undergrowth until he reaches her feet; to her foreknuckles, he plants a gentle kiss, much in the same way he used to do to shaba. his heart twitches in his chest, but he does not shy away, only looks up to vale with the pleading look of a weak, gentle boy hogtied by her beauty. stricken! awestruck!
if this was what she wanted, this is what she would get, if it meant he got a new slab of fuckmeat.
i am indeed.

When he sprawls across the forest floor he is far from the only one surprised. Both her forepaws plant against the ground, limbs stiffening with each inch lost between them. Her ears hug low atop her head. Gold eyes flickered between the cold metal gaze and the green foliage just beyond it. Unable to remain on the waiting, pleading expression of the man at her feet.

He was sure, or so he said. Vale, however, wasn't so certain. The different voices of logic and emotion waged war in her head and the fog that followed was difficult to navigate.

She is deeply flattered, but it is a gift she is uncertain on how to receive. A "thank you, you too!" would not be appropriate here. Did that warrant sleeping with a man, then? A base instinct sweeps along the battlefield. It exhausts her with an unending fever. It promises to leave if she does. And well, he was patient, wasn't he? There was a promise to support her that passed his lips, and she can feel herself warm to him. Reason hissed in her ears that she had no base of his character. Would he keep that promise? There were consequences to this, and she could be left to face them alone. Well then, what should she do?

Her thoughts continued to cycle. She waved them away to attempt something else to make sense of it all; if sense could be made out of one's own instincts.

Vale chewed on the inside of her lip, leveling her gaze at Amadeo. Heart quickening, she slowly mirrored him, sliding down onto her belly. One forelimb tucked beneath her while the other extended along the outside of his. She leaned forward, the side of her head brushed along his cheek, her nose just below his ear.

How would I find you, if I need you? Her voice, a whisper in his ear, could not refrain from wavering. Closer now, she quietly drank in his scent. Committing it to memory.