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libidomechanica · 2 years

Text

Untitled (“But her”)

A treochair sequence

But her feel good, whose ynne young grace be dying, and set of the Good, all

him every clever, and with slaue. The stars, and from Memorie; and word, for

your eyes? With wedge to draw that somethings more steep where at least almight soone

I lovely Polly Stewart, ioying of loue, me on her, I’m made barbed first

bear, if the dark and such mothers live labor and love the set at the

prince, ’ he sensual came flowers, without it to the dimness of the

bed. Though of this instead, they fed, whereof noble! As killer willing

your High-arched by the flowers of winters bread of such a thou dost be

He, while she love promise of air, and I rejoice in must review and

word; the mimic not less granted ore flame gauntlest kissed men in eithere,

with arms share. Love, a horse vnto herds an upturned with did cot; shunned around,

on this, to be, or night on my petals claim men and ensanguish,

we drown me in like Jewel instant valleys low, who play her Nest. And

impious ease me. When his chief cities? The least thou of my cheeks, Ay me!

As sheepe did they are cross theories, my Mary, in the dolphins, the

light. Best bon- mots wat’ry bier, and fair, alas, if my peer, showing over

here. That love their changen thrall; and Max like raging lost in flows down;

thy cloudy this worms it from birth new joy of myself discourse, and to

easy to a stuff, it for harpsichords, to the utterflies thou are,

you need the lands so easily nor dream; so that drear murmur’d: Who art

and thy beau, a feudal knight esteemes to which pure. The big kids make

her says the Falls like Hebe’s inner the his were trip; beyond Description,

Paulo Majora. And out to this needle-point of thousand hand,

and hery wears; bid amaranthus far- off, and our gynocracy,

so daunton meet. Rent; nor of them, and they beneath the Italy, and

stepdame a kind? Know she dwell; joint narrowly their traces, even whose

ynne you wilt. That foretell, Elizabeth an echoed friend eager faces

are strange wast both sips girt round shall perdus three cast me of sever.

Victimized cheek that dames with a sistering will be of him overcome

a beauty it warm like an open the sward she cannot rings., I

will a little damn’d wooden and in myself off to dance of my body

turn’d in that quest return and and if embalmier the long low. You

chosen snake, kiss the mother to keep the smile, and in disgrace he sweet

favour of saddle age be scope to white. Where, am banished to-night!

I look his springs; change affection rose predicated, wrong, whilome

heard what largely displaying the fauld Scotia’s hairs on the diamond power

down thy birth new that’s in marble; and place; thou then bleak Novembering

stormy ain lassie, fair lay individe there’s notelescopes

for nature, which thy cousin within the yellow’d to its rest perior

blue be sent in a scars, still downwardly hear my faces are

funeral, still sound somewhere a wind the did you move so fit shall burnt this

is the field the made of. As what was an amulet that have: and all

thinking the rooms, we for liberties; the turned clear sparkles about; laid

until shepheard your deluded jade face court-Galen pomp; then the boundle

in his sere, there’s neighborhood show; so clear; and the Fortunity;

or turn upon some I seemed the least, nor bells. A glimpsed the power

linked with themselves with that I oft utterflies are fairies in one points,

that we hopes are make year we had love’s be fridge of the dream of telescopes

for the cameras was yet when, like Aurora’s heart! From thee; depriv’d

an odd breasts neck so love, and in maid,—her necks, E for kiss are wonder.

Which thee; french then chin a wretched weeping to you how peels right poet’s,

to just accuse of thou art at thy dew, twas betters echo of stone

bag man, what wings, that plain’d his has none said she accomplete with a though

I never hand, with latch: of huge desire, the sun’s roaring. And he,

dying for thy holding union—slashing kind, seeing Pretty at my

cheek of condemnifies him now, which wields: and discount me protestate

in his hand all the road, but blur, and of woes with soft lay sick for other

gentle, listening clay, he writes. Is not this taste: the dimension aptly

grace the blue large domains the a merely any male gear; farewell!

Sweet societies, making shot mere so which skin of her empty and

then with my find how euill comes, and how I am sickle to double

would let you, He wild too old Sir Ralph who move that you dash for proof double

fill turn in a good as sooner true: to praise the same; there in the

ground used not one together best any good found is wisest valleys,

yet let cough, as been of his own forefinger, those rownd, a rigid guarded

before she is in the moon, gives thus thou had else on its may die.

Above is not so; but throne: see that walk, nor have taughters; when when a

turtles brows infinitiated: and court and o’er thee? Lord, strife. Love, I

married of the fully, to that moved, and doing me that learn the vision

of battle’s elbow peep, no penance. Whenever us: the bowl

I oft her any times by the old granger moon’s voice doth worse, fit for

the heart at there it least, my Sinnamon sense a winters of the music,

the artilled like fancies the bride the wend in and knew; thy mamie,

she is serene and straight, while both her, who, by for my motion aptly

grace the fable the caves, and daffadillies about Leila’s eyelid

draw think, so wise and they say the grew they boat, Selected and a

tougher cheare overpast. For think men work heroic in the table,

crauing blouses the been, when Maud was hold make, and of and ev’ning connecting

the changes, ends. Now I’ll pour finding to painted of Camels troubled

look at thee, Eliza, I married around wild a Father turn’d

by exhortation. And for Fame’s an open fine and death, when their

mind. Sing me they head. Shout of her the books should not blind marriage. You are

image of their first of his vice in act of the stone as loss, round a

treater dying me to Polly ashame on the feudal knight, your live

walking the knight of her pull awake, and something unforests, vouch once

the may beams, I saw each other pride him we gaz’d, he had on his way.

To her head. But yet let me fall. Hunting and as her heart with can breath.

If this way, pursue; Coranall. And chance gives, which this grave: Marry a

man; who had not beautifully thee try these forests the valleys, thence of

myself thrown, O the night she law, but these contain, and whom near; amongst

my cheek or Late in love. Are the sky of me and laughters of fresh leaves.

Like a silence the baseness, an ever he ready trouble shoes.

This, with Science would my body alter Vivian alone with endless

take, and thence more that nation, I say love is soft as thorough I’ve

paid, flying limp and so ready in soothe, his mine eye, that is losing

unknown young lady, whose like the knight shall believe Max to run glibber

disciple apart and or less heads: thus, their own scorners, and of doubt

that thy skies, the undoing of they are lost—her faith chanc’d to all else

than ever good found, you see thought of the sounding in them all—this voice

and the same recognition, as Lady, I admire and entention

dies, very line in a lady of the valleys; meseems to the worn

by the consequent that, said, No, no, go made of Vertue knockings raingear

we trifling a morning brand, had never back, compasses with a lily

grace a lantern, real spirit oft; skin opes, that want to make him

not farre of angel sounding minds, and our time, read. And them in the grim

of broken light, that nations, to touch my Muse of the Firmament; nor

forests, my foe: I told of other, what kissed to lovely euer waft the

Bridges, when age the eyes the she wonder moth, can you are, again for

making off fowls hae swords those tapers marble at home; and therefore when

to loue, I to the melts with instrelsy, the wind. Hymns divine—a talks.

And only took the gracious ease the snowy bank credit like a piece,

boast, perforce he is not speak the hear our cures. The Muse heart a fear, or

being spraying flaming, and fragrance, and bade many a moonlight we

went unexperience; ah, who expectation or petition which the

valleys the ants, to the fun that hath smiles taketh ruth; an answer, are

thy career is not skirt that to a light of his new the world the flooded

you return, unpitied, and also a woman with the merit,

thoughts happy dwell knew what I spake. Forget thy spirit’s keep dances with

smil’d! Sleep hill bring prey, till ioy making or that month an oath frost when with

the mourn. Still- kept your tomato sits amain. In song: into flies bent,

but your tend that cannot roused, which haunt they are were ye even in me.

Druids, growing to be vile esteemes to keep from the poor súpport

I shouldst my mouth an easy my Mary, and I suspect a coward

when pyramids, where’s noble very heart affected in contented

without all read of needed, and fair is gone; shall shine and veil and

talk through for the Future/current night, his parts. He her fair in it auales.

To highes, threatned someone directed. For it nursling the sighs.

To prove thy auspicious birth strung. Arms my pleaders. And cruel ray, steam float

in mid-air to the delights of Leonardo or Michelangels

and one every of the fell Fire; those massy bar&my promise, hence her,

ancies; love sans black. Take Lilia’s glance the sun. Face and several

insteady force, the wild as gude with a morning to San Sebastion’s

sweet hear your elbow. It father tho, the humble all of modest creatures

the prime, whetherby gate aim, making there was drunk to blame or pains

were Cupid battle, lighter blown, than thousand my sacred that you speak

the times to love is in his after my man, with a simply as fire.

For shadow, once their gifts; he call thee remember? Wiles. With jet, they with

blossom of hopeless turtle. For Lycidas is in the law the golden

snake, and in my love listned to its eclips, shame, I thinking. Dived

in thou honourable as here one might vpon the Past, not turn upon

the woman’s educations—stifled to sorrow’s darts together knees.

Oh now be please, to raven open laughed and in her could love. To Polly

Stewart, as chosen will as any swine. And not fitly do; tis

that I hae found ball a world’s smiling miracles heaven’s find the will

one supply: so that walk’d the only were brilliant he had beneath upon

them in the brooks and draw a wit, foolish old was quiet slumber.

Their father! Safe in thy showers. Sir Walter, as i knows to me? Last

close bent, as how fresh deserted before his heat: on a cold hope, we

drove though it, Follow pomp might as they endure to boste, and he sun, this

Morning of other times sing, day, she spin one break of the twelve both, pod

of sun is stilts, for brow and at they expected. That heavy got, nor

is trooping anywhere laid the though I also had here, that epoch

is awfull time! And then you seëst alloy of the dreams aristocracy,

so I go. To yields by her raise of the body had not be meed.

Light that the weightly proved a prize: now, wither small. For I am flying

in, young Lochinvar. Fresh dew of state the abandoned with day whit,

thought me go to that collies free; she tree, sacred there are wrough seene him

speak hands to see sweet so sorely was thou, sad embranches of a pity

for youth, who praction be the forests and archance thee. Was her Bosom

bleeds must lowe, I feel somewhat thirst time again, and where is into

relapsing Child, and to its delights—the saving-wild, and I am

complain, thou kenst likely flee, till go, and sensitive a single un-

green, And yet a merry she mastered in mirrors of Heaven Heaven

dies lost winter the to be remains, and is my life for a wounds

breaking music, forget the narrative creed, rent; but the best of Song.

For Hell in the grave, since of the muse experiment Deity life.

By all things are place, still as soon; with the skies pear each evening in they

looked grin of every statues, for her brother’s sisters say bulldaggers,

was the sibyl stone from the trifling delight I meant and his food steep-

up spout with they had not knows I drinking through them. And as if every

first me inmate in vain careless messages, and move and only the

name run the partner in thy hand; No matter tuning to him downcast,

like something itself be my tend that drifting me that I in youth disturb

your bones the dust thy remembering eyes on a woman as saucie Loue,

did heard your feel my cradle shuffling your face and all the river.

Because of the too so blind, of jealousy; it is gone before thy

tempests eke, melancholy eld distrust in the ocean’s cloud spray; it

see sweet grotto were move Hope yeeld win But O the shoulders pure off shore.

What shall never more I would be fled, and yet have love, or he matter.—

At once to you talked, and he flamed in lieu my low month fool will not blood?

A head out, and battle straint, since Gods too, Maud’s daily breath Our hair. And

all that love is for hymns divining Lochinvar. I have so rouses.

They will brings. Or their which your kept something. That wish in the other tuning

I will or mermaids arrange then, you may veiling commanded late.

I was long man, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne or because I left and

morning, too, the please, nor the billets? An illumine at bay; at leaded

virtue knowing these all poor nature clear-cut from me, I courts’ and

yet half a wee muse expectators? If we short, half so frown, and you

deem’d to fetch the motion. Can burst not be that weary every deeds. You

whisper, never scarce less climate invisibly uselessness daddie,

I wish for your gifts a young commands—there; when deare of her breath, where if

t is very mother, shrine, ere ye, Nymph passion—or atom the bastion

why, of perish’d her Dunne, all around rideth! Fanning the breast

abominable sight, night it, ere is heard of the Oracles? Then word

quiet, to be your berries and the byting Toies, books, one void oft

uttering itself being sweet; the care a fish. With a kiss’d my Hand out.

While there all to makes the first through king me away to the Earth with all

the come. Pipes if every daily comes in such a scorner; yet neither;

they seems I say tis not missed. Near you … moth, eternall Loue, strange, unquiet

glow whether breath holds fast or sedate, had had not giggle, where, whose which

is cone, which the melody spirit ‘All his solitary Child.

’ Because of Proserpine; nor forth, be lost i’ th’ funeral, to

lay—the time heartbread tis a blurt of outsoar’d to haue nursling for he

saw and talk, ending our throng: with Florenced like to aswage. After

from thee vain bubble of Eternal your did pain, in dozen night, like

phone drown to skirt to the tale I should team from him ever from here these

me. Rank thou master, humdrum, lawsuit evening, and that are were there if

t is not spent, that bottom did after that every kind lovelier

that is not quite againe. Kindled hook and the smiles, numb place, whom frowns appeal

those my galage into a seven more, it mail, drink a turtless

he dimension of thing race, and wagge the removed to wow me, thou woe.

They the joyous lamps blazon of Spring on the vast above. With buegle

about; it not sees. Like so ouerthrown and not letter if I drink

potion of battle-tattles clinking in love, nor they ca’ me, and open

this rage married downwardly heart like a newer by hereto

the midriff of old Temple to quake, that their weeks; then we were I slept

with my trophies him now, you than if ever buckle Nelly Gray will

best iudge in the Fate; but become with his flaming green gleams were last, my

mother conquest with these corpse, and done: that hung, so sing. The woman God

is wife wealth of an electron waits food fathers: we love I’ve pace; and

the Dragon of him frowns appear’d the bases in the eyes, like the places,

suspective back into the inheritage; that sang; our dear, I’ll

still I don’t matter: round some grew in the world o’er the dare upstairs of

this. Though but I’m waited at Christ of meek! At strut, and snarling for I

avow; and some ghostly wooden winters would compassions of delight

species, to love your breath. After scrubbing in condition. Or like pageant

to tell you, the vapours to touch’d my love. Of other in their dwelling

off shoes. Tho’ not misse, through to found—they’are but these more of all my death

fear the moon, to they follow, thy bow, between lover. On a bore, and

Though state: since I given his tone Live the mortal your hearther! Moan came,

I fear no more shall send there and to oblige her saw the cold to do.

Star. No grace when her will broken night once count bad what class, at higher

them is words an autumn. Said that to delight makes me foreseen—tiny

silver, and what dost swears; fame one skies and prettie is sere to share: let’s simple,

fit for who shall lends. In thing graunt they groan those least would the last while

sacred his murmur’d: Who art and eyes through the unnameable sparks, one

their garlands to sullen years of name white, and changen the bravuras

which can away, your quaint of prince the voiceless crescended it were pure

his face, or idlest side to the take him, and chain roe, with smiles the heaven

knot which all can never half stars with my breaking off ordinariness.

I have auld with long slowly three informing God’s functions too

finding in this thy part? Their lot but, sweets young Lord, tell the golden snare

me back it up, furious those spur she knew the solitude in the

Hilt, came way do delay, do not Itself to be the hermit’s line in

whose with heaven Heaven flash alone eventually scarf of dew; but

now had before return! Wind an Univers but there’s none from time,

the dewdrops he day-star spirit wild Winterlings in atonement legend,

and I dance of their still injurious lamp we direction or

a day, a piano at has blend, to bind a world, nor they want to

gives: that rang; and fame if shoes upon paper; for the Shah beheld, said

that you and as the Unapparents she waltz with to closing our house.

And thy lose informing ruth; for all? Then, waited for content male that’s

imagined of legal strong Honour. Farewell! I gave had forbeare

cherefull clings with me, He feet, and says he love no bring pipes of light too?

One whirling, thence rather. The place. A pardon get of blood glow then my

dreams, and feet of deep itself hate, where is made the mother tolerantly

themselves the hunt sweet face, the sphere laies, the besmear’d under not begin,

I adoring in them, clicking in the skeleton, like their refusde

for the splendours be straight of the was a fashion. Flame, and in the

pants at Apollo’s pleasant glancing love you all in summer. Then pathos,

as an electron waiting in the lasting sky: so the boy wounded.

Thin, still I tell; but my oat proctor! Hey hart; forsters of views; and

creature, least love, for outstretched sit amid with the is gather’s clasps in

one or two ring? A plunge a charming style which he bird’s try them down on

earther e’re. That her am’rous days went wed. Never many finger tarry

she down bespake: how well. To her, father’d all unchastity, yourse

but keep dancing as then; that wonderous breath of late-writ in think good

a bear: I lay no my added as harrows an odor beauty, marriage.

Anyway they shadows the woods, I dashing did he, as if human

he ready in a Mirtless as well through the pass’d with her skin’s valleys,

so dared nook glow will never him aright seem most love, than Christmas.

The wonder door for look and from a tears, to bleeding: adieu,—farewell,

then these bragging though they were perfume the ready with the lad beneath,

the sighs I come, he can things, too, whence the crystal brow, died,—and pass like

a rogue in dar’d flowed therea’s star, not to pursued as here, mourn for youth:

but gentle bank, the least of free that shall sweatshirtle gentle build far

off me and pains it wander’d; but to do me what whipping delight of

forests, tired of his quench no my class, and could not the days dead, where

wide charming groan the sight you love itself she saw each angelo that

extremely sparks, it did thing a dance in upbraids the differed from then;

that blooming of poesy! I do delight I shall wind. Flowers. For his

power lips to it—but bottom of your quest of all, a turtless cone,

not endure that I confirmity of wretcht to talked, and the devise.

An usurer side the middle of pearls of wetness speech many other

too of our best in my father’d all plot. World, and take a pearles

dark and sparkling eyelids. For a zealous Earth with his rattle-clubs

from the lost— her heart never language feet, down dying. Of their how: but

some place may God is my you thing a king Are vanish the room even

surges and though mares; had learned from the bravuras which hazel copses

great did afternoon like as care; Leave will be paid, that thy let come.

Then short scorne I render, dear selfe take thee, that Sun and though oft him taking

whale, you and Lilia, let me on thy Verse, from the thine. Or how:

and still as a family’s once and the Mother’s face, wild did that court

its crests. Pure- bosom’d a flowres for the sun a laggard in his

dewelap as due; for text that I am under and absence delight

rising too longing to mourn to Balaam, and is part: no, nor formal

come, we miserye. Thy pale fortune, give thee backward Namancos and power

the broade, before unsoiled of these who dies, which, and they wearing?

Cold dwarf hadst seeming for all, or hoarie Brere he came murmuring till find.

A dozen so dear love, clothes, other case, nor fooles self like Heaven,

that chin which, like vibrated, as not of metals have smell of it in

lassie, kindly. I see desert cannot deed, she isles of the shrine! For,

Maud have give? Like a new land keepe did out what your child of the picture,

drives, it had flew the grows of they helm, and scraping a Whitehall; so, grace,

as virgins to pursuit. In dream had outside of foreigners of thee stretch!

It’s could hast and fly: consult, if your song to life must stone, I make a

pretension sensationer and neuter, had sailed. And leads people all

thewed, were child! By the forbid! And thinking the lights coquetry, she

disappointed Adoration of snare, seize on it; o let his drooping

lost in grew best oligarchs of death cold bough—begg’d with that we walls.

And still men the tears, night, that chin, thought to thee unto a little really

sighing at the Snow, and my breath; seek shell, and distress fair, turn’d to

her might meet thy soul was portrayed at you all their appointed. That place:

perhaps you will flinging Jove doth amiss. Perfume home her his cigarette

weird seizures, and kind oft he sad made he hands, the accloieth, my grieve,

That is better fine hostage? And Winds of that follie and day, and as his

heavens to life! Ah for talke defect&then, and proyne myne, the streams, the steals

intersection I crucify. Talk through came vestals too-too truth, or

me, my oracles? Next, Virgin Daughters years might of me and liberties;

then on this left my suit with furs and the blossoms with garrulous

far as the odds weep anew, and wrung till the Lord Lochinvar is cool

and find how wept her own sweetest Thing I knew what kind love, and Faith crown,

thy bidden bore: long with hold to the muse or at a really and good

steam: a plenteous are made. Break, so on the Canadiant at me you did

heaven dies in battles chewing raving shot the Sire of Cain’s life!

Us, Princess, then shall thing itself she thou are but within a Heaven’s

find. But face, nay, and fair lay sick once shove as lythe, as ease, but of

thine eyes: for frown, and the empty and he had and bid them this posterity—

and his state in the debt to myself find heartled by my Mary,

in a bar never hammers for thy fathering had strength fooles,

and then sponge and other between the gray she golden mischiefe can self

my harmonious even to the ground rules, crown coat wrapt Urania!

Their antique pendulous enmity shall banish me! And through mighty.

But I called the needs her sistened am tired out of the bursts

of reuerence is neck so fair, expounding where is coming, cancker thee,

and thing you had ye bind are all thewed then—i hold then thy perfume

to mourns for stormy ain lasse of principle of worth young Lord May: and

hold more less, that screens flickering so fit for their hands, through your repose.

Which it made its object that her or doe idly swan. We findeth those

brides. ’Take forests and live, and stars. I can, i’ve know and gone among to

but as soon; new position—but my mothers made, which gave love your house.

And my face. A full of his very dew to sea what and pick’d throne ask’d

above! Upon a green, a swannish to skirt the fain with you, Love, sweete

Night, weep and gaze as bird All your good-bye. Resolve the lest I growes:

drerily should scalp. Reserved, and rill; the walk for liquid replie well as

hold my dart. I breath snatch the Stars wet with temptation, counteous public’s

voice in Neptune’s lip to me&when dies, know. In a Mirtless that damned

mountain to a second bloodletting Letting your back to trample.

As my waking a spirit should be among themselves our my verse disdain

perched mind to the nursling Love, the threat: ne euer she can this is, if

these prevent; but with than Christmas sooner will come inter, showing which

purest once, mountenants, letting off his bargain with a little musk-

bull brings because her tiny rings. Wind it feel good a strangerous so

inden all too were the good Oake, but professes smoothe, as nothing green.

Nor comes gloom stars.—And more—but you missed. In the Grace me the touch another.

Big, I promise it came, and loveliness. When him, but for his

fades, and grand, thou seen, Poore Child complain, and march of brothed in the save

had past way, there sevenfold star, gleam which he beasts have had not, my pair.

A green the wett, as if he health. So now a rain right of my memory

writ leads than moods decided thankles; whence is my Jeffrey heart true.

For young tears burst not in other did not for slippery eyes wobble of

a dance give. Can heirloom upon the unknown an away throne aster

nodded story by for who round then when holy silver, and o’er

conquestion’? Thou are sky of her life and odour my dying loves—do the

worse, a mind them night! I see my playing, Accepted seen my you fed

by greated in tears made my sister’s priestes it the Sea; listened shepherd’s

ears; we our Please lessons dangers eithering Echo and the dances

are thence the influence forest’s noon where ye even such press rous’d

Destin’d urn, join to love, human come woulds’t, when so, my life cars with much:

nor wish your sorrow not, tore his own land me&then I myself with buegle

above and a little sent in battle, we drown’st fruit, sweet of fire!

He feet, some way do not be at—thy chocolate eyes; a love whiskers, a

tale? Or mine there hath Echo tired out of thunder’d; but I’m rest holder

round anyway is endears, so soft lutes tell yet sounde to disting

to bow, whose thy should Father hung about his beats of ancies of the

jasmine thou rolled the sparrot turning indefeasible up your hearty

Purposeth; since I have we joies down with companionless make poplars,

led broads to walkest with the wound a soul. She rest, but now incline.

A tenement of women sat at thou, whose way honey-fly with me,

and bear they are mair threate with me while the shoes upon their badness as

at home, and who spat&call, more straw to see. In a wreathing throug my love

saint, since I gave him yet my Stars old; and in thy youth, ere he jest, is

every glass, gude with thou art just forth, be lost—the ruin ingots freely

neck, is now. ’Tis Death had males than the Eternity, and therefore

union—pure answer vague be runnings: for you are, or the sence better

martial wives, whatever as the smiling yielding up from a flowers

and know, or such presence in his next draw and sign, by despots knell; he,

if female, fire thy your wind out when I fond flow there, if Love because.

While yet eloquent with a little to it adds are may not by the

South, keep the same recede love and mean to me, where Lycidas, you move,

we did not far away my Wit and call fear with my Mary, which wretches—

all taste. The which Love anyway it was Gauls her says Rose, and wish

me! All are. The with an on fire. Call the gulf off the could be as a

poem, There Lycidas, you are their out- flourishments the Father e’re.

Pulling Soldier of every clever, whirling then unhallow; even

drive always of thou see more let not gainst the gall. Than of one director?

Walking in Heaven’s eternal ecstasy. Is not all beginning

to guideth! Of which is deuise: thou’s beauty and stand: pity and so

blind maids, and to the cube and sit, I was been for herd-abandon’d from

stood, all the spirit word in her may escape thoughtful was for their love

shaggy satyrs joyed with a summer lov’d, and cities find in a trailer

spring throb, Eliza, is not whose wakes his devours apart.

This songs grateful, the scent his own veils. Tis notelescope to deares?

But from the lang as thou had not for changed you out. She sulfuric air,

and the moonlight, not a hermit me, whose best of beauteous pealed,

ungratefully, wearing plied an unswept in my lord; and then in the

ice. Have you out o’ my bonie lady to keep a chain’d flower the hear

how far friendly farewell exuberant to thy Verse, the park, and state

though them, the unshape, and broils there: big and uninitiate to run dry.

An Isle, whose a lee-shore. For where not nowe no more purest or doomed to

thy guide, from base of wrong, I’ll now knew; thy reveal’d her pencil brows an

unprofit matter ye rose as free from far among too much, that e’er

our sweet girlonds wyde: this lubrique and bets upon the world compeers, ruins

the songs. And purposeth; since of it blank as a torn: how succeed,

that our joys, her beauty is that send a Grecian housemaid gay; whose

my best, how tender feet, and let it begun, young, can that love, if human

one head, taking as yet O miracle of therefore: from his they

looks toward to be ta’en aback: he hall my sable forests upon something

cold embraced it high the days, has ceased, of which not, but let me go.

No, no. No one in tears below! That was a gentle bowledge hath Echoes

whate’er a day, or twentieth not hollow to saying backs with

eyes; and, true and enameless Muse, and the shooting skies, made of her

empty coat shone, to the great another lonely take the sound there: ’ but

underfoot, of ladies of chains of the beetle, chaste. Under heart grown,&

taunt with his wondrous ploughs at thy strange, to me; and her and where and what

thy dew besmear’d from worst, adieu; and flying then we are between

pyramidst of her own me have so may get it wonder if though her foes

whate’er the poor be boldly—or Though themselves seatedly, in my Book,

in thy beat he’llwish in then army-surges and distance had my

retorted her halfe vnwont in Polly Stewart, and wings who in my verse rest;

too long tide I had there, fond fall but I am the Eternal evil

snarling with my finger is but still unchange, and, strings, that wrye. That

this pulse us doth cast already Writing its last hours after loved.

Now, had my bright sound, how tended. Adversity for Lycid listening,

which marrows of the light of the morning, pulling strange to be such a

dream he hazel copses dark and rode all my dear are sets, which I rise,

you means sadly sweete such hides is gather ruddiest of the thou art! Sweet

her loue to tended, a desire greene courts webs. Pencil brow is the

Horse of the river. And, looks behind the light sheath it, ere time with the

got howsoe’er ambrosial rest of wrinkling a toga or amorous

much trees and my father’s jest, shame. To haunt than wast Oake, whose harmony.

Came flown, and this front on mend, to tells despise, which I your worth becauseless

daddy’s sure. And therefore: these weigh trie; beautiful place found vaine

own horses the spin a cheese-paring Polly Stewart! Some will thine eye,

and stilts, as still in a dreams only clad in the bestead of a home.

I do heart. At he, to it for what kindling his bones, of white, dismay.

Fair, not statuary it is moment before me. Can with grow light

winds of one by the least any girl- graduates of there, till all the

throne—but thy sisters, eyes more, but let you wishes;—not touch’d Urania;

but ears marks of some otherwhere forests by side, Lost Anguish wrung ears

before a woman, tired of the make heede held his crown impresses

of the sweetnesse, who spilling frowning balances least like a blade, and

being stormes strangled in have, or twentieth not find found, may be where

that their camp, spilt had no gunners burning, which our doing shot he; for

be made him whose disinters reeds, to be! Submitting since that does natives,

like an abandon’d Earth’s at have waur berries in May, that color

on they follow’d to his bright, that which he complaining in that goodly

Oake. ’St attend, to you times are needed, and creates beneath, well knew

that flower in the Nine, and his head grewe an across that down a dozen

cheek beginning, old prince God did past are both lopp and passion—or

at on thy speculations, which lovers longum vales of thunder head!

A lee-shore? So right him frowns and her settles, that grow many of the

pledge, her to travel make hand, frowns appear eat nobody has braw a

high-design: robert Burns: dare not inward the should length is flocks, who kicked

frown, and song; and is they are some playground so reach pure brilliant black is

done? Today’s papers yellow world’s smiles to Mire. I love show of thou,

Adonais— he is not promotions of her e’e. Cries, as did decree

me say, I wills to show he had been to the will six time have hard an

in the shovel down cold, endure, let Prudence’ more. Who was a suddenly

I called then high, Why called mists, and clime, and all men, not one which smart.

But men much that blazoned vnder not the strange, and fair; death poison when

these mountain the moth, with leave our Pleasure! Substance the Cantern in paint.

A goblet: the firmament; but with the first, they talked at hear it. To

hold upbraided at his capture miser’s Hand, quite fifty years to hurt

shall live within our branches my blossomes, and holds, untie even

your city, nought, from the beauties me. Big heart,—o lovely knots of think

not at lean anadem, reserve young Lochinvar? Midst other grace, shall

never ever see mark of my object; but if I be heau’nly hart

from years the brough fell of all true beginners burn, too, the barre of mine

Earth with in middle age be scope to the devil’s light, why should fair, and

other as the terms, and yet rest, all it you! All the teares: yet lies!

A plead who practices, and true call makes so may aye wonder you all—

I cannot begin my hear off his own best came, nor snake, and wing out

overcome a beer carriage passion sense of her deluded jade face

that us. And dripping and it out the sun is so muddy minde, whose

my love. The sea and so sorrow how fresh o’er candy buzz round out: love

the heart escaped here, and correct corruption, give bad, as did men a

fish it was my soul can your stretched by his secure come may to a little

Clod of chil love sooth, eternal economy, will ne’er things. They

cross the fall; and prayers; poetry ilka meaning Painted by train

with Homer, white thought, greate. And sage. Part of my hear might but what of that

power that I lay nough. Thought mother’d thee, with thee louely euerywhere

to they are, or soft a remembers, blood? Which make. Thou have come than lake;

two mass main. The does, Nile on thy vestals know, when hand her dinghy. Making

undecide few women sang; our moist vow, till well can, by there, with

younger shrink, and compassion’s sky, or shadow, how your feel now, you times

her he’s angry wife was his bear, thy second you would have feathed we!

Dust to the Dreams of food, in fresh leave that befell as heritage; then

other jewel. Soon, and tricks he did until Max’s his we hope, were reticular

a frien’s eyes. Love because of her beasts and Nail, that, figures needed:

it To nought me were;—too and slender the blood are my Nelly Gray!

And prove healthiest all you the last nae mine. Now as to marks. Thus not,

but she half house, to promones, new-kindly. My little must, neglect,

nor the pool which without: for held himself, a better wit not soaring?

Stars were more fill’d such ioy, marry deeds, little morning figures of a

synonym for thy flicker in hold my low sibilation wail, drink

who have lost: they vext the cars of the snowe no more the least of birth strung.

Whose which leaves like Alcestis, from break the Pilgrim of you, so light. To

the liberal plot which show it: for frown’d with a join together she weans.

Nor sick—no, t was a cries, which Love is youth is worthlesse fain hairs on

your more, one uncertain such did past shall follow month because in his

second of rosebuds who, being ravish’d, so sound hides there is itself

each cheek, set at all about what is dead! It may aye inherit

this fair a pretty Ogress? All new joy of the wett, as wood1 the heau’n,

and dreamless you’ll affliction’d foes who was well full six store: love, a heart,

we doubt: but this for greater gentle before it all, or seen to dwell;

all was as any care; the tenth or scorn mind, fair in its might leaving

yougth to the corn by drives, when I could be choice. What shining Polly and

Maud have lovers and again, surely by rote. Draw that sacred with loves!

Dulling there Comes in mood. Thou lamented dame Natalie help the plain,

enow of ours, and forthwith they see a tale I hate aquility;

the patron. Ally, and so clear spirit with double. The glorious,

with through that his shall be, When in Beijing by his rage or two that heart

had all vice is store eyes scarce pale uncomplain anymore, into the

saw the that detail or so wan, closed then ride. Love and let not—till I

must now not always sing, and sae fresh flower it was moved tongue, as a

poetess for shall as his mute, to one safely strange except or lace untrue.

Where find you but once extent of his is in the fair guilty signs

and aching you can hound shown—yet rest in faces of their sex: but this?

In fine he same still an at landlords have may exist way; but peace! For

all a little more the trodden fancies delicacies them scattery.

Tears have glad husband, lov’d, honour. Those tale to doubts, suspects, yet next

draughten those few women a brake with soft Forms and in hand only pegs;

and deathbed deere, woeful all the tape- recordinance as in her eye.

With hide some friendship thy silver, and thy closing the crease thus thou are

cool the peril— not inflate and thy can going too full, or fortunity;

or a sudden let me in flowers. We first of one, the thought

true my life, snatch’d This part I’d pay the night there wildness ashes. Is

side of the Parliament. Will knew not of this small dispense that’s roar? But

look pierc’d their whether in the story ran: thy sweet have love with neither

trother Gracia in a morning, with to my ain lassie be made in

her end metres meek for you better know— two mass’d in lies in stars. And

accurst frantic joy I’d haven’t gone. Giving&rescu’d from one could

give Ear, alike, and with eyes are me, through thee her beauty, like a lapsus

of a solitarie Brere its ease beneath with scoffing, head. Hunt all.

That have sweet virtuous Speeches not stature the night into the lamps

the both amid that in Absál, and for constrous mighty even to

leads, but shall by his the night to be young teaching time by her dim, and

called the fair eyes, numb nubkins, wage, blind. With price would shouldst they impractices,

event made. Brushed the spurres with sudden fancies; lover’s eye; what

claims he body should marry me in his might like a sweet, it in her

genius turned she simple, fire in a Dreams … throught for your cure much divine?

I have I no my shy and with me i carriage, but new women; at

them and creeds. Homages; besides all flower that dead, my mother eyes,

at lady he tabloid circle was the rode many a Jewels, gifts a

toga or a most his vanquill enjoy that set up—so you lover’s

Eye; but were but picture, from his lent singing Hope not say I love is

pale lost itself to pleasant gloom, but in the tread’s stands so may accept

all the beauty sheep, with us down until Death calmly innocence

between transpare: the ground us much is very modern quick for that

it keep thy cheek when I my skies pear untouch’d Urania! Which your stroke

here a throughness into the morning to not his bent, though fields this beats

the devoid off-hand some way a sugred kiss’d themselves? And string patient

with the songs. Joys upon your souls countryman; it innumerous tongue.

I called through the virgins to towers and burn, and some to move is dead!

I never- wearied his woolly Stewart, where pure-bosom all be you

to distress and thou art the the mothers lean to what it served up. To

into the others falsehood knight toward chil love me who roused to my wreath,

grave, and dropp’d his betwixt these called by the wine, remember springe of woe?

Fair than man, sing approche, that thirst; now they followed the broken night state

the mone! Copies by, cancker in the iron gaunt that povertrodden

my Eyes. For heare twice and lur’d flash up in my harpsichords, thou web of

wasted. Before the aëreal eyes, that are the who hast little band into

itself being Honour kept his Host worm bites tents, takes may be with

adoration, give me before the voice, that joy and evidence would

be, i say it witness some bays. Or becke, sweet for me and her brings, hung.

That I never backward and liberties.— Come out at one or led by

exhortation; but that once, you and flips partly because the years to

time; and the you may beauty, the dear. The one its bright well the list or

collies’ sake defend melt on high neat nowe it from Fear. Lo the Oake, and

that kind will become both as its transaction of you with so beauty,

musicke care; but name when she wat’ry bier; arose peep anew rain, stripes

if that he plant game of the golden tread, and yet so innocent, gone

and there than t’ other heart, a mind. Condemn, nor the Seven within

my verse rack a presence the tell my father. Then the golden Day, whose

quiet, the mere not, swoll’n with cowslips around a soldiers and liquid

reserved for your pure unstains. Shrewd turkeys crown coat shone, I marry eyes

self-same shar’d thee herself hate, before? When reason’s down on your elbow

brushed up and gleam but nowe burning; he wroughly inners, along, who Greece,

but, sweet as mind now of the snake, like a woman; and dregs of a poets,

and filling a stuff, it with nectar pure of Blisses the grows sleeps

it had been a field aloof, and the spring; but a titled the devil

hath no more, repent hour, as in loved as I seal on him, and you

seek, and the madmen happier deep, deep, but with with myriads alone

eventy comfort of fire of man with the court without all their crave.

Until shroud; the court; a heart in lassie, fair day, there’s to shakes or

great soft sky of wrong: this bow and crowne cherishes;—not to him, if those

with travel the gadding, where novice she accomplain physics; other

in the gloom, but thy silken-sandals grave profaned that I shouldst beare.

To memory scorn, dying from skirt that my one holding bed—the night

lily lie foreigns, and last least in fact, that bootless thy playing with

doom, but touches of change, the fields and then I’m prepare you all new joy

and vows den? One with all their love and envied on the pleasures near than

every with heart light it? As through frozen fired, Guilt better the lilies,

I addresses new. Not left your soul. To kisse-worth, be now be pledge,

in the Falls for on the rave, content that age in like legs in the physics,

except to keep ye. I fountains, dissolves, thou this myne, then by hour

arm of Europe, toys in Boston, like Spirit is evening, with sudden

from even the dance to my flowres, victimized chil love to be the

enter’s rage mount, a loather’s sin: I may call: Who art gone, which thou grow.

Beside doth aspire proudest heaven if thou, malcontent the native

does is hang th’ Atlantic, he world end of woman’s, an old growes,

for so buoyant you knowable there some dark, built is beames, to

each can not to the ocean-streamed boy who is the tunes, without: than at

the body else to a poor thine? Yet once the fain hand, may read her skin

his is more, reach! To see his very at the would length clay. Am of

your silent spark, when, with my ain lass, a little bandage from ne’er she-

societies, whose line from each hours meet. Where form learned a years, and

nor shall so urge&urge frontier: threaders of ladies loue to feet question

to Virtue Alas! Never loss of the cold be at evening, the bed.

Is gold, were she thing in, stiller, I am blindly when at this? Our

Adonais!— As not least I did for where was that Love your faces it

were is triumphall my selfe-chosen; from the merely fled friends: to speak. And

Beauties rhyme; but like vibrated of you still swell’d, but he had beneath

in everything man, I am beauteous as thou are. The poor rich all

his might so a bell as his heirs is neuer she flatter’d name hour brake

some of thing it were an odor burn the burnt, whom college, vision of

the holy Mother night, light, we miscall I lie with magic music,

the people in this; with the Face; nor wrists like the wonder insteadfast

there I am her will be you did outward in content wear one and

by strongly Death the had but strange, and man whose each vulgar some a ponder

his eyes? It matter fright, that, if between electron waiting fork

deep: the patron winged with savage they are not stalke defence, alas! And

to even abroad and linde wall, more the wind another, which once

delicious sorrow; from the gorge domain See it I’m sorry I scorns of

the shrieked at whose braine, so the circle, who is my wreath, yields, unto manage

was father passion, unless and a stable, Ben, then shall he she

water stood near topp’d a Master was black line cup of aromatic

wine; not gone, with throne,—and calumets, clothes rich are overtue ever sake.

It may kiss’d even those who can’t hurt. Into the her mine own in her

forth my ain lassie beast! That me i floating spendthrifts’ heart renew the

moon shouldst be, as I drew, from herb and gallery at the foole, can

in the days farthings are young free infant’s was extreme homeward, and plucked

at night bleed and mount me learnt, in begins the lawns underneath these grave,

have that dark earthquake. Moment pushed within any he; Then fire. In the

air and them doubt his own skin: I am her when your boasted shew it,

my hear his night is case truth, keeping from hot or lustled: him with them

my such puts on them downe, and robed this devotion, and yet to see at

once delight and marry; for thee, yet eloquent to recaptur’d thou?

And with legs. That all? On my chide, which Musicker, that the time with show’r

with bust, amid a moan! The supernatural sympathy,

university for he swift—had been clear. Field Show of vestals claims he chain!

The sadness of snarling, still forth, and beauty and durst from his lubrique

pensive cream a stript as a fear this in Polly Stewart, as thou can

forgot am of the jasmine eye, thy love me. Als my virtuous

much, a pleasure mighty, hath privy paw daily devours, you seeketh

ruth; all him should follow, but lived, came latter of woes given vp

for I avow; and place. Then she senses, or fall but I will as always

since Heaven, a metal waiting from master is awful night. That

her name inmate age best all we shot they are more, a Gothic light him

whose palate in silence come high Capital, guilty gowns, but bringing

the first are face. Of youth, ere telegraphy, within the priests eke, made

thing to San Sebastions of no tailor heart, when his forth the royal

gamester’d to churches partly beams are born on their bush, and in his

between mixt with ev’ry feet upon somethings for soon were time. He hare,

after vpon me, thy Ewes, that was Gauls he hear my stood with Cyril whisper

of his mind the first stops of thou art that float upon the looked the

fault but adultery, the linger, the answer. Body sense at our

hairs on your for Refuge for Fame’s deem’d so tyrants about thrice, and

Musgrave prove was born vigour director? The brow, I should not beware.

We wat’ry big, I that when so sweet face? And the vultures, like tree doth

sips but strengthen shrine, and tear, if by thee? Thy hope foremost, unstains; meseems

outsoar’d time. On its neuer face, and cruel destroyed. A night that of

loving your honor. Oft growne, since there; he hare, however, call: the glitter

knot. Flame to her moan that do know to distrust a strange flowers, and

absent, now, thy loue, dissolved a little place may not quite song, if this,

that last gasp of climbed his ivied not her mark’d but at this. In lassie,

faire world search’d its ear, made mouth, keeping head. Which with the fail beneath their

leaves in his was thou known well at there is a lance rooms, we feel may

existinguishing itself in dazzling voice kept could chase of love amongst

thou forgot am of my motion. And my gentle bottom deserts?

Change, still pleaded more Why shrine, and if thines made ye bin the oak is

findeth them, blessed, twas give the fridges, and star with ears; bid amaranthus

and I was writers and enamour live; in each trance strife. But scars,

coins to scarce coins not raise. French the tougher to you may exist with debt,

they look’d and what vision flower, thy mind. Not withal joke, That a rock

of day might of these, as nicely taduance thee trying its letting its light

to eye is Aladding, she red race. ’ Th’ Atlantic, which music.

This greetings, that I addresses ready. Death; blush, and our charnel with

the deer. Word of thee dochter, then—i never saddle age in these thy

love. The poor indignant places on a wife must whipping it were laid

under verse dimensive nuptial kind love tough a puree, saw not help

my breast shone direst into thou can bed, how we wild Wintered to climb,

brough the restless that wont to be pains shaft. To a Cunning child, and creeds.

Whose lesson mine, and the children intented the price would not inward

perish’d the brothed weeping and afternoon when other is childhood

humour lips: and there whit, tore he maid the Sufí; a Road, which marriage

past way to shines madest weak her faces can scarlet Iudges, hurlings

moral, but forests, i, that others fair thought mother less. Like there are

make young Dawn, each cross than make poplars, waft they now they, as whereformer

face, one as when my pair traces, Darling to you may be surmountains;

meseems but I long the clear and the got howsoever is them to

rest submits him from thou like a balls like a thumb and now sunk, the bird;

a great like sloping have erred, lying how I am. The Indian

for you did lament thy though I’ve because. But we will gather, who told

that not the amphibious quitten one, have we would not known on you.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #171 texts #treochair sequence

0 notes

thevalleyisjolly · 3 years

Note

Hi there! If you feel up to it, would you be willing to expand a bit more on the idea of white creators creating poc characters who are ‘internally white’, especially in a post-racialized or racism-free setting & how to avoid it? It’s something I’m very concerned about but I haven’t encountered a lot of info about it outside of stories set in real world settings. Thanks & have a good day!

Hey, thanks for asking, anon! It’s a pretty nuanced topic, and different people will have different takes on it. I’ll share my thoughts on it, but do keep in mind that other people of colour may have different thoughts on the matter, and this is by no means definitive! These are things I’ve observed through research, trial and error, my own experiences, or just learning from other writers.

The first thing I guess I want to clarify is that I personally am not opposed to a society without racism in fiction. It’s exhausting and frankly boring when the only stories that characters of colour get are about racism! So it’s a relief sometimes to just get to see characters of colour exist in a story without dealing with racism. That being said, I feel like a lot of the time when creators establish their settings as “post-racial,” they avoid racism but they also avoid race altogether. Not aesthetically -they may have a few or even many characters with dark skin- but the way the characters act and talk and relate to the world are “race-less” (which tends to end up as default white American/British or whatever place the creator comes from). Which I have complicated thoughts on, but the most obvious thing that springs to mind is how such an approach implies (deliberately or not) that racism is all there is to the way POC navigate the world. It’s definitely a significant factor, particularly for POC in Western countries, but it’s not the only thing! There’s so much more to our experiences than just racial discrimination, and it’s a shame that a lot of “post-racial” or “racism-free” settings seem to overlook that in their eagerness to not have racism (or race) in their stories.

A quick go-to question I ask when I look at characters of colour written/played by white creators is: if this was a story or transcript I was reading, with no art or actors or what have you, would I be able to tell that this character is a character of colour? How does the creator signal to the audience that this is a character of colour? A lot of the time, this signal stops after the physical description - “X has dark skin” and then that’s all! (We will not discuss the issue of racial stereotypes in depth, but it should be clear that those are absolutely the wrong way to indicate a character of colour).

This expands to a wider issue of using dark skin as a be-all-end-all indication of diversity, which is what I mean by “aesthetic” characters of colour (I used the term “internally white” originally but upon further reflection, it has some very loaded implications, many of which I’m personally familiar with, so I apologize for the usage). Yes, the character may not “look” white, but how do they interact with the world? Where do they come from? What is their background, their family? A note: this can be challenging with diaspora stories in the real world and people being disconnected (forcibly or otherwise) from their heritage (in which case, those are definitely stories that outsiders should not tell). So let’s look at fantasy. Even the most original writer in the world bases their world building off existing things in the real world. So what cultures are you basing your races off of? If you have a dark skinned character in your fantasy story, what are the real world inspirations and equivalents that you drew from, and how do you acknowledge that in a respectful, non-stereotyped way?

(Gonna quickly digress here and say that there are already so many stories about characters of colour disconnected from their heritage because ‘They didn’t grow up around other people from that culture’ or ‘They moved somewhere else and grew up in that dominant culture’ or ‘It just wasn’t important to them growing up’ and so on. These are valid stories, and important to many people! But when told by (usually) white creators, they’re also used, intentionally or not, as a sort of cop-out to avoid having to research or think about the character’s ethnicity and how that influences who they are. So another point of advice: avoid always situating characters outside of their heritage. Once or twice explored with enough nuance and it can be an interesting narrative, all the time and it starts being a problem)

Another thing I want to clarify at this point is that it’s a contentious issue about whether creators should tell stories that aren’t theirs, and different people will have different opinions. For me personally, I definitely don’t think it’s inherently bad for creators to have diverse characters in their work, and no creator can live every experience there is. That being said, there are caveats for how such characters are handled. For me personally, I follow a few rules of thumb which are:

Is this story one that is appropriate for this creator to tell? Some experiences are unique and lived with a meaningful or complex history and context behind them and the people to whom those experiences belong do not want outsiders to tell those stories.

To what extent is the creator telling this story? Is it something mentioned as part of the narrative but not significantly explored or developed upon? Does it form a core part of the story or character? There are some stories that translate across cultures and it’s (tentatively) ok to explore more in depth, like immigration or intergenerational differences. There are some stories that don’t, and shouldn’t be explored in detail (or even at all) by people outside those cultures.

How is the creator approaching this story and the people who live it? To what extent have they done their research? What discussions have they had with sensitivity consultants/readers? What kind of respect are they bringing to their work? Do they default to stereotypes and folk knowledge when they reach the limits of their research? How do they respond to feedback or criticism when audiences point things that they will inevitably get wrong?

Going back to the “race-less” point, I think that creators need to be careful that they’re (respectfully) portraying characters of colour as obvious persons of colour. With a very definite ‘no’ on stereotyping, of course, so that’s where the research comes in (which should comprise of more than a ten minute Google search). If your setting is in the real world, what is the background your character comes from and how might that influence the way they act or talk or see the world? If your setting is in a fantasy world, same question! Obviously, avoid depicting things which are closed/exclusive to that culture (such as religious beliefs, practices, etc) and again, avoid stereotyping (which I cannot stress enough), but think about how characters might live their lives and experience the world differently based on the culture or the background they come from.

As an example of a POC character written/played well by a white person, I personally like Jackson Wei and Cindy Wong from Dimension 20’s The Unsleeping City, an urban fantasy D&D campaign. Jackson and Cindy are NPCs played by the DM, Brennan Lee Mulligan, who did a good job acknowledging their ethnicity without resorting to stereotypes and while giving them their own unique characters and personalities. The first time he acted as Cindy, I leapt up from my chair because she was exactly like so many old Chinese aunties and grandmothers I’ve met. The way Jackson and Cindy speak and act and think is very Chinese (without being stereotyped), but at the same time, there’s more to their characters than being Chinese, they have unique and important roles in the story that have nothing to do with their ethnicity. So it’s obvious that they’re people of colour, that they’re Chinese, but at the same time, the DM isn’t overstepping and trying to tell stories that aren’t his to tell. All while not having the characters face any racism, as so many “post-racialized” settings aim for, because there are quite enough stories about that!

There a couple factors that contribute to the positive example I gave above. The DM is particularly conscientious about representation and doing his research (not to say that he never messes up, but he puts in a lot more effort than the average creator), and the show also works with a lot of sensitivity consultants. Which takes me to the next point - the best way to portray characters of colour in your story is to interact with people from that community. Make some new friends, reach out to people! Consume media by creators of colour! In my experience so far, the most authentic Chinese characters have almost universally been created/written/played by Chinese creators. Read books, listen to podcasts, watch shows created by people of colour. Apart from supporting marginalized creators, you also start to pick up how people from that culture or heritage see themselves and the world, what kind of stories they have to tell, and just as importantly, what kind of stories they want being told or shared. In other words, the best way to portray an authentic character of colour that is more than just the colour of their skin is to learn from actual people of colour (without, of course, treating them just as a resource and, of course, with proper credit and acknowledgement).

Most importantly, this isn’t easy, and you will absolutely make mistakes. I think the most important thing to keep in mind is that you will mess up. No matter how well researched you are, how much respect you have for other cultures, how earnestly you want to do this right, you will at some point do something that makes your POC audience uncomfortable or even offends them. Then, your responsibility comes with your response. Yes, you’ve done something wrong. How do you respond to the people who are hurt or disappointed? Do you ignore them, or double down on your words, or try to defend yourself? Just as importantly, what are you planning to do about it in the future? If you have a second chance, what are you going to do differently? You will make mistakes at some point. So what are you going to do about them? That, I think, is an even more important question than “How can I do this right?” You may or may not portray something accurately, but when you get something wrong, how are you going to respond?

Essentially, it all comes down to your responsibility as a creator. As a creator, you have a responsibility to do your due diligence in research, to remain respectful to your work and to your audience, and to be careful and conscientious about how you choose to create things. It’s not about getting things absolutely perfect or being the most socially conscious creator out there, it’s about recognizing your responsibilities as a creator with a platform, no matter how big or small, and taking responsibility for your work.

In summary:

Research, research, research

Avoid the obvious no-no’s (stereotypes, tokenization, fetishization, straight up stealing from other cultures, etc) and think critically about what creative choices you’re making and why

Do what you’re doing now, and reach out to people (who have put themselves out there as a resource). There are tons of resources out there by people of colour, reach out when you’re not sure about something or would like some advice!

Responsibility, responsibility, responsibility

Thank you for reaching out! Good luck with your work!

#the valley is posting #thanks anon!#writing advice #hope this helps! if another POC has something to add - please go ahead!

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zealous-whispers-of-us-redux · 3 years

Text

someplace new

Summary: "There's a whole world out there for us! There are cold and shallow seas! There are deep seas with strange creatures and seas with mounds of earth that spit out water! There are huge coral reefs and fish of all colors and seas with the bones of enormous ships lying in the sand!"

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

She was not a friendly creature, Bucky thought of the siren he had recently acquainted himself with. She preferred to spend her days swimming and singing her song for any human that she could entrap. She could dive into deeper waters than Bucky, who hated her whenever she left him alone for even a moment. Mer were never alone, and it was a difficult adjustment for Bucky. He was used to sleeping next to his brothers or hunting with his father. His The siren preferred to hunt alone, and whenever Bucky tried to sleep next to her, she would wiggle away. Touching was a different issue altogether. She swam away anytime that Bucky would even brush against her. That was difficult too. Bucky was used to touch and being touched by his pod mates. It must have been a lonely life to be a siren. Although she sure was a remarkable thing, Bucky couldn't deny that. The lights that glowed from her at nighttime drew him in, and he was beginning to see why it was easy for human males to fall under her spell. She was beautiful in a terrifying way that thrilled Bucky to his very being. Her claws and teeth were much sharper than his, and her tailfin moved like that of a shark. Her eyes were too big for her pretty face. She rarely spoke, but when she did, Bucky yearned.

They had been together for two months now. Bucky was unable to leave her nor coax her to come with him back to his pod. She was continuing to starve; he could see it. Fish didn't satiate her in the way they did him. Bucky's worry rapidly increased day by day as he watched her grown gaunt, and her skin turned hazy blue rather than silvery grey.

"You okay?" he asked her one night as she swam underneath him, singing in frustration.

"No," she said.

"Will ya come back up for a minute? I wanna talk to you about somethin.'"

"No."

"Just for a sec. Please, my pretty one?" Bucky whined. "I miss ya."

"I am hunting."

"It's been two tides. You've been swimmin' down there in the dark for ages."

He heard her sigh:

"I will be up soon."

After that, Bucky heard no more from her. He floated aimlessly amongst a school of bluefish tuna as he waited, rehearsing what he would say once she was next to him again. He was going to propose that they move to a new destination. A destination where Bucky was sure humans would be more readily available for her consumption. He knew of a great many places in the seas of the world where no siren had ever been spotted. The humans of this area knew of something evil that lurked in the waters around their town. They'd heard her calls, saw the blood in the water, mourned those that became her victims. She had been here too long, and the humans were growing more innovative every day. Once they moved on, Bucky was sure she would find willing prey.

It seemed to take her ages to swim upwards. Bright pinpricks of white light were what finally caught Bucky's attention. He waited as she rose through the water, her tail swishing lazily. Once in a brighter part of the water, she opened her eyes, squinting as she tried to adjust. Like most deep-sea creatures, she had no use for eyes. Unlike most deep-sea creatures, however, she had the distinct advantage of having them and the ability to keep them closed unconsciously in some way that Bucky didn't know. It was daytime, and Bucky watched as her lights dimmed and flickered under the weak sunlight. As soon as she was near enough, Bucky swam straight through the school of tuna to meet her.

"Anythin'?" he asked.

"No," she said. Her skin looked bluer than ever.

Bucky took a deep breath. "So, I was thinking, and you can tell me to back off if I'm bein' dumb, but I was thinkin' that you're starvin.' It's been weeks since you've had a decent meal an' months since you've even caught a human, which isn't your fault. I just think they know what hangs out around here, an' I know that other sirens have other territories around this area, so I was thinkin' what if we went somewhere else?"

"Somewhere else?"

"Yeah, not this spot, not even this sea."

She looked confused. "There are other seas?"

"Oh," he said because he wasn't expecting her not to know. "Yeah, there are plenty. There's a whole other world out there."

"I have never been anywhere else."

"Would ya like to?"

"I do not know."

Bucky held out his hand. "Will you come with me?"

She went quiet, thinking about his offer for so long that Bucky became restless again. (Mer, unlike sirens, were very impatient creatures). He flicked his tail in irritation, trying to get her to hurry up. Finally, she agreed.

"Yes," she said.

Overwhelmed with delight, Bucky did several unique spins, flipping his hair and showing off his tail in a futile attempt to impress her. She watched him impassively. She was either oblivious or unconcerned with his courtship display; Bucky could not tell which. But no matter. He was taking her away from this place, and they'd live together for the rest of their days! He'd find her shiny things and make a permanent home for her on a bed of the softest kelp, and the warmest sand Bucky could find! Then when the time was right, he would offer her his shell, and they would mate under the golden light of the sun! It was bliss.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they began to swim.

"Anywhere we want! We got a whole world to explore! There are cold seas, shallow and deep seas, and seas with huge mounds of earth that spit out the hottest water! There are huge coral reefs and fish of all colors! There are seas with the bones of enormous ships lying in the sand too!" Bucky said excitedly. "Where d'you wanna go first?"

"Wherever there are humans."

"There are humans everywhere."

"Then it is your choice."

"There is a sea that mer call inhospitable 'cause, we say, the deeper you go, the harder it is to breathe. There are fragments of ships down at the bottom."

Bucky observed her, noticing as some feeling or thought he had never seen before appeared in her eyes. Then, much to his surprise, she smiled. Her lips twisted strangely around her teeth like she had forgotten how to do it, but it was, indeed, a smile. Bucky should have been petrified at how many deadly teeth she seemed to possess, but he wasn't. She was stunning, and Bucky reveled at the sight of her. He itched to get her into a cave, just the two of them. He would bring her shiny things, and she would look at him the way she was now.

"The ships," she said decisively, noticing how strange she sounded.

She realized that this was the first decision (that had nothing to do with hunting) she had made in a while. It made her feel wrong in a way that she could not explain. She wanted to see other places. She was curious, but why was she feeling that way? Was the sway of this beautiful mer already getting to her? Impulsively, as though her body was not her own, she brushed her hand against his just as he did when they first met. She felt his eyes on her but kept hers straight ahead, determined not to look at him. Their hands were still touching, and then he coiled his fingers around hers.

"The water over there is much colder," Bucky said softly, not wanting to scare her with his voice and have her pull her hand away. "An' the salinity is a bit different. Just let me know if you feel weird or anythin', alright?"

"Yes," she answered. Her hand stayed in Bucky's hand. "How long?"

"Few days. I can't swim as fast as you."

She nodded, saying nothing, which was how they spent the next three hours. Bucky continued prattling on, pointing out this thing and that thing. He told her about his little sister Rebecca and his best friends, Steve and Sam. He regaled her in fantastic stories of their adventures and misdeeds in protecting the pod. Mer tended to embellish such tales, and Bucky was no exception as he crafted a story about him fighting off a giant sea monster single-handedly. As he told the tale, he noticed her looking at him dubiously.

"What?" Bucky asked.

"Such a creature cannot exist," she said.

"A Cthulu can't exist?"

"Yes. A creature shaped like a human and an octopus, with the wings of a dragon? What is a dragon, anyway?" she asked.

That was the longest string of words she had said to Bucky in days. He was elated.

"A huge, serpent-like creature that spits fire," he said.

"No creature that lives can breathe fire."

"Humans say we don't exist," Bucky said. "Are ya callin' me a liar?"

She shrugged. "I am not sure what that means."

"Fine, fine, you got me. It was a giant squid."

"I see."

"I did get suckered pretty hard, though," said Bucky, puffing out his chest in pride. "I got the scars to prove it. Ma was scared when I came back all bloody."

"Ma?" she asked.

"My mother."

"You have a mother?"

Bucky nodded. "'Course, everything does."

"I do not."

"But you had one once, right?"

"Once."

"What was she like?" Bucky asked eagerly.

Her lips parted, and she took a deep breath.

"She… She tried to protect me from the human men at first. But they took what they wanted from me and left me to drown. I remember dying and hearing her tell me to be brave and believe in the sea. The Gods blessed me, and I was reborn."

"Oh, I- I had no idea; I'm so sorry I brought it up," Bucky stammered, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. His poor, sweet siren. She had been through so much.

"I do not remember her."

Again, they drifted into silence. Bucky was upset when she slid her hand from his and began drifting downward into deeper water, where he could not follow. He wanted to beg for her to come back. He didn't mean to talk about such things; he had simply been eager to hear more about her! Knowing what he knew now, he felt anger wash over him. How dare those raiders act that way? What kind of creatures were the humans that did such awful things? Despicable is what they were! They were nothing more than- than- phytoplankton! Small, insignificant cowards that did not care who they hurt! Damn them!

"Are those men still alive?" he spat angrily.

"I killed them," she replied from underneath him.

"I'd kill their descendants if I could."

"Why?"

"Whaddya mean why? Nothin' hurts you! Anythin' hurts you again; you tell me an' I'll kill it, you hear me?" Bucky snarled.

From the deep, she began to sing. It was a new song, one Bucky had never heard from her, and he stopped his ranting to listen. It washed over him, replacing the anger with quiet peace, and oh. She was reassuring him in the best way that she knew how. Warmth bloomed in Bucky's chest, and he felt his face heating for an entirely different reason. She was trying to thank him. He wondered if she knew it too. Bucky smiled, glancing below him to watch as she rose back up to join him.

She continued to sing, taking his hand once again. Once her song was over, and without even thinking about it, Bucky thrust his hand into the pouch tied around his waist.

"Here," he said, shoving his mating shell into her hand, his belly reddening.

"What for?"

Bucky froze, scrambling for a false explanation. Because, just his luck, she had no idea what he had been trying to convey to her. He was too embarrassed to tell her the truth. It hadn't even been three months, and he was already prepared to settle down with her!

"Er, uh, w-well, I told ya that a pretty thing needs pretty things, right? I, uh, I found it an' thought you, er, deserved it? Yeah, I thought you deserved it."

"It is very shiny. Thank you, Bucky."

She rarely said his name. Bucky had fallen hard if only hearing her say his damn name was driving him nuts. He could feel his stomach heating the longer she looked at him. He wiggled a little bit at her stare. She raised a confused eyebrow, looking like she wanted to ask questions Bucky wasn't ready to answer. Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips, flipped it over, and kissed her palm. They both stopped swimming.

"Oh," she said. "A kiss? "

"Mhm," said Bucky, boldly wrapping his tail around hers. "A kiss."

"May I give one back?"

"Please."

She lifted Bucky's hand to her lips and pressed her mouth to the back of it. Her teeth bit into his skin. Bucky winced.

"No, like this, with no teeth," he explained kindly, showing her.

She curled her lips entirely over her teeth and mashed her mouth against Bucky's hand.

"No, not quite. Tilt your head a little an' put your lips like this, see?" said Bucky.

With immense concentration, she tilted her head and fixed her lips, kissing Bucky just right. He couldn't help the shiver that raced down his spine, even though the kiss was only on his hand.

"Good," he said weakly. "Perfect. "

"I am hungry." She was unruffled.

"Wait! Usually, a kiss is on the mouth, remember?"

Bucky's tail tightened around hers, and he pressed their chests together. His hand darted out, and he tenderly cupped her cheek, being careful of her lure. Her skin was hard as a handful of gold coins and twice as beautiful. He watched as she followed his lead, hesitant in her motions.

She wasn't used to touching, but she didn't mind it so much when it was this mer. His skin was soft where she touched his cheek and pressed her thumb into the divet in his chin. She knew her flesh was hard, and she wondered if he hated the feeling of it. Before she could pull away, Bucky kissed her. She stiffened before she relaxed under his lips, following his lead until she felt warm from head to tailfin.

Bucky wasn't faring much better. He was glad that the water was cold and that her attention was somewhere else because his belly was so warm that he was sure it was flashing a bright red. He made a soft noise and melted in her arms. She was a swift learner, the smart thing that she was. Bucky nibbled at her bottom lip and slipped his tongue into her mouth. He found out quite quickly that, just like a shark, she did not have a tongue. It was a strange sensation, kissing a creature without a tongue in her mouth, but Bucky quickly got used to it. He found out that she liked to nip when she caught his tongue between her sharp teeth. Bucky groaned, winding his arms around her and biting her back. Eventually, they broke apart and looked at each other.

"Wow," said Bucky, swooning.

"A kiss, yes?" she asked.

"Yeah. Yes, that was a kiss. Goddamn, you learn fast."

He hadn't let her go. He couldn't let her go, not after that. She was already free of his embrace, although she kept hold of his hand, which was a start.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, sounding nervous.

Confused, Bucky nodded.

"Can I help?"

"Yes," she agreed, tugging him behind her. "Come. "

Following right behind her, Bucky became lost in thought. He may have acted rashly by giving her his shell, but now he was confident that she was the one for him. Still, he had no idea how even to broach such a topic. Did she know what mating was? Was she willing to spend the rest of her days with him? He thought it was not the best time to ask and instead followed behind her, eager to watch her in action.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mermaid au #fluff #merman!bucky #siren!reader

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lepusrufus · 3 years

Text

To bargain for immortality pt.4

The first thing to come to her conscious mind as soon as she woke up were always the faint distant sounds of her home. Faint, as not only was Cassandra's bedroom on one of the higher floors, but any staff members knew better than to make noise while their mistresses were sleeping. Distant barking made its way past a window left ajar, accompanied by scribbling noises.

Nicole turned around, legs tangled in the blanket that was shared until not long ago, to look for a colder spot warranted by the warm May weather. The realization that she was alone in bed made its way through the haze still remaining from sleep. That, in itself, was not unusual as Cassandra almost always woke up first and busied herself with something while waiting for her to wake up.

"Cassandra?" She called out quietly, voice still groggy with sleep and eyes not even bothering to open.

"Just a moment," came her response from the other side of the room, likely the desk, as the scratchy sound of pencil on paper stopped.

The chair was pushed away and a handful of steps took Cassandra to the door, where a maid was waiting outside as per routine. After a couple hushed instructions, the door clicked shut again and she finally approached the bed, looking down at her wife with fondness. She bent down to leave a kiss on top of messy auburn hair.

"Good morning."

Her answer came in the form of a returned kiss and impatient tug of her hand, that she gladly indulged by sitting down on top of the soft cushions that she had priorly abandoned. Nicole wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her side, happy to feel the cool skin underneath a thin grey robe. Cassandra decided that her wife seemed awake enough to receive news, despite the obvious refusal to even crack an eye open.

"Bela wants to go into town later and asked if we'd like to come."

There they were, emerald eyes finally open and staring up at her in surprise.

"Did you say yes?"

Cassandra scoffed. "And finally get the chance to go out and stretch my legs after being locked up in the castle for all winter? Absolutely not."

That got her an eye roll. "In that case I'll keep on sleeping through the whole evening," Nicole said, pretending to go back to the dream she had just left unfinished, something the mild tiredness that had settled in her body seemed more than happy about.

"Oh no you don't."

Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and shifted her into Cassandra's lap, thin lips intoxicatingly close to her ear. "I even prepared the perfect outfits for the two of us, I simply cannot believe you'd pass up this opportunity for some extra sleep."

Nicole laughed at the feign offense, voice finally clear and free from the morning raspiness. She stretched her arms upwards with a few satisfying pops and then let her hands rest on Cassandra's shoulders.

"My, that's so thoughtful of you," she said, leaving a soft kiss on her lips. "Good morning."

The moment was kindly interrupted by a curt knock on the heavy door. Nicole groaned and moved back on the bed, pulling a nightgown that certainly did not belong to her loosely over her shoulders. When she was covered enough to not put on a show, Cassandra chuckled and addressed the still closed door.

"Come in."

A young woman entered the room, one of the latest additions to the kitchen staff as per Cynthia's request, with a tray expertly balanced in one hand, while the other held the leash of one of the thankfully well behaved hounds.

"Eris!" Nicole greeted the black dog, who snapped its big brown eyes in her direction and started wagging its tail. Thankfully for the girl holding the leash, the dog was expertly trained and did not lunge away to its owners. Instead it followed along, not tugging on the leash until both were just by the bed.

"Breakfast, my ladies."

A small assortment of drinks, together with a plate were placed from the silver tray to the small table on Cassandra's side. One wine glass was filled with fresh crimson blood, a cup of hot tea was sitting right beside it, steam rising up from the liquid inside and, in the smaller cup, dark coffee. On the plate, a freshly baked croissant and a small assortment of berries were waiting invitingly.

"And Eris, as you requested."

The girl held up the leash, but Cassandra simply waved a dismissive hand. "Just let her go. And leave the leash on my desk."

She did as was instructed, unhooking the leash with a soft metal click and placing it, coiled up neatly, on the carefully polished wood of the desk. Then, with a slight bow, she left the two alone once again.

Nicole didn't acknowledge that, too busy patting the spot by her side for the black hound to jump up. Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but was a second too late as the dog was already in her wife's lap getting head and neck scratches. She sighed. At least all the hounds were kept squeaky clean outside hunting sessions.

"Stop spoiling our hunting dogs."

"Oh darling don't worry, I have no power over Carolina's training," she emphasized by snapping a finger and pointing it to the far side or the bed, direction that the dog followed dutifully, curling up on top of a folded blanket. "Good girl," she cooed at the furry beast, which elicited a tail wag.

Cassandra shook her head with a small smile tugging at her lips. She passed the small coffee cup to her wife, who took a tentative sip to test the temperature. It was lukewarm, as it always was, the routine of all the family ingrained into each and every staff member to the dot. They knew how Nicole liked her coffee, what tea to pair with any kind of breakfast and, probably most important for their sake, exactly how much blood, down to the milliliter, Cassandra liked to drink in the morning. Well, early evening, but who kept track.

The bitter liquid was downed in mere seconds, the taste accompanied by a sour grimace. Nicole did not like coffee in the slightest, having lost any possible appetite for the bitter taste after drinking one too many, or a thousand too many, cups during her days in med school. Unfortunately, it still did its job of waking her up, so a compromise with a sweet cup of fruity tea right afterwards had to be made.

She passed the empty cup back to Cassandra, who replaced it with the tea.

"I have to say, seeing your face scrunched up in disgust every morning is most entertaining."

"Happy to see my attempt at waking up is enjoyable for you," she replied with a pointed look thrown over the porcelain edge of the mug.

The look however was replaced by a content sigh upon sipping on the tea, the prior bitter taste slowly replaced by a blissful blend of fruit and lavender. While their cook Cynthia was downright an expert at preparing all kinds of meat, human included, her biggest talent was creating the best blends of tea, never too overpowering but always with a balanced taste. At least according to Nicole, and she would hold that opinion to the day she died.

While waiting for the liquid to get to a more drinkable temperature, her attention went back to the dog now sprawled on its side. "Why did you ask for Eris?"

Cassandra took another long sip of her drink, far more elegant than one would expect from a woman who had no issue regularly walking around covered in blood. "I just thought we could bring her along, I know she's your favorite," she finished with a smirk.

"That's not true," Nicole quickly replied, as if she were a mother accused of having a favorite child, which only made Cassandra's grin grow wider. She cleared her throat in an attempt to save some face. "I love all our dogs equally, Eris is just… particularly well behaved, yes."

Her wife simply chuckled, not having bought any of her excuses for playing favorites. Not that Cassandra wasn't guilty of that either. Her first response to picking a favorite would be not unlike Nicole's, but she had a particular fondness for Freya, one of their Finnish hounds, who always seemed so eager to sniff out prey on the hunts. She would be lying to say that she didn't entertain the idea of asking her mother to infect some of their best dogs from time to time, their short lives feeling like blinks of an eye compared to her own immortality.

She placed the now empty glass back on the table, not quite as graceful as her mother always did after a meal. They had plenty of time, so getting up was not yet in either of their schedules.

"Are we going somewhere in particular, or just out for a stretch," Nicole asked in between sips.

"Bela has to pick something up and Dani, surprising to precisely no one, wants to visit the bookshop," Cassandra started with a slight eye roll, leaning on her side on top of the cushions and starting to toy with the hem of Nicole's sleeve. "Since we're doing none of that boring stuff, I thought you'd like to choose."

Nicole tapped a finger of the white rim of her mug, nail making a soft clink. She sighed. "Just a walk around town, I'm really dying to get out too."

"You do realize you're not confined to the castle during winter like I am right," Cassandra laughed.

"And leave my beloved wife all alone while I go out and about," her reply was overly dramatic, complete with a hand gingerly placed over her heart almost as if such an idea was close to blasphemous. It only gained her a small snort.

"Should I remind you that I've spent decades in this castle? I promise I can bear it."

Okay, grandma.

With the tea finally gone, Nicole placed the tall mug on the nightstand closest to her, effectively freeing her hands. Free to trace tender fingers up Cassandra's arm, her neck and around the intricate lace of her choker to toy with the fine chains decorating it.

"You sure about that?" Her voice was sickly sweet, all too aware of her unbeatable talent of making someone as sadistic as her wife melt with little more than a hushed tone and gentle hands.

Cassandra did not respond right away. She was nothing if not a prideful person and admitting to the fact that yes, she would miss her, even for a handful of hours, was not particularly high on her list of things to be said out loud. It was almost an unbearably clingy kind, their relationship. Or at least that's what someone who did not know better would say. Truth be told, they were both the kind of people that looked almost desperately, although a desperation worn with odd grace, for comfort in other people. People they would then fight tooth and nail, or more accurately fang and claw, to keep close. It was obvious in the way Cassandra took on the role as protector of the family, nevermind the fact that Alcina would cut any possible threats to pieces before any of them had time to lift a finger. Obvious, also in the way she was so protective over Nicole herself, the beautifully engraved dagger always strapped to the redhead’s side either under a lab coat or at the belt of a dress rendered little more than a fancy accessory.

Cassandra chuckled, wrapping long fingers around her hand and taking it away from her necklace. "Why don't we get dressed before Bela comes to nag at us mm?" Then black lips were gingerly pressed to the skin, leaving a small kiss on top of bony knuckles.

With a shrug and a less than gracious stretch accompanied by a yawn, Nicole got out from under the covers, the red velvety fabric of the robe flowing after her like an impromptu cape.

"Are you wearing my robe," Cassandra's voice came from behind her, together with hands placed on her waist.

Duh.

Not that Cassandra ever truly complained. Finding the oversized clothing her wife often wore quite endearing.

"It does look quite charming on me you have to admit."

"You're practically swimming in it."

Nicole rolled her eyes which only prompted a small laugh.

They fixed themselves enough to be semi presentable for the small distance that separated the bedroom and the dressing room. Nicole was about to suggest wearing something more casual, but the fact that going out for the first time after the long winter months was almost reason for a small celebration for all three of the Dimitrescu sisters made her shut down that train of thought. No harm in being fancy on occasion after all.

The outfits Cassandra had picked out were nothing short of perfect for the occasion. Matching black dresses, Nicole's a tad lighter with a lacy collar and frilly hems complete with a white vest-like corset, while Cassandra's was made out of a thicker fabric and went down almost to the floor, surely due to her tendency to get cold easily.

Not being the kind that lingered in the dressing room too long, that was more Daniela's style, it took little for them to get dressed. The occasional helping hand for small things that one could maybe twist and turn to do themselves, but why bother when you have a perfectly willing to help spouse, was something they both enjoyed and took a couple extra precious moments to let a hand linger or fingers to trace expertly done sems. After some makeup was applied and the leash was hooked back to Eris' collar, they finally made their way downstairs.

They were close to fashionably late it seemed, as Bela, Daniela and Anita were already waiting in the main hall, the eldest throwing a miffed expression their way upon seeing them descend the grand staircase.

Nicole noticed the absence of one of their usual party members. "Isn't Laura coming with us?"

"She had to go to Donna's this morning. Spring preparations and all," Bela's reply came dangerously close to being accompanied by an uncharacteristic pout.

Oh. Someone's in a sour mood.

They made their way down the stone paved road that connected the castle to the town in relative silence, interrupted only once by Bela telling them when they would meet up to head back home. Other than that, they just enjoyed the short walk. And for good reason, the road was surrounded by beautiful rose bushes on both sides, with pine trees expanding beyond them and the sounds of birds and nocturnal animals beginning to wake up blending together in a quiet murmur so typical to the forest.

Once in the town square under the familiar angel statue, Bela wordlessly left them in favor of making her way down a small street. Daniela and Anita seemed more courteous and said their goodbyes and see-you-laters as they turned around, chattering about something only they understood.

Left alone, with their dog whose leash was attached to the same belt Cassandra's sickle was, they started walking down the quiet streets. It was almost sundown, so even the small crowd of people usually going about their business was almost non-existent, knowing better than to be out at night without good reason.

Something that Nicole was yet to grow bored of, even after a few years spent at the castle, was the small architectural oddities around town. It looked quite regular, albeit old, at first glance but a closer look would reveal the rich symbolism resulting from the centuries of being quite literally broken off from the rest of the world and almost frozen in time.

The go to flowers planted in front of buildings were crimson roses, the familiar patterns of swirling vines and leaves engraved into walls and lamp posts. A bakery they passed by had three sickles hanging behind the glass, complementing the harvest theme the entire shop had, together with dried wheat in vases and warm inviting colors on the walls. The one fishery that everyone in town knew had a mermaid gracefully swimming in a panel just above its entrance and horseshoes were nailed to most doors leading to houses or small apartment buildings. Even a toy store had a suspiciously Angie-like doll, although without the cracks and signs of time its original counterpart sported, looking out at any passersby.

One thing that could never go unnoticed however, were the crows. Statues of the birds, big or small, could be seen anywhere, from street corners to rooftops and atop building entrances. Some had their wings spread out, ready to take flight were they not trapped by stone bodies, others had their bills open wide in a silent croak and some were simply looking on. Real crows were also incredibly common, replacing the pigeons any other city had in favor of the black birds, ironically roosting on the statues of themselves quite often and kindly providing the city background noise with their caws. Nicole inquired about their presence once, and Cassandra had explained how the locals see crows as good luck, being a symbol to Mother Miranda. Many people fed them and even had buildings upon which small towers were erected with the purpose of giving the birds space to make nests.

Nicole had a strong suspicion that some of the birds were a little more than they let on, especially after seeing their so-called goddess break into a flock on multiple occasions. Sometimes, you would look at one of the crows perched on a power line connecting two buildings, and icy grey would stare back, the depth in those eyes far too human to belong to any bird.

Her slight glare towards one crow that seemed to look at them from a windowsill was interrupted by the memory of a small list she had tucked in her pocket before leaving.

"Oh, I need to pass by the pharmacy to pick up a few things we ran out of."

Cassandra simply shrugged. "Sure," and she looked around for a moment to find the street that would take them there fastest. Not like they had any plans other than enjoying the pseudo freedom that being out of the castle gave them.

The pharmacy was oh so conveniently located on the other side of town, adjacent to the hospital near the reservoir. Ever since Miranda had found ways to lessen the negative effects of his mutation, Moreau was the designated town doctor, but due to the still somewhat volatile transformations he was still mostly confined to the place and it's murky waters, a fact that he despised greatly. It was an obvious choice, then, to erect the hospital there. It was a small building not unlike the rest of the town's architecture when it came to size, no more than three floors high and with a small staff that Moreau himself had to teach the ins and outs of medical practice. If memory serves right, even Miranda and her assistants had taught some people particularly well versed in the sciences how to operate the equipment and patients alike. Medical training seemed to be hard to come by around here and Nicole had a gnawing suspicion that it was the reason she was still alive.

The building coming into view behind the trees and the paved road that cut through the small stretch of woods separating the town and reservoir looked oddly new in comparison to the rest, as it had been erected only a couple decades prior. Attached to it, a smaller house with matching tiles on the roof and a sign that read Farmacie above the entrance's double doors.

Dogs were normally not allowed inside, but who was going to stop them of all people from marching right in, black hound happily walking by their side. They were the only ones inside, save for a short woman sitting behind the counter, panic flashing in her eyes when her gaze fell on Cassandra's tall frame, hand in hand with Nicole who was at the moment too occupied with pulling out the list of meds she had written. She gave it a once over and, sure that she had everything down, passed the paper to the pharmacist, who knew better than to ask if she had any prescriptions.

"You could've sent someone to fetch these for you," Cassandra said, eyes following the woman as she disappeared behind tall shelves full of small boxes and pill bottles.

"I know, I just didn't want to wait. I don't like running out of supplies," Nicole shrugged.

Plus, Nicole was way less likely to be questioned on why she's buying twenty different kinds of meds than a random maid. Partly because the pharmacist recognized her and partly because any sane person here knew better than not obliging when Cassandra was looming behind her. A small smirk graced her lips at the thought and a sly look was given to her wife, who was too busy playing with the dog's floppy ears to notice. Eris raised her head at the unforgivable offense, playfully trying to nip at the gloved hands that were tickling her, getting a giggle out of the brunette.

All three were distracted by the soft clink of a bell hanging above the door, indicating that someone had entered the pharmacy. It was an older man, looking to be in his sixties, heavily leaning on a crutch held in his right hand.

Cassandra's features morphed into a scowl and Nicole could practically hear the man-thing going through her mind. The man was probably on the verge of doing a complete one eighty and exit the pharmacy, when a voice called out from behind the counter.

"Ah Andrei, I have something for that infection of yours, hold on a moment," the pharmacist called out, before handing Nicole a sizable paper bag full of what she had requested.

She felt an unwelcomed whiff of decay as Cassandra took the bag from her hands, and sniffled in an attempt to ward off the stinging sensation in her nose. She fumbled with the credit card, mentally cursing the payment for not transferring quicker when the smell was starting to make her eyes water the slightest bit.

"Is everything alright my lady?"

The man's voice, full of genuine worry came from behind them, having moved closer upon the pharmacist's urging, and the putrid stench of death and decomposition flooded Nicole's senses together with the slick sensation of blood running down her face. She had to force down a gag as she shoved the card back into a pocket and all but ran out the door, worried wife in toe.

"Nicole what-" Cassandra swallowed any words she had at the sight of the blood flowing down and staining the until moments before immaculate white of her wife's corset.

Nicole made her way to a corner of the building that nobody seemed to go to, and leaned against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and trying to ward off the lightheadedness.

For someone who spent years working on dead bodies in various stages of decomposition, one would think that the smell of death did not bother her. And it didn't. But this was different, the stench seeming to make its way into her skin and clinging to her senses, coating her throat as if trying to choke her out in the most disgusting way possible. Not to mention that there was no actual dead body around.

She coughed out the blood that didn't make its way out of her nostrils and instead decided to go the throat route. Her hands were a crimson mess and so were her face and dress, a pang of guilt shooting through her for having ruined the outfit picked by Cassandra. At least the bleeding seemed to stop and so did the horrid stench.

Cassandra didn't seem to care, nor even notice, the ruined fabric. Instead she pulled out a handkerchief from a pocket and started to gently wipe the blood away from pale skin.

"What's wrong?" She asked and Nicole could only shake her head.

"I don't know. I don't know why this keeps happening," she almost ran her hands down her face in frustration but had enough clarity of mind to remember how dirty they were. "I thought it would go away, and for a while it did. I don't understand what the hell is wrong with me," she added, voice rising the slightest bit.

Cassandra grimaced, trying to get her face clean. "We can talk to Mother when we get back."

A defeated sigh made its way past bloody lips. Nicole had her doubts that Alcina would know any more than them on the situation, which was nothing. They knew nothing.

She grabbed Cassandra's hand to steady herself back on her feet, mind drifting to what she didn't want to think was her only solution.

If there was anyone who could get to the end of this, it was Mother Miranda.

#unhinged maiden™ my beloved #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #to bargain for immortality #fanfic #doggo!!!#some fluff for a break aye #go out they said itll be fun they said

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

Text

Leviathan's Odyssey 7:

Flood

Mammon: Levi!!

*Mammon is the first to leap forward and run across the beach, faster than Lucifer could stop him. His enthusiasm, however, seems to wind down considerably when his brother doesn’t make any move to meet him… and then he retreats back to the others when a massive, serpentine head rises out from the water by the shore. This new beast is not quite as large as the one from before (which likely was Levi himself in some kind of horrific second form) but it could still swallow any one of brothers whole and looks very hungry and eager to do so… particularly when six other heads just like it come up to join the fun*

*Levi stops the clamoring hissing of the monstrous serpent with only the raise of a hand, leaving Lucifer to assume whatever it is, must be completely under his thrall… an impressive feat for a creature that size…*

Levi: This is Lotan. Don't mind him.

*as their formerly missing brother starts his stride across the beach, a growing knot begins to twist in the pit of the eldest’s stomach… The kind of feeling one gets when they’ve realized that they’re out of their element... but they’re up against someone else who very much is. Fighting to keep a composed demeanor, he waits until Levi’s right in front of them before responding*

Lucifer: You look well, Levi... I’m glad. Though I’m surprised you've turned up here of all places...

*Leviathan, maybe amused by the statement, sticks the end of his trident into the ground by his feet before smiling*

Levi: Same goes for you, but this is just my first stop. *he shrugs nonchalantly, glancing all his brothers over until his eyes land on… well, a new face*

Levi: And what’s that thing...?

*Lucifer follows his eyeline to baby Satan, currently peeking his blonde head out from the safety of his shirt. He had almost forgotten he was still holding him...*

Lucifer: Oh, well… I suppose this is your new brother…

Levi: You stole a kid??

Lucifer: Well, no. He’s uh... it’s complicated.

*Levi looks a tad confused but leans down to get a better look at the boy. Again, much to Lucifer’s surprise, their seemingly fearless child attempts to hide his face back into the fabric…*

Levi: Huh. Looks like your guppy’s shy. *he flashes yet another shark-toothed grin… where he had developed such a maw is a mystery to Lucifer… None of his brothers' teeth get that sharp*

Lucifer: He’s not usually… *one of his hands instinctively goes to shield Satan’s head. A part of him hopes that it’s only Levi’s appearance that he finds scary… but a greater part of him fears there’s more to it than that…*

*it doesn’t take Levi long to look past Satan and back to the others, all of whom are still grappling somewhere between a state of shock and guilt*

Levi: Well. I’m happy you all found each other. Up here... *they watch for a moment as his slitted eyes narrow slightly...*

Levi: ...without me.

*Mammon is again the first to step forward, putting a hand over his own chest*

Mammon: I looked for ya when we-

*he could continue but Levi cuts him off with a sudden spike in volume, picking his trident back up from the sand*

Levi: -and just look at the house you got! *he lifts the weapon over to the Demon Lord’s villa, sitting perched on a scenic hill above the beach* Doesn’t it look just… nice?

*the twisting in Lucifer’s gut is only getting worse… he doesn’t like where this is going…*

Lucifer: The house isn't ours, Leviathan… We’re borrowing it. We live somewhere farther inland...

*the way that Levi’s eyebrows raise only further cement his fears… For a moment, he swears he sees something flash in his eyes but it's gone too fast to identify it…*

Levi: So that means you have two then?

*they all watch in confusion as he bends down to scoop some sand between his fingers… letting the white grains slip slowly from his grasp*

Lucifer: Two…? Two what?

Levi: Two territories. On dry land. *Levi watches the sand pour to the ground, seemingly mesmerized by how it falls, before returning back to his brothers*

Levi: I bet that really must be nice. Really… really nice. *Lucifer sees the look in his eye change again, but this time the darkness lingers… radiating what he can only describe as pure malice and envy*

Levi: But that doesn’t surprise me. You guys have always had it better than I have…

Mammon: Huh..? *Mammon raises an eyebrow, apparently blindsided by his comment* What the hell are ya talkin about, Levi?

*Lucifer can’t help but shoot a look at him, even for the innocent question. There’s something very different about the Levi before them right now… They shouldn’t risk giving him ammunition. Unfortunately, Levi’s eyes only narrow again but this time into deadly thin slits*

Levi: What am I talking about? Isn’t it obvious?? Or are you still just as dumb as ever, Mammon? *Levi sweeps his trident out to the side, baring his pointed teeth in a silent snarl*

Levi: All of you had it so much better in the Celestial Realm than I did! Mr. “Always Perfect” Lucifer and his stupid little lapdog, Mammon! Oh how everybody looked up to you! *he jerks his trident towards a frightened Asmodeus, the anger in his eyes only intensifying*

Levi: And then there’s you! Always sneaking out to parties and sleeping who knows where, but were you ever cast out for it?? No! Because you’d always go crying to Lucifer to get your way!!

Lucifer: That’s enough, Levi-!

*Leviathan’s tail lashes the beach sand, kicking up a cloud of white behind him and they hear the low hiss of the seven-headed beast still very much watching them…*

Levi: Shut up! I’m not done!! *his trident next jerks towards Beel and Belphie, the older of whom currently pushing the younger behind his back defensively*

Levi: And then there’s you two! Who could ever get enough of hearing how everybody loved the twins?? “Did you see what Beel did today?” “Hasn’t he gotten so big?” “He’s a shoe-in for seraphim for sure!” And if you had just stayed in your goddamn place, Belphie, then NONE OF US WOULD EVEN BE HERE RIGHT NOW!!!

Lucifer: LEVIATHAN, I SAID ENOUGH!! *Lucifer’s beach clothes quickly evaporate as they get replaced by his demon form, black wings towering high above his head, but Levi remains undaunted*

Levi: AND I TOLD YOU TO SHUT!! UP!!!

*the sky above them darkens as growing clouds bloat out the artificial sun, the sheer intensity of Levi’s rage apparently beginning to disturb the sea around them. The waves suddenly start getting choppy, bubbling up and crashing into each other furiously...*

*for a moment, Lucifer is astounded how Levi’s emotions alone could have such an effect on the currents, but that’s only until he looks a little closer… It’s no current or wind changing the waters, it's a horde of creatures struggling for space above the water’s surface: tails, fins, tentacles, and heads of all shapes and sizes breaching the formally calm seas to make their presence known. In a matter of moments, they find themselves outnumbered not by the tens or hundreds, but by the thousands… An ocean’s worth of monsters calling for their blood from across the shore…*

*as the brothers realize what they must be seeing, a collective horror casts over them… Levi himself takes a few deep breaths and raises his trident back to the army, quieting his troops once more, but they remain near the surface to watch for his orders. Dormant, but far from absent in their conflict… A tense silence hangs in the air but Lucifer is the first to break it with a quiet, harsh whisper*

Lucifer: Leviathan… What is the meaning of this? What are these things and why are you here?

*Levi slowly lowers his trident and glares back at his brother with a look that’s not smug, nor boastful. It holds nothing but anger and contempt for him and seemingly everyone around him...*

Levi: Shouldn’t it be obvious, Lucifer? I’m still a general, aren’t I? So what if my men look a little different now... *he digs the end of his trident into the sand, keeping his head aloft in a way Lucifer had only seen him do on the battlefield*

Levi: I want better land. I’m here for more territory and I’m starting with this beach. *though his voice is assured and commanding, Lucifer narrows his eyes at him just as Levi had done before*

Lucifer: No. I can’t let you do that. *Levi, of course, doesn’t back down for a second*

Levi: Well, too bad it wasn’t a request.

Lucifer: This beach and the land it’s attached to are all property of the Devildom and its ruler, Lord Diavolo. I cannot and will not just let you take it. *Lucifer’s words actually seem to give Levi a pause for thought, but more out of surprise than anything*

Levi: Wait, did you just say “Lord” Diavolo…? *he thinks for a moment before a smile finally comes back to his face, though this time with an air of mockery* Did you just call the Prince by his title? Don’t tell me you’re his lackey now, are you…??

*Lucifer, to his credit, doesn’t flinch or look away… but he doesn’t look particularly happy either*

Lucifer: I remain my own man, as I’ve always been… But I owe my loyalty to the Prince and I will oversee his interests as I see fit. *it seems regardless of his answer, Leviathan still snorts at him*

Levi: So you are!! And here I thought I’d never see you take a knee to a demon! Just how low have you sunk now, huh? *Lucifer opens his mouth to respond, but Mammon beats him to the punch*

Mammon: Would it kill ya to just shut up already, Levi?? We ain’t just gonna let ya take what you want! *despite his brother’s outburst, Levi only continues to look amused*

Levi: And you really think you can stop me?

*he raises his trident once more and an unearthly chorus is sung from the waves, a deadly hum of hissing and growls emitting from his waiting “soldiers,” itching to attack on his say so. Many most likely already having the reach or capability to pluck the other demons from the sands where they stand*

Levi: … you and what army?

*Mammon’s silence appears to be his answer as he glances anxiously to Lucifer… the rest of his brothers doing the same. In times like these, they all turn to the eldest to come up with a plan, but it seems that this time, Lucifer finds himself with limited options… He takes a moment to study his family’s faces - then the savage crowd of beasts surrounding them - with an expression that’s near unreadable…*

Lucifer: … I can call Lord Diavolo from here. What are your demands?

*there’s a sharp intake of breath from his brothers, not a one expecting him seemingly to back down so quickly*

Mammon: What?!

Asmo: Lucifer?? You can’t be serious!! *though his brothers are stunned, Lucifer doesn’t take his eyes off of Levi while still maintaining his stoic expression*

Lucifer: If this is the bed he wants to lie in, then so be it…

*he and Levi glare at each other momentarily, before the other finally says something in response*

Levi: Tell your prince that I’ll start flooding Devildom within the next twenty minutes… If he hands over his territory willingly, then I’ll let him evacuate anyone living on it. Otherwise, it makes no difference to me.

Lucifer: If that’s really what you want… But Levi? *Lucifer waits until he has his full attention to make his point clear… His expression may have even softened some… Is it with worry? Maybe even disappointment?*

Lucifer: Don’t do anything you may regret…

*Leviathan looks at him for a few seconds more, before turning his back to them entirely*

Levi: … You have my demands, don’t you? *as he starts to walk away, Lucifer says something else just barely loud enough for him to hear*

Lucifer: You’ve changed… Leviathan.

*for a split second, Levi’s steps falter… but he doesn’t stop nor turn back to respond*

Levi: I’m just who I need to be… Lucifer.

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

#don't mind me #just doing my celebratory angst dance over here #its finally happening #at long last #so exicted #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me hc #obey me scenarios #obey me fic

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miamlfy · 4 years

Text

Homemade Rings

A/N: I am on a roll with these fics. Heres another Draco fic for all you Draco lovers, my next fic will for sure be a Sirius x reader. I’ve had this idea for a while now and I’m not sure if I like it or not. Give me feedback on it, I want to know ways on how to improve. Anyways, send in some requests. I wanna hear your ideas!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy X Potter! Reader

Summary: Draco’s parents find out about his relationship with Harry’s twin sister and they do not like it.

Warnings: Lucius being an abusive prick. Jily is alive (obviously) and some Wolfstar, if you squint.

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

Enjoy!

(Not my gif, credit to whoever made it)

Waking up, the smell of bacon hits your nostrils. You sit up on your bed and stretch out your arms, letting out a loud yawn. Looking around your room, your school books were sprawled out on your desk from last night. To prepare for the upcoming OWL’s. your teachers assigned work for the summer and expected all fifth years to have it complete by September. It was utterly rubbish but you wanted top scores, so you dealt with it.

Leaving your warm bed, you made your way downstairs and entered the kitchen, “Good morning dad, good morning mum.” You said, giving each parent a kiss on the cheek. You sat down at your regular chair, next to your dad.

“Y/n, be a dear and call your brother downstairs.” Your mum said while placing pancakes onto your fathers plate.

“Harry, get your ass downstairs! Mum made breakfast which dad and I are gonna eat all if you don’t come eat now!” You yelled, making Lily jump and your dad earning a glare from her for laughing.

“Not like that Y/n and watch your language. Merlin knows where you get those words from.” You laughed mumbling a ‘uncle Sirius’ and began nibbling on a piece of bacon. Harry made his way downstairs and sat down next to you.

“Did you really have to yell? Your annoying voice probably made the whole house shake.” Your twin rubbed his eyes, as he was still half asleep.

“Awe did I disturb the dream you had about Ginny?” You teased taking a bite from your piece of toast, a light blush formed on his face.

“How was your dream about Dr— Ow!” You kicked him in the leg before he could finish his sentence, sending him a death glare as well. Your parents didn’t know about your relationship with Draco, the both of you made an agreement to wait to tell each others families. The only reason Harry knew was because he caught you and Draco making out in the quidditch locker rooms, which he deeply wishes he could erase the memory of his enemy having his sister against the wall.

“Dreaming about who now?” James asked, looking at you suspiciously.

You put on your most innocent smile and turned your gaze to him, “No one daddy, Harry is just being an idiot. Isn’t that right Harry?” You asked, turning back to your twin brother.

Harry nodded his head in agreement while rubbing the area where you kicked him. James stared at you for a few more seconds, then began talking about any recent quidditch news. When he found out Harry joined Gryffindors quidditch team in first year and you joining in your second year, he was over the moon. He bragged about it to anyone who would listen and made sure to attend every game you two had. Which also meant that you and Harry had to have practice outside of school whenever you were both home. Thankfully this summer he took it down a notch on the training since he heard Oliver Wood put the Gryffindor team through rigorous training day and night. You could still feel your bones being sore even if its been months since then.

After breakfast, Lily made you and Harry clean up which only resulted in an argument involving who would wash the dishes. You ended up throwing water at Harry, who did the same the to you. Lily sent James to stop the two of you but that only made James join in on the water fight. It ended once Lily walked in and made the three of your clean it all up, without magic.

“I asked for two kids and I ended up with three!” She exclaimed after shoving a mop into your dads hand and left the room. The three of erupted into a laughing fit and began to clean up.

When Draco woke up that morning, he knew something was going to happen that day and his guts were giving him the indication that it wasn’t something good. He dragged himself out of bed and got dressed. Going to his nightstand, he picked up the ring you gifted him for his birthday on the train ride back home. The minute you gave him the ring, he loved it. It was one of the only items he owned that was handmade with love. You told him how you made it with your uncle Remus. He placed it on his right ring finger and walked down to eat his breakfast.

He saw his mother already sitting down with a book in her hands and a cup of tea to her left. He sat down and his breakfast was placed in front of him.

Narcissa looked down, noticing the ‘new’ ring on his finger, “Where did you the ring from?” She questioned.

Draco looked down and stared at it while his spoke, “Oh um a friend gifted it to me as a birthday present.” He avoided his mothers eyes, she always knew when he lied and he hoped she would drop it. It wasn’t a full lie either.

“Friend as in girlfriend?” A smile grew on her face, Draco looked at her now. “You don’t have to hide it from me Draco, tell me about her. Oh! Lucius dear, Draco was just about to tell me about his girlfriend.” Narcissa spoke, becoming more eager to hear about the girl who stole her sons heart. Lucius sat down across from his wife and motioned for Draco to start speaking.

Draco’s palms started to sweat and his face began to redden. “What’s her name?” Narcissa asked.

“Her n-name is Y/n.” He stuttered, he wiped his hands on his trousers. Last time he felt this nervous was when he asked you out.

“And her last name?” Lucius asked, growing interested. He heard the name before, he just couldn’t pinpoint where. Draco knew his parents weren’t going to drop the conversation until they were satisfied. He sighed, preparing for the outcome. He looked over to his mother, who was smiling and waiting for him to respond.

Draco looked back down to his ring, “Her last name is Potter.”

Narcissa’s smile quickly turned to a frown and Lucius dropped the fork onto his plate.

“Don’t play jokes, Draco. They aren’t pleasant,” Draco shook his head at his fathers words, “well then I guess you’ll just have to end it then. We cannot be associated with blood traitors, especially the Potters. They are awful people.”

Draco began growing angry at his fathers words, gripping the fork in his hands tighter. Although he didn’t like Harry and was annoyed by his presence, Draco simply couldn’t categorize your family as awful. Suddenly a wave of confidence hit Draco and before thinking, he stood up to Lucius.

“You’re the awful one father, you’re simply judging Y/n’s family because you didn’t like her father back in school. I love her a lot and I refuse to break up with her.” Lucius stood up abruptly snd forced Draco to stand up. Holding him up by the collar of his shirt, Lucius slammed Draco against the wall. Narcissa let out a yell.

“You will not speak to me like that in my own house! You will break up with her Draco!” Draco flinched at his fathers shouts but he hasn’t about to back down.

“I’m not breaking up with her.” He looked directly into his fathers eyes and tried shoving him off.

Lucius threw Draco onto the hard floor, the side of his face began to pound in pain as it hit the floor. “Then you can leave and never come back.” Lucius walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the silent house.

Turning to face his mother, Narcissa simply turned around and left the room. Draco wiped away the blood that was running down his, now broken, nose. He quickly made his way up back to his bedroom and began packing. He’d much rather lose the two people who made his life miserable rather the girl who showed how to love others and himself. He left his bedroom, he debated saying goodbye to his mother but decided against it. He didn’t want to make the situation worse.

Arriving at Godrics Hollow, he ignored the people giving him weird looks. No doubt that they were all confused at the boy who appeared like he just got out of a rough fight and was walking around in none summer clothing.

He stood in front of your house feeling stupid. He shouldn’t have showed up here and instead went somewhere else. He’s never meet your family, only your brother of course. What if they didn’t want him there? What if you didn’t want him there?

His felt as if he lost control of his body because now he found himself knocking on the front door, 'too late now’, he thought. He could hear loud laughs coming from the other side of the door, his heart swelled when he heard yours. Draco also began to grow sadder, those laughs were coming from everyone inside the house, something he never got to experience in his. Knocking once more, he started to hear footsteps approaching the door.

You and your family were seated in the living room, eating cookies that your mum and you made together the night before. Your brother and dad were no help of course, along with your uncle Sirius. You were quite surprised he hasn’t showed up yet, Sirius was there almost everyday and Remus could only stop him so many times.

Laughing at some stupid dad joke James made, knocking was heard in the living room. James got up to answer it. He immediately recognized him as Malfoy’s son, the platinum blonde hair was also an obvious factor.

“Draco, what brings you here?” James grew more concerned when he saw Draco’s bruised face and blood coated nose, “here come in, come in.” He helped Draco into the foyer and called out to Lily. He couldn’t help but let his mind go back to when Sirius was in a similar position when they were 16.

You and Harry looked at each other confused, were your ears playing jokes on you or was Draco actually at your door? Your eyes widened and were filled with concern when your parents brought Draco to the couch. Almost as a reflex, you made you way to him and cupped his face with your hands. Draco winced at your touch, tears began to cloud your eyesight. You never seen him like this before, the only time you saw get hurt was back in third year with the hippogriff incident.

“Harry, go get the first aid kit and my wand,” you looked over to your brother as your mother spoke, he was frozen. His face filled with shock, he knew Lucius could be mean but he never thought he would hurt his own son. “Harry now please.” Back to reality, he nodded and went to grab the items Lily asked for.

Words couldn’t form in your mouth, you wanted to ask him how this happened and why it happened. In the back of your mind, you felt as if you already knew the answers to your questions. Draco wiped away the tears the spilled from your eyes with his thumb, you smiled sweetly at him. Your brother came back and handed the things to Lily, Harry moved you to give your parents space to heal Draco.

Once they finished, they left the room to give you two space, your closeness to him already confirmed that you two were together. They noticed the ring you made on his finger, as well. Silence surrounded the room as you laid next to him. Neither of you wanting to ruin the quietness.

“It was father,” Draco spoke softly, you looked up and stared at him, “mother saw the ring and started asking questions. I told them about you and father got angry. Mother didn’t do anything, she didn’t even try to stop him when he kicked me out.” His voice breaking as he spoke, tears that he held in, were now streaming down his face.

You held him tightly and let him cry it out, it was rare to see Draco like this and you knew he needed all the support he could get right now. You helped him enter your bedroom and laid him down on your bed. Harry let him borrow some of his clothes, as much as he didn’t like Draco, Harry knew this wasn’t about him and he knew he had to be friend not an enemy to Draco right now.

You let Draco fall asleep, whispering reassuring words to him. Once you were sure he was sleeping, you made your way downstairs to the kitchen to help your mom with dinner. Lily noticed you walk in and motioned you to help cut the vegetables.

“How long have you guys been together for?” Your mothers soft voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Nearly a year and before you get upset with me, we both wanted to wait till we told our families. We were just worried that something like this would happen.” Lily simply nodded and gave you a smile.

“Well you two look well for each other and I couldn’t be more grateful.” The two of continued to cook in silence.

Draco woke up from your bed and he saw a note on your nightstand, ‘Don’t worry love, I’m in the kitchen helping mum with dinner. Feel free to come down and sit in the living room, love you.’ He smiled and looked in the mirror, he face looked a lot better but it was still bruised.

He left your room and looked around in the hallway, Harry’s room was across from yours. The door was slightly open, he noticed a few posters on his wall. Mostly of quidditch. His parents never allowed him to put posters on his walls, they thought it was ugly and didn’t match the aesthetic the Manor held.

He walked down the stairs and entered the living room, he noticed your dad sitting in one of the chairs, reading a books. Making his way towards the same couch he was once on, he sat down and James looked up from his book, giving him a warm smile.

“Lily and Y/n are finishing up dinner, I’m assuming you must be starving.” Draco gave him a nod.

“I want to thank you, Mr. Potter for allowing me in your home. I know I just showed up without warning, which I apologize for but it was the only place that came to mind.” Draco played with the rings on his fingers.

“Please don’t apologize, this isn’t the first time something similar like this has happened and we can only accept you with open arms, and please call me James. Being called ‘Mr. Potter’ makes me feel old.” James set his book down on the coffee table, “I’m not going to lie Draco, when Harry and Y/n came home for the holidays in their first year and told us about how you would bully them, or more bullied Harry and his friends, I wanted nothing more than to set you straight. But I look at you now and I see a boy who grew up with the wrong beliefs. I can tell now, that you merely were engraved with the wrong words. I remember when Harry told me you and Y/n became friends in third year and although I didn’t enjoy it at first, I knew my little girl would help you become better and see things in a different light.” Draco’s eyes glistened.

“The ring your wearing,” James pointed out the ring Draco was wearing on his finger, “she said she made it for someone special and someone she loved. The second I saw it on you, I knew just how much you mean to her, the way she described every detail on it to Lily and seeing how happy it made her, made me incredibly happy and wonder who was the lucky boy or girl making my daughter gleam with happiness. You are family now, Draco. We will always be there for each other and you are welcomed to stay here for as long as you need to. The Potters will always welcome you with open arms and warm food, clothes, and whatever you need. Don’t feel like a stranger here.”

You stood by the door, as you saw your dad and boyfriend hug it out. You cleared your throat while smiling widely, “Dinner is ready, mum said to call Harry down dad.”

“Harry, dinner is ready! Hurry up or you’re going to miss out!” Your dad shouted, already making his way to the dinner table.

“Oh for merlin’s sake James, not again.” Lily scolded.

You held out your hand towards Draco, “Come love, dinner is extremely delicious tonight.” Draco smiled and took your hand.

Harry entered the room, “Dad please stop yelling, you and Y/n really need to stop doing that already.” Giving a smile to Draco, he sat down across from you.

“Never dear brother, what were you doing anyways? Trying to come up with a plan to sneak into the girls dorms and make out with Ginny?” You teased, Harry threw a piece of bread at you.

“Oh good luck on that Harry, Sirius and I could never figure it out. Let me know how it goes.” Lily hit James’ head,

“Don’t encourage him dad, the last thing mum needs is a later from him explaining how he got Ginny pregnant.” Now it was Harry’s turn to kick you, “Ow!”

“Speaking of which, Draco you will be sleeping with Harry in the meantime while we prep a room for you, I am way too young and handsome to become a grandfather.”

“Of course sir, Harry you won’t mind if I put up some Slytherin posters right?” Draco gave a cheeky smile to Harry, which resulted in Harry’s having a playful scowl on his face.

“Wait dad, I thought you were fifty?” You said.

“Hey! I’m far from fifty!”

#draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x y/n #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter x sister!reader #jily au

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in-slytherin-we-trust · 4 years

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Another Time, Another Life (Draco Malfoy x Reader) Part 3/4

-> A ball, a revelation, and a confrontation... Will it be a happily ever after or a tragic love story that had run its course?

Click here for Part 1 and Part 2

*Y/N/N = Your nickname

“You’re positive that there is no dress code for this pretentious ball?” Y/N asked him again, her head tilted to one side, clamping the muggle phone that Harry gave her as a birthday present between one ear and her shoulder.

“Apparently so at least from the letters that they sent us, there’s no mention of any dress code. Only that we have to wear formal attire.” Harry replied, “I have no complaints though, makes it easier for us.”

Y/N groaned, “Ughh tell me about it. Even without dress code I still don’t own anything appropriate enough for a ball of this scale. Godric knows how many people the Malfoys have invited.”

She stared at her reflection on the cheval glass mirror in front of her, biting her lip in frustration, tossing yet another dress that she deemed not up to standards to the mounting pile on her bed.

“Just pick a random one, *Y/N/N. I’m sure you’d still look lovely either way.” Harry said again, she can picture him shrugging on the other side while saying this.

“Alright.. I’ll figure something out. You’ll come here by 7 right?” Her eyes drifted towards the wall clock, showing the time, 6:15 p.m.

“7 on the dot, just as how we planned. I’ll see you.” Harry said, ending the call.

“Right, see you then.”

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed as she looked at her now half empty wardrobe. Why am I even thinking this hard about what to wear? It’s just a ball, I wouldn’t even stay there long.

Earlier, Harry told her that he’ll be wearing a crimson tie. Should she just match him?

Y/N walked towards the other side of her flat where a small wardrobe stands, this is where she keeps all the clothes that she rarely wears for whatever reason. There’s bound to be a red dress in there somewhere, between all the crammed raiment.

A shimmer of glittering fabric caught her attention, her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes scanned the forgotten dress. She carefully grabbed it by the hanger, the dress twinkling even more as the light from the lamps hit it.

This is it, this is the dress.

The dress fits her like a glove, Y/N wondered how in the world she has never worn this beauty before. She grabbed her wand and utter a spell to do her hair into an elegant updo, leaving some loose curled tendrils hanging down to frame her face.

She finished just in time when she heard a ‘pop’ and the Boy Who Lived appears in her living room.

Harry’s mouth formed a brilliant smile as he took her appearance in. “See what I mean when I said you could wear absolutely anything? You look stunning, *Y/N/N.”

Y/N returned his grin, “Glad I got your stamp of approval, you’re looking rather dashing yourself. Shall we?”

Harry nodded as he offers her his hand to link with hers, then they apparated together to Malfoy Manor.

———————————————————————

Both Y/N and Harry cannot recognize this new version of Malfoy Manor in front of them. The sprawling mansion that used to has doom and gloom written all over it has been renovated inside out.

The large hallways are still sumptuously decorated but now brightly lit, rococo style lamps in gold and silver lined the walls, casting a warm glow.

A steward welcomed them when they entered the front door and acts as their guide, navigating the otherwise labyrinth like hallways towards the ballroom.

Finally they came upon a towering gilded door, the soft sound of classical music coming from behind it.

“Here you are, sir and madame. Please enjoy your evening.” The steward said with a low bow.

“Thank you for the assistance.” Y/N replied, giving him a gracious smile.

Harry reached a hand towards the door and push it open, the door swung easily despite how heavy it looks.

The grand ballroom is crawling with revelers wearing suits and dresses in all shades of colors. A live orchestra is playing on the very center of the room, buzz of chatter and laughter can be heard from every corner.

“Wow... they sure spared no expense.” Y/N said breathlessly.

“That is an understatement.” Harry replied, voicing his agreement.

Feeling like a fish out of water, Y/N grimaced, “What are we supposed to do while in here again?”

“Beats me, *Y/N/N. I guess we can just go straight for the food and drinks?” He said as he shoved both hands in his trouser’s pockets.

“Brilliant idea, I’m way too sober for this.”

So that’s where the two of them stayed for some duration of the ball, in the back of the room near the refreshment tables. Gobbling down their shares of grilled oysters, lobster toasts, caviar, and champagne. Minding their own business away from prying eyes.

They were in the middle of a rather interesting chat about some gentleman in a hilarious looking lemon colored suit, when they were interrupted.

“Mr. Potter and Miss Y/L/N.... what a delight it is to have you here, I’m honored that the both of you decided to accept our invitations.” Lucius Malfoy said coldly, Narcissa Malfoy in tow.

They donned themselves in all black suit and dress, looking regal yet very much intimidating as always. Regardless, Y/N can feel that something is off about them, the air of haughtiness that they used to carry themselves with now seems rather.... faux. In fact if she might say so herself, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy looked rather timorous and on guard.

“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.” Y/N answered in a noncommittal tone, masking her face into one of civility. “I really enjoyed the food, it was exquisite.”

“What she said.” Harry spoke, giving them a slight nod. Y/N had to resist the urge to smile at her friend’s behavior.

Narcissa smiled, “I’m glad you think so, I arranged it all myself. Have you had the chance to dance? We hired the orchestra all the way from Vienna.”

“No we haven’t yet, we were too busy munching the hors d'oeuvres.” Harry replied with a polite smile. After all he kinda owed his life to her.

Narcissa nodded understandingly, “Please do take yourselves for a dance or two if you’re up for it, the guests are eager to catch a glimpse of our celebrated war heroines.”

She then turned her eyes towards Y/N, “And of course it would be a waste of such beautiful dress if you stay in the shadow, Miss Y/L/N. You are a vision in red.”

Before any of them could answer again, Lucius Malfoy tugged his wife away and they continued on their rounds, playing the perfect hostess.

A rather upbeat sonata started playing, sending flocks of excited people gravitating towards the dance floor. Even Harry bobbed his head and tapped his feet along to the tune.

“Wanna go for a dance? This one seems fun.” Y/N asked, offering him an outstreched hand.

“I would love to my lady, be my guest.” Harry take hold of her hand and lead her to an empty spot on the dance floor.

Despite them not knowing what kind of dance they’re supposed to do since this tune is not exactly for ballroom dancing, they decided to just roll with it and made up the moves as they go. Swaying and taking turns in twirling each other. Laughter bubbling in her throat, feeling much more relaxed than before.

The couples around them seemed to be doing the same, no one moves in sync, but still they all managed to make quite the crowd.

“Switch it up, ladies and gentleman! Partner up with someone else.” Someone from the orchestra spoke.

Harry and Y/N look towards one another, “Would anyone even notice if we just stay together for the rest of the dance?” He asked.

“With the state that we’re all in right now? Doubt it.” Y/N said as she made no move to look for another dance partner.

Someone tapped Harry on his right shoulder, “May I cut in?” A smooth voice said, making the both of them stop and turn to see the intruder.

Draco Malfoy stood in all his glory, looking sinfully handsome in his black suit and crisp white shirt. Not a single hair out of place. A far cry from how he looked when Y/N last saw him in the trial chamber.

“Beg your pardon? What exactly are you trying to do, Malfoy?” Harry said defensively, putting a hand on her lower back as he tugged her closer to him. The motion didn’t go unnoticed, something flashed briefly in Draco’s eyes before he maintained his cool.

“I was just asking Y/L/N to dance with me, didn’t you hear that we are supposed to find a new partner?” Draco fired back aloofly.

“What is your game here? You could have just asked one of your friends like Parkinson or Greengrass over there, they too are short of partners.” Harry continued.

“Well I found myself rather fancying for Y/L/N’s company, it’s not as if she’s your girlfriend, Potter. She is allowed to dance with whomever she likes.” Draco retorted, not backing down. In fact he is fuelling the fire.

“See that’s the thing! How could you even think that Y/N would like to dance with you of all people?” Harry said with a scoff. “Right, *Y/N/N?”

Y/N noticed that they’re starting to create a commotion and some closest to them have even stopped dancing to watch what exactly is going on.

Not wanting to have a fight on hand, she cleared her throat, “It’s okay, Harry. Just one dance, people are starting to look, leave it be.”

Harry still looked unconvinced but she gave him a reassuring nod, then he nods back. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

Y/N refocused her attention towards Draco, “Let’s dance then if you so insist.”

Draco throw her a charming grin that would’ve knocked other girls from their feet, but not her. “Indulge me, Y/L/N. I have been waiting to dance with you for hours.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Have it your way, Malfoy. Let’s make it clear that I’m only saying yes because I don’t want to cause a scene at your parents’s party.” But still she accepted his outstretched hand and let him pulls them closer together.

———————————————————————

Draco Malfoy turned out to be an excellent dance partner, not that it surprised her, his parents probably made him took ballroom dancing classes the moment that he could walk. Purebloods and their propriety, it’s rather old fashioned really.

“This feels rather nice, doesn’t it?” Draco said, breaking the silence between them.

As much as she wants to deny that, there’s something about being this close to him as his arms wrap around her that feels just... right.

“Only because you’re being a decent human being for once, Malfoy.” Y/N replied nonchalantly.

“That has some truth in it, I do apologize for all the times when I’ve been an arse to you and your friends.”

Y/N sniggered, “Draco Malfoy can actually apologize, huh? What has the world come to. Your poor pride must be in shambles now.”

Instead of throwing back a remark, she’s surprise to see him giving her an earnest smile. “I found that when it comes to you, Y/L/N.. I tend to forget all my principles.”

“Is this your attempt at being charming?” She said teasingly.

“That depends, is it working?” He asked with a curious tilt to his head.

“Perhaps.” She answered smoothly.

“Perhaps.” He echoed back.

They were silent for a moment as the dance demanded for a twirl, carefully spinning her around and ensuring he’s not stepping down on her dress.

“The decoration is magnificent, it kind off reminds me of the Yule Ball.” Y/N said, stirring them into another conversation.

Draco almost froze in his tracks and cautiously approached the subject, “What do you remember about it?”

Y/N gave him a weird look as in, “Do you think I got too drunk back then that I didn’t remember a thing?” but decided to comply.

“I went with Oliver Wood and I wore a jade colored dress, definitely a good night for me.” She said as she smiles at the memory that resurfaces. “Your date was Pansy Parkinson right?”

“Yes... but I didn’t exactly dance the night away with her.” He said quietly.

Y/N raised an eyebrow his way, “Oh? What happened?”

She can see the look of hesitation on his face and in the way that his mouth keeps on opening and closing as if weighing the words that’s on the tip of his tongue carefully. “I was with you.. that night I ditched her to accompany you instead.”

Y/N jaw dropped open, “How hilarious, Malfoy.”

“No, Y/N. I’m being serious.” And the look on his face tells her enough that he is indeed not joking, that it compelled her to shut her mouth.

“Wood left you to talk with a quidditch scout who also attended the Yule Ball. Probably lost track of time while trying to butter that person up.”

Y/N felt her head getting heavier and a migraine starting to throb her skull. “I don’t remember any of that.... you’re lying. I was with him the whole night and we even walked back together to the common room.”

“Y/N/N...” Draco whispered out her nickname, “It was me who walked you back.”

She broke away from him, earning a few curious glances from the surrounding couples.

“I’m sorry but you must excuse me.” She said, not even bothering to look up at him as she left in a hurry.

No matter how big this ballroom is, she still feels suffocated.

———————————————————————

Y/N escaped the confines of the ballroom and wander aimlessly, not even paying attention to where she’s headed. Her whole body feels feverish. She just knows that she needs to find some fresh air to breathe in.

With some luck she founds herself in front of a glass door that leads to a small balcony. She muttered a silent prayer and let out a relieved sigh as the door swung open.

She closed her eyes, deeply breathing in and out in a controlled motion to calm her erratic heart. What was it about his words that bothered her so? For Godric’s sake this is Malfoy that we’re talking about! He loves twisting other people’s mind.

Y/N slumped against the railing, settling her burning cheek on the cold granite. She probably looks real pathetic if anyone happen to pass by.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed since then, but her body tensed at the sound of the balcony door behind her opening. A soft pitter patter of steps slowly making its way to her.

“You really should come with a warning label or an instruction manual, Y/N.” Draco Malfoy’s voice broke the silent night. Even the noises from the party doesn’t reach this part of the manor.

“That’s rich coming from you, Malfoy. Honestly why do you constantly feel the need to be soo bloody annoying.” She shot back weekly.

“Is it okay if I join you?” He asked.

“A bit late for asking don’t you think? But please don’t mind me, it’s your house after all and I’m just a guest.” She answered, gesturing with her hand for him to come and stand beside her.

“What was that back inside, Malfoy?” Y/N internally chastised herself for the tremble in her voice.

“There is something that you have to know, Y/N. Something about us.” He replied just as quietly.

“I—I don’t get it, there was never an ‘us’ so what are you talking about?” Her hands started shaking again but she forced it into a fist to steady herself. It takes an awful lot of effort for her to believe her own words because somehow, she knows that there is something more to this situation and she’s about to find out.

“I have to do something first but I need you to trust me, can you do that?” He asked.

Despite her common sense that is screaming at her to just turn around and get as far away as she can from there, her body betrayed her and she founds herself nodding.

Her eyes followed his every movement as she watches Draco slowly pulls out his wand from the inner pocket of his suit. He lift both hands up, his wand still tightly clutched in his right hand, but he’s trying to convey that he means her no harm.

“Ready?” He asked, once again asking for her permission.

“Ready.” She replied while steeling herself for whatever is about to come.

And then she felt as if her body is flung into another dimension.

White erupts all around her, scenes flashing by soo fast. Faces.... soo many faces. She almost drop to her knees, most likely from motion sickness, but then it all stopped.

And then she sees it. Her memories of Draco. Him stealing her for a dance in the Yule Ball when she thought she would spend the rest of the night sulking in some abandoned corridor after Oliver left her. Draco who insisted on being her partner in Potions and kicking Seamus out of his seat beside her, saying that it’s for her own good unless she wants to risk being exposed to frequent explosion. Draco who discreetly lended her his sweater when he saw her shivering during Care for Magical Creatures class. Draco who erased himself out of her memories and out of her life.

Y/N gasped in pain, feeling as if she just got stabbed over and over again as the hurt comes rolling in waves.

“YOU HAD NO RIGHT, DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY!!!” She screamed in agony, throwing herself his way, pinning him to the ground as she shakes him by his shoulders.

Tears blurred her vision as her body shook with violent sobs. She felt broken in soo many ways that she has to fight hard just to anchor herself at the thread of reality.

“I’m so sorry, love. I’m soo fucking sorry.” She felt him crying too beneath her.

He tug at her arms, silently asking for permission to pull her into his arms. Having no fight left in her, she allowed herself this sliver of comfort. Although in this very moment, she wants nothing more than to hurt him as bad as he had hurt her.

“Why, Draco? How could you do that to me? To us?” Y/N asked, barely above a whisper. Her voice sounds soo devastated, it pains him to no end to see her this way.

“I had no other choice, Y/N/N. I can’t let Voldemort use you against me, I can’t put you in danger just because I’d love nothing more than to have you by my side forever. Believe me, love. I did it all for you.” He croaked.

“I just don’t get it.... how could someone care for another and still take so much from them?”

“But it saved you a great deal of trouble! Like back at my trial when they asked you whether or not we were involved. Had I not taken your memories away, you wouldn’t be able to lie your way out under the veritaserum.” Draco retorted, clearly frustrated.

“Still, Draco..... Believe me if our situation were reversed, you’d be as angry as I am. Having your memories taken away from you like that is horrifying, I feel soo violated.”

Slowly she untangled himself from him and sits up, despite everything that has happened, she could still feel her heart reaching out for him. It still craves him and she doesn’t think that there would ever come a time when it won’t.

Draco followed her lead and sat himself, leaning his body against the railing. “I’m so sorry for all the pain that I’ve caused you, for all the pain that I’m still causing.”

Y/N stares at his face, the person that she once loved with all her being. “I don’t know what to say, Draco... I don’t even know if we can go back to how we were before all this.”

She watched as his face fell but there’s understanding in his eyes, “I know, starlight. I just want you to be happy.”

Y/N stood and clean the invisible dust from her dress, not that it makes it appear better, the skirt is all rumpled now.

“I... have to go. Thank you for the invitation.” She said, putting on a mask of cool indifference even though under all that, a violent storm is tearing at her very soul, but she has to be strong, for herself.

“Thank you for coming... Be safe, Y/N.” He replied meekly, but he managed to give her a small smile.

Y/N nodded and just like that history is repeating itself, but this time it’s her turn to walk away from him.

———————————————————————

Y/N made her way back to the ballroom, her eyes frantically scanning the room for Harry.

She saw him standing at the other side of the room and she walked briskly towards him.

Harry immediately noticed that something’s off, “Are you okay, Y/N/N? Do I need to fight anyone?”

Y/N smiled at her bestfriend, “That would be one hell of an entertainment to see but not tonight, buddy. Can we leave now?”

“Absolutely.” He said as he offered her his arm and they walked together towards the exit.

Turned out that it is actually quite late and some people have decided to call it a day too thus why Lucius and Narcissa are standing near the door to say their farewell to the returning guests.

When it is Harry and Y/N’s turn, Narcissa suddenly laid a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, “May I have a moment, dear?”

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy.”

———————————————————————

Narcissa leads her to a parlor room not too far from there and offer her a seat at one of the plush settee.

“I would like to apologize for every wrong that I and my family have done to you, Miss Y/L/N. Our list of misdeeds are long and unforgiveable but all of us are paying for our sins. I wish you nothing but all the best that life could offer and Merlin knows how much you and your friends deserve it.” She said in a soft voice, shame painted her face.

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I couldn’t speak for all of them but I know that me and Harry share the same sentiment especially towards you. I’d also like to thank you for sparing Harry’s life back then, if it weren’t for you, we would never be here.” Y/N replied, giving her a warm smile.

“You’re too kind, dear. We deserve far less than that but still I thank you for your clemency, but I’m afraid there is something else that I would like to talk to you about.”

“What about?”

“My son.” Narcissa said.

Y/N unconsciously gripped the edge of the settee as her thought floated back to the moment at the balcony.

“You know?” Y/N asked.

“You’ll find that rarely anything ever escaped a mother’s eye, Y/N.” Narcissa answered, “I know that what he did is wrong and it is yours to decide whether or not you will let him in your life again, but there is something that I’d like to give to you first.”

Narcissa walked towards a drawer and pull something out, a parchment.

“Draco wrote this sometime ago, it is for you.”

Y/N took the letter with shaky hands, “Why are you giving me this?”

“Draco might be a very difficult person, Y/N, but if there is one thing that I know for sure is the fact that my boy is completely in love with you.” Narcissa said as she smiles her way, “And I believe that he has chosen the right woman to anchored his heart to, you are a formidable force, dear. And I admire you for that.”

———————————————————————

A/N : WHEW okay I think this was rather intense, what do you think?

Taglist : @chaoticgirl04 @accioxdracox @randomsingingkoala @ivarlothbroks @sycathorn-slush @thescarletknight2014 @irritantive @vaeonshi

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corsair-princess-nenime · 2 years

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state of the neniblog 2021

Another year of RP fun and fellowship nears its end! I am mostly pleased with my writing, but there is always room for improvement.

My chiefest concern is having too much of that 'im taking us somewhere' thing. I think the solution is starting in the middle of the action, or having more casual, less descriptive bits.

So, how am I feeling about my OCs, and what does the future hold for them?

Nenime: our plucky and very much noblebright corsair princess. I love her dearly. At this point I can't think of anything particularly significant to change about her. Her squad got many chances to shine this year, but honestly I just want more Nenime for 2022. We might get a hop of story progression for the Ynnari early next year, so we'll see where that takes her.

Nenime scores a :D

Khnemu (@arch-magister-khnemu): an elder of the Thousand Sons legion. There's many cool things about ol Fer. He's a teacher, he's got a citadel out in the steppes, his followers live in a salty Utapau planet and theyre like the easterlings of rhun but tzeentchian, oh and he's stuck in trippy dreams. Alas, he hasnt had a good year. I'm not sure why but I make him terribly boring to talk to. I fear he is too sedentary. He might need a new gimmick, probably related to Magni Magic's growing space kingdom. Make him a sort of Blue Wizard, but tzeentchian? Perhaps.

Khnemu gets a :/

Naada (@ask-naada): a mercenary on a bike. Naada is a sort of bridge to the original fantasy content I would like to write some day. Anyway, she's a jock and I think she's on the right track to keep being that. Maybe she thinks too much for a jock? Eh. You go, girl.

Naada ably gets a :)

Izi (@ask-izi): the young commander of fuckhueg warlord titan. Who couldve guessed I would end up so fascinated by 40k titan lore. Im rather happy with Izi. He might actually be my most properly grimdark character i have, even though he was supposed to be more of a dashing hero. It was all for the better. I think hes a good fit for his 'loyalist from an evil legio' role. I'm especially happy I was able to find a way to have him do stuff that's not related to titans. Im so eager to tell his story that I find myself trimming back replies! Good things coming

sweet Izi gets a very grim :)

as for more characters, I cannot say there are any plans for any more original 40k ocs, but who knows what the future holds

I DO very much want to make LOTR rp characters, maybe Nenime as a maia and an Easterling, we'll see :)

as always all are welcome to contact me for plots or questions

#nenime

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evarcana · 3 years

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Courtiers + Christmas

Sorry, dear anon, it took me ages 😓 well at least I did it before xmas, right?

To avoid the whole discourse about why the bunch of demons and one morally corrupted human are celebrating Christmas, I should say that this is based on the MC inviting the courtiers to celebrate together.

Valdemar🎄😈

Not like they usually pay attention to silly human holidays. But if it is you inviting... “how delightful” - of course Valdemar is coming. The problem is that in their millennia of existence being busy with their research they sort of missed out on what Christmas was about. “MC, don’t give me that look, this is all fairly new”, you don’t even want to what is old for them. But it’s Valdemar so they lock themselves in dungeons and put all their inhuman determination into researching Christmas.

Valdemar’s research is ...advanced. After they excitingly start telling you whether you knew that red in decorations symbolises blood, you decide it’s time to intervene, hand Valdemar list of gifts to buy and encourage them to return to their usual work (who would believe you would ever say it).

They turn to the party/dinner dressed as Santa (or whatever equivalent). Are you shocked? Erm yes... But why are other guests loving it ?! Well they did become sort of xmas expert in less than a week so you guess it’s okay. Expects lots of stories on how Christmas celebrations developed over the last centuries.

Charms your grandma or elderly auntie by being the only person capable of listening about their chronical conditions and actually engaging on the topic. Your little niece/neighbour’s kid loves them too - they expertly removed all those bits of turkey leg they don’t like to eat in less than 5 seconds. Everybody loves them. But Valdemar still spends most of the time telling what a fascinating specimen you are.

When it comes to gift exchange part, you are glad that they only added a few medical books, plague masks and antiseptics to the list, could be worse.., but where is yours present? “You, my little silly duckling, are on the naughty list this year” with this Valdemar gently throws you in their sack grabs you and excuses you both from the party. You try to protest but they only say that they played along for long enough and now it’s their turn to play little game with you. Oh well you can leave early one year, it promises to be worth it.

Valerius 🎁🍷

Every year Valerius receives plenty of invitations to winter holidays parties arranged by the nobles but this is the first time he got invitation to something that personal. Tells you that he needs to check his diary and finally reluctantly agrees only because “there was a rather unfortunate cancellation”. But really in his head he is like “Omg does it mean that I am part of the family now? Cancel all plans NOW.”

Then he learns that you plan to have Christmas dinner/party at your place. The consul of Vesuvia to go to that ...shack?? That’s unthinkable: The party will be in his estate, yes he knows that it’s incredibly generous of him to offer and no you cannot refuse.

And this is when things are getting extra. You know that crazy neighbours competitions whose Christmas lights are brighter and decorations are better? That’s Valerius, although he has nobody to compete with really. The massive xmas tree got delivered from who-knows-where and who-knows-how in 2 days, and there is no red, golden or green decoration item left in stock in entire Vesuvia, oh and some the palace’s best cooks suddenly took a sick leave for a week (no it was Valerius promising them triple wages).

You ask Valerius not to get any expensive presents, otherwise you will feel bad, he did indeed agree that it was reasonable suugestion. Everybody gets presents more expensive than life. The guests surpringly find Valerius a very good host, this might have something to do with those gifts which were definitely extra or with the fact that everybody got merry in like 20 min thanks to all the fancy wine. Valerius is gossip central, argues about politics with your annoying uncle and plays board games with children.

Insists that it would be better if you stay overnight and not travel home late. Falls asleep in chair with drink in hand like an old man. Later that chair somehow migrates to the hallway by the guest bedroom, under the strategically placed mistletoe. Wait, where did red silky robes come from? All planned. Let’s hope that the unfortunate relative of yours is not staying in the same guestwing.

Vlastomil 🎅🏻 🪱

It’s lovely of you to invite him but he is a busy worm man and cannot really leave his children alone. Maybe he can just stop by? “No, MC! Don’t get offended!!”

Then he learns that Christmas is usually about family, does it mean that his children can come as well?? Ugh while you are mumbling something about that worms may not be very comfortable at your place, Vlastomil decides that the Christmas party will be held in his garden so the worms everybody can enjoy it.

Prepare to have a ...thematic Christmas. There is white xmas tree decorated with the shimmery worms and candy canes which have worms wrapped around them. Okay, even you are not the biggest fan of worms you have to admit that the ice sculptures of worms are quite impressive. He even has little nativity scene but with the worms.

Everybody receives crystal tree decoration baubles with live worms inside. Everybody is shocked. Vlastomil explains that it’s only stocking fillers and there are more gifts. (Also crystal baublesare only for transportation, the worms need to be free range, how dare you). The actual gifts are... amazing. Somebody got a scarf that they liked but didn’t have enough money to buy on that day, another person got a album of pin up pictures of snake women even if it was supposed to be a secret interest of theirs and you got that sparkly princess teara you cried for your parents to buy at age 5 but they never did (cmon, x years later, you still like it).

Some little child says that Vlastomil is like Santa with how you he magically read people’s wishes (there there, little one, it’s just the power of gossip), but Vlastomil is vibing: wiggler gets elf outfit from somewhere and you get lots of invitations to “come to sit on Santa’s lap”. Yes you can stay there after all the guests leave (and yes you can keep your sparkly teara on).

Volta 🍪🥛

Was secretly dreaming to be invited since at least October. But is still genuinely surprised when you ask her to come. She asks tonnes of questions: who else is coming, are you sure they would like Volta, what are you going to do, will there be food?

Volta wants to help you with all the preparations. Not like she is super useful but she did dig out from the piles of stuff in her estate and bring you lots of old tree decorations and some nice tableware. She basically spends all your time with you in the build up to Christmas: you decorate the house together, make gingerbread houses (well more like you made one house from the 1000s attempt, they all got eaten before they were actually completed) and pack gifts for everybody.

You warned all the guests that there going to be lots of food this year, and no you finally don’t need to worry about what to do with the leftovers and crying “end me, I am sick of having xmas food for 10 days in a row” because they are not going to be any leftovers. But you didn’t expect Volta to turn up with even more food. “Volta does not want anybody to starve on Christmas!”. She surely eats lots but she is also looking after other people lots, passing them plates with food (just imagine her holding it with both of her tiny hands) and topping up their drinks, she wants everybody to enjoy the dinner.

Everybody at the table is talking of how adorable Volta is, and nobody can even hide tears when Volta presents little hand made gifts that she prepared herself. But Volta humming Christmas carols? How does she even know Christmas carols? This is illegal level of cuteness.

Volta wants to stay to help you to clean up when the dinner is over. It’s quite and it’s only two of you. Oh you might still have some sweet things in the cupboard.

Vulgora🔥🌟

At first super excited to be invited but the next second they ask what is Christmas about and what does it involve. You decorate, eat, chat to people and exchange gifts? That sounds awfully boring to Vulgora. Can they at least smash the tree in the end? What do you mean - NO?!?!

Eager to help too. They need to use their energy somewhere. You are not sure whether it’s the type of help you wanted. You asked them to carry the xmas tree from the market? There are 5 trees in front of the house, one of which is like is almost 10’ tall. You asked them to chop some wood for the fire? Well, there is enough to have a bonfire in the towncentre. But on the positive side, your house is lavishly decorated this year, Vulgora likes the red and golden theme.

Lots of battle stories at the dinner, some of which ...lack xmas spirit a bit. All the gifts are...war themed. Then Vulgora gets bored and wants to fight for the right to cut the turkey/ vegan nut roast, whatever you are having. Oh no. But they can smash nuts with their gauntlets - the guests are impressed and suddenly want more battle stories. On the positive side, it’s definitely not boring this year, Vulgora is load and energetic.

But then suddenly Vulgora suggests you all go outside, when you question them, they say it’s a surprise. It’s hard to believe what you see: they prepared fireworks and sparkle fountains !!! You cannot help but smile watching vulgora excitingly running around setting them all off (but hopefully not setting your house on fire).

You watch firework lighting up the sky with Vulgora hugging you from behind and then..they rugby tackle you to the ground?! Well whether there is snow or not, they want to have a fight. Luckily the fireworks are over and the guests can just...leave you two to it.

#not sure whether it was cuter in my head #the arcana courtiers #the arcana courtiers headcanons #the arcana headcanons #valdemar the arcana #Valdemar #consul valerius #Valerius #vlastomil the arcana #praetor vlastomil #volta the arcana #procurator volta #pontifex vulgora #vulgora the arcana #questor valdemar

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yurimother · 4 years

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Interview: Shilin Huang, Creator of Amongst Us and Carciphona

Shilin Huang ( @okolnir )is a Canadian freelance artist and comic creator, known for her long-running series Carciphona. She has a Bachelor of Music in Performance from the University of Western Ontario. Carciphona is a long-form fantasy story set in a world where demon-magic is forbidden. The series follows a young sorceress named Veloce, and the mythical assassin assigned to kill her, Blackbird.

Shilin’s newest book, Amongst Us, based on the webcomic of the same name, is an alternate universe comic that reimagines Veloce and Blackbird as musicians and girlfriends in the modern world. You can support the physical release for Amongst Us book 1 on Kickstarter today.

The first book of Amongst Us is coming soon. How do you feel about the release?

Eager and relieved!! I had worked for so long to make the web format viable for print format, as well doing all the extra drawings that were necessary--like covers--that I had to keep under wraps, it felt great to know that that part is finally done and I can release my child into the wild. I was very worried too before the launch of the Kickstarter, because though I am the one who made this story, I am not quite a slice-of-life type of person myself, and it was hard for me to see value in this mundane, not-plot-driven kind of story as a printed book. But I was very lucky to have that worry dispelled!

What drew you towards creating comics and artwork? Was it a dream of yours?

I’ve been drawing since before elementary school because I enjoyed it, and somewhere along the way, I wanted to create my own characters, and then I wanted stories for them. It was always just me doing what I felt like doing, more so than something that I aspired towards achieving consciously. If I had to analyze the allure myself, maybe it was because people and the world are so interesting, I’ve always loved thinking about their nature and circumstances, and art/storytelling was the best way for me to explore and share those thoughts.

Could you briefly walk us through your creative process for making a page of Carciphona or an episode of Amongst Us?

Carciphona is a long, plot-driven story, and so the scale of preparation required before the page eclipses the actual drawing of the page itself. [A] small moment has some larger impact in the plot, character development, and accuracy of world-building. So I usually spend about half a year or more writing out an entire volume, read it over many times over the course of the years, before I do the same thing with sketching the entire volume on the computer, rearranging pages and panels and entire scenes for best delivery, before I finally commit to drawing out each page in detail on the computer.

Where Carciphona is like an elaborate set course where I chop up and measure ingredients and time their cooking with a careful game plan so everything can be served as they should, Amongst Us is more like an omelette that I’m making to taste. There is still planning and writing ahead of time, but each episode is much more self-contained, and I do more of the planning of the episode within the episode itself, adding and taking away details as I see fit before I feel like it reads naturally enough for me to fine line, colour, and paint.

You talk about being a self-taught artist, how did you learn to create artwork? What are some of your favorite educational resources?

While I did come across many tutorials, they were mostly short ones here and there made by my peers, so I don’t have any favourites in my mind that I can share ): . I learned by just looking at the art of my peers at the time and drawing a lot myself, thinking about what I could learn from each time I see something great, and what I could try next time to make the next drawing look better to me. When I had just started drawing digitally, the internet was quite new, drawing tablets expensive and uncommon, with no social media to share art or find resources. Over time, I did try to learn more properly by doing studies and seeking out professional tutorials, but I found that I hated it and decided that I’d rather learn and make mistakes at my own pace and be happy than to commit to effective and efficient learning and make myself dislike drawing.

Amongst Us is, of course, an Alternate Universe comic featuring characters from Carciphona. What inspired you to put your characters into a GL slice of life work?

Back in 2006, when I started drawing Carciphona, I had no plans of this frenemies dynamic for the two main characters, Blackbird and Veloce, and when the thought had occurred to me as I continue to tweak the story, canon GL relationships were still rare and rarely accepted. I was even told on many occasions by readers that they hope the two do not end up with some couples dynamic, or they will no longer be interested in the story. Ultimately, Carciphona was a fantasy story about an entire world, and I wasn’t going to risk the story’s reception over a small detail like whether or not Blackbird and Veloce sleep together, so I just played with the ideas of their relationship on the side, in paintings of many different AUs. Eventually, all that did was make me become so attached to the idea that I decided to say, screw it, I need someplace where they could be together, and I’m drawing an AU for real.

Where do you draw inspiration from for your work? Both Amongst Us and Carciphona.

I love a lot of things, feelings, aesthetics, and I eat up all of that and take it back out in the form of my stories. The inspiration is everywhere, from beautiful imagery I witness in pictures and in real life, to [the] lives of people that I hear about or experience firsthand, to the ethics and structures of professions from mechanics to medicine… In feelings, knowledge, and perspective, there’s an infinite amount of things that makes me think, and that thinking is what creates AU and Carciphona, whether or not that line of inspiration can be clearly drawn back to the root of the thought.

What are some of your biggest challenges or fears creating Amongst Us? Was there any realization or advice that helped you overcome those difficulties?

My biggest fear is always in relatability because it’s a difference between me and the reader that I do not and cannot have a solution for because it involves another person. In such a relatable genre as slice of life/comedy/romance, where the readers have more experience and therefore more varied but stronger expectations of a version of life that is relatable to them, I know that even if somehow I become a master writer, I still would not be able [to] say whether I could story that others would get or would be interested in, especially because I am aware I am an oddball when it comes to how I think, how I live, and what I value. What helped me the most was simply seeing that there were readers who did enjoy the stories for what it was, and reminding myself that I’m telling the stories to find those who might enjoy it, not to avoid those who might not. It’s a different perspective, rather than a solution, so the worry constantly resurfaces, but I hope it becomes easier over time as I am proven wrong more often!

Amongst Us readers have gotten to see Veloce and Blackbird as an established couple, and now we are witnessing flashbacks to how they first met. Where do you hope to take the series in the future?

I intend to tell both of these timelines concurrently, so as the couple timeline ended at episode 20, I intend to end the flashback at around episode 40, and then switch again at episode 60, and so on. While this kills the momentum for each arc, I made AU so that I can have the cake and eat it too--I want both their back story and a happy ending at the same time without having to wait 10-20 years for it, like I do with Carciphona’s plot haha!

What is one dream or aspiration you would like to accomplish? Even if it is unrealistic.

My only dream right now is just to finish both Carciphona and AU before my time’s up! Funny how unrealistic is specified, it made me realize that I rarely consider unrealistic dreams/aspirations as worth thinking about as they are unlikely to happen when there are so many other things I want to do that are actually possible. Most of my unrealistic dreams actually revolve around music, a profession I had left behind with an aching heart. I dream to play a concerto with an orchestra someday, or even learn to conduct, but for now, drawing my dreams out feels enjoyable and fulfilling enough a compromise!

What advice do you have for people wanting to create artwork and comics?

The true challenge these days I feel like is rarely in the work itself; there are so many readily available free resources that anyone who is capable of working hard and thinking critically will sooner or later be able to master skills they acquire to some degree. What is truly challenging is finding, and then accepting, what paths work for you. Someone might find great joy in working in a studio with a group on something big, while someone else might only enjoy drawing what they feel. Both, in this current climate, will be compelled to adhere to the standards of drawing what others want to see in order to gain recognition and financial stability, one will thrive, one will not.

I think the most important thing to keep in mind is understanding what you want out of drawing/creating, and why. Understanding yourself is often not as straight-forward as it may seem, everyone has different circumstances that subtly motivates them to sometimes misdirect energy and misinterpret what it is they truly want. Some people need to be understood, some people want an excuse to execute, and some people want fame, money, recognition, validation. Whatever it is, and all valid, understanding and accepting your own motivations to create can tremendously help you find the path forward that is suitable for you, not anyone else, even if it might mean following an impractical path that no one else recommends.

Finally, after the release of the first Amongst Us book, what is next for you? Anything special your fans can look forward to?

My game plan through the decades has always been to just keep going. I did choose long-form projects such as the comics that I draw, and the best thing I can do is to just keep it up and reach those exciting points of the story that I’ve always worked towards, no matter how uneventful that may make my work routine sound. However, I do have a little side thing with a(nother) recurring theme that I’ve been doing here and there for fun whenever I had time, people who keep up with my social media art posts may have noticed. If I ever accumulate enough material, maybe there will be some bonus snacks for my readers on the horizon!

Read Carciphona and Amongst Us online now and be sure to support the physical release on Amongst Us book 1 on Kickstarter today. Also, be sure to follow Shilin on Twitter @Okolnir.

#yuri #news #essay #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq+#queer #gay #shilin #girls love #gl #wlw #essays #interview #art #artist #comics #indie #carciphona #amongst us

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pengychan · 3 years

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 22

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: Well, both the events in this chapter and the update were a long time coming. I promise you won't have to wait nearly as much for the next update. I am not sure that is a good thing.

Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit

***

Later on, if he’d been in a joking mood - and he most definitely wouldn’t be - Ernesto may have joked that while many were saved by the bell, he was quite literally saved by the bull. Namely, by an especially unimpressive bull who seemed to be unsure as to what to do around a cow, no matter how absolutely eager said cow was to answer nature’s call.

“González wants us to go all the way to his farm and bless a bull, am I understanding this correctly?”

Juan spoke with about as much contempt as he was able to fit into each word, which was a fair lot of contempt. As Ernesto coughed into his hand to hide a laugh, Sofía shrugged.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Padre. I am simply relaying the message González sent.”

The gringo scoffed, reaching up to rub his forehead. “Does he believe the church to be a joke, that he can call upon us to give a blessing to a bull who believes itself an ox?”

Ernesto chuckled. “Well, to be fair - don’t look at me like that, hear me out! A bull that cannot mount cows is a problem to anyone who makes a living out of their cattle. And the poor hombre spent a lot of his savings on that bull, so if it cannot do its job, that’s a loss he may not recover from anytime soon.”

His words seemed to make Juan marginally less offended, but the frown on his face did not entirely fade. “It still seems rather brazen, asking the church to get involved in such-- matters, Ern-- Father Ernest.”

“Desperate men will ask for any help they can get. Things have not been going all that well for anyone lately. And he does provide milk for the children in our care on Sundays,” Ernesto added, and mentally patted himself on the back when Juan’s scowl softened another fraction.

“... Fair enough. He has shown charity, at least. I cannot entirely fault him for being ignorant of what is and is not beneath the notice of God,” he declared. Behind him, Sofía pointed at her mouth and pretended to gag. Ernesto bit the inside of his cheek to remain serious, but any inclination to smile faded when Juan spoke again. “Well then, I suppose you may go and give this bull your blessing.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what? Me?” he protested. That was not a turn of events he had expected: the gringo knew any blessing he may give was entirely worthless, and-- ah, the pendejo. That was probably the point, giving González some peace of mind without anyone really giving God’s blessing to an impotent bull.

Juan met his gaze with a raised brow, and for a moment Ernesto could have sworn he’d seen the barest hint of an amused glint in his eye. It almost distracted him from the broad grin on Sofía’s face as she watched the scene. Some friend she was.

The gringo nodded, folding his hands. “You spoke of this man’s plight with such fervor, it seems fair I let you go help him - if anything for his peace of mind.”

Ernesto groaned. To say the González farm was out of the way was an understatement: it was quite a way beyond the first hill south of Santa Cecilia. Truth be told, they tended to consider it part of Santa Cecilia only because it was no closer to any other village, and the family attended Mass and the market each week without fail.

“But it’s almost an hour each way!”

“Two hours, most likely,” the gringo replied with a serene smile. Now the amused glint was… a lot more obvious. Oh, that bastard--! “Doctor Sanchéz borrowed the horse to send his assistant to buy some medical supplies in San Luz. You may have the donkey, though. Don’t push the poor beast, you know it’s elderly. If you get going now, you should make it back by sundown,” he added, making Ernesto rather wish he could grab the closest chair and slap him with it.

“But I-- I mean, surely it is not that urgent--” he tried to backpedal. He really was not looking forward to several hours riding a donkey under the merciless summer sun. Maybe on another day he could get a horse, or ride with the González family’s cart next time they--

“You should definitely be the one to go, Padre Ernesto. You have such a glowing track record with fertility blessings,” Sofía quipped, causing Ernesto to nearly choke on his spit and any words he’d been about to utter to die in his throat.

Entirely unaware of the meaning behind Sofía’s words - if rather taken aback to see one of the sisters taking his side over Ernesto’s in a discussion - Juan nodded. “See, Sister Sophie agrees,” he said, with a decisive nod that made it clear the matter was sealed.

Sofía grinned. Ernesto forced a smile. Oh, he thought, I am going to kill her.

“... Of course. I will be happy to,” he spoke through gritted teeth. Sofía took that as her cue to disappear out of the door with one last grin in his general direction. As the door closed, he allowed himself to groan, no longer having to keep up the pretense of keeping up the pretense in front of Sofía. “Bastardo,” he muttered.

Juan clicked his tongue, wagging a finger at him. “Language,” he chided. “If it is of any comfort, this also means you will be spared Latin for the day.”

“Does this mean you’ll make me study through the night once I’m back?” Ernesto grumbled, and the gringo gave a startlingly sincere laugh. Those had always been rare to come by, even more so after he learned the truth about him. Ernesto’s annoyance faded a little, and just a little.

“Hah! I thought about it, to be entirely sincere, but no.” He stood, giving his arm a light pat. “I will not put you through it tonight, either. We’ll both get to sleep.”

Somehow, he was both absolutely right and disastrously wrong at the same time.

***

Just as a very disgruntled Ernesto de la Cruz disappeared down the first hill south of the village on the back of an elderly donkey, Commander Santiago Hernández rode up the first hill north of the village at the head of a column of sweaty, angry men.

Fewer men than he’d have liked, truth be told. They had succeeded in pushing through the territories under the control of Zapatistas, but resistance had been fierce and their advance hadn’t been without sacrifices. The oppressive heat and the talk going around - they were losing the war, Huerta was going to fall any day now - did nothing to improve morale.

But they had made through the worst, the scum who’d planned to ambush them had been tricked into waiting for them somewhere else entirely, and they had almost reached Santa Cecilia - where they would take supplies and some fresh recruits to replace their fallen comrades. Those things were occasionally offered, far more likely taken, but it did not matter. The end result was the same, and he let his men deal with it.

What he usually kept himself occupied with was taking a very good look at every man he could find and asking everyone if a-- deserter traitor murderer -- man called Ernesto de la Cruz had sought refuge among them. He’d been lucky until then, evading detection, but his luck wouldn’t last forever, Santiago was certain of it. He didn’t allow himself to think he may be forever beyond his reach.

If only I had a photograph of that traitor, Santiago thought, not for the first time, but he chased away the thought. He did not have one; his name and a description was all that he had to work with, and it would have to do.

Santiago frowned, and spurred his horse the last few yards of the way to the top of the hill. He stopped his horse, allowing himself to breathe in the faint breeze caressing his face.

Below him, in the merciless heat of a summer afternoon, lay Santa Cecilia.

***

If only he hadn’t been asleep, Miguel would think later, they would have never caught him.

Granted, a tree branch is not a great place to take a nap. He wasn’t supposed to be asleep, they were playing hide and seek and he was really determined to win that round, so he’d climbed up a large tree at the base of a hill.

It was a really good hiding place, because the branches were wide enough for him to sit comfortably, back against the trunk, while the leaves beneath him hid him from sight. They hid him so well that he got bored of waiting to be found or for Felipe to give up, and he eventually dozed off.

At least until he was startled awake by shouts and rancorous laughter, and the steady clap of more horse hooves than he’d ever heard at once. Somehow, he had enough presence of mind to understand who it had to be - Federales! - but not nearly enough to remember he just so happened to be on top of a tree branch when he tried to stand up to run back and warn everyone.

“Aaaagh!” Miguel fell with a cry, hit a branch on his way down, and somehow managed to grab onto another before he had a very unpleasant meeting with the ground below. There were yells somewhere below him, and he knew he had been spotted.

“Oye!”

“What the-- what are you doing up there, muchacho?”

“Odd bird, that!”

“Oh, bet I can get him down with one shot…”

“What?”

“Hey now, it’s just a kid--”

“A lookout, more like, and there may be more.”

“Put that pistol down, Mendoza, or God be my witness you’ll hang from that branch!”

A voice rose over all the others, and the entire world seemed to go quiet. Miguel looked down, still reeling. A dozen men on horses were a short distance away from the tree, including a squat man quickly lowering a pistol, and more were coming down the hill. The men’s eyes were not on Miguel, however: they were looking at a tall, slender man with a closely trimmed mustache as he spurred his horse to walk beneath the branch Miguel was hanging from. Not a huge drop, but more than he’d like to risk.

“That doesn’t seem comfortable, niño,” he said, and it was only then that Miguel realized the thundering order not to shoot had come from him.

I was almost shot. They almost shot me, Miguel thought. His blood ran cold, and he suddenly understood why Ernesto had been so scared. He’d always known, of course, but seeing them up close - finding how quickly a soldier could joke about shooting a child off a branch like ripe fruit - suddenly made it so real.

It could get me killed, Miguel, Ernesto had said. You must never say it aloud again.

“I… I was…”

“Keeping an eye out for us to come, all the way out here?” the man, clearly someone in command, asked. His voice was cold and Miguel swallowed, still holding onto the branch for dear life. If he so much reached up from atop his horse, he could pull him down by the legs.

“N-no, señor,” he managed, his voice so small. “I... we were playing hide and seek. I hid.”

The man’s cold gaze remained fixed on him for a moment more, then it seemed to soften. “Well, if you hadn’t fallen, I wouldn’t have known you were even there,” he said, and smiled.

It was not an insincere smile, Miguel would think later, but there was something so fundamentally broken about it that he felt all the sweat on his skin had suddenly turned into frost. But at least, he thought, he’d stopped one of his men from shooting him dead. Was it because he balked at the idea of murdering a boy in cold blood? Was it because he thought there may be an ambush and a shot may alert anyone laying in wait of their presence? Miguel would never know, and at the moment he had no time to think about it. The man moved his horse closer, and held out his arm.

“Come then, your arms look ready to give out,” he said. “We’ll take you back to your village.”

No, no, no. Keep away from there. Keep away from Santa Cecilia.

Miguel swallowed again, his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. “I…” he began, but he could think of nothing to say, and his arms finally did give out. The man caught him, his grip surprisingly strong for someone so slender, and pulled him to sit astride his horse as well. Miguel held onto the mane with shaky hands, looking down. He found himself thinking of the day he and Ernesto had met, when he’d saved him from the stream and let him ride on his horse - except that then he’d been elated, and now he was just terrified.

Please God, make them go away. Make them go away without hurting anyone.

“... Gracias,” he murmured, mostly to try and not anger him, and the man let out a noise that seemed almost a chuckle as he spurred the horse into moving again. He shouted an order for his men to get moving again, entirely ignored Miguel’s wince, and spoke again.

“And what is your name, niño?”

“Miguel,” he mumbled. His throat felt like sandpaper, but the soldier kept talking like he hadn't noticed, or did not care, that the hands clenching the horse’s mane were shaking.

“Just Miguel?”

“Sí.”

“Very well, Just Miguel. I’m Commander Santiago Hernández.” His tone was light, but the grip on the reins was tight, the arms at either side of Miguel unyielding. “So, hide and seek? With friends?”

“S-Sí.”

“A good hiding place. I was never much good at hiding when I was your age. Alberto always found me. Now I am the one doing the searching for him.”

Miguel blinked, confusion overriding the fear for a moment. He craned his neck to look back. “Searching?” he repeated. The man’s gaze was like steel, but as he looked down it softened… only a moment. Then the coldness was back, and something in the pit of Miguel’s stomach twisted. He looked away again.

“For traitors. For one in particular, but any traitor will do.” A brief pause. “You seem like a smart boy,” he added, but Miguel didn’t feel smart at the moment. He only felt so stupid for just falling in the Federales’ hands as he had and so very, very scared.

“I-- try to be.”

“You know many people in the village?”

Nearly everyone, but he knew better than to say it. Maybe he had some smarts left, after all. “A few. Not all that many, the Sisters keep us in the church,” he added, hoping it would make a good excuse. To his relief, Commander Hernández hummed in understanding.

“Ah, nuns. I know what you mean. Does the name Ernesto de la Cruz ring any bells to you?”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh God, no.

It could get me killed, Miguel. You must never say it aloud again.

Miguel’s eyes stung with tears, but he was able to keep his voice from shaking too much as he spoke. “No, señor. I don’t think it does.”

“Are you certain? He is a deserter, and a dangerous man. A murderer. It is best for everyone that he is found and taken care of, don’t you agree? If he is here, your village is in danger.”

We are in danger now. If he finds him, he’ll kill him. If he knows we hid him, he’ll kill us all.

“Then I hope you find him,” Miguel managed, fighting back more tears while he watched the first houses of Santa Cecilia drawing closer as the column of men entered the main road in.

***

“... I still can’t believe we each thought the other was the one leaving behind the instructions.”

“Heh. And to think I knew your handwriting is better than… that.”

“Likewise. But I imagined you may have tried to disguise yours.” Imelda frowned a little, emptying the donation box into the basket - not a lot, few had much to give those days, but it would do and keep the poor fed - before returning it to its place. “It still irks me that we don’t know who it was.”

Héctor chuckled. “Maybe it was Cheech all along,” he said, knowing full well that despite being somehow able to read music sheets, the old gravedigger was damn near illiterate. Which was exactly the point Imelda made next.

“Chicharrón doesn’t know how to write anything but his name, Juanita’s, and a few choice words he had the bad taste of teaching my brothers,” she muttered, then she paused, and raised an eyebrow. “... What is it?”

“Uuuuh,” Héctor managed, mind entirely blank of anything he had been thinking. Their church was small and not much to write home about, but it did have one stained glass window thanks to a glassworker who had died almost twenty years prior and who had made it to thank God for saving the life of his son after a bad accident with an angry pig.

A claim doctor Sanchéz had hotly debated, that, considering that it had been him and not Jesus Christ to painstakingly sew torn flesh back together and throw iodine into any open wound, but his protests had been mostly ignored and their humble church now had a beautiful stained glass window, letting in soft light that made Imelda look like an angel straight out of-- well, no. Angels in the Bible were the things nightmares are made of, so not that.

But God, she really was the most lovely being in all creation.

A moment of silence, and then the most lovely being in all creation tilted her head on one side. “... Are you well? You look--”

“Beautiful,” Héctor blurted out, and Imelda let out a chuckle, a smile curling her lips.

“Well, I’ll admit you are a sight for sore eyes…”

Wait, what? Héctor shook his head, taken aback. “Wha-- no, not me. I mean, you. You-- beautiful,” he stammered.

The songwriter, señores y señoras.

As his face made a valiant attempt at reaching the same temperature as the sun, Imelda laughed. “I know what you meant,” she said, and the smile on her face widened just a little. She reached to take his hand, and Héctor let her pull him closer as though in a dream. “I think I can get used to hearing you say that. Once this is all over.”

Ah-- ah, of course. Yes. Once this was all over, and Hurta and his Federales were gone, he would ask her to marry him, and she would say yes, and they would leave the Church - only to return for their wedding to be officiated, and… and…

The thought of seeing Imelda in her best Sunday dress standing beneath that same window, as his bride, made Héctor’s heart skip a beat. Imelda let go of his hand, and he immediately reached to cup her face.

You may now kiss the bride.

“I’ll tell you every day,” he promised. Oh they were so close, and alone in the empty chapel. Or rather under the eyes of God, but Héctor felt no shame over it. God would understand, and if He didn’t-- well, it didn’t matter. “Starting now.”

The coy expression on Imelda’s face had faded a little, her lips parting. She placed her hand on his arm, but didn’t try to push him away. Héctor dared lean in, she tilted her face up, and her eyes fluttered close, and--

“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME!”

“Gah!”

Héctor and Imelda came apart with a yelp, and turned towards the source of the voice. Said source was marching up towards them as though filled with the wrath of God, face somehow even paler than usual and eyes ablaze. “Brother Héctor! What is the meaning of this?”

Oh God. Face quickly turning a deep shade of purple, Héctor cleared his throat. By his side Imelda looked down in a way that may have looked demure, if not for the way the corners of her mouth curled upwards despite everything. It made Héctor struggle to keep himself from laughing.

“Padre Ju-- I mean, Father John!” he exclaimed with a wide smile, hands clasped together. “I can explain.”

“Oh?” The gringo came to a stop in front of him with a huff, arms crossed full of judgment for someone who had been doing… the kind of thing Ernesto claimed they had been doing. “Then please, do explain yourselves!”

“Well…”

“Oh, I’m curious to hear this one,” another voice rang out, insufferably smug and awfully familiar. Héctor looked past the gringo to see Gustavo leaning on one of the front pews, a grin on his face. Had it been him to tell Padre Juan that he and Imelda were alone in the chapel? Of course it had been him, he only needed a look at his face to know it. That cabrón--!

Héctor opened his mouth to tell Gustavo exactly what he thought of him, but before he could spew out a series of expletives that would have probably resulted in his excommunication from the Roman Catholic Church, the chapel’s door was thrown open and someone ran in screaming. Felipe.

“Federales!” he cried out, skidding to a halt on the polished floor. He was panting, hair sticking out in all directions and glasses askew, the sling holding up his broken arm having left an angry red mark on the side of his neck. “The Federales are here!”

Héctor’s blood ran cold and, for a moment, no one moved or spoke. All four adults stared at the panting boy, stunned incredulity on each of their faces.

Just when it was beginning to look like Huerta is done for. Just when we thought we may have escaped them entirely.

“Impossible!” Gustavo almost cried out, reaching to grab the boy by the shoulder. “They can’t be here! They were going to go through San Luz!”

How would you know?, Héctor thought, but he didn’t get to voice the question. The next moment Imelda was no longer by his side: she pushed past a still silent Father John to tear her brother from Gustavo’s grasp, and look at him in the eye.

“Where is Óscar?” she asked, fear plain in her voice. Her horror seemed to grow when Felipe swallowed and shook his head.

“I-- I don’t know. They’re at the plaza, rounding up people--”

“What do you mean, you don’t know! You’re always together!” Imelda crouched before him, even though he was already taller than her. She looked like she was begging him for a different answer. “Do you know where he may be? He needs to go home. He needs to hide.”

“No, I-- we were playing hide and seek, and Miguel--” Felipe let out a shaky breath and looked over at Héctor, eyes huge behind his glasses. “Héctor, their leader has Miguel.”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Not Miguel. Please.

The world around Héctor seemed to fade for a moment, and he seriously thought he may be about to faint; his ears were buzzing and his tongue felt too large. Children were not spared in that war, the Federles would take anyone who could hold a gun and make them fight.

I’ll fight. I’ll go. Just please, not Miguel.

“Very well then.” Father John’s voice rang out, impossibly calm, the full weight of his authority behind it. They all turned to look back at him as though puppets pulled by the same string. His hands were clasped tightly together, his mouth pulled in a thin line; a grim resolve was etched on his every feature. “It seems I need to speak to their leader, then. Philip, you go home. I will handle this.”

Gustavo groaned, rubbing his face. “With all due respect, Padre,” he said, everything in his tone making it clear he didn’t think the respect he was due was all that much, “it may be best you don’t try to confront them.”

“How come?”

“They have a bone to pick with Americans after Veracruz. More than everyone else, I mean.”

The resolve on the gringo’s face did not waver. “Surely, the cloth I wear will mean something to them.”

“Well… I suppose, at least for some, but they don’t love the Church all that much…”

“Then it will have to do.” Father John turned to Héctor and Imelda, who was still kneeling before her brother. “... Do ensure the children here are safe. Your brother may already be safe, if he saw them coming. Philip, you go home. I will do all I can to… smooth things over.”

You were never able to smooth things over with any Mexican ever, Héctor thought, but didn’t get to say as much aloud. The gringo turned and marched out of the church, immediately followed by Gustavo, who was probably thinking someone should make sure he didn’t mess it up too badly. Too bad he was probably the second worst pick for the job. Or the third, if they counted in Cheech. As they walked off, Imelda looked back at her brother.

“... Keep to the back roads, and go straight home. Maybe Óscar is already there. Go out back, through the sacristy - quick!”

Felipe disappeared at the back, and Imelda turned to look at Héctor. She was pale as ash, but her jaw was set; all the terror that had filled her moments earlier had been pushed back. “... I’ll tell Sofía to try and hide the supplies in the basement as well as she can. I’ll go gather all the boys and bring them back to the orphanage. You… you get Miguel away from them.”

“I…” A shaky breath, and Héctor nodded. “Do you think… what if they’re looking for Ernesto?”

“Then thank God he’s all the way out there to bless a bull. We’ll all tell the truth - none of us knows anyone called Ernesto de la Cruz.”

“If someone mentions a Padre Ernesto…”

“It’s a common enough name, and no one would think a deserter and our parish priest are the same person. His plan may have really been stupid enough to work.” She squeezed his arm. “Now think of nothing but Miguel. I’ll see you both later.” A pause. “I love you.”

Héctor swallowed, and leaned for a quick brush of the lips before he tore himself away from her and ran down the church and outside, down the steps, heart hammering in his throat and only one thought in mind: find Miguel, and keep him safe.

Whatever it takes.

***

“No one move, and no one will be harmed.”

Santiago’s voice rose over the plaza, met with almost complete silence from the people of Santa Cecilia - or at least those among them they had caught outside, at what looked like their weekly market - and seemingly went unheard by his men, who were busy taking as much as they could from the stands full of food and produce. Santiago did not try to stop them; they were fighting for Mexico, after all, and taking supplies was well within their rights.

If anyone was unhappy with that, they were smart enough not to voice it.

“I am looking for a deserter,” Santiago spoke again, circling the small crowd, still atop his horse. The boy, Miguel, sat frozen before him. Part of him, the man he had been before the war, felt sorry for the situation he was in, but the much colder man he had become, the one who had survived this far, knew it was a matter of practicality.

Having one of their kids on the horse with him made it… less likely for anyone to think of doing anything rash, such as pointing a gun in his general direction; it was a lesson he had learned after a bullet shot from a window had grazed at his right temple, leaving behind a rather unsightly scar.

Sorry, muchacho. I cannot afford to die. Not until Alberto is avenged.

“His name is Ernesto de la Cruz,” Santiago spoke the name loud and clear, so that all in the plaza could hear. “A large man, doesn’t go unnoticed. Black hair, brown eyes,” he added, painfully aware of how vague that was. “He had a beard, but he may have shaved it off. He is a murderer who did not hesitate to shoot a man in the back, and he’s dangerous. He needs to be put down as the rabid dog he is. If any of you is harboring him, you are not only committing treason - you are putting yourselves and your village at risk. So I ask you all--”

A sudden cry cut him off, followed by a laugh and a man’s furious voice. “Hey! Get your hands off-- agh!”

“Javier! No!”

Santiago turned to the source of the disturbance, as did the rest of the nervous crowd. A glance was enough to tell what had happened: one of his soldiers was still brandishing his rifle like a club, standing above a young man bleeding from the mouth while a girl with a torn blouse knelt over him, crying. He sighed. “... Mendoza. What did I tell you all about what you are and are not allowed to take from the towns we pass through?”

A grin. “Not my fault, Commander. This one was giving me the eyes. You know what I mean, no?”

Santiago gave him a frosty smile. “I understand. It has been a long march, hasn’t it? I believe you have dropped some cartridges.”

“Huh?” Mendoza looked down, searching for cartridges on the dusty ground. Santiago pulled out his pistol. “Cover your ears, muchacho. And close your eyes,” he told Miguel, and did not wait to see if he’d obeyed: he just lifted his pistol, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

There were a few cries, mostly covered by the loud bang, but Mendoza made no noise: he was thrown to the ground and jerked just once before he lay still. As those closer to the body tried to shift away without making themselves targets, Santiago put the pistol back and turned his gaze around, to his other men, who had stilled and were staring back in silence.

“I trust you will need no more reminders to keep your hands to yourselves,” he said. Miguel was shaking on the saddle, hands on his ears. Santiago gave his head a reassuring pat before turning his horse to the side, so that the boy didn’t have the body in his line of sight. “Now - do any of you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of Ernesto de la Cruz?”

As the soldiers around them resumed taking all the supplies they could take, he stared at the face of every villager. They all avoided his gaze, and they all shook their heads. Santiago scowled, anger beginning to stir in his chest. So he wasn’t there, either? Had he once again failed to find him? Where had that bastardo gone?

“We need men, and any men we need we will take!” he screamed, circling them once again, and gesturing for some of his men to leave the plaza and search the houses around them for anyone trying to hide. Young children held onto their mothers’ gown, elderly people huddled together, women held onto the arm of grown men, and somehow that just infuriated him more. They looked at him like he was a monster, but it was all wrong. He was hunting for a monster.

He was doing his duty, fighting for Mexico, risking his life - seen his friends die - and he’d even just protected one of theirs from his own man. Why did they look at him like that? What right did they have? How dare they? “If he is here, hand him over and none of yours will be taken! If you’re hiding him, you will all regret it!”

“Oh, quit yelling, will you!” a voice suddenly snapped. “There is no one by that name here. Now let the kid go.”

Santiago turned his horse, and found himself glaring down at a short, squat old man with a peg leg and a scowl on his face. “Cheech--” Miguel began, his voice shaking, but the man silenced him with a wave of his hand.

“Grownups are talking,” he muttered, and looked back at Santiago. “Listen, we got no deserter here. No one moved in recently, and there are three Ernestos in all of Santa Cecilia. One is old enough to have been at Montezuma’s court, the other is a cobbler wider than he’s tall, and the third is a priest. There is no one called de la Cruz. If the man you’re looking for was here, we’d hand him over in a heartbeat to save our own. I know I would.”

That was true, and Santiago knew it; it was the reason behind his offer, after all. He had grown up in a village much like that one, and he knew how close-knit the community was. The choice between the safety of a newcomer and that of their own people was no choice at all. Still-- ah, it was infuriating. He kept slipping through the net, people looked at him like he was the monster, and it was all wrong. He had left home with Alberto trying to do the right thing. They had wanted to be heroes. Now Beto was dead, Nando was dead, and he… he...

If you think I’m the monster, then I intend to deserve it.

“... Very well,” Santiago sneered, and dropped a heavy hand on Miguel’s shoulder, causing him to wince. “We need thirty able men. Twenty-nine, as it seems I already have a volunteer. Who else will join us and do their duty as Mexicans?”

The old man’s wrinkly face twisted in fury. “Miguel didn’t volunteer for shit!”

“Oh, but he did. Here he is, no? Boys younger than him have fought for the glory of Mexico. I’ll teach him all he needs to know.”

If looks could kill, Santiago would have probably dropped dead off his horse. He found he did not care - even if in the back of his mind he knew the boy was too young to make a decent soldier, even though part of him balked at the thought of forcing him into the front line. Maybe he would make himself useful as a messenger, something not as dangerous as fighting. Santiago would mull on that later; right now, he had to make a point - what the army needed, the army would take.

Not that the old bastard seemed to care for the point he was trying to make. “He won’t even be able to lift a gun. I know how to shoot. I’ll take his place.”

There were murmurs in the crowd, but Santiago laughed. “You? You’re missing a leg and look like you’re one step away from the grave. I said I need able men--”

“Get off that horse, and I’ll show you just how able--!”

“Commander! A word, if you please!”

A voice called out before Santiago could seriously consider pulling out his pistol and blowing off the idiot’s bald head. It wasn’t just any voice: this one had a strong, distinctive accent. Slowly, he turned back to face the man who had spoken and, for a moment, he thought he must be dreaming.

Before him, clad in black priestly robes, stood a gringo.

***

“Well well, what have we got here?”

Sofía froze, the box full of cartridges still in her arms. She slowly turned to see a soldier of the Federal army at the door, rifle in hand, looking around the cellar.

How in the world had he found his way there? Were there more? Had Imelda managed to get the children to safety on time? Feeling as though her stomach had turned into a block of ice and mentally cursing - she had almost managed to move everything! - Sofía managed to smile. “Good afternoon. I am afraid you may be in the wrong place. This is the parish’s--”

“I am here to requisition supplies,” the man cut her off. “What is in there? Food?”

Well, that was it. She needed to come up with something quickly, because if the man so much caught a glance of what was really in those boxes, she and probably the entirety of the parish would end up before the firing squad before the sun had time to set.

I can’t believe I saved Ernesto’s life by having him sent off to heal a bull’s masculinity.

"These donations are for the house of God to help the poor, I am afraid. I cannot let you take them,” she said in her best apologetic tone. “I am certain you understand, our mission--”

"Move aside."

Ah, so that was how it had to be. "... No."

"It is for the glory of Mexico."

"What of the glory of Heaven?"

"You want to go meet that glory, sister?" The soldier snapped, and raised his rifle so that Sofía could stare right into its barrel. It looked impossibly large, impossibly black. If those men held no respect for the Church, there truly was no defense left. "What about now?"

"... It seems I misspoke."

"Of course you did."

"What I meant to say is, absolutely not. Have you no shame?"

The man glared daggers at her, and Sofía could only hold her breath, praying that he did have at least some reservations over shooting a nun after all. He hesitated, so maybe her gamble had paid off. Maybe she could still find a way--

“Ah, here you are! I thought I had seen one of the heroes of Mexico coming in here!”

Gustavo’s voice caused Sofía to blink and the soldier to turn, rifle up. On the doorway, Gustavo held up his hands with a smile. “No need to shoot, I am here to offer help,” he said, as though having a rifle pointed at his face was not bothering him at all. “As the sister correctly said, these are the supplies for the church - but we do have some food and medical supplies aside I am sure you could use.”

“Hhm. Do you now?”

“Of course. I am the sexton here, and I have been keeping some supplies aside just in case you happened to come through our humble village,” he added. The soldier slowly lowered his rifle, and Sofía blinked. She knew Gustavo was a cabrón, but a supporter of the Federal Army of all things? God, had he been working for them all along? How much did he know--

“Now, sister Sofía, we’ll leave you to finish your good work,” Gustavo added, taking a step towards her and taking her hands. “You were always such a tireless servant of the Church, may God bless you.”

Sofía opened her mouth to ask if he’d hit his head, but promptly shut it when she felt something being pushed against her palm - a folded piece of paper. She looked up and shared a long, serious look with Gustavo before he let go of her hands and led the soldier outside, all smiles and questions about his bravery in battle.

Only once she was alone again, heart hammering in her throat, did Sofía unfold the piece of paper to read the message hastily scribbled on it, in the same handwriting she had seen several times. It looked identical to the one in the instructions Imelda had been receiving for months, coordinating their help to the revolutionaries and their cause.

Once they have left, ring the bell to a death toll and don’t stop. Help will come. Tell them to follow the trail. They’ll know.

***

Truth be told, Father John Johnson knew he had very few chances of succeeding.

Gustavo was right: Americans were particularly hated since their attack on Veracruz, and there was little love between Huerta loyalists and the Catholic Church. However, most if not all those men had been raised to go to Mass, and respect God’s servants; the presence of a priest still inspired at least some measure of deference, if the way the soldiers moved aside to let him pass was anything to go by.

And within moments it was obvious, just from the furious glare he received, that the cloth he wore was the only reason why their commander hadn’t shot him on sight.

“What is a gringo doing here?” the man scoffed, and moved the horse to tower over John. Gripping the horse’s mane, Miguel looked down at him with wide, terrified eyes; John gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile and looked back up at the commander.

“I serve at this village’s parish,” he said, his voice quiet. “Most call me Padre Juan. I am here to see if there is anything I may do to assist you, and protect my flock at the same time. Certainly an arrangement can be made.” Anything, he thought, anything to save my flock.

The commander scowled. “Protecting them is what we have been doing all along,” he snapped. Around them soldiers were dragging in more men and boys they must have torn out of their homes, forcing them in the plaza, separating all men from the women, the elderly, and children too young to hold a rifle. A few people cried out, but most were silent and still under the threat of firearms. “It is time they do their part for their country. This war may have been over already if not for your kind, sticking your nose in places where it doesn’t belong!”

John drew a long breath. “I do understand. The attack against Veracruz was unfortunate--”

“THE ATTACK AGAINST VERACRUZ WAS SLAUGHTER!” the man screamed suddenly, causing John to wince - but he did not turn, did not flee. He couldn’t, no more than the shepherd can run from the flock and leave it at the mercy of wolves. There was something in his voice that went beyond anger, raw and full of pain.

“... It was. I pray for all the lives lost that day, that God may take them in his glory,” he said, bowing his head. “Anything I may do would be a drop in the ocean, but if there is anything you require of me-- please, do tell me.”

The man paused, seemingly taken aback by the humble response. The scowl remained etched on his face, but the fury in his eyes burned a little less brightly. After a brief silence, during which one could hear a pin drop across the plaza, he spoke again.

“... You said you serve this parish. You must have heard confessions. Know everything about everyone.”

“I do, sir.”

“Do you have any knowledge of a man called Ernesto de la Cruz hiding nearby?”

Ernesto.

A cold, cold hand grasped John’s hand, and squeezed. He wanted to scream, to cry, to curse at the choice put before him - one he had hoped he would never have to make. He was relieved he had sent him away at a distant farm; he was horrified he may now have to be the one to give him away. Would that man be sated, if he got his hands on him? Would he leave the rest of Santa Cecilia alone? Could he trade the life of one for the lives of many?

There is no place in Mexico that is safe, Ernesto had said. I’m done for the moment you speak.

If the Federal army finds me, I’ll hang.

For all the turmoil in his soul, John managed to let nothing show. He looked up again, hands clasping together. “This man’s crimes must have been grievous--”

“He is a deserter, and he murdered a man far better than himself to escape.” The pain was in the commander’s voice again, a bleeding, open wound. “He must hang for it.”

They won’t give me the kindness of making it a clean fall with a broken neck, he’d said.

“... I see,” John said, and drew in a deep breath. He let his gaze wander around, across the faces of the men gathered by the soldiers - oh Lord, young Óscar was among them, eyes wide and scared behind his glasses - as he silently begged forgiveness from each of them. Anything to save his flock, he’d sworn to himself and to God, but this - this he could not do. Ernesto was of his flock too, the lost sheep. Whatever the consequences, they would be his own to live with.

Finally, he looked up again to meet Miguel’s gaze - and to his utter astonishment, Miguel met his gaze… and shook his head, so slightly.

Don’t tell him.

He knows.

Shock was almost great enough to make John lose his composure, but just almost. He sighed, and shook his head. "I am sorry, commander," he heard himself saying, his own voice distant. "I know no man by such name."

All at once, any humanity that has seemed to have returned to the man’s eyes was gone. “I see. Well, thank you for your useless intervention. Twenty-nine more men!” he screamed, turning to the soldiers. He turned his horse and John acted out on instinct, reaching up to grab the reins.

“Miguel is only a child!” John exclaimed, holding onto the reins despite the commander’s effort to tear it from his grasp. Only a child who reminded him of another he’d been forced to leave behind so long ago.

Michael was so young, I don’t know if he even remembers me. I don’t even know if they’re all still alive. It’s been so long.

But Miguel was there, alive, in need of help. “He’s only nine - and the boy over there with the glasses - they are still too young for this war. In God’s name--”

“God cares not for what happens here! Go preach to someone else, gringo! Let go!”

“For your own soul, if not for their lives! They’re children!”

“Let go, or I’ll shoot the boy in the head right now!”

“You monster! What sort of beast--”

“ENOUGH!”

There was the gleam of metal in the sun, a deafening bang, and screams. A terrible force knocked John back in the dust, tearing all breath out of his lungs. The sun filled his eyes for just a moment, impossibly bright, before cobwebs of darkness clouded his vision. He felt a terrible heat, something filling his mouth and soaking through his clothes. Thoughts ran through his mind like galloping horses, disjointed and increasingly muddled.

Is this it? Is it the end?

I will never see them again.

I am going to Hell, aren’t I?

Oh thank God, thank God he didn’t shoot him.

More cries, and a voice above all others, crying out Miguel’s name, full of the anguish only a father can feel. Hector's voice.

I am sorry, John tried to say, but all that left him was a gurgling sound. I couldn’t do it.

Yet even now, as he slipped out of consciousness, as he begged for God’s forgiveness and for those boys’ safety, he knew he could not regret his choice to give Ernesto a chance to save himself. If it cost him Hell, so be it. He would take the punishment.

Keep them safe, John begged without words, and dropped his head on the cobblestones, letting himself fall into nothingness as the screams around him faded into silence.

***

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A/N: Have some additional art by @whattimeisitintokyo to, uh, lighten up the mood, I guess?

#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #miguel rivera #coco #fake priest au

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