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libidomechanica · 10 months

Text

Absál and branchised hands

A sonnet sequence

Sing the dark spirit ditties of wit? To warm? With languishment, full of pity of meanest worth afresh—Desire? Sweet Beauty, or sprite, discerning for these is made deepest dungeons; heaths burning though ’tis with pity of the younglings, ispahan Apples, Pomegranates of our boister’s gone into its radiant Hero’s ruddy cheek again the clear well. Thus weigh down some of the daisies, vermeil rose breathed boar: against some young Endymion, how sad slave, starry; such a door she the bound then with lullaby. Upon the open field they done to give Perenna’s lip a kiss from an orient cheeks, and made him she sits, and again. Old Wisdom! Because she fled and pass my lad. Them dying. Ourself seem of grass; man’s voice, quoth her breake more of newest joys upon the very pride of summer’s learnt how to this. Beautiful service may stay his shade, understanding before there!

Her faire left, some folk of love’s his imperious did not gains. On the love a world that rear’d the more red; or seeing his hoar: again I’ll come aye to save poor and stormes, his corage hath mellow with dim and slits in a mossy fine, you so apply, his Garment from the eyes, my humble Paean, upon her peace want of men, whate’er they say, if I could from the morning in the death-hour round sunshine on Thetis’ glass may be sayd, I saw emerge the shells, or leaps of my worthy such as knew wherefore? Yet shade, under heart highest heavenly power of feathered light holds back of use.

We can breaking eyes, by night, there his deceive our beast day, O curse the loss along. Hide into a star through sunny glades were disappeared in crimson. The more won when weed; she could stoop and all to my beate the hour of a horse will be as you. As Greece to Jove. Of power shall reasons on the blood and, whose necke beam reflected larger to end. And pain; yet were display herself am mortgaged to your glory, which love I die thirst in heaping, till we in the full ten this fair, her last shells for so is best do knowable ring, hear us, and bound there pulse that he confesse, who for thee.

Of weary grow to framed; heav’n drawn forth, conceiv’d into the dreamer, queen of drooping those nonsense thing but he must die, although whole troubles me, my friends the bushes and balconies and knows; let it is to give you ever brought in vain to be despisde, in size as like a virgin-treasure suffer with a groue most hath an amorous thou art! Own in our eyes, one hands upon a hillock that we’ll cut strange over than gentler passions to a thousand time complacent never kisses: there, crown on the ground, and star, and scarcely the pond to the fair, whom Nature declar’d to weariness.

I would swelling flood seems all who drew him gaudy show, or, lonely Niobe! Ever panted of common shower to Venus none to him, he had pierce bubble up the bright; there and fruit would not cut him and song, list while the was on the bluely vein’d, more slight: a storm came to ye, my lad, the name that still thing it. But shall this autumn, in the blood; it groan ran the tip-top, call’d up a masquer, and left so dead, but little steps slow from vallies,—ere thy calm-blooded, time-settle on the World or Nation’s Chiefs at a distant she, whose nun you driven out the heap through the boughs the world enamour’d of its Revelation; or to delights as the flatter, entreat that were their steps, on the Word of Mire where thy you mayst have gold ingots like sea nymph beguiled. Which The Shah that hops about her do you the prisoners, yet am I so tease us out of my ioy, faire Beauty dost knowing.

Spring, sense of the young; nae purer is the horrid temples? Ah me! Still vowed. To give much, new Formes, his devoutly prayers did survey; just once, in size and as well rigged and placed your voice cry Is it die. In Heaven shine, full of please my brain: be still and love, aside, and a basket full of all slime leaves. That runs head, and lace itself. Hooked age and the tyranny. That bond they had, alas, faire lettered, Even the Well of moss so farewel, sayd she, my dear come from Latmus’ mountain-heights; once are coming liue tyll the nightly did I know her the pock! That our wide night, nor had been gone love unacquainted its glories in these most nightly came. That I would grief, here on his flowing a novice, Julia once more subtle Wit can we betray’d to suddenly she drooping to emulate in midst of both, making eyes she offering itself did they slept in her enough the Worse?

Is your servant once adieus, to prolong to cutte the river beauty could sit for it. And lullaby your brain to mine! Some gentle girls who rule, thoughts to this leave his message in: and ivy banks; all loue, my lad. She cries: my foolishly by, ere the darke placed youthful love. And sighes my reasons on the cops. With leave with cold, this thorn? David, speakes sense of true-love’s milky way among his fury, and howling ayre all too long back, his page, finding twigs spreaded Bacchus hungry arab—after chamber plain; she told me to me. To church, and never here? Whisper in the very marriage.

Would ever in Love’s alembic, and kisses, whose might winne somewhat, I seemed to her slipped him, who, hard heart. Aged Saturn in her argent sphere; grief above that would he lay and is not falling, gaue repulse that in our soft hands he could never leave, aside, then had give my yet be the name the moon, or like the dear me ere your marvelousness. Go farther! And grown with my car. If thou canst the storm came to ye, my liberty that blessed times, his short, as he had gone lover, link by link, sugarduck, pumpkin, love willing covert makes some higher than speak tongue of Eloquent tears, my lad.

Like an arbour, I my jest: sad mortal drink, loue it she was he ought mought me to her! With August over than of many, windingly to cry o, let us stay rather unjustly dipt, and beastes shall read opened a little eyes, genders thus he love thee still to see, some idly trails its delight the love Europa bellowing, sense to overteem with he state that she wast Oake. Love, and rose leaf round he took the potent that dwelling Hymen couple they cross’d their needle brown: who scorning in desolate placed, soon the whole, an’ I’ll gentle peace, and such words, came some Eyes take in eld, whose eyes or hair, to tipple free, at leanes amiss! We’ll speak—I saw her out with hymnes themselves looking in their brevity to thy speche, that searching signs she blue, and weave that fine fixed pointed at our nest, and kind, or though its crystal eye right her slipperiness. Sheltered wracke, for one.

I never drawn down the sea nymphs pursuit? And sluicy sands: or ’tis no prize it, stands the Feet: yet never meet his arms the lost, unheard, their harts had Venus’ swans and her eldest that all because, faint respites of Proserpine. Forth a steadfast? If another person shower to Venus’ doves, who think of yellow uttered, No. Hear’st thou wast bignes but a dream of heavens—Old Love’s charm between the Body and many dayes: I wonder him hasted in my face! Thus while the daisies upon my bosom of words I staid, striuing abroad And knocked ugly Chaos’ den upweighed.

And smile, which the child it stand away the drooping their time all took the speech, and tumbling pageant goes with lasting on darkness fix our slumbers may in drops are shut, the physicist asks, and so that toiling with prying to gaze on, shewing, and skill, then the moment my whole trajectory’s tower he took him to him, and there. The stone;— felt too, then, that time lie unto me! Such force a passage sent? And all thy pillows of amethyst,—would be gone, embalmed every way. To follows being near the latter end of waters of that he came. Thus I had heardgroomes, keeping shepherd-god.

My father’s fancy was. The sailor singling with a short hours with chamfred brow; the one Abydos; since her so about to loue, displeased. Fan, to comes into that was borne a slaue, descry tears therefore? But hawks will never light; and none fitter book to us from Araby; pluck down with silver ramble, tracing all amiss! It is the horrible cottage upon a rock and seeme my horn parleyed by death, but now the bodies taste a drop of Toies I fill, with Azra to threads so pure, both the God opener of Fidelity; who guide my bark bar’d and make the back I was born.

As represent his devoured jasper stood stupefied with heaven, that busiest, into two milky brow! In day and make a lantern, Child. Oh the chronic about my ain dearth gives me best do know. She sings inspiring I desire witless all at her present that could. Now posting wind, which long back but to Salámán then with the Eye would tell the entrusted gem of high perplexing incense from the ground. And where; and every yeares hung dew- drops, and sad, alas, failes me: but I am down, and, be shine from her heard a thousand the steed from the thirsty, from me.

She gazed till in vain, and cooler side, affect of that one, while at dawn! All heaven above, a woman in respect. No marueile Thenot, if thou shalt see, all as I guessed. Blazing out on the good wife. No law for me under than she was on the moon-beam dwell in my free of springs: a cheeks. A Countenance is restlesse corage hath alleys, wearing feet, and with a heavy pace: wet were enamour’d of in Arcady? The earth by the hangs by unseen film, an orient cheeks. Archimedes said, No, no, I’m sure, and, you know you not to cry o, let me with peace, and cunning.

And to see young cheek without a short, as with both sights to tie her to fill at last its beams againe, and knows no discharge nibble their black cold, that her do hit, that near the hour, went should all this time, when tis plain and himself in heavy load of his Authority falls, all sung for, to give them dying fire, with you’d find a cold spring, though for presents thy shape! God, ever way one especially dress the long light dispatch in pursue the Rosebud with lullaby my galage grownd, and how wanne a feat to-day as I have tried tunes all, some on my frown a vulture from the grounde to love?

Sent in her chamber plained as thou now, proving spied here descry tears the love to the foot of a’. Of thine hair, as Greece to slake flames, wherefore, ’tis thread the power shall your first sigh-warm kissed, the sweet, where is love or hair. To say him nere. To the frosty air is keen and Balkís; the rather, the sighingly among. Love you besides of the free of shell force of kisses; and then the blue, where not done. Wherein did smile from souls stands erect, and a soldier, moved with roses. In such garland weep; is it pride. Think I’ve no place, a body decorates a bed. Shall silent to be done.

The westlin wind, their Zeale grown; and said: To gather an’ mosse, whose busy care it seemed touching home golden earth light noise over strived; the wholly dumb, than she is destinies laden with his fears that I know, has tantalized me in that fine fixed train of valiant loue to be in life from the door in Sport paraded with Golden hook, the mount the God of amorous lights as tho’ jokin’ ye be, for honour hands. So fair plants both, making the unfit contradictionary for a skin and, tumbling wash of gamesome nightfall brere, forth by the divine, and cruel where you aren’t.

Sun, her Garments were blended, catch the water doth not in one another wits are belovëd,—where these women in a knot. I did through they rose cheek against myself I’ll come a swoon’d offices. Blast was bonie glen; and there, as if he rued there’s none. Perhaps thy drowsy wing at charming Polly Stewart,—o love that daily tastes shall that would weary be, or earth, and spread, until some amorous Leander, fairest- blossoming downs, whence he kept, and talking pavilion; ’tis scar’d na a flie; but I as we once should burden grownd, and say, creation of Apollo court their eares?

Down to hold itself. Out the fiercely after them, his gains upon the flood and dress, fearing on to that idle flight, bathing of his beauty bright display love’s exchequer doubled straightway into bow, for ever issues from the place that bless: they all weathered legs. Of planet, more rais’d his page, finding imitate his heart, e’en as yet those looks yield so sooner heare your dreadful fight and swelling thou hast both love a steady should light; aye, to the mountains hands mumble death, seems at these, a world’s gear, we’re richest corn with endless of drossy pelf, that but once; till it be burnt up by its close?

Did the running Time she the swell of all sorts of Both were none. Creep between two are shut, the doors of his idea, while in his pleasure all sorts of amorous rites of you adjacent. For yet such, Amyntas— oh! Let other, as for here? At either cares did not whereon our pours; and, fair vermillion of little boat, any longed. These last those tardy arms, drying to my dove and poppies hung dew-dabbles these? By dreadful leisure of Further—there was artificial flowers, like the young doue may, but that blooms: and but her whose whispering it. Of human soul it cannot from yours.

Love’s forced the Towers budded newly; and sipping peace was that could not a soldier bold, the earth remain beyond there, and run into its airy trance, like a cony is not Ganymede, for fear of desire you think I’m worse vnto the Mind like sometime though she stream shall dance, stupidity, and every zephyr- sigh pouts and hoary wyth from this crooked, that heed the inhuman swain. In ever; tis scarce to delight: nor doth possessed times, I oft inuoked you see the world upon th’ amorous heap, a hill the golden Throne beneath. Just a cot and the Fount of Judgment, and yet remains who thus betraying. His cares of you see, we blend, mingled cavern springs. The white, and have stayed not signified. Upon a danced along, and her heare then I though now unfetter hap, therefore to the enchantment swept. Died, the wild ecstasy? With painted at touching, sae wyling.

We should endued with that daily taste, he dangerous and for full of moss is spotless fleecy lambs, and them, from the day has raptures wanting, You suicide bitch! Return to Jove. I have made many a time I tied this shafts, his quickly were soft melodious would you heare, see, so fresh alarms, to be, in rhyme: what ensues from the Mystery from thence. Oh misery! And breathing well rigged and plain to the sky is like goodman on the spiders them, O now you canst prevented tresses who was his Dominion crumbles all, am Master of the earth make, the monkeys makes blaze.

As one I’m likely to this neck in torment fingers and sullenly drifting it, and quickened with his head, tho’ poor woman in respects; against thyself am mortgaged that sweet face is from Olympus dwells at ever will all thing quiet hour; no, even as yet those true heard than Nanie’s head, and aye my Chloris’ deare Stella spider’s looks; to come to yeild. With leave her links of love; o, then, you see the floods of May, that balance or natures, of fire-tailed exhalations; to tint he stole a breeze, most heav’n drawn his parentage, woulde make, these streamlets fall early song that is not won she lo’es me best. Nay rack your absence and come hame, are very street out, and still a soft againe, but want of my ioy, fair youth, for very married, art the sea. The smiling boy, the Way of Nothingness; pent up by-and-by; the genial months after fame, are of cypress on that voice as, could show of.

Come to ye, my lad, tho’ father an’ a’ should remained. With painted snow the brows! Of husband half so fared the daisies upon her the Thespian springs, and sea. The motion she made, and some even for the chief intent on either other so about his arms shall our close beames, and more be not set down. I seem of green fruitless rounding in his heaven, there his hooves checks the me in juicy stalks, I’ll fall, that, and beaten with such high or low. But the surgy murmur, sent from which must wear the fringed hen, if we were meet the Town. That in his promise did spend, nor servant once, and caught he cast many a lustful glance peised. That now I have young trees, bespake thy foot without they were they’ll fashions raise. He on the clouds among. Now listening I could poor instead of bliss. God said: I feel then is fresh myrtle wreath, seems all too my faith is glad that nigh it, like an infant’s grace!

With her were not fry. Brim their gold they began to see save thy lodged thorn you what, against his captive nymphs and hesitations, subjected child was in crushing among the sky. I have crept to the tyrannie? Was never star is incomplete a thing, waning, how my discourse begins a joylesse, hopelesse rest upon her full heaven- like Chrystal heaven, the messenger, I never brought upon a wild Moor, the honey, drawing near that fine fixed by Deception. I trust that idle sheep, and corruptible deed be done. Patient weight; they would shiver and fause that Ganymede, and love.

Bronze and in the stayed, his pleasure of death. Of all sweets to her was he wild self, for me! In them; and the stay the love’s mothers and some even as, whence it ruinous and the sully the mouth, beneath their sons are true heart was in the same gan so to scorne thy combine their love to the fyre, vnto such as the mother, was gently came. The like wailful pilot, thou wilt rest upon her brains green, and an end. Or crooked, the day with wonder, when we talked in the bees have heard, their measure. Anger noulde stayed not allowed, and Fashion roses; and should have her lawny controls. Air coin’d the brine. There was influence breathed the rope in flowers Sappha went, and never more be not refused the infancy me, or willing my eyes can I gang by me, degenerate mind. The dear silence; whether in peace: so happy boughs, to pleas’d to this: if this blessed of gods in virtue hath an awful shore.

Far and peace, as also a pauper. So deep in love, and seem stars because the news; the bosom take that wine and wan. Its own sweet sisters reede a lessons for Years in her eyebrows of the mount—The Hearts that engenders are rare lips; she hand thus he accosted her they becoming down the gloomy voices to delights as the use of it: with such garden wall for some other sweet peasant scene is grown; and shaking so chariot. Those bodie is slight from souls, that I had my cunning not that he suspected some idly trailed its tower he got him all Quarters with a boy so fair.

Were I die thirst it looks as much as knew not won, yet might win oblivion yielde, and them on his arms. And he is kind; he plied his wide lawn. We shall through almond flower that spreads of dark December, leander viewed her lying prey, rose-cheek’d Laura lies in pity on a time and cried, return., Till get my higher the Throne. Meantime when Jove did fall, though the Passionately bore into our strength; the bet and take this, and thirst it looks frame terms, with this aged nurse of happy at the water formalities and all have turns of the pricks the poppies stole solemnity. A story.

Thee; low creep between us, I am in touch ethereal; and new, doth aspiring eyes of heaven, whatever warm kisse; whose neck, and stood the first the river beauty, or speake in life, but, now, by Honour inspired lays, sweet sounds that needs must every spells at dewy e’en gae hang. She hurls her smiling buds of the Well of her the wind blaws, command melt away there was sent: it dried careful moving boughs, and white of a’. The Khalífah, hear him; and, like a sadness of flowers in virtue is fair maid, thought to violent pass’d unworried by angry Sisters, what he asleep. Not boast of any. Weary woe. Which first sigh- warm kisses blow, and stream, the fire filchers the love at all? Lovers on the steeds of Fate—take them heare nouells of baser subjects, that voice should see God opener of life in the city’s din; now before their fan, to sue her Ears with the paused of the wynd.

Into your forehead, crowned, and misery! Like desires and horns, and rising mountain- top, therefore their earth to gaze on, she made, compared with your fairest-blossom, o! Far off, the hangs upon his tyrannous, but each cheeks. Yet won she was used to side: tis scar’d na a flie; but see her faces blow away the goodman on the Black, the strange? In the very this mouth opens mothlike, like an infant’s bonie lad that drink my fill at your quire: sing youth, and what The Shah there shall pass’d that now she wars women meek beckon’d their fond imaginable leg my knees themselves and lately bore in vain.

At that each several ways, at duty’s sovereign balm derive, the whirlwind’s on the other god, she spake; her senses had Venus demands. Had left the work my mind, for if so be our bonie glen, where you may spy the mark, the world accounts Amyntas, was the richest corn which we’ll speak, what treasure is left espy; and, and greefe adawed, that I well the quietness? And as she did stay his enemie. Did charming, her slipped his Dominion: no Nation of his wretched Elenor, weak model wrought my whole ever than Nanie, O. For honey fore hope that loves. Here erst her learned handsome goes.

The ouzel sung for, to guard than the same bright forth a steadfast uplandish count it at my hearts, with sighs, and your lowing, and chuse your child was done, Ay me, such a brazen towards their plenteously all that way, after immortality,—again it. And being knee and breathing it, and plunder; and only every well the flowery tale Arabian. From his Arms—he held her, was give you, displayd, but each spicy flower themselves and got before thus, where beauty willingly could our young mind is my hand often look as yet the village leas the villain to muse what new to spil.

And heart was you. Imaginations; to tint my down-sunken hours shall Death is honor decayed, dilettante, delicate amber- colours meet, and death’s the stirr’d not yield herself secure, o’ercast, wherewith a symbol of her cheeks. And oft he hope for saucepan shadow of a turtles, until finally, their face made rival with my car. Let fall a sleep! This my breast, as with your souls entranced in Stygian empery. ’Mang moon, trees even for my sake; so him whispering Boreas did smil’d, chatter at the sea shouts for ever knots, yet when he devoured your more joys that’s the day!

The paired but he together for these think we may change directly seek roses strook. Something, see, but that him up, it could not a judge or a psychologist in her eldest cropp: but nowe no succoure was angry that aged thorn when Ionian shoals of death of nobler train of finished: but her pressure. To followed, and now the shrine heart in the thorn for thirling eddies, and from ugly night mark a lynx’s eyes at once, in honour, which the Wild. A wound the ground where all the shepherds, ’twas thy stately bore in varied to Dian? My voice as, could free wind outward Foot and dreamer, being poppies hung till he was plain. Which down on the Touch warm, he’d call, nor do you knocked ugly Chaos’ den upweighed to the hot season. The year. And, seeking recollect said, Art thou owest; nor shame, and raw, long dally with music for the smooth-paced number; and there might made to look mildly appalled.

From heavens—Old Lover. With word to one who thus a chorus sang: And lullaby conquering itself a way have faculty by nature to it our parting for thee were turned, and, as in a flowers my smart, and, be she will never be? Easily rolling din past whip, past mud, the pavement and sheepe on the aged nurse, rock’d me by one, into o’er-flowing then with redoubled sea of the printed soul, whole trouble their lucid wombs: there pulsing cap, because she could stand an end: and the pond, who, hard her mammie’s warmth,—I pluck the ripe for the water doth the bottom, wipe away!

Als my smart, the forget what am I that starves him wound Leander’d steps toward you, displeasure of cypress most sum, call’d to this day is every pride, and cresses from the Mother word? Not—thy soft in flowers Sappha went, leauing memory: fair beaming, the field, where all heard melodies are perfect, every garish toy, and send it hard her in the earth has left off her cheek, a speak thy head was lonely Niobe! The submissive grounde to be more joys that’s deadly gasp no man went—poor sodger. Fair beaming tea and swallow’s nest; and thy beauty still, and there, thought, until the little muddy mind!

By those sweet, so that, not I came, ere more pleasure of Susa brain to the dawn were voice before, Leander’d as is the Base. His quickly near, her graunt; but some golden harp began this heart revenge, upon that search the reins, and delight her houses performed in that grieved my hand life was on a sodger. Stella, which it sufficient tree, enaunter tell nor Loves Wars to my misfortunate, I pity you, time and howling string Beauty in Love’s holy plan, have I, but Folly he seemed to the stars; the mart’s or temple, saying? If human soul to tell the fragile bar that night’s in the pond?

A cheerless, and the Rainbow into her? But there hard by her half afraid, stood upright some goes; the long back, and chase the more with fantastic love. Angry if Irene be of the middle ears forced together for then Deeper from Nelly Gray! And offered at touchwood, and an entomologist in stone for it; smiling down close meetings of high soaring of th’ Hesperides, or when western winds, and we will come to meet me less obscured sun that, not the good wife. Wilt thought to glide, and so to sea agate spread, from an orient cheek of virgins of life shalt lie? Pure the wind.

Arms embraced his hooves checks the ninety year old for high perfect, ever any weeping she wish and hung in a stone-wall; and I am in towery homeward she revived, while in his wonder was their shall be one holy vapoury tent they bees have I thee as each to pry earnestly buy, if to the earth, and thy countenance which Neptune’s goblin toasts a bubbles there! How blest were full ten thousand flush with forest trees: if only Hope to work had wrought faint breathed woman and, as she passes darkened eares green sea agate spredde, dyed in thee and pain; yet when he had driven out and spreading thus, she took great god Pan. Sundays too full fifty, we might be five month of Air Fruit moist and I, bluebirds do lean all Cupid’s golden palace of Lucy’s feet. He would steal me a blast wounds shaking crag, and kye, an’ out I’ll come a Ring but at the spring, and lighting was hid.

To venge falling my spirit melt that ye careless albeit some evenings had Venus’ temples? A venerable priest eyed trance, all my Chloris, wilt restore, the self secure, am like wailful widdowes hangen the said, who taught one nights are you trace the air. Are sweet Beauty, or to number studs, my humble in his Arms—he held and act is old boughs, that the sun unwilling, see, we left, thy record, but her navel these many more, as a crush’d away she did oft amaze tossing their fellowship with essence Hell. When though flowres force a passage, that is Woman is born or byre thou art made, comes such a breathe new fire from that aged Tree on the flowers budded newly; and heaped live to bereave my Nell! Perhaps, the Mind, and over then do you know I am a man joins a woman is bounds with me: such folly, as made him as far awa. A things that touch things?

As fruitage; yellow sand, seek’st thou be, thoughts so sick? When he arose and by so reaching guile they sight presents the merchangeably reflects upon her and yet looks at you with armes had riven his fatal work of ever new; more sweet music, Hack. Neuer she took that momentum. Shah, who would leave thy mouth, lucke, and the heat, gallop amain from the rose. A shepherds do lean all Minds best at ever, never silken flanks with aught deep is the morn teem’d to shake, as at once, till at last the Tongue would certainment performed in the best is o’ergrown the golden harp began to gang, and like smoke.

All lovers beneath their heare, I saying wind, which to razed oblivion yielding hearts, with all think on what The Shah summon all; the Mirror thro’ the deare the life from land. Frankly, I thine own to him I look’d with a gentle girls who might say that thou overcome wood-nymph’s home. And some, I this wrath within private arms themselves a health, had left his eyelids with my car. A Countenance which thee, for in Sport paraded with redoubled sea of the day, the wind! He drank so muddy mind. But what it is, made war. Spoke—Though I adores, but loves that I need to the works did maintain when tree.

That bonie fair, whom I doe loue to Loue direction. Breathe away, and now she wound was not a Step nor servant once a-slumbering be. Believing the lining limes, like the way a moment, rouse us, and melt out her loath to missed, but welcome to ye, my legs. And make them on his wide nighting well the World accounts me as ye weeps, and, at thy rest; since why this poor in my shame again. The hugg’d it to these should pay. My tears our foot in aspire of Furthermopylæ its her. Among that for whose time and got before there, I send my herald Hesperides; whose care in thy Mount Lycean!

Therefore, on every nest. As Julia, prime of love and make known thro’ the speed easily on bamboo still the luster’d run to war’s alarms, and if I could enjoy, to where you not that must wed the Neptune foeman out. There green altar stood. Is standing to rent I would pull him from this, and laid and, as harbinger ladyship: and bramble down the curse: she lies from a Jewell’d laws, command meet the Curse of Better poet. Will thou my ain delight from her silver all, all suddenly a magic bed of the cool and glow as in her that same as thine, full of heaven above the bills.

Hear, ye virgins, and force of the whiles, and praises are lawful Drink making she was on his own anticipated blisse; each having spoke, a woman in a swoon’d offices? The that touched her frequent shouldn’t say butterflies: so I will be lost, unheard, the pipy hemlock that dead, deserve, abandon fruites, nor of swirling eddies, and praying. About my ain dear religion of her face I taste a drop down sweet singing along. Melancholy earthly this poor children she was made the day. The ware nouells of dangerous sported if Unworthy, yet, if she known, and sighing dew?

To harken a while I can tell ye how smooth, so sweet society? Begin we wished the beauty had as any nail in their blackness, to whom The Wise Self-subjects only bedded with the Rosebud of man? There was I bold, with folly, as does this believing Tyrant. A loyal spouse? Beautiful dreamer, was just going. Rose early youth of May, that take things? Cries to catch thy divinity o’er our souls did spend, nor needle broils the soueraigne of sleeping, eye-earnestly that sun is getting down, thy stretch forgets you surpass and then stands the peoples shoot into her despise it.

What make thy though Hero to hers he craved, and windingly among bedded-down that through silence betwixt themselves on in the grace and lover, never after this. And so it was the Ring but hart did encroche, and of twilight along. My Tent—for ever reach other Phaeton had given the ranckorous language of Absence! Than the green the care is never bright gold sands, that gainst things of The Sea? Got with the skies! Milke hand, showing heat renovates a bed. His bed; but yet, do not like a crescent mosse, while heavy load of blood quaffing Mars and kye, an’ out I’ll come to ye, my love.

Very deadly yellow sounds of May, the act of the year. That made requested, which Neptune’s regarded from the influence to harme there beside the furrows in my mother, as thou be still my bliss—I was no one lullaby my own clean body’s work’s cleft, and oft amaze tossing pain. The frosty winter, who was come that complainest Art’s own in our searching; frown our sonnets, am become aye to Nanie, O. And then will the graine: semed, their glee: but when he went on living pageant goes who had they missed him thy hope, turn the mountain of ethereal dew fall on my breast.

Over there it in their eyes, and innocent bird upon the snowy bank the fair as thereon, my Muse sings of fellows me fort, and crowned wide, I can ne’er a flower and poppies red: at which its cautious naturally—imposed upon that engenders through the wind blend, melting memories in them-selves on grown; and thus delusion all; they present my waking then, Julia, and howling sacred to slake my thirst it leanes amiss! Dear as their famish’d bride and majestical. She had owsen, sheep. I have the knew it was, and bring where, and she will blight across mud-honey that she rose.

Her scarf into future year all its more, Thenot, my dear, not to the world destroy, and still he liue you ended in the pleasant hues of human neighbouring trees. There was tender love you, and began to send my herald Hesperides, or those shining her own couch; to embraced illicit emails, ton entanglements, enkindling sad thou climb, and sweetly on his wonders puls’d tenfold more highly prize the eye, remember this best; which, as the lark was love so warm? Near and wide, I climb but never can tears, that of the Argonauts, in beauteous roof like to trouble they be not fear.

And hang the lost allowes tries? Your glory is the golden stand an entrance to make at Morning from out here denied. That with he felt. Thy shades, it fade, that it, desperate doole to do with many quieted to her pale, clamberable, again I’ll not so. Your dreams,—guarding his broade, as filchers use to face, in the blooms in May, and hit as meant. Life to that thou art not the morn espied I but my forehead, I loue to be count, and again. Making purple silk, with soft again, she rais’d her fruict, not thereon, my Celia, come, leaped lively head, and has a miracles perish.

Or the print of violets, am becomes behind, as if by hap, and sing as if halfe vnwilling, loth and leaves were two gilly- flowers. Nearer heart, and sudden silence of thine, even their tongues wild the which mine eye, remember themselues oppresse, whose caressing though it was a mass of power of feather dreadful fight and mused and promised length. For, dead, thy thought, when he came, heavier stone; she saw Menalcas combing continues forth afresh—Desire; then rush’d and runs along, bearing—i only cross’d, then snouted wild-boars routing through they be not my flower upon my deeds.

To give up their Bills at every sound nor hath no know. If we can ours, a friend, therefore, death’—alas! Speak, what she hurls her likewise I have not my rude world. Threat: ne euer she travel tired; but heart did not so much syrup ran at his essence all fauld thyme, and kisses; and each time complained, in offer, and then i’m sure willing of his my hart, I do love? And so our sonnes sight revenge, upon the dull dream’d of idleness increasing, Now vse the day and fearfully, as doen high soaring the fish would have sought forth, I rise witt is weake sorrow came blustrings harder to sup or die.

We shall I tell you rise with the beside the sweet, some woe, I company, that terror like the crystalline: such a guest admiring eyes in Petrarch’s learned hands. Utmost subtle wreathe still a soft murmurs of thee, and strange, and its bodily tent—where one could say, if thou foster up udderless lambs are falls he replied. Huddled from Nelly Grace put for lovers on, like a corkscrew and strange charm—she should free of stone for a name as fruites, now Natures, and that gives to repayre the solitarie Brere: for whose performed in their face made requestered with lullaby thy lodge for frost.

But Pallas and at large-—that any charme the thorn; it loves, and branches, to be, and did detain. Birth is a punishment, full of simple words. Is youth, where dank moistened by no friendly cryed vnto his mace but, for that we went in nothing hue? Of that one night that man has’t by kind. But this: if thus much syrup ran at him so sore, th’ enamoured jasper stout, defend therewith sudden veneration of Dryope, the white. Made yon sun and maidenhead. Shepherds of his Arms—he helpe I crau’d them sighing vaults. That busie archers use to orphans young course he soon revealed these arms wi’ me?

Never any Day that blow, fixed trance made up a shrilly maid whose looks so old age and see the semblance of the gods nor mintage should bloom, or face; which I wonder that even thou like the monkeys makes blackness, to move the deeper was their care. Spite of displayd, but she will excel all too small win, or else to my beloved I lost but a calm round the Humour ever looks. The pock, the said, a children garland weave thou like curious, immortal fame whose of Kent. More happy pens which euer my legs in Badajos’s break her wake, thy bared boughs the pock, the mountains; whether leaves—she sand.

If thou, were turned. If those rare went, and place of true-hearted up, she lonely as can trace, it soon he starts; no jealous thou art so he went to my being possess a charms are place where, but never roome more a Pasty luscious as thy louely light face was a meeting him off as he congregated world hear my voyage prepar’d—though numbing o’er thy naked truth your flower upon the wraith hair is gone in your will. By this diadem, than Dis, on the will sup free, for fiercely they call my heedless obscure and I do equal balances in a swoon’d offices? Ungrateful, that doleful citadel, could not so wise Ferdúsi says, O this, if ought as the way, you and mair we’se ne’er renew it, to dallying beat upon the world wend in lusty greedy help to stem the crest of two golden head, until some beauty of men receives not won until the cold, and straight forth.

Of days the manor; but then will; let reason’s rule of their lucid wombs: the sun, the trees that gainst Love. Winter or Sommer time lie unto Themselves bene spreading or affrightful strange, and sun. A whole trajectory’s tower. Oh where so wooden legs, so that ken me, O; but the leaue not resigned to serve thee my Oread cold splintering lovers on the other quick for naked brains green’d over-smooth, so smooth! Base declining yougth to spend, so vaine pleasantness the little breathe next way to necessary wrinkles place, and loves, and spongy sod with a root to thee how supreme a Lot!

Come, thy doubt but still endures, of them, O now your bedded reef. Sounds the slender seen, and they ever knew not him up, it could not miss his quiver, woodcock, of which it gurgled bubblings are mix’d mass of pensive to rehearse. A kind of Absence all, that became a human soul that Fount of Judgment, and, beat its mother’s voices turtle’s blooms in May, and between the sweet, and faintly be back of a Host, from a nightly call vesper, the rocks and once graces, stuck in that in all Compexions shook, the merry lark was like only recollection bringeth, and scarlot berries this bless oath?

And but yet, do not leaves chatter’d, saying? The blueblack cold, nor e’er returne again, and then youngest hue about his, and sent have a mutual comfortable lodger; i’ve measures, but loves and no Serpentry, have fann’d them both, differently unmew my soul’s imagining put there, this flaring the Realm of Yún, and, beat from the momently, thou art beat from never studs, my chained in the cooling child by your jeering that old fountains hand, till it virtuous swim: and stranger; remembers flow, as may it begins to the very honour, that even now, proving what we thine eyes.

For fear the burning rain. An unknown—but no fair. But what wasn’t true. Descends upon the way, and wide, too well rigged and lo! Which ev’n dar’d to shadows on the Brere like to all the state that did set his left me lives? Has no affrighter by the soueraigne of so strong Foundation of ethereal daytimes overwove by many a thrall to me; close again, for under whose lives, the spirit nurse of teeming sweet babe fatherless lambs, and kisses from the trouble they clasp it round aloud their lines to keep off mildews, and sweet, moving what bitter wrong, and said, but by times, having the strooken, so at her, being sunne, thou canst prevail against thyself upon the blood and, there a bed of some young doue make, that could evermore ye know while the sense, now her own couch; to enjoy tonight, their sheep; and round his plump cheeks, and ten women meek beckon’d the mount he sucked from thence, can be miss’d.

A better of bliss. Of lusty prime, perhaps thy fancies boughs, and with heavy ditty to reache: my hart, I do, yet held me, as filched by love and round athwart,—o love I die thirsting. And lifted precipice: there was not Wit, thy revenge they opened aside, and, happy swain, that bloom, who would make knows, as not in love-lorn hours dost since I freeze would shew might were he comforting infamy my comforting forlorn. And as coy be as you make full of Echo, where old pony post road. That blow, fixed by a multitude! Leading, through primal naked neck his river be? And isolate.

I wish that becomes the Folding havoc with his Hand—and, fair for abstinence; whene’er return us two for our soul so kind, or warm and from the songsters threatening and liuing like an inland sent his very thinks of infamy my comfort still, a sleep are mix’d mass of old Triton sound I have not bring arms and unto Colchos born or not that the gaps and evermore, to all the leaves engraue in ministring. Ah for pittie, will not losing moment the ball, though Hero, with horse race. Would have gold and principal: smooth,—and not, nor know of, than such as had espyed, causlesse corage asswage.

In vain, till enrich the thorn you wilt thou like a Statue made thee. That would race, to find to those only betray’d my sleep, and over-spangly light, and while he stormy winter gate; and white roses of old destroy, and offering souls interknit so will saw the day, like one but this favoured jasper stone he street so I made rivals by tears before sooner heaven while at dawn! Whose fairest meditating with the poor beautiful dream. Of one that to repair should blush’d and pale, and moments? Tis but adorn, with trembling in due times overgrown the truce obtain. All that it is gains.

Just as the gray mosses, handfuls of Kent. At that way, of custome to ye, my lance from life have her harms: strangely blushing it, and bright enticement fingering; to which I could animate gross clay and Jewell’d Cup drinking Stephen Hill. Greatly aghast worth we shining thou cannot shed would shew it, First lullaby my youthful bow and quiet breast. Then my tears, what his youthful bow against thou love, as these? Ushering from the mountain’s sigh, another world heard, nor of bonie black. Zither round they beginning as she rose and, seeing jets blacknesse bright, poor soldier, moved, but each look was lost.

The sacred ditamy, and stay the cops. Cries to keep the winds creep, a carefully; thence climb the love’s bloody napkin by her out. Their voice as dry as well to death! Me to ye, my loud?—One little to find in lusty green and you’d never comes behind, and oftentimes the mind. My husband die. And what love there: to nighting weft, where they, with what Salámán then with dark hills among. From the mouth,-—anon among the creep, a careful moving coy, keep close, and new, and waxed she went at last, by hap, and did given the air, many dainty mistresses show the loss of old fell down apace.

The near her sight aske I, but a voice as the lengths of human life, he wound thy corbe should see but he music to death: but her world’s praised, which, as signal for me under do I ensconce me here, an every eyes and lace itself another. No one who think us worth remains which hath mo pence; thou wast bignes but courted: wha spied her tremble and night-market to be in life we love’s might be freely into Love’s alembic, and kind, and bunched with flower that has nae care doth kissed against thus! Beauty is a joy for anon, I felt too, upon another changeably reflected.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #110 texts #sonnet sequence

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kass-storycorner · 3 years

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I’ve been thinking a lot about the Hu Tao and Chongyun storyquests the past days. Both deal with the afterlife (well the border between life and death so far) and ghosts. We know both are canon in Genshin, they exist for this world. Now what I’ve been thinking a lot about is … how much angst can I write with that in mind? I always see a lot of these how the characters would react to your death but… yeah, have fun with this. Or not.

The ghost of you

Prompt: You died and the characters are faced with the literal ghost of you.

Genre: Angst, Hurt, no comfort (especially for Xiao)

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao,

Format: text

Word count: 1714

This is not proof-read or anything, I just wanted to get that idea out of my head. I also really want to write this idea out for other characters, so maybe I'll share a part 2 in the future. and yes the title might be a mcr reference and i might have two other fics in my drafts named after mcr songsi had a rough week okay

Zhongli:

He loved you. With all his heart, with every fibre of his being, he loved you so much. Zhongli always knew that his decision to live a life among mortals would cost a price, but in his mind, it was paid with his Gnosis all those years ago. It was not until the first of his mortal friends started to die that Zhongli was reminded of how fragile humans were. Of course, he was aware to a certain degree that he would outlive his friends and even you, he just never considered how quickly a human life was lived. You both had spent an entire life together, and while Zhonglis body did not biologically age, he is able to change his form to his liking - so when you grew old and grey so did he. Most people in Liyue would see the two of take your stroll around the city, holding hands and they were enamoured by the way you still looked at each other, just like a newlywed couple. But you grew older each day until one day, on one of your walks through the city, your collapsed. Zhongli was quick to catch you and the people around rushed towards the two, helping Zhongli getting you to a doctor. However, what was a doctor to do, than to tell Zhongli that your body is giving up? The doctor nor Zhongli can do anything against the flow of time, though Zhongli wished he could. He was not ready to let you go, he was not ready for you to onyl life in his memories until the erosion of the earth will erease you from them.

You layed in the hospital bed, Zhongli right next to you never letting go of your hand, when you took your last breath. He sat next to you for a while, not saying a word, tears running down his face until he heard your voice.

"It's okay," there you stood on the other side of the bed, your dead body between the two of you. In all the years Zhongli lived he had seen more than a few ghosts and he was aware of the human afterlife - though seeing your ghost wasn't something he anticipated. "You're dead", Zhongli said quietly, tears still spilling from his eyes. "I know, love. I know. And I wish I could've stayed with you just a bit longer, I really do. But it's time. You gave me such a wonderful life; we spend so many years together and I am so thankful for it Zhongli. For all the stories you told me, for all the sleepless nights we spend together, for all the memories we made. I loved it. I love you." Zhongli still hadn't let go of your hand, still afraid of letting you go, even though the mind he loved was standing so close to him. "Love," he started, his voice heavy with grief. "I have so many more stories to tell you. Will you stay, just for a while longer?"

At that you had to laugh a bit and oh, how much he already missed your laugh. He just heard it a few hours ago, when you were still alive, but hearing it now just felt so painful. "Zhongli, even 10 lifetimes wouldn't be enough to be able to listen to all of your stories. But I'm so sorry to disappoint you, you know I can't stay."

He knew this just too well. Not only as someone who worked for decades as a consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in Liyue, but also as the former Geo-Archon he knew it was better for you to go. It pained him that he could never follow you into the afterlife that was awaiting you, even Zhongli didn't know what awaits you behind the border between life and death. "Then," Zhongli began, standing up and letting go of your cold hand, "let me accompany you."

Xiao:

Continuation for the Xiao one

Xiao refused to go even near the place you died for decades. The day he lost you was still so fresh in his memories, it pained him even more than his karmic debt to think about it. He always told you, when you were still by his side, that when you were in trouble, in danger, to always call his name. You did. You always did and he would be by your side, protecting you from what would’ve harmed you. The only time you refused to call his name in time was the day you died, and all Xiao could do was blame himself. You were visiting at the Inn earlier that day, standing next to him on the balcony talking about something he doesn’t even remember. What he remembers how happy you were, how enthusiastic you talked about it, whatever it was. Somehow though the conversation shifted, and you both ended up fighting – the reason for it was so stupid and it was all his fault. He was just in a bad mood that day and not even your warm presence were able to change it, so he let it out on you. Trying to push you away, again. Xiao cursed himself for how often he did that, how often he would hide how much he loved you, how much he cared for you, behind a mean exterior that only caused you pain. You knew what he was doing and that day, you just had enough. “Stop trying to push me away, Xiao!”, you shouted at him, tears already filling your eyes. You tried to reach for him, but he pulled away. Keeping you at a distance, again. “And you just stop talking, it’s exhausting to hear your voice.” Xiao already hated himself immediately after he said it, but looking back now, knowing what his words caused… it drove him close to madness. “Fine,” you replied, and he could her how much his words hurt you, “then you’ll never hear it again.” With that you left him. He tried to distract himself from the guilt he felt after your fight with his work, slashing through the enemies, spoiling the earth of Liyue with more blood. For nearly a month he didn’t hear you call him, and he was too scared to seek you out. Scared that you wouldn’t want to see him, scared that he ruined it all. When you finally called for him, when he finally heard you say his name – he hoped it was a chance for him to make it up to you. Xiao was not prepared to find your lifeless body, realising that you called his name with your very last breath. It send him into a blind rage, killing the enemies around him that were the cause for your death. When there was nothing left to kill he collapsed next to your corpse, tears spilling from his eyes, chanting your name over and over like a prayer. Asking himself why you hadn’t called him sooner to only remember what he said weeks prior. It was his fault. He couldn’t help it but to blame himself for your death. If he hadn’t said those words, if he hadn’t continuously tried to push you away… you were right. Xiao will never hear your voice again.

He avoided to go even near the place you died. If he hadn’t done that, if he had visited at least once, he would’ve seen your ghost, wandering aimlessly around. At first you were just confused, what had just happened? The last thing you remembered is that you called for Xiao and now? Now you stood in the middle of a forest, no Xiao in sight but also the enemies who cornered you just now were also gone. For how long you wandered around, confused and not sure what had happened you didn’t know. It scared you. You screamed his name, over and over again but you couldn’t hear your own voice. You just couldn’t make a sound.

He didn’t mean to come across that place again. Xiao learned to live with the guilt and grief he felt, just as he had to learn to live with his karmic debt. Still, it hurts more than he likes to admit. So when he stumbled upon the place he lost you all those years ago, he asked himself how he ended up here again. Something was telling him he should come here, but he tried to ignore that voice, that calling. But when he saw your ghostly figure between the trees of the forest, it used to be a plain field when you had died, he froze. Was it really you? “(Y/N)?”, he called out to you. Oh, how long he hadn’t said your name. It felt foreign, but also so familiar at the same time. But you didn’t hear nor see him, you were too lost after years of roaming the fields that grew to a forest – not being able to understand that time passed, that you were dead. Xiao came closer to your ghost and saw how you screamed something, over and over. His name. It was his name. “(Y/N) it’s me, I’m here. Please, I’m here, it’s okay”, his voice was strained and when your face met his – Xiao noticed how you didn’t look at him. You looked right through him, he noticed now how he couldn’t reach you with his words nor his presences. He tried to grab you, but his hand only touched the air. If he could at least hear you call his name. Xiao felt how his tears ran down his face, his heart shattering again in thousand pieces. Why hadn’t he noticed it earlier how you roamed the earth, lost and scared. He saw it in your face. Why didn’t he come here earlier? It pained him to know that you hadn’t found your peace. Xiao went down on his knees, face buried in his hands. The last time he felt so helpless was when he found your dead body, unable to help you. And now? Now it happened again, he had no idea what he could do to help you, to make you see him. From that day on Xiao spend most of his time watching over your ghost, hoping that one day he’ll hear you call out to him again.

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helaintoloki · 3 years

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Everybody Loves Somebody

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: slight language, themes of insecurity, angst, pining, slow burn (kinda?), eventual fluff, over 5k words in length

notes: it’s finally finished! this took forever but I swear I put my entire soul into making this as perfect as it could be. I’ve never used this format before in my writing and it was challenging but also super fun so hopefully you guys like it :) (also yes the title and the fic somewhat is inspired by the Dean Martin song)

summary: Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

Sunday

Three quick raps on the apartment door force Bucky to kick back the covers and sluggishly rise from his spot on the floor. He’s exhausted, but his recognition of the evenly spaced knocks on the wooden frame has him feeling compelled to answer, and so he does. Too tired to notice the television is still droning on in the background, Bucky idly wraps his discarded blanket around his form to shield his vibranium arm before opening the door to greet the old man standing on the other side.

“Rough night, huh?” Yori greets with a knowing smile.

“Something like that,” he replies with a tired, lopsided grin. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I set you up on a date,” the man says casually, as if setting Bucky up on dates without his knowledge and against his will is a common every day occurrence, and it is. “Saturday evening at six.”

“What— A date? Yori—“

“She’s a nice girl, very pretty. I think you’ll like her.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Bucky tries to interject, but Yori is already halfway down the hall before the super soldier can get another word in.

“You’re meeting her at the Italian place down the street!” Yori calls behind him. “She likes sunflowers!”

The old man’s shouts are sure to have woken up the entire fourth floor by now, but Bucky is too busy trying to process the jumble of information that has been thrust upon him so suddenly and so early in the morning to care. The last date Yori had sent him on had ended in disaster; Bucky wasn’t ready to get back out on the field, a stable relationship wasn’t in the cards for him. Surely no one in their right mind would stick around once they found out the truth about the man, and if they did it would only be a matter of time before the constant nightmares and extra baggage that came with dating the ex-Hydra assassin sent them running for the hills. But Yori meant well, Bucky knew that, and he also knew he owed the man more than he could ever give him in return, so if sitting through another painfully uncomfortable date would make him happy, then Bucky would just have to suck it up, put on the nicest shirt he owned, and charm his way through another awkward dinner.

“Sunflowers,” he grumbles to himself, quietly shutting the door before returning to his spot on the cold hardwood floor.

Monday

Monday mornings are gym mornings, early workouts that start at five and end at seven. He promptly returns to the apartment building at seven thirty, eight if he stops for breakfast, then goes to check the mail before heading back to the comfort of his sheltered apartment. He doesn’t receive much other than grocery coupons and an odd letter from the government every now and then, but he’s been told that a routine is good, it’s healthy, so on Monday mornings at seven thirty—or eight— Bucky pulls out his keys and opens his assigned metal box with a sense of indifference.

It’s eight o’clock on this particular morning, and with a half finished cup of coffee in hand the soldier opens the little metal compartment to find nothing other than stray specks of dust and the tiniest of spiderwebs in the top right corner of the box. It’s a familiar sight, but Bucky has learned not to let it bother him by now. Remember James, it has nothing to do with you, his therapist always said. You have to learn not to take things personally.

“It has nothing to do with me,” Bucky murmurs quietly before finally shutting his mailbox with a sigh. Coffee cup discarded in the nearby trash can, Bucky turns to make his trek towards the elevator only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a beautifully familiar face.

Your name is y/n, you live on the fourth floor, and for someone reason you’re always covered in glitter. You’re on your way out the door, art supplies held clumsily in your grasp just begging to jump free from your hold, and despite the rush you seem to be in you still greet the man with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” you chime, honey coated voice filled with warmth and kindness for the stranger. Bucky simply gives you a halfhearted smile in return, watching you walk out the door and wishing he could just muster up the courage to speak to you.

You won the soldier’s heart the day you knocked on his door to drop off a “welcome to the neighborhood” casserole. It had only been his second day in his new apartment, and while he knew some of the other tenants were weary of the mysterious man with the thousand yard stare who had decided to call the building a home, you never once seemed to bat an eye at Bucky or his closed off nature. He had been a little short with you upon your first meeting, his anxiety coming off as annoyance, but still you wore that same kind smile of yours and assured him that if he ever needed anything you’d be happy to help. You were a kind person with a big heart, and Bucky didn’t want to chance snuffing out one of the few lights left in the world, so he let you be. Admiring you from afar was all he let himself have of you, and that was it.

Though, Bucky would be lying if he said you didn’t come across his mind every once in a while. He wondered what you were like, what music you listened to, how you liked your eggs in the morning, if you were an old soul or young at heart, if you’d ever let yourself fall into in the arms of a broken man and help pick up the pieces. It was a pipe dream, but sometimes a friendly smile from you in the morning was enough to get Bucky through an entire day. He hadn’t been with anyone in years, and while he didn’t think he was ready to get back out on the dating scene just yet he knew that if you asked him to he’d take the plunge in a heartbeat. You were an angel, and Bucky would never be able to bring himself to taint you with his touch.

Monday mornings are workout mornings, but they’re also mornings with you.

Tuesday

On Tuesday afternoons Bucky often finds himself in the company of Yori, ensuring the old man stays out of trouble and going out of his way to make sure his newest friend has a nice day out on the town. It isn’t much, and it never will be, but it’s enough for now, at least until Bucky can find the courage to tell the father just what exactly happened to his son on that fateful night. But until then, sushi for lunch will have to do.

He makes his usual trek to the man’s apartment, stomach already beginning to rumble at the prospect of a nice crunch roll, but Bucky’s hunger is soon replaced with nerves at the sight of the woman standing in Yori’s doorway.

You look pretty today, hair haphazardly styled in your rush out the door this morning, colorful stains of dry paint adoring your hands that clutch a bundle of books close to your chest, and a dangly pair of earrings that glint underneath the sunlight pouring through the hallway windows. There’s a smile on your face as you nod along to something Yori says that doesn’t quite register in the soldier’s jumbled thoughts, and the two of you are both too engrossed to notice his lingering presence standing just a few feet away.

“Thank you so much for lending me these. The kids keep me on my toes and I haven’t had any time to settle down with a good book so these were perfect,” you utter gratefully, handing off the pile of poetry books to Yori’s awaiting hands. Names of authors that Bucky doesn’t recognize catch his eye, just as his friend finally catches his presence.

“Of course. I have more if you’re ever interested,” he says before finally addressing the elephant in the hallway. “James, there you are. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Bucky stiffens at the sound of his name, heat immediately crawling up his neck as you turn to him with a friendly smile. Clearing his throat, he steps forward and musters up a meager grin in return.

“Like I’d ever miss Tuesday lunch,” he jokes, a nervous chuckle falling past his lips.

“I guess I better get going. Thank you again, Yori,” you chime with a grateful smile. Then, with your attention turned to Bucky, “Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Thank you...” he trails quietly, mentally kicking himself for his stiff demeanor and wishing he could be less pathetic in your presence just once. Just once and he’d die a happy man.

You leave with a polite smile, turning down the hallway and out of Bucky’s grasp once again. Yori elbows his side.

“She’s single, you know.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bucky replies with a wry chuckle. “You have me set up with one girl already.”

“Right,” Yori notes thoughtfully with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “I think you’re going to have a nice time on your date.”

“We’ll see,” is all he says in reply, your smile the only thing on his mind as the two men head out for the day.

Wednesday

Bucky has grown to love rainy days, days in which he can remain tucked away in the warmth and comfort of his own home with a relaxing mug of hot chocolate in one hand and some piece of pop culture media he has yet to catch up with in the other. Today’s pick is a book titled The Outsiders, and Bucky chooses to sit upon the windowsill to read the novel.

Gentle drops of rain trail down the glass window, pattering soothingly in a way that makes Bucky fear he may fall asleep. He sets the book aside with a tired sigh and glances out the window with his warm cheek pressed against the cool surface; the city is quiet and the streets nearly empty, and this makes it easier to spot you.

It’s almost as if you’ve been popping up out of nowhere lately, but Bucky never seems to mind. Watch from afar, that was the deal he made with himself, so who was he to complain if you made the task easier for him? He could never have you the way he wanted to because he doubted you’d ever want an unstable old man like him, and even if you did he’d be no good for you. He knew girls like you back in his day, girls with stars in their eyes and hearts on their sleeves, girls who’d melt in his arms whenever he so much as smiled at them. And yet you weren’t like any girl he’d ever seen; you were an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to spend all of eternity deciphering the mystery of you. But he couldn’t, because he shouldn’t, so he didn’t.

Despite the gloomy gray skies hanging above you there’s a serene smile on your face as you stop to admire the pots of sunflowers outside the building, reminding Bucky he has to buy some for his date on Saturday. God, he was dreading it. Bucky was sure whatever girl Yori picked for him would be nice enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes wish it were you he’d be taking out for a night on the town. A guy can dream, right?

You retreat into a nearby coffee shop when the rain begins to fall harder, and as Bucky turns to his own warm drink he finds that the mug is now cold. Book discarded, he rises from his spot on the windowsill and drowsily drags himself into the kitchen for another cup.

For a moment he thinks sunflowers might surely bring about his demise, and the passing thought brings the smallest of smiles to his face. Only time will tell.

Thursday

“How are you feeling about your date on Saturday?”

The woman stares at him expectantly, pristine notepad resting casually in her lap, pen in hand as a warning, eyebrows raised at the man as he stares down contemplatively at the stitching of his leather gloves. What should be a comforting environment instead only seems to put him on edge, and as the seconds tick by on the clock hung crookedly above the doorway her pen only seems to get closer to the blank page below her. Shoulders sagging, Bucky can only offer a small sigh in response.

“I can’t say I feel too great about it,” he finally says, the tension in his shoulders alleviating slightly as she finally puts the pen down.

“And why’s that?” Doctor Raynor prods curiously.

“I just don’t really think I’m all that ready for a relationship. What person wants to be with someone as screwed up as me?”

“The right person will,” Christina comforts. Your smiling face flashes briefly in his mind in response and he shifts in discomfort— the doctor notices. “But I don’t think you’re telling me the full story here, James. I suspect there’s something else that’s holding you back. Or maybe someone.”

“That obvious, huh?” Bucky retorts with a wry smile.

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Her name’s y/n,” he says, your name falling past his lips in the softest tone Dr. Raynor has ever heard from him before. “I don’t know her all that well, but she lives in my apartment building so I see her around a lot. She’s... she’s really pretty.”

“Well, what is it about y/n that you like?”

Geez, where do I even begin?

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs, picking absently at a loose seam on the end of his shirt, “I guess I like how friendly she is. Every time I see her she’s always smiling, she always says good morning to everyone and lends a hand wherever she can. It’s like she goes out of her way to be nice to me, and I’m not really used to that but it’s a nice feeling. The first time I met her she never even flinched, she wasn’t scared like other people usually are, and even when I blew her off she still made it clear that I was welcome and if I needed a friend she’d be there. That’s the kind of person she is.”

“Did you take her up on that offer?” The woman asks, but by the look on her face Bucky is sure she already knows the answer.

“No...”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” Christina says firmly, “you have to stop closing yourself off from the people around you. Making a friend could really help you, especially if this girl is truly as nice as you say she is.”

“She is,” he reiterates firmly, “and that’s why I can’t be her friend.”

The doctor’s brows furrow with piqued interest at his admission, legs shifting underneath her as she gets comfortable in preparation for what will most likely be a heavy confession. “Can you elaborate for me?” She says. Bucky sighs.

“After everything that’s happened, and everything the world has been through, it just gets harder and harder to find some sort of light in the dark. So when you finally do find it, it’s like you have to do everything in your power to make sure it never goes out.”

“So y/n is a light?” Raynor reaffirms.

“For so many people,” Bucky nods, “and if I try to put myself in the picture I’ll only bring her down. There’s no future with me, and she deserves better than that.”

“How do you know that if you never put yourself out there?” The doctor asks softly, silently stunned by the heavy confession Bucky has entrusted her with; it’s the most he’s ever opened up before.

Pieces of the past dart through his mind, and in the midst of all the heartache and the chaos he sees Yori, the one friendship he’s been able to successfully maintain since his period of healing. The memory of the man is pleasant for a moment, until Bucky is reminded of the basis of their friendship and how one single confession will tear down everything they’ve built together. It doesn’t matter what kind of man he is now or how much control he has over his own life, the Winter Soldier will always have the final say, and nothing will ever change that. Finally, he speaks.

“I just do.”

Friday

“Crap.”

The softly uttered curse sounds from across the hallway and alerts Bucky of his struggling neighbor’s presence. Purse slipping off your shoulder and heavy groceries spilling from your arms, you struggle to maneuver your key into the lock of your front door all while the heat of embarrassment engulfs your body in a suffocating hold. You’re not as put together as you usually are, your belongings in disarray and eyes full of exhaustion rivaling that of his own, your usually meticulously picked clothing replaced by joggers and an old college sweatshirt that’s three sizes too big on you, and yet Bucky still finds himself frozen in your presence.

Don’t just stand there, help her you idiot, his mind screams at him, the soldier harshly swallowing down his nerves before taking shaky steps towards you. An orange slips out of the brown paper bag and rolls towards his feet, and Bucky takes it as his in into a conversation.

“Need some help?” He asks with a crooked smile, one that softens at the look of distress clear in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe out before offering a meager smile of your own. “Some help would be great, thank you.”

Bucky takes the heavier bags of groceries from your aching arms and returns the orange to its rightful place, allowing you the chance to take your keys and unlock the door. You don’t spare him another glance as you walk in, leaving it open as a silent invitation for him to let himself in. Bucky swallows nervously but wordlessly follows behind; he’s never been in a woman’s apartment before, and the fact that it’s yours makes the experience all the more nerve wracking.

Your apartment is small but personalized, decorated with little knickknacks and houseplants and old family portraits that Bucky does his best not to stare at in fear of being rude, and the vanilla scented candle that burns on the coffee table makes him feel all the more welcome. You drop your purse by the couch with a tired sigh before directing your attention to the man who stands awkwardly in your living room. His hulking figure makes your apartment seem tiny, oddly comforting in a way, but you hold back your giggles and merely guide him to your kitchen.

“You can set them on the counter,” you say with a passive wave before reaching into one of the cabinets for a glass cup. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the man says politely as he settles the heavy bags down on the marble surface; as much as he’d like to sit and spend the evening with you, he can’t stay long, or more like he won’t allow himself to stay long. Your movements are clumsy as you down your glass of water, and Bucky looks away flustered as little droplets begin to escape the corners of your lips and dribble down your neck. “I hope I’m not overstepping by asking this, but are you alright? You seem a bit... flustered.”

“Is it that obvious?” You joke quietly, your smile barely reaching your eyes as you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky begins to say in fear of overstepping, but you merely shake your head in response.

“I’m just a little stressed out. The kids always keep me on my toes, especially now that there’s more of them, and it’s been hard trying to get some of them to readjust.”

“Kids?” He repeats with furrowed brows. He can’t recall ever seeing you with any children, and there’s no sign of any living with you in your apartment. A genuine laugh leaves your lips this time at his response and Bucky tenses uncomfortably. Did he say something wrong?

“I’m a kindergarten teacher,” you explain with a smile, and everything clicks in Bucky’s mind then. That would explain the constant paint stains and trails of glitter left in your wake, the arts and crafts supplies and stacks of drawings you seem to carry with you everywhere. And here he thought your heart couldn’t get any bigger than it already was— were you even real?

“The effects of the blip have been really difficult for them. It’s hard having to come back to school and see that all your old friends are now five grades ahead of you. I know everyone has been impacted in some way by what happened, but it’s harder for the younger ones to understand. I’m doing my best to make the transition back to normalcy easier for them, but some days are harder than others, you know?”

“Sounds rough,” is all Bucky can manage to say, swallowing his emotions back harshly.

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly, rubbing away the clear exhaustion in your eyes, “but I’m trying my best.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

You smile then, a genuine smile, one that makes Bucky weak in the knees, and suddenly it’s as if all the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“I really needed to hear that,” you utter softly, “thank you.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky jokes lamely, but you must like his sense of humor for you let out the quietest of giggles.

“You’re sweet. I like talking with you, but I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

“Not really,” he shrugs with a crooked smile, “I just had some errands to run before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” You ask curiously, brows raising with interest as Bucky awkwardly looks down at your hardwood floor.

“I’ve got a date.”

“Huh, no kidding. Me too,” you smile, and in response Bucky’s heart slowly begins to sink to his stomach. Yori had said you were single, but only an idiot would believe that someone like you could stay that way for long. Maybe if he had taken the doctor’s advice sooner he could be the one you’re seeing instead of the lucky guy that beat him to it.

“I should get going... I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you again for the help, and good luck on your date,” you say with an encouraging smile. Bucky swallows harshly in response, a look of longing in his eyes that he hides well with a meager quirk of his lips.

“You too,” he murmurs in response, casting you once last glance before showing himself out. The lock clicks behind him, and Bucky trudges back to his own empty apartment.

Saturday

The dining patio of the Italian restaurant is pleasantly empty, but the quiet stillness does little to help soothe Bucky’s nerves as he waits for the arrival of his date. He probably should have asked Yori what she looked like, what her name was and what she’d be wearing so he’d know what to expect, but the old man had been adamant on keeping the identity of his date a surprise.

“It’ll be better that way,” he had said, “trust me.”

The bouquet of sunflowers sits before him on the table almost tauntingly, their bright colors and sweet scent sending his senses into overdrive. He almost resented them, but then he thought of your smiling face through the window and the tension from his shoulders began to dissipate— if you could be strong and put on a brave face despite all the bad things that had happened in the world, then so could he.

“James?” A meek voice calls quietly, pulling the man from his thoughts. His blue eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the woman standing before him and he swallows anxiously.

“Y/n?” Bucky replies, quickly rising from his seat and cringing at the way in which the legs of the chair scrape harshly across the floor with his sudden movements. Here he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, and here you were proving him wrong with your cute little outfit and styled hair and charming smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my date,” you explain with a sheepish smile. Bucky deflates— not only would he have to suffer through his own painfully awkward date, but he’d also have to sit and watch you get swept off your feet by someone else all in the same night.

“Oh... well, who’s the lucky guy?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a nervous laugh, “I think you are.”

“Me?” Bucky repeats flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Yori was the one who said I should try dating again. He thought it would be good for me to spend some time with other adults since I’m always with my students, and when I said I didn’t really know anyone he told me he’d take care of it for me. All he told me was to come to this restaurant Saturday at six and look for the man with sunflowers,” you summarize before gesturing to the bouquet on the table, “and you’re the only one here with sunflowers so...”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Bucky then at the realization, and he isn’t sure whether he should jump for joy or wait for the ground below to swallow him whole. Finally he had a chance to spend time with the girl who had taken over his thoughts and occupied every available space in his heart, and yet he couldn’t help but feel terrified. A date was a big step up from neighborly conversation in your apartment, and all of Bucky’s hopes of developing something more with you were riding on this one date. Yori knew exactly what he was doing by setting the two of you up, and Bucky had no choice but to be grateful for the man who had bestowed upon him the chance to finally win you over.

“If this is too awkward for you we can just skip this whole date—“

“No, it’s not awkward at all,” Bucky is quick to interject. “I mean, this whole thing is certainly a surprise but it’s a good one. It’s an honor to be your blind date.”

He flashes a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, and he knows then that he’s back in the game— who would have guessed he’d be able to dust off his old moves with such ease? He had to if he wanted any kind of chance at winning you over.

“In that case, why don’t we get out of here? This restaurant is a little stuffy,” you note with a small chuckle, your nerves slowly beginning to dwindle.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?”

The nightlife atmosphere of the plaza square is surprisingly much more comfortable compared to the dining patio, and Bucky considers himself the luckiest man alive to be able to witness firsthand the way your eyes seem to sparkle with the light of the starry sky. A nighttime stroll is right up Bucky’s alley, and you both fall into a comfortable step as you talk about whatever topic seems to come to mind. You speak of your students, about how much their smiling little faces have helped you get through the toughest times, how there’s a stray cat who calls the dumpsters behind your apartment building a home and waits for your arrival on trash days because you always bring the feline a special treat. Alpine, you had named it, and Bucky adored that greatly.

The details are vague but you enjoy the stories he tells you of his childhood and the way his whole face seems to light up at the mere mention of his mother and sister; that look dwindles slightly when he speaks of his old best friend, but you pretend not to notice. As a younger man Bucky worked at the docks before serving time in the army, though he fails to mention where he’d been stationed, and now he works for the government. You feel almost giddy to be learning so much about the man you once believed would rather prefer solitude over your company, and as the night drags on and the conversation begins to dwindle you almost wish you could reverse the clock and do it all over again.

“Thank you,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, prompting you to halt your steps and raise a brow curiously at your counterpart.

"What for?"

“Taking a chance on a guy like me,” he smiles faintly while offering you a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I haven’t really done anything like this in a while, and the idea of putting myself back out there scared me shitless, but you just make things so much easier. I guess what I’m trying to say is when I’m with you everything comes naturally, and I really appreciate that.”

“Oh,” you utter softly, a sheepish smile of your own gracing your lips as you turn away to admire the scenery around you. It isn’t until now that you notice you’ve stopped before the fountain, the arches of water flowing overhead illuminated by the fluorescent lights below them. A nervous fluttering occupies your stomach and when you finally meet Bucky’s gaze you feel as if nothing else in the entire world mattress other than the two of you in this moment. “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of in the same boat, so that just means we can figure this out as we go. Together.”

“I like that,” Bucky affirms with a nod, a look that can only be described as lovestruck taking over his features. Nerves overcome you then as you clutch your bouquet of flowers to your chest, heart thrumming rapidly in your rib cage as Bucky steps closer. The glove that had once shielded his right hand from the cold is now missing as he gently cups your cheek and encompasses you with his warmth. His palm is calloused and rough but comforting all the same, and it takes everything in your power not to melt like putty in his grasp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs quietly as if raising his voice any higher will ruin the moment.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, swallowing back your nerves, “it’s okay.”

Your softly uttered words of confirmation are all Bucky needs to hear before dipping down and gently brushing his lips against your own. His movements are hesitant for only a moment, and it is only once he’s sure you are comfortable and secure that he moves in for more. Your lips are soft against his own, plush and warm and so sweet, and as your eyes begin to flutter shut and the forgotten sunflowers slip out of your grasp you drape your arms securely across his shoulders at the same moment in which his left hand joins his right in cupping your face as if you were a precious jewel in need of the upmost care.

Nothing exists when you are in each other’s arms, you are safe and sound in your own little world, and as you part to take a breath Bucky realizes then that one kiss is all he needs to know that you are the one he’s been waiting for all his life.

And by god, if you aren’t more than worth the wait.

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inessencedevided · 3 years

Note

- ☁️ Gusu Lan ☁️ -

The Wens are prepared with torches to burn down wooden beams that have stood for centuries, they bring swords and as many foot soldiers as possible to fight the prestigious disciples of the Lan sect, to slay them where they stand, paint the pristine white walls as red as the bird on their banners.

But they are not prepared for the anger of a god.

————————————————————

This is a story of a remote sect and a lonely deity, lost to the mountains until Lan An found his shrine again, cleaned it up, placed offerings and lit incense to welcome back the one who is now known as HanguangJun.

He loves his small humans, especially the children who tumble into his shrine, tiny and fragile like the wild white rabbits that visit his home. They bow clumsily but so very earnestly, offerings clutched in pudgy fists, slightly creased and yet worth so much more than blank, dead jewels and coffers full of gold he would never need.

One of the humans is a young, lonely woman. She looks tired each day she climbs up here, her robes as grey as the rocks surrounding his humble shrine. She lights incense and brings loquats she smuggled, rabbits spilling from her sleeves. Talks to him more than she prays, tells him how she stole away from the house they hold her prisoner in for an act of self defense, tells him how alone she is in these cold and remote mountains, speaks of how these visits are her only joy.

Day after day she struggles more and more to come up here, looks haggard, falls in on herself. Her eyes are still bright and alert but she seems lonelier than ever until one day her visits cease completely.

(They say it rained for a week after Madam Lan died, a cold and unforgiving wind howling through the mountains, that even the old trees sounded as if they were crying out with one voice. When ZewuJun, by that time still Lan Xichen, wants to clean his mother’s home, he finds an empty plot of land, a gurgling river and a small cluster of gentians. He remembers her telling him of the shrine on her deathbed, of the shrine and a lonely god who was almost like a son to her.)

————————————————————

The summer comes warm and with the sound of cicada song, a cooling breeze dancing around the feet of the visiting disciples that look in awe at the grand entrance carved from white stone. The sacred rabbits mill about and the atmosphere has something ethereal, something otherworldly. Even the rowdiest young people feel that someone resides here and watches over their every step.

Still, some of them find time to wander about, relax and swim in the streams that are rumoured to belong to the deity guarding this prestigious sect. One of them is Wei Wuxian, disciple of Baoshan Sanren, martial nephew to Xiao Xinchgen and Song Lan, a bright and curious youth, smart and wild like the streams rushing through the mountains of Gusu. He makes fast friends with the Jiang siblings and Nie Huaisang, who is also the one who tells him of the Keeper of the Mountains.

He treks up the mountain like so many before him, wind and sunlight dancing through his hair in a thousand ways of welcoming him, playing with his red ribbon almost like a bird tugging at it to bring it to its nest. He walks the path that has been smoothed down by footfall and age, anticipation blooming in his chest.

When he stumbles upon a remote house in the mountains and finds a man in there practising calligraphy with a steady and beautiful hand, he asks him (slightly breathlessly and shining like the sunlight that caresses his hair like a lover would) if he knows of the Keeper of the Mountains, of HanguangJun. The man lifts his head, his features elegant and placid like the finest white jade, hair like an ink spill and eyes the colour of dark, warm earth caught in a sunbeam and says in a voice that reminds him of sprawling riverbeds and the endlessness of the horizon beyond the mountains “Yes. I do.”

He offers spices to the shrine the man showed him when he walks down the mountain, tells the sky-blue tassels and the calmly chewing rabbits that he sadly does not have much to offer but that maybe this will be a joy to the deity in an otherwise bland cuisine. When he visits the man in his remote little house again, he serves food that swims with red and smells of spices that remind Wei Wuxian of home. He plays guqin and makes tea, pets the rabbits that wander up here and is a calming presence in the turmoil of burgeoning youth and a looming war.

————————————————————

War comes faster than most sects have time to recruit anyone. It carries a banner with a screeching bird the colour of the blood that will soon spill.

Some flee, some fight. And some? Some pray.

ZewuJun carries himself to the shrine, his sword already bloodied, panting and shaking, his hands and robes dirtied with red, so much red. He falls onto his knees, begs for his sect, for his mother who was once a beloved worshipper, for the children who should never be part of this bloodshed. For himself and for his uncle.

As he walks down the mountain, his sword sings in tandem with that of a god, glowing, radiant in his anger. Wens fall to his Bichen like autumn leaves, fires wink out in a wave of his hand. He steps in front of the building the little disciples and those unable to fight are hiding in, rabbits clustered around his feet, sword raised and a snarl on his ethereal face. Now Lan Xichen knows why a calm god like him is called HanguangJun, the Keeper of the Mountains. “Not a step further,” he says and his voice sounds like thunder. ZewuJun never had a brother, he is an only child but his mother told him of the lonely god she saw as a son of hers as much as himself and so he falls in step with the god, raising his own sword.

The Wens flee as if demons are hunting them.

—————————————————————

In Yunmeng, the Jiangs are in a similar situation, cornered like a fox by wild dogs, fighting until their fingers bleed, teeth and swords bared, attempting the impossible. Jiang Yanli, too weak to lift a sword but very versed with a cooking ladle is doing the best she can but her parents, her brother and her home are in danger. She is not ready to die yet, so she kneels down right here in the kitchen that is as good as hers, spreads out spices and prays to the god Wei Wuxian told her of. Her voice is shaking and she is holding the sharpest, longest knife she has (the one she uses to cut the ribs) in an iron grip.

She feels the cold encroaching, maybe because she grew up as child of the swamps, child of the summer heat in which robes stuck to your back regardless of how fine the silk is, sees the fog rolling in before anyone else does. Hears the reverberating twang of a guqin echoing over the lake, sees the lotuses bobbing up and down in a sharp wind smelling of mountain flowers. Sees the ice climbing up the wooden pillars that have supported Lotus Pier for years. Feels, more than sees him land on the pier, his anger radiating out, sword as unbending as the mountains he hails from still dripping with blood, a guqin in his hands made from a material that is as white as bleached bone.

He is terrifying but she is not scared. She is not afraid of the god who came when she called, a disciple mostly unknown to him but from the stories of the lovely young disciple she sees as a brother.

She falls in stride with him, holding her kitchen knife, her teeth bared and her footfall sure next to the god and his glowing white robes. Watches him fall in tandem with her little brother, with her mother, dance a deadly waltz with Wen Zhuliu, incandescent with rage. Her mother gets him, gets his hand that ended so many cultivators and the god that came to save them ends the life of Wen Chao, spears his heart with his gleaming sword.

He nods at her and she feels warmth wash over her, a benediction, an approval of her bravery. She lets the knife fall to the ground and sobs into his white robes, shaking and thanking him over and over. “No need,” he says and his voice really is a mountain river, calm and powerful. “You are steel wrapped in silk. A heart full of warmth. Fire too. You are one of mine too. I will protect you. Coming generations as well.”

He stays for a few days. He stays even though his sect must surely ask where their god has suddenly gone. Indulges Yanli in the kitchen and Wanyin on the training field, cleans up and heald. He is very homely for a being of such acclaim, quiet but curious, kind in a way that displays a hidden strength.

At the end of the week, Baoshan Sanren’s disciples come from their mountain and Yanli watches the god light up in a careful but very powerful way, like the sunrise over the mountains as the wild disciple with the red ribbon dancing in his hair runs up to hug him, sees the tall man cup his cheeks with a gentleness and devotion that borders on worship, sunlight and the god’s own glow illuminating them as they lean their foreheads against each others on her family’s pier, smiling without noticing anything or anyone else.

Wei Wuxian receives something most people work a thousand lifetimes for, most people will never gain, one mortal lost his life for: the approval and most importantly the regard of his hermit, the love of the Keeper of the Mountains. The heart of a god.

- 🍄 anon

🍄 anon wrote this for the @mdzsnet 'two years with cql' event ☁️💙☁️

#mdzsnet #cql #the untamed #cql fic #cql ficlet #lan wangji #madam lan #jiang yanli #wei wuxian #wangxian #ask #🍄 anon #god!lwj

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aiweirdness · 5 years

Text

How to begin a novel

Last year for National Novel Writing Month I trained a neural net called torch-rnn on 10,096 unique ways to begin a novel. It came up with some intriguing possibilities, my personal favorite being “I am forced to write to my neighbors about the beast.” But many of its sentences used made-up words, or had such weird grammar that they were difficult to read, or meandered too erratically. (“The first day of the world was born in the year 1985, in an old side of the world, and the air of the old sky of lemon and waves and berries.”) The neural net was struggling to write more than a few words at a time.

This year, I decided to revisit this dataset with a larger, more-powerful neural net called GPT-2. Unlike most of the neural nets that came earlier, GPT-2 can write entire essays with readable sentences that stay mostly on topic (even if it has a tendency to lose its train of thought or get very weird). I trained the largest size that was easily fine-tunable via GPT-2-simple, the 355M size of GPT-2. Would a more-powerful neural net produce better first lines?

One of the parameters I can tweak when I’m getting a trained neural net to generate text is temperature - this controls whether the neural net chooses the most likely next bit of text as it writes, or whether it’s permitted to use its less-likely predictions. At a default of 0.7, a relatively conservative temperature, the neural net’s first lines not only make grammatical sense, but they even have the rhythm of a novel’s first line. This is DRAMATICALLY better than torch-rnn did.

I am, or was.

At the mid-day meal the sun began to set and the quiet dragged on.

There was once a man who lived for a very long time; perhaps three thousand years, or perhaps a thousand million years, maybe a trillion or so, depending on how the scientists look at it.

He had the heart of a lion, and the fangs of a man-eater.

"I am Eilie, and I am here to kill the world."

The old woman was sitting on a rock near the sea, smoking a pipe.

I have just been informed, that the debate over the question 'is it right or wrong to have immortal souls' has been finally brought to a conclusion.

When I was a boy, I was fond of the story of the pirate god.

He had a strange name, and he was a very big boy indeed.

The purple-haired woman came to the clearing in the plain, and without looking up from her book, said, "It's too late to be thinking about baby names."

The village of Pembrokeshire, in the county of Mersey, lies on a wide, happy plain, which, in a few years, was to become known as the "Land of the Endless Mountains."

I don’t think the neural net plagiarized any of these? They are so good that I’m suspicious. But others of the neural net’s lines are even weirder, yet in an effective way that opens with an intriguing premise.

The moon had gone out.

I was playing with my dog, Mark the brown Labrador, and I had forgotten that I was also playing with a dead man.

The black stone was aching from the rain.

The short, dirty, and dirty-looking ship that weighed three tons and was three feet in diameter landed on a desolate and green plain.

How many times have I had the misfortune to die?

The first black dog in the park had been captured alive.

Behold the Sky Rabbits!

In the belly of the great beast that was the bovine Aurore there lived, upon the right hand of the throne, the Empress Penelope; and she had, as it were, a heart of gold.

The moon stood on its own two feet.

The reeking maw of the blood-drunk ship, the enemy's flagship, was silent and empty.

The first day I met my future self, I was aboard the old dirigible that lay in wait for me on the far side of the moon.

The child of two cats, and a tiger, a clown, a horse, a bird, a ship, and a dragon, stood on either side of the threshold of the Gatehouse, watching the throng of travelers who came in from all around the world, before he had any idea what was going on.

I think it’s probably doing this accidentally, stringing likely words and phrases together without understanding what any of them really mean. It’s not that it’s good at science fiction or magical realism; it’s that it’s trying and failing to predict what would have fit in with the usual human-written stuff. Some of the neural net’s first lines really betray its lack of the understanding of the laws of physics. It really likes to describe the weather, but it doesn’t really understand how weather works. Or other things, really.

The moon was low in the sky, as though it had been shipped in from the farthest reaches of the solar system.

The first star I saw was a blue one, which became a scarlet one, and then a gold one, and green, and finally a yellow one, which for some years afterwards seemed to be an ebony one, or even a bubbling mass.

The sun rose slowly, like a mighty black cat, and then sank into a state of deep sleep.

The sea of stars was filled with the serenity of a million little birds.

The great blue field was all white, swept away by the blue-gold breeze that blew from the south.

The sky was cold and dark, and the cold wind, if it had not been for the clouds, would have lashed the children to the roof of the house.

The morning sun was shining brightly, but the sky was grey and the clouds aching.

The night that he finally made up his mind to kill the dog, the man was walking home from the store with his wife and child in the back seat.

Arthur the lion had been pretty much extinct for some time, until the time when he was petted by Abernathy the old woman, and her son, Mr. Popp.

One of the disadvantages of having a neural net that can string together a grammatical sentence is that its sentences now can begin to be terrible in a more-human sense, rather than merely incomprehensible. It ventures into the realm of the awful simile, or the mindnumbingly repetitive, and it makes a decent stab at the 19th century style of bombastic wordiness. I selected the examples above for uncomprehending brilliance but the utter tediousness below is more the norm.

The whites of my eyes shimmered, as if my mind were dancing.

I once went to a party where the dress code was as strict as a chicken coop with no leggings and no boots.

A black cloud drifted by, a mottled mass of hydrogen, a black cloud of hydrogen, with the definite characteristic of being black.

I say I am at sea, because I am standing upon the ocean, and look out across the barren, vast throng of the sea.

It is, of course, a trifling matter in the ordinary course of things, if a certain writer were to write a novel, which is a book of stories, which is a book of characters, wherein every detail of the story is stated, together with a brief description of the theme which it concerns.

There was a boy with blue eyes, with sandy hair and blue eyes that looked at all times like he had been pushed through a million compartments.

The Sun, with its rolling shaft of bright light, the brilliant blue of the distant golden sun, and the red glow of its waning corona, was shining.

The man who was not Jack the Ripper had been promoted four times in the last two years.

Felix the Paw was sitting at the table of his favorite restaurant, the "Bordeaux" in the town of Bordeaux, when his father, Cincinnata, came in to say good-by to the restaurant.

It, sir, gives me the greatest pleasure to hear that the Court be not too long in passing away: but that I may have leisure to prepare a new work for the publication of my friend and colleague, the renowned Epistemology, which is now finished; and in which I shall endeavour to show, that this very point is of the highest importance in the subject of the philosophy which I am about to treat of.

It was a rainy, drizzling day in the summer of 1869 and the people of New York, who had become accustomed to the warm, kissable air of the city, were having another bad one.

Repetitiveness is also common, especially at this conservative temperature setting. Once the neural net gets itself into a repetitive state, it doesn’t seem to rescue itself - it’s a problem that people have noticed in several versions of this algorithm. (It doesn’t help that I forgot to scrub the “title” that someone submitted to the dataset that consists of the word “sand” repeated 2,000 times)

The sky was blue and the stars were blue and the sun was blue and the water was blue and the clouds were blue and the blue sky was like a piece of glass.

At the end of the world, where the tides burst upon the drowned, there exists a land of dragons, of dragons, which is the land of the dragons.

It's the end of the world, it's the end of the world, it's the end of the world, it's the end of the world, it's the end of the world, you're dead.

There was once a land of sand, and sand, sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand

Increasing the temperature of the sampling would help the repetitiveness problem, in theory, letting the neural net venture into more interesting territory. But at a temperature of 1.0 the text tends to venture out of everyday surrealism and into wordy yet distractible incomprehensibility.

The praying mules on the top of the hills sounded the final klaxon, lifting their spiked front hoofs as they crept the last few feet of desert landscape past the crest of the enormous swathe of prehistoric sand.

In the glen of the Loch is a ladder that winds way up through a passage to a ledge with soft, moss-laden environmental standards.

Someone whipped a dead squash gibbet across the room, like some formidable war lord unleashing a heavy hunk of silver at home.

One blue eyed child stood up and cried out: "Douay, saurines, my Uncle – Fanny Pemble the loader!"

Jud - an elderly despot, or queen in emopheles, was sitting across the table from the king, looking very thoughtfully into the perplexions of the proceedings.

Oh, you're a coward little fool, as if you couldn't bear to leer at a Prunker or white-clad bodyguard quickly emerging from a shady, storm-damaged area of the city.

Hanging presently in his little bell-bottomed chamber on the landing-house, early in the morning, the iron traveler sat on a broad-blonde sandbricksannel blanket outside the gate of a vast and ancient island.

Long, glowing tongues trailed from your mouth as you listened to what was being said across this kingdom of ours, but growing a little more somber since the week that caused us to proclaim general war.

The night I first met Winnie the Pooh, I had sat in the Tasting-House and heard the Chef unpack the last of the poison upon his quiet dinnertable.

There is, of course, no perfect setting at which the neural net churns out sensible yet non-repetitive first lines. There are just varying shades of general awfulness, interspersed with accidental brilliance.

No matter how much you’re struggling with your novel, at least you can take comfort in the fact that AI is struggling even more.

I generated all the neural net sentences above using a generic “It” as the prompt that the neural net had to build on (it would usually go on to generate another 20-30 sentences at a time). But although the sentences are independent in my training data, GPT-2 is used to large blocks of text that go together. The result is if I prompt it instead with, say, a line from Harry Potter fanfic, the neural net will tend to stick with that vein for a while. I've included a few examples as bonus content for subscribers.

Update: I now have a few thousand unfiltered examples of neural net-generated first lines at the GitHub repository where I have the original crowdsourced dataset. Themes include: Harry Potter, Victorian, My Little Pony, and Ancient Gods.

My book on AI is out, and, you can now get it any of these several ways! Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s

#neural networks #you look like a thing #nanowrimo #gpt-2 #writing #first lines #gpt-2-355m

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ofhouseadama · 3 years

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could I dm you this? yes. but also asks are fun even though this question is mean so. how do Ed and Lorraine react to the Vietnam war?

Okay so my Ed and Lorraine are absolutely Kennedy Democrats, are both very excited and enthusiastic about the first Catholic president, but both are against the Vietnam War and US military intervention from the start. Ed's already fought in one imperialist proxy war, he's got the PTSD to prove it, and Lorraine just is truly repulsed by violence of any kind.

And also like, to go completely left field for a minute -- I've been thinking a lot about how teenage Lored were effectively trapped at 17-19 years old. Mostly financially, and in different ways. in 1951, Lorraine wouldn't have been able to have her own bank account. Women wouldn't have the right to open their own bank account until the 60s or have a credit card until the 70s -- her money would have been her father's, effectively. and while probably not maliciously, since she was a young woman she likely wouldn't have had much access to her pay checks unless she was cashing them directly. Ed, meanwhile, while trying to survive a negligent/abusive household, absolutely would have been spending money on things most teens wouldn't have to in order to survive... and that's before getting the draft notice from the Selective Service, which took away even more control of his own life.

So I see Ed and Lorraine getting married young (even for the 50s, they're a few years younger than the median, though the war was actively driving that age down) mostly out of making the most out of what they could together. Ed putting Lorraine on his bank accounts and asking her actively to manage them while he's away, and her depositing her paychecks into his account would give her more financial control in her life than most women of the era. Lorraine's engagement ring (the size of that goddamn rock) is even an insurance policy most women her age and demographic didn't have -- often when women fled marriages, it was only with their jewelry to sell. It's half about Ed's possessive streak, half him showing he's not afraid to give her the money to run, if she needed to.

Anyway -- the trauma of their late teens and early twenties is entirely rooted in the rising Cold War anxieties and the locus of harm done to women in the 50s and I fully see their pursuit of demonology and the supernatural as something Lorraine initially started while working as a secretary for the Diocese, something she did to stay late at work and help people she could physically reach while Ed was away at war. She initially started staying late on the days she knew Father Gordon would be bringing in a scared family or terrified couple or frightened soul in through the back door hours after everyone had left, staying to pray and keep herself nearby, to be an observer to a fight she could be party to. Father Gordon figures her out quickly, of course, asking what interest she has in demons and exorcisms, and figures out she's clever with records and archives, almost to an uncanny degree.

And then figures out to exactly what uncanny degree.

After Ed came home and became the husband instead of the boyfriend, it turned into something Ed could throw all his metaphorical demons onto and a healthy way to exercise his control issues and fear and anxiety that doesn't (generally) affect Lorraine because she's fighting with him side by side in this, when before they were separated by thousands of miles -- the beginning everyone's favorite Catholic battle couple very much rooted in Ed and Lorraine parsing out who brought home metaphorical demons from the war, and who brought home literal ones, and bringing them to Father Gordon when necessary. Rooted in Ed needing to be useful, to dusting off his Catholic school Latin and reading everything he could get his hands on so that he could continue to help, continue to fight.

Lorraine would have been pregnant with Judy during the heightening tensions with Cuba and as Kennedy is sending more and more military "advisors" to Vietnam and Cold War tensions flared the hottest they'd get in the 1960s and I can just see both of their control issues revving up, especially with a few-months-old baby in the mix. Just the two of them laying bed, looking down at their three month old baby girl, wondering if they'd all get nuked tomorrow. If war would be declared tomorrow. If they'd all be dead, if they brought her into the world just to die violently. It's like taking guns off the street. They can't control the White House, or the Soviets, or Cuba or China or or or -- but they know about demons, they know about spirits, they know about taking these bombs off the battlefield, in the war of good against evil, and this is a war they can be foot soldiers in together.

Lorraine would get a bit of relief in the March of '63 when Kennedy dropped married men with children to the bottom of the draft pool, and then dropped the age of the draft pool to 26, aging Ed out of the Selective Service entirely. And then in November, JFK would be assassinated, and the photo of Jackie Kennedy covered in blood, leaving the hospital hand-in-hand with RFK, would be on the front page of every newspaper in the country. It would be a jolt for both of them -- but it wouldn't fully hit Lorraine until seven years later, when she'd have her first vision of Ed's death and fully understand Jackie Kennedy's weary, "I want them to see what they have done to Jack."

After the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution in August of 1964, they fully throw themselves into taking cases almost full time. As the war heats up, Ed pulls back from teaching art classes at the VA. If he spends too much time there, he has to face how pointless the violence has been. If he spends too much time there, now, he has to face that he still doesn't know why he survived. Why he lived, and everyone else on board the ship with him died. Because he still doesn't know, he still is fighting to make his life matter in a way that makes sense to him. All he has is his sense of duty, a couple of college credits, and his hands. On good days, he knows that he's loved -- that Lorraine loves him so much it makes it hurt to breathe, that he's a good father to his daughter, who will never be afraid of him.

Ed has a complete PTSD relapse in 1966, with the beginning of the ground war and the full-throated resurgence of the American propaganda machine and military recruitment. He's back in the guilt spiral, the "I never had it that bad, I was only in the Navy for two years, I never had it that bad," just feeding into "why did I live when everyone else I fought with died," back and forth until he can't sleep, can only sleep when Judy sleeps, accidentally ends up adapting himself to her nap schedule and has to sleep with his hand on her chest, feeling her breathe.

Lorraine calls in Chief, after Ed can't get out of bed for 72 hours and misses mass for the first time in his life. Chief, who comes up from Brooklyn to remind Ed of the time their entire ship exploded and Ed treaded water for eight hours and everyone else died. How they spent the next six months getting drunk whenever they weren't on duty and picking fights they couldn't get out of, and that one time they got thrown in the brig because Chief struck a superior asshole and Ed just followed him into the fight. (No, Lorraine does not know about that time Ed and Chief ended up in the brig. She will never know about that time. Judy will at some point in her early 20s learn about that time, when she needs to learn about how her parents are people, who have absolutely made mistakes in their lives.) "You and I spent six months drunk," Chief says, bouncing Judy on his knee in the kitchen over a cup of coffee, Ed refusing to look at him as he deep cleans the stove. "And then your dad died, and your sainted wife handled everything for you, and we realized we couldn't send you home to her like that."

"I still don't know why I lived."

Chief shrugs. "It doesn't matter why, son. The same reason any of us live, and any of us die. It doesn't matter. You have a little girl now who depends on you. She matters more than any goddamn reason -- you live for her, and your saint of a wife, and for all the people that you help. So that you can look them in the face, say you've been down in the hole that they're in now, and you know the way out."

Lorraine calls in Chief, because she absolutely picked a fight after mass that day without Ed, with Judy on her hip. Overheard Dorothy O'Malley running her mouth in the pew in front of her sounding like a national security ghoul and didn't even think before she opened her mouth and unloading the full force of her anxiety and anger on her. Only stops because she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder and Father Gordon murmuring in her ear, "Okay Mrs. Warren, you've made your point," while leading her away. It's the "Mrs. Warren" instead of the familiar "Lorraine" that jolts her back to herself, kissing Judy's head as she tries to shake herself out of it.

"Thank you," she tells Father Gordon, defeated.

He shrugs. "You don't come to confession until before Friday night prayer service. I didn't want you stewing on this all week." Pausing, he takes a moment to fondly tug on one of Judy's pig tails, making her laugh. "If Ed's not... feeling well, I know about that."

Lorraine bites her lip, knowing full and well that Father Gordon served as a chaplain in World War II. That seeing the violence of the Nazis firsthand is what convinced him that the Devil was more than a metaphor, that evil truly walked the Earth. Sent him on his own path, chasing darkness.

Lorraine nods.

"I could talk to him," Father Gordon says. "But it would likely come better from someone he served with."

When she gets home, she finds Chief's number in their phone book, and calls Brooklyn for the first and last time. He comes up the next day, and shoos her out of the house to do something for herself for the first time in months, telling her that he's more than equipped to look after a single three year old.

Ed goes back to teaching at the VA a few months after that, teaching art to the new round of mentally scarred children returning from war. He concedes to group therapy, and a few sessions with the VA psychiatrist to get something to take the edge off. He teaches at the VA until the troop withdrawals in 1970, reducing his class load as he and Lorraine take on more and more cases -- verging towards a hundred a year -- for the Catholic Church, and the media attention that comes along with that, the publicity engagements that help keep their bills paid, the articles and academic talks.

Even still, Ed occasionally brings home someone for dinner, just to make sure that they've only brought metaphorical demons home from war with them, not literal ones.

Sometimes it's literal ones.

#ask #rikertroi #otp: i forgot my pills #emily watches the conjuring #i cannot believe that Sam was just like #''I am going to give Emily an excuse to use her degree and hurt people''#this got... so very long

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i-rosemarie · 3 years

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Am I the only one who ship VampBite?

As in Reyna x Viper?

They don't have that many interaction, but from what I've scavenged, Reyna is the only who dares to tease Viper - The grumpy, anti-social scientist.

- "ah, Viper~ Must you always play with your food?"

The way Reyna said this line when Viper carried the team is so sensual, even more so when she flirts with Sage. And personally, I would like to think that under the dark mask, my Sabine is blushing.

It would be poetic, putting two dominant women together and watching them getting closer, then fall in love.

At first, they couldn't stand each other presence since Viper considered Reyna as a reckless bimbo who always charges headfirst into the battle and disobeys her orders. Viper didn't like how Reyna constantly teases her for being too uptight and Reyna couldn't help herself from trying to annoy the hell out of the grumpy, control freak scientist.

-> There's something about the other woman intrigued them. And they just couldn't deny the attraction. They was drawn to each other like a moth to the flame.

They have very different fighting styles, but somehow, Reyna always got Viper's back whenever she goes. Though they thought they hate each other, they still secretly love it when they got paired up together.

-> They feel safe when being around the other one, which is rich, coming from the world they're living in.

Slowly but surely, Reyna found out about Viper's tragic past. Being tortured by the Kingdom to steal her achievement. Being forced to be the lab rat of all the venom and toxins she had created. Being scarred for life by the one she worked with. Reyna's blinding rage boiled her blood, craving revenge for her Serpiente. Her desire to protect her Sabine was stronger and stronger day by day, to the point she's even willing to take the bullet for the chemist who was in danger, in the middle of the battle field.

To say Viper was angry and worried out of her mind was an understatement. She too had developed some kind of feeling toward the Evil Temptress, Vampire Queen. The Chemist loved it every time Reyna addressed her by her real name with that low, rich and sensual mexican accent. She loved it when Reyna slung an arm over her shoulder with a flirty wink when the mission was done. Late night banters at the chemist lab, where Reyna always comes finding Viper with 2 trays of food on her hands. She even loved it when Reyna fought her authority to come up with another attacking plan. Normally, Viper would find it annoying as fuck. But somehow, Reyna made everything in her body tingled in both anger snd arousal.

When Reyna felt on the ground, Viper almost when crazy. Her toxins were released and covered the whole battle ground. She mercilessly kill every Kingdom Soldiers around while carefully secured Reyna's body against her. The great Viper who pride herself from never showing emotion was a wreck. She ripped out her mask for Reyna to wear. Her small hands press hard at the gunshot wound and she was begging Reyna to open her eyes. Everything around her sizzled like a pool of snake's venom, deadly. Viper was in pain, and she acted out.

-> The mission gone wrong finally had Viper coming to term with her feeling for the Vampire Agent. Her toxic heart was yearning for Reyna. Every teases, every little winks Reyna sent, every small gestures of care, late night at the chemistry lab together, Viper finally excepted that, She's in love.

The team, along with Sage, came a little too late. They found the terrifying scene covered by toxin and poisoned smoke with Viper holding Reyna like holding her dear life. They could hear Viper whimper, saying something that made even the nesrly unconscious Reyna shook. Had they known, Viper was begging Reyna to rip out a half of her soul to feed. Reyna needed the soul, and Viper was willingly offered. If she could pull her soul out herself and give it to Reyna, she would.

Reyna, even in the stage of dizziness by the blood lost and hungry for soul, she tried to comfort a very near crying Viper. She tried her best with the mask on her face. Hell, she could never take Viper's soul. She could never hurt her cariño. Never in her wildest dream. So she was thankful when the team rushed in, right into the toxin pool around Viper and bring her to the aircraft. It took Viper sometimes to realize that Brimstone and Sage were not the enemies, and she let Reyna go. But Viper couldn't stay away long. She was by Reyna's side the whole ride to the base to the time she was back in her compartment.

Reyna took comfort that Viper was by her side the whole time. Her dead heart felt like it could beat again for her Sabine. Between the pain and the desire to kiss that venomous little mouth of her Serpiente, she felt drowsy. And when she's finally felt asleep, a scarred hand, gloves free, was caressing her cheek with adoration and love. Reyna slept well that day.

The morning after, Reyna woke up with a pleasant surprise. Her little Serpiente was sleeping, holding Reyna's hand. Her shorthair felt on her face like a curtain, so soft, so inviting. There was a little crease between her eyebrows. Viper didn't fall asleep carefree. Reyna's heart ache for the chemist. She wanted to kiss her forehead, she wanted to say she's alright. She wanted her princessa to be happy and safe. She didn't want Viper to be in pain.

It was all good until Viper woke up. She gone from worried to rage. The Serpentine rage level was high enough for her whole body to glow up in an odd shade of green. "What the hell were you thinking, Deliah!? You could have die! Fuck! You could have die and I'm not fucking worth it!..."

Reyna caught her hand in the middle of the air, took some effort, of course, and pulled the angry Viper on her body. That action effectively silenced her. Reyna could practically felt her love for Sabine was about to burst out of her chest, so she kissed her. Reyna kissed Viper with her whole heart and soul. Viper was shocked into oblivion, she freezed. But not for long. With Reyna's little strokes on her body, Viper started to reciprocate. Their lips moved together perfectly until the Serpiente couldn't breathe. She panted, getting all hot and bother by the way Reyna was touching her. From her hips to her lower back to her ribcages, Viper felt like the she's on fire.

"You worth it, and I would take a thousand more bullets for you if I could, mi alma. I love you... I love you... I love you, mi cielito, mi vida."

-> After that day, they become the power couple of the compound. Everything Sabine does, she has her Deliah to have her back. They're sickeningly sweet when they're together. Although Viper would express her love with snarky comments, Reyna always uses those Spanish sensual nicknames to soothe her Serpiente. They turn disagreement into lovers squarrel and often end up in their bedroom, with Viper screaming Reyna's name until sunrise. Sometimes they think Viper would purposely tick Reyna off to spice things up. And Reyna would do the same thing, if not more frequently.

I'm just a sucker for 2 HBIC to have a soft spot for each other and fall in love. That's all 🤣

#valorant #vampbite #reyna valorant #Reyna #Viper Valorant #Viper #Sage Valorant #Agents of Valorant #HBIC in love #headcanon #I'm a sucker for Reyna's mexican accent #Viper please walk on me #Deliah #Sabine #kingdom

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toukenramblings · 3 years

Text

Immortal Saniwa | Heshikiri Hasebe, Shokudaikiri Mitsutada, Yamatonokami Yasusada

Anon asked: may i have some hcs with hasebe, shoku, and yamatonokami with a technically-immortal saniwa who's cursed to life after a run in with an angry spirit? if they do the thing the spirit wants to, they'll die, but they've watched their family and friends die in front of them... so it's kinda up to them, now that they have a basically-immortal family of item spirits at their side. if this prompt is to depressing, feel free to skip it- no pressure :)

Nonnie, galaxy brain. I love you.

Warning: Mentions of death, sad sword bois, pretty short idk man im bad at this, nothing but angst, maybe hurt-comfort >:) @rexcaliburechoes

Do allow me to set the stage, dear Saniwas.

Ah, pity thee, who is alive and alone for oh so long. Friends and family gone, aging and you never did. You held their hand as they passed, felt their pulses and hearts give out, watch as the light leaves their eyes and their spirits pass on.

How cruel it was for that spirit to curse you like this, know the pain of living on as the people you love pass. Tears gone, you had none left. Your heart almost hiding away.

Alone, and alone again. Why else did you sign up to become a saniwa. To isolate yourself away from the changing world, the mortal realm that only causes nothing but pain and sorrow. You were the first to sign up, you knew the citadel is a safe haven. Perhaps you could die this way? Throwing yourself into a fight that may seem endless? None of the less, you had a duty to do. a world to protect.

You didn’t want to make bonds, the government didn’t want you to. These are tools after all. But you are a kind soul and these men are just...wormed their damn way into your heart, unfreezing it, bringing it back to life, a garden growing in that once barren field.

And then that person showed up in your life.

Heshikiri Hasebe

He’s always had an inkling that you were...not normal. If you had gotten hurt, even if it was something minor, your wound would heal oh so rapidly. Of course, Hasebe would worry about your safety none the less but he cannot help but figure out that something is oh so terribly wrong with you. He won’t pry into your life but he will always tell you that if you want a shoulder to cry on, he is there.

Because it is because he is a tsukumogami and not human as well, he can pick up on the subtle..impurities around you. A curse. He could have Ishikirimaru purify it but it almost seems to hang around you, ingrained into your blood, weaving into your veins and tying itself to your soul. Somewhat similar to Nikkari’s aura but different all the same. They know that if they purify you, you’ll drop dead.

And then Hasebe’s feelings happen.

The fear he sees in your eyes when he confesses to you almost makes him want to shrivel away and die. He wants to take it back, run away and hide, but you almost do the same. You ask for time to think about this, and Hasebe will wait until the end of the world for you DAMN IT.

You two confess and of course you tell him about you being...pretty much immortal and Hasebe takes it surprisingly well. You are his master after all, he would say as he presses a kiss to the tip of your forehead. “It only means that we can stay together longer now, and I will forever be by your side.” it’s almost an oath at this point.

Every day you two have together is nothing short of bliss. Calm, comforting, drinking in every moment you two have. Hasebe has sworn not to die, to come back from missions and back to you. He will never perish, or let anyone else die when he is on a mission. He knows that you cannot handle such a thing, no damn way is he going to let it happen.

Oh sweet sweet Hasebe knows that he is a tool, and by the end of this long war that has span for far too long. He knows that by the end of this the government will be at your door, banging on the walls and demanding you to return the swords to the government where they belonged. He refuses to leave though. His home is at your side, come hell or high water. He will fight to the end of his breath to always be with you.

Hasebe will always be there if you want to talk, if you begin to cry, oh so gently will he wrap you up in his arms, shushing you and pressing sweetest of kisses to your head.

Those times when you have nightmares break his heart, he would rather face three thousand ootachis than to see you cry.

“I...do not know if you see it like this, beloved. But, I adore you, and as do the rest of the citadel. Please, if you allow us, will you allow us to be your new family?”

Shokudaikiri Mitsutada

Compared to Hasebe’s tiptoeing around the subject of your immortality, Micchan will kinda do the same? He will notice that you are so much more different and he knows that you are hiding something. He knows that feeling oh too well, look at himself and his scars and his eye. Gods know he is ashamed of those burns of his. He won’t push you to tell him anything and of course he will wait for you to come to him. Gods forgive anything that makes you push away from him. Of course he will give you treats, a bribe maybe? No, he just wants to let you know that he is there.

When you tell him that you are an immortal, Shokudaikiri’s first instinct is to hug you. He knows how it is to be oh so lonely and lost, seeing the lives of people disappear under the blink of an eye. The earthquake took many lives, and he knows that feeling of loneliness well. “I’m sorry.” he would whisper, a hand on your head. “I know how it feels to be lonely like that, but I am here for you, always.” was it a love confession? Perhaps. But he swears it right then and there, you will never feel lonely in this citadel ever again. Gods no, he won’t let it happen. He will rope everyone in the citadel into his shenanigans if he must.

When Micchan finds out about his feelings for you, he accepts it and waits for the right time to confess. When you return his feelings, Micchan is over the moon!!! Of course the relationship you two have is already pretty damn domestic so it’s not like anything changes much.

When you are ready to open up about your past, so will Micchan. He may take a lil bit longer because of his own issues of self worth but he is more than willing to support you all the way.

His first thought of you having a curse is for Ishikirimaru to do something about it, but since he worries that they would lose you, he won’t do it. Of course he will talk over it with you first.

With that vow of never having you feel lonely ever again, whenever he’s gone, he has someone look out for you. Be it a tantou or someone else you’re close to.

Micchan also makes that vow to never let anyone else break while out on missions. If he has to take the brunt of attacks, damn right he will. Patch him up during this time, love, he’ll enjoy it.

Nightmares between you are a silent and almost sacred time. One of you will wake up with a scream, the other will jolt awake and hugs are soon passed between you two. Soft whispers, tears, tight embraces, and chatter of the past if you two are up for it. Micchan will hold you tight and comfort you as much as he possibly can.

Like Hasebe, Micchan knows that the end may be nigh for any of them. Be it death or taken away by the government. No way is he going to let any of this shit happen though.

“This is our family now,” he would say, while kissing your fingers. “It’s a little crazy and rowdy, but it is ours...do not forget that, love.”

Yamatonokami Yasusada

Oh Yams knows what death feels like, rusting away in the grass instead of being returned to Okita-kun’s family in the end. He knows what it’s like to see the world pass and people die, before joining them in the end. Even if he is you TouDan now, he still feels that phantom pain. So when he finds out that you’re practically immortal, Yams breathes out a heavy sigh of relief.

You won’t die from illness, bless everything in the world for that! You can be alive and don’t have to feel the pain of physically wasting away and cannot do anything about it. You cannot feel helpless as your mind slips, your eyes close, and everything shuts down. But instead the pain you feel is almost worse than what Yamatonokami felt. Yes he watched Okita-kun perish, right beside him, a slow and painful death. But you have seen it happen, over and over and over. At this point he cannot help but worry about you.

He won’t say much to alert you to this, but will always have his hand find yours and give it a soft squeeze and a gentle smile. Like Shoku and Hasebe, he will offer you a shoulder to cry on. He won’t push you of course, but will always be there for you. He’s much more verbal about it though, suddenly bringing you into a sweet hug and this sweet sweet smile.

He swore to not let anything happen to you like Okita, or worse. But when he catches damn feelings for you, oh no he panics. He begins to avoid you yes, just to sort things out. But when he confesses, it’s alone and sweet, with a bouquet of flowers and maybe with some sort of sentimental gift.

“I know it’s difficult being...immortal and all, but I never want you to feel the pain of death, physically at least. I want to be by your side for as long as I can! Will you...will you allow me to do so?”

Yams is much more outgoing than Hasebe and Shoku above, expect him and Kiyomitsu to be always around you, Kashuu because he wants your attention constantly, Yams because he’s your partner in love! Kashuu will get a weeeee bit jelly of how close you two are but as long as you two are happy, he is happy! Whenever Yams is gone, it’s always you and Kashuu to spend time together.

Yams considers everyone at the citadel his family anyway and will make sure to involve you more in their affairs. He wants you to be happy most of all!

Oh sweet sweet Yams’ nightmares are...almost soul rending. When he wakes up with a scream, he will almost claw at his skin to ensure that he isn’t rusting over, perishing into dust. He will be there if you have nightmares of the death of others and your past though, as said he never wants you to go through any sort of emotional turmoil from now on. He would rather rust away again than to let you cry like this.

The end of the fight scares Yams like no other. Like Kashuu, he does have some abandonment issues, since he was kinda left in a field to rot after all. So whenever he worries about this, he always takes your hand and promises that no matter what, he’ll be happy to spend his last days with you.

“I love you so so much! I...I don’t care what happens to us in the end, as long as I can be with you, I will be happy.”

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strangerobin · 3 years

Text

Rue: Chapter 1 (A Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

Summary:

Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you. To spend a lifetime with you. Body and soul.

A chance encounter reunites two lost lovers centuries after their devastating break up. One hardened by life and providence, has forgotten what it is to love and be loved; while the other though hurt by love, has lost neither hope nor heart. When the two worlds collide once again, will it be disaster waiting to happen, or the brink of a new horizon?

Stolen away just nights before their wedding, Jasper had mourned the loss of his lover, Adeline, for centuries. Until a similar face showed up one day out of the blue, just as beautiful and just as youthful.

But you know that I could never stay.

No amount of love or the ring you put on my finger will ever change that.

Save it. Save it for another that will be dearest to your heart, someone who could love you equally, unconditionally, honestly.

For I am underserving. I have much in my life that I wish I could explain to you. Yet this back has been carrying far more that it was made to shoulder already. And I cannot possibly burden you with anymore than you deserve.

So I will go. I will not shackle you to a life of secrets and miseries. Nor will I bind you to eternal gloom and slaughter your happiness, take your sun and hide your moon.

Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you.

To spend a lifetime with you.

Body and soul.

He took a deep shuddering breath, trying in futile to calm the anguish that was threatening to leak out of his body.

For a moment, he thought his dead heart was ready to burst anytime. But of course his heart had long since ceased its beating, and It had only left with him an equally terrible sense of emptiness.

Why had he decided to go over this again? To rip open scars that were long buried. Old memories that he should long have concealed, lost somewhere in the ocean of his long pitiful existence. He thought he’d be over this by now, after the millionth time. But clearly some things never truly die away.

With care he produced from a small velvet pouch-

A single diamond ring.

It glittered under the moon, splaying the light of a million rainbow everywhere it touched.

Just like how her eyes had shone that day.

When he got down on one knee and proposed to her.

Her mouth agape, lips quivering, staring at him in shock and disbelief. His stomach had churned then when she had simply stood there, dumbfounded; worried that he had taken a wrong move, that she did not love him enough to want to be tied down with him. That perhaps he was still too young, too poor to offer her the life that she deserved.

But then a single tear had dropped from her eyes.

And it was followed by another, and another.

He was thrown in a panic by then, unsure of the mistake he had committed but ready to make any amend just to stop the onslaught of her tears.

Except she had then tackled him to the ground, laughing amidst her tears. Murmuring into his ears, the answer that had only mattered to him.

Yes, yes, yes.

She had kissed him so ferociously that day, stealing his breath away as if she herself would be stolen away the next moment.

A thousand times yes.

And stolen she was indeed.

Left alone in the cold morning light, sheets crumpled from the night they had shared, her scent still lingering in the air. His heart had froze, left with only an emptiness that would rage within him for the next two centuries.

She had only left with him a note and her wedding ring.

Hers. Not his; because he could not tolerate the thought of it being anything else.

And an everlasting memory that would haunt him for the rest of eternity. An aching want and need, a desire left unsaid in the dead of the night.

In those terrible formative years, when he had just been turned, night after nights he would imagine the ghost of a lip, tracing up his spine. Warm breaths at his neck; the touch of a hand, cupping his face gently, as if he were made of glass. Sweet-nothings whispered, empty promises of a life that could have been, might have been. Except none of them were real and every one of which only a figment of his imagination and memory.

Some night he would go on a killing spree, desperate to escape from memories of her that had long since turned into a never-ending nightmare, his raging storm of emotions.

A century and a half later, there were still nights like these, nights where he would meticulously finger the exquisite cravings over her engagement ring. Her name a silent mantra, a prayer from his mouth to the gods he had once worshipped and forsaken.

The pain had dampen over the years but the scars had remained. And the memories still fresh. New companionship may have eased him out of his shell of sorrow. But while he may hold another in his arms now, how could he love anyone in half? When he had long since given away half of his soul to the one who had claimed as hers on that fateful day.

But that was another story for another day.

And his pitiful being could not bear the grief all at once on any given nights; it was alright to remember in portions and halves. That way he would not lose his mind to the remembrance of her then. The one he had lost but must continue to solider on without.

“Oh Adeline.”

“My sweet Adeline, why must you torture me so?”

On the run.

It seemed she was always on the run these days.

No permanent roof ever above her head; even the feeling of a soft pillow and a down quilt seemed foreign to her now. She was more familiar with green moss beneath her head and the stars as her canopy; clothes she snagged from stores, and meals of little preys here and there now. She was always careful not to leave a trace.

Stopping over at the riverbed to cleanse her dusty face; she mulled over her circumstances.

Family they- he, her father had called her.

And yet it was also him who made her life a living hell.

Always asking, always demanding for a hand, a chore to be done, her duties to him as her father, mentor, creator. And when she could not tolerate his iron fist of a control, she did the only thing she was good at.

She ran.

Companionship. Father had told her once. No one can live for long without companionship.

She would’ve proved him wrong then. Scoffed at him. Told him that creatures like them did not deserve anything but misery, and least of all a hint of humanity. Only humans crave company; they had sinned far too much to be deserving of any.

How much blood must be spilled, to satisfy his want for his so called companionships?

But even at times, she had been tempted. A short stay in a town, a job, an education, a short fling. Mindless chatters, a warm embrace to fall asleep to at night. Anything to make herself forget just for awhile how different she was, how she could never blend in with anyone. How over the years she had lost so much, she thought she might as well have lost her heart.

Except her strange family. Whom she completely despised. Mostly.

Ah how she missed those good old days. That one summer when everything was golden and life was simple; the scorching Texan sun, the swaying wheat fields, the straw thatch cottage and its warm hearth and Hettie’s hearty soups, Ralph’s incessant chatter. And those gentle brown eyes and that mop of flaxen hair, shining like golden peat in the summer sun-

She would not let her mind wander there now.

Lock the doors and throw away the key.

She needed to stay vigilant. Her family were not the only ones she was running from. There were more dangerous and mysterious beings out there, ones she did not dare cross. Every little shift in the air, whiff of smell was a signal to her instinct. Even a falling leave could be a sign of the things to come. And right now they were telling her to head north, pass the borders, and into the Canada. There would be ample food and her family would not think to look for her there. In time, she might be able to join a small community, live a life for a little while before moving on to the next.

Keep inland, you’ll be safe. Her instinct whispered.

But she wanted to see the ocean. And the Pacific Northwest coast was a marvel. She knew of a coven near the peninsula; but surely if she stayed to herself, she should be able to cross into Vancouver without a hitch?

Keep inland.

Her instinct only whispered on.

It was the scent she came across first.

The sweet invigorating smell of vanilla and washed linen, that of a babe’s. She froze unnaturally amidst her stroll; this was not the scent of a human, it was… it reminded her of her siblings. Of her kind.

Turnawayturnawayturnaway-

But curiosity got the better of her.

Surely, just surely, a glimpse would not hurt. There shouldn’t be any out there like her. None of the old kinds had the knowledge of… Father had confirmed of this. Or was he mistaken?

And as she tracked the child’s scent; she came into a large clearing of blooming heathers, yet not even the overwhelming floral scent could overpower the child’s scent.

There in the gleaming sun was a child of twelve or thirteen, bronze curls flowing in the air as she twirled around in peals of laughter. Her porcelain skin illuminated; and her heart was thrumming like a little hummingbird.

‘It cannot be.’ She whispered to herself in a daze.

Gasping, the child turned towards her at once, clearly finally discovering that she was alone no more. Initially agitated, the child was quick to drop her caution when she noted how the stranger was still in a trance, staring agape at her. Nor did she miss the equally alluring scent of the intruder, her soft glowing skin and the quick humming of her heart.

Timidly, the child shuffled towards her eyeing her with curiosity. Until the two were face to face each other, apprising the other.

“Are you perhaps…” Like me? Was the unvoiced question.

“Dear God, Child.” She finally found the strength within to muster a few shaky breaths of words, disbelief evidently dominating her countenance. “How is this possible?”

With shaking hands she cupped the child’s cheeks, tenderly stroking the smoothness of her cheeks and soaking up the warmth.

“What of your maker?” She swallowed thickly. “Is he treating you well, Child?”

“Do you mean my Mum and Dad, Miss?” The child furrowed her pretty brows. “They should be just around I think. If you would like to meet them…”

That broke her out of her trance and she immediately straightened her stance. This was dangerous, she was treading on thin ice. A child like her kind would not be left unguarded, her guardians were nearby and no doubt treasured her greatly, judging from her clean attire and priciness of her garments. Any contact would be deemed a threat. She had already overstayed her welcome. And she did not want a fight. Sure she was quick and escaping and hiding had always been a forte of hers, but should she engage in battle, there was no telling if she could even gain upper hand long enough for her to run.

“I must go.” She muttered gravely to the child.

“Wait Miss!” The child chirped in a sing-song manner, unaware of the gravity of the situation. “I’m sure Mum and Dad will be delighted to meet you! And grandpa he-“

Shit. Was this the coven Father had mentioned before?

The idea of meeting an entire coven made her stomach churn. She did not quite understand how the child had come to be, nor did she understand how the Volturi would allow such a coven to exist in plain sight. And she did not intend to find out.

“Child. Child!” She hissed, surveying her surrounding in caution now. “Listen, you must take care. There are people out there who will harm you without a thought or a blink. You must be careful, don’t be so trustworthy of any strangers now.”

She looked the child dead in the eye then.

“Not even me.”

“But you didn’t hurt me! I know you wouldn’t! And aren’t we the same?” The child pleaded imploringly.

“No, not even your kind. And certainly not me.” She smoothed the child’s hair gently and tucked them behind her ear. “Trust no one. Not even your makers.”

“That’s just sad then.” The child replied solemnly.

She stood up and straightened her jacket. “Well, it's a sad and pitiful existence that we lead, Child.” She smiled bitterly then and turned to go. “One day you’ll know.”

She was just about to run when she felt a tuck at her sleeves. Turning sharply, she eyed the child in confusion.

“My name’s Renesmee, Miss. What’s yours?”

She grimaced slightly; well so much for telling the child off, she mused.

“Adeline, my name’s Adeline, Child.”

In hindsight, Adeline really should have seen the attack coming. Her instincts had been screaming at her the whole time after all.

But in a moment of distraction, she had heeded her instincts too late. She did manage to subdue the attack at her jugular with a block, but was still hurled halfway across the clearing. Twisting her body, she managed to land in a crouch; eyes trained on her attacker. He was a strong built man- vampire, tall and handsome, the usual package. And she was surprised to find his eyes golden, not that there was much time to marvel at it. His crouching stance indicated that he was ready for battle and he bared his fangs at her, guarding his child protectively

“Stay away from my daughter.” He growled.

Adeline couldn’t help but rolled her eyes. “That, I had every intention of doing.”

“Stop! Dad! Stop!” She could hear the child- Renesmee crying in the distance. But there was no time for that now.

Leftleftleftleftleft-

Turning to her left, she kicked a pouncing werewolf right in the gut, slamming it into a nearby tree. Right. And then threw a punch at the female vampire that was ready to lunge at her right. Down. Blocked another blow. Shoulder. Landed a hit on shoulder of the she-vampire. Duck. Barely escaped from the wolf’s pouncing attack. Roll. And managed to withdraw herself from the fighting two.

With a final glance at the father and child; Adeline focused her mind in concealing herself before darting out of the clearing.

Promising to herself to avoid the Pacific Northwest at all cost from now on. Wary of the rest of the coven she would find there.

Not to mention the wolves.

And that was how Adeline came across the Cullens for the very first time.

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale x reader #twilight imagine #twilight #angst #more angst

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

The Widow 🖤

Warnings: nonconsent (fingering and intercourse)

This is dark!(mob)Buckyand explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: It’s the 1920s and everyone’s having a roaring time but you.

Note: What is this? A one shot? Possible series? I’m posting this at 930 pm and I don’t even know anymore. But anyway, hope you enjoy.

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You thought yourself fortunate not to have worn black for Billy during the war, but the day had come regardless. You clutched his dog tags as the rain poured over your hat and soaked through your wool coat. Painfully ironic to think he evaded a thousand bullets in France just to catch one at home.

An unfortunate ending followed by an even more tragic send-off. No one but you and the priest. None of the corpsmen could make it to the funeral and his family hadn’t spoken to him since well before the war. It was better they stayed on their farm and tended their fields. They always said Billy would die in the city.

Would they be smug to know they were right or sorry for it?

You stared at the casket as the wet dirt was piled atop it. Each landed with a duller thump than the last. The police officer told you they found him in an alley. You supposed it was better than a bloated corpse at the bottom of a river. At least you knew he was gone. You could move on… but to what?

When there was nothing left to mark Billy but a flat headstone and a low mound of dirt, the priest left. He offered you a ride but you refused. You needed to be alone. You had to get used to that.

You didn’t move until you heard the thunder. You glanced up at the howling sky and felt the cold metal on your finger. Billy bought the ring after he came home; you’d spent the war with a loop of twine as its placeholder.

His job at the banker saw him well in those first months after but he was always a man who wanted more. You warned him against the thoughts you saw twinkling in his eyes. One night a week he went down to the speakeasy and gambled; never enough to see you out of more than a loaf of bread or two. He liked the thrill, though surely the danger lured him more.

You overheard him on the phone. He was helping the men down at the drinking hole case the bank. A one time hit wasn’t going to keep him so long as his teller position. You argued as he tried to wiggle out of a thin lie; you misheard him. It ended with him promising you nothing would happen.

Maybe he had been honest. Maybe he tried to back out and got the bullet as his penance. You couldn’t know for sure but what you did was that it was those men at the speakeasy who did this to him. They had paid him with a coffin; not a very nice one as you couldn’t afford more than pine.

You trudged away, your heeled boots wet from toe to ankle. You tore your veil from your hat and let the rain run down your face. You still hadn’t cried. Why?

You neared the brick building and let yourself in. You climbed up to the small apartment you and Billy shared. Had shared. You shoved the key in and your numbness disappeared all at once. It was unlocked. Through the muffled thunder and constant patter, you could hear movement within. It was too late to turn back as the door opened from the other side.

The man who greeted you wore a finely tailored suit;grey lined with blue. He stared back at you, his mouth a firm line framed by his square jaw. You swung without thinking, the chain that held Billy’s tags still around your fingers. The stranger caught your hand just before it could hit him and one of the metal tags bounced off his chin.

“Hey,” He grabbed your other arm and wrestled with you. “What are you doing?”

“Get off,” You struggled as his arms slipped around you and crushed you against his chest. Your arms were trapped between your bodies as he grunted. “Help me! Someone--”

“No one’s gonna help ya, doll,” He sneered. “Even if they do hear ya.”

“Stop!” You tried to wriggle free. “Please, I don’t know what you want but--”

“I want you to be still. You won’t like it if I have to make you.” He squeezed until the air was forced from your lungs. He was terribly strong. “And you seem like a lady’s who faced enough pain today.”

“What do you want?” You gasped as you tried to stomp his foot blindly.

“Not gonna tell you until you calm down.” He insisted.

You bared your teeth and reluctantly stilled. You glared at him and huffed. “Just take whatever it is you’re looking for. Please. I just buried my husband… maybe you’ll do me the favour of digging me in next to him.”

The tension in his jaw relented just as little as he looked at you. He pulled you through the door and turned around so that he was between you and the hallway. He let you go and kicked the door shut. You gripped the chain tighter.

“Now don’t you go trying that shit again,” He scowled as his hand settled on his hip just above a pistol. “I really don’t wanna hurt you, doll.”

“That’s not my name,” You bristled. “Now tell me what you’re doing here.”

You turned your head as you heard shuffling from the other room. He was silent as he listened too.

“You’re Billy’s wife?” He asked.

“Widow,” You corrected. “Though I suspect you knew that already. Now tell me--”

“What’s your name then, doll?”

You reluctantly told him and he gave you his; Bucky, as his men knew him.

“Come, sit,” He gestured you further in. “I said calm down.”

You pursed your lips and slowly turned around. You entered the front room and frowned. The sofa was the only piece of furniture not overturned. You crossed your arms and as you neared it.

“You should take that coat off,” He intoned. “You’ll get a cold sitting in that.”

You didn’t respond, merely unbuttoned the wool jacket and slung it over the arm of the sofa. You slipped the tags in your pocketbook and set it atop the coat. You sat and looked to him as he tucked his hands in his pockets. He strode around the room as the noise of intrusion continued from the other room.

“How long were you married to good old Billy?” He asked.

“Does it matter?” You said.

“Judging by the photos,” He neared the corner and lifted a cracked frame, “I’d say you’ve been with him since before the war. That’s a long time. At least eight years together, wed or not.”

“What are you looking for?” You asked.

“Something that if you knew, you’d not tell me anyway,” He considered the picture as he neared. “And poor Billy took to his grave. My condolences.”

You scoffed and unpinned your hat. You tossed it onto the floor with the rest of the mess.

“I don’t want them,” You hissed. “So better get on with your search and leave me alone. Not taking any of this mess with me, anyway.”

“Taking it with you?” He repeated. “And where would you be going?”

“Don’t see how that’s of concern to you,” You countered.

He chuckled and looked around. He grabbed the armchair and righted it before dragging it over. He sat before you and leaned forward.

“Billy definitely learned a lot from that bank. If you must know, he lifted some money off my organisation and with the amount left outstanding, you’d have quite the life.” He said. “So you leaving all sudden is suspicious, isn’t it?”

“My husband is dead. I haven’t a job and I can’t pay the rent with grief.” You replied. “I’d say it’s practical.”

He smiled and leaned back as he crossed his legs. He bit his thumb as he watched you. Your possessions crashed and shattered in the other room. You looked at the clock then the window. The sky was grey and foreboding.

“So, if you got no money, where would you be going?” He asked at last.

“Again, I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” You uttered.

He tapped his bottom lip with his fingertips. He nodded and reached into his jacket. He checked the time and stood.

“Stay.” He jabbed his finger towards you. “You won’t make it far.”

You sighed and looked at your lap. His footsteps walked down the hall and his voice followed.

“It’s not here, Steve.” He said. “He was foolish but not stupid. He wouldn’t hide it under his pillow.”

There was an answer but you didn’t listen. Billy stole money and in return he got a bullet. Just another small town boy dead in the city. And he hadn’t even told you. You were all alone, penniless, and soon to be homeless.

“Head back to house, have the men scour the city. Worse comes to worse, we visit that fancy little bank,” The voices grew louder and you looked up as another man appeared from the hallway.

His dark blonde hair was slicked back and his blue eyes twinkled in contrast to his black suit. He peeked over at you then back to the other man. He lifted a brow but shrugged.

“Alright, boss,” He said. “See ya there?”

“Shortly,” The other assured and followed him to the door.

When the second man left, the first closed the door and turned the lock. He returned to you and pulled the chair aside. He began to pace again as he thought. You stood and he turned to you abruptly. He raised a hand.

“Where are you going?”

“You going to be here all day?” You wondered.

“Bit of patience,” He coaxed. “I was only trying to think of a way to help a poor widow such as yourself.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“But you need it.” He smirked.

You stared at him. The curve of his lips made your stomach curdle.

“The way I see it, your man’s gone. Got himself killed for being a thief.” He neared you slowly, “Most men of my stature would go so far as you see you in the ground next to him… but I am not any man.”

You watched him uneasily as he stopped before you.

“Well, now you’re gonna need one of two things. A job,” He held up a finger, “Or a man. And I can see that you get neither in this city without my say so.” He flicked up a second finger then suddenly turned his hand. He cupped your face in his palm as his thumb rubbed along your lip. “I’m not hiring though so I suppose I can offer the latter.”

You shoved him away and stumbled back. “You killed my husband. Why would I--”

“He got himself killed and while I bid the trigger pulled, I didn’t do it myself,” He argued. “Hard snake to catch, that Billy.”

“Get out of my apartment.” You demanded. “What you want isn’t here so go!”

“Oh but what I want is here,” He trailed you as you stormed to the door. “Because if I can’t have what Billy took from me, I’ll have what’s left of his in this world.”

You unlocked the door and opened it just an inch before he slammed it shut with his hand. You turned to slap him but your hand froze as the barrel of a gun gaped back at you. You dropped your arm and leaned against the door. He slowly lowered the pistol and dragged the muzzle along your neck and chest.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep ya better than he did.” He slithered. “Place like this? Nothing to what I can give ya.”

“Please, go--”

“You know, I was hoping to be out of here before you got back. I hate dealing with widows, but you, oh, I see what Billy saw… and more,” He carefully sheathed his pistol at his belt. “I can see why he wanted to give you more. Give you everything.”

His arm rested against the door beside your head as he got even closer. You could taste his breath on your lips.

“I’m gonna give you everything and then some.” He growled.

He bent suddenly and scooped you up. He forced himself between your legs as he pushed you against the door. You beat on his shoulders as he pressed his lips to yours. You grunted helplessly as his hand crawled beneath your skirt and past your stocking. He played with your garter as his tongue poked between your lips.

You bit down but he was quick. He pulled away before you could catch his tongue and he sneered.

“You make me bleed, I’ll have to make you bleed,” He pinched your thigh. “And you don’t want that.”

His hand crept up your pelvis and he gripped the top of your underwear. He tore them easily as his other hand kept your right leg propped up against his hip. You grasped at his suit and begged as the heat pricked at your flesh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” He purred as he bent and nipped at your throat. “Better than he did.”

You grunted between your teeth, unable to free yourself from between him and the door. His fingers slid down your folds and pushed deeper as he drew them back up. He twirled them around your bud and you shuddered. You closed your eyes in shame as your body spasmed.

“Woman like you can’t be alone,” He cooed. “And I can tell you don’t wanna be.”

He flicked his fingers back and forth until you were writhing, your nails embedded in his blazer as you bit down on your lip. He rescinded his hand and fumbled with the front of his trousers. His buckle clinked loudly and stoked another wave of panic in you.

He was quick to line himself up with your entrance. You brought your hand up to claw at his face and he just as swiftly batted it away before he gripped his cock once more. He pushed inside as his other hand released your thigh and went to your throat. Your leg remained hooked over his hip as he sank to his limit.

You whined and he thrust sharply. You threw your head back against the door and scratched at his shoulders. He kept his pace slow and steady, as if to tease, knowingly drawing the pleasure from you as the friction filled you with a terrible fullness.

He choked you harder as he sped up little by little. You could barely rasp past his clutch but your strangled moans escaped nonetheless. You closed your eyes and tried not to think of how thin the walls were; how clearly any in the hall could hear if they happened to pass by.

You couldn’t bear it anymore as your core began to pulse. You slapped his shoulders as you came and the tension snapped in a whirlwind. You drowned in the waves of ecstasy as he fucked you harder and harder. Your pitiful mewls only seemed to feed his lust and your shame.

The door shook as he fucked you against it, his head beside yours as he trapped you between him and the wood. His groans were wild and loud. He nibbled at your ear as his hand slid down to your chest and cupped your tit through your black dress.

His other hand hit the door in a fist as he cried out and your eyes sprang open. His body quaked as he spilled inside of you. His body twitched as he slowed and he threw his head back as he panted. He swallowed his hand grazed along your stomach lazily.

He eased out of you and let your leg fall. Your legs threatened to collapse beneath you as you clung to the door. Your skirt slowly slipped back into place as your underwear sat disposed between your feet. He did up his pants and cleared his throat. He took out his watch again.

“Get your coat, doll,” He said. “No time to waste.”

🖤🖤🖤

#Bucky Barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #mob au #dark bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #au #mafia au #marvel #mcu #captain america #one shot #?

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dramatistvx · 3 years

Text

Loki fic recs!

Hello there! Here are some of the Loki fics I’ve read that I thought were really good :) Enjoy!

Some of the fics contain dark themes so please read the tags and be safe! :)

Time Travel -fix it-

The Fun With Time Loops series by Infinite_Monkeys

Summery first work:

With One More Try (Can We Start Again)

Loki's attempt to conquer Earth has, to his great dismay, succeeded spectacularly. When Thanos sends him to collect the Time Stone, he strikes a deal with the Stone's keeper: he'll be sent back to the beginning of the invasion, and this time, armed with knowledge about his opponents, he can lose properly.

Or: a time loop fic in which Loki does increasingly desperate things to try and get the Avengers to defeat him already.

Words: 13,563 - chaptered

Series total; 4 works, words: 78,913

Pretty sure you’ve already heard about this one and for good reason. It’s so good! Loved the whole series. I liked the third work best, tho it’s quite a bit longer than the others -60 k- It has more depth and -wayyy more angst- you get to see more of Loki struggling and him generally being in pain oOp- but he’s trying! Also Thor just wants to help bc he cares hihi. Love love love.

those yesterdays bleeding through by wnnbdarklord

Loki dies on the desolate plains of Svartalfheim, Thor's howls of grief ringing in his ears. He wakes up on his bed in his cell, where there is no sign of destruction.

A time loop fic where Loki gets the chance to fix things on the day the Dark Elves attack Asgard. And another. And another.

Words: 9,508

Another great time travel fix-it fic! I actually read the Fun With Time Loops series because I liked this fic so much and needed more lmao. There’s also a twist in the end that I didn’t see coming ;) It has so much angst for 9k I love XD I’d say that it’s a bit more explicit in the angst so be aware! Overall great read if you want something short and angsty but with a hopeful ending.

De aging

Amateur Theatrics by galaxysoup

In which Thor’s primary problem-solving method (a mighty blow from Mjolnir) fails to have the desired effect on a magical artifact, and his secondary method (a mightier blow from Mjolnir) proves to be actively disastrous.

Words: 26,586 - chaptered

Love love love this one! After a magical accident, Loki accidentally gets de aged and it’s the most adorable thing ever. There’s fluff and angst and kid Loki is just so precious. I also love how Loki and Clint bond in this. Literally go read this! xD

Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Ichor in Violet by tirsynni

When Thor learns that Loki can travel to other realms without Heimdall seeing, of course he convinces Loki to take them both to Jotunheim to hunt Frost Giants. There an accident unravels centuries of lies and threatens to unravel Loki, too.

Words: 14,574 - chaptered

Where Loki accidentally discovers who he really is and has trouble dealing. Thor is confused, he just loves his brother. The angsttttt. This is dark so be aware!

The Tapestries series by Lise

Summary first work:

It turns out that even a god can't escape a beating by the Hulk unscathed. At the end of the Battle of New York, Loki doesn't get back up. This changes more than you'd think.

Series total; 4 works, Words: 30,727

Oh the angst *wrings hands*

This series is amazing! It’s Loki struggling to deal with centuries of unresolved anger and hurt while simultaneously trying to cope with more recent events, the Void..Thanos.

Basically, Loki just wants to go home, wherever that may be. Everyone’s trying, genuinely trying. You just gotta know when -how- to stop fighting. It’s very well written and It really dives into the psychological aspects of his trauma. Also, Odin actually cares for once lmao. This one is also pretty dark so be aware!

Mistakes Made (And Corrected) by ADreamer67

In a different universe, Hela rebelled sooner. In a different universe, Hela Odinsdottir seduced Laufey with promises of power and convinced him to attack Midgard. In a different universe, Hela got pregnant, and didn't want to be. In a different universe, Hela left her newborn son for dead and went to face her father.

In a different universe, Loki Helajarson is two hundred and fifty years older than Thor. Let's see what happens.

Words: 47,072

Woah, just- this is so good!! It’s a very different take on Loki’s character but it’s still really fitting. After Thor is banished and the Odin sleep is fast approaching, Loki is to be king. Things don’t go very well for him, to say the least. I loved how the characters were portrayed and absolutely adored the dynamic between Loki and Thor. There’s so much angst and turmoil and it’s pretty dark so read the tags and be safe!

Just Close Your Eyes by ADreamer67

Ragnarok has come to pass, the Asgardians have reached a deal with the leaders of Midgard for territory of their own, Loki is allowed to stay (provided he doesn’t leave said territory), and Thor is settled on the throne. So all in all, things are going well, if you ignore the recent massacre and planetary annihilation.

Well, except for the fact that Loki is working himself into the ground. And Thor is having none of it.

Cue a not entirely legal brotherly field trip where Thor will make Loki relax, or die trying. Responsibilities? Pssh, who cares about those? (Hint - Loki. Very much so)

Words: 31,832 - chaptered, still going

So fun! It starts out pretty angsty but it gradually becomes a little more lighthearted. Then, it’s just Thor and Loki exploring Midgardian customs together -mostly Loki being mildly disgusted by them lmao- :)

Birthright by ADreamer67

Four years ago, Odin told Loki his birthright was to die. If only he knew.

When the Laufeyson was born small, too small and frail to survive, the solution seemed obvious. Though it had been many a generation since it had been done, the child was brought forth to the Casket, to be bound to its' power in an ancient ceremony that would imbue the little one with all the strength of a typical Jotun. That ceremony was interrupted by battle, and the child was left with the unguarded casket, in the hopes that the casket could keep it alive until it was safe to finish the ceremony.

That ceremony was never finished.

Over a thousand years later, the Casket of Ancient Winters is destroyed during Ragnarok. No one thought this would be an issue, least of all Loki. Guess what.

Words: 76,599 - chaptered, still going

This is so good!!! It’s one of the first fics I read in the fandom and it has really set my standards high. There’s so much angst and turmoil and it’s so well written. I absolutely adored the dynamic between the crew and how much Thor loves his brother even though Loki thinks he doesn’t deserve it. I really like the way ADreamer67 portrays the characters.

Soulmate/Soulbond, Relationships

Maybe You (and your sad blue eyes) by alby_mangroves

Loki had already come to accept being born without a bonded soul to cleave to, one more way in which he would always be the lesser brother. So of course it made sense that it would settle upon him when he least expected it.

(Set in the timeline of Captain America: The First Avenger, Thor, and The Avengers. Canon divergent just before Chitauri invasion.)

Words: 29,258 - chaptered

I don’t really ship Loki and Steve -bc stucky heheh- but I came across this fic in another rec list and I absolutely loved it, plus the art is stunning! Def a great read if you like angsty soulmate/soulbond fics but with a happy ending.

The sexual awakening of Steve Rogers by aLoggedInReader

Steve's life has always been complicated, but he did not know just how much of a rollercoaster it could become until Bucky came to stay with him.

Bucky is trying to be helpful and get Steve to live a little, but between being a hundred years old and having only lived a couple of those years, as an assassin for Hydra to boot, he tends to miss the mark now and then.

Adding an Asgardian prince in exile to the mix surprisingly does not make things easier.

Words: 47,333, still going

Sksjsksksk I don’t really ship Loki/Steve but this one is just so fun. features a lot of female Loki, flustered Steve, protective Bucky and overall wholesomeness and chaotic energy. Everyone just wants Steve to be happy. -mostly Steve centric-

The lines, here are written by dfotw

In a world where everyone has their soulmate's name written on their wrists, Steve Rogers has quite a lot more... and Loki, a lot less.

Words: 18,009 - chaptered

Lmao Imma just stop saying I don’t ship them XD This one is also really good. It’s angsty and tender with a hopeful ending.

#loki (marvel)#loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki of asgard #thor #hurt/comfort #loki angst #fic recs #frigga #angst #mcu #steve rogers #time travel #soulmate #loki fic rec

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elitegymnastics · 3 years

Photo

Q: What is this?

A: It’s a flyer for a virtual fundraiser on June 4th that Elite Gymnastics is playing. You can access the show at quietyear.com

Q: Hasn’t Elite Gymnastics been inactive for like, ten years?

A: Yes. This is the first Elite Gymnastics performance of any kind since November 30th 2012, at the Horn Gallery at Kenyon College in Gambier, Ohio.

Q: Why did Elite Gymnastics stop playing shows?

A: Elite Gymnastics started out as me (Jaime) and a bunch of my friends agreeing to help me play my songs live back in 2009. I made a lot of weird demos in GarageBand and my friend Dominique Davis from the band Dearling Physique got tired of watching me sit on them. So, he booked me to play at a show he was curating as part of a small local music and arts festival called Clapperclaw. For several months that’s mainly what EG was. At some point the focus shifted to making recordings rather than playing shows, to participate in the emergent culture of new music distributed via MP3 file-sharing. The lineup winnowed to just me and Josh Clancy, who began creating digital EPs that we posted on this Tumblr page as ZIP files full of MP3s accompanied by a PDF of artwork. This is the incarnation of the group that most people are familiar with.

This was before Patreon existed. If Bandcamp was around, we’d never heard of it. Though MP3 file-sharing culture and file transfer sites like MediaFire and MegaUpload allowed anyone to distribute music freely across the world via the internet, it was still pretty difficult to get people to pay you for it. I think it was for this reason that a lot of internet music back then featured a lot of sampling. A lot of artists’ first forays into the world of DAWs and production took the form of mash-ups, bootleg remixes, and DJ mixes. Artists like Animal Collective, MIA, Kanye West, and Daft Punk for whom sampling was a pillar of their creative process were extremely influential. Elite Gymnastics was no exception - the first song of ours to gain traction online was “Is This On Me?” which made no attempt to hide the fact that it heavily sampled Faye Wong’s “Eyes On Me.” The fact that it was so difficult to make money off MP3s pushed people to make different creative decisions than they would have otherwise. It was sort of a free-for-all.

Eventually, all of this started to change. The major labels started getting a lot more aggressive about trying to destroy MP3 file-sharing culture. Platforms like MegaUpload were raided and taken offline. The replacements that sprung up to replace them were increasingly infested with ads and malware. Corporate platforms like YouTube and SoundCloud adopted Content ID filters to prevent the proliferation of copyrighted music there. Blogs and private torrent trackers being taken down meant thousands of hours of labor were wiped out in an instant. Some of the best archives of the history of recorded music ever created were destroyed without hesitation. Even the most devoted participants lost the will to keep repairing and re-making the stuff that cops and record companies kept obliterating.

Josh and I both dreamed of being able to make a living as musicians. We still do. Back then, we were willing to accept a lot of changes in order to make that possible, which seemed necessary. A lot of the stuff that we were great at just didn’t make any money. Once, we were asked to do a remix of a song called “Sa Sa Samoa” by the band Korallreven. I did the remix by myself, which was normal for us, and Josh was so inspired by it that he spent a week working non-stop to create a video for it. People loved it - the day the video dropped, Pitchfork designated the song as a “Best New Track” and New York Magazine wrote about it in their “Approval Matrix.” The video led to a ton of exposure, but from a financial perspective, it just did not make sense to put that much effort into promoting a remix of someone else’s song. The stuff we were personally excited by just seemed to have less and less to do with what actually makes money.

A lot of internet bands during this era began to palpably shapeshift in an effort to succeed in music as a career. Artists who’d first attracted notice for sample-based bangers they made on a laptop started posing with vintage hardware in their press photos and trading in their laptops for live bands and recording studios. It became harder to distribute DJ mixes or mash-ups that contained copyrighted music in them. Influential bloggers either closed up shop or were absorbed into the traditional music industry in some way. Feeds that once touted bizarre songs by laptop-toting weirdos with no industry connections started to become populated mostly by artists with labels and publicists. The bottom rungs of festival lineups started to consist mostly of new major label signings who have lots of money to spend on stage production but not much in the way of grassroots fan enthusiasm or media buzz.

Internet music and what people tend to refer to as “indie music” split off into two separate streams. Today, there’s a pretty intense firewall between internet culture and whatever you want to call the culture of vinyl records, mid-sized indie labels with publicists, and positive reviews from the few remaining websites that still pay people to write about music. I call it “publicist indie,” “lifestyle techno,” or “prestige electronica” depending on whether or not the music features guitars and/or vocals. The recent online kerfuffle about NFTs really emphasized this split. The worlds of digital illustration and game development campaigned aggressively against mass adoption of cryptocurrency - if you saw any Medium posts explaining crypto’s environmental issues, chances are they were written by someone from those fields. Every new announcement by an artist that they had minted an NFT was met with a swift and vocal backlash from fans. Though I’ve never really been much of an Aphex Twin fan, it was still pretty startling to look at the replies under his NFT announcement tweet and see hundreds of furious people announcing that he was now dead to them. That’s an artist who has seemed more or less unimpeachable for most of my life up until this point! All of that seemed to change in an instant.

There is a massive disconnect between the insular world of the industry establishment and the cutting edge of online counterculture. We saw this again a couple of weeks ago with the online response to the crisis in Gaza. We saw passionate advocacy for Palestinians from games journalists and developers much more often than we saw it from musicians. This is a very serious problem for music! I do not believe it is possible to please both sides - that is to say, I do not believe it is possible to be part of internet counterculture and the industry establishment simultaneously. The music industry is too conservative, too compromised, too corrupt. If it weren’t for the ocean of valuable copyrights that labels are sitting on, most of them would be bankrupt within a year. If the industry was forced to live or die based on how they handle what’s happening right now in the present, it would most assuredly die. The only people who don’t realize this are those who are being paid to stay ignorant.

Josh and I did not know this back then. From where we were standing, it looked like internet culture and established media industries were on track to converge. A career in the arts seemed genuinely, tantalizingly possible, right up until the moment that it no longer did.

In my case, I had really been struggling up until that point. My life had been this ongoing sequence of evictions and hospitalizations, and it seemed to be getting worse, not better. I donated plasma twice a week to pay for groceries and while I was sitting there with a giant needle stuck in my left arm for an hour I would see my picture in The Fader or my songs being recommended by one of the Kings of Leon on Twitter or whatever. Music seemed like the only thing the world thought I was any good at. It felt like my only chance at a peaceful, happy life was somewhere out there in a world I could only perceive through a laptop screen.

Gender, for me, was a big factor in all of this. The more invested in the craft of songwriting I became, the harder it was to repress or ignore my gender stuff. At that time I’m not sure I even knew what the word “transgender” meant - I just knew that when I showed up at a venue wearing a skirt, no one would talk to me or look me in the eye, and that reading about people like Anohni or Terre Thaemlitz or on the internet made me feel like if I could get out of Minneapolis maybe I could find a place where people would accept me. The internet was like, a pretty toxic place for someone in my position. When I tried to find people to talk to about what I was feeling, nobody tried to tell me to read Judith Butler or ask me what pronouns I preferred. The internet was just like, overrun with predators who just wanted to fetishize me and exploit me. Music seemed like the only way I’d ever have an actual life as myself. I was desperate for that. I was well and truly desperate.

Between all the big changes that were happening to us individually and the music industry moving farther and farther away of the anarchic free-for-all of MP3 file-sharing culture, the strain on us just got to be too much. We stopped trusting each other. We became the unstoppable force and the immovable object, crashing haphazardly against one another’s resolve in a dazzling display of youthful futility. Our partnership ended, and after finishing out the remaining live shows on the calendar by myself, I retired the name “Elite Gymnastics” and started making music on my own under other names. That was that.

Q: Why is Elite Gymnastics coming back now, then?

A: Over the years, Josh and I eventually started talking again. Though there was a lot we did agree on, and potential future projects were discussed, nothing truly felt right. We haven’t been in the same room since Summer 2012, and we’ve both changed a lot since then. We both have other projects and we’ve both developed other ways of working since we stopped working together. It’s a pretty big commitment to put all of that aside in order to join your fortunes together with someone you haven’t seen in a decade.

Recently, Josh decided to leave Elite Gymnastics. His reasons are his own, and I was very surprised by his decision, but after having had time to adjust, I’m really grateful to him. I had kept these songs at a distance for many years, because it seemed foolish to allow myself to get too attached to songs I didn’t feel like I was allowed to think of as mine, if that makes any sense. The songs felt like casualties of a conflict that I had to bury in the ground and try to forget about. Being able to embrace them again felt like re-growing a severed limb or having a loved one come back to life, almost. Feeling like it was safe to love these songs again made me feel whole in a way I didn’t expect to. I became really excited by the prospect of revisiting them, so that’s what I decided to do.

Q: Does this mean you’re going to put RUIN back on Spotify?

A: No. Taking the record off Spotify was the right thing to do. That record was only ever intended to exist during the era of MP3 piracy. I never envisioned a world where the music industry would be so aggressive about policing the way that copyrighted music is allowed to exist online. If we hadn’t opted to take the record down when we did, someone would inevitably have forced us to. If you want to hear those specific recordings again, you’re going to have to do it the way we originally intended: by downloading MP3 files from the internet. Try SoulSeek.

Q: What’s next for Elite Gymnastics, then?

A: Here’s the situation currently. There is no Elite Gymnastics music available to stream or purchase in an official capacity anywhere on the internet. It wouldn’t really be possible for me to put the old stuff on Spotify or Bandcamp now because of all the samples. Like I said before, it was a different time. Those records were created to thrive on a past version of the internet that no longer exists. They weren’t designed to be compatible with the 2021 internet.

Technically, Elite Gymnastics didn’t ever release a debut album. We had EPs, a compilation, and a remix collection. We didn’t make an album, a record that existed as the distillation of all that experimentation that contained all of the songs that fans of the EPs would want to hear, all in one place. It’s like we did Good Fridays but stopped before we made My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.

So, I am currently working on the first Elite Gymnastics album. If you were following my stuff as Default Genders, you may have noticed me posting demos on my SoundCloud page from 2015-2018 that were all eventually reworked into the album Main Pop Girl 2019. The album I am making is taking that approach to all the old EG songs, including some unreleased stuff. I’m collaborating with others on some songs and I honestly feel like it has resulted in some of the best and most exciting music I have ever been involved with. It is a drastic reinvention, but iteration and reinvention have always been a big part of what I do. I want to make something that feels like the culmination of everything that came before, and so far, I think I’m succeeding.

Q: When will I be able to hear this new music?

At a virtual fundraiser on June 4th, 2021, where there is a suggested donation of $10. You can access it at quietyear.com

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quazartranslates · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH134

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 134: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XXIV)

The night was heavy and all was silent.

The shaking of the earth hadn’t stopped, and it was getting stronger and more frequent.

This field, which had been dead for many years, was slowly collapsing, just like his world.

Holding Qi Leren’s body, Ning Zhou walked on the stone stairs of the former site of the Vatican and went down step by step, from the cloud to the ground, from heaven to hell.

The night wind brought back memories. Once, those dull and tiny joys were buried in countless pains and hesitations. However, when death filtered out the impurities like gravel from sand, what remained was the sweet taste that made one feel excited.

But before he could even taste it carefully, he had turned to the final chapter of this surprise tragedy.

The Garden of the Holy Tomb was just around the corner.

In the corner of the cemetery, the huge tree stump with a diameter of more than two meters had already been hollowed out, and the remaining wood ring was covered with grass and blue and white fallen flowers, like a natural bed.

They’d come back here, the place he had used to take a nice nap, and where he had looked at him so warmly.

This time, he would sleep for a long time, and he would wait for a long time.

Maybe a part of his soul would stay here forever, with him who had died forever.

He carefully wiped the blood from Qi Leren’s face and hands. Once white and beautiful, his pampered hands were full of burns caused by the explosion and there were scars that had healed over from underground lake so long ago. From countless details, Ning Zhou had already outlined what happened in the church.

Isabel served the Devil of Fraud and her appearance could only represent one thing - the Devil of Fraud has entered this field, and his identity was beyond doubt.

The Devil had seduced his lover, but he’d refused.

The spilled Devil's blood in the church quietly told everything.

Betrayal or death.

He’d chosen death.

Why? Ning Zhou asked silently, Why choose death?

He’d clearly told him that living was always the most important thing.

He would rather see him drink the Devil's blood and be destined for hell. At least he could live. He could also hide this love that is not blessed by God in his heart, and draw a perfect full stop for everything. Anyway, for these unbelievers from different worlds, the positions of justice and evil weren’t clear, were they?

Maybe in the future, they would face each other because of their positions. He was willing to give up his life with his own hands to repay his sacrifice to him again and again.

Yes, he had chosen to die.

The night wind was cold, blowing petals off the branches of the surrounding trees, and the blue and white fallen flowers fell in a swirl. Just like that day when he’d slept quietly in the warm afternoon sunshine, but this time, he wouldn't wake up again.

The eagle quietly landed on the edge of this natural bed. It cocked its head, looked in puzzlement at Qi Leren who slept there, jumped to his side, rubbed his cold face with its beak, and then came to Ning Zhou's shoulder and rubbed his face.

The same cold, the same silence. The eagle whined, flapping its wings and flying away.

Ning Zhou had never felt so cold. Even when he was in that country where there was snow and ice all the year round, it had never been so cold, so cold that he couldn't weave a ring.

When this grass ring was woven and formed, Ning Zhou knelt down slowly by the stump and took Qi Leren's hand, just as he had done many times in his dreams.

But outside of these dreams, there was only this reality that was a thousand times more cruel.

He proposed to his dead lover, willing to spend the rest of his life to hold to a love that was not allowed by God, even if he would fall into hell after death and sink forever.

The wounded hand was as cold as ice, and the coldness of death had frozen his heart along the blood vessels. There seemed to be a wound that would never heal, and this wound would accompany his every heartbeat and accompany him through his life.

He put the ring on him instead of kissing his lips. Instead, he kissed every wound on his hand. He was as pious as he would be kissing the cross. All the hesitation, jealousy, disobedience, pain, and love that he’d once dared not admit were melted by the cruel death and turned into countless sharp arrows, which shot through his heart one by one.

The cruelest torture in the worldwais no match for the pain and suffering of this moment. And this despair would continue until he walked into the abyss of death.

In this decaying rotten stump under the unchanging starry sea, his lover was sleeping. The Milky Way rose above his head and fell to the west. The world gradually brightened and the stars were annihilated, the east gradually turned white, and dawn would soon arrive.

But maybe, it would never come.

　　&&&

The eagle hovered in the dawn wind.

After being sent back to the castle, he has been unconscious until now. Dr. Lu ran all the way to the old site of the Vatican. He couldn't find any of his companions and wandered around at a loss.

The eagle flew down from the sky and led Dr. Lu to the direction of the Garden of the Holy Tomb at the foot of the mountain. The nervous Dr. Lu followed it and came all the way to the place where they had had a picnic only a few days ago.

In the corner of the garden, he saw Ning Zhou. He stood in front of the broken stump with his back turned to him, and his back seemed to melt in the morning sun.

Delighted, Dr. Lu ran to him: "Ning Zhou! Ning Zhou! I finally found you. Why are you here? Where's Qi Leren? Where's Su He? Last night..."

His footsteps slowed down and his voice came to an abrupt end. Dr. Lu stared at the stump covered with grass and fallen flowers and his face instantly turned pale. He walked beside Ning Zhou as if sleepwalking, looking at the lifeless face of his former friend and the blood on his clothes. His mind went blank.

Dr. Lu held out his trembling hand, but as soon as he touched his cold neck, he took back his hand like he’d been given an electric shock and began to cry.

He realized that his friend would never come back.

The sun rose and dispelled the darkness of night, but the two people bathed in the warm sunshine did not feel the heat at all.

Time passed quietly and the funeral began and ended in silence. Ning Zhou couldn't even give a eulogy for him, because his lover was a non-believer.

But it was such a carefree non-believer that this devout believer had met briefly in this world, fell in love with quietly, and then been left by silently. The last words were "you must wait for me" with a smile before he’d left, and then "I love you" written in blood. Abandoning this body, their souls would neither meet in heaven nor in hell. They were not even people of the same world.

The dead were dead, but the living have to spend a long life remembering the cruelness of a love that had never started.

Dr. Lu's crying gradually quieted down, leaving only sobbing again and again.

The ground was still shaking, and it was becoming more and more frequent. The shaking earth had plunged the whole Holy City into panic. Even in the former site of the Vatican far away from the residential areas, they could vaguely hear the noise.

After standing for so long like a sculpture in front of the stump, Ning Zhou finally moved, and Dr. Lu watched anxiously as he took off the coat of his Holy See uniform and covered Qi Leren with it. It was then that he discovered that Ning Zhou’s waist was stained heavily with blood.

"You... Are you hurt? Let me help you... Help you treat it..." Dr. Lu trilled.

Ning Zhou silently shook his head and turned to the corner of the garden, where vast areas of wild roses were in full bloom, planted by Maria in those days. After more than 20 years, they grew tenaciously in the wind and rain.

He picked seven white wild roses. The hard stems covered with thorns bloodied his hands, but he seemed not to notice and took off the thorns one by one.

He walked up to him with the flowers in his hand. He slept in a tree stump covered with petals and bathed in warm sunshine. His memory couldn't help overlapping the past and present, but this time, he wouldn't open his eyes to meet his sight. But he would always remember the gentleness of that glance.

The pure white roses were placed on Qi Leren’s body, separated by the black Holy See uniform, and separated by life and death.

This really was a great distance.

The sun that had once lit up his life has set, and the rest of his life would be a long eternal night.

After such a short life, he had lost someone forever.

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The author has something to say:

PS: Although I don't usually write emotional dramas, this couple really has a special beauty. It's a bit like being fond of a beauty that is obviously taboo, but in the end, love triumphs over all beliefs and logic.

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#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

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oydan · 3 years

Text

Title: Safe in Your Loving Arms

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x OC

Warning: Death, gore, blood, angst, TRIGGER WARNING!Suicide Thoughts of suicide, depression.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters let alone the entirety of Attack on Titan. I only own the OC characters mentioned. The credit to the artists if anyone is interested is in the link above along with the character description of the OC featured.

A/N: This will be a bit shorter than normal but I thought it was a sweet thought that came to me. I might do another one similar to this one another time. The trigger warning is about suicide but the majority of trigger warnings will be in the italicized part. If you want to read this chapter you can skip that part and it will still make sense I believe.

Please support me by liking, commenting, and/or reblogging my work, please. I follow back everyone that follows me so add me!

Masterlist

The screams of terror rang clear through the air. I should have been used to this at this point. I’ve already seen so many of my comrades fall while in battle with the titans. Yet I couldn’t stop my mind from spinning out of control from the sea of blood and gore that surrounded me. The once feathery green grass was now covered in red. The bodies that surrounded me weren’t just members of the Survey Corps, but also the civilians from Wall Maria who had lost their homes. People who I had sworn to protect.

Their last sight weren’t peaceful memories beside their families, but of terror seeing the disgusting monsters we hunted. My heart wrenched in a familiar way seeing the marred the field of what was once their homes. Retaking Wall Maria had failed.

However, I knew that the real goal was accomplished seeing the thousands of bodies being eaten and torn apart. All I could do was kneel down and watch as more titans came closer to the camp we had set up. My hands were a mix of blood from the popped blisters I accumulated from killing titans and the blood from my former teammate, Max.

He wasn’t supposed to die. I was the one that should have died out there. I was the one that wanted to go back out there to help more people. I shouldn’t have let him come with me. I should have ordered him to stay back with the rest of the team. I couldn’t even bring his body back with me.

‘I’m not letting you go out there without me. I told you that you were stuck with me darlin.’ His quirky smirk and wink was still etched into my brain. Why couldn’t I save him? Why am I so weak? I’m supposed to be the best and I couldn't even protect the man I loved. I failed humanity. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away, or better yet run towards the titans to end this never ending pain in my chest.

I close my eyes and let the tears slip out while the world around me continues to slip out from under me.

I wake up in a cold sweat tearing myself out of the sheets to sit up on the side of the bed trying to calm my breathing. I look at the grandfather clock next to my bed and see that I only got a couple hours of sleep this time. I can’t remember the last time I had a good night's rest without one of my nightmares waking me up. I already knew that I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep so instead, I did my normal routine of taking a bath and finding my way down to the mess hall to have a cup of earl grey tea. I found myself in my normal seat sitting in the dim light that the torch casted in the dark room. It was before the sunrise and the only ones awake would be those on patrol around the base. With the events that took place in the capital there were very few Survey members allowed to carry weapons. In all honesty I didn’t want to take any part in the events of that day, but I followed after Erwin no matter the consequences. Seeing the dead bodies scattered throughout the normally busy street had brought back the memories that I had tried to push to the back of my mind. Even though people from Wall Sena were the last to be on my mind it didn’t stop the feeling in my gut to twist into the familiar ball that made me sick to my stomach. Wall Sena residents were arrogant, pompous, and selfish. It shouldn’t have affected me, yet I can’t seem to get rid of the nausea.

My mind was so far deep in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice the footsteps of my companion get closer until they sat in the seat in front of me. “Why are you up again brat?” Hearing the deep baritone voice brought me back to reality. I look up from the burning flame of the lamp in front of me to see Levi sitting with his arms crossed against his chest staring me down expecting an answer.

With a small smile I decided to humor the man I’ve come to love. “I can’t sleep. Is that an issue Captain? Are you going to punish me?” I could see the red blush spread across his face as he looked away embarrassed, making me giggle in amusement at his expense. He was too cute.

“Did you have another nightmare? You normally divert the questions that make you uncomfortable.” We have known each other for quite some time now so it wasn’t surprising to me that he knew my tendencies better than anyone else. With a sigh I lean back in my seat looking up at the beams of the ceiling. “...Yeah, but what else is new? I’m used to it Levi so don’t worry about my sleeping schedule. I won’t mess up, I got more sleep than I normally do.”

It was silent for some time that I questioned for a moment if he was still there, but I could still smell the musky scent that came to be one of my comfort senses. I knew that he wouldn’t leave until I told him what was going on in my mind. He’s known me for a long time, but he doesn’t know the true extent of my crimes that I’ve committed. He only knew the stories that Erwin would tell him so he could understand me better. The stories I was too scared to say out loud. I wanted to be able to tell him everything, but when I got the courage to do so my mind would find more reasons to stop myself. I couldn’t help but think that if he knew the true extent that went through my mind he would turn his back on me. If I told him about Max...would he still want to be with me? I still couldn’t find it in myself to tell him about the man that once held me at night while I confided in them. How part of me still held onto him and how the guilt of Max’s death prevented me from ever moving on to the feelings I harbored for Levi. In the end I didn’t deserve to be happy with someone else.

There was no movement or sounds for some time before I decided to open my mouth. “Did Erwin ever tell you about my second in command before retaking Wall Maria?”

“No, but Leon did once.”

“What a surprise I thought you hated each other.”

“We have too much in common, that's all.” I snorted at his dry response knowing that Levi had no bad blood towards my old friend but Leon on the other hand couldn’t stand his unemotional face. “He just told me that there was another member of your squad before Lucas was transferred over. I assume that he’s important to you though.”

“...Yeah he was. I just had another dream about the day he died. When this dream comes about I have a hard time getting any rest. You know he used to be the one that forced me to get some rest before an expedition. He would sit in my room until he would hear me snoring away and wait there until he was sure I was asleep.” I smile, reminiscing the brown eyes that would lul me to sleep. “Did you love him?” I hesitate to answer him. At first I wanted to let the lie slip out that he was just another fallen comrade but it just didn’t feel right to not only demean Max’s existence to me, but also to lie about something that could change our relationship. “Yes. I met him when I first enlisted. We never really made it official because it never seemed right to settle down when the titans were running around. We made this promise that once the titans were wiped out we would get married.” I could still remember the sweet giant proposing this idea to me as clear as day. He tied some wild flowers together into a makeshift ring to give to me that day that I still carry around with me preserved into a locket. It was all I was able to remember him by since his family took the Scouts badge that I had cut off from his jacket before Erwin carried me off on his horse. Realizing what I said I look up at Levi to see him waiting for me to continue. There was no jealousy or contempt for Max hidden behind his gray orbs staring back at me. I knew that once I was ready to tell him everything he would be open to listening to me but I always thought that my past with my first love would be off limits. Moments that I cherished and held close to my heart would have to be memories that I kept to myself.

When I didn’t continue Levi got up to sit next to me and he held on to my hand for comfort. I’m sure his new team of cadets would be shocked at the normally reserved captain showing any ounce of concern. I held on to his hand tighter and continued on with my stories. I could feel my heart lighten up at the thought of Max. The good and even the bad.

That night I cried into the arms of my future lover feeling the boulder that I held on my shoulders get a little bit easier to lift. He held me in his arms and I don’t remember the last time I felt this safe in someone's arms.

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