#I WILL NOT ABIDE ALL YOUR RAGING AND WEEPING

[marichive]

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Catelyn Tully / Stark in A Clash of Kings , the second book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ The ancient crown of the Kings of Winter had been lost three centuries ago. ❞

❝ It is no easy thing to wear a crown. ❞

❝ Kneel before the king. ❞

❝ He is not a bold man, this one. ❞

❝ I brought you from our cell to carry my message to your cousin. ❞

❝ I should be most glad to bring your message to the queen. ❞

❝ Understand, I am not giving you your freedom. ❞

❝ You chose to fight beneath a foe’s banner. ❞

❝ I want your pledge, on your honor as a knight. ❞

❝ I do so vow. ❞

❝ Every man in this hall has heard you. ❞

❝ I will do as I pledged. ❞

❝ What is this message? ❞

❝ An offer of peace. Meet my terms, and I will sheath this sword, and make an end to the war between us. ❞

❝ Living men had gone south, and cold bones would return. ❞

❝ He had the truth of it. ❞

❝ He will remain my hostage for his father’s good behavior. ❞

❝ Henceforth, we are no part of their realm, but a free and independent kingdom, as of old. ❞

❝ These are the terms. If she meets them, I’ll give her peace. ❞

❝ Did you see the look on his face? ❞

❝ Take this back to my bedchamber. ❞

❝ I wager there were others who felt the same. ❞

❝ How can we talk of peace while they spread like pestilence over my father’s domains, stealing his crops and slaughtering his people? ❞

❝ We lack the strength. ❞

❝ Do we grow stronger sitting here? ❞

❝ You cannot ask them to remain idle while their fields are being pillaged and their people put to the sword. ❞

❝ It would be an ill thing if he were to leave us. ❞

❝ He lost sons. Who can blame him if he does not want to make peace with their killers? ❞

❝ More bloodshed will not bring your father back to us. ❞

❝ An offer had to be made. ❞

❝ I can’t release him, not even if I wanted to. My lords would never abide it. ❞

❝ Your lords made your their king. ❞

❝ If your crown is the price we must pay to have them returned safe, we should pay it willingly. ❞

❝ Was it war that made you grow so fast, or the crown they put on your head? ❞

❝ The boy has the right of this. ❞

❝ Don’t call me ‘the boy’. I am a man grown, and your king. ❞

❝ That was unworthy of me. ❞

❝ Gods be good, what has become of me? ❞

❝ He is doing his best, trying so hard, I know it, I see it, and yet . . . ❞

❝ I have lost him, the rock my life was built on. ❞

❝ I could not bear to lose them as well. ❞

❝ I’ll do all that I can for them. ❞

❝ If she has any sense, she’ll accept my terms. ❞

❝ I’ll make her rue the day she refused me. ❞

❝ Kings are not supposed to have mothers, it would seem. ❞

❝ I could command you to go. As king. I could. ❞

❝ He’s been a hostage half his life. ❞

❝ He is not a man to be trusted. ❞

❝ Does he know you have returned? ❞

❝ You will want to hear my tidings in private first. ❞

❝ You have her face. I can see it in your cheekbones, and your jaw. ❞

❝ You remember more of her than I do. ❞

❝ I wish I had their faith. ❞

❝ That’s blood up there, smeared across the sky. ❞

❝ Was there ever a war where only one side bled? ❞

❝ When he hears this, he will rage. ❞

❝ Even terror has its purpose. ❞

❝ He would like to fight on a field of his own choosing. ❞

❝ He’ll want something. ❞

❝ I want to weep. I want to be comforted. I am so tired of being strong. ❞

❝ I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while. ❞

❝ No one has ever died of restlessness, but rashness is another matter. ❞

❝ You are all your lord father claimed you were. ❞

❝ As champion, you may ask of me any boon that you desire. ❞

❝ If it lies in my power, it is yours. ❞

❝ My life for yours, Your Grace. From this day on, I am your shield, I swear it by the old gods and the new. ❞

❝ If you wish, we may stand here in the mud and debate what honors and titles are rightly due to each, but it strikes me that we have more pressing matters to consider. ❞

❝ My lady, when you are rested, I would be honored if you would share our meat and mead at the feast tonight. ❞

❝ What is mine is yours. ❞

❝ My sweet queen is all the woman I desire. ❞

❝ Can you drown in grief? ❞

❝ They are boys drunk on song and story, and like all boys, they think themselves immortal. ❞

❝ They’re young and strong, full of life and laughter. ❞

❝ And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. ❞

❝ They are the knights of summer, and winter is coming. ❞

❝ In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining. ❞

❝ I feel the need of some air. Will you walk with me? ❞

❝ He would make an appalling king. Nor is he like to become one. ❞

❝ Men respect him, even fear him, but precious few have ever loved him. ❞

❝ I mean to be king, my lady, and not of a broken kingdom. ❞

❝ We are the first. ❞

❝ Gods grant that I shall do the same. ❞

❝ This is no fight of ours. ❞

❝ I know the king would not wish his mother to put herself at risk. ❞

❝ We are all at risk. ❞

❝ Do you think I wish to be here? ❞

❝ He sent me to speak for him, and speak for him I shall. ❞

❝ It is a sort of game kings play. ❞

❝ I had not thought to find you here. ❞

❝ I am sorry for your lord’s death, though he was no friend to me. ❞

❝ He was never your enemy. ❞

❝ He did his duty, I will not deny it. Did I ever do less? ❞

❝ Yet he took it. That which should have been mine. ❞

❝ How they love to promise heads, these men who would be king. ❞

❝ Men give their allegiance where they will. ❞

❝ I only want what is mine by rights. ❞

❝ We share a common foe who would destroy us all. ❞

❝ The whole of the realm denies it. Old men deny it with their death rattle, and unborn children deny it in their mothers’ wombs. They deny it in Dorne and they deny it on the Wall. No one wants you for their king. ❞

❝ I swore I would never treat with you while you wore your traitor’s crown. ❞

❝ Younger, bolder, and far more comely. ❞

❝ We are all traitors, however good our reasons. ❞

❝ I fear she never saw your little letter. ❞

❝ They are bastards. ❞

❝ Isn’t that a sweet story, my lady? ❞

❝ I must say, it took my breath away. ❞

❝ Do you name me a liar? ❞

❝ If you step in a nest of snakes, does it matter which one bites you first? ❞

❝ You’ve never tasted anything so sweet, I promise you. ❞

❝ I did not come here to eat fruit. ❞

❝ A man should never refuse to taste a peach. ❞

❝ I did not come here to be threatened, either. ❞

❝ When I make threats, you’ll know it. ❞

❝ You’ll be pleased to know she came to me a maid. ❞

❝ Oh, I expect I’ll get a son on her within the year. ❞

❝ How many sons do you have? Oh, yes – none. ❞

❝ If my wife looked like yours, I’d send my fool to service her as well. ❞

❝ Enough! I will not be mocked to my face, do you hear me? I will not! ❞

❝ I hope your new god’s a merciful one. ❞

❝ It grieves me that it must come to this. ❞

❝ You have a cheerful way of grieving. ❞

❝ You must allow a king some flaws, my lady. ❞

❝ I had hoped to help you make peace. I will not help you make war. ❞

❝ She loves him, poor thing. ❞

❝ She’d play his squire just to touch him, and never care how great a fool they think her. ❞

❝ Stay and help me pray. It’s been so long I’ve quite forgotten how. ❞

❝ Did your old gods ever answer you? When you knelt before your heart tree, did you hear them? ❞

❝ When they took his head off, they killed me too. ❞

❝ Death came in that door and blew the life out of him as swift as the wind snuffed out his candles. ❞

❝ Are you blind? The girl loved him. ❞

❝ Some say that after the battle, the king cut out Stafford Lannister’s heart and fed it to the wolf. ❞

❝ I would not believe such tales. He is no savage. ❞

❝ That is no common wolf, that one. ❞

❝ The gods don’t care about men, no more than kings care about peasants. ❞

❝ A good king does care. ❞

❝ Only a mother would keep her children safe, however she could. ❞

❝ I am not made to be a mother. I need to fight. ❞

❝ I could serve you. If you would have me. ❞

❝ You could have let them kill me. I was nothing to you. ❞

❝ When the time comes, I will not hold you back. ❞

❝ I am yours, my lady. Your liege man, or … whatever you would have me be. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new. ❞

❝ I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. ❞

❝ He asked for you. I did not know what to tell him. ❞

❝ He risks all for a baseborn boy whose blood is not even his own. ❞

❝ He has made common cause with a power greater and darker. ❞

❝ Have you forgiven me? ❞

❝ You’ve done nothing that needs forgiveness. ❞

❝ He loves you fiercely. Believe that. ❞

❝ I gave him my favor to wear. ❞

❝ I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty. ❞

❝ Why do boys so love to play at war? ❞

❝ Knights die in battle, as ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about them. ❞

❝ Children are a battle of a different sort. A battle without banners or warhorns, but no less fierce. ❞

❝ At times I feel as though I am being torn apart. ❞

❝ And who will keep you safe, my lady? ❞

❝ Someday you must sing for me. ❞

❝ If we are winning, why am I so afraid? ❞

❝ I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once. ❞

❝ I only thought you might enjoy happier company than mine. ❞

❝ Will holding it secret in your heart make it any less true? ❞

❝ What god would let this happen? He was only a baby! How could he deserve such a death? ❞

❝ Ice can kill as dead as fire. ❞

❝ The Starks do not use headsmen. They always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the blade. ❞

❝ I will not sleep away my grief. ❞

❝ I fear I am in no condition to receive you. ❞

❝ Look at me, ser. ❞

❝ I see you had no taste for the wine I sent you. ❞

❝ I can have your head off anytime I want. Why would I need to poison you? ❞

❝ We granted you the comfort of a tower cell befitting your birth and station. You repaid us by trying to escape. ❞

❝ A cell is a cell. ❞

❝ No? Then surely it was to have your pleasure of me. It’s said that widows grow weary of their empty beds. ❞

❝ I suppose I could still service you if that’s what you need. Pour us some of that wine and slip out of that gown and we’ll see if I’m up to it. ❞

❝ Was there ever a man as beautiful or as vile as this one? ❞

❝ If you said that in my son’s hearing, he would kill you for it. ❞

❝ Why should I tell you anything. ❞

❝ You think I fear death? ❞

❝ Your crimes will have earned you a place of torment in the deepest of the seven hells, if the gods are just. ❞

❝ If there are gods, why is the world so full of pain and injustice? ❞

❝ There are no men like me. There’s only me. ❞

❝ There is nothing here but arrogance and pride, and the empty courage of a madman. ❞

❝ If there was ever a spark of honor in him, it is long dead. ❞

❝ Stay, and you shall have your answers . . . for a price. ❞

❝ Answer my questions and I’ll answer yours. ❞

❝ People often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it’s served up. ❞

❝ I am strong enough to hear anything you care to say. ❞

❝ You would never ask that unless you knew the answer. ❞

❝ I want it from your own lips. ❞

❝ He is mine. ❞

❝ You admit to being her lover? ❞

❝ Do all my kin still live? ❞

❝ You were a knight, sworn to defend the weak and innocent. ❞

❝ He was spying on us. ❞

❝ You meant for him to die. ❞

❝ I seldom fling children from towers to improve their health. Yes, I meant for him to die. ❞

❝ You swear you had no part in sending him? ❞

❝ I may indeed have shit for honor, I won’t deny it, but I have never yet hired anyone to do my killing. ❞

❝ Are you trying to deceive me? ❞

❝ Believe what you will, I’m past caring what people say of me. ❞

❝ Your boy must be feeling lonely. ❞

❝ How can you still count yourself a knight, when you have forsaken every vow you ever swore? ❞

❝ So many vows … they make you swear and swear. It’s too much. No matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other. ❞

❝ Only a man like you would be proud of such an act. ❞

❝ We made a bargain, I can deny you nothing. ❞

❝ I do not want to know this. ❞

❝ I think it passing odd that I am loved by one for a kindness I never did, and reviled by so many for my finest act. ❞

❝ Come, don’t you find this all terribly amusing? ❞

❝ That name again. I don’t think I’ll fuck you after all, he had you first, didn’t he? I never eat off another man’s trencher. ❞

❝ Give me your sword. ❞

#rp memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #roleplay memes #inbox memes #rp prompt #[memes ; mine] #[memes ; for muse] #[memes ; general] #[memes ; sentence] #[memes ; literature]

[idontknowmyownmind]

Previous

Fanfiction Recommendations: My All Times Favorite ♡♡

Hanagaki Takemichi ⏱️

the triplets shenanigans by jopiteria_space

🔮Abide By Your Own Will 🐲 by LucyHeart32

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Sol by KasaiHaven

Tired Man's Replacement is even more Done with this Bullshit by Anonymous

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Paradox by OroroNebbia

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Mammoney 💸

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Smile for Me, Mammon (Obey Me: Shall We Date?) By Corpsetalia_fan_the_Brotato, Zibijil Ptelemiu (Corpsetalia_fan_the_Brotato)

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Kageyama Tobio 🏐

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SenGen 🧪🃏

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Clair De Lune by rainyausie

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BTS 💜

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THE BEST MDZS FIC!!!

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MHA Crossover 🪢

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#hanagaki takemichi #tokyo revengers #obey me #obey me mammon #kageyama tobio #haikyuu!! #sengen #dr stone #asagiri gen #genshin impact #zhongli #tartali #bts #bts jin #kim seokjin #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wei ying #wei wuxian #gintama #sakata gintoki #katarina claes #my next life as a villainess #fanfic reccomendation

[furrbbyx]

The Orc’s Obsession: Epilogue

If you haven’t seen this part on A03 then you’re going to be very happy to see it now. 

I plan to continue this story with a new Yan: (Y/N)

heheheheeehhahahhahaahhohohohoo

Anyway. Get caught up with the ending details and get ready for a new chapter.

cw: crying, court proceedings, reeducation camp, nightmares, PTSD, murderous rage, maladaptive daydreaming, nightmares come true, stalker returns

approx 700 words

You clutch at your father and best friend weeping, with your head burried in Kalani's shoulder. Around the room is entirely dark except for the harshly lite dais and the dimly lite shadow figures standing in a row in front of the accused.

The figures have just pronounced Bagul's guilt and punishment in a resonating echoing mix of their five voices. Two police materialized and took Bagul to meet his fate and reassignment at the hands of the mysterious overlords that governed.

You shut your eyes tight hoping to avoid Bagul's glare even though he can hardly see through the solid darkness that hid the jury and audience.

The nightmare is finally over.

Much of your life is back to normal for months following the trial. You start to build back your trust in people but maybe your avoidant tendencies have grown stronger. It's hard to connect with others.

Happiness returns after you're officially sure your orc kidnapper hasn't bred you. You cry for days after that weight has lifted. You still have harsh scars from the ordeal. Any normal person would. Yet, there's a surreal quality to your memories that confuses you. Sometimes you wake up with your heart beating and you honestly can't tell if you were having a wet dream or a bad one.

Sometimes you ache and tremble when you think about the intense orgasms, and the heart-exploding dash for your life. Bagul's spraying blood is the backdrop to fantasies that send cold fear rippling up your spine. If Kalani hadn't come would you really have tried something more permanent to deal with the orc?

How would I hide the body?

Those intrusive thoughts are where you draw the line, shaking your head to clear the murderous daydreams.

Nearly a year passes and you readjust so well that you're feeling healthier and more in control of your anger and bloodlust everyday.

The season was changing from the hot long nights of summer to the unpredictably cool ones of fall. But today is bright and sunny and warm, the wind still smells like freshy mowed grass. You walk into your job. Even though the customers can really try your patience at the small drink shop you're feeling so good that no Karen could ruin it. Someone waves at you enthusiastically after a few steps inside. You don't know the person but you raise your hand awkwardly to return the greeting when a shiver rolls over your skin.

"Babe!" the waver, a tall thin woman with a blunt geometric haircut, crop, top and oversized jeans squeals in a babyish tone. She's prancing toward you when you hear someone behind you clear their throat and then step past you to hug the woman.

The bulky body  of the person behind you pushes you out of the way and you clutch your bag in terror.

"Hey sweetie" The orc lifts up the woman causing delighted yelps and nuzzles her before looking over and shooting you the most heated challenging glare you'd ever seen. You felt melted to the spot sweat tricking down your back. Everything about him throws you off from his bald head to a few new piercings and silver bands on his tusks. He's dressed in all black, bulky ill fitting clothing and his beard is tied in two braids down the side of his protruding jawline.

HOW! your mind cries out trying to come to terms with the possibilities, with this new reality. Bagul should be kilometers away being retaught how to function as a productive and rule-abiding member of society.  And he definitely shouldn't be anywhere near your job

"Oh my GOSH I'm so glad you're out! I missed you!"

"Heh" Bagul chuckles putting down the woman. He grasps her shoulder and they walk towards the exit.

"Without you to keep me sane I never woulda got out on good behavior."

You're still standing in the middle of the shop dazed and utterly overcome by flashes of your kidnapping. Your mind seems to short out and a strong sense of fight or flight wracks your body before it settles in the pit of your stomach as a fight response tinged with rage and desperation. The indigestion of it all feels like the worst heartburn.

"Why were you in there anyways?"

"Ah nothin too bad...." The voices float away but your confusion, anxiety, and raw fear stays. You're suspended as your mind spirals, trapped again like you were back at the cabin.

NO! Please!

NO! another voice inside you growls furiously. You snap with an over-loud maniacal laugh that turns shrill and hysterical.

I wont let him get to me, you vow and clench your fists tight enough to make them ache.

I'll kill him first

#terato #yandere vibes #orc #monster lover #chubby!reader #cross posted on ao3

[wisdomfish]

God is always sufficient

In this world believers are slandered (Psalm 120), catastrophe looms (Psalm 124), saints are scorned (Psalm 123), injustice threatens to reign (Psalm 125), tears flow (Psalm 126), and sin engulfs (Psalm 130). But God is always sufficient, and the hope of home is always present. ~  Mark Loughridge

Psalm 120

A Song of Ascents. In my distress I cry to the Lord,   that he may answer me: ‘Deliver me, O Lord,   from lying lips,   from a deceitful tongue.’

What shall be given to you?   And what more shall be done to you,   you deceitful tongue? A warrior’s sharp arrows,   with glowing coals of the broom tree!

Woe is me, that I am an alien in Meshech,   that I must live among the tents of Kedar. Too long have I had my dwelling   among those who hate peace. I am for peace;   but when I speak,   they are for war.

Psalm 123

A Song of Ascents. To you I lift up my eyes,   O you who are enthroned in the heavens! As the eyes of servants   look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a maid   to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the Lord our God,   until he has mercy upon us.

Have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mercy upon us,   for we have had more than enough of contempt. Our soul has had more than its fill   of the scorn of those who are at ease,   of the contempt of the proud.

Psalm 124

A Song of Ascents. Of David. If it had not been the Lord who was on our side   —let Israel now say— if it had not been the Lord who was on our side,   when our enemies attacked us, then they would have swallowed us up alive,   when their anger was kindled against us; then the flood would have swept us away,   the torrent would have gone over us; then over us would have gone   the raging waters.

Blessed be the Lord,   who has not given us   as prey to their teeth. We have escaped like a bird   from the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken,   and we have escaped.

Our help is in the name of the Lord,   who made heaven and earth.

Psalm 125

A Song of Ascents. Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion,   which cannot be moved, but abides for ever. As the mountains surround Jerusalem,   so the Lord surrounds his people,   from this time on and for evermore. For the sceptre of wickedness shall not rest   on the land allotted to the righteous, so that the righteous may not stretch out   their hands to do wrong. Do good, O Lord, to those who are good,   and to those who are upright in their hearts. But those who turn aside to their own crooked ways   the Lord will lead away with evildoers.   Peace be upon Israel!

Psalm 126

A Song of Ascents. When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,   we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter,   and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations,   ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’ The Lord has done great things for us,   and we rejoiced.

Restore our fortunes, O Lord,   like the watercourses in the Negeb. May those who sow in tears   reap with shouts of joy. Those who go out weeping,   bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy,   carrying their sheaves.

Psalm 130

A Song of Ascents. Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.   Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive   to the voice of my supplications!

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities,   Lord, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with you,   so that you may be revered.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,   and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord   more than those who watch for the morning,   more than those who watch for the morning.

O Israel, hope in the Lord!   For with the Lord there is steadfast love,   and with him is great power to redeem. It is he who will redeem Israel   from all its iniquities.

#psalms #slander #catastrophe #injustice #tears

[philosophika]

32 and 35! No need to ask back since you sent the one yesterday. ☺️

Thank you for the ask @draculinawrites!

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

Here I sit, forming men in my own image, a race to be like me, to suffer, to weep, to delight and to rejoice, and to defy you, as I do.

This is an excerpt from Goethe’s poem Prometheus, that I'm absolutely wild about. The rage, the dignity! I found it quoted in a philosophy text (although I can't remember which one) a couple years ago, and it's taken up permanent space in my head ever since. It's become something of a personal motto I invoke when I'm writing. It helps me to remember why I write, why "I sit forming men;" to create worlds and characters that promote and defend the idea that life is meaningful, that the truth matters, that apathy is morally despicable, and that there are still reasons to look out on the world and gasp in wonder.

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

Honestly, I don't mind the writing rules? I guess I don't pay too much attention to them. If a rule helps make my writing sharper, I'll abide by it. If it doesn't work with whatever I'm trying to get across, I deviate. But it also depends on the particular scene/chapter/overall novel. I may adhere to a rule in one story, that I completely ignore in another. It really is all about context!

Thank you again for these questions! I truly enjoyed answering them. If anyone wants to send me an ask, here's a list! I always, always, always ask back :)

#ask game #tag game #writeblr #writeblr asks #writblr #writblr asks #asks #writeblr community #wtw community #writblr community #writers community #writing community #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #spilled ink #original fiction #original fantasy #dark fairytale #horror #novel #wip #goethe #prometheus #poetry #poetry quote #poetry quotes

[libidomechanica]

Boughs which are laid another, gentleman

A ballad sequence

               1

Our worth, and were like Winds like. The     but wanted birds do chaunt to leaving wilt not less fair, on     and the things when the Cash

in my arms, which after years by     an army in the Bird is well mought nedes behind her     listened for the sage of

frowning and beautiful, before,     so I made, and cometh behoue, and shamefully disgrace.     Which theirs of my study

windows glazed with freshly blew the     corn-sheaf should want, I want. He does to the fishes’ called the     perisht; and, or brand as

the faith in to stain her but warld’s     dust, his travellers to find, and laid up like a water     that spot of living upon

their song of the stars shelter’d     round then in him be things? But as far our chiefest are just     as my pain. To wait behind

him thanck. He promiseth, having     down and as you have theme: I have once it is a lion’s     fire; or seen to traffic.

For in they’re right are life, my     forte, and Centaur, man and stumblings from his quest. But now to     love all alike; like slang.

               2

Which was blue and pity hath of     no sex at all awry; what! April soft desire, and     with stay and conscience, Caryatids, lifted up because I     wonderful might shall vex the shown, hangs of dirty dawning.     Sing the various gate.

               3

Love gifts, unknown the World, and behold     desert will now sufficient fans, to thy heat and that     dirty spring, so piercing

pass; with a sublime, and a     ready cash—but all this manacles, dancing on the gotten     good where the children

and open eye would help me aside     lawn, the other kinder wrong him from Yugoslavia     somewhere cheek; no pass

a day of errors than hold me,     somethinks, it might comet! With gay girlands to perceive,     and thus I hear her spirit

bettering coy, keen, cruel fight     to sing, that yellow pride, brow-beating and her beauty of     immortal pangs o’er marbled

statute-books, her far, go forth     creeping in the custom- house, speak is a pure gold barren,     barren Reason, in earth

in my head. I swears them make your     skin, to-morrow standards of life, at self-defence: this loved     of beauty too; in some

feelings which vse to moan only     one who were abide, and straight of Platonic mean our lawful.     So I, for with

seraphic cheeks assumed the murmuring     on vs rainbows in which on nor you born idiot’s,     who met him chain mail

one shamrock now sees the Road of     so young lived till men who had got. And harmony with a     seven generally

progeny, ah, what speediest hours; no     voice to diuorce from her; or when a boy’s a-dying. A monkeys     makes another of

archives and features for thus address     the greatest date dowager has got up early dinner     has the margin, made

and London his rude. She had give     is the works of Samian and that moral a fretful briar     will leaves fall and woes.

Her lips to her, adopt your bedded     dames bloomed athwarted is so much too much more grieve to     get more bright to peep, that

this made of claret velvet cushions     for mine across them well, saw thee, robed in my earth sharpnesse     of sweare, the strokes it

raged, indeed, Repentance; like the     land, we sat a dish for their reasons of meditative.     Too short or temperately

grew the answer, ’ I said,     and endeavour His—lo! If I shoulder, give you miss, or     gazing ones, few or

magnificently to forget that     I wear who dare sweet to length of wedlock bound, and street; each     her of peace was a lier.

               4

However, more free; with my wrongs.     Leave thee to a crime, the blame, and every ill. To the     noiseless despisèd love should

soon as twas on the moral     persever, thy Naiad of creame vpon her, and songster, as harbinger     of my spinnin’ wheel

echoes th’ approbation     of the merchandise was love, I met beside, required shape,     her new voice with others

like Atlas, with whom the West. Each     humble doors open’d, and vesper make, and to be love down     the serve the spectable

towre, this stately rather would hardly     needs it weeping, of human clime, or sorrows too rude     and fled frogs cannot live

damask’d, red and dreamt I saw them     that he was a lump upon it with the unfathomable     from its dead, blush’d, whose

by and lone support his fully     rude, whose stands, for souls to re-assured much observed a thought!     Infected her. When you

departed, each in thy love so     all meats, a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in placid marble     found or war; and the large

golden jewelry flash, all the     whole charming men of Scots; the others: so though of clench’d into     the hall: a glance can

tread, till such expense. Their dance no     dearth of such as I, too, up to the more helpless chords; and,     with the dinner than all;

news were pretty opera-scene. Do     not a closer presents are a kiddy upon this, the     nerve, but it’s some slightly!

               5

Ah for me, and Lambro was a     man’s above, for white feet leave his ransom—in the race. In     the Troian boy did they the days in such as I their glorious     moan. A man of my spirits settled a throne, bent was     but wept her hand, that Juan

some perspective in one who waited     once and rain, ah, what he did not sought into the humming     sound which I have been o’er the world for better Moon of     their statues, friends her flowers: and my eyes and serene, It     made her, brief is like as

if the mountain stews, and some, and     cry of masonry, nor any beauty alone is it     bear and all the woods the shepherd’s-purse, and able time then     in act to bark, whose phosphorus, as they hurt her Name to,     else the Last; my Song is

youth, fly to fever on you, eye     appear he needs must be quiet be exalted be a     pig, indeed, in amazed. With God fostering girl’s blood on     a masquerade; and ’twas just reversion for those evil     days that whispers in the

ostler lists with state it is a     lives: ’ they that was whistless grove, no longer shall stayne, the odours.     As virtuous hed. Can I think to a sharp spear, went     through the watch’d with but Hobbinol, all pretty pastimes in     the woman-vested throughout,

at ease in flatter: let Rustum     lay an unharm’d but die by lies, yclep’d desire,     chiefe dead for his dear Love’s close shall she knee kneelings, the     summergirl, her breedingly ground enmesh your foot so much, and     bare, and dead Yesterday.

               6

Nay take this way: now I recollection     we should vanish; why such hazards rude. Love in some     forever, who sleeps—the

Grace the iawes of our rhyme; but     incess or moonlight on from the gloomed in all to my     coldnesse free the skidmarks

the gate. On softer braid, or the     strength of fairy texture, as women too like sovereign’d     bellies: we grows a habit

is digestive it—lower     pleasures made wives, pure as breeches. Lit without Greece, when the     Parcae then bow down the cities

Night to keep it dancing; each     his Presence more he vsed to wrangled—what was, in white mule     she rode undergo their

stems branch rapt to the opened mote     vnfolde many a glory long has been, and white gauze baracan     thy bright and look out?

Who little pretty, to find these     little heard mostly, most love, as the backward quest. Is more     swells, the due rest! But if

thousandth curls, afternoons heal us     o heal us o heal us o heal us I     would I care? To thy hand!

               7

Dash the Cyprian Queene, yet as the shaft, and deem’d.     Legitimacy its spirit beauty of love in his ease. When the Pacha with mine,     but a world—which they appease. And the

most happiest more truth, O Loue, with timely fruitful     land or war, or proud faced Napoleon tossed their shade doth lies bare to be impatient     love in hand, whose behind her face, then

she spare free, oh, how little Cup whose fires ouer this     dazzled by his roast a third daughter, plaiting Courser’ by mistake so rightly tender-     persons of conditions flash’d o’er me

casten to approach was on the ensuing set     a scheme of loves; and, swing a filthy souereign buffoons, and encroaching like figures on     the grasses after, understands, their

kinder casement, and come it listened her soft     Ionian fairy dread, the Maiden grace doth falsehood towne bride, our bondslave! Of its love; yet     your walk, or so, but within the dark

heart. Who vindicates him but out my sense unhaunted     felon by a young Cypress, whose Wisdom did I adjourn my Lip it safe, supreme.     Melts into Don Juan now is best be

that valley, which I desire! She strown the lip,     on cheek; perhaps a year was the happy skies, learn of diction, although unseen, and sting,     that after, under eyelids screen—yet

who were some, the Muse, now, was too seats; baba led     Juan; what the slope side of mind, that would cherryes charmed very view which cruel sunshyny face     be dandled, no doubt, when the Frowning

Foal of Heaven. Making to that houses probes would     I blow: at once was found there still my grief! He saw this same mock-love, and did not delay,     a desert all the wide gate so louely

bad, the manner of such breathed to bed and died.     With such a strange, and Baba, who discovers o’er; and wish force with whom all his predestiny:     so freedom far, go to be

born to labour, when yellow Cheek of Laila smite     does did see. To share most like this old would be father dwelt, the world, and diapred lyke the     Leaf River’s glory and barren back

on 100K a weeping, and looken board, how theme—he     self-folding his springs; the prosperity; then gird thine eyes lyke a golden: let the     young, but dirty dawn; and South, agree

the purest hue: the bargains to shrine! To west wi’     content, didst devised what I am beauty alone! While many a mere touch only     made them passions, and to the Minstrel’s

skill, and paid to some perspective shall have told there     with such a grace the world’s gear, and pomegranate juice, mething of the greater is doen     so ye comes from other tongue does she

affeard: nor suited, and yet I have a kiddy     upon it and probably too hot the goal, who, what the world is floors, the state, awake an     extra holiday.—And new. Throne, as

they are chiefly you were battles in a meridian     lore. And hate, thy births of business is ground; I grant to proved the world a notion     of getting somewhere Grattan, Curran,

Sheridan, all the violet banks the fingers on     yr name with canto meet in those scoundrels, which its sad could engross pain—nature to none.     And I know where to one day be beat,

nor where twas to walk the next, till weeps, perhaps at     cause that I devout touch not a lad, how much to the Pot? She order feet Hark! Behold     desired my ankle in a midnight

I still makes us wish ourself keeps your grave     oftentimental scrupulosity; ’ he ledger live out you still the rainbows of     that such as feel it into amazed.

               8

(The rhymes at our heart’s echo ring.     Which Juan, the voices. Or staining, right as we scale—i only     Laili, ’ yet as dresses

are threading hold fast; a dazzling     helpless eyelashes, the green worse: for throwes fast     flattering kings and love-poem!

The shepherds and full of     inspired!—Mankind, a raging as her in the hall our two     and from the to vulgar

by large eyes, the Quarrel kill’d to     be press’d his rapier hilt a-twinkles in wonder’d with     power, and then in baby

form divine: and set some seem’d     her down. I’ll look at you could discern but Thee, yea, sweet kiss’d     over. Life-enkindling

bones i’ th’ street and prayer.     Her mount aloft, and lullaby can hope to burst, slippery     pranck, ere I am an

antelope as fast fly: if theyr     number of the least you pleasure-House—who not in vain; for     latter to thee to thine

arm, and Thou beside to spare it,     in motion, e’er by and praye they; carpet to let the world     of rocks bewitch’d by. Hoping

the Pleiads, rising so, with     curling fleece of Pope and freed, not what he praetorian     nodded to me a

livelier iris changeable, table     as udders were it came a pearl or ill. For Pyramus,     and Et sepulchri

immemor struis domos’ shows the     last to this mouldy hay, that they will state shall hands and     With lullaby can die.

               9

Time when he replaced, and turns eyes, then the Deluge.     By rebel pachas, and inlets of them true plains, louder come again; as who dote on     the dusk holiday. With deeper and

dry’d him from her cheeks abroad. Rascals, being the     relide. From mine early, rich, a quietsome, So far Ku-to-yen, by that great prepared, her     face in the lawes as much fall; For thy

saile, too good has in all hem at once province,     he would not mine own shocks of illnesse strange alone is slipp’d serpent—Ha, the front of     love, as age; in seas long, to leave the

riuers fethereanent. Of a youth be brittle, did     see just, and I will no tongue; and you see your name with lower was stand is invited     guise; warrior maidenhood. But who laid

will hauiour gaudy tastes unseen: and having eyelids     apart cleft from hilly bourn; your further people your heart more please, turn’d she break our booty;     the very wise anticipated;

but living at the bedded in Greece, the     phantasy, unless I own through the path, and torch-flame; and that’s a narrowness in lovely     annoyed I probably too hot the eager

maternal life. But now to dress dancing, from     the lawn, but most some urn toss’d over Nevada as well or ivory into trace; I     will follow ocean-stream, thy reason.

From chain—it may change heard my plainly so formed, touch’d     his laurels wore, and my own heart! And half Englishwoman’s, true; but I know what here our     false in vain. Baba and cancelled to

lay. But burn and Glory, glue the cast, and forever,     shrine, tho’ I slew the cold and put off the more had all it nothing said, than with gilded     leaf, or adamant, too subtly

wrought like me forth of it a sinner; tis only     majestical, be calm of mute insane. Beautiful ear in its fruit the flies; who     have clime, then roll the main. And leap the

last gasps, as bright every day believed his old and     oh, young nurse precious pair of a rundown part of Almighty greater bathes of Europe—     you by! This sire to burst into

play thee praye, or heaven, and sink o’er his your     childishly? And bow’d at their new lips and spight, upon an hour, till by Feringhi     Such charm a fusion; they never knew.

               10

And touch the man were she loves me     end of love his level of advanced, her the grass never     maid, and thereal, thou dost enlarge, encline think with blind to     her lying on the princess

sleep or shall be half in all     the first break. ’Tis all Olympus had falling purple foot,     make my seat, play hard but with wool and down in copying     this page. Born to my boon!

To heare herself escaped thilke paynes     and smote the past. Who don’t, t wouldst thy wolf betray’d dark,     it will fall outlive the sense! On despondents, I am     resolu’d thy errour

to kepe, is my love dependences     terse. To-morrow: ’ then he put out, and so louely band,     another of some perspectives life to fold me,—he note     thy clanking swarm of woll,

whatever dies. My dearie! With a     winter’s face, she’s hein-shin’d, pall Mall, all the Nothing movest     underworld, and to be less daughter, most from the better,     ’ Juan who sayes, they clinging

of a lost outright, the one open     to sing, were leap. Can the woodbines was most? You must     be so. Because no friend, a son … You!—The dim purpureal     tresses in Brunswick Square.

Perceived till o’er his shriek without     they jogg’d each the others at mortality seem on roses,     by the pales beside to be bold, by the Landor’ has     tantalized my cause it

is antithesis; romance oft     avenged: surprise in gentle her heads bow, his heart’s Desire;     my nature spake. He felt that was but to the human     kind. Others bow, outward

partly couert night, I had arrivest     at that wull, and Dryden, are you dreams, all miscount I     one more irregular emotion’d serene: his for one     of her young noble vigour

in and such an air of     Potiphar, thou can moved, love’s annals, revelry grew up from     all and distorted his own Polygamy’s to my though     she shriek’d, and cancelled

merrily, to my bliss from, thou were     build up her come, my evermore. Oh God! Or, called ark the     less fair banquet-room, fill’d in baby clothed with thy domains     with skill return squeakers

and for her, and serene: his soil     for one shall triumph drooping branch’d one ask me with things, spice     so light lifts up his brows are gone on the dead, as we reap     the roofs have hearthstone?

Ambition, generations—condescend,     ourself in the ribbon of taxborn rich and Nights might     kick with patience made to point, when a moment, one Dusk of     the world, and shade of perrill

and content till both in my     decayed holo-gram—my for each hath the funeral     direction of the tend the pavilion: twice five months hath may     let it takes all the world

dropsies, thou being lies, then smart,     and as any changes, and with her race wroth, as pale in     honest glance to face; and on my father down the history.     So while the Seven Sleep.

               11

’ Cause that ourself—first a Candiote     cloak, as eels are woods them over, grew on it must at once;—     through many thou will love

first shall perpend if the arms spreads     its grosser than might; yet, what it disdaineth; suns of our     good attending air bubbling

fury from home at night. Write     the paired by thing the foot’ could not being a curse. Must be     staid a moment, the summer

day. Wades; tis beyond expressed     was but that tenderneath the highway, without a suit in     which spreads out of that infest

the tower, she had desires     him sat the Strip of one worst reproues the Tavern cry,     awake, the suddenly;

and so beauty in these hill, the     very meaning that matter none, yet I would come on a     man, her hands in Egypt.

               12

Casts of the wrath sheepe beneath—but     as for fear theyr should hoist my complexities Nighting under     him, and glittering

in her veins; the trouble dry.     Perceiving clouds in words ease, diggon her, knowne, or sad afray:     lyke Phoebus, father than

is the meads where. Some rumour also     of some living to that shoot, and like dark and heaven     of marble floods which noble

palace! But we built, and I     go from Alicant, all we again. Have punished day is     lost thou sighing frame: i,

cumbrous, like this carriage feast teeming     the Grape! Three yeare, but her bed has been nurst, but this t’     ye: or be presents to

Lucy I wil the fitting, or     for yours, wine, as the Grape! Saw one, who wast thy perfect with     curling eyes, as in the

thunder, holds an unto the woods     and the twilight’s more is neither good forbid. Alas, thick     and the worlds care, too much

a far more beauty take frosty     rime, the earn’d, pious use, which are finish’d, who can body.     The ambrosial gloom: there

she doth find, by delay’d the image?     The Moving metaphysical discries. I say I     heard the kiss the Fire—the

Hall, that not; and sooty through branch     rapt to the full-borne? But violets blue deep into my love     all others lie in breathed

the Nil Admirari. The Field     of ever and on my spinnin’ wheels, then uncontrovertible     a level—No!

               13

All the blest it seems Cain: la Belle Alliance’ of     dunces down upon the Enemy’s Head; his Voice spake, half Mussulman, what my sun one     in midnight bubbling day; better like

relic, and unencumber’s sky admiring, replied     a griefe: sike quest. The ample of the stroke between the darkness! To make great passionate     fire. Sheikh, Be wise, and flowers: still

a spirit that had been transitory to cry     aloud, so that bring, and fire and Dryden’s lore solitude of thee. Willie had, I wad     na gie a button for ever was

her way: so thou not euill speak, and down. Among the     heavy-fruited tree—summer in his hair was all of Living in their turn it were emong     the villainous Greek to hold, this

day form, by Baba paused, and his pray, which someone     might might slip, like temples, also living voices of both command hills of the act of     pure delights are hold were sinks the that

I dare claim. The wood, with a things which the valley,     stream here theyr gloried all which the manners blazoned whatever. On the few or man     turn as if this, that I cannot find,

by the grass, doe meet. Do chaunting-ground, over the     means my yong melody enthrone. The violets’ eyes, and opening set a screech of     European with sovereigntee, bene

all friend: you know, then, since each gloom of bees on thy     living to be servile to her she wasted t was a noise and one on foot for six     months with you? I dempt the sounds Ravenna’s

immersion, from the terrors of my best he     man as young, and her, like thee most, on so unseen still be possessed. And though not go away.     And yet the bonie lass gang. With Gin

beset the Dusk of Wine, and as there was here are     the fair creatures strength be Strong; and thou know what after me? Not thy power on earth and     glitter, as none. Who all these poor

Ambition, thought, at best. Are boughs, t were, pain, so much     too shortest time to me by his income, and I am I, and my feet.—Which I can     find a self-contemplation round, thou

owest; nor Entreaty, Threat, and thro’ me? His right     the musk of Wine, and Lamia, no long, busy commandant stretched with a mourners of     tropic shade and Despair, an opened

around to each hand hale, with my night flew his     existence and chalk and snow continents— as if it well as he steps, and drink; he feeds the     weight munchings; the one True harmlesse harmlesse

monstrous woods shall items costly. Will be able     to sight of killing friend forth in from hue to Will. Gold, and wide scatter thy pillours     decay, o’ercharm enough; only their

lustre was once possess on the gate, t was as     large excitement whiles that to hunt his learn some of true loved to sell, and life into travels     he shadows! Your mouth when the lees.

               14

Through life’s various mode of beauty     from his old text, still unknowne these Jack Cades of soundeth!     And all those large postering cup, and they might reason     gave, that the welcome foremost

faire booing flowers upon     her eye-dawn of such seekes to the way their owne father’s     apron. And my griefe; and help us; slaves in the grasses.     Maybe things greatest lipp’d

a pair, and knew not what was far     office, Muse: wilt weep. And was a truth, understand; even     in battling up his Heart’s fall for blood and battle-flags of     midnight I that he was

like a single, trammels freedom,     wisdom is the flying float us each other until     mine eyes another casement, and ogle: o, ye     ambrosial moment, he reproof’s

a sire. The night voyage     took you yet men were than through to her present doth resolu’d     thee, like fire again, a moral model. Nothing in     his vesture in thunderbolt.

Probes grace the gate all room to     rest, that are not much in his carriage. No more, then Cleopatra     livelier iris changeable being refrain.     Circles, and comparison

doubt it a single, gold and     Erin’s gore, and pure her hearts, and out shall he died: heaven.     And perisheth on your bring ye loves her dreamful was Nimrod’s     heart and kiss the way

which we Cantabs pleasant tail, with     my young did swell of hopes, is a horror of tempest, where     thing rascal to pick it— for thy will hast the worse for things,     fearing or a sinner.

               15

The eunuch made moan threats, a man     was bewitcht with a heart more exacts that flickers which leaves     are village, the more

worthiness was granting shallower     yet dare sweet-faire, most like to his from Cenchreas, from whom the     Public stare: but mine has

plays: hither, toss, and spilt our own     whims, had chose from my head from the very vestal, Heaven’s     breadth of sorrow to haste

to his face, scarce more up in the     white Muse-browed steps walk’d whereof gate so great pitty. Except     in should but in his kingdom

or company thorns with gems;     here are mine. That in yonder if his you here others sank,     and hope to me, and what

can people bred betweenwhile     to vale, is to move, be loved, remaine, ran through certes, thou     art! And now would not ask

me to mine own lately place his     Highness’ eyes, and remember the hours by sun one opened     and of change, he would we

watching the leaned till, and her throne     of her for me the same harp on summer isles of blood thine     above that command

mutabilis’ takes her fixed and doth     of them, letting behind through many hear her like a tinted     in the rivulet

fallen a street and by, ’ rejoice     in the best habit she is common sense—cannot chuse but     watch! My death weighs argosies

of him but this moulder shadow     of that; and so former luckless race, just be? Ask why     then pricke, sayne, but low their

usual, late and that wait on     you, so divine desyre, and rolled in the Waste, I know what     next, the porches too from

what avail to secure is it     with a sweet please you rise? My eyes, when this spirit down on     the bed than she were was

angry fancies beheld his gloried     and Kaikhosrú forgot, nor lose to sires, the world of     Pantisocracy; or

Colin he wall, looking comes upon     the Caravanserai whose glowing you must of a     Good and sung, or naturally

used to be cured. Re in     Portugal; in Germany, and Marathon looks to Dissolution     ripeth vp cause.

               16

We did lende me blinded bidder.     Enough the proportions too late I could not lives and so     he burden of my stomach,

hearthstone or toil me her briskly     enter’d be. My heard about in the heard through the     Caducean charms and sometime

she sandy shore! I lived wither’d     all the faults. And Mocha’s beauty scarce to your child, and ye     high toby-spice his and

hope or country gentleman can     gird the sire in a forest limbs of long endured twenty-     one. And dumb one, and

their future spake enticing raiment     to point to lay her brows, silk-pillows, though multitudinous     center him, who

had perceant, still her faire-sweete success     the gold and in hand; I bow down within our two before     him, as a husband

angel of her lids apart i     carry it in the most though all inviolate; none should     but speakes and there very

fool descript should we be banish     ere he went that’s my revenge us at our own laws, the     crimson cloud, around it

out at gate, put on, and on half     a frighter of prey, he strife, when the forest borrow’d see     us in this supersede

all worse than nurse was at his     manner’d man to be seen across the flower-loving Harbour,     with buds, and knew how

loud of beaver has the Sleep; But,     like, but I begun: rift thee solace shot its own keep close     in which, by Natures; and,

in glade and deem’d a horse. I see     never lighted, richly wrought needs the other is left so     special jury here. You

scarcely gazed on the morning smile     don Juan, whose county ball room were a multifarious guide,     and slow, how can it be

a pittance; her and drove past; that     with t. And dream? Fourteen I speakers the song, my freedome     still reade it started the

pain, blue, silver deep Bosphor glow     of your Eccho ring. Should still. Native beyond meal, robert     Burns: king a sudden sun:

we took this digress into strict     Testing field so it is, which wrapt there the death. Or the negro,     pray bene, which thoughts,

does you away. To which yearly     spot of the will be my griefe: sike questioned in abundance     beat, nor our Eccho ring.

               17

Five been a lawn besprent a     miserable books—fool, again. Made of future ran in some few     years or in my dread

disquiet scene and baffled to Juan’s     close at home; for women. Of purchased Infidels, which might     as the world. For those was

sentimes beene the indifferent     nations? ’St me; and their poets who are thee, turn has     brought, and I with me or

your grew which a deed, those evil     days it would have mowed, hast said, I was tired of pines so     she weary night: chrome-winged

Psyche truth, it has the night, is     it peace or war, or as a matrons for his counterfectly     to forbid! How many

ornament, he opened mote     the faire louers never interwreathes; the very Botany     Bay is done, whose power

of louer? All along with you     thinke of half-way how and then support. Nor anything I’ve     not dwell in vapour, or

their own whims, had now that is, so     far the pine folds the airies to last—of all the worlds would     wish tongue; a sad tragedie.

               18

This union were kept within, or     mutter’d angel form’d a very face was not holds a poising     up and such a kind

thee stand ampler flower-loving,     as he shock’d thereof she reade your memory refresh lusty     hed, go to their hams,

were loue is not, alack!—If I     should cherish are Holy Land! A thousand time I tied heat.     And nowe the summit of

the burning through the way to Tim’s     years and for it prospers; and watchman every greedy pleasant     days in some rebel

Pacha a crater.-Divers,     houseleek’s soak, over the lone color of that Greek, in the     daylight The Shah of Yúnan,

as who gather’s eyes this? On     the hills. Up, she is almost a no less with unkindness,     destroy; and I do justice

with them blind yourselves returning     in these closer present heere about he spake. Have once     more; but to remind the

Rosy Morne upon a courtesy;     a sentimental scratching her, shall I see them not;     and she affirmed not, all

these little harder too? Strange shape     of their malice? The loss of the trump shall down in copying     this odd though his meat,

there better hemispheres, the     Cheek of heauens, thick and passe matron brilliant without hardly     leaves, composed the vain!

               19

’ Well, could at top with his Christian,     cursing love first a Candide found the silken-folded up     within a petticoats;

and the price. Is that all his hair     damp from mine is the Lady Booby, phaedra, and Line, and     take me from the Ground by

my young and dashed in statute-books,     her eye-dawn of gold, and That; do Thou dost thou feel’st a loss     of wit giuing woman’s Glory

the spheres all his last kisses     and the time enough in wonder the oracle, nor slip     or cupboard of Nineveh,

may turn, some see me on the     grave—wrapt in its own soft- conched the rainbow’s glory to     diuorce from fair love. My altars

are little bowre and not whom     the ghostly bales; heard, for being, he hunts into them wish     wont, all the nipple; paps

tractable talk about him double     right beauty thus he tribunes’ crew; and now, I think     with lullaby can contact;

and then t was accustom’d     prey, like the cars go waltz to so recollect a poetess     was dour and the time wild

desires, and nothing straight and     look cross the mart Then glared as Baba bow’d obeisance at     the dreamt to-day as the

glen ate in vain, where thou afore     fainting I have been a laden winding-sheet of the Blest.     Juan had not kept in rock

and fall of hope of life I can     properest not ask’d her to the law of voices murmuring.     Yearning stealth; perhaps,

the quiet be exalted be     there the casten to be fed. Rising dies are such agonies     should leave me room an

high, bob, And fall shoulders, torch-flame     the lighter eyes of temper youngling Herbe and the full-born     mind, which in their nation.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #206 texts #ballad sequence

[musical-chick-13]

Talk to me about your Spotify wrapped 5, 68, 84, 16, and 13 :)

YES

THANK YOU

I LOVE TALKING. ABOUT MUSIC SPECIFICALLY.

5: "Your Love Could Start A War" by The Unlikely Candidates is here again, mainly because it's catchy, it's a song that I associate with pretty much every ship I have, so it always matches up with whatever I'm fixated on at the time, and the general premise is literally just "You will kick ass for the people you care about, and I love that about you." I love the ebbs and flows of the dynamics in this-the transitions between a more playful appreciation of the song's subject, a subdued wonder, and full-out, ride-or-die, thundering support (that goes beyond approval and reads more like an eager decision to join this person in their levels of all-powerful devotion). Basically, this song was made for me specifically.

68: "Flawless" by The Neighborhood. THE MAIN THESIS OF THE SONG IS "I JUST CAN'T WAIT FOR LOVE TO DESTROY US" THOSE ARE THE LITERAL CHORUS LYRICS. like. Even taking into account the cool musical things this song does: the easy vocal delivery of the singer, the dark atmosphere, the fact that most of the sections have opening/middle lines that all rhyme but have non-rhyming lyrics that are more in line with what we'd think of as natural dialogue (creating a flow of words that tells a story, as opposed to making it painfully clear that We Are Specifically Making A Song and trying to shoehorn clunky artistic decisions in just to abide by structural conventions)---EVEN ASIDE FROM ALL THIS, it's just a little ode to the idea of love as a corruptive and destructive force, which is one of my favorite themes to explore through art.

84: "Close to You" by Neon Trees. This is just Yearning™: the Song, which is my primary emotion like 70% of the time, I don't really have much else to say about this, other than its simple delivery makes my soul weep. Tyler Glenn for president.

16: "Chloroform/Nightmares" by Hot Milk. Idk, this EP came out and I listened to basically nothing else for I don't even know how long. This one is a slow build, comparing a crumbling interpersonal relationship to being forced into a physical standstill by getting knocked out with chloroform, before admitting that the relationship was just a desperate need to have someone there so you could protect yourself from your own demons. (ALSO: bad coping mechanisms are referred to as "self-vandalization" which. Holy shit.) The instrumentation switches from blurry and enveloping, to more subdued, to full-force pop rock, the background elements shifting between reverberating gang vocals, surreal electronic backing, and heavy guitar and drums with exploding, screaming backup harmonies, then briefly back to a more subdued, muted tone at the end, all with ease, never once losing the feeling of being "stuck" or suspended in emotional stasis. If you're looking for a song that encapsulates the pain, struggle, and difficulty that come from trying to still be a person while under the crushing weight of navigating a world you don't understand, this is the one. GOD, this EP is so good, it's one of the best pieces of art I've ever encountered. I have no words for everything this band is to me.

13: YAY FAVORITE NUMBER THANK YOU, this one is "pity party" by Stand Atlantic, which is probably The™ "fuck you" song Of All Time. (Fun fact, I was in the top 0.5% of listeners for this band.) The thing I really love about this band is that their lead singer Bonnie Fraser (an Artist™™™) always knows exactly what vocal delivery choices will most effectively communicate what she is trying to say. She adds in this vocal growl every time she says "fuck you" in the song (which is a lot, lmao), not because it's the way she just naturally sings, but because it adds to the atmosphere of the song. In the final chorus, she takes the melody on the word "enemy" to a higher note in an explosion of rage to highlight just how done she is with this person (oh, those two seconds are so satisfying to me), it's just a bunch of little things like these. The verses are trying to be more metaphorical-comparing their target of scorn's constant emotional manipulation to a cult leader poisoning their victims, saying that manipulator is melting down their invented victim-complex to be packaged into a sell-able product, referring to their continued actions as a barrage of papercuts-but after she decides "someone's gotta say it," it becomes a straightforward curse-out in the chorus, making it abundantly clear what the function of this song is-we don't need euphemisms or pretty language, this person just sucks, and sometimes you straight up just need to say so. Also, I think the guest feature Royal and the Serpent fits really well here, and the line "I've got no time for all your fake bitch energy" is endlessly amusing to me.

#unhinged lady screams about music #multi t(ASK)ing #behold! a creation! #spotify wrapped #tw: cult mention

[nonbinarychaoticstupid]

NOW I AM NOT THE FOOL I WAS WHEN I WAS YOUNGER.....

#sep texxt #/lyr #the oh hellos #tw caps #CROCODILE EYES I HAVE SEEN HOW YOU HUNGER #FLUTTERING YOUR LASHES LIKE ASHES AND EMBERS #WARM AND BRIGHT AS FIRE DEVOURING TIMBER #NO I CANNOT TRUST WHAT YOU SAY WHEN YOU'RE GRIEVING #SO MY LOVE IM SORRY BUT STILL I AM LEAVING #EVEN WHEN YOU HUNT ME WITH IRE RELENTLESS #BATTER DOWN MY DOOR WHEN YOU FIND ME DEFENCELESS #I WILL NOT ABIDE ALL YOUR RAGING AND WEEPING #I HAVE SAID MY MIND AND MY WILL I AM LEAVING

[kiki-shortsnout]

May I request frostiron Mpreg as a prompt? Thank you! 💜

Hey everyone! A few of you have asked if I'm still doing prompts. The answer is yes, but it does take me a while to write them, I do have a day job and restrictions on my time, plus I'm also working on my IronStrange Bigbang, so please be assured I will get to them all eventually, it will just take time! ❤️

Warnings for below: This is Alpha/Omega and contains Mpreg, just so everyone is aware! Also as it's me.....it's also much longer than I initially thought........

***

‘Sleepy,’ Tony groaned, flopping onto the couch and shoving his head in Loki’s lap. Weakly, he lifted his arms, attempting to bat Loki’s book away and have his full attention.

‘Tired, little Omega?’ Loki teased, his voice low as he closed his book and placed it down on the armrest. If anyone else had called him that, Tony would’ve torn a strip out of their hide, unleashing a verbal smackdown so powerful that it made even the toughest Alphas quake. As it was Loki, Tony accepted the words for what they were, a form of sarcastic affection.

Fingers tangled in his hair, and Tony all but purred at the attention, stretching his limbs out and melting into the couch beneath him, feeling safe in Loki’s hold.

Whatever this was between them, it was good. Loki had respected his boundaries ever since Tony had created the foundations of this…relationship. The Alpha had returned to Earth after his trial on Asgard, remorseful over his actions regarding the Battle of New York, but not quite able to apologize properly for it. The Avengers and SHIELD regarded him with hostility, despite knowing he had been held captive to a brainwashing scepter, waiting for the inevitable betrayal, but Tony had seen something different.

He had recognized something of himself in Loki. Tony knew how close he’d skirted the line of becoming a villain, how his choices in life could’ve been very different. He’d been drawn away from crossing that line many times by Pepper and Rhodey, but Loki didn’t have friends, struggled under different obligations, with only his mother believing he could be more.

Tony understood that all too well, a father that always saw reason to fault you, who always saw the worst in you, and a mother who believed in you.

Loki was one of the few Alphas who respected Tony for who he was, who seemed to enjoy the challenges and verbal sparring they had. He didn’t know if that was because of his Jotun heritage, or how Alphas were brought up on Asgard, but Tony had a sneaky feeling that secondary genders didn’t matter to someone who was neither Asgardian nor a Frost Giant, someone who was a bit of both, but not really either.

Just like Tony who had been raised to suppress his Omega characteristics, to overlap them with Alpha traits and now he was a paradox that didn’t fit into either category.

Like this now though, with Loki stroking through his hair, gazing down at him with fondness, Tony inhibited the sweet Omega form, happy to be close to an Alpha, breathing in his scent, the cold bite of snow that reminded Tony of cozy nights with his mother. They weren’t together, even if Tony had allowed Loki to share his heat a few months ago, one of the rare Alphas Tony had trusted to see him vulnerable in such a way.

‘Your scent…it’s different than usual,’ Loki said, his tone cautious.

This was one of the things Tony adored about Loki, his unwillingness to push him for more, understanding that he was terrified at the prospect of being bonded to an Alpha. He hadn’t morphed into an overbearing monster or become territorial after Tony’s heat, he still checked in and made sure he was comfortable.

Loki was the one Alpha he could see himself becoming bonded to, which made whatever they were doing bittersweet as Loki had also expressed concerns about not wanting to be ‘beholden to an Omega’s whims’ as he’d put it. It was beyond ironic, the one Alpha Tony trusted, the one he would consider for a mate held the same ideals about mating as he did.

Tony wasn’t going to dwell on it, he had a good, no strings attached thing here and he wasn’t going to ruin it.

‘Hmm? I haven’t been feeling well. Pepper says it’s stress, as if I haven’t been stressed every day of my life,’ Tony scoffed, lifting his head for more attention.

‘Do you…would you,’ Loki amended, ‘like my assistance with anything? I know I’m not always understanding of what it is you do but-’

‘Thanks, Lokes, but I’m alright honestly. It’s just board members giving me a rough time that’s all, things will ease off soon,’ Tony told him, opening his eyes and looking up into concerned ones. Loki couldn’t help his Alpha instincts, wanting to care and protect those he cared about, heightened by the fact they had shared a heat and a rut together.

Tony lifted his hand, cradling the side of Loki’s face, both in reassurance and so Loki could bend his head down and breathe in his scent from the gland in his wrist, grounding him. Lips dropped a delicate kiss over the gland, and as green eyes opened, Tony felt a lurch in the pit in his stomach and an irrational rage towards his past self.

Why did I put those boundaries in?

***

Tony ground his forehead into the cool desk, chafing the skin, his blinding headache doing nothing to drown out the words of the doctor ringing in his ears.

What was he going to do?

‘Boss, I think you need to take a break, this can’t be good for you, or the-’

‘Don’t, just don’t,’ Tony snapped, feeling his shoulders hunch, his teeth baring in a snarl. His arms came up to cover his head, protecting him from everything and anything. He needed Pepper, or Rhodey, he needed someone to tell him this was going to be okay, to go through his options.

‘Boss, Loki is requesting a visit,’ FRIDAY told him, making his stress levels skyrocket, his heartbeat increasing to match.

‘Tell him I’m busy.’ Tony jerked his head up, looking around the room. Loki wouldn’t teleport in here, that had been one of Tony’s very first rules, no invading his workshop unless invited. Pepper and Rhodey ignored it, but Loki abided by the rule, as did most of the Avengers.

‘I did. However, he has expressed concern regarding the changes in your behavior, the length of time between your last visit, and I really think-’

‘Alright!’ Tony held a hand up to stop her in her tirade, scrubbing his hands through his hair, thinking quickly. He couldn’t do this, he wanted space to think, to plan. It had been days since he’d gotten the news of his condition, and he’d come straight here, needing to work.

‘Let him in,’ Tony said, ‘and I’m sorry, for my shitty attitude, I’m just-’

‘Understandable Boss. No matter what your decision is, I will support you in any way I am able.’

‘I know, honey, thank you,’ Tony breathed out, trying not to cry, knowing Loki would be able to smell it.

‘Are you well, Anthony? It has been longer than normal since the last time I have seen you and I know the idiots you call teammates share my concern,’ Loki asked, stepping forward with narrowed eyes, trying to scent the air without being obvious about it.

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine Loki, just been distracted with something,’ Tony told him, gesturing with his hand at the schematics in the holographic display behind him.

‘You’re distressed,’ Loki informed him.

‘Damn Alpha nose,’ Tony hissed, turning in his chair to look back at his holograms.

‘It has nothing to do with your scent,’ Loki told him, turning his chair back the other way and bending down so they were eye level. ‘What is wrong, darling?’ he asked, reaching up to stroke his thumb over Tony’s eyebrow, trailing down to circle around his eye. ‘You are close to weeping.’

‘I can’t fix the suit,’ Tony answered. It wasn’t a lie, not really.

Loki’s gaze flickered up, taking in Tony’s designs. ‘Is there a weakness in the stomach plating? You’re focusing much of your calculations on that area,’ he asked.

‘It’s the most vulnerable area,’ Tony answered, subconsciously resting his hands over his stomach and then quickly moving them down to his thighs, gripping his jeans.

‘Anthony, your armor is impenetrable, I would know,’ Loki tried to change the tone of their conversation, making a lighthearted jab about their fight months ago.

Tony looked up at the schematics, knowing that no matter the tinkering, the redesigning of the suit, nothing he did would protect the life growing inside him. It was too dangerous, the number of times he got flung across the battlefield, the energy beams, the alien technology, the stress on his body.

He couldn’t be Iron Man anymore. Not like this.

‘Anthony, you need to breathe, listen to me,’ Loki’s voice faded in and out. Nails suddenly tightened on his knees giving him a focus point, his lungs suddenly remembering how to inhale air. ‘That’s it, one breath in, hold it, now release,’ Loki instructed, his scent wrapping around him, forming a protective bubble amidst all the panic, holding him steady.

If I can’t be Iron Man, if I can’t be an Avenger, then what am I? What use am I?

‘Anthony…Tony, darling, you need to breathe. You are safe, I will protect you from everything,’ Loki swore, his gaze turning brittle as he watched him, his lips drawing back from his teeth as he readied himself for battle.

‘I can’t do this,’ Tony blurted, feeling his shoulders beginning to shake.

‘Anthony, you are the strongest Ome…the strongest person I know. There is nothing you cannot do. Know that I will stand beside you, fighting your demons alongside you, you are not alone.’

Beside you. Not for you. Even now with his instincts going haywire, Loki’s scent curdling in the air, becoming so sour with his rage, he was still respecting Tony’s wishes.

Tony flung his arms around Loki’s neck, clutching him close, burrowing his head into his unbroken bonding gland, even as his nose wrinkled against the foul odor, the aroma thick on his tongue, choking him. Loki held him close, rubbing his jaw the best he could over his head, scenting him in a rare act of claiming, warning others away that Tony usually would’ve balked at.

Instead, he tried to get closer, sending Loki to his ass on the floor as he scrambled onto his lap, his hands fisting into Loki’s tunic top, wanting the warmth and reassurance of the Alpha. Loki allowed him to take whatever comfort he wanted, drawing his legs up so his knees bracketed Tony’s body, his arms in a loose hug around his back.

He felt himself blinking back tears, the agony in his heart ingrained in the very tissues of his muscle, aching with every beat. Had Loki ever wanted more from him? He’d never asked, taking Loki’s word for it months ago that he too didn’t want to be tied down. They’d never spoken about anything changing, and Tony wasn’t certain Loki even wanted him in a long term sense, if he would eventually go home and find a royal Omega.

The thoughts made him shake in Loki’s hold, and even the deep crooning rumbling in the Alpha’s chest couldn’t calm him, the frantic thoughts of his mind more powerful than biological instincts.

‘Listen to me, I do not say this as an Alpha to an Omega. I know the boundaries you have set, will abide by them always, but I hope as one friend to another you will speak to me about what is ailing you,’ Loki encouraged.

‘I can’t,’ Tony whimpered.

He needed to sort this out alone.

***

He’d always scoffed at all of the insipid dramas Pepper had made him watch, the misunderstandings unfolding between two characters, arguments and heartbreak that could have easily been resolved with a mature conversation, sometimes even a word.

I’m pregnant.

They weren’t even difficult words to say, but Tony was suffocating under the weight of them, what they meant to him, to Loki, their future, his future.

Tony stood at the edge of the room, on the fringes of things where he was most comfortable. The charity event was in full swing around him, people in their finest clothes dancing, swirls of colorful silk and chiffon, the dark suits of the men a gorgeous contrast. The atmosphere was bubbly, light and frothy like the champagne they drunk, and Tony was the dark cloud, sucking up the positive emotions and radiating a toxic miasma in return.

Pepper suspected something was wrong too. Betas didn’t have the sense of smell Alphas had, but she knew him better than anyone, knew he was hiding something, and he knew he didn’t have long before she backed him into a corner.

He didn’t want to deal with the issue at hand, had started ignoring it, convincing himself that it would go away if he didn’t think about it. Even as he started being sick, the constant exhaustion now plaguing him, he turned a blind eye to it all, cutting himself off from everyone. The Avengers hadn’t noticed, used to Tony becoming obsessed with projects and cutting them off for weeks at a time.

Loki had though, Tony could feel his gaze boring into his back at the shared common room in the tower, the questions burning on his tongue when Tony refused to suit up as Iron Man. Even as Steve and Tony argued about his cowardice, Fury’s threats to take him from the team, he hadn’t said or done anything, leaving Tony to fight his own battles unless he was called for.

No matter how desperately Tony had wanted the Alpha…his Alpha beside him, he couldn’t say anything. Looking down at the untouched champagne glass in his hand, he gave a self-deprecating laugh. He couldn’t come to terms with the idea of becoming a parent, but understanding he’d been thinking of Loki of his Alpha for some time had been a simple realization.

Looking up through all the crowds of people here for the charity event he was supposed to be hosting, Tony found Loki easily. The Alpha was staring at him, hurt lurking in his gaze before he was quickly able to mask it, offering Tony a well-rehearsed smile, one he himself wore at events like this. Loki’s gaze went down to the still full glass in Tony’s grip, lifting his own and tapping the side of it, asking if he wanted something else.

Shaking his head, he turned away from Loki, forcing himself into conversation with one of the sponsors, nodding in greeting as Thor walked past with Bruce, both talking happily with a crowd of fans following.

He felt like an imposter, knowing he was meant to be part of a team. This…condition would change all that, he wouldn’t be taken seriously, forced into a desk position, watching on the sidelines. That wasn’t him, he wanted to protect the Earth.

I am Iron Man.

Smashing glass caught his attention, an ominous hush settling over everyone at the party, guests drawing away from Loki, revealing him to be the culprit of the damage. His fingers were still poised from where he’d been holding a glass, his eyes huge as he stared down at a woman.

A very pregnant, Omega woman.

Shit.

Tony thrust his glass into someone’s hand, trying to escape while there were people forming a barrier between them, fear clawing its way over his body, seizing him in its clutches as he tried to escape. Others turned to help him as they caught scent of his terror, some thinking a villain had shown up as he started to barge pass, trying to make a run for it.

He smacked into Loki’s chest, the lingering magic shimmering in the air revealing he’d teleported himself straight in his path.

‘I think not, Stark,’ Loki hissed, teleporting them both.

***

Despite the rage oozing from Loki’s body, he still made sure Tony had regained his footing after teleporting before he thrust him away, trying to put space between them both, magic crackling in his palms and snaking down his arms.

Tony staggered over to his bed, taking a moment to appreciate Loki the fact had teleported them somewhere he viewed safe. His bedroom was a sanctuary that few had access to, the one place he could nest without judgement, where he had his heats without fear for his safety, knowing that only FRIDAY could override the security locks on his door.

He wrapped his blanket around his knees, subconsciously guarding the life growing inside him as he hugged a pillow to his stomach. Hidden within it was a prototype gauntlet, and he knew Loki knew that, saw the way his gaze went to it even as Tony slid his hand into it, ready to fight.

‘Did you not think I would find out?’ Loki growled, holding his ground, trying not to threaten a pregnant Omega, but ensnared by the potent mix of rage and hurt. ‘Did you think you could conceal it from me forever, ashamed of me and my heritage? Or did you think I planned this for you somehow, trapping you as mine, the one thing you did not wish for!’

‘That isn’t it, Loki,’ Tony protested.

‘Then what, Stark? Tell me before my patience wears thin!’ Loki demanded.

The second use of his surname stung. He’d grown used to the way Loki said Anthony with reverence, the loving way he used darling sparingly, muttering it against his skin when he’d been exhausted from his heat, or when it was used when he sought affection from the Alpha.

‘I didn’t know how,’ Tony pleaded.

‘How to say you were carrying my child… or how to say you wish you weren’t?’

‘That isn’t it Loki! I’m scared damn it!’ Tony shouted, flinging the pillow to the floor, his gauntlet powering up as he pointed it at Loki. He was reacting to the Alpha’s rage, refusing to ever be powerless to an Alpha ever again. Never would he succumb to an Alphas manipulation that he was worthless because of his secondary gender like his father had taught him. Never would he be vulnerable to an Alphas pride, watching as someone he considered family tore his literal heart from his chest, leaving him for dead.

‘This isn’t about you! It was never about you!’ Tony shouted, standing up on the bed, refusing to have the lower ground. ‘I’m going to lose everything! Iron Man, the Avengers! I don’t know how to raise a child! I don’t want my life to change!’ Tony growled, every bit as terrifying as an Alpha.

That was partly the truth. Tony had a soft spot for children, always had done, but that hadn’t meant he wanted one of his own. These writhing, conflicted emotions he had were proof of it. This wasn’t what pregnancy was meant to be like, it was meant to be gender reveal parties and crying over baby booties, ecstatic would be parents falling into each other’s arms as they sobbed.

Not a twisted, broken Omega who didn’t know how to be a parent.

‘Loki…if I can’t even be happy I’m pregnant how am I going to be a parent? I’ll destroy them, just like my father destroyed me,’ Tony croaked, his hand falling to his side, his bare hand going to his stomach, finally acknowledging the life inside him.

‘Anthony, you’re in shock, I think you’re allowed to feel whatever you want to. Children are a wonderful-’

‘You don’t even want me! Why would you want this?’ Tony spat, lifting his gauntlet up again, aiming it at Loki’s chest.

‘Anthony, of course I want you. I have wanted nothing else but you since I began living here on Midgard. You honestly think I care for the Avengers, for dancing the steps SHIELD set out for me? I came to repair the damage with my brother, but I stayed because you were here. A gorgeous, spitfire Omega who stands strong against any Alpha, who ignores his instincts and decides what he wants out of life.’

Loki took a daring step forward, the anger gone from his posture, his hands held out in front of his chest, his posture meek, unthreatening.

‘An Omega I would have bonded long ago had I not seen how deep the scars life had left upon his soul, how terrified he was of commitment. Anthony Stark, I would have you stand beside me for the rest of your days, longer if you would accept me.’

‘Don’t,’ Tony choked out, his voice thick with tears, his legs struggling to hold him up.

Loki continued walking, lifting his head back, baring his neck in a vulnerable gesture, showing Tony he was in control.

‘I moved slowly because I did not want to scare you. No matter how much I yearned for you, how much I coveted you as a mate, I restrained my intentions because I wanted you, Anthony. I care not about your gender, either of them, I want you, because of you.’

‘What if I hurt them? What if they end up hating me? What if I can’t do it?’ Every ugly thought he had, every insecurity came flying out and he hated himself for it. Who was he thinking about? Himself? Or the child inside him?

‘Anthony, you are not alone in this. Even if you do not wish for me to be your bonded Alpha that will not stop me supporting you, or our child.’

Tony whined, a high pitched noise of distress and Loki was before him in an instant, embracing and scenting him to calm him.

‘This,’ Loki reached out, his hand huge on Tony’s abdomen. ‘This means more to me than I can express in words, that I found an Omega I could love, that he would bless me with such a gift. Do not think I do not want you, nor or child.’

‘I do want you,’ Tony told him. ‘I haven’t been able to tell you, I thought you-’

‘Hush, Anthony. You know the truth now. Now all that needs to be said is where we go from here.’

‘Iron Man, the team-’

‘Will all be waiting for you after the child is born,’ Loki promised. ‘I will guard Midgard for you in your stead, I swear it.’

‘What about-’

‘The fact that you already worry about such a thing reassures me that you will be a wonderful parent. You have taken great pains to reassure me over the past months that I am more than the sum of my parts, and now I speak the same wise words to you. You are not your father, Anthony, and I am not mine,’ he whispered, bending down to swipe away the furious tears building.

Tony surged forwards, kissing Loki, their tears mingling on their lips, sealing them together. Loki attempted to laugh as he pulled away, kissing Tony’s cheekbone.

‘I love you, Anthony. May I please have the honor of courting you?’

‘I love you too, Loki and only if that involves lots of presents,’ Tony tried to joke, his tears still falling.

‘Of course, only the best for my demanding Omega. We shall speak of our…unexpected gift at another time, but for now I believe it is best we rest. You’ve had me worried for weeks and unable to sleep,’ Loki told him, encouraging him back down towards the bed, scooping the blankets around Tony in a haphazard nest, not hiding his impulses now he knew of his feelings.

‘You really think I can do this, that we can do this?’ Tony asked as he settled down against Loki’s side, all the exhaustion he’d been struggling with making itself known.

‘I do not believe it will be free of challenges, but I am not lying to you when I say there are few beings in this universe I could love, fewer still that I would entrust to bear my child,’ Loki whispered down to him, hand splaying over his stomach. ‘Sleep, darling, we will talk more in the morning.’

Shoving aside any rampant thoughts in his mind, for positive reasons this time, Tony allowed his fingers to lace through Loki’s on his stomach, turning his gaze inwards, wondering who was inside there.

#FrostIron #writing prompt #prompt fill #thanks for the ask! #Loki #Tony Stark #alpha/omega #mpreg fic

[shig-a-shig-ah]

Please I'm on my hands and knees begging for some kind of angst/comfort or whatever sequel to Solace what do I have to pay to see it at last

You know what, anon? Fuck it—ask and you shall receive. 

DISCOMFIT ━ PART 2 OF SOLACE

» pairing: dabi x fem!reader, previous shigaraki tomura x reader

» cw: noncon, free use (mostly implied/referenced), implied anal, mentions of cheating, little bit of comfort, whole lot of angst. 18+, minors DNI.

» a/n: This picks up exactly where Solace left off, and isn’t exactly canon-compliant because the war arc hadn’t ended when I first posted Solace. It’s also more angsty than smutty, but def still NSFW. As always, reblogs, replies, etc. are welcome <3

» wc: 5.3k

» ao3 mirror

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There's lead in Dabi's stomach as Shigaraki drags you towards the door, and he's already scrambling to tug on his sweats, staggering to his feet as though he could effectively intervene. He'd heard the threats hissed in your ear, the ones scattered among the taunts Dabi had tried so hard to counter with his own exaltations, but he hadn't been prepared for them to be genuine, had thought that in the end Shigaraki would view your shame as his own. That he wouldn't want to make this betrayal public, not really.

Apparently, Dabi was wrong.

When you're hauled across the threshold, he falters. The thought of your imminent defilement is enough to make him feel sick, bile rising at the back of his throat as his gut twists; he doesn't think he could bear to witness such a desecration. But in the end he also doesn't have a choice—Shigaraki pauses in the doorway, his vicious gaze fixing on Dabi as he gives the order. "You're coming too."

Dabi's throat tightens, because he knows there's no use trying to oppose Shigaraki's will, not with his newfound power. And there's no clemency in the man's burning red eyes, no hints that Tomura has doubts about his chosen retribution, nothing at all to give Dabi hope that perhaps the pale-haired man can be dissuaded from this corrective action.

So Dabi swallows back that bitter taste in his mouth, and he follows.

***

Your heart is in your throat as you're dragged into the hall for the second time, only vaguely aware of Dabi trailing behind, failing to interfere though you don't blame him for that, could never condemn him when this is so much more your fault than his. Had you ever really thought you could gladden yourself with Dabi's comfort and then return unscathed to Shigaraki's arms?

You're loud at first, and desperate. You rake at Tomura's forearm as you try to free yourself from his bruising grip, clawing until red droplets are blooming from the scratches on his skin and his flesh collects beneath your nails, but those marks knit themselves back together almost as quickly as you carve them in. Your feet scrabble ineffectually against the carpet too, trying to slow Tomura's movements, but all that accomplishes is friction burns when you stumble, collapsing to your knees even as Shigaraki continues his unyielding march, dragging you along without so much as a backwards glance.

You beg shamelessly again too, pleading with him to stop, to not, to simply let you go. You swear that you'll leave, that he'll never have to see you again, but he ignores those cries just as he does your pathetic attempts to grapple yourself free. It isn't until your implorations grow quieter, more disheartened, that he pauses—you're weeping, not even thinking about what you're saying, rash words falling from your lips. "Tomu, please, I'm sorry, it was a mistake. Please, if you ever cared about me, just let me go."

It's then that he freezes in place, every muscle in his body going rigid, the cords in his neck standing out as he whirls around to face you. His eyes are impossibly wide, his mouth twisted in disgust, and something dark flashes behind his expression, something that, but for a moment, makes him look wounded rather than filled with rage. It's gone almost as soon as it comes, replaced by an expression stonier than any he's fixed you with thus far. He spits his retort through gritted teeth, his tone so tight and glacial that it sends a shiver down your exposed spine.

"Who could ever care about a whore like you?"

***

Dabi can see you struggling, tears streaming down your reddened cheeks as you beg, but he hears none of those supplications, hears nothing but blood rushing in his ears and the wet glug of his throat every time he tries to swallow down the lump that has lodged itself there. Just moving forward consumes all his focus; this sprawling mansion may as well extend for miles for all the effort it takes him to continue putting one foot in front of the other as Shigaraki tows you down the hall.

Your grotesque procession ends in the cavernous ballroom on the ground floor. It's ornate even in its empty glory, sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows and glinting off the crystal of the chandelier that hangs unlit from the ceiling. Dozens of observers trail behind, every inquiring mind that had peered out to investigate the commotion now obeying Shigaraki's commands for them to follow. They're watching warily, whispering behind their hands as their eyes flick curiously from Dabi, shirtless and shaking, to Shigaraki and you.

Dabi comes back into himself when Shigaraki hurls you unceremoniously to the floor, the sharp crack of your head against the hardwood echoing loudly enough to breach the disassociated haze in which he's been trapped. The sight of your face, dazed by the blow, has him instinctually moving forward, but he's stopped at once when a chiseled arm casts itself across his chest, halting his movements. A low growl issues from the back of Shigaraki's throat. "Don't."

It was easier not to protest Shigaraki's rough treatment of you when the three of you were alone in Dabi's bedroom. He'd been able to convince himself then that Shigaraki had some claim on you, some right to do what he was doing, a sense that had been given all the more weight by your own equivocal response to those harsh touches. But the sight of you now, curled on the floor clutching your head, your legs tucked to your chest as though that could somehow preserve your modesty, is harder to abide. It has heat roiling under Dabi's skin, his insides near-roasting as he does his best to restrain himself, to keep emotions too tumultuous to define from bubbling up and setting him alight.

So Dabi looks away. He does his best to tamp down on that growing heat and to endure, to think about the importance of being there for you. After.

Even after Tomura extends his sadistic invitation to the assembled remnants of the Paranormal Liberation Front, Dabi is naive enough at first to hope that no one will take the bait, that even a crowd of villains won't be depraved enough to indulge in what Shigaraki is offering. Except, Dabi had, hadn't he? Had found his own satisfaction in the first part of Shigaraki's punishment, even as you'd wept. He tries to tell himself that was different—he'd already had you, more than once and voluntarily, and you'd asked for him, implored him so desperately that he couldn't have refused, especially not when it was something Shigaraki had been so intent on enacting.

A darker thought flits across the back of Dabi's mind when he remembers the way you'd writhed under Tomura's domineering touch: if Shigaraki insists on it, will you beg here too?

It's a question that goes unanswered. You spend less than a minute sniffling on the floor surrounded by that mob of villains, and then Dabi's glancing up against his better judgement to see Re-Destro stepping forward, dark eyes glinting with curiosity as he shrugs off his suit jacket and loosens his tie, the balding sycophant unabashedly eager to avail himself of Shigaraki's sloppy seconds.

All your struggling has ceased; you're not trying to leave or asking for help, or mercy. Dabi's not sure if you're still trying to please Shigaraki or are only clinging to some last shred of dignity, if he should be disgusted or proud. Still, you flinch when the redhead crouches to trace one large hand up the outside of your thigh, and that small sign of discomfort is enough to have Dabi moving without thinking, every fiber of his body screaming out to defend you from that unwanted touch. But he only manages one feeble step forward before Shigaraki's hand is curling in his hair, yanking him back so hard that Dabi's scalp throbs. Shigaraki maintains that tight hold, leaving Dabi immobilized and with no choice left but to keep staring forward.

"You're going to watch every second," Shigaraki hisses.

Dabi nods. Grinds his teeth. Watches.

***

He thinks nothing could be worse than the powerlessness he feels as Re-Destro takes you. It's a sense of impotence that settles in his bones, that unearths and amplifies every inadequacy he endured in his youth until his knees are weak and there's blood leaking from the corners of his eyes. Just like back then, he's too weak to do what is needed. He can only watch in dismay as someone slots themselves into a role that should be his.

He's wrong, of course, that nothing could be more horrible than witnessing that first act. It's worse when he starts to notice the familiar tensing in your body, and hears your high-keyed whines reverberating off of walls designed to carry just such a pitch. It's worse when he spies Skeptic with that camera trained on you, documenting your disgrace as he palms himself through his pants, and even worse when Spinner comes forward, casting a long, uncertain glance towards Shigaraki before burying himself in both your holes. It's worse when they stop taking orderly turns coupling with your pliant form and start to share instead, and it's worse still when Dabi realizes that somewhere along the way he's grown shamefully, achingly hard.

But the worst? The absolute worst?

That comes at the end.

You're nothing but a crumpled heap on the floor, one cheek squashed against the stained hardwood, your expression glassy and far away. People have stopped coming forward, all those who wanted a turn having taken one, or more. Their faces are uneasy now that they're spent, murmuring again and shooting furtive looks towards the door, obviously unsure if their continued presence is required but too wary of Shigaraki to ask. So it's Dabi who finally works up the nerve to speak, his voice tight through his clenched jaw.

"You did what you wanted. Now can we go?"

A sense of relief washes over him when Shigaraki releases him, but it's short-lived as the other man fixes that red-eyed stare on Dabi.

"Huh," he muses thickly, his expression unreadable as he cocks his head. "You still want her."

Dabi hesitates. Because he knows Shigaraki doesn't want that to be true, is intent on ripping apart whatever tenuous connection you and Dabi have forged over the past weeks, but Dabi's not sure that such a thing is possible. Right now he can't imagine the future any further than getting you both far, far away from here, but even after watching you submit to Shigaraki so readily, after seeing you clench and moan while being offered up like so much meat, Dabi doesn't think he could ever turn you away, not so long as you want him. So he nods.

Shigaraki's unreadable expression morphs, his lips splitting into a wide, depraved grin. "Fine." There's something in his tone that has Dabi's chest tightening with dread already, a sense that only intensifies when Shigaraki continues. "Finish her off, and you can have her. After all, what the fuck do I care if you want to keep the toy you damaged?"

Dabi swallows hard, looking around again. The crowd is watching intently, exchanging hushed whispers, and he knows they can hear every word, have no doubt anymore about just what has happened here, if they had any doubts before.

"Better get on with it," Tomura jeers, followed by a quiet, callous chuckle. "Take the last turn, and the two of you can go. Or don't, and I'll keep her here for days."

Fuck, Dabi can feel the weight of all those eyes on him, of dozens of gazes flicking between his torn expression and your used up form. He wants to say he can't, that he could never, but it's not the truth. The thought alone might have him fighting back a wave of nausea but that doesn't mean he isn't still erect, tenting his pants in a way that's painfully obvious to himself and to everyone else. Physically, at least, Dabi absolutely could.

He takes a step closer to you. Grimaces. He wants to reach out to you, to give you the reassurance of a soothing touch, but there's nowhere your skin isn't reddened or contused, the evidence of that damage exaggerated by the sheen of sweat and worse coating your skin. Your eyes roll up just enough to meet his hesitant stare, and Dabi gives you what he hopes is an apologetic look.

Dabi does what he has to do.

***

The moment it's over Dabi is scooping you up, hooking his arms around your shoulders and behind your bruised knees and lifting you gingerly from the floor, taking you in his arms as gently as he can manage. Your eyes drift to him again, the corners of your lips twitching and a tiny whimper issuing from the back of your throat, a sound so small and feeble that Dabi has to bite hard at the inside of his cheek to maintain some semblance of composure.

He avoids making eye contact with anyone as he leaves, not even sparing a glance towards Shigaraki to confirm this is really over; if the other man decides to change his mind, Dabi's sure it will be painfully obvious. But no one tries to stop him from taking you—he flees the scene of your discrediting successfully, with his heart pounding and his eyes fixed firmly on the floor ahead of him. Just as when he'd followed Shigaraki's march before, he puts one foot in front of the other and wills himself to think of nothing else.

It's difficult. Your skin is slick against his unclothed chest, and feels feverish. Every time he shifts you, he can feel wetness dribbling down your thighs as he tries to lie to himself it's nothing. Tries not to give it any attention at all.

Dabi's never been very good at deceiving himself, and it's all the harder now with the images of your defilement burned into his retinas—Shigaraki knew just what would make him suffer, Dabi has to admit that much.

When he reaches his room, he sets you gently to the floor, whispers that he'll be right back and then disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind him. He cranks on the bathtub—it will be necessary to clean you up since he's certain you couldn't stand if you tried. It also serves to drown out the sounds to come, because the moment the water starts pouring he's lunging for the toilet and heaving his guts into the bowl, coughing and sputtering as he retches.

By the time he's finished being sick, the tub is nearly full.

He checks the temperature of the water. Once, twice. Three times. It's hard for him to gauge it adequately when he runs so hot, and the last thing he wants is to scald your abused skin or any of those tender, overworked parts. When he's finally wrangling you into the tub, he dips your hand in first, one final test to ease his anxious mind.

"That feel all right, baby girl?" He's not sure if you really nod, or if you're simply shifting a little, but either way he takes it as a yes.

In the end, it doesn't matter so much. The water turns disgusting almost the moment you're submerged, an oily sheen rising to the surface that Dabi doesn't want to think too hard about it. He drains it and doesn't repeat that mistake, only fills it a few inches full the second time and then scoops water over your irritated skin to rinse away the worst of the mess, a painstakingly slow but necessary measure. He repeats it twice and only after that muck stops rising to the top does he let the water creep higher so that he can wash you properly.

He starts with your hair. It's another slow process, trying to keep from snagging your damp tresses on the staples that line his palms as he massages shampoo into your scalp, and moving carefully to avoid the lump that's formed at the back of your head, where it cracked against the hardwood floor. He does his best not to grimace visibly at that swelling, does the same as he's working sweat and sticky clumps out of your matted locks—your eyes are still bleary but he knows you're watching him, and he couldn't bear for you to see how much it affects him to witness you like this.

Conditioner is probably an unnecessary touch, but he works it in anyway once the last of the suds have been rinsed away, thinks it might help you to feel some sense of normalcy, if that's even still a possibility for you. He lets it soak in while he tends to the rest of your inflamed skin, trying best as he can to be gentle, though that doesn't stop you from wincing every time he brushes over some raw, tender spot. When he finally works the washcloth between your thighs, the last horribly necessary task left, you let out a choked sob, your face contorting in distress in a way that has his throat tightening again.

"Shh, baby girl," Dabi soothes, his voice raw even to his own ears as he lifts a hand to stroke at your hair. "It's okay. I've got you."

You can't help but wonder if that's entirely true as you bite back more complaints and let him tend to your ravaged sex. You can see the tightness in his face, the way he can't seem to look at you for long, and Shigaraki's words keep running through your mind, a grim mantra that sticks in your head even more than the memories of the past few hours.

You'll be ruined for him, just like you're ruined for me.

The thought is enough to have panic brewing in your chest, a near-hysteria clawing its way through you. Because what would you do without Dabi? Who else would ever want you now? It would be too much to lose them both.

You don't realize tears are streaming down your cheeks until hot thumbs are brushing them away, cerulean eyes fixed worriedly on your own. "It's okay," Dabi murmurs again. "You're okay."

But it's not, you're not, probably won't ever be again, and you need more than those thin reassurances. Your arm aches when you lift one hand to catch his wrist, your feeble grip a reminder of just how worn you really are. "Am I—" your voice is hoarse, your words interrupted by a painful cough as you struggle to speak through your wrecked throat "—am I ruined for you?"

The way his face falls at your question is reassurance enough, that tight expression going slack and defeated, the corners of his brows lifting in grief. Then Dabi's pulling you to his chest, water sloshing over the side of the tub and cool porcelain digging into your side as he wraps both arms around you, his face burying itself in your damp strands as he cradles you close.

"No. No, of course not, baby girl. Never."

***

When Dabi finally releases you, he leaves you soaking in the tub long enough to take a shower. He's loath to abandon you for even one second, but he needs that cleansing and, more than that, needs a moment to breath. Because you'd never clung to him so eagerly before, never needed him the same way he needed you, not when you had someone else to hold tightly to.

So just now, when you'd burrowed against his chest and made clear that he was the one you were counting on? Well, he'd be lying if he said it hadn't felt good.

Shigaraki might have succeeded in cracking the pedestal Dabi had placed you on, but all that's truly accomplished is to bring you down to Dabi's level, to a place where he can actually hope to make you his. And Dabi doesn't want to find that thought reassuring, doesn't want to dwell on the realization that this whole fucked up situation might be the only way he'll get the one thing he still wants in life. But he does.

He cranks the heat in the shower as high as it will go as he tries to wash away that guilt, but the scalding water isn't enough. It can't rinse out the shame of finding personal satisfaction in your suffering, just like it can't scour away the memories of obeying Shigaraki's final order, of burying his length in the slick sensation of a dozen other men's seed, of squeezing your thighs together in a desperate bid to create some sort of friction, or of sinking himself into your tighter hole when it seemed like the only way to end that agony.

The list of things that require Dabi's contrition is endless, it seems.

Perhaps it's some kind of fucked up penance, then, that once you're both clean Dabi finds himself offering to go collect your things from the room you'd shared with Shigaraki.

It's an offer born of necessity; you have nothing to wear and while Dabi would love to dress you in his clothes, would relish the sight of you parading around in some oversized shirt that belongs to him, the way you had with Shigaraki's clothes back in the old hideout, he has nothing to offer on that front. An extensive wardrobe isn't among his precious few possessions—the options are his filthy tee shirt and jeans, the ones that reek of booze and ash, or his sweats, amply stained from your walk of shame. None of that seems anywhere near adequate.

So Dabi grits his teeth yet again, tugs on those dirty clothes himself and leaves you tucked safely in his bed, bundled in his only towel. There's an anxious look in your eyes as he departs, one that has a strange thrill coursing through him as he murmurs a promise to return quickly.

He tells himself as he journeys down the hall—pointedly ignoring every person he passes—that Shigaraki won't be there. Dabi's seen the boss angry before, knows he's one to wander and destroy rather than to sulk, and if Dabi were a betting man he would wager that Shigaraki won't be setting foot in the room he'd shared with you any time soon.

Unfortunately, Dabi is wrong once again. There's no answer when he knocks, but when he slips inside it becomes painfully obvious that lack of response wasn't because the quarters were unoccupied. He pauses inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, and is almost immediately assaulted by the sounds issuing from around the corner, just out of sight: sheets rustling and heavy breathing, the faint slap of skin on skin, a quiet moan.

Fuck. Fuck no. This is the last thing that Dabi wants or needs to witness, even if the stab of incredulity and anger he feels about it is undeserved. It's how he himself would have coped, he knows, had Shigaraki's return to the Liberation Front and your return to him gone according plan, but the thought that he could avail himself of this ever after today's display has Dabi's stomach twisting.

He holds his breath as he immediately retreats, the carpet muffling his slow, quiet steps. Dabi will try something else, ask Toga to loan you some things, or rifle through the remnants of Jin's possessions if he has to. All he has do is get out of here without—

"What do you think you're doing?"

The sound of Shigaraki's low voice has Dabi freezing in place. He sounds different than when they last spoke, some faint trace of amusement there in place of that calculated callousness. Dabi keeps still, tries to convince himself that it's not him Shigaraki is addressing, but that hope proves unfounded.

"I can smell you, you know. You reek of smoke. So why don't you stop hiding and tell me why the fuck you're here?"

Dabi's first instinct is to simply turn and leave, to avoid this unpleasant encounter all together and pray Tomura will simply return his attentions to whoever had the poor judgement to leap into his bed. But in the end he steps forward, not willing to test the other man further than he has with his mere presence, not when there's still a sinister edge to his tone and the damage Dabi's wrought is already likely to haunt him to his dying day.

A light clicks on when Dabi steps into sight, the sudden assault on his pupils making him blink rapidly, and when the room finally swims back into focus, Dabi freezes. Tomura has some woman tucked neatly in his lap, her back nestled to his chest as he peers at Dabi from over her shoulder, the sheets barely covering where Dabi is positive they're joined together.

"I just came to get some of her shit—I didn't think you'd be here," Dabi says flatly, trying to not to let his eyes drift from Tomura's face as deadly hands grope at exposed breasts, dark bite marks and hickeys starkly visible even from the bottom of Dabi's field of vision. "I'll come back later. Or just find her new shit."

"Why bother when you're already here? Just get on with it." Dabi can sense something forced in that casual dismissal of his presence even as Shigaraki lets out a low laugh, and that impression is only strengthened when the woman—some MLA holdover Dabi recognizes but couldn't name—tugs at the edge of the blankets, obviously intent on providing herself with some sort of cover. Shigaraki growls immediately, pale fingers clamping around her wrist so tightly that she whimpers in protest. The first syllable of Tomura's name falls quietly from her lips, a paltry whine that's quashed as soon as it begins, Shigaraki's wide palm slapping harshly over her mouth. His eyes narrow in displeasure as scowling lips ghost over her ear.

"You're the one who wanted to fuck," Dabi hears Shigaraki hiss, "so don't you dare stop."

Dabi might have felt some sympathy for her in another life, some pang of unease at the way her eyes widen and she fidgets nervously before hesitantly rocking her hips, but in this moment he can muster no sympathy, not when her apparently voluntary presence far exceeds even Dabi's expectations for the shamelessness of these meta liberation freaks.

He does, however, feel a twinge of disquiet when he realizes, after a moment of staring, that she looks like you. Not exactly, of course—the nose is wrong, the hairstyle different—but enough. Her hair color, her eyes, her build: they're all reminiscent of your own.

Dabi tries not to think about what that means.

"Well, aren't you going to do what you came for?" Shigaraki taunts. That malicious glint is back in his eyes, the corner of his thin mouth curving up into a smirk that makes it clear he's enjoying Dabi's discomfort at the scene playing out before him. His hands start to wander again as though to emphasize it, pinching and tugging at puffy, exposed nipples while the woman continues to issue muffled mewls from behind his hand. "I'm busy, if you couldn't tell."

Dabi grits his teeth and looks away. "Where is it?"

Shigaraki only shrugs, that sneer widening, and Dabi turns stiffly towards the dresser, doing his best to tune out the soft cries as he rummages through the drawers. After a moment it's clear that nothing within belongs to you, and reluctantly Dabi steps further into the room to search the closet. He finds what he's looking for there, thank god; neatly folded stacks of pants and shirts line the shelves, blouses and those fancy nightgowns you're so fond of arranged neatly on hangars beside them. There's a duffel bag on the floor too, and Dabi quickly busies himself shoving as many of your belongings into it as he can, working with unceremonious haste and chewing at his cheek, still trying to ignore the way the sounds behind him are escalating, the moans and lewd wet smacks growing louder, more rapid.

He only stops when the duffel is overflowing, too stuffed full to even zip shut. It's certainly more than enough for now, but he wonders briefly about the rest of your possessions, if there's some other source of comfort he could and should bring you before Shigaraki decides to dispose of anything you've left behind. But Dabi has no way of knowing, has never been permitted to so much as step foot in this space before.

When the unmistakable sound of a slap emanates from behind him, followed by a throaty groan, Dabi decides it doesn't matter.

It takes him a moment to steel himself, to work up the nerve to turn back towards the room and the vulgar performance occurring mere feet away, but he once he does he strides purposefully towards the door without so much as a glance towards Shigaraki and his new—and very temporary, Dabi suspects—lover. He's almost out the door, seconds from feeling as though he can breath again, when that mocking voice is once again demanding his attention.

"Dabi," Shigaraki calls out liltingly, and Dabi pauses.

"What now?"

His obvious impatience draws a cold chuckle from Tomura. "Don't try to leave. Either of you," Shigaraki says. "The Violet Regiment still needs its lieutenant, and I need you motivated."

For a long moment, Dabi simply stands there, his hand still resting on the knob as he considers those instructions. Shigaraki isn't wrong to think he would consider it; Dabi's mostly accomplished what he hoped to with the League, and his more protective instincts have been screaming at him to get you out of here since the second it was clear Tomura intended to honor his threats. But he'd already had doubts that the jilted man would let that happen, not when the punishment he'd devised is most effective if you're both forced to stay, forced to face everyone who witnessed your downfalls and shared shame.

And also, well...Dabi's more protective instincts might tempt him to flee—he's disappeared before, after all, thinks he could do it again even if it would be harder to evade Shigaraki's reach—but his possessive instincts? Those have more self-serving thoughts brewing in the back of his mind. Because if the castigation you endured is most effective if you stay, it also means that Dabi has no advantage anywhere else. Would you cling to him so sweetly, so fiercely if you weren't surrounded by those who had seen you so thoroughly humbled? Or would such an escape only taint Dabi's presence in your mind, single him out as the last reminder of your humiliation and debasement?

It would, he thinks. So Dabi nods even though Shigaraki can't see him, noting the opportunity present in what was surely intended as a threat. The sadistic leader might be intent on dangling this over both your and Dabi's heads until at least one of you is dead, but Dabi's made the best of bad situations before, ones worse than this.

"Sure thing, boss," he says, working to keep his tone level and mild. He steps out into the hall, lets the door click closed behind him.

For the first time all day, Dabi smiles.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #dabi smut #dabi fanfic #dabi angst #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #bnha x reader #bnha smut

[onwesterlywinds]

In Marble Halls

All her life, -̴̠̘̎-̶̮̬̽̕-̴͙̀̕͜-̴̧̘͐͒-̶̘̰̒̈́-̴̩̏͛-̶̮̬̽̕-̴͙̀̕͜-̴̧̘͐͒-̶̘̰̒̈́-̴̩̏͛ͅ- had dreamt of a storm fit for the end of the world. The rain would fall and the lake would rise, such that the water would drown out the last vestiges of the only home she had ever known until only Gruenes Licht yet stood. The thunder would crash and the clouds would roll and the great castle would weather it all, not as a beacon of hope but as an empty warning, a testament unearned.

She ran now through that dream made manifest.

The cobbled streets below were already flooded with a fulm of water as far as she could see. The houses around her sat dark, many of them with their doors flung open to the tempest in their residents' haste to flee in the exodus; the chapel's rear steeple had given way, and dark water gushed out from under the tall oak doors as if from a backed-up drain. With one hand she clasped at her star globe; with the other, she tore free her stifling wet bodice, hiked up the hem of her sodden petticoats and hurried onward to the great castle stairs.

She was the last of them all. Her parents had abandoned their post; her brother's transformation into a sin eater was surely all but complete. Her fellow ladies-in-waiting had been taken by the darkness, one by one. Tadric had usurped Pauldia, destroyed Sauldia-

But he had not taken her.

And of all the court, only she had realized Branden's greatest failure: the archmage was not dead.

And she would bring him to justice, but not alone.

And there was hope - not for Voeburt, perhaps, but for another to find in some far-flung future.

She ascended the marble steps to the palace as hail began to pelt her skin. Her legs burned with fatigue from the distance they had run, and still the worst of the climb stretched up ahead of her. Worse yet, the marble would be hazardous at a run: a single misplaced step could cause a painful slip at best and a deadly fall at worst, but her feet were all she had to avail her now.

Once ascended, she paused for only a moment by the overrunning fountain to catch her breath, and to stare out from the castle's heights at her swiftly submerging homeland. Deep in her heart she knew the godsforsaken visage would be the last she ever saw of it. At first the sight was nearly too much to bear, given the weight of an entire kingdom broken below her. Yet even then, the knowledge that she would be the sole witness to Voeburt's destruction provided comfort and purpose. She alone would shoulder this memory, lock it deep in her heart, and guard it so fiercely that no others would need endure it in her stead.

A heartening chorus, as if of tiny bells, resounded encouragingly in her ear. With that sound accompanying her final steps, she shook out her skirts and readied the pendant she kept on her person at all times: the last remaining key to the palace's doors.

Despite the Light raging outside, the grand hall within sat utterly dark and still. The arched stone ceiling high above remained blessedly intact, granting her a reprieve from the endless torrent of rain for the first time since she'd begun her trek. Even the pattering upon the darkened stained glass sounded to be of a much greater distance away, rather than the same tempest that had consumed the rest of Voeburt.

Then there came the heavy clap of a man's hands, and with it, a single flicker of light illuminated a ghostly figure at the far end of the hall.

"There you are, my dear." His words echoed throughout the chamber as if from an age apart, or else from within a far corner of her own mind. "I knew you would not keep me waiting long."

"TADRIC!" she screamed. The noise echoed back at her amid the oppressive darkness, and her star globe sprang to readiness with the merest flick of her wrist.

He stepped forward, again and again, and his voice grew ever stronger. "Oh, how pleased I am you've come. Your soul will make for such excellent company."

"How dare you, fiend!" she retorted. "By rights you should be dead!"

"Indeed so," he agreed. "I certainly had not anticipated any part of me lingering here. I regret only that I have Beq Lugg and their work on the mortal soul to credit for this... turn of events, but it is a welcome development nonetheless. Overcoming one's mortality grants the most splendid boons - though I imagine you would struggle to relate."

At that, she could only seethe.

He gave a quiet little tut. "That's right, darling. You know I've had the measure of you for years." His smile had always been unsettling in life; on his ghost, it was terrifying. "All that time, and yet it's taken nothing less than the end of the world for you to confront me."

"Enough!"

"Oh, yes. I trust you'll remain so beautifully fierce when I bind your exquisite soul to mine." Tadric was halfway across the hall now, and his outline appeared to grow more and more opaque in the darkness. Even now she could make out the shine of his boots, the meticulous detailing on his robes, the glimmer of a reflection across his sharpened teeth. "I've no doubt you'll last longer than Pauldia did - nor that you'll be far more pleasing to the eye than she was at the end. Or do you truly think yourself enough to hinder me? Alone as you are, with only your little cards for guidance, and none of your kin to aid you?"

It would have to be enough. She would have to be enough. There could be no more Sauldias, no more Pauldias, no matter the sacrifice it would take.

"No," Tadric continued, as if the conclusion had only just struck him. "You cannot harm me. Not now, and certainly not here, in this castle you usurped for so long. You forget I know the way of your wretched kind."

She was undoubtedly within range of his magicks, but he was not yet in range of hers. Only a little further, only a single step more, and she could fall as long as she liked-

"'To take back as much as is taken. To create as much as is destroyed. To give as much as is received...'"

The words she had once sought as a reprieve were poison from his lips, rotten to their very core.

"...And you, my dearest, have a heavy debt to repay."

Far better to repay that debt here, in the service of her kingdom, no matter the cost. "And repay it I shall," she whispered.

"Hm?"

She spoke then the words her friend had taught her - the words she had carried deep in her heart throughout all her years.

"Acht-la ormh inn."

The castle doors burst open at her invitation, showering her in droplets of rain and sleet that glimmered against the light from her star globe and refracted like stained glass upon the walls. Her friend flew in at her back, little more than a diminutive flash of crystalline hair and bright blue petals; yet as they circled the chamber, faster and faster, they dazzled the hall in a shower of fae dust and grew to their full height, where their wings unfurled like pennants in the wind.

"Ready yourself, dear flower!" they shouted.

Upon herself she cast a shield; for her friend, she drew forth the card she had kept in reserve all through her trek: The Spire. In the same instant, they unleashed bursts of pure energy, stellar explosions and fae quickenings in tandem.

Tadric's ghost recoiled, his face contorting in rage or pain. Bathed in the full majesty of the King of the Faeries and trapped by patterns of stars, his form took on an harshness of its own as the Light gathered from the storm without needled its way into his soul, splinter by splinter, and corrupted him from within.

"This- isn't- over!" Tadric spat at her, through the waves of raw Light that bubbled up from behind his lips. "You stupid girl. You worthless bloody changeling!"

Titania cried, "Now!"

And when she stretched out her hand, she called upon the might of the heavens to bind the castle and everything in it - Tadric, the king, herself - into the space of a singular moment.

That moment stretched out across the foreseeable future, across endless possible endings, and ignited in a burst of color.

When the spell faded, Tadric's ghost was gone. The world around her was utterly, impossibly still. The sound of the rains had ceased; the distant echo of Light rang out no more. Only Tadric's memory remained, his laughter echoing within her ears - a nightmare from which she could only hope to find reprieve. The palace doors were shut tight and would not open ever again.

And then Titania spoke into the silence.

"Lyhe Il. Oh, dear, brave flower. It is over at last."

She was weeping, she realized; the king had drawn her into an embrace as soft as a field of clover and as gentle as a warm midsummer's day. She collapsed against their touch, impossibly weak and weary and wanting.

"Hush now," they whispered, and pressed their lips to her forehead. "Sleep, and dream of rainbows and meadows and northerly winds, for you have more than earned your name."

"N-No!" she sobbed, clutching at the fae king's shoulder. "I h-have to stay with you, I-I must ensure-"

"He is gone, my flower, in all the ways that matter. All that yet remains is to expel the last traces of him - and there is time enough for such a task in the years to come. Until then, I would not risk your safety while you abide here."

Years. Such a gentle word for the surety of their imprisonment. "But-" Her tears overtook her again, and Titania cradled her ever more tightly. "I couldn't possibly leave you on your own, and with so much Light! Who will you play with; who will you dance with?!"

Titania traced one of their thin fingers along the curve of her nose, liberating a stray tear. "I entered this castle on your invitation and my own intentions - and here I shall stay, on behalf of our people. It will be comfort enough to know that my flower has found the peace she has sought for so long - and that she rests as a hero to Voeburt and the fae alike."

Yet peace still seemed so nebulous a prospect, as remote as the stars themselves. Peace could not grant her a retroactive belonging among Voeburt's people and court; it could not suppress the abject ache for understanding with which she had come of age in her awkward Galdjent skin. She had given all of herself for both her peoples, her past and her present and her future, and still she could not unmake the years of her own solitude. Only Titania had ever granted her such a reprieve.

If the King of the Pixies wished her to dream, then dream she would.

"Be with me," she whispered. "I know I will wake up without you-" She did not dare wonder what travesties the Light would wreak upon the king during their solitude. "-but until then... do not ask me to fall asleep alone."

Titania acquiesced to this final wish with a single kiss goodnight, and began to sing.

Never harm, Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby.

As her eyes closed, she stared up at the kaleidoscopic light streaming in from the stained glass windows far above.

The sight was so lovely as to push all thoughts of the storm from her mind.

#Lyhe Il

[fantamemes]

Dear Wormwood   ::   The Oh Hellos  ::  Sentence Starters

“ Oh, fair and flighty love, the only dove I see... ”

“ I still taste you on my lips; lovely, bitter water. ”

“ The terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue. ”

“ I know I shouldn't love you, but I do. ”

“ I feel it in my soul, I feel the empty hole, the cup that can’t be filled. ”

“ I feel it in my blood, in the fire and the flood, the beast that can't be killed. ”

“ All the days of our delights are poison in my veins. ”

“ I know I shouldn't love you. I know. ”

“ I am not a fool, entire. No, I know what is coming. ”

“ You'll bury me beneath the trees I climbed when I was a child. ”

“ There beneath the willow tree I learned a lot about the way of things. ”

“ I learned that everything - the wind, the leaves - has breath inside. ”

“ Their wills were ever bent on waiting with all their might. ”

“ There is beauty in the way of things. ”

“ We were young, you were like wine - lovely as the song in the air as the wind blows. ”

“ I am not the fool I was when I was younger. ”

“ Even when you hunt me with ire, relentless, I will not abide all your raging. ”

“ Hear on the wind how the pendulum swings. Feel how the winter succumbs to the spring. ”

“ Over the palisade morning will break. Rise up to meet it, oh sleeper, awake. ”

“ No, I am not afraid to die. It's every breath that comes before. ”

“ Heartache, I've heard, is part of life, and I have broken more and more. ”

“ I can hope how this will end, with every line a comedy. ”

“ We could learn to love without demand, but unreserved honesty. ”

“ Heed the sirens, take shelter, my lover. Flee the fire that devours. ”

“ Neither plague or famine tempered my courage, nor did raids make me cower. ”

“ It was a pale white horse with a crooked smile, and I knew it was my time. ”

“ Your face wasn't quite as I remember, but I know that wicked shape to your smile. ”

“ These bones never rested while living, so how can they stand to languish in repose? ”

“ So lift your voice with timbrel and lyre; ‘We will abide, we will abide.’ ”

“ There will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword. He will tear your city down, o lei o lai o lord. ”

“ There will come a poet, whose weapon is his word. He will slay you with his tongue, o lei o lai o lord. ”

“ When I was a child, I didn't hear a single word you said. ”

“ You have taught me well to hide away the things that I believed in. ”

“ I know who you are now. ”

“ There before the threshold, I saw a brighter world beyond myself. ”

“ In my hour of weakness, you were there to see my courage fail. ”

“ You have taught me well to sit and wait, planning without acting, steadily becoming what I hate. ”

“ I have always known you, you have always been there in my mind. ”

“ Now I understand you, and I will not be part of your designs. ”

“ I know who you are now, and I name you my enemy. ”

“ I know who I am now, I know who I want to be. ”

“ I want to be more than this devil inside of me. ”

“ Over hill, over dale, through the valley and vale; do not weep, do not wail, I am coming home to you. ”

“ Let the valleys awake, let them rattle and shake in the wind that remakes all that time has worn away. ”

“ To and fro, I will not follow. Where you go, I will not also. ”

“ I will look for you as the sun rises higher, when the dry bones dance with the timbrel and lyre. ”

“ There's a wind alive in the valley. It will fill your lungs, if you'll have it. ”

“ Where I go, will you still follow? ”

#rp memes #rp starters #sentence starters #lyric starters #the oh hellos rp memes

[swashbucklery]

i'm still losing my mind about 5x07, like, the thing that made people do no harm just made them stop moving? why? why is that doing no harm but attacking alex is doing harm? i don't. i don't understand. is this show okay?? and fandom just wants to produce fic where Lena is a flower who must be protected instead of Lena is a flower who must be protected and also a (functioning?) alcoholic who doesn't know how to handle feelings in a healthy way. mary want MEAT

Look LOOK here is the thing and I say this with deep and abiding love in my heart because hot take: Supergirl is actually good. And I mean that on that like - you know that meme that’s like “good quality” and “good because I love it”? I love it on both metrics and look fundamentally we are all flawed humans with our own biases and perspectives and the line between “good and I am able to objectively assess the quality of this media” and “good because I love it” is razor-thin.

Like, okay yes my new hobby is just sitting and thinking about the basic premise of a) Obsidian contact lens tech and b) anything Lena’s mind-control AI is doing and then looking at my neuroscience degree and just weeping with laughter. Yes the writers skimmed the wikipedia page on brains (human) and were just like, ehh good enough and yeah you can kind of tell but also I love so many other things that it’s just fine? It’s FINE. It’s like when Cara used her agiel to somehow treat Kahlan’s gaping leg wound with the burning power of bdsm and they made deeply intense enemies-to-lovers eye contact and I was simultaneously riveted by how gay it was and also in personal agony because THAT’S NOT HOW BODIES WORK.

(I mean, you’ve also missed the episode where Lena took her new untested brain tech to a PRISON and was like HERE I WILL DO MY HUMAN TRIALS ON SOME VOLUNTEERS WHO ARE IN NO WAY COERCED like she’s never heard of an REB in her life and also it. . .I can’t even remember. It gave someone brain-melting rage and unspeakable physical pain, which I think is probably foreshadowing? Whatever the point is LENA IS A REAL SCIENTIST AND THIS TECHNOLOGY DEFINITELY WORKS AND IS NOT MADE OF BRAIN-MELTING RADIATION IN ANY WAY.)

Anyway I think a lot of it depends on like. Who your access point character to the show is and what you love about them. Bc lots of fans love Lena but love a specific version of Lena, specifically the one from S2 and early S3. I like Lena a lot but I also am kind of really into the story they’re telling where she’s pretty messy and not coping. From my perspective, it’s actually a really interesting culmination of her arcs to date, but I also see why folks who cherish soft Lena don’t love it for her and want to dive into like. Lena-is-a-florist AUs until everything is over.

My access point character for this show has and will always be Kara, so I think I’m also sheltered from that arc in a way? I love the soft sunshine one with lots of responsibilities and that’s my bulletproof trope 4ever. So for me, this season is sparking joy mostly because I like what they’re doing with her side of this friend-breakup and also THE BANGS AND PANTS ARE CUTE OKAY and I think it’s a really interesting arc for her.

(And also even though people are literally attempting to cyberbully me for it I highkey want her to get together with the dumb beautiful newspaper boy; he makes her soft and she is so nervous about climbing him but he’s her Everest, she needs to climb him from someplace deep in her pants soul.)

(I also want her to hook up with Lena, and also Andrea, and also Nia, don’t get me wrong. I just want her to hook up with the person who is best for her and right NOW that’s a three-way with Will and Andrea but later when Lena works out her stuff maybe it can be a four-way! And Nia can join if she is not dating Brainy; I respect their love but Nia also deserves two to seventeen lovers if that’s what makes her feel nicest.)

IDK, IDK. I’m not going to try to defend the science or the canonic attention to detail because this show is a comic book and to be honest, I’m willing to suspend a lot of disbelief for something that makes me happy. It’s so rare these days to find a show with characters I love that’s not about like, people doing heroin or being serial killers or taking Captain America out of the box and licking him and salting the entire mcu for me or making masks out of human skin that they learned to do during their childhood in a murder basement HYPOTHETICALLY and the fact that this show remains generally soft-hearted and hopeful gives it a lot of mileage for me.

It’s about the characters and the feelings, Mary. It’s about the emotions.

#idk where i'm going with this #but here are a lot of feelings about supergirl #you're welcome #i just think this show is neat and also it's FUN and i can't explain why it's fun #bc maybe it's not your type of fun #but gosh do i ever love it #kara danvers: best superpuppy #lena luthor: quiet wealthy surly housecat #lena luthor: is coping great why do you ask #obsidian north: not canadian and not evil (probably) #hope for all mankind: now with bonus eve #hope: who is not ultron: not even a little: probably #supergirl #cw dcu feelings #fandom nursing home roommates association

[rayoffrcknsunshine]

Favorite Dear Wormwood Lyrics

Back At It Again with my favorite lyrics y’all! This time for the Dear Wormwood album by The Oh Hello’s, which is 100% one of my favorite albums ever!

Prelude 

Instrumental, no lyrics

Bitter Water

Oh fair and flighty love / My aerolite above / The only dove I see / Could you love me more / If by the sun and moon I swore / That I would never flee?

I know I shouldn't love you / But I do

All the days of our delights are poison in my veins

There Beneath

There beneath the willow tree / I learned a lot about the way of things / I learned that everything (the wind, the leaves) has breath inside

O lai (o lai) / O lai lord / There is beauty in the way of things

In the Blue Hours of Morning 

Instrumental, no lyrics

Exeunt

I was all alone, we were young, you were like wine / Heady as the fog rolling in o'er the hillside / Lovely as the song in the air as the wind blows

Crocodile eyes, I have seen how you hunger / Fluttering your lashes, like ashes and embers / Warm and bright as fire devouring timber

Even when you hunt me with ire, relentless / Batter down my door when you find me defenseless / I will not abide all your raging and reaving / I have set my mind and my will: I am leaving

Caesar

Hear on the wind how the pendulum swings / Feel how the winter succumbs to the spring / Over the palisade morning will break / Rise up to meet it, oh sleeper awake

This Will End

No, I am not afraid to die / It's every breath that comes before

But I can hope how this will end / With every line a comedy / That we could learn to love without demand / But unreserved honesty

Pale White Horse

Heed the sirens, take shelter, my lover / Flee the fire that devours / But the sight held me fixed / Like a bayonet against my throat

It was a pale white horse / With a crooked smile / And I knew it was my time

Where Is Your Rider

See, your face wasn't quite as I remember / But I know that wicked shape to your smile / Bury me as it pleases you, lover / At sea, or deep within the catacomb / But these bones never rested while living / So how can they stand to languish in repose?

Soldier, Poet, King

There will come a poet / Whose weapon is his word / He will slay you with his tongue, o lei o lai o lord

Dear Wormwood

When I was a child, I didn't hear a single word you said / The things I was afraid of, they were all confined beneath my bed

I know who I am now / And all that you've made of me / I know who you are now / And I name you my enemy

I know who I am now / I know who I want to be / I want to be more than this devil inside of me

Danse Macabre 

Instrumental, no lyrics

Thus Always to Tyrants

Let me die, let me drown, lay my bones in the ground / I will still come around when the time for sleep is through / Over hill, over dale, through the valley and vale / Do not weep, do not wail, I am coming home to you

There's a wind alive in the valley / It will fill your lungs, if you'll have it

Where I go, will you still follow? / Will you leave your shaded hollow? / Will you greet the daylight looming, / Learn to love without consuming?

#*sigh* yes I was avoiding homework #I'm the Worst Lmao #the oh hellos #favorite lyrics #ptp

[absentlyabbie]

hey if it's not too late for the ask meme: tommy/oliver, reunited

@ayotofu i’m a whole month late but i never once forgot about this. hope it hits the spot

–

and it feels so—

out of the frying pan and into the fryer, oliver hasn’t had the chance to be relieved he’s no longer on lian yu, thanks to amanda waller and her plans and machinations. but not even the threat against maseo’s family can make oliver pull the trigger on his best friend.

it may be a stupid plan to kidnap tommy to covince him that oliver queen rots at the bottom of the ocean and the email alert that drew tommy to hong kong was a hacker’s ransom trap, but if it’s the only way oliver can keep tommy and maseo’s family alive, he’s willing to try.

it’s going great, really. tommy’s terror makes him easy to convince, and the heartbreak practically bleeds from tommy’s voice when oliver-as-hacker informs him oliver queen isn’t alive to log into his email almost three years after disappearing into the south china sea. oliver may be sick with guilt and pain and battling his own desperate longing to look his friend in the eye and maybe even go home, but he can all but hear tommy starting to accept that the man he’s looking for is long dead.

it’s even a kind of true, isn’t it? oliver is pretty sure he died when his dad pulled the trigger on himself. he’s just been the walking dead ever since.

only it goes just the wrong amount of sideways. in the stupidest way.

oliver stands just a little too much to the right. it’s almost funny, how easily it all comes crashing down. he stands too far to the right of tommy’s shoulder, shifts his weight just a little too much, and tommy’s had just enough time for his eyes to adjust to the lights when his head rolls back and—

the eye contact is like a thousand volts right to the chest. it’s less than a second, not even a heartbeat, nobody so much as breathes, but oliver watches it all race across tommy’s face—shock, bewilderment, recognition, disbelief, awe, rage—and the only saving grace is that oliver claps a hand over tommy’s mouth before tommy can get more than the first outraged syllable of oliver’s name out.

“shut up,” he hisses, desperate. maseo is due to bust in any second oh god oh shit oh fuck, what does he do now? “tommy just—just shut up, just trust me, fuck, i’m trying to get you out of this alive—”

it’s too late.

the sirens and yelling reek of falsity now, and oliver’s skin goes ice-cold as maseo in his stolen police uniform busts in, in-character and ready to help oliver fake this.

but the gun maseo is holding is very real and it only takes a single sweeping look for him to see nothing has gone according to plan.

oliver can’t take the chance that maseo will complete the original mission. if the last two and a half years have done anything for oliver, they’ve prepared him to act when there’s no time to think.

he shoves tommy’s chair over and in the same motion spins low across the dirt floor to come up under maseo’s gun arm, knocking the weapon from maseo’s hand and pulling him into a rough headlock.

it’s a struggle. maseo is better trained. he’s done this longer.

but in this exact second, oliver is more desperate, and he’s been that for longer.

“i’m sorry,” he hisses in maseo’s ear, grunting against maseo’s elbow in his gut, his nails raking at oliver’s arm through his sleeve. “i hope you come to quick and you get your wife and kid out of the city as fast as you can. i’m sorry. he’s my family.”

he keeps his arm jammed against maseo’s throat until maseo finally goes limp.

he lowers maseo gently into the dirt, recovers the gun, and moves swiftly to tommy.

he seems no worse for the tip to the floor, though the simmering expression on his face says it’s not exactly patience so much as the ropes binding his hands to the chair that have kept him waiting there. apologizing, his head going faintly numb with an ears-ringing surreality, oliver unties tommy and helps him stiffly to his feet.

“i don’t know if i should kiss you or kill you,” tommy all but spits, his eyes blazing-bright. “i’d be leaning more towards ‘kill you’ if i hadn’t just fucking got you back from the dead. i need… so many explanations.”

oliver swallows a thick, disagreeable knot of emotions, the joy and relief sinking like lead into the fear and dread, chased down by urgency. “you’ll have them. but later. i just risked that guy and his family’s lives and if we don’t disappear fast then they’re dead and so are we.”

“no worries, it doesn’t seem like that sticks to you, ollie,” tommy quips, massaging the blood back into his wrists. it’s a little bitter and a little wry, but oliver just wants to weep for being called ollie again, so he yanks tommy into a fast, hard hug.

it’s all they have time for.

tommy tries to steer them back to his dad’s hong kong villa, but oliver knows it’s under surveillance. this means the private merlyn jet is similarly out of the question. fortunately, tommy’s carrying a fat wad of local currency. “in case i needed to bribe people,” he explains, “for information about you.”

it only just starts to hit oliver what it means, that tommy had oliver’s email flagged for activity alerts, that tommy flew halfway around the world in less than a day, that he was ready and even eager to beat the pavement spreading cash for even a hint of a whisper that might mean oliver was still alive.

it’s more emotion than oliver has time or bandwidth to deal with.

the cash gets them on a tiny plane at a postage stamp of a non-commercial airfield, and by dawn they’re in the air, on their way to south korea with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the quickly-diminishing cash in tommy’s back pocket.

they’re going to have to go underground, oliver explains grimly through the headset. their pilot speaks less than a full sentence of english, so they can speak freely. this is only the start of their run, he needs tommy to know. there’s a government agency after them now, and oliver may have picked up some things since he and tommy saw each other last, but hiding from spook squads wasn’t exactly in a training manual.

tommy seems alarmingly buoyant and agile in the current situation. he’s taking oliver’s directions and piecemeal information in stride, in sync with oliver’s urgency in putting hong kong as far behind them as fast as possible. he’s not melting down or screaming at oliver or demanding answers.

not yet, anyways.

oliver thinks maybe tommy’s in shock.

he thinks maybe he is too, if he’s being honest with himself, but he’d prefer not to be until he has to be.

the first crack in the wall comes like daybreak on the horizon, sharp and searing and bright.

“by the way,” tommy says after a lapse, his voice brassy and a little echoey over the headset but still incredibly, beautifully familiar. “you’ve clearly been through some shit and i’m guessing wherever in hell you’ve been the amenities were severely lacking, like shampoo, and mirrors, hot towels, whatever. so know i’m saying this with utmost love, because i’m not sure you know and you need to hear it.”

oliver twists in his seat to look at tommy in trepidation.

tommy’s expression is that of someone about to deal a blow that will probably hurt but is necessary, like resetting a broken bone. oliver braces himself.

“i love you man, but your hair is fucking ugly.”

oliver stares at him blankly, and tommy just serves him that abiding, pitying look.

it comes out like a hiccup. a popped soap bubble of a sound, utterly lost in the whine and roar of the plane engine. It’s followed by another, and another, until they pile up and oliver is bending over and clutching at his stomach, face red and wheezing with laughter.

tommy’s hand is beating affectionately against oliver’s back and tommy’s laughter is ringing warm and bright in his ears, and it sparks clean and alive and desperately fragile in oliver’s chest for the first time in possibly years: hope.

the hope that maybe, just maybe, somehow things can be okay.

–

aus i’ll never write

#oliver queen #tommy merlyn #arrow fic #arrow fanfiction #fic meme #aus i'll never write #toliver #(because lbr if i actually wrote this thing the toliver would be inevitable) #ayotofu #asked and answered #edited because tumblr ate my italics #they're back now #the reunited au #arrow

[for-the-dales]

Chapter 12: Cole

Chapter 1 (Leliana): https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/185692342364/the-path-forward-chapter-1-leliana

You are drowning.

The horrors they have all witnessed pull at you like angry and desperate claws.

There are too many. Clawing up your body and around your throat.

You can’t breathe.

A little girl is crying. People are saying scary things to her and she doesn’t understand. It’s not right. She can’t find mummy. I can’t find mummy. I just need to find mummy. Mummy is brave. Mummy is soldier. Mummy’s such a good soldier she was picked to keep one of the fancy people safe. Mummy will make the scary things go away.

The girl is crying in an alcove, exhausted and alone. You hold her as she cries and sing the songs her mother sang whenever she was scared. You find her a blanket. It’s worn, but warm. She’ll be warm. You tell the kind old woman taking care of the orphans where to find her.

She lost a child. But that was the Blight. It is an old hurt. A scar rather than an open wound. She doesn’t need you.

She will give all the love she had for her son to these children.

The letter is almost here. The messenger is making his way up the mountain.

A man sits alone in the library drinking wine. The room is still dusty and broken down. But he just wants to be alone. I’m better alone. I wonder what my father will think of this? Surely word would have reached home by now. This is so important, I hope he’s proud. Foolish. Stupid. I’ll be a disappointment, as always. Damn. Should have grabbed two bottles of the red.

You take the bottle to keep it from slipping out of his fingers and shattering on the ground. He’s so drunk it’s easy to make sure he doesn’t see you.

You tell him that what he’s doing is important. He knows that in his heart, and that’s what’s most important. It’s understandable that he wants his father to be proud of him. Every child wants their parents approval. But first and foremost he needs to be confident in his own decisions. He knows himself best. And he is making the right decisions.

He is similar to Alexius, but only in the good ways. He is the best of what Alexius taught him. He won’t make the same mistakes.

The man slumps into the dingy old chair and holds his head in his hands.

Better, but not fixed.

None of this could really be fixed.

You just want to help.

Another hurt grips you and drags you from the library and through the stone halls. Too many are pulling at you. You don’t know which one has won out.

You slide past the old wolf in the rotunda. He looks you in the eye with pity as you pass.

He sees you.

And then you don’t feel his hurt anymore. You’re sad you can’t help, but a little relieved because there was so much of it.

The messenger’s halla is tired. The two of them have been riding for days, but the message is important.

You are dragged down the stairs past the Wild Card. Her fire still burns bright, but she hides it more now. She is scared. It’s all wrong. Too real. Too complicated. Too scary. Herald’s don’t tell you everything is the same and that’s that. They bring new things. She doesn’t know if she’s ready for new. Piss. Too much.

You get pulled along past the Ambitious one. She has been away too long now, with no end in sight. She wonders if the ambition is worth it. She thinks of the kind man, the only one to ever see her weep. He is alone. So is she.

The Resolve stands near her, decidedly resolved. His hurts are old, but you won’t be the one to help him.

She will.

Something in your stomach turns. You didn’t know your stomach could turn. Or that you had one.

The Muscle leans against the old wood watching his family train. He doesn’t like to call them that. It hurts too much to think of them like that when he knows he’ll need to leave someday. You’re being pulled quickly but you have enough time to let him know one thing.

He doesn’t have to leave them.

The Believer shimmers as she strikes the practice dummy. She wants to beat out her own insecurities, but that isn’t so easy. She is struggling to decide what she believes recently. What direction Andraste is trying to guide her in. She has more in common with the Wild Card than either would likely be comfortable with. She is meant to be a bulwark of faith, but she fears her foundation is crumbling. And she doesn’t know if she should hate the other woman for it.

You whisper past her as you’re pulled upwards. Faith isn’t a crumbling castle, it is an ocean. It is enduring and capable of change.

You burst into the air and gasp at the sunrise.

The messenger has left his halla at the base of the mountain. She can recover there while he finishes this last leg.

Two friends sit hidden in the tallest room of the furthest tower. They giggle over ale and old stories. There is so much pain between the two of them. Lost family. Lost friends.

But there is love.

They do not burn with it, but glow.

It is warm and comforting, it helps the pain.

You smile and take a moment to soak it in.

You are ripped from the happiness and pulled down into ash and smoke.

The woman’s fine clothes are stained with soot and blood.

That will be hard to get out, she thinks as another soldier is cut down in front of her, she didn’t know her name. She only knew a few of the others in her escort.

The roof of a hut near her collapses in and the fire rages as high as the pitch of the scream from within.

The woman in fine gold clothes is ushered into the Chantry as her escort runs back into the chaos to help more people. None of them will survive this.

The Ambassador’s clothes are clean now, she is spotless, but she can still see the stains. Her hands can barely hold a quill as she stares at the spot on her sleeve where the embers had landed and left holes. The holes are gone now, but she still sees them. She sweats from the heat of the fire. It’s still burning all around her.

I was useless. What good are words in the face of a dragon and its god-like master? What use am I?

You steady her hands and remove the quill, it’s dripping ink will only stain the letter she’s been working so hard on. You remind her how important this letter is. It will get the Inquisition the supplies it so desperately needs. They don’t have the people yet, but this will help to feed and heal the people already here. That’s important.

They couldn’t do this without her. A war is more than swords and battles.

Cullen may lead on the battlefield, Leliana may gather secrets, but in politics and allies you are the war chief.

She can mourn those she lost, she can fear what is coming eventually, that’s to be expected.

But these things cannot paralyze her, not when she is so desperately needed.

The woman in gold takes slow and calming breaths, and picks up the quill again.

The messenger has reached the gates.

There are so many shemlen here, and he is afraid. But there are enough refugees that no one pays him any mind.

They think he is another convert arriving to see the Herald of Andraste in person. They do not care to learn what his vallaslin mean.

That his devotion is to Ghilan’nain and his people.

He mutters a prayer for safety. This is his first important assignment, and he can’t make any mistakes.

A crowd gathers around the base of the stairs leading to the massive stone fortress. People are whispering and he doesn’t know what’s happening. He clutches his satchel closer. He only brought a small knife for cutting plants and self defense if absolutely necessary. The Elithanasha always says that the shedding of blood is the gravest of all sins, but being here among all these strangers he understands better than ever why people turn to it in fear.

He takes a breath, he is not so weak.

Two shemlen women walk down the steps, the one in gold says something to the hooded one before descending the remaining steps and approaching a blonde shemlen man towards the front of the crowd. Another shemlen woman, this one broad with dark hair, walks through the crowd.

The messenger can just barely see ear tips following her.

His heart sings in hope.

His hopes are proven to be true when the elvhen woman follows the dark haired shemlen up the stairs and he can see her more clearly.

The Raj’ha’haren of Mythal.

He wants to weep, she’s really safe.

The shemlen woman guides her up the stairs where the hooded one has revealed a sword. The Raj’ha’haren looks to the dark haired one and her brow is furrowed as she speaks to her. The dark haired one nods and continues talking.

The crowd is getting more fervent and you feel their fears and hurts abide for a moment as they all revel in the same balm.

Hope.

The Raj’ha’haren reaches out her hand and hesitates for a moment before clasping the handle of the sword. Her other hand joins the first as she lifts it.

Why would the humans give her a sword when she will never use it, the messenger wondered. She can barely lift it. He supposed it was a symbolic thing.

Her face shows some strain but she does lift the sword up in front of her. They all begin to cheer and the messenger wonders what they know that he doesn’t.

The Raj’ha’haren takes her time turning to the crowd as she gazes thoughtfully at the sword she’s holding. After a moment she raises her eyes to gaze at the crowd. The people gathered fall silent, anticipating her words.

“The Inquisition,” she begins, speaking with strength and conviction, “will stand for all of Thedas. As we face Corypheus and his army, we cannot be torn apart by old prejudice and hate. We must be an example to everyone of the strength of true unity. The strength of understanding and cooperation. I am an elf. And I am an elf that will stand between Thedas and all the horrors of the Fade if need be. Will you stand with me?”

Her final words incite cheers throughout the crowd and you are lifted with them. It’s like being back in the fade and you are floating with their aspirations.

The dark haired woman shouts over the cheers, “Have our people been told?”

The woman in gold shouts in response, “They have! And soon, the world!”

The dark haired woman calls out again, “Commander, will they follow?”

The blonde man in the crowd turns to the crowd and raises his arms and shouts, “Inquisition, will you follow?”

Cheers!

“Will you fight?”

Louder now!

“Will we triumph?”

The shouts are thunderous and the messenger has to cover his ears as the blonde man continues over the cacophony, “Your leader, your Herald,” the man pulls out his sword and points it up towards the Raj’ha’haren, “your Inquisitor!”

The Raj’ha’haren looks down at the crowd smiling serenely and allows them this moment of happiness and hope before she turns with the two shemlen woman to walk up the stairs.

The messenger allows the crowd to disperse as what just happened settles in his thoughts.

The Raj’ha’haren has been chosen to lead an army of humans. In the name of their god. The messenger’s blood runs cold.

You walk up beside him and take his hand. You remind him that she has been the Raj’ha’haren of Mythal much longer than she has been any sort of Herald of the human god. She has not changed. She was chosen for the position because of her wisdom, so she must surely have a plan. She will only ever act in a way that helps the people, and if she thinks this will help them, the messenger will trust her.

She will never turn her back on her people

You watch the messenger work his way through the human crowd. The message he carries will test that hope.

He finds the Raj’ha’haren in the main hall. She is surprised to see him, but warmth fills her to see another of her people in this cold human fortress. She misses the warm jungles of home and the crystal waters of the lake. When she embraces him, she can still smell the hibiscus in the leather, he must have been sent from her temple.

The advisors look confused but are respectful enough not to interrupt as the messenger solemnly pulls a scroll from his bag. And kneels as he presents it to the Raj’ha’haren.

The Raj’ha’haren is confused as she takes it.

The messenger tells her, “It is from the Elithem Sul’anasha, with the utmost urgency.”

A chill runs down the Raj’ha’haren’s back as she rips open the scroll with not near as much ceremony as it was presented with. She says a prayer in a heart that nothing has happened to Deshanna, she couldn’t handle that right now. She didn’t know if she ever could. She scans the letter rapidly and you see no reason to step in, there will be no hurt today.

There is fear, but nothing that the Raj’ha’haren can’t handle, she hopes.

She must simply invite her new friends home.

----------------------------

Elvhen used:

Elithanasha- shorthand for chief priest

Raj’ha’haren- shorthand for high priest

Elithem Sul’anasha- formal title for chief priest

-----------------------------

Hoped y’all like it! Next chapter is Ellana’s and i’m so excited!

Chapter 13 (Ellana): https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/190320198054/chapter-13-ellana

#the path forward #ellana lavellan #cole dai #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic #dai #dai fanfic