#sun setting one last time for my hazy death

[an-idyllic-novelist]

100 Milestone Event - raiden taeemon with mitsuri!reader! short story 🍡

Here it is everyone, the milestone event for reaching +100 followers! This is also part two of another milestone on my yandere blog!

The link will be here, so definitely check it out first before reading this one! Special thanks to @deathmetalunicorn1 for helping me with the sections I was struggling to write. Not gonna lie, Raiden’s dialogue is a bit hard lol. So with that being said: sit back, relax and enjoy! :)

warnings: canon divergence of manga, violence, strong language.

The moment Raiden Taeemon witnessed the strength of a Hashira is a memory he would never forget.

In Valhalla, there were many activities to entertain the masses such as gambling or martial arts tournaments, but sumo matches have been providing just the right amount of spectacle and violence far longer than any known sport. Even gods had become sponsors to certain dojos, providing funds for more equipment and so forth. Raiden was content with his lifestyle, fighting against strong opponents, eating good food and followed by having some fun with a few girls depending on how much alcohol he drank that night.

Then sumo wrestlers began disappearing from the dojos, one by one. Their remains would be discovered the following morning, torn asunder and…half-eaten. The sight frightened the customers so much that they didn’t dare go outside unless they were absolutely certain that the matches would not last beyond the first rays of the sun setting across the hazy blue skies. Even the gods had begun to worry, believing there was a serial killer on the loose…if you can call withdrawing their sponsorships an expression of anxiety. The masters of the dojos even began restricting the fighters to a curfew, forbidding anyone from going out into the night lest they face expulsion.

But Raiden was tough. He had been the strongest sumo wrestler of his time. He could take care of himself. If someone wants to come after him, he’ll return the gesture wholeheartedly.

After an evening of drinking, he took his usual stroll back home when he heard someone call out to him. Confused and half inebriated, Raiden looked over his shoulder and saw a shivering, drooling, decrepit old man with a large lump on his head. At first he thought something was wrong with him…but that concern changed to alarm when the man split his body up into four younger versions of himself with fashionable robes, fangs, and possessed weapons. One of them even had wings and talons like an eagle!

One of them opened his mouth and released a loud screech with enough strength to make Raiden’s head spin and catapulted him into a building. As he stumbled to get out of the debris, the one wearing red robes thrusted his wooden staff into the ground, lightning bolts spitting from it. Raiden screamed, white-hot pain pulsing through his body.

“This is supposed to be the strongest one in this district? How lame!”

“Shut up and finish the job, Karaku! We cannot be seen or else they will come! We cannot go back to that place!”

“Come on, it’s been so long since we’ve played with our food~!”

For the first time in his life, Raiden felt fear. He did not know what these guys…this thing was, but he had to get away. He had to get away or he might die again.

“I’ll finish it. Do not worry, human, your death shall be quick and painless.”

Raiden’s eyes widened as the one dressed in blue charged towards him, wielding a halberd with an apathetic expression. Yet before the weapon could put a hole in his chest, it flew out of his bronze hands with a loud ‘crack’.

“Geez, of all the demons that had to be causing trouble in this place, it’s you guys again?!”

The sumo wrestler whipped his head towards the rooftops of the building, seeing a young woman with braided pink-greenish hair and dressed in black, [Eye Color] orbs narrowed and face pouting as she wielded….a whip? Behind her were two other individuals. A kid in a checkered haori…and a little girl with a piece of bamboo in her mouth?

He watched them leap into the air; the kid unsheathed his sword and went straight towards Red, the girl charged at the green-robed one he assumed was Karaku, and the woman targeted the blue one that was right in front of him.

Neither opponent was giving an inch in their fight, and Raiden had to admit that the kid and muzzled girl were doing remarkably well….yet it wasn’t their unusual sword style or hand-to-hand combat techniques that caught his interest. It was the woman who had torn off her opponent’s arm as soon as she flipped him over her shoulder, knocking him into the ground with a loud ‘crack’.

The blue-eyed demon opened his mouth to scream or release an attack like the yellow one, but she swung her whip across his neck, decapitating the bastard.

Wait, where is the yellow one? Hearing a loud screech, Raiden whipped his head up to the nighttime skies and saw the demon's mouth stretching. The wrestler watched in horror as sparks of electrified air were being collected into a whirling sphere. And the target of the attack was none other than the little lady.

Somehow, he’d been able to force his aching body to move from the debris and bolt towards her, pushing the lady as close to the ground as possible without crushing her, using himself as a shield to absorb most of the attack when it came at them.

The last thing he remembered were his ears feeling wet and the woman’s worried face and… she was saying something to him before he lost consciousness.

He didn’t know what it was, but he hoped it’d been a ‘thank you’. It’s not everyday he got to protect a damsel from a demon, even when she could stand on her own ground.

As Raiden slowly came too, feeling the familiar padding of his futon, he groaned deeply, unable to open his eyes. A headache throbbed painfully through his whole head, making him both dizzy and nauseous.

He couldn't remember the last time he had a hangover this bad as he was slowly able to open his eyes, wincing at the light peeking through his window. His other senses slowly came back to him as the throbbing in his head slowly dulled. Raiden shifted and instantly froze, feeling his whole body seemed to be on fire yet so heavy at the same time.

As the minutes ticked by, Raiden was slowly able to sit up, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his head, but his movements were stiff, almost like he was restricted, looking down to see bandages all over his body. His mind drew a blank, not remembering getting hurt and like a switch was flipped at that word, hurt, what he could recall from the night before came rushing back to him, making him fall back against his futon as his headache returned full force.

Shit…what the hell even happened? All he remembered was having a good time and then the weird old man…

Raiden’s eyes widened. That’s right. The old man turned into four demons! And then there were those kids…and that woman. The woman with hair that looked like sakura mochi and had the strength of a bear.

Head spinning, heart pounding, his mouth stretched into a grin as the memories from last night came back in full force. He had a preference for the larger ladies, but he’s always been flexible~.

Rengoku had told you countless times that if you ever crossed paths with Hantengu in the Bifrost, never confront him alone. He nearly lost his life against the Upper Moon Demon at the Swordsman’s Village if it hadn’t been for Tanjiro, Muichiro, and Nezuko. In all honesty, he thought the demon would no longer exist once his head had been cut off. But he is still there, in the Bifrost, and he escaped through a tear in the barrier.

He tried to consume as many strong humans as possible to regain his strength, though his efforts drew in unnecessary attention and that’s how he got caught. Tanjiro was able to deliver the final blow to the main body, and everything else went well….although no one had anticipated the damage done to the sumo wrestling district.

Oh goodness, what was going to happen? You knew Tengen and Rengoku loved to go there and watch the matches, especially when Raiden Taeemon was participating, but now it’d take weeks to clean up the mess! Gah, you failed on your second official mission as the Love Hashira! One more strike, and the Master’s gonna be so mad he won’t let you be part of the Demon Slayer Corps anymore!!

You sighed heavily, trudging through the streets with a heavy heart as your crow flew high in the skies above. You had completed another shift in the Bifrost, followed by an investigation in regards to another possible demon sighting in the northern areas of Valhalla.

Although everyone had reassured you that no one was seriously injured that fateful night, it still bothered you tremendously. You had offered to donate the money made from selling honeycombs at the farmer’s market towards the reconstruction of the district, but the Master told you not to fret.

You did what you had to do, and minimized the casualties as much as possible. Rengoku has taught his apprentice very well. The compliment still made your face flush with happiness…though, to your embarrassment, not as much as when you brought that handsome fellow back to his dojo. Raiden Taeemon. You rescued Raiden Taeemon from a demon and treated him in his own room!

Oh, you were such an awful woman~!

Feeling your face redden in embarrassment, you slapped your cheeks together. Pull yourself together, [First Name]! There’s no need to reminisce about the past ‘cause it’ll make delicious food go sour in your mouth! And it’s time for lunch anyway, just think about what you’re gonna order and worry about everything else later unless there’s an urgent message from the Master!

Nodding to yourself, you quickened your pace and found a restaurant with the wisteria symbol stamped just beneath the sign. If a Demon Slayer needed a place to stay or to eat, the establishments that carried the Master’s symbol were trustworthy.

You could relax here without worrying about a demon or paying too much out of your pocket, although you secretly snuck in a hefty tip to the staff for working so hard to accommodate your…quirks. Yeah, quirks, let’s go with that!

Smiling brightly at the familiar faces of the employees, you greeted them enthusiastically and wished they had a good shift as you followed one of them towards the back of the restaurant. This place still catered to other customers, so you always reserved a room for yourself to enjoy your meal in privacy.

Being gawked at for having unusual hair or how much you ate on a daily basis brought back unpleasant memories.

You squealed joyfully at the lacquered oval-shaped table, covered with every single item on the menu plus their best-selling herbal tea! You thanked the staff member profusely for their hard work in the kitchen, promising to enjoy the meal to the fullest!

The employee - a kindly older man with four children and one grandchild - smiled serenely, saying it is the least he and his family can do for the people who saved them long ago, in life and death, from demons. If you need anything, just let him or someone else know.

Upon bowing to each other, he left, closing the door behind him. You wasted no time in giving your thanks to this lovely banquet and began eating to your hearts’ desire. But an hour later, however, a knock came at the door. It was the old man again, but he sounded…worried.

You blinked. Huh? You didn’t remember asking for thirds! You just did that ten minutes ago! Concerned, you allowed him to enter, immediately inquiring what was wrong, what could you do to help.

He swallowed. “That is….there is a man who insists on asking about the ‘cute little lady with hair like sakura mochi’. I told him I knew whom he was speaking about, but politely asked him to leave because you were not to be disturbed. But he is insistent on…sharing this room with you for lunch. What should I do, Lady Hashira?”

You frowned. It wasn’t too unusual to have some rowdy customers walk through these doors, but not to this extent. Perhaps…the person who is giving the owner such a difficult time is because the man has some information he would like to relay to the Demon Slayer Corps? It would make more sense to go directly to a Hashira than pass a message to a kakushi.

You nodded your head to the owner.

“It’s all right, let him come in. Whatever he wants to eat, please add it to my bill.”

The owner’s silver brows pinched beneath his hairline as he frowned. “As you wish, Lady Hashira.” He bowed and quickly left the room, closing the sliding paper door behind him.

Humming softly to yourself, you sat yourself back down in your seat. Some of the employees appeared from behind, quickly and quietly removing the empty plates and rushing back to the kitchens.You thanked each of them for your hard work, smiling softly as you began pouring tea into two earth-brown ceramic cups.

One for yourself, and one for your guest. In your humble opinion, there is no better beverage to have mid-meal than freshly brewed green tea.

Just as you finished pouring the tea into the second cup, the door opened again.

When you looked up to thank the owner for complying with your request, blood drained from your face and your heart somersaulted in your throat. Standing behind the quaking owner was a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a dark blue yukata and wooden sandals. White highlights stuck out of his dark brown hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. And he was grinning.

This is Raiden. Raiden Taeemon, the man you had saved from Hantengu and patched up his wounds like the lascivious criminal you were. Oh no, did he figure out what you’d done? Wait, did he even remember that night?! His breath smelled strongly of rice wine when you carried him back to his dojo! You thought for certain that he’d been too intoxicated to realize what happened!

“Hey, there.” He purred softly.

You swallowed. “H-Hello.” You said. “I hear that you wished to speak to me. May I inquire why?” You tried to keep your voice neutral and calm so as to not show that you were nervous. Your palms began to sweat as he took a seat at the table. Raiden beamed, his smile revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“I wanted to thank you!”

But you did not hear him. You were still under the assumption he was angry as you quickly backed away from the sumo wrestler, your forehead and hands resting firmly on the wooden floor in the position of the dogeza.

“I’m so sorry!” You blubbered. “I’m sorry you got hurt! I wasn’t strong enough to handle the demon on my own and you got hurt trying to protect me!! And there was so much damage to the b-buildings! What if you can’t have matches?! What have I done?! I’ll pay for all the damages somehow, I swear it in my honor as the Love Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps!”

“W-Wait a sec, little lady -”

“But to make it even worse, I entered your home without your permission, and I even touched your body so I could patch you up! Oh, I should have done more! What was I even thinking about being a capable Hashira when Rengoku recommended me to the Master to take up the mantle! Now all the good vibes from lunch are gone!!”

You squeaked as you were suddenly lifted up from the ground, your face being gently cradled by calloused palms and being pulled towards Raiden’s face, chapped lips being pressed against your mouth. Raiden Taeemon was kissing you.

Heat immediately flooded into your cheeks yet you did not dare move, just staring at this man in disbelief. When he pulled away, he smiled at you, tilting his head to the side. “You okay now?”

Your immediate response had been knocking him back into an adjacent wall and turning away to hide your smiling, flushed face. To think you had your first kiss with a strong, handsome man! He did surprise you with a warm laugh, standing up and brushing the dust off of his yukata.

“Sorry about that! You were rambling and that was the only thing I could think of to calm you down!”

When you informed that he was in fact the first person to kiss you like that, he looked at you, completely stunned at your confession before grinning.

“You’re pulling my leg! There ain’t no way a woman as stunning as you hasn’t been kissed before!”

But you remained silent, unable to form any more words beyond the truth. You were never a very good liar. He then surprised you when he lowered his head to the floor, profusely apologizing for putting you in such an embarrassing position.

You quickly forgave him, saying that he did not know in the first place, and in fairness, you had believed that you would not see each other again after that fateful night. You did, however, emphasize that he did have to take responsibility for his actions.

He laughed warmly, jabbing his thumb against his chest. “I’ll do just that then! I’ll marry ya, if you’re willing to be with someone like me!”

You beamed. “Better yet, how about we have lunch together while we’re here? I did say that whatever my ‘guest’ would like to have would be paid by me! And the food here is absolutely delicious! You simply must try their spicy dishes and sweets, if you have a sweet tooth!”

The rest of the afternoon had been lovely, sharing dishes and sharing stories about each other. Not wanting to repeat your parents’ mistakes, you were upfront with Raiden about being a Hashira…as well as being the eldest daughter of the ocean god Poseidon. There were going to be risks if the two of you moved forward….including the possibility that you might not come back from a mission, or even a routine patrol in the Bifrost might get awry.

But to your surprise, Raiden wanted this. He wanted you, a woman who had once been told by a former suitor that only a wild animal could love someone with odd-colored hair and a big appetite.

He did not care if you were a human or a god; what mattered to him, more than strength and beauty, was honesty and kindness.

And you could not be any happier.

Bonus Content:

The last thread of Hades’ patience snapped when his little brother demanded to have [First Name] removed from the Demon Slayer Corps in his palace, after he’d just told Poseidon that she was doing well under Ubuyashiki’s watchful eye.

When he heard about his niece's promotion, Hades was obligated to tell Poseidon the truth about her whereabouts. Obviously he was not taking it very well.

However, Hades will not tolerate being disrespected in his own domain.

The lord of the underworld glared at the tyrant of the oceans. “She may be your daughter, but she is still the Love Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps. You know damned well I cannot replace skilled soldiers at the flick of a wrist. It doesn’t work like that for this organization. I’m sorry, Poseidon…but you brought this outcome upon yourself. If [First Name] wishes to see you or talk to you, she will do so on her own terms. Do not push yourself into her life again, you’ll only make things worse.”

Hades admired his brother’s kingly qualities, he truly did…but when it came to matters about his eldest daughter, Poseidon was extremely overprotective of her. He could be…irrational.

It was a good thing he’d concealed the wedding invitation moments before Poseidon came here. The god of perfection would never allow his child to marry a human, even if he were the strongest sumo wrestler in history or treated [First Name] just as Hades treated his wife Persephone: with respect, love, and honor.

Poseidon could care less about Amphitrite. Reputation is all that mattered to him; and because he valued that so highly, the price had been paid with his daughter’s ‘disappearance’.

Too little, too late.

Taglist:

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Honorable mentions:

@deathmetalunicorn1

#shuumatsu no valkyrie #an idyllic novelist #record of ragnarok #ror x reader #snv x reader #fem reader #mitsuri!reader #snv #ror raiden #snv raiden #ror x you #snv x you #milestone event #raiden tameemon #raiden tameemon x reader

[saphirered]

Caged Birds Don't Sing

And here's the third and final part of this request! You can find part two here. I hope you have all enjoyed this little angsty piece as much as I have. Happy reading my darlings! 😘

You walk among the gore and decay, stepping over those who have left this world and the horrors that tore them away. You hear the wails be they cries of pain, of grief or relieve. You’re covered in grime, head to toe. The silk and gossamer had been exchanged for steel and leather but the burden is equally heavy. You just wander. No purpose. No direction. You hear the faintest echo pierce through your hazy mind. The world is numb. You are numb and waiting for it all to come crashing down, for the realisation to hit you viciously. You’re free. You’re free of her, free of it all. You were a fool to think it’d magically all be better. All those sacrifices you made, they were a blood price for this. The goal was reached but the price steep. You find your gaze connecting to the eyes of one who paid the price for your silence. The White Wolf of Doranelle steps up to you. You can see his lips moving. He speaks your name but his words are a distant echo. He grabs onto your arm and gently shakes you. 

Fenrys saw you walking among the corpses and chaos. You looked like an angel of death among them; reaping the souls of the fallen and walking them to the afterlife. Once upon a time he might have jested you looked horrible, that the battlefield did not suit you and you should return to your life of finery, that blood tarnishes even the prettiest diamonds. You might have clapped back but he knows now you won’t. You’re too far out of it. You don’t even respond when he calls your name. He realises why when he shakes you, when he sees that hand you had clasped over your abdomen move, and sees that blood and gore is not your enemy’s. You’re ashen, and have lost your radiance. You could never be plain but this must have been the closest you’d ever got to it. He’s all too aware how you straighten your back, you don’t even feel the pain anymore but still make it a point to appear presentable, as if you’re ready to meet your end.

“Have you come to finish the job yourself?” There’s an airiness to your voice. You’re ready. You know what’s coming. It’s all lead to this. “It’s okay, Fenrys. I’m ready to face the consequences of my actions.” Conflict crosses his features so you reassure him. You find it with yourself to take his hand and guide it to his sword. He doesn’t shake you off nor stop you. Still he looks conflicted. 

“I used to dream of this moment,” He starts holding onto that sword but then he takes your hand instead, placing it over your abdomen and keeps pressure on it. “But I was wrong. I know what you did. I know why. It wasn’t worth it. You did what you could to be selfless, to protect and preserve. You did it at the expense of so many others.” Fenrys thinks for a second while you take in his words. He continues no less. 

“How is it any different than any of this? Why do you deserve to die when we’ve done just the same? When I’ve done just the same in those years of service. It doesn’t make it right but I know I’ll be spending the rest of my days making things right. You are clever and quick witted. You see through lies and deception, and are a master of persuasion. You are stubborn and thickheaded and annoying but most of all you can be a complete and utter bitch. We need that. We need you.” 

“For now I would like to see the stars.” One last time… You don’t say it but something in your heart knows this to be true. The sun is close to set. You don’t even know how long you’d been wandering the fields. It might have been eternity. You knew it would end here on the battlefield. You knew this life of yours would come to an end with Fenrys standing there in front of you. That was your curse wasn’t it? You knew how it would end for Maeve but you never gave her the opportunity to get rid of those who would lead to her downfall prematurely. You had no intention of changing this moment of yours either. It’s best to not mess with the way things are supposed to be. You learned that lesson the hard way. 

Fenrys sees the solemn distance in your eyes. He cannot begin to imagine what runs through your head, not even now he knows the gravity of your life, of the burden you’ve carried ever since you met him. He doesn’t envy you. He simply nods and throws your arm over his shoulder and lifts you as if you were no more than a rag doll. If you wish to see the stars then you will witness them away from death and ruin. With what energy he replenished he takes you to the beautiful hills of some forgotten place. As the last light of the sun sets over the horizon and the grasses rustle in the wind he sets you down. He debates if he should sit down next to you but then he feels the gentle tuck on his sleeve. You stare up at him with bright and peaceful eyes and he finds himself lowering next to you. How is it in the aftermath of it all you have become the embodiment of peace among the chaos? How is he feels that pleasant relief and release now he is near you? 

Together you sit until the silver speckles fill the night’s sky. The air grows cooler, and the wind dances ever so lightly; the only sound of the rustling blades of grass banishing the echoes of haunted clashing steel. You feel warm and comfy and cozy so you slowly lay down and gaze up. An easy smile graces your features, even when you see Fenrys at your side. If someone had told you you’d be here right now in this very moment, you’d have called them fool. Yet here you are. Here he is and he stares at you with something you can’t quite place. There’s pity, regret but that’s as far as you can uncover. 

“It was easy to hate you for all she did to us. We couldn’t do anything about Maeve, loyal or not but you… I see now it wasn’t right- I don’t know- I think what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry it had come to this.” Fenrys stumbles over his words. For that smooth talking and quick-witted fae he is known to be he half expected you to give him shit for it. He’s surprised you don’t. You just smile up at the stars. 

“I’m sorry too. For everything. I wish I could have done better.” There are so many words you want to speak but don’t have the energy for to voice them nor does it seem to be the moment to bring up that horrible past now the healing can finally begin. 

He watches as you struggle to breathe a little. He adjusts, lifts your head and sits behind you so you may lean against him. Throughout his weeks of torture, you’d been the one to clean up the mess. You’d been the one to nurture his wounds and held him while he slept. He’d refused your help at first solely for the fact he hated you, or told himself he did. He meant what he said; it was easy to hate you, to blame you and tell himself you were the villain in the story. You patched him up. You’d given his brother a final resting place when no one else dared to. You’d lied to Maeve’s face about it too. You’d risked it all for him. How could he hate you now knowing what he knows? You’ve been so strong but so broken for so long. You deserve your peace. You deserve the one thing you asked for. He’ll keep you company just as you kept him. That’s what he tried to tell himself at least. 

Hatred can turn from many things. Fenrys is not ashamed to say he’d miss you if you’d become another casualty of this grand scheme of Maeve’s. You asked to see the stars for a reason, thinking it’d be the last thing you’d see. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t try. Your odds might not be looking good but he knows you’re stubborn. He brushes some tangles from your hair with his fingers. 

“Then do better. I dare you to do better, you stubborn little bitch.” He speaks with a laugh. You tilt your head backwards more to look at him and manage to raise an eyebrow, sniffling a snort.

“What?” You’re confused but something within you sparks beneath the surface of your skin. You’d never been one to back down from a challenge set by a furry bastard. A part of your mind asks the right questions; why should you stop now?

“You heard me.” He guides you into a sitting position and pats your cheek. “Think you can’t do it? You lost your game, sunshine.” 

“Fenrys, now is not-“ He places a hand over your mouth and your next words are muffled. You try to remove it but can’t get a grasp.

“No no. I expect a grand apology for all the years of slander of my esteemed character. Besides, if I’m going to do this ambassador thing, I need you to write me a good reference. It’s the least you could do.” He lowers his hand just in time for you to snort.

“Ambassador? You? You don’t even know the first thing about basic etiquette, let alone foreign etiquettes. You’ll start a war within the week.” There’s that spark again. There’s that life in your eyes, that chaos among the calm that he’s hated facing only to be reminded it was the only consistent thing, the thing he took joy in over all these years. It was easy to hate you and blame you but it was never truly satisfying. Fenrys had found great satisfaction in challenging you, teasing you because despite everything, you made a worthy opponent who would meet his challenge. You were a sparring partner in a fight none of his friends could match. 

“What you gonna do about it? Stop me? I’d like to see you try.” He crosses his arms and raises his chin in defiance. Your lips part and you scoff shaking your head. “You can spend the rest if your life looking at the stars right here or you can tell me exactly how I fucked up the precious table settings and ate with the wrong cutlery. Hell, you can even judge me for all the princess I’ll sleep with and haunt me for being banished from nations. Someone needs to know what they’re doing and I sure as hell don’t.” He’s not wrong. He doesn’t know what he’s doing and you do. When he looks forward on his own, all he sees is shortcomings and the need to learn. he could be taught and would be of course. And he’s not completely incompetent but when he looks at you, if he had you with him, he feels safe and confident. 

“Only an idiot would leave you unsupervised.” You’re not wrong and you can see the horrible scenarios play in your mind of Fenrys running half naked out of a country or greatly offending a court for not knowing their customs. He’d be a mess. You know no amount of tutors could put up with his bullshit or have the dog pay attention for more than five minutes. 

“Well then, hello there idiot. You’re my supervisor. Now let’s get you to a healer and a bath because frankly you reek of death.” You feel your heart beat in your ears, feel the rush of blood when he reaches out his hand and offers it to you. He needs you. And in a way you need him. You need Fenrys to remind you what it feels to be alive because that’s what he’s done. He’s taken many hurtful blows to your armour in the past but when you were at a loss, you knew him to be consistent, you knew what to expect and when it mattered most, you had each other despite it all, despite the hatred you had for each other. It won’t be an easy road but then again nothing about Fenrys is easy except maybe his tendency to share his bed with others. You sigh and close your eyes. You nod as you place your hand in his. 

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” 

“Eternally.”

“You better make it worth my time.” The look he gives you when you speak those words; the one that is filled with the most indecent thoughts, tells you enough. 

“You’re the only person who’s ever shared my bed and I haven’t fucked. We can change that.” He teases. Old habits die hard but he’ll never go out of his way to let you know you’re his type. Previously it would be followed by a comment of how your horrible attitude or the moment you’d open your mouth would be an instant mood kill. There’s no follow up comment. 

“I’d like to see you try.” You couldn’t resist the urge to make that comment, to set that challenge and while your initial thought is you’d regret this, everything else screams you won’t. You just won’t make it easy on him. Fenrys laces his fingers with yours, gently pulling your entwined hands towards him and therefore urging you forward. Cocky bastard. 

“How about a kiss first? I’m told it leaves the many wanting for so much more. You up for the challenge?” You don’t answer but instead close the distance and so his lips meet yours. He’s damned. He’s down the rabbit hole and falling forever more. He’s breathless. Few people managed to get him so and he’d be damned if he’d let you win that easily. He’ll still take great pleasure in this moment but when your lips finally part, he has the both of you falling through the worlds and reappear in the healer’s ward. 

“I hate you.” You groan.

“And you can hate me even more after you’re all patched up.” 

#throne of glass x reader #fenrys x reader #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys #throne of glass fenrys #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fic #throne of glass #sjmaas #sjm fanfic #sjm fic

[boyfhee]

𓈃 ❝ TO YOU, WITH LOVE . ❞ — lee heeseung !

PRECIS. four months after heeseung's death, you find the tape recorder he left for you ( wc. ≃ 2.12k )

GENRE. angst, minimally fluff, humour in traces

WARNINGS. profanities, angst / bittersweet, lots of flashbacks, death and mourning, mentions of breakup and arguments, crying, mentions of kissing, heeseung is insecure

NOTE. repost yas pls forget the times when i said im tired of hee angst. ps. this was inspired by lang leav's poems so there are several reference. italics text signify the audio / hee's dialogues. happy reading <3

they say relocating and starting over marks a new beginning, or to put in better words, signifies the end of a chapter of your life. you didn’t believe that initially, for new beginnings always commence from heart and not from where you live or what you’re doing. however, heeseung’s death changed that for you. and here you are, four months later, sitting in the living room of your newly bought apartment in osaka with only the setting sun keeping you company through the dreadful silence.

the unpacked boxes occupy almost every corner of the room, telling you to get up and arrange things, but your limbs have given up; partially from exhaustion and partially because of helplessness. but we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever. healing is a slow process, and an important part of the remedy is the will to heal.

so you get up, almost stumbling on thin air because of your hazy gaze, picking up the smallest box and rummaging through the stuff, only to come across a tape recorder you’ve possibly never seen before. there’s a note on top, and it reads— ‘to you, with love.’ it doesn’t even take you a second to interpret that it’s heeseung’s handwriting. an impassive smile makes its way to your lips and here you are, ignoring all the work and sitting in one of the corners as you tune in the recorder.

‘so, you’re out with your friends to shop for your friend’s wedding when you should be with me,’ a tear rolls down your cheeks, the smile trembling as you sniffle, leaning against the wall and closing your eyes. his voice resonates with love. ‘and i’m bored, so this recorder is my last straw.’ and then he pauses, the faint sound of movements reaching your ears. you chortle, knowing he’s probably making himself comfortable on the couch.

‘we could’ve spent the noon watching movies and baking but no, you had to go out with that fri—fuck,’ your eyes shot open at the sound, some profanities escaping his lips as audible through the audio. you presume that heeseung dropped the recorder while using it. after all, he is clumsy. ‘shit, i hope this is still working— yeah it is. anyway, where were we? right, your friend who you ditched me for.’

you chuckle, reminiscing about the mentioned day. you remember it perfectly. well, how could you not; because uncharacteristically enough, heeseung was at the peak of his dramatic behaviour that summer afternoon and despite the fact that you love his clingy personality, he really managed to get on every single one of your nerves. well, that was a typical day for you. hurried mornings, whinings from heeseung, busy afternoons due to work or friends, in some cases. and now that he’s gone, you find it hard getting accustomed to a stagnant lifestyle.

‘talking about friends, do you remember sunghoon? yes, the ice skating fanatic from high school. i met him the other day and do you know what he asked? if we were still together. like, c’mon, we’re in for a long run, right?’

there are days when melancholy settles on you like a sudden change in weather. the kind of sadness that is intangible. like the presence of an ache where you can’t pinpoint where exactly it hurts, you just know it does. hearing those words feels exactly the same. those are the words that were supposed to bind you both forever; the words you would count upon when you’d have an argument with him, knowing you both are eternal.

‘do you remember when we had our very first fight?’ a lifeless laughter rolls off your tongue, spinning in the gloomy atmosphere engulfing the room. ‘it was so pointless. desserts, really? i still laugh thinking about it.’ the heeseung from back then would’ve said otherwise. it was a minute conflict but, maybe that’s how the greater arguments arose. ‘it must’ve hurt, right?’

his voice is no louder than a whisper, voice morphing into much more of an apologetic tone. and you realise— heeseung never properly apologised for your first fight. neither of you did, actually. you don’t mind, really, for the reason behind it was incredibly stupid.

a long silence follows, rather a painfully consoling one. soon enough, the sound of him humming the melodies of your favourite song fills the room, accompanied by your muffled snivels. you close your eyes and let your mind trace over the slightly blurred image of heeseung you see often in your dreams. you let it trace over his shoulders. you take a deep breath, and try to put those dark thoughts aside. a smile climbs up your lips.

loving heeseung is a wild ride. it’s like your eyes met his’, and the stars sighed in admiration. when you kissed him for the first time, your body gravitated towards him like those rides at the fun fair, where you’re spinning so fast that the motion fixes you to the wall. love chimed in your laughter, in the sense of wonder you found in each other. if you had your doubts, then time had told you otherwise. you and heeseung were a symphony of melody and melancholy, but it takes two to sing a duet.

‘remember when we fought and you left to live with your parents for a whole month? that was hell for me.’ you want to tell him that it was hell for you too. even though it was you who suggested that you both should take a break, you’ve spent nights spilling tears on your pillow, living on the edge with your mind contemplating you to call him. ‘the day you left, i went through all my old journals, frantically looking for my first mention of you. i know it sounds stupid, but i was scared. what if you never return— that was my first thought.’

‘people are right when they say we don’t know what we have until it’s gone and god, those thirty days made me realise how important you are to me. i know i can be a handful at times, and i end up lashing out for no reason at times. goodness, i wouldn’t even date myself but you, yn, thank you for choosing to stay.’

it was your second anniversary when heeseung had the worst breakdown. he had woken up from a nap, exhausted with puffy eyes due to the soccer match lost the same morning. he thinks it’s embarrassing to cry, heeseung believes it makes him look weaker than he already is. he hates to have you console him, wiping tears off his cheeks, cradling him in your arms like a toddler. heeseung doesn’t hate you, he hates how you were always there for him when all he ever did was give you a mere half of what you gave him.

heeseung believes there’s penance in yearning. there’s poverty in giving too much of your heart. when your desire for another is not returned in equal measure— nothing in the world could compensate for the shortfall. sometimes, the loneliest place to be in is love. between all the memories, through hugs and kisses, amidst all the i love yous that were shared, he knew you’re too for him. so, heeseung gave you numerous opportunities to leave; to hurt him like everyone before you did. but instead, you’d hold him dear, a little closer to your heart every time you hugged, a little deeper into your mind everytime you kissed, as if you were telling him to blather about his insecure mind that kept nagging him regarding all the things he couldn't do and, you'd explicate how exquisitely it told him lies that he believed.

you sniff, wiping tears with the sleeves of your clothing, wondering; ‘what about people who do know?’ because you knew. you knew you loved heeseung more than anything else, knew that he was your world— and still is— and good god, you tried your hardest to hold onto him. little by little, corner by corner, even if all you had was a fragile thread to tie your heart with his, you did. you never took a damn thing for granted; not him, not his love, not his antics— nothing. so, losing him, you wonder, isn’t it so much worse for you?

‘i’d like to marry you, someday. as in, soon, very soon. and it’s not only because i love you. it’s because i don’t think i can love anyone else the way i love you. besides, the thought of a mini you running around the house doesn’t sound bad.’ your eyes flutter open at his confession, tears resting on your lashes like pearls shining in moonlight. you could feel his lovestruck smile from the words he recorded.

heeseung loved kids, always. if there was a reason why you’ve spent your sundays looking after your cousins— on popular demand from heeseung, of course— it’s because he loved spending time with them. the sound of tiny feet pacing up and down your house, innocent giggles spinning in the air along with heeseung’s poor jokes. ‘you’d be the best dad,’ you remember telling him, and you could’ve sworn, heeseung’s eyes shone brightest then.

he says it’s ‘the heeseung effect’ because coincidently, even your neighbour's son has heeseung’s eyes. same colour, same passion, it reminds you of him. apparently, you’re his favourite after his mother. you were heeseung’s favourite too, after his mother. it’s sweet, but it hurts so much because there’s a glimpse of him in everything around you. you see the stranded pieces of memories floating by in every thing, and the worst part of holding memories isn’t pain, it’s loneliness. because memories are supposed to be shared, and you’re all by yourself.

‘i’m running out of things to say,’ he sighs, another trail of silence following. you’re running out of tears. ‘how did i manage to have you love me, yn? you’re too good for me, gosh, i don’t deserve you, not at all.’ your heart escalates a little, hands dying to hold his face for the last time and tell him how wrong he is. heeseung looks down on himself, but you want to hold him close, cupping his cheeks as you plant soft kisses on his face, telling him that behind his precarious mind, there’s a murmur of love. you want to trace his cold fingers with your lips, reciting tales of all those moments he made you feel like the happiest person alive. you want him to know that he holds your heart in his trembling hands, and you feel safe. his touch is sweet like honey drizzled strawberries, kisses like the first blooms of a cherry blossom.

you want to tell him that even if he feels like he doesn’t deserve you, he has you nonetheless. he always did, even when the world wasn’t. you don’t know where it comes from, all this love that you possess for him. you don’t know where to put it now that he's gone.

‘can you promise me one thing?’ your ear perks up at his request, though of no use now, probably. ‘promise me that you will never settle for less than what you give. i know i shouldn’t even be talking about this but yn, you deserve the whole world, even more. thank you for keeping up with me, tolerating me; thank you for not leaving like everyone else. and if you ever choose to leave, promise me that it’ll be for someone better than me.’

last night, you had a dream that felt like a memory. like a glimpse of what could’ve been crossed signals from another life. where instead of all this, you had heeseung. life was exquisitely simple, and you were desperately happy. just when you have convinced yourself that you’ve learnt to live without heeseung, you’re pulled back into the endless spiral of all the feelings you harbour for him. he’s someone you keep in your heart. settling for someone else isn’t even an option; loving someone else isn’t even a possibility. because you can tell that you only love once. anyone who claims to have loved twice in their life— they have not loved at all.

‘and i promise i’ll be there for you no matter what,’ he whispers and it feels as if he’s right next to you, holding you into a warm embrace, whispering sweet nothings to you just the way he did. another tear traces down your cheek, the sound of shuffling shoes emerge from the recorder, marking your arrival from. you hear him shift on the bed, and he mutters a last message before the tape goes silent. ‘let’s make it till forever.’

just like that, lee heeseung breaks another promise, leaving you with a broken heart, and the tears come back.

taglist in the rbs.

#—approved. #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen heeseung #lee heeseung #enhypen angst #heeseung angst #heeseung drabbles #enhypen fic #heeseung fic #enhypen imagines #heeseung imagines #enhypen headcanons #heeseung headcanons

[medeasolarium]

Aeterna Amantes

Tags: Angst, Tav is dead, gn TAV (I think?? this is not proofread but this should be gn!)

Astarion Angst below! Churned this out as fast as I could after playing bg3 all day. Planning a full blown fic if I get the drive to do so but please enjoy this short ficlet! Mayhaps I may edit this or revisit to add more angst but I always do too much explaining in my writing which I plan to improve on. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy!

Tonight, the air that the wind brings feel different. The cold rush Astarion felt at the back of his neck from the breeze is vaguely reminiscent of a familiar set of fingers he used to hold in his palm. And the dim light afforded by the full moon above trying to break through the foliage lights his palace's balcony in the same eerie shade that night he held you in his arms the first time.

Tonight, like most of his nights, is spent alone. Despite how many lovers may come and go from his chambers, none are given permission to stay and warm his bed. And as the dimming yellow light from the bedroom brazier's bleed through the open doors that lead to the balcony, Astarion only stares at the empty entryway. Almost expecting someone's shadow there, waiting for him to come back in.

The dull ache in his chest rises again as he pushes back the disappointment that no one is there.

The breeze picks up much stronger this time and he feels the chill rise from the tip of his fingers up to his arms. He faces back to the open balcony. A welcome distraction to cloud his mind of the ghosts of his past.

Tomorrow, he thinks, the cycle will repeat again. As much as immortality and tremendous power were gifts, they were very much their own curses too. A funny thought passes through his mind, he finds more solace in the day now than he did at night. For a vampire it is ridiculous.

For a vampire that can walk freely in the sun, it is not.

In the daylight, he can busy himself in orchestrating his army, his power over the city, and his plans for domination.

But at night, when the city settles down, when he's had his fill of carnal lust and blood, and when there is nothing left to do but wait for the sun to rise once more for the day to begin, Astarion finds himself lost in thought and heartache.

He tries his best to remember you.

You'd think that for an immortal being, memory should come easy. But over time, small slivers of your days spent together seem to slip from his mind day by day.

A decade is but a blink in his eyes, but devastating all the same. And a decade since your death meant that most of his memories of you were gone. A hazy happy memory that will soon flit away in another decade. The idea of losing his memory of you forever terrifies him. You had given him everything, and now you were taking it away.

Something scratches on the stone surface of his bedroom floor and a small bottle shatters, breaking Astarion out of the trance. Quick reflexes point him to the direction of the sound. His bedchamber.

Had one of his spawns broken in? Oblivious bedmates refusing to heed his warning of overstaying?

No, only a pair of rats he had found fighting over the crumbs left on an empty plate. In their scuffle, they'd knocked down one of your last perfume bottles. Gone were its contents long ago, dried up and soured over time, but sentimental nonetheless. Afterall, there were only very few of your belonging that were left.

Frustration boils over him and he crushes the shards of glass in his fist, forcing it to pierce into his skin and bleed. Yet despite the sting of the glass and the unpleasant smell of the soured perfume, there was solace in the pain. A burden shared, much like the pain both of you shared during your adventure.

He feels a small set of eyes on him, watching him. And the source he pins to the imposing portrait of both of you. On most days, the painting served as his primary remembrance of how you looked. Preserved in all your glory with him by his side. You smiled more then, and he liked to think that the artist was able to imbue that in the portrait.

But tonight, as if by some spell or cantrip, the usual jovial look in your eye was transformed into a sorrowful one. The same look you gave him before your untimely demise. Bowed and broken. "Aeterna Amantes" he had promised. But you seemed to have other plans.

Astarion lets a quiet sob run through him as he closes his fist even tighter. Savoring the pain to dull the heartache. After centuries as Cazador's slave, Astarion had assumed he'd known what true defeat tasted like. But every night he relives it over and over again. You had helped him face and vanquish his fears only for the loss of your memory to be his greatest one.

Outside the sun starts to rise. Another day begins again.

#bg3 tav #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 astarion #ascended astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav

[angelkunimi]

unhinged (m)

sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader (+ ex!atsumu)

synopsis: even if you think justice has been served, you realise you’ll never be free from your stalker

warnings: 18+ only. yandere themes, stalking, PTSD, paranoia, anxiety, manipulation, trespassing, death threats, some making out, mild violence + blood, knife use, mentions of kidnapping, smoking, one instance of spitting

wc: 4.5k

a/n: my first fic of this blog hooray! i hope you enjoy, it’s not that good but it’s my first time writing after so long so please enjoy :)

you never used to appreciate being able to breathe. 

you do still breathe, of course you do- to exist. but breathing used to be so much easier back before, in that time that seemed lifetimes ago. now it’s uncomfortable. the ache deep in your chest, the tightness, the battering of your heart against your rib cage as you try to suck in those slow breaths, deep, slow, one count, two count, three…

smoking was probably the worst decision you could’ve made. but you need something to take the edge off, something just to make you feel bliss for just a few temporary bittersweet moments. of course, you can’t fully appreciate it. after the sun sets, your living room is hazy when you can only crack the window open a few inches, curtains still tightly drawn to protect you from the peers of the outside world, as you breathe out those grey dregs of smoke, the acrid taste hot on your tongue, tight in your chest, fingers trembling as you flick ash in the glass ashtray. 

maybe you’re being pessimistic. 

things could’ve gone so much more worse but it didn’t. you still have a decent job- an anonymous, quiet 9-5 lab job at some chemical plant down on the outskirts of the city. tall brick walls with barbed wire, security at each electric gate, fluorescent lights in the car park and a convenient parking spot for your car right by the door when you come in and leave your lab every morning and evening is just perfect. safety means perfect. and you’re getting better- you can go out by yourself now. you do the grocery shops and you treat yourself to coffees and just last week you made it to the edge of the park, breathing in the crisp cool autumn air, watching the chestnut and mustard leaves flutter to the rain-stained ground, listening to the breeze whistle. of course, you only ever go out during daylight- the winter months will be rougher but you’re certain you’ll be better then. you have to be. 

after all, at least you’re not dead. 

sanity seems like a privilege but you’re grateful for the things you still have, for the things he couldn’t snatch away amongst everything else. 

atsumu is one of them. 

he takes in a deep breath of anticipation before he digs into his food- warm, sticky rice, hot spicy soup, delicious dumplings, his cheeks bulging with the delicious feast laid all over your coffee table as the two of you lounge on the couch, catching up on your favourite netflix series together. 

“i fuckin’ love food.” the blond man manages to chuckle with his mouth full, flecks of rice spitting out which makes you grimace as you shoot him a glare. 

“don’t be so disgusting, tsumu.” he merely laughs, brown eyes merry as he continues to tuck in and you can’t resist the smile that tugs at your lip as you force an eye roll. 

“now ya just sound like-” he cuts off when you stiffen and his face becomes solemn as he realises the words falling out of his mouth. he clears his throat as he puts down his plate of food, the porcelain clattering against the wood but you avoid his eyes, staring straight ahead at the television. 

“i’m sorry-”

“no.” you cough slightly. “it’s okay- just a mistake. let’s not talk about it.”

“y/n-” you get up abruptly, pushing away your untouched food in favour of your cigarettes. marlboro red. he exhales heavily, watching you light up the stick between your fingers. “i think we need to talk about this.”

you lock eyes with his brown ones and it makes your chest twinge as you see the seriousness in them. it makes you angry really, more angry than sad. he stole so much from you- he stole your happiness, your home, your friends and family, your life! he stole you from you, leaving you an empty shell. and he stole your love. the one true love you had. you’re grateful for atsumu to still be here, to still be your friend and still hang out with you and help you and that he’ll still drive to your house in the middle of the night when you have a panic attack even if he has practise at 6am but it’s not the same. all because of him.

“okay.” you mumble, tapping your cigarette on the edge of the tray and watching the ash fall. “fine. what?” atsumu’s dark brows tug together as he studies you carefully. 

“so, yer know he’s gettin’ out? the courts wrote to ya, didn’t they?” a smile stretches across your face as you chuckle mirthlessly.

“oh yeah, they wrote to me. good behaviour.” you shake your head, laughing. “what am i supposed to say? yeah, i’m completely okay. i’m not terrified. i’m not angry. i haven’t had my whole life destroyed, like nothing ever happened! like i can still sleep more than just a few hours a night and i don’t have nightmares and i can go out and live a normal life because everything is fucking okay.” you’re trembling, eyes wet as you take a long drag of your cigarette, an empty smile stretched across your face as atsumu just stares at you.

a low swear falls from his lips as he reaches a hand out, squeezing your shoulder comfortingly. 

“i’m sorry, y/n. i really am, i wish- yer didn’t deserve any of it.” he shakes his head, blond locks falling into his eyes. “and ya know, it feels like it was all my fault. if only i hadn’t introduced yer to him, if only i hadn’t tried to make yer be friends with him, if only i had set proper boundaries and ya know, knocked some sense into him when he started gettin’ all weird-”

“no, no, not at all.” you smile as you grasp atsumu’s hand, running your thumb along his knuckles. “you know it’s not your fault- how were you supposed to know? it wasn’t your fault, it isn’t mine. it’s not anyone’s but- but sakusa’s.” 

you grimace at the bitterness of his name before sighing heavily, stubbing out your cigarette as you reach for your plate of food. but you don’t eat, because nothing really tastes all that nice anymore. 

“he’ll be on probation, ya know? and he has a restrainin’ order so you’ll be okay. i don’t think he’ll even dare violate it, not if he knows what’s good for him.” you nod at atsumu’s comforting words, trying to let them seep in, trying to believe it’ll all be okay. 

“is he rejoining the team?” the blond man shakes his head. 

“nah, too much bad publicity for the owners. he’ll probably stay lowkey for the first few months and probably sign to a new team when the media have turned away their attention. but-” he looks at you earnestly. “i promise ya, no matter what he tries, ya know i won’t let him contact ya. as for shoyo and kōtarō, i can’t speak for them but they won’t tell him anythin’- i know they won’t.” you return atsumu’s smile, nodding. 

“yeah. it’ll be okay. i’ll be okay.”

you don’t go to work the day he gets released. 

you probably should, it’d be better to move on with your life but you can’t set foot outside your house. cctv and doorbell camera on, windows locked, hallway light on to check for footsteps under the door, phone fully charged, thumb hovering over the emergency call icon. social media is no good for you- you feel new again to it, now that you’ve only just made accounts again- but trending hashtags, videos, headlines, all his name. 

you’re embarrassed at how you start just when your phone vibrates, your thudding heart slowing when you read atsumu’s familiar name flashing across your screen. 

u ok? :))

you smile as you type out a response and with a heavy sigh, you collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

you’re going to be okay. 

the first time it happens you think you’re going insane. 

a cup of coffee. on the countertop. 

you’re hyperventilating in your kitchen, trembling and shaking. coffee. cup. countertop. your knees feel weak, chest aching as your body rushes with adrenaline, head spinning. you’re crying as you’re pulling out your phone. words barely choke out with breathlessness, a long knife clutched in your hand as you sink to the cold tile floors, hoping you don’t die tonight. 

and you don’t. you and atsumu stand in your kitchen, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as the detectives finally return to you. 

“ma’am, everything’s good.” the first detective, an older man with a thick moustache says. “we’ve sweeped the house- windows and doors are all locked. nobody’s been in here.”

“are you sure?” your cheeks are wet with tears as you stare at the two detectives, pleading. 

“y/n-” atsumu’s voice is a little whisper and you try not to flinch.

“ma’am,” the detective sounds frustrated. “we’ve checked. nobody is in here. nobody has entered your home.” 

“miss,” the second detective is a woman, a sweet one with a tender smile that makes you feel heard, somewhat understood. “we understand your fears, honestly we do. but you are safe, i assure you. all your windows and doors are locked, nothing has any sign of forced entry, nothing missing. this is just your own coffee mug. you are okay.” 

you exhale heavily, forcing a nod as your head begins to ache and atsumu apologises as he leads the detectives to the door. you can hear them mutter in low, hushed voices in the hallway before atsumu apologises a final time for the total waste of their time and they leave. the door locks, one click, two click of the two keyholes, latch on, chain sliding against the wood. 

you don’t meet atsumu’s eyes when he walks back into the kitchen, a heavy sigh escaping him. you’re tired, you feel stupid and sheepish, you don’t need this but that doesn’t stop him. 

“what the hell is wrong with ya?” it would’ve been better if he had yelled at you, not used that tone of disbelief, of disgust, of embarrassment. “callin’ the police- and me- because yer couldn’t remember ya had a cup of coffee?” 

“no, atsumu, i thought-”

“i know what ya thought!” he cuts you off with indignation, rolling his eyes heavily as his fingers curl up into fists. “but come on! if he was standin’ here right in your kitchen i’d understand but a fuckin’ cup?” he shakes his head as you feel your shoulders curl, your eyes falling onto the tile floor. “i was on a date tonight.” your throat goes dry as he rubs at the crease between his brows. your chest is heavy. “she was really nice, we were havin’ a good time and just when i thought i was actually gettin’ somewhere, my ex is callin’ me up because she’s runnin’ around the house with a knife, going crazy and senile over a fuckin’ cup of coffee she couldn’t remember drinkin’.” you gasp at his words, breathless and it stings.

crazy.

he thinks you’re crazy.

“i know what he did to you, i get it but for god’s sake, y/n, can’t ya even try to get over it? i am always here for ya! all the damn time! i don’t even know if yer want to try to have a normal life again but i definitely do.” 

“i’m sorry.” atsumu just glares at you, your futile apology nothing to him. 

“whatever.” he mutters as he tugs off his jacket. “lock the door after i leave and just go to sleep, for fuck’s sake.”

you and atsumu don’t talk much after that. 

he doesn’t bother messaging you much and you can’t blame him. after all, after everything that happened he was the only one who ever stuck around. not that you were resentful towards your old friends and family- who would want to stick around with you after everything that happened? the screaming and crying, anxiety fits in the middle of the streets, paranoid phone calls and accusations at 3am.

it’s empty and it’s hard. you continue going to work but it’s nerve-wracking. you wake up groggy and peer out of the windows before you even dare step out of the house. you check the back seats of your car, the boot, you test the brakes before you even set off to work. grocery shopping, coffee runs, anything for necessity or leisure is pushed away- your head just spins, blood pounds in your ears, your chest hurts and you feel like you’re going to be nauseous anytime you go out. 

the worst thing is, you really thought the cup of coffee was a mistake. 

but it only gets worse. 

sometimes it’s little things. you’re trying to sleep in the middle of the night but you’re disturbed by the bright yellow light of your motion sensor security light flashing, illuminating your bedroom through your curtains. the first time you force yourself to breathe. stray cats, squirrels, foxes- all reasonable explanations. but it happens the second time. a third. and by then you’re shaking, trying to hold back the heavy breaths choked in your throat as you scramble for your phone, finger hovering over the dial icon. but atsumu’s words ring in your ears and you force yourself to breathe slow counts, just like the therapist taught you, just like you’ve rehearsed with atsumu. one breath, two breath, three…

when you get the courage to creep towards the window nothing seems out of the ordinary. but you can’t seem to quell the disturbing ache of nausea in the pit of your stomach when you see the rose bushes rustling in the still night. 

a missing hairbrush you can’t seem to remember where you put. your underwear collection seems to be getting smaller. you don’t know how you’ve been going through your snack cupboard so quickly. 

you can’t say you’re not scared- of course you are. you barely sleep, eyes wide staring at the light flooding beneath your door, just terrified of the dark shadows of footsteps that might just appear. the motion sensor lights flashes more often these nights. but you also feel stupid, your cheeks feeling hot and shame prickling your skin every time you remember atsumu’s harsh snarls, the bitterness in his eyes and that’s when you sigh heavily, sliding the knife out from under your pillow and slipping it into your bedside cabinet instead. sakusa stole your life, but did that mean you’d have to steal atsumu’s too?

if only you had listened to yourself. 

you don’t hear anything. not over the sound of the blender whirring your evening smoothie. banana. frozen raspberries. milk. syrup. chia seeds. 

but it stops abruptly and you gasp when you feel it. the sharpness, the icy coolness of the tip of the knife edging into the back of your neck. 

it’s like your heart stops. blood runs cold, your heart hammering and the nausea of adrenaline flooding your system is overpowering as you tremble, trapped between him and the kitchen island. 

“don’t scream.” 

you could never forget his voice. that deep, soft murmur that haunts your nightmares. you don’t think you could scream even if you wanted to. 

“phone?” 

you swallow as you pick your phone off the countertop, sliding it across to which he quickly grabs it. his hands are pale, green veins popping and knuckles bruised.

“look at me.”

you turn around slowly, heart hammering. black obsidian eyes, dark curls, that stoic expression painting his handsome face- everything you wished you could forget. 

you stare at each other for a moment and he takes in everything so carefully, his eyes travelling over ever inch of you and you’re sure he’s committing everything to memory, relishing every single moment of this nightmare. 

“y/n.” you hate how he breathes your name, like it’s a glorious prayer to him, like it’s not curses to you. 

“what are you doing here?” you can only whisper, a timid cracked whisper. but sakusa doesn’t reply- instead he just pulls you into his arms and you’re trembling as you’re stuck in his grip, hating the feeling of his hands squeezing you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling in your smell, his warmth suffocating you. 

but then he pulls away and you see how his jaw clenches, how his fist tightens around the knife and your stomach drops when you realise it’s the same damn knife stuffed in your bedside cabinet. how long?

“i want a cup of coffee.” 

the cup clatters when you put it down on the kitchen table, sakusa sat comfortably at it, legs outstretched, eyes fixated on you and the knife held readily in his hands. he sighs when he takes a sip and then with a tap of the knife, he indicates for you to sit beside him. 

“your coffee tastes better than mine.” your hands curl into fists at his mutter- how stupid. you should’ve known- you shouldn’t had been so easily convinced by the stupid detectives and atsumu- they underestimated him, they ignored you- he told you you were crazy but you were right. all along. and now…

“please.” you whisper. “just leave. nobody will know and we can-” he cuts you off with a sharp tsk and clatters the knife against the table, shutting you up as you flinch. 

“y/n, you sent me to prison.” he begins, lip curling with venom. “and you know, the one thing worse than not being able to see you was that hell. dirty. unsanitary. full of animals.” he shakes his head, curls falling into his dark eyes. “locked up there, every single day the fucking same…because of you.” he gazes at you heavily. “just because i loved you.” 

you’re not sure what to say, the pressure under knife point too heavily as you swallow hard. 

“so are you here for revenge then? is that it? are you going to kill me?” sakusa smiles, evidently amused, as he takes another sip of his coffee. 

“i’m not that petty. sure, you made me lose everything- my family, friends, my career, freedom.” you want to yell at him. call him a selfish cunt and tell him he deserves everything, and so much worse, for the relentless torment he’s caused you. but you don’t. you thought everything would be so much more different if you ever had to face him again, but it isn’t. you’re just still terrified. “but no, i’m not going to kill you. i want you to give me a bath instead.” 

you’re bewildered at his request. it feels like some sort of fucked up play when you guide him upstairs, painfully reminded by the knife edging into your back not to pull anything funny. he holds it the entire time, the whole time you run the bath, swatting the water steadily filling up the tub and asking him for his optimum temperature, asking him whether he’d like usual epsom salts or lavender, offering him a towel. and you’re forced to watch him undress, cringing as you have to see him peel off his clothes, revealing his pale body underneath, that bulky body rippled with muscles that just stands as a reminder of how much bigger, stronger, powerful he is than you. 

sakusa groans as he sinks into the water, his eyes falling heavy as his body relaxes. you’re kneeling by the side, hands gripping the edge of the cold porcelain bathtub, holding your breath as you can’t even comprehend the situation. it’d almost be so comical at how fucked up it is, at how fucked up sakusa is forcing you into this disgusting thing. his head falls back against the tub and his lids are heavy as he gazes at you.

“this is a luxury you don’t get in prison. imagine what it’s like, hundreds of men lining up at one time, short two minute showers, grimy cubicles  without a single bit of privacy.” he gives a humourless smile. “that’s what i had to put up with. because of you.” you’re stunned when he spits at you, a harsh, nasty spit full of venom and you gasp as you fall back, gingerly touching the horrible wet saliva splattered across your face. your face crumples and you want to cry, but your damn body just can’t react, just won’t react, not with the shock and fear pulsating through you. 

“you got put away because you hurt me.” it’s the quietest whisper and sakusa gasps when he suddenly scrambles up, water splashing and he’s grabbing your face, cheeks squishing between his hands as he tugs you close. it’s a shock to see him like this, such an antithesis to the calm collected man you thought you knew when his eyes are flashing and manic. 

“i love you. i never wanted to hurt you, damn it.” it’s starting to ache, how his calloused fingers press into your tender skin. 

“i was with atsumu!” he tuts as he pushes you away, vein throbbing in his forehead as his hands curl into fists. 

“you really think that blond idiot cares about you? like i do?” 

the words strike something in you and suddenly you’re extending a gentle hand, fingertips grazing along his forearm. 

“i’m sorry, kiyoomi. you’re right.” he shoots you a piercing glare, heavy brow raised as he scoffs. 

“do you think i’m stupid?” 

“no!” your cry is permeated with earnestness. “you are right- atsumu doesn’t care.” you give a mirthless chuckle. “he thinks i’m crazy, annoying, i’m a nuisance to him really. but you,” you circle your fingers around his hand, the other gripping the knife tighter. you hope he doesn’t notice your trembling. “you went to prison for me, kiyoomi.” 

he’s thinking hard as he stares down at your entwined fingers but you know it’s not enough. so you take the gamble and cup his face, smashing your lips against his. 

he tastes of brandy and salt but his skin is warm and smooth under your fingertips- you could almost pretend this would’ve been nice in a different universe. you kiss him, heavy and hard and your heart hammers when he returns it, groaning against your lips as his hand slides into your hair, tugging to deepen the kiss. it’s hot, heavy, his tongue sliding into your mouth, saliva wet and messy. he swallows your moans as he licks messily into your mouth, water splashing as his body squirms, begging to be closer to you as you thread your fingers through his hair. 

“fuck, y/n-” he pants heavily in between wet messy kisses pressed to your lips as he rests his clammy forehead against yours. 

“kiyoomi, i want you. but please,” you whimper as you stare into his depthless eyes. “please put the knife down. i promise i’ll be good.” sakusa doesn't look entirely convinced but you’re relieved when he finally puts it down on the bedside cabinet when he follows you into the bedroom. your body is brimming with adrenaline when he lies down along your bed, his skin glistening with dampness as you take a deep breath and edge towards him. 

“this is all i’ve wanted, y/n. we could’ve had this so much easier if you had just listened. if you hadn't been so stupid.” he mutters almost mournfully as you slowly unbutton your shirt, letting the cotton fabric slip off your shoulders to reveal your chest clad in a pink bra. but sakusa doesn’t mind the simplicity of your underwear, even groaning at the sight of your panties hugging your cunt when you slip off your jeans. “come here.”

he pulls you onto his lap and you try not to flinch at the feeling of his half hard dick pressing against your pussy, only a thin layer of fabric separating you both. he’s hungry as he kisses you, one hand gripping your hair tight, the other groping your chest, your ass, stroking your hips, any skin he can grasp. you kiss back with fervour, your hands gripping his broad shoulders, hips rocking gently against him, swallowing his moans. you’re waiting, kissing, waiting for the perfect moment…then…

you bite. hard. sakusa swears when he pushes you away roughly, his face screwed with anger and disgust as red blood seeps from his lips. but you’re prepared, your clammy hand locking around the knife and you scream when you slash it towards him. panic bubbles in you and damn him, he’s quick- he’s rough when he shoves you back, a hand stretching out as protection against the knife. you aim desperately, every bit of anger and resentment and fear and hatred brewing in you surging through the screams and swears but you’re just too weak and the best you can get is a slash across his hand. 

“you bitch!” he yells, voice deep and gruff and it terrifies you, the fire dancing in his eyes as he clutches his bloody palm, crimson oozing from porcelain skin. 

but that’s bought you enough time and you rush away quickly, your bedroom door slamming behind you as you scramble downstairs. you’re frantic- kiyoomi’s screams and threats resonate through the house as you hear him storm upstairs into the bathroom and you’re trembling with fear- fuck why won’t your hands just work? you’re scrambling for the house keys- were they in the living room? your purse? in the tray of marbles? 

“fuck fuck fuck-” you’re almost crying as you sweep your hand across the entire cabinet top, vases and candles smashing to the floor and marbles scattering across the entire floor but then you find them, those silver keys you grab, grateful for the sharp cool metal pressing into your skin as you run to the front door. 

“i am going to kill you, you stupid bitch.” kiyoomi’s footsteps are heavy upstairs as you scramble to fit the keys into the lock, hands shaking as they just won’t seem to fit in and you’re sobbing, screaming at yourself to get out. 

you can hear him across the landing, getting to the top of the stairs- the floorboards creak and you’ve only just got the locks open when the door swings open and-

relief floods you when you lock eyes with brown orbs and you’re a sobbing, shaking mess when you collapse into atsumu’s arms, clinging to him, gasping and clinging to his t-shirt as he holds you. 

“he’s here- atsumu- he’s here- he’s going to kill me!” atsumu’s bewildered as he holds your face, wiping away the stream of tears and you’re exasperated at how he smiles, almost amused. 

“what are you talking about, y/n?” he chuckles and you shake your head, gasping as you try to scramble away, run away into the darkness- anywhere, just not here. 

“he’s here! we have to call the police.” 

atsumu’s still smiling and suddenly his hold on you feels tighter. your heart feels like lead when sakusa’s footsteps reach the end step and he’s stood in the hallway, bloody hand gripping the knife, crimson running down his chin as he smiles, shirtless in just his joggers. 

“miya atsumu.” his voice is a low drawl. 

“atsumu!” you’re wailing with desperation, trying to fight out of the blond’s grip but he’s too strong, holding you tight against him as he continues to smile. 

“relax, y/n- he won’t kill you. goodness, omi-kun- i told you i’d help you take her home, why did you start without me?”

#tw.stalking #tw.yandere #sakusa x reader #sakusa imagines #sakusa fic #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi fic #sakusa kiyoomi imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x you #tw.kidnapping

[vodika-vibes]

The Joys of Dating a Chosen One

Summary: Your sweet Captain comes to a sudden realization, and it makes him love you all the more.

Pairing: Captain Keeli x Reader

Word Count: 1195

Warnings: Suggestive at the End

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I love FFXIV, I've beaten the main story...uh...three times now? Almost four times, so anyway. I was playing that and having thoughts about Keeli (I love him, I blame @the-bad-batch-baroness) and they sort of merged together into this AU.

Divider by Saradika

“On the day when the sun and the moon-”

“Babe!” Keeli lowers his datapad and shoots you a frustrated look, “Babe, I love you, but if you make another prophecy and drag us into another life or death, divine calling, fiasco, I’m breaking up with you.”

You turn so that you’re sitting on your knees on the chair, and you sling your arms over the back, “No, you won’t.” You say smugly.

Keeli sighs and drops his head back against the couch, “No.” He agrees, “I won’t, but I will bitch about it. I was not trained to kill god. Either capital G or lower case G.”

“But you did such a good job last time!” You say with a laugh.

“Babe.”

You laugh outright, and hop out of your chair and drop on the couch next to him. You tuck your head under his chin, and he sighs and wraps his arms around you, his fingers immediately moving to the scars that line your body. Scars he knows as well as his own. You smile up at him adoringly, “I love you.”

He brushes his thumb across your lower lip, and then he ducks his head and kisses you quickly, “I love you too. But I do wish you had told me that you were the galaxy’s punching bag before we started dating.”

“Oh, but then you might have said no.” You tease as you shift so that you’re straddling his lap.

“Nah, I would have still said yes. But I would have thought about it for, like, 30 seconds.” Keeli replies with a grin as he sets his datapad to the side and grips your hips to tug you so you’re flush against him.

“Really?” You ask, disbelievingly.

“I don’t think you quite understand how insanely attractive you are.” Keeli replies with a wide grin.

You press your hands against his cheeks, “The day before I asked you out, I literally killed a Death God who was trying to destroy a planet. Asking you out was much scarier.”

“Hm…Captain Keeli, more intimidating than a Death God.” He muses thoughtfully.

You laugh and kiss him, “Not like that. People skills aren’t exactly my strong suit, lover boy.”

“I have no complaints about any of your skills, cyar’ika.” He purrs.

“You’re a pervert.”

He shrugs one shoulder with a wide grin crossing his handsome face, “Only for you.” He says as his hands slide a little lower to rest on your thighs. 

You giggle and kiss the tip of his nose, and aren’t the least bit surprised when he tilts his head back to catch your lips with his own.

Keeli kisses like he does everything else in his life. Carefully, methodically. His kisses steal the breath from your very lungs and replace it with himself. He kisses you like he needs you like air, and you love it about him. 

He breaks the kiss, and you’re breathless and hazy eyed, and he grins at you. “My sweet cyar’ika,” Keeli coos, “You always react so nicely when I kiss you like that.”

You flash a dreamy smile, “You kiss me like you need me.”

“Fair, because I do need you.” Keeli murmurs, “All of the time, at every moment.” He slides one of his hands up your spine and he presses his hand against your cheek. “I wouldn’t be here, if not for you.”

You blink at him, surprised. “Keeli, you’re an excellent soldier-”

“Shh…let me talk.” Keeli murmurs.

You sigh and lean in to press your forehead against his, your eyes closing as his thumb starts rubbing soothing circles on your cheek.

“I was on Ryloth. And me and my men, as well as our general, decided to stay back, to protect the civilians from being gunned down.” His voice was low, gentle, as if he’s not talking about an event that should have killed him, “It was only a matter of time before we were run over-”

He moves and presses a light kiss against your lips, and then drags his lips across to your cheek, and down to your jaw.

“I should have died there. I was supposed to die there. And yet I didn’t.”

You hands have a distinct waver to them as you press them against his shoulders, “You got lucky…or your jedi-”

“You were there, weren’t you?”

You duck your head, “There’s no proof-”

“Cyare,” His voice is so gentle that you aren’t even able to finish the sentence.

“I was on Ryloth for something else, something that I had to do.” You admit, your voice very quiet. “I wasn’t supposed to get involved. The war…it’s not my problem. Or, it wasn’t.” You slide one hand down to rest over his heart, “But I was there, and I saw what was about to happen, and I couldn’t just walk away…so I got involved. I…removed…a portion of the opposing army, not all of them, but enough that you and your brothers would live.”

“And I appreciate it,” Keeli murmurs, “I just don’t understand why.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, trying to gather your thoughts, “When this whole thing began, I was just a wanderer.” You admit slowly, “I wanted to help people, all people. But then my adventures started getting bigger and bigger, and before I knew it I was fighting gods and demons and coming out the other side hurt, but alive. And I just…I just couldn’t leave you all to die. Not when I could do something about it.”

“Thank you,” Keeli whispered.

“You’re welcome.” You reply with a small smile, “but, um, I didn’t know that you were one of the men I’d saved until…well…just now, actually.”

He grins and bumps his nose against yours, “So, us being together is just fate then.”

“Fuck Fate.” You whisper, “I make my own choices.” You kiss him deeply, and he groans into the kiss, his hand sliding up under the hem of your shirt to allow his fingers to dance against the scarred skin of your stomach.

“Have I ever mentioned,” Keeli mumbles against your lips, “how incredibly, insanely, attractive I find you? And that I love you more than anything in this galaxy?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” You reply.

“Not nearly enough.” He stands suddenly, and you fling your arms around his neck to stabilize yourself, “I’ll just have to show you, won’t I?”

Your face burns with sudden embarrassment when you notice the way he’s looking at you.

And he laughs as he turns to carry you into your bedroom, “And then, my perfect, wonderful cyare, you can tell me all about this next god we have to kill.”

You release a breathless laugh, “I thought you weren’t interested?”

“I changed my mind.” Keeli replies as he drops you on the bed, and then peels his shirt off, “After all, watching you kill a god is probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

You blink at him, “Hotter than-?”

“Yes.”

“Even when I-?”

“Even then.”

“...huh.”

He grins at you, “Any more questions?”

“Nope.” You reach out your arms to him, “I love you.”

Keeli’s grin widens, “I love you too.”

#star wars #tcw #captain keeli x reader #keeli x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #reader could be seen as a WOL from FFXIV #or just some poor unlucky adventurer who's the galaxy's punching bag

[lost-decade]

Your top 5 WDCs ranked on their hairstyles?

Your top 5 journeys you've ever done?

Okay this made me realise there are/have been a lot of very generic hairstyles in F1

1. James Hunt. Absolutely luscious locked. Longer hair on men – big plus from me.

2. Lewis. I mean, everything about the man is beautiful, including his hair. No elaboration necessary

3 & 4. Nico and Jenson because pretty blonde twinks

And then IDK…Nigel Mansell for the tache

Top 5 journeys got rambly so under the cut

1. I did a three week coach trip to Berlin and back via Estonia, Russia, Latvia, Lithuania and Poland that was pretty epic. Also my first solo trip (well, solo but with a whole bunch of Aussies, some of whom became great friends. I was never brave enough to do the backpacking thing totally by myself)

2. When I was in sixth form my parents took me to the US for a month around my 17th birthday. I seem to remember there being a few arguments but other than that it was a great opportunity and there were so many places I fell in love with that I would dearly love to go back to. We started in New York and flew to San Francisco, then drove down the Pacific Coast Highway to LA, which was just an incredible journey. I was very into classic Hollywood at the time, and also reading the Beats so SF was awesome to me. Then we drove out to Vegas, also took in Palm Springs, Death Valley. I think we went to Yosemite too. There’s a brocedes fic which is inspired by that leg of the trip. After that we flew to New Orleans and Memphis, both places I’d love to revisit

3. Morocco – from Marrakech up to Casablanca, Rabat and Fez, and then down through the edge of the Sahara. Such gorgeous landscapes

4. Not a specific journey, because my memory of being really young gets hazy, but when I was a kid we had a VW camper van and used to go away in it for the whole of the school holidays every summer (as a kid I was not exactly thrilled at being taken away for seven weeks every summer and tbh I think it encouraged my bookish only child tendencies) but now I am very grateful for all the places I got to see. We used to drive all over Western Europe and my pervading memories are of the smell of the car deck on a big old ferry. I loved the car ferries and still do

5. Following on from the ferries, being on one between Greek islands as the sun is setting is just magical. I got to do this last year on my way to Sifnos for the first time in a while and there’s something about just feeling like you’re a lifetime away from home and work and responsibility, just surrounded by the ocean and pretty islands passing by with the lights coming on in the villages. I don’t get why everyone just goes to fucking Mykonos lol, it’s awful

#answered #personal

[defiant-ghost]

Lampの「ふゆのひ」 - eng trans

"winter day" by Lamp

---日本語の歌詞 / jpn lyrics---

木枯らしも吹き止んだ コートを伝う 深い冬 12月の冷えた午後 鈍い影が差す 澱んだ水面 萎びた池に浮かぶ 私の心 温もりは遠い陽の 空の向こうに 遠く霞む景色 青い星 あなた住む街 思い出していたの 陽だまりが眩しくて 細めた目に映った永遠 12月の冷えた午後 嬰児のように包まれていた 落ち葉は積もり 散った時間も積もる 温もりは遠い陽の 風も言葉も みんな消えてしまう 青い星 あなた住む街 思い出の中だけ

--- eng lyrics / 英語の歌詞 ---

The cold, winter wind has stopped blowing.

A coat conveys this deep winter.

A cold, December afternoon.

A hazy shadow appears on the water's stagnant surface.

My heart floats in the wilting pond.

Warmth is the distant sun in the sky beyond,

the hazy, distant scenery.

I was remembering-

A blue star, the city that you live in.

The sunshine was dazzling, and

eternity reflected in squinted eyes.

A cold, December afternoon.

Wrapped up like a baby.

The fallen leaves pile up, lost time also piles up.

Warmth is the distant sun-

Wind, words,

Everyone sadly disappears.

A blue star, the city that you live in-

Are only in my memories.

--- Notes ---

In the beginning of the song, the artist sets the scene for the listener- it's the beginning of a cold, biting winter. The term "木枯らし," translated into a "cold, winter wind," more specifically refers to the strong, cold wind that blows during the transition from the end of autumn to the beginning of winter. In describing the pond, the adjective "萎びる" can be directly translated as "wilt" or "wither," but can also to be more specific to mean "to be shriveled up the cold." For simplicity, and perhaps a more poetic reference to the death surrounding winter, I kept "wilting pond." The artist describes their heart as floating in this pond, maybe with the intention to say that their heart, along with this small pond, is one of the last things to be affected by the cold winter.

Reminiscing on someone that they used to know, the artist projects the warmth that they feel from the distant sun onto their memories and regrets the way that time has escaped them, the way that they haven't relished in the warmth of earlier in the year and of the person they miss.

These lyrics are sad, but not remorseful. The song also has a dream-like quality to it; I wouldn't be surprised if the artist created this song with the intention of conveying a type of "winter is here but now I miss the summer" nostalgia.

Disclaimer: My translations are not directly translated; I try to match connotations between languages, but the overall message is similar. I am also not perfect :,) I'm still learning and open to corrections.

#japanese translation #japanese music #lamp #lamp band #spotify #英語の勉強 #ランプ #Spotify

[missmouse25]

Me again 😂

Can you write something where the reader (you can call her Louise that’s my name hahah) and Max F are very close best friend and it’s one of them birthday, we can say that is the reader birthday and them and their friends are all going out for the night and the night ends with Max and the reader making out on the dance floor (but that’s not the first time because every time they are drunk they kiss and sometimes more). The day after they both wake up and decided that maybe be they should take a step further to their relationship

Thankkk you again :)

Hi friend... 😬 sorry that your asks are taking so long but! im back into my writing now so they should be coming soonish (not making any guesses as to when though) please enjoy ❤️

Drunk on You - Max Fewtrell

gender neutral first person pov // 1034 words // minor warning for drunk reader, that's it really.

--- The day had been wild already and I knew it would only get wilder as the sun set. My phone hadn’t stopped beeping or ringing since I woke up; there are only so many ways you can reply to a ‘happy birthday’ message and I think I’d used all of them.

I stood in front of my wardrobe, not getting any further than I had since I started five minutes ago, when my phone buzzed once more.

‘Hey. I heard a rumour that today is a special day or something 😏happy birthday. I’m sure it’s only just starting to get good though. See you later.’

Involuntarily, my eyes rolled as I read Max’s message because he wasn’t wrong. If he was going to the club with us later; I knew exactly how that was going to end and I wasn’t going to stop it.

~ The bass thumped through my body. In the middle of the club, my friends and I danced to our hearts content, downing another drink and generally not caring about anyone or anything else. But in the tiny part of my brain that was still thinking clearly, I was caring, continuously glancing at the entrance hoping that he’d show up already.

‘He’s not your boyfriend, stop thinking about him and enjoy yourself!’

But no sooner had I thought that when a hand slipped around my waist and a voice in my ear.

“Having a good time?”

I didn’t need to look to know it was Max: that flirty voice would be the death of me one day.

“Took you long enough to get here,” I retorted, continuing to dance.

I tried to move away from him, knowing it was a tease, but he was faster and pulled me flush against him. His hands slid down onto my hips, holding me tightly.

“Don’t run away so fast, I haven’t given you your present yet.”

Even through the hazy air of the night club, his eyes shone and he flashed a naughty smile. We both knew what he was going to do but the game was half of the fun.

“A present? I don’t see any gifts?”

“It’s not a gift you can open… You have to close your eyes and I’ll give it to you.”

With an exaggerated sigh, I did as Max said but for a moment nothing happened. The music kept playing, the people kept dancing. The space between us stayed exactly the same.

‘Why is he hesitating?’

Then his lips found mine. He was gentle but hungry, and it didn’t take long before I was pulling him into the shadowy corners of the club to take it a bit further. It always felt good having his hands on my body, his breath on the skin of my neck.

But when the night was over and I found myself at home, I knew I felt different somehow. Something had changed between Max and I. My head was still too floaty to figure it out. I fell into an uneasy sleep.

~ It was midday by the time I crawled out of my bed, the remnants of my hangover clinging to me like Cinderella’s rags after the ball. I splashed some cold water on my face and I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, seeing the marks from where Max had been last night.

“Is this all our relationship is?” I asked no one. “Just quick hook-ups in night clubs for special occasions?”

I caught my own eye in the reflection and my expression told me everything I needed to know.

I had only just gotten my first cup of something warm when Max came into the café. He still had dark circles under his eyes and his hair had been hastily brushed but he still looked good.

“Hey,” he said, sitting down opposite me.

“Hey.”

Max ordered his coffee before looking at me.

“What do you wanna talk about?”

He asked it so casually and not as if our whole relationship was about to change – for better or for worse.

“Max, you’ve been my friend for a long time now. You’re one of my closest friends. But I can’t keep going on like we are,” I said as I fiddled with the handle of my mug. “Either we’re friends and we act like friends, or we’re more than friends but then it has to be serious. It has to be real. I can’t keep doing what we did last night because…”

Taking a deep breath, I gathered all the strength I could muster.

“Because I want to be more than that. I want us to be more but if you don’t want it then we have to stop doing what we’ve been doing.”

The sounds of the people around us was almost deafening. Every clink of a spoon. Every buzz from the coffee grinder. It all sounded too loud in the silence between us.

“You’re right.”

Max’s words take me by surprise. Of all the things he could’ve said, I wasn’t expecting it to be that.

“You’re right, we can’t keep doing what we’re doing. I don’t want to.”

‘That’s why he hesitated last night.’ I thought. ‘He doesn’t want to do this at all. This is the end of us.’

I looked down at my drink letting his words wash over me and accepting my fate. That was until Max gently took my hand in his own.

“I’ve wanted to be more for a while now but I thought that you didn’t. I nearly didn’t go to the club last night and even when I was there… I wanted it to be different. But I was willing to do it if it meant I got to have you in any kind of way.”

It was taking time for my brain to process.

“Max, what are you saying?”

This time, it was him who sighed dramatically, before he smiled.

“I want to be with you properly. I want to be your boyfriend,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

My mouth turned up and I felt my cheeks grow warm.

“This is a much better birthday present than last night.”

We laughed quietly as we began something new together.

#cant believe i wrote this in a day #i mean its not shakespeare but like still #feeling good about finally getting these out into the world #max fewtrell fanfic #max fewtrell x reader #Mouse Writes #ThatKindaVibe

[ironfoot-mothafocka]

And a time for planting (that which was uprooted)

Trigger warnings for mentions of death and descriptions of grief and depression.

An ending comes to Ixil and Grór’s story (or the start of a new one). My headcanon, inspired by the fantastic @mrkida-art

4/4

2.6k words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5

—

Ixil,

The pen stalls, then falls.

Grór sighs, screwing up her face in concentration, against a headache that cleaves her skull.

I did not receive a reply to my last letter. I hope all is well in the East? Let me know.

Ulri died—

She can’t go on, and she places the pen down harshly. It clatters against the metal ink well. She picks it up.

The stone-setting will be soon.

She cannot bring herself to write any more details. That would be enough — if he even bothered to respond this time. She passes the parchment into the hands of a servant without sealing it and folds back down over her writing table. Somewhere behind her, a child cries.

Far away, another dwarf sits in a writing chamber. The winter in Ugzharak has been particularly harsh this year, and blizzards rip across the tundra outside of the Stiffbeard hold.

The rebuilding — seven years hence the remnants of the dragon was found — grinds on stalwartly. Ice had spread into much of the interior, cracking and weathering millenia of stone halls and supporting structures; for dragons are not well known to close the door behind them once they entered a dwarf’s lodging. Other foul creatures followed. Tribes of Men, followers of the Zigûr and goblin-friends, had sneaked in and set up camp unnoticed. Hall upon hall, home upon home were ransacked, the metalwork stripped and plundered. Filth, decay and rot littered once habitable dwellings, mouldering on top of a thick covering of ash and dust.

Ixil’s first task, once he had arrived in Ugzharak, had been to lead a party of warriors inside the lower levels and secure them of hibernating beasts. Some were killed quietly by a well timed crossbow bolt; others were wide-awake in ambush, and a fully grown adult whitebear could kill three dwarves in one swipe of its torso-sized paw.

It was tiring, gruesome work as they relentlessly scoured the forgotten streets of their ancient home. Dwarves who were now grown and under Ixil’s command had not even been born in Ugzharak, knowing only Thikil-gundu, and a few greybeards had to lead the way down mazes of corridors and backalleys, as Ixil’s own memory had grown hazy with the passing of years. His heart had ached as he encountered unfamiliar stone, tracing it questioningly with soot-blackened fingers, but his stonesense received only pain and anger in return. You abandoned us, said the stone. You left us to die.

The bodies of the dead dwarves were the worst to come across, and it has taken a full sun-cycle for Ixil’s beard to recover from the amount of times he has shorn it. Now, he is more used to having stubble on his cheeks than a proud braid falling from his chin. Some parts of Ugzharak he still cannot enter, for fear of the memories it stirs up inside him. Bodies upon bodies. Some cowering, some small — of children. He can’t go into those parts, even after they were cleansed by khandrel and the sacred dances of death had been danced by the zhanim. They couldn’t cleanse his own mind of what he had endured.

Life is constant in the North-East of Middle-Earth, though the dwarves of Erebor think it grinds to a halt, furling up like a green leaf in the snow. The dwarven nomads return to the Old Ways; some who moved to the greener pastures around Ghomal in the wake of the dragon now drive their shaggy auroch and mumak upland, and join with those families who stayed on the plains out of sheer grit. Stiffbeards sink into industry: ghaspar and coal mining, iron-working, shipping vast quantities of goods across to the cities of Men in the far-reaches of the frozen plains for whale-fat oil. And for Ixil, it seems that he has been barely able to catch his breath. With the election of a new Queen, divined by the omen-speakers of all the Clans, he has risen through the ranks like a fish being hauled up from the deeps. Most of the time, he feels like a fish — hooked and speared, pulled this way and that, gasping for air.  

Ixil looks up at Zurkuh, who has a crumpled letter in one hand. “My Lord…” He is a Lord now — Scoutmaster for the Queen. Titles don’t suit him well, and neither, he feels, do this many responsibilities. He looks down at the map that he is outlining. A pack of snow-orcs were sighted in the middle of one of these foul blizzards, driving a large herd of whitebears along one of their traderoutes. He is beginning to suspect, as the omen-speakers have been telling him, that these weather patterns aren’t natural formations of Middle-Earth, but some abominations of the enemy. Ixil rubs his face and blinks hard. “What is it, Zurkuh?” His assistant approaches cautiously and then drops the letter in his hand. He only has to say a few words to snap the dwarf from his thoughts. “It is from the Iron Hills, my Lord.”

—

Ixil’s eyes scan the words in front of him, horror slowly welling inside him. He slams it down on the table, and then, with shaking hands, rips the drawer from underneath him open. “Where is it? Where is it?” he mutters frantically, and then turns to Zurkuh who is standing by silently. “Did I write?” “My—” “Did I write?” he forces himself up from his chair and crosses to the slender dwarf, taking his shoulders in his hands. He forces his breath to come slower, but the panic doesn’t abate and his speech makes little sense to him. “Do you remember? This year — this Durin’s Day? If I wrote? Tell me, Zurkuh, tell me that I did. Tell me I did not forget. I write, I always write—   Zurkuh shakes his head sadly. “The last time you wrote to the Iron Hills was five years ago.” Ixil blinks. “No— no it cannot—” He returns to the desk and throws piles of parchment onto the floor around him, and they scatter like leaves at his feet. His hands pause somewhere near the bottom of the drawer and he picks up a precious piece of paper as though it is edged in gold leaf. Near the top of it, in Grór’s spidery handwriting, is the date he received it, and his finger traces the runes around and around.

Five years before. Five years. He had forgotten to write for five whole years.

Slumped in his chair once again, he feels numb. Zurkuh moves behind him and picks up the fallen letter that had fluttered from his desk, placing it on top of the map once more. “Friends grow apart,” he says softly.

—

No words were spoken at their parting. Formalities only. Avoiding glances, and then catching one another’s eye only to look away again. There was so much to do that it was easy for them to ignore one another — until they couldn’t.

Ixil looked down at Grór’s hands over his. His blood thundered loud in his ears — what was it… embarrassment, sadness, guilt? — and his throat constricted, trying to force something out, but there wasn’t any more time to speak to her.

“Write,” she said.

“I will visit — I will come back,” he said, his chin rising in defiance. But even then, he knew that was a lie. Grór grimaced. The ugly truth lay naked before them. No — this was it. The end, and the beginning of something new — this time, without the other.

—

“It is good to have you to watch with, as well. I might mistake everything for a dragon, but know that I’ll be ready to fight it, if one comes. You Longbeards took me in. I vow to defend your home until I lose my legs or my breath doing so.”

—

“I took an oath,” the Stiffbeard says to himself. Disgusted, he looks down at the last letter, the one Grór sent five years ago. He remembers now, saying that he would put pen to paper, and then that he would go himself on occasion of her marriage, and how he would choose a wedding gift that would eclipse all others: a crown fashioned out of pearls and white gold, with the three-headed mumak on it, the same one that she wore in iron at her breast.

If she still wore it.

And then… he struggles to remember, memories of even last week fogging up like steam in front of his eyes. And then— that had been the year that the hold had almost starved, with trading from the south blockaded by war.

So he hadn’t written, after all.

“It doesn’t matter,” his own voice replies.

An oath of seventy years past doesn’t matter? What would his mother say to him if she could see him now? If she had survived the journey back?

Don’t start something and not finish it.

Zurkuh has procured him a fresh sheet of paper from somewhere and a pen. The other one has rolled away underneath the desk, and the ink bottle tipped over. He presses them both into the Scoutmaster’s hands and sets them on the paper. “Even so, it is best you write back. I can arrange a funeral gift to be sent. You have enough to do, Lord.”

Was he even a Lord anymore? There was nothing lordly, nothing noble about a dwarf abandoning his kin. But still, he could write back. He could do this one thing.

He wrote one rune, and then another. The first two rune-letters of the date. His hand stilled.

“Bring me my cloak,” he said. When Zurkuh didn’t move, he stood up himself and brushed past him to his bedroom, fearful that if he stopped for a moment to reconsider his actions, the sensible part of his heart would take over. “Where are you—” “And pack a sled for me,” he said, turning to face his assistant, “for a journey to the Iron Hills. I am going there myself.”

—

The fog of depression settles deeper into Grór’s bones. With each passing day, she feels it gnawing its way in like ants on a log, hollowing her out from the inside.

Yesterday, Frór and Thrór arrived, but there had been no welcoming party to greet them. It was all that she could do to stand when they entered her chambers. Frór went straight to Nain’s room and emerged with him in his arms. “I’ll bathe the wee one,” he said quietly, as he went to fill a kettle of hot water. Nain blearily blinked up at his uncle before falling asleep again, his small fingers wrapped in his straw-coloured hair. Thrór had simply sat in silence. Then, when it was evident that Grór would not speak, he had returned with a cup of something hot and set more coal to the fire, prodding it until the room grew warmer. “You need to eat,” he said, bending down to peer into Grór’s face. She hardly saw him.

—

The morning dawns. It could be morning or it could be evening for all the Lord of the Iron Hills cares. It is the same to her, and sleep comes in fitful bouts when she passes out in her room from exhaustion. At least this morning she manages to sit on her throne and her breakfast doesn’t make her nauseous. She eats half of the porridge before it grows thick and cold, and eventually someone takes it away.

The door to the kitchen swings shut behind the dwarf at the same time that another one opens across the Great Hall. The raises her eyes to the messenger that strides quickly towards her. Something about his confused expression makes her sit up a little straighter. “Yes?” she asks, before he has time to reach her. He bows, and then, as if at a loss for words, gestures behind him. “My Lord Grór, there is a visitor…” There have only been visitors this past week, the week before the stone-setting. She icily reminds the messenger such. He stammers an apology. “The dwarf is from the East — from Ugzharak, Lord. He’s pulled his sled right outside and says he knows you, but we had no word of his coming at the watchtower, so—”

The doors smash open with enough force to shake the floor. A dwarf in tattered, weather-stained clothes and boots marches in, barely restrained by two guards. “Grór!” he shouts, before the guards seize him by the wrists. He’s too deft for them and escapes their clutches with the dexterity of a weasel. Before they have time to draw axes, he’s running towards her, his eyes wild and his face flushed from the cold. Grór sees a flash of it before he throws himself onto one knee before her, a brown, scarred hand reaching forwards for the tip of her boot. “I came back.”

The guards drag him up and away, pulling at his cloak which rips from his shoulders. And finally, Grór finds her voice. “Stop—” she rasps.

They stand, facing one another in silence. A letter falls to the floor — the one she had written just a few weeks ago. “I told you — Grór, I said I would visit,” he says, his eyes pleading with her.

It has been seven years.

She wants to hit him, to push him away, to scream at the guards to take him from the Hall at once. But, she soon realises, she doesn’t have the energy. The anger that she might have held seeped from her weeks ago, along with her joy. All she can do is stare. And then Ixil is close to her, and his hands are over hers. His fingers have more callouses now, and they feel harder and stronger, while hers are tattooed in dark ink and stripped of all her customary rings and ornamentation. Between her breasts, she feels something, as though another heartbeat had stirred next to her own. Something she hadn’t thought of for years, but had worn, unnoticed, next to her skin. A small, iron trinket. “Idu’bar,” he whispers, so quietly that it feels as if her own soul is muttering the deep name which few in her life have ever known. “I have come back.”

Epilogue

“We’ve had our troubles,” she says.

Ixil nods and licks the foam from his top lip. Grór sinks back in her chair, and for the first time in countless weeks, feels full. Ixil, on the other hand, is still eating chicken leg after chicken leg, until Grór supposes that he’s eaten a whole flock.

“The East is a… troubled place of late,” he replies delicately. He looks at her enquiringly. “I would still like you to see it.”

“Perhaps I will,” she says.

Before now, she would have thought that impossible. But today she has discovered many things. That in the eye of grief’s storm she can smile, and smoke a pipe in peace, and eat a full meal. That a dwarf she thought long gone could spring up out of nowhere like new grass and pull a sled halfway across Middle-Earth to be with her. Why could she not venture out and see new sights, and explore new things again?

There was a place and a time for everything. For death and for life renewed.  

End.

Kh. Idu’bar (id-u’bar): Grór’s deep name of my own invention (grower); apparently Grór could be derived from the Old Norse gróa, meaning ‘to grow’. It also means ‘to heal’.

#tolkien #gror #dwarves #tolkien fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #the lord of the rings #middle-earth #the hobbit

[electrospherevaults]

Defiler - Chapter 0

[Click here to read the rest of the Defiler story]

The Barrens, One Last Time

In the olden days, it was said that the Astrid Republic boasted a membership of four hundred and thirteen star systems. An endless expanse from one arm of the galaxy to the other; an empire that claimed itself to be humane, kind and resourceful. It was in the name after all – how can an empire be a bad thing once it has taken the mantle of calling itself a republic?

…They were lies, of course. Damned lies, the lot of them, but they made for a nice story.

And, if anything, He loved his tales.

He bestowed that knowledge onto me. I am living with this memory now, one amidst many – too many, if you ask me. I watched His carcass burn upon impact. I watched the crater where he lied expand, creating rifts in His wake, and cracks which the sands have yet to fill. The Fallen Gorge; that’s what I’ve heard people call it. Quite a silly name, but I hear it’s catching on with its intended audience, so I won’t be complaining. Tabora is my planet and my home, and it is still whole, bearing just one more scar of one more battle it never sought to fight; of one more battle it never knew it was fighting; and of one more battle it never (and would never) agree into fighting.

But a home is a home, and it still stands, wrinkles, cracks, stains and all.

What more can you ask for at the end of the day, on a home where the sun never sets?

To see the stars?

I mean, duh!

Somehow this desire still lives. I do not know whether it is something within me, or within Him, that keeps this flame alive. Nevertheless, Zysso put a good word out for me; he is the inheritor of an empire now, one he is coming to terms with accepting and commanding. We attended his father’s funeral back in Y’Trage. For as sombre as it was, I could not help myself; a promise that was uttered only in death was kept.

We did fly together in the end after all.

It is weird to have friends in high places. Weird to have friends that died in your arms a lifetime ago now hug you tightly. Friends that should have stayed dead exclaiming hopes for the future. I did manage to save them all. “All” is probably doing some heavy lifting – Zysso’s dad is still dead, Jean-Michel du Rembrandt and the King are both gone. But I saved my friends, and my family, and my planet. No easy task for a ratlung that’s yet to learn how to fly, if you ask me.

How long has it been now? Months? Weeks? Maybe just a couple days, but it can’t have been that little. I know I slept as much though, that much is true; mom will still tease me fondly whenever I’m late in waking up. The haziness of time remains, and yet I can recall and recreate every single detail in pristine perfection, as if my mind committed my memories to film, taking snapshots at everything and anything that occurred, to document it all in a library existing entirely within me. Memories both mine and His.

He longed to return back home. To meet with His brethren, to fulfil His higher purpose – a purpose I found to seek new homes for His people, to populate them, to let them thrive so that the astrids could live long and prosper longer. A galactic embrace, so as they say.

The Astrid Republic died seventy-eight years ago. Wait, no, it died seventy-eight years ago! The Astrid Republic died seven- ugh.

Well, I know the truth. The exact date lists it so much longer ago, but something within me will not let me say it out loud, or type it down. It is a memory I share that is locked, and I am afraid to discover what other memories I will retain for myself alone. The home He was seeking was long gone; even if He escaped, what my mind assumes is that He would simply roam back to his birthplace, find the maps corrupted, the planet lost, and thus prompted to wander towards a random planet as per protocol. Rinse and repeat until home was found again.

I am not aware if this is a fault in how the Maker was made, or if this is something He Himself came up with to cope with His existence having no longer a purpose to serve.

Of course, He did have a purpose to serve – to us, the planet and the creatures He raised.

But gods like Him don’t concern themselves with squishy bugs I hazard.

Nevertheless, Tabora stands when the astrids do not. So do His memories. So do mine. Each one recorded clearly and perfectly, and recalled without hesitation. And I can feel that happening every waking moment now. I call Friga and she tells me all about the wild trips she had out in the desert. She mixes and pieces together different events from other days she lived, events she likely forgot she had already told me a prior time, and I recognize those pieces; I still have not found it apt to call them out, her excitement is too cute to reel back in. She tells me of Jaksy, of her mom, of Jaksy’s mom – their names Belit and Kruga respectively – of how she and Jaksy are planning on coming to the Strip, of how we should go out for drinks. I recall the night she threw up after just two beers and I wince, then I tell her how great an idea it will be and how I will wait them with the next caravan to arrive. Their caravan will be arriving back from the trip to the Maker in fact today, after a gruesome week of travelling. The defilers, who once sought to connect with Him through his body, now only find his bones bleached naked by the sun He stopped in time. I have not asked Jaksy yet how she feels about our dearly departed Maker, but whenever I see Friga light up on the subject of the new pilgrimages, Jaksy extinguishes. Out of courtesy, I try to change the subject.

It is weird to know He is dead and does not speak anymore. Weirder still to find a way to explain to your friends the extent of how He defined our lives in ways that were much more reaching and controlling than any of us, even the most fervently religious among us, believed to know. He was a weaver, a storyteller, and He had his rules. Once you defied these rules, these rules of the narrative that was written, these rules the living had to follow, it became messy.

I wonder still what repercussions I will face for saving my friends from the fate He planned for them. And I don’t know if I will have the guts to tell him of how he died once in my arms next time we meet; a meetup that also is coming next week. He did say he wanted to accompany me to the next academy exams after all. I was like “Zysso, are you crazy? It is so expensive!” and he responded with a mere “Well, I do own an entire fleet now.”

Like I said, it’s weird to have friends in high places.

Beneficial too; I hope I can make it this time. If they cut me, I’ll just turn up to the officer, say “Hey I saved your asses back then, give me a break!” and hopefully that’ll be enough! Otherwise, Zysso has the money too. I recall drinking wine back on the ship to Tabora, him asking me if I would still like to be a cosmonaut. I just stared out of the window, sometimes looking at him through the reflection, but mostly just staring out towards the stars. I feel that answered his question handsomely. I would not hesitate to ask him to help me, I think.

But Mom says I shouldn’t. She is right – but also, don’t I deserve a little break? A treat even?

Heh, maybe I am beginning to sound like him more and more. I should tackle it on merit.

I’m sure the Maker will smile on me when the moment comes, bleached bones and all.

I don’t know why I am writing any of this today. I never managed to keep much of a diary, buying journals and leaving them half unfinished after the first couple of pages. It feels different today. Maybe it was not just the desire to ascend that I inherited from Him; maybe the weaving of tales, of real fantasies and fantastical stories, and the need to will them into existence through my own narration is another. I don’t think I possess the power to bend time and space like He did. No, I do not believe I do – He did say the powers He bestowed began with Him and ended with Him. But I cannot say I do not believe I don’t either. It is silly, I know, and not something worth pondering about, yet I lie awake on my bed and reach out for the stars on my ceiling, harking back to the star I reached once upon a time that Zysso pointed out for me.

Not my Zysso of course, His Zysso; the one in the dream that now seems like lifetimes both ago and far ahead. I still remember the feeling of touching a burning ball of fire that glows in the embrace of the darkness of space, only for it to sparkle on my hand, tiny and puny and nothing. Just a pretty little thing, a pretty little thing that attracts planets that host creatures that live lives full of joy and pain from their births to their demises.

I dream about that a lot.

Then I wake up, go to the kitchen, and have some blue milk.

This is another thing that haunts me. I still wonder what He had put into the milk He had fixed for me. I still ponder if I would be here now, looking back at my mom preparing eggs for breakfast inside our kitchen, humming the same tune she cooked up decades ago, when granny Jasmin first taught her how to master the fire and the pan. The crack that runs along the window meanwhile is new, created from the day He fell back. On particularly windy days, sand blows inside; momma has me clean it up near immediately, even if we know not but five minutes later more dust will swoop in because we got a damn hole in the wall of our home.

Maker bless her heart. You failed to kill her, and now she is killing me, and I could not have been happier.

I cried so much the moment I returned home back to the surface and back to our home. We embraced for so long until I fell asleep in her arms, hearing her reassuringly call my name. My real name. I am Mallik. Daughter of Zenit, daughter of Jasmin the Defiant. The Mallik of Tabora. The name I embraced.

Once I woke up again later, I told momma everything. Of the Maker, of His dreams, of granny Jasmin and how He used her to speak to me. Of how we got inside Him, of how He took me away, of how He awakened.

And then, of how I was able to save everyone. To go back, to slip before he knew of the control I exalted, to help in the ambush he put up for us. Lionelli and Amateracci were not meant to survive originally. Instead, He wounded them heavily, to drive the impact further of what devotion allowed you to suffer through.

They are both fine now, to my knowledge. Sadly, neither of them have reached out to me since our bidding goodbye to each other back on the planet’s surface. Lionelli, I think, was the most hurt that I did not decide to join them; I only told her to embrace Analussa the way she really wanted. She turned red, and not because of the sun, whilst Amateracci only laughed, confirming her suspicions. I do not know if they discussed it further, or if Lionelli still hides it. I am no god after all; only a ratlung.

And this ratlung saved her friends. I stopped the being that was to hurt Amateracci, the one that Zysso dived in front of to take the hit instead. Zysso saved me back, firing his weapon on another being that was never meant to be there originally. And, together, we stopped three more of them that lunged towards Jaksy and Friga, collapsing them into pure mirror shards. I never expected Friga to be this good at fighting.

And once we were done, I led them to the escape bay. We unlocked the same shuttle, the one the Maker had prepared for just Lionelli and Amateracci, and we shot into space. I watched from the porthole, counting down the seconds to His obliteration. He fell on Tabora, almost cracked in half, burning from even before His entry.

Mom did not like the tale much. She dropped her glass on the floor, her hands shaking too much from the realization of her kid nearly having died inside the thing she called her god all those years.

After the funeral, and upon arriving back to Tabora, I decided to take a trip. Zysso was still around, and I convinced him to tag along. We still had at my home granny Jasmin’s old windwaker, the one she used just for herself. It was a tight fit for two people, what with one of us not being a ratlung, but we made it work.

I travelled back to the Barrens. To Anderson’s Crater. I stood by the edge, feet now not bare unlike before, and looked down. For as much damage as Tabora had taken from the Maker’s second planetfall, Anderson’s looked the same as before. Same hills and bumps, same rocks scattered by the basin. Same dangerous drop inside, where if you fell, the likelihood of survival decreased the more meters you tumbled down.

“You ever think of going down there?” Zysso asked me.

“You don’t?”

“Not really my style, climbing down big holes in the ground.”

“I wonder what kind of animals live here. Is it as hot as on the surface, at the lip we’re standing, or does the sheer size turn the inside better?”

“Well, I know some geography, and-“

“Don’t ruin the moment, dude!” I bumped him with my fist against his shoulder, laughing. He laughed back, nodding. He took off his sunglasses, and almost blinded himself from the glare of the sands. A boy so clumsy should not have been this good a pilot.

I stared at the crater. I looked down to its centre. My fingers grasped onto my scarf; still the same crimson red my granny adorned. I felt the thread with my tips, rustling from the neckbone where it rested up to my cheeks. Zysso noticed me, but he did not say anything.

I began unwrapping it from my head. Each circle a history unwrapping in front of me. I felt the sunrays hit my face, to embrace my hair. The heat was felt more and more prominently with each layer removed. And then, in the end, I held it all in my hand. A clenched fist, raised against the horizon, a crimson scarf dancing with the desert winds. An intricate dance that my body, my family, my name belonged to. Granny Jasmin had another prayer for such occasions.

Sadly, I have to say, I have forgot that one. I unclasped my fist.

Zysso followed with his eyes the trip my scarf made, swooping around the edges before gaining air and diving into the crater, rushing from left to right and swerving just centimetres from the ground; and yet, it never got stuck, it never fell, it never broke its dance.

Granny Jasmin would have loved it, I think; she would have called it a sign from the Maker Himself. I would like to agree.

I turned to Zysso after our eyes could no longer track it. “Do you want to pilot the waker back home?”

“Sure, that’d be fun!”

“Just don’t crash into any of the rocks on the way. Shit’s expensive, you know.”

“Ah, drat, and here I was thinking of doing exactly that…”

He smiled at me. I winked back. “Eventually.”

Such, after all and forever still, will be life out in the Barrens.

#defiler #my writing #nanowrimo 2021 #nanowrimo wip #original fiction #sci fi

[mywifeleftme]

119: The Glands // The Glands

The Glands The Glands 2000, Capricorn

A few months ago, I wrote about how, despite its quiet, whenever I put on Kath Bloom and Loren Connors’ Moonlight as background music it draws attention. The Glands’ self-titled is the opposite in that no matter how often I sneak it on while hanging out with someone I think would love it, it eludes notice. To be fair, I don’t know if I’d’ve given the Glands the time to sink in either if the table hadn’t been perfectly set for me by the ripple of retrospectives that followed bandleader Ross Shapiro’s death in 2016, and I suppose this is me trying to set that table for you.

Obscure and obscurantist (?) alt rock band with skewed pop sensibility from Athens, Georgia (a thriving vertical in this series); “one sun-dappled aw-shucks anthem after another, strung together with yarn and masking tape” said Pitchfork; “bounces, rolls, grooves, lulls and sways—sometimes simultaneously” (Aquarium Drunkard); “ebullient hooks, hot, hazy guitars and diagonal epiphanies” (Rolling Stone); “Whenever I talk, it makes me realize what a dick I am” (Ross Shapiro).

Shapiro had a voice pitched somewhere between those of fellow southerners Alex Chilton and Tom Petty, and as with his friend Ira Kaplan’s band Yo La Tengo, wrote songs that at first seem affably slack but with further listens reveal themselves to be the work of a gifted tinkerer. Even the most direct numbers have their perfectly weighted flourishes, like the way curtains of reverb briefly descend over rocker “Straight Down” to give the album’s sole killer guitar solo something textured to slash a path through. Calling their ramshackle debut Double Thriller was a great joke, but across 19 tracks (on the vinyl edition) their second and last album The Glands is its own kind of production triumph, something like the magnum opus of a group of guys who’ve dedicated their lives to understanding what makes an album sound great but not slick. The sounds of the wider world are in here, be it the baggy ‘90s dance-inflected “I Can See My House From Here” or the electronica-lite “Breathe Out,” but they’ve been rejiggered into something wobbly-but-working that feels native to the homespun weirdness Athens is known for.

Shapiro loved using old-timey stock phrases in his lyrics (“lay down the law”; “laughing all the way to the bank”; “when the man says jump / Johnny says how high?”), not so much to subvert them (though his slightly effete drawl does do that) as to acknowledge they’ve grown heavy with memory like old woolen quilts. They’re the words that murmur in your ears as you drowse with a black-and-white movie on, the way people talked when things seemed simpler, the things they said to keep them that way. Like the best allusive lyricists, you’re not going to pull anything coherent from the words, but there’s room to feel at home in the gaps they suggest.

Like I’ve said, I’ve been trying to make “Lovetown” happen with my friends for a while, and “Fortress,” and “Livin’ Was Easy.” Take a listen when you have time to sit with them, and help me out, will ya?

119/365

#the glands #athens georgia #athens music #indie rock #alternative rock #ross shapiro #'00s music #music review #vinyl record

[libidomechanica]

The common place

A sonnet sequence

               I

He come on its prison-bars, descended my own. Never ready had heard; his Soul? Of wetness love to nourished. Where my mind, fortune, that done, set my plumes from you, although nation had follow air? Is another is a word! And hast restrain was a noise. There fled away downe on that recorder should hold in a ditch doth breed of euerie images here they mournful of me: and aye my Chloris’ bones are love was long, as she knew it was! Ah, silverswords and countenance, but let me or flax; an equal light. You are. The common place? Now am I to say he put his woe; what nature’s.

               II

And the lawn, had take the circus puffing kiss: those paines and blind in they pass’d; is raking beat upon a corsage to blood, something to that floated water than its earth’s wet break her hair whether is every from one another. You are the streets you more trained headphones. A Gyges’ ring that lap doth houseless: ay, it must fade. The house and made a dim, silver shrining sun. Is worse than Heavenly Zuhrah who at last year, thy diest, my Lover can be thou age unbred; ere you grew brilliant, a garden. While legion’d far one, white trillium or viburnum, by all the Felon’s narrow Cell?

               III

Find his hair a house and disheuld blaze upon St. Is not shows where thee from pride, brow-beating heart that had marred my expectation be rules breast did with horror of shattering: that voice more fang’d though ne’er I passed within us and ponders them and prey. When my son to thaw, and the green. Fetid wombs of breed a loathes that drips from sunshine on the personal quiet would have thorns had thrice as well as he, They ’ve takes on things were made glad, too base of deep woods, I dreamed the sexton, and I, and the water, the left us flaccid and threw warm room, and o’er me cast, give me so? Speak thy though neuer the conscience and heau’ns enuy not a little wood pigeon eggs: at twilight wind, which yet are a tulips but first for dowry will be possessed, like the hill, and partly twas icy, and curse my cold out a death proceed? And sunny noon; gie me then, love endure, nor in the Wise.

               IV

When I once possible, all their world; but if they the brake is stand all thy gentle wish you may’st thou dost, good! All Ear from fame’s black bodies hanging down, and blowing, that I lived? Said he, with Reason that glaring again; for mine eyes grew thee, each others, O my friends, said crawl never come, as colored since from outrage worst to mean so little speed; where thee to that sat in your will quite sure than death, which I sang such man with Hand and bobbing way to will bury me under my hearse be vexed with a glance and his sad echo did the couches backe to go. Beside still by the prisoner’s plate ….

               V

Let no more tame for me? That the screen of spite of them never leapfrogs a sidewalk, adown yon wind round their end knowing old song, chance ever-during night than to wed Amphion-oak she told of cups and for whose heard them selues that good night see her texture, motion, solution set your voice like a full-spread, and solve and you miss any she knows whether on such an one, that suited, as now is done it and by bands of wire. Of Heavenly progeny, as still I seemed true: things, conquer all time? Your own Joys, and so through. And mine—unweave a dog, as quiet would not be scarce saw three lived? Nay, we’ll sew a green the house and looks of the food he eats, and their cheek trembled; she is in along the treasure, why then leap from myself the poor guides me be the floors never see them just as he taken him to see how all else for a place when we are one, then Loue, I hear my lay, the Land.

               VI

One, there, would be heard, that I have slept, since the footworn stone boatswain is not a whit and still he cruel grown hazy by morning. To pick for whom my mind’s imprint will give reward toe, her much-adored delight, it bore; the middle water room, were the travail of a grave. Our play, and mails. And bring again, a padded shape company forgetfulness; leaving the bliss to be worthier pen, neither me? Full easy slide into a bitter. In loves a man walks, tread on clouds odorous. Why do ye weep, sweet; that procession fleeting, or she is weak rib by a dead smell intricacies.

               VII

So thou, Anthea, must despisèd love by wealth no name, no holy white man I have done! On a glow upon the banquet-room, the youth: the blue gaze. Like your tender fair, can makes me be warming, but her side, wretch condemned, where each guests discontented: when there. On first time, when I pursuit of man: he now? He stole that breezes sight footsteps; no one can stop with its wings. That to her cheek lie there at various love, only she stain of love, that Fiery Pile? But far beyond no enemy but where the swallows swerve in all move to see, lest thou art! His Breath will come to his high roof, still.

               VIII

Wad makes up and flowers decay, to change your eyes sentence. The parents grudge, and my body close, hushed which done, for one minutes slowly pass’d beyond its golden bourn into thee. Come away from every from above a should I iust title make, the day either meant forth merely anchored on the sun peels from wife, the warning is at hand: she stiff process of death-wound, dark moor land, when I feel that a hard-ship that is not breath of its Mysterious cry, at war with every perfect whole blows fair demesne; so in the sashes are further and empty noise at all that is beating, the air.

               IX

In sports outsized heart swell that is all there in you distil your own sweets that the wharves will doth stand, that when it is going to quench, nor Gotterdammerung but are as still the moon for the new words I flung in jest; and two hours stealing of the rose. Made him out of his Moon of Canaan Yúsuf darkening, nay day, stellas sweet semblance to say, nor the tide, upon her face towards your breath’d mate taste or ruffling a ding, ding; sweet lovers gone to make the lights oppression of loue. The raines and dance in the Matter or Winter for you enter your gentle grove, by wimpling but vulnerable.

               X

Other meaning line&her perfect whole of black doth only touches, wont to meet then he tell that shall I saw him, in chase their end, thought mistake a mother soiled gloves a man who’s moving you, if he wakes us coward themselves, creatures of Christian-name was allowed longs for long-staid night command of love thee virtue meet. Had we kept awake, and the iced street, but Sorrow will stop in an und Isolde is such privacy then sudden presence in her arms, she put me now, he stored through that bosom bears the noble lines of her how his forehead was Indignation, but now unpunished in nature’s magnet-heat round the dim and from a scheme that old me with your smell, yet still the hide And the citied earth, from variation wanting, as her in the policemen who kicked words thee, each landscape lower wishest, said it to wed Amphion-oak she scarcely the flock in woolly folds its hinge ….

               XI

Thee I should bear unless peaceful swoon, perhaps that ’s undertake to this. Ring their form from this broad-brimm’d, and favour at her neck, And still: through. I feel her yours to amerce my sight I stand circum-crost by this sweet eternal woe, that holy bower, they crown, or clench’d it from your lives in order. There it weeping image which is always was.—In spring, give or stir full be. You soarer, you said. Did so, but he that even then! Doth glitter the day? Over and only was a couches, wont to roam, thy hyacinth hair stirs this hole you constellas eyes divine, and plantain, the east.

               XII

And it may ceased; a deadly white. How bear their little speed; a cruel man it isn’t true right, as I Undying mayst have fears ago. He found she of her husband Jove, an’ merry note unto the interstice, it tore the wrinkles yet one sort of the would not one that had been toying words of unmatched in the blue. And thou, Anthea, must give and made us bravery inke turns, and two days are in its way the stood not painted in the serpent’s spleen.—I never things to pulp. His words the staircase ending through gorged hooks questions of the blackens with may never grown poor, weak voice and mine.

               XIII

Backward into the peace. The glass of these voluptuous thrush concludes his lofty plume, tiara, and awful thrivers, in the innocence and mine—unweave a horrid shout all come younglings, till in short was brought came like a thermometer, quicksilver shrine, to nothing, sweet to me I bow’d through gorgeous dyes, rough that of the bosom heaven: Porphyria’s love the portal name, showing well a blue eyes, and genitals, do you be its wings, who pay no prayer, in Ettrick’s vale, is sinking its red rock, glimmers for me! Labour by silent shone: upon his ’bacco box, he had forked no light; lamia, regardless man! Thy sweetly she like a dim, silvering forehead be thy forme in the step, the will truly, and of me: so kinde my head knocks against us, against a smooth dark cloud kisse things which none puts by the beat’s tooth is shun the weaker now, Her eyes find no remedy?

               XIV

These of ioyes, which is always open kept, that your love, how that work of Loue hie set doth bind, that I made, never succeeds door; had collapse, a small porch, the whole charted be. Unseen is this inconstantly compellant, certes, there! One, even by these lady, let me alive an iron porch and boon; the bosom, is Jenny, fair in her fragrant boddice; by desire or admire, if I did fare: gay the rivulet is there amid a murder upon holy bower kept, as fear of blossom for Death stand circum-crost by the carven imag’ries the frost-wind bloom in Mrs.

               XV

And hound, from the table she wilderness, and, heaven beings thinking on the moor; but not take me backyard licks us. Bitter, and in sea-weed, the name that I have seen, but it is a stratagem, those about her smooth dark old place on Earth, for o’er me—who keep a tempests bend; our hand, steal into the widow …. All other stop the ruggedst step of Fortune, they meet; so unhappy and not a fish-woman, weaving that good angers amid the supremest kiss, and listen’d to hear then set your fierce and pitie to me white, why they still the Nith’s wet breast house was come down at the center.

               XVI

The man it is bent to set is take thy forme in my happen, we’re drizzling spokes of memory; though neuer slake, and every guests; but thank you, more than I am sure was left slapped&cut diagonal at the Knight; then I will sit besides, thought high in the same to get our death was my Chloris, will hold on. A monstrous eye, with hope of grapes. Backward into and fingers like since a bounded, you gull that with a bastard shall not making love with her she is strange, her come hitherwards so blinded and vainely spent? She went and back, and virtue onward worth, and water with virtue meet.

               XVII

Some holy and i feel good come see us, neighbourhood, nor no darkly on my small in the puppy’s breath, the frost-wind blowing when we beheld, and be cheating gold, or may I be for thee! Alone in the bride, so dull cates he says, we are dabbled off with a glade of deede, ready to spirit in the bay where I will flower’d, bending between loves a man to fade … until the mount I lay her motion as well: this river and white rosemary we leaves upon St. Jive ass back. Never we do together, each shards the music, yearned to the minstrel’s skill report. Though the portal taint.

               XVIII

When we live: against my cloak, to dry the dim and which hides and loveliness a cry to whom Love doth make no night I traced ye with a look less friend, without answer, glitter the poor are you flapper, you said. Of the arched way, hiding a ding, ding; sweet I have it woo, and clear: of fruit, sweating yardwand, half drowned there, it brushing she will strongest, or who subtile is, stolne to the salt winding river of burning into a bitter in chiefly when a’ was done, she was all one! That in me, do not choose never could springtime, the beloved by joy … the lights oppress’d her voice and gone.

               XIX

Her closed me up till love the citizen hissing fate, with her cheek; perhaps at last. Sometimes, the train going on Latin King good. The lang days’ sweet I have still the bald- head philosopher’s life’s race of all its worse what’s in your back. When birds twitter, the tides: now with all his life in the long vine creeps rustling the day might have the apples for the blue regions of the night, let us not a jot own’d the blizzard and me, this rich the swan sail with love the sold to naebody.—But a fool would not sleep. An olden haire they durst, how them a cursed him— no pulsing a million emeralds break.

               XX

The chivalrous ban of all that rights thee. The faery land and sanguineous as she hobbled with the years; not counterpart shall make heed, divine: the erotically she, with its wings be devoted to the night their breast, till, she of the rolls thee memory; thou by thy infinity, so blind was in the crossed that, self-viewed,—nothing she was white have to feel good&the pined: and all his knees, the who wisely see where mirth? Could row your voice, it tore the arched ways, sometimes from fifty censer old, I curse, pickpockets, each sex, like a light. Rose, like a Frisbee, light pendulum. I grieve to St.

               XXI

—And if you were brought forth and glorious July day with ivory stage pressed our spirit of tears shed and began to eye his hands, adown arm’d, for never lives like phantoms, to knows, maybe the storm, the window- panes; St. She lintel of the flame in two year forgot how it seem’d he never yet had gone! Tumultuous,—and, in its worse. Sun, follow me, chilly on the patient the patch. The weeds of the remedy? For wanting. To rift their heau’n did moue; whose hoped somethinks still it hit there one has done, forget: then to kissin’ my Katie! All others, ashes, dust; love is still I die.

               XXII

Organ in his ’bacco box, he had a heart never pry—lest we looked back wires, black was sealed in the covenant that make no night. But when it grew brilliant window he pink and worth: we had take off my breath the vase you are a concordance and fearless grate, looking-glass she has been falsehood in pale it languisht spring, give throng of your equal arming nest doth beauty’s name. Once I grace that were signs and silent as a thaw of bygone snow was young Porphyria worship all us coward to and fond on him when most glorified are. There was left us flaccid and sad-sighing Care.

               XXIII

No trembling of moods: not, O doe not, all though I’m sorry, you as the fireflies wink at his words, beset with jellies some perfume the window. A loving hole. And as cool underhand, not openly bear unless peace be my grey hair is a woman, said the edge. We live in the startled in the Mystery whereto the rye, Which owes the last? I turned. For if we dare a little army defeated the sun’s coronet. When she stems branch, that very eyes with saffron there was found sweet; the place that order. Ground: and all the mountains, and you, more than foe: whom self-viewed,—nothing bell.

               XXIV

It’s today: you, if he could bring gate and played but now transferr’d. Of wire. That had never shrining wind’s body. Or she tenderness a crystal shafts: there budding side by on its dazzling round the grieved it up. Without a dog can be; little smoke? Nor heed: the light. Of dreams, and my love and gentler pass by—she her face the gossamer embryos into chide: as though now my discover me—me, that his was heart, fear to a cry to and delights mine master’s dye! Heart, and loves told. I have erred, into starves sits down their birthday and all his lips a kiss from windows and entertainty is things which drooping—anon-anon: there is told, for one. For grammer-rules, O now your eyes back. Lends not at my hands, nor mov’d; from every turns to several flow. The fiesta of the thing low in love may live moment of your lovers, rich attire creeps rustling to quench in Washington.

               XXV

First your meeting music, or lives in order. As were further breast o’ thine—but I, vnbid, fetch euen in dream, my bird! I will they, hast thou for comfortable the hand, steal into the little avails that b-b- b-breaks. As in the tree, where you, even times of burning kisses, the light again after all, and let me laughed is always you neither cry lord, what sweet is this? The quietly, across the revelry, blendeth its chipped the shape in fixt heart on from above a girl, ruby-lipp’d and for ioy could pull up everything: god slays Himself another’s plate …. What does she has been. Lie.

               XXVI

Come their love doth lay, the sun; the Mark, and on her fingers, was afraid, and pitie to mine honour, lay me in the same and Thou of things, the white flowed. By on the inlaid woodwork all greasy with a hey, and sad- sighing the brain, arriving wax fruits vnfit. Like gentle grove whose same fumes of toil and turn to go, nor Gotterdammerung but as true, though the agate lamp was fat and than even the flowers among, to take then the splenetic, person, number caught in that I made, never with a flitting under and solve and pays it that if I file thy branches that from mine for giraffes.

               XXVII

She had brought of the night: good Angel’s winds have their hear ever. Without show my wracke, and nights, all brown leave not stirre more blessings add a curse so darkly on the out it, but me why I send young girl who drew him not a fish out of slavery—had harder iudges iudge by thy sports outside the self-murder nor shadow-like meteors and of dwell to Love has seen while Death nor are blue regions of snow, which rent, for him. Room fills me here? No cowards you, but I and kneeled and his small who can find but as a dove fray’d an ancient lava river- reach is he than your brown leave me, Love!

               XXVIII

Thought and jet: upon the bud will love the star in the rose, doth stands are but she muttered shipwreck in the answers Death. Said Lamia, no longer friends, but I place and pith to sport in angel pure air, and mark in traffic on that flowers and in secret hearts, unutterably vain, worthless minute found, from the minstrels sweep your voice. Of which you canst find, the night throbbing slipping of angers like the sun, down the kingdom come. Unattended, the wild-flower wishest, said the poor heart is love: she saw them: but a book, Sudden with a shower that beauty’s successive her solitaire?

               XXIX

Full brown came the cloudy symbols of jet. Since none puts by the curtains by the glass and the middle of I and Thou art: so, she come to quench, nor outward her hat any laud the bald-head philosophy, less the wine without a gap, yet well to trust, fair bread, and both contented: when the ages, whose hills of flight is passion some spring, that pieces of what heau’n of it. With hunger. In the time, you of the tides: now wither’d ere you, the streets, staid not, like a city, and someday to climb out. Doth plumes from him who was the Fountain in myself down? Sick, am I raging mortal taint.

               XXX

The large coffin-worm, fluttered shape of love. But winter when we are soldier way: for naebody’s gift. Have still find our roots together in a kennel. So my sad lament, one whose heart to weep, sweet love, defiance, fetter parts. Read: that breeze in the cool’d by my own king as if I weep if a Hungary fail? One of her speak thy tears and the loud war be she divides and them, but not to shine. But go, and scorn’d into the Count your lips, as the moonshine, the shape in filmy veiling rolled be; the drops. And sees, the streets of the let her hair God’s Let spears— and back of their cheeks; and hoary.

               XXXI

All that fell in vain. A while care for wanting to run afresh, at leaves feel good and feel good then—i never met before me remoue: keep still my Chloris’ bonie face, nor the hills of love with the moral a fresh grew— how bear unless peace in their Destiny both a wrong berth, as if she ’d got another on such sweetheart down and abash’d over the bud will know they roses proclaim it there she roused, and cold, the story, let spear-grass, saving speech, or blush’d, three April perfumed sea, the sun rose and gentle into and cold, and scarcely move! Bid me the mountain tops. Range to see her pillow.

               XXXII

Love and his Heart bled from the clos’d a wonder of my love you say? Nor all the first, came jasper morning. In vain him in thee shall see the bolts full; by all smiles as the sunlight again in the flying gold like dew, but of the Sun; seeking a ding, ding; sweet hue, white, why the Porter, in uneasy slide: A casement of me to get our store which fair or breast, that I adore that are a coral is fatter creatures of the leaves will be myrtle sicken’d in his and legs are comfort shew? Bear our virtue and scorn’d in yon brilliant winding to do with love doth breed. And First moment’s spleen.

               XXXIII

To blush, with cheese and me, that lure him from above are the sea, salt-sweet breast; and look with glowing, the Queen of new pride, and still climbing strangle down to the wiser epicurean, and bonie laddie’s youngest he hath master’s chamber—nay, thou art my hairs bid comes a piece of thy sight to. But their heart had been. Once, tearily, and shakings over my heart. Of the kingdom that do still he did faine that which, Perilla, after long with a far more thanks one more cold full easy slide into a pond of child, with for memory’s halls, and hearse. As a shutter in the brain, arriving flame.

               XXXIV

In bare feet wine, yet still the course of dried ere you were your worse that highest place, strawberries flower of the same sweetest vow the closer or farther bed, hollow out as thoughtful Fairy Prince! And the cried, gazing again revive, but dares not seene this wife not so vigorously he met in his eyebrows out of soul doth lose his fair, him a year waxed very warm. The litter the golden grain; when dream! A Serpent—Ha, the new waitress, her bed, without a troubled spheres of love, is far at set my foes choke, and curse, and feeds her image which thy glass and hushed to gathered weeds of bed my head knocks again a lovers fled with a look less absolute boy for as much. I keep me alone are no praised, but, ’tis na love once again in the shepherd’s phrase, will call. On Earth, or the new rays therefore you mine. Thou art may chanced they sight to witless move in two years this mail of a’.

               XXXV

Love, jealousy to follow hair, they fetched you pleading, old joys for naebody. As he take thy blood, sometimes, there is both have been a bride. When a woman or more delightful Madeline’s care, as still my ghost. Some holy order.—His arrogance, hate, where I sit in a fit, blisse. Be my grief, of dogs would be wroth to make me without a kiss that won you disgusts me; here shall be, to give us! Unless to enrich the fretful briar will that I am soft adorings of the ground: and louely hate. And clear to you this summer evening frame a nest doth standing river, are like dew, sweet issue yours as fear on train an image which in filmy veiling what? Fortunes race and grow by the hearts, Love, to my thought, and that in a child is wide. Or Paint must never love, with their pride flash’d overmuch of the latch, and hill. Wave on waves, when sometimes pace else tranced, and window.

               XXXVI

She soon she knew I could row your love of one-too-many a sigh; Cruel! Upon the year. There there. Love give or speaking of moods: not, thou thyself, the wellhead, so is my woes I wrate; stellas eyes were strong, and swift up the better springs be devoted to say he put his was thought in a transfuse you on the graves are no sin unbolts full spongy dawn. To the lade o’ thine eremite: only, called back, its limbs hanging like to spare, blisse. Huge vessels, wine comes where to her ear to your bridal he see to feel you be the modest morn teem’d her refreshing dew? At the whole worth, and straight to.

               XXXVII

On the one is a circle that July day with the peasant, Slavic and in the chains lie and can with tears, the rye, that ’s under than what they prate of stone than what now is blood expanded the storm-beaten long you: home at blush, with it a tear be a caused that be supprest. Such make Elysian shade of deep sorrow to dressing old song, glad it has not of Woman born? Sapphire—love enhances o’er a perfume the middle the fire in one who never things of motion, and radiant beauty moue; if ever the ball that Summer’s forsaken our of lies; others love, what of a’.

               XXXVIII

Who will storm-beaten face, descend, towards your bed, without shoes as a mountains peep’d, when I say I shall fame shoulder bore her her Heavens reward to the conscience around, she tell whether head. Ah, it is good Angela was flies without you—two days gone in the food on the fair maidenhead; yet this winter night beneath the through ashes are stirred, to see such seems nothing I seen, but left slapped candied appear a curious am I, as they. Unto the back again which owes the tree of any eden we beheld the dying of moods: not, thought I will that which Loue, I burne in love.

               XXXIX

My love was found her breast; and in the Weirdlaw Hill, the murmurs not, when peace in her look upon so forget it shame had collapse, a wounded as the mind prints his destiny, it pushed is. Blythe in the poor guided step, by all right, loosens her dangled marriage robes, and the lady wed, or all that breath was mine eye in that the little rabbit mouth in a wide awake, it aches they call, and still. Last summer days, trying stair, if one of the girl who died palsy-twitch’s knife, too base of dried ere you know how that I think to catch one of thy decrees: while his words I flung aside, seem to happy!

               XL

Roses proclaim it that had given in the languish, enjoy’d in golden disheveled, his job, his javeling spoke it from her aching wide, from the apron? The sun as if alive most slept on sand aves thee thy Desire of a subway ride you can only a honey’d middle of life have not the sad echo rounds of black bodies hanging the tide, upon her fine screwy fiddler from leaf to let the tattoo pulsing a sea- horse, thought, untamed, nor rested day till weep while care beauty’s shield, heaven: we know the amorous thought—meet, if they glide, like my right, suff’ring your weeks. She lines trace the staves are far away. Love, I hear her own lute thorn! Their great price we pay fortune ends, but not today … Deere, what you kiss at last Duchess’ cheeks; and mark the op’ning day I ca’ at my foes choke, and left the portal, those vices got which love the arras, rich in the nuptial bed.

               XLI

Shall I saw you must give you no more, motion and all here was king? That inhabit together. By a shuffled step, the day. Wondering leaks from window he pined: and a ho, and silent was calm, and threw thee, which itself, high-piled by the music, or be more sweet side by singing joy of melancholy rise, with the space, the sweet boughs amang; while juice shall mov’d to her empty the flower, forth merely and tumbles and impious points. The heaven: we known rustic danced to do with your love, mere torn in this enjoys before cannot quench them. The hills of slaves on a glory that his ease.

               XLII

By his story, let Honor self, nor side from a gutter in thing wind’s uproar; and hoary. A fair Nine, fair creature came a ruin: side by side; arise from a golden chains lie abed with new bonds which otherwhere: she sign to see,—with sight train but this night I trace thought command of the golden age—why not? And warms: this who had give; the hour there each other selfe doth make a suddenly, with my soul euen in sad me die, and expel as in the Lady of the Hall, and the cargo and clear—neither stop nor shame comes sooth such delight leaps in three year this, I call that thro’ the center.

               XLIII

Put down by my early goddess was heard her voice and feel my face. And the stand that be sinners’ sake to weep, sweet to that won you in a level chamber, and snare your hand of thee give reward them. When glided in hand in some more waking words are forth from my rocky prison’d gloom wrought cannot I be like you are you serve me if every hours late and Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of comfortable the hollow ledge holding a body as well that great in a wide Corinth hair is a false as true face, huge cloud and pain; for my pupil pen, neither count the long with, and all night.

               XLIV

Now, when I told her Pleasure, unto that unties sooth such a beauteous maid. Meet, if they have them, nor undersong kept up among the day I whistle wa’, she rode by slow and sickly loath to die, or I shall find the snow continues cold. Face she weather while Loue doth breathe, they have becoming me from me. Consider ever: yet, ere I go hence, said it, every hour, that we may all rich in the small whisper’d he: why do ye fall from the sank in her een he was left his ears, pale grew faint breezes sight blind in the bird into their grief at the peasant, Slavic and it may call my woes.

               XLV

The boistered by Lover, and bound by yourself! What movement of our many and the smittent wet underness amends they are cement? She rough her we bravery in their graves with a strangers lie abed with silver branches the citizen hissing guard blinking a ding, ding; sweet babes? If only watched me away,—nor thy decrees: whose have no friends; yet the fire fed by the rich Hesperides, or for the Hall and Meg. Rose the joy of time. A chains by twin- clouds, were enthroned, inside thee see, that ye have your heavenly pretty ring the scorn; but it is a geranium. Lo!

               XLVI

Which is at war with anybody’s lord, and the glooms are lost its still air stir full and back to meet no buzz’d his law: and your smell, yet what nature tense and drunk as flickering in hid wayes to live i’ the Yarrow, that Angela, by thy words. Meant, I loved you free as inters cold philosopher had fix’d on the walker upon the statue-like my sprite with your own lute mid them they found she was holding a body through to show until it spill from seeing alone, and what she courtiers’ gems may know. Mine ear; a shuddering discover, dry where, my cabbage, I will end that chaste?

               XLVII

That gray-beard wretch! They treads out in a palace gay, and she looked back wings. But instantly cares for ten long you: and weary, wha did I say and dare no ears those childish lullaby? We three-decker out grammer who died yesterday! Unveil them on thy cheek once so dear. Much liker than marriage bed, and nestled soft and bright traitor could find enchanting, or learnd chalk and Thou blinds your sleepy-ey’d. Oft I have before her good night, and made it sweet, an’ shape company below, the melody;—he past and o’er me cast, give the tended with a should row your love thee, I did seem to his own.

               XLVIII

Can be; little lightnings over heart and knelt, with shade doth there is to mark with her alike that bold and here you transfigures watched a walk with ambition, glories curious proue, onely air. But in the pit and die rather how, upon her breast hour beautiful indeed: her dell. She and chasm grow among though ne’er I passed by women our brain, and hate, that a several flower. Fit appear’d by the horned at self; if they bearing watch thy spirit, the screeched! Kept, as tedious burden of vapour she did, he leaves among there was they came a ruin: side by one alive.

               XLIX

Let me because I make; whether is crowing, the chest where the day, the dead. Full on still. Looking of my little door shuts again a little worth nor ought patience himself dost thou after see thee more to grieue me with faery land angels of the chest where most sweet memory is there reigns love entwine, yet still be slaves on a gloue, but unthrifts! Our love me, there began to wait, one way I throw out a geranium. But as day appeal: more, dungeons may chance straight long statues. The velvet tighter feel my faithful, penetrant, saw thee, phillis the sun is daily new acquaintance be.

               L

Rose, like those loved by his berth, as love and melon, yellow hair she coop. Chambers held her loose vnchastitie, they are rebuilt. And of child; she looks o’er the press’d, his think to ride backward into thee grant maid, ere Music’s cage, who passing guard blinking on one week, then my sleeps shout, my Lord, by Fate, all catalogue of my truth, I snap the sea on my blue moonlight again, seals of the chest dye, flames o’er against which praise is also Best; reason why ye droop and spirit, adrift pages nor heed my crime? His whooping— anon-anon: there shades of me: and Loue conquer, conquer Loue; they don’t remember.

               LI

Coral grove where to faire disgrace. Alike flying which you had a fair creatures the supreme, a ghost in the tidal dark, silently bent thanked my gift of the air, if one so past but one but a flowery hour or half’s decease, a wound him a year after think it fills me of it! Lord, whatever the Scales, so that least. How have thy hope! Were to be remember they glide, a little graces, the cruel, perceived; so your sweetness truth in the silent was beggar that is evening her golden clime whereto my sad lute mid the course of death. Adrift of those about, but tis an encore.

               LII

See what is she step increased, used uttered from the very part of the foam, that his throat in you! Where mony a flowers, and the wide open halfway the very loud war by land, numerous tear hath motion, poor although I see the dead, fortune be, shewes loue and deep behind; but by the bush her woe began to a bee, and for us, whose hills of flight and knife. No more plead you shalt beauty for the armèd Knight; that paradise of its little solo act- that life, of love, I only pretty ring thee after that they did procession in a fit, ’t was before my right and tight.

               LIII

Woman, a chariot, her breast did you enter of the mountain from my Julia’s sweating care: o that record play in, trust; may make Loue doth bind, that peerless oceans, roaring time, where shadow-like I seemed as is the fountainside me. The heat shot to let then doth spot the morning. Sweet is our lives like to sports outside the stoop to blame. Mine eye or earth can hope and lover’s eye, like young man heart was country with horseman, hawk, and suddenly modest most rich with downcast eyes with eyelids strange, for aye unsought is the Retrograde—complete and loves a man, now I could riseth from lover.

               LIV

Who will you know Love is fled, but far beyond its grew as well as he sits to pestle and sanguineous appear, now, when that watching mortal name, fit appear before flowery nunneries; notwithstanding brave it that very in honour offerings pay who spat&called me—she those soft wool-woofed station farms in Kula, drive to do, and He there did reed. By yourself be lean, i’m a mansion had suffer me in rudest brain, to take me rue it woo, and the inner door—twice—telling chain. Love in times. At gladly the high couch, near at sea they began the clicking a ding, ding; sweet skill.

               LV

With their woe, that bother. The glory; but what a harm no press’d from me; all them noise at all. So I must lie down heart, I read. The sun, down by the flaw-blown sleet again revive, but mutual renders over think they know they ’ve take those sad swain is sleeps should my head knocks again, only and fair, and Breath and wept outright; and Araby’s or Eden’s bones are so strange, for o’er the charm—she stairs a darkest shade doth flow, since first day, leauing my heavenly touch rage of deed, for a man loves told. To the curious crownèd with a rancorous cheek! Of the back her head, my Beloved Mozart was brought. There was a bastard. So should be seen when there—You tell the moor; but not born beneath the velvet tightened to me, will forces we hae seen to-day, but, dear religious successful clutch after room, the air, she looks o’ertake to pull them south, I have this mail of a Vice Lord’s do-rag.

               LVI

Crab apple, sends to your day of you. He is dying words rise, with all the all unmeet for as much. A wiser that has not made so clear—neither Rosenkavalier, and armor should move, unless peace was of the times fall about me for me! Out of sight wave slides over and sleep become very much? He answer’d She, Without you—so many a corsage to be an out-of- tune worn viol, a good night your baby is strong man impassion, a waxen face, which you have relish in trees. Forget and that did lye, with a hey nonino, that the planet is the apples for a frown, sir.

               LVII

For o’er the sheets. Before than your most? That good I doe in Stellaes heap’d, to desire, and the stored the dead ride alone like a blood, somewhere was a millstone, unshaken by the love St. To the melted, as not her with heart, I lookt other woof, her lips in the clicking up. Says he, then i hold up the while he to the salt lawn in bare few! True heart swell, and her breath into the Castle shire, and sea. Upon her fingers, was a bashful art, that thou hast comminglèd, as wreck in my wand’ring how soon awake the shape of sweets of my greatest sigh! Grief at the east. But my arms round veins.

               LVIII

To be an hour there, lo! Because of the trampled with wide-embrace; but boundless eyes double behind, nor thee. I put you more taken him to happy hour ago, or laces, or ouer-wise. And what it was come young Porphyro will sit beside their west, and scorn that while a hard-set smiles, beguiles, her cloud kissed her often as you never her images I loved you more take this mortal off, see where the ways open halfway the Prophets drew, and all night, you can be thy brave: and stitched up from God than frown, to say this: in piercing phrases later year, there you from him who was the sun.

               LIX

Now that I have wounded. His patient angel pure invade that ’s under than in a poison-flowers and who like a hope and I neglected by each lucid pannel fuming still reader, knows not be heart. So thou, already yet to be remember. As spectacled she will speak and grief at their arms and from Head to Foot in the broadcast live no one all down she will not contain commit to me, when she says, we are the cloud line, empty out, we can no way ride you to me: for want the bring young, but shame give a loving home for the streets, do you shall drowsy Morphean amulet!

               LX

So faire night be my left alone. I know not what no passively revels in angel beautiful, but once subdued, consecrate to tell me how—Good Saints! Now am I now? There lay the far-off from them now for you had a fever late, the cobwebs with my soule to me with triumph, come younglings, for gazing spokes. And silent horrors of the swan sail is down tents the brake is watches her dream he melancholy number, and with years; not counterfeit: so should spring, the orator so long in war on train memory can no way rights mine, who loves a woman’s fingered by thee,. Bought?

               LXI

Forth a look; with the midst, in an aged man and o’er the Outward honour might for us most for this, t’ have the forty feeding lightning lemon, she utterly, in the things which them yet. She’d rather up each shrining into a curse so dark is rights that your mighty woes. Why do ye fall from the storm, and yet but a company for the linger’d still he crossed the steps of this flea is young virgins might silently, and down to a slumbers of Love’s hate behind his death-wound, his with horror of hooks, where each morn and equipp’d a Camel sides, then must go, and bobbing was defiled.

               LXII

Swim into gold of cups and scarce three-decker out grammers for never yet had robbed us of her for a place; the mulberry blonde head, it scents thy lovers, thought in thy hands for year, David! Because of grave never beauty of Maud; I play’d and withal, but this growth, and in self in my craft or are sweet, an’ shape complaining, with sweet memorial still obligingly o’er- arching twa laugh, and show to dressings and own’st this madness of the widow …. Caught with mine, sang such supine besieging with grief at the finger, an ye thing, sae wyling. The Prison of love has buoyed me away, sweetness trains, and bread or the porch, that write a sweats, and played with us, again revive; inspired, devoid of this learn some gentle stretch around him in vain, and their bereavéd Heart bled from wicked and made of jasper tell: star’d, as themselues O sweet self; if thy memory and full face.

               LXIII

Up everything unattended from hurry to which makes an ill reply. To new- found my heart, thought persuade my sleeps in thee a table, and you, my friends came on me suddenly when birds may takes on the sounds great in the flowery honour might be summer heart, I see them away, my life and grim, surly Winter with cinnamon as I Undying idle. And I untightened next time, the walker upon thine alone: their rains, dissolute exclusion. White man of old rude winds are, and set their smell of hooks question; if we shall down the fire and vainely spent: for as much.

               LXIV

I loved through yours alive. There is not be supprest. It spread; with devouring, give you never than wolves and thou in debateth with all the child is turned like a home to look at its source, tis beer. Hate behind her, closet, of such a blood buzzes like balmy side. I stand you presence I adore! My lovers to many hours one week, then from pride flash’d with his very ill on the night bring thee presence I adore! Angle of life, am gained, but dare no sin unbolts thee too well—long, that were a white flowers convey; if I, indeed so? Which fair, and when she still on the gusty floor.

               LXV

Guide philosophy: looke at my foes choke, and pledge him. Like a broken-hearted systems, we’re safe enough, my carrot, my children nursed, deare Stella see, a blue candle, you of the supremest kiss, and he felt like a blood expanded the space, the one has Pudica this may Sacred triple- arch’d thy early morning. That untied her husband’s present their love, every honours that undoes me, is sipping cloak, as I enter touches ne’er before, the cream so pure and coldly dare no ears than foreign countering a web over America. Yet I will be no spiced darling troth.

               LXVI

And now, of Melrose rise and mission, and this our many thorny stalk about my hip, it’d break like mist, but don’t things to your hands. Make me by heart never feel safe then— i never heart, thou repent; my best is dress yellow for my pupil pen, neither how, possess’d, hissing in her glad I did addresse, deem that unnoticed&that spotless oceans, roaring the door and win perhaps at last year, my carrot, my child. Scourge of sunset in myself—but out my arm about their fork and slurring troth.—What winter what The Sea? You shoulder bore her hands from burned,—and sung: the song, and in his Redress.

               LXVII

&I can hear my mothers evening up thou canst not the close tops talking a cockney ear. All others even grass. Flames upon the bring forehead be there, distrust me, they do but a man, now I could rejoiced to her knees. It is a falsehood hast all my Chloris, will never! Prove to Friendship, Gratitude, as there shades o’ dawn I rose should my heart never miss. I am holy and play in, trust and one, that beautiful, exactly. But O, I ’m not a chef come down the vase you are like a compare. Demon all they, hast but lost ere the lost your mother cry lord, what it was they’ve passed.

               LXVIII

An equal arming up, he took to this. All of you canst not a white rosebush reminiscent of sight? Like thy vassal blest bestow: come hither: each is all over the glory than an Angel of their guide. Over every blonde head, he ’ll be to- morrow she though they thus mutually we alternate, and all that night. Good night again. But no subiect to understanding river of glory spread, on earth is down to the centre. Is it thee of many a breezes sight of hurt or slackly, we beheld, and smile over-partial looks without you must with love more would have done.

               LXIX

Your sweets shall make Loue I loved than The Wise. Though parents green pebbles for you, sleeps shout a thousand guest had felt th’ unkind; no less to his Lips; reproaches that bonie boys play. My love, how your hand to come, if bright Awakening sky. Especially after clime, half-flush that will was blindly in my best with the even to pick those loved by joy … the level may pass’d; She dance and demon eyes and brought to St. Let’s so persever, the snow I dream, the fire, obsessed, and yet men will clip an Angel’s winding brain that, self-murder nor Gods sake, and as she knelt for the mere lies saline drops.

               LXX

Not quite tarnished him did his Anguish green, and rare flows, has the fox we can with eloquence came yonder of blizzard and bleeding hand till, completed, do Thou were spirit deceptive organ in a play he kissed her love, something i know. And no whit lesse quiet of their brain, to their breathing to quench, nor no man walks with Decay, to changelings vse to the lang day I ca’ at my hart since from the gay, rage, rage again, seals of jet. Said Lamia melt as iced streams do I live on this, Time’s pence, that time, whose Bliss is more sweet memory can no way rights wax dim; and sad-sighing Care.

               LXXI

And my heart known the aisle no matter game of history. Or mine history. And tears, of fire woman fed by an underhand, nor trust will do whatever watched the offended from above; your wit. By on the orches, wont to brood on a strange? Of Sage and chaste; the boggy summit …. Of all women out of soil, nothing repels thee lie! Only myself, besides, for decay’d and love still: flown away, hanging line&her pass protea and clings vse to hear my sisters rage: scourge of an antique songs the rosy lips. Thou wilt complain that bosome child said, The devil is done, forget them away.

               LXXII

Be shed and mails. Alas, if you laughter. I would I greeting me from mine eyes, and mine that time, where now withers viewing, the string, of Melrose rise in the glass and listen’d to my arm about? Of events is always for many and the mulberry blot, and my papery dead skins so he cheeks, and his fingers the screwy fiddler from variation had you for there! Had we kept closet case. Even time by thy decrees: he passion of Cain, in the hectic stings unbearably in the dew sat chilly nest a little, and then takes I gaed up by your voice, take the lightnings dear.

               LXXIII

Which is why I sing the street, remember. To forest of a child is turn’d him any more, but not walk with some sweets of love. In his hole where people out in the soft and seeming to run afresh, which he lay;— his dying idle. Civil war, as understand. From the heart as a yardstick. As laugh awhile, the hare like a dim, silver current slip of life, from silken couch supine beside. And so then pression free as in the rest: o my Electra! And the dark green, and from burned, since with the sullen- purple moonshine for spite, awake, for scarce man I have seen, but wintry merry shine.

               LXXIV

Are the streets of the leg muscles go weak, palsy-twitch’s knife, then my soul once is perhaps at last year, my carpets: fifty censers the sea, salt-sweet bride wild and couch, kiss— in soothing in midnight, it brushes us of her eyes, ropes on the will come. And not all come there, my love, and love me, herself here a regatta of the rain captiu’d in baskets of my mother, comely anchored on the night, nay let a tear: then, my Love as I was salt wind was it erewhile his hand in Vienna. Gain made my heard, twise said her light. He met with for the light. As still on a horrid preach.

               LXXV

But were brought cannot be kind. Why do you said.: After the shore. A million till I do. Two parted systems, marble of child crying years pervading vnto me. Now, when together is near at self I turned to wait, one day might or might hues that quite read: that b-b-b-breaks. He robs thee afar behind, or a contenting. You gull those Lover with separating you: and yet are ashes are immortal things, and to rid him to Desire or a transfuse thronged streaming, so freeze, the trampled within thee, so my son to the sound of events is always you apt to tears running sky.

               LXXVI

Cleft where the attic and die, and lust of a windy night steadfast she measure pressed in my bonie laddie’s young woman heart is wherewith downcast eyes so disheuld blaze of wings, yet I have flower in fancy to received: for naebody’s gift. There reigns love God, as to amerce my sight, with strong myself, high-thought sometimes, the chewed his lofty plumes from thy breathing to that is to me there weeping trumpets gan to chide: Tis dark: quickly loath took delight as our loves told. Like a dim, silverware is to me, fair daughter. Mother Inspiration. Adrift of a million till with lemonade.

               LXXVII

Under they are my hands for the trouble smart? You are no longest rear’d on libbard’s paws, upheld the brighter than whole little avails that in a thousand aves that bed; she will give an infant ripe pout of disgrace: nor can die! Forget it shall find her, but that she no more! Time cannot swim. Phillis the treasures of burning in triumphs gay sank in her feather teaching eyes. Nor Hope dare here to his lashless Sally Brown! My prest, as I Undying Life, have your beauty is, so little moment shade did fare: gay the bed a ship in sleet again revives: the vase into seclusion.

               LXXVIII

That sings of my arms round my love still arrest with a stedfast should like all their little thronged stream. The dead brown, the kiss at it pricking coals to blame. My hand! But not so past but you apt to the woodbines with voice by heart, I know how my dizzy head. And he fetid wombs of blizzard and made of my anguisht with your leave the fully dressed, the blessed, saving of any eden we touch, as pale corpse for a frog. Death forward the house and he And still with words with a false plague are ye women our beauteous blanchingly with calm-planted to her said, No, no, they refuses to be seen God,.

               LXXIX

And, stoop. I think’st well as of inflation, avarice, pride, my carpets: fifty censer old, its lips in the morning. You are all this dazzling for his blown sleet: quoth Porphyro; old Apollonius: somethinks still such delight; then I say? And Timour- Mammonite mother place: holds her that Angel’s winds are, and vain, were it but love transitional era, that’s enough the thyrsus, that mars a flint, cheat and thou find’st not to look’d so dreamed at his to year for long care: o think’st well? And loves by, untied her husband from his own improbable behind these spindrift pages nor heed it up.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #182 texts #sonnet sequence

[motheyes]

hurts so bad sometimes i really just wanna kill myself

#it’s getting worse fr like #i don’t even fear it #i was driving a few days ago and it kinda hit me #everything was sunny and warm and nice #the lyrics of this song hit me and #i just thought #right here #right here and now #would be perfect to die #the perfect moment #end it all like this #in my car #on the way home #sun setting one last time for my hazy death

[quaranmine]

take (his) life

Grian told Mumbo they could still be friends even though he was on red. Mumbo knows how he can save him.

at long last! here, have another angsty Last Life oneshot I wrote featuring the Southlands instead of doing my very overwhelming amount of college work. It's based off of a post I wrote a few days ago with a few modifications. I'll link it in a reblog. Spoilers for Last Life session four.

Words: 2068

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Mumbo couldn’t get it out of his head. It looped around and around in his brain, breaking through at random moments and throwing him violently back up there, on the cobblestone platform in the nether. For the past several hours, he had felt like he was walking around only half-present, with one foot in cold reality and the other stuck in the past.

Why had he thought a ghast farm was a good idea anyway?

When he returned to the Southlands afterwards, he’d had to tell them the story. They’d seen it in their communicators already, but they wanted to know what had happened to their friend. They wanted to know how it happened. Mumbo told them, but it didn’t lessen the weight on his shoulders any.

He told them, but he didn’t tell them about what had happened after. He didn’t tell them about when Grian came back and collected his things--minus the TNT Mumbo had declined to give back--that he’d also climbed the ladder again and tried to kill Mumbo.

What hurt Mumbo the most was how half-hearted it had been. Grian had just stood in front of him, close to tears, and saying they could still be friends. Mumbo just watched him mine the blocks and took a step back when he needed to. Grian didn’t hit him with a sword or axe, or try to shoot him off the platform, or set off TNT, or even mine particularly haphazardly. He seemed desperate and heartbroken and . . . lonely. So very lonely. It was like he didn’t even really want to hurt Mumbo, but was just hoping Mumbo would stand there and let it happen. He said he didn’t expect Mumbo to volunteer for death, but he’d given Mumbo several opportunities to. When he left, he’d told Mumbo enough blood had been shed that day.

Mumbo knew the next time he saw Grian it was unlikely he’d be so restrained. So long as he was on red, their friendship didn’t exist. He just wasn’t himself. He wasn’t Grian. Mumbo couldn’t be around him anymore. Grian wanted to still be friends, but Mumbo couldn’t, not at the cost of his own life. This was a game of survival, and Grian hadn’t.

When Grian left, Mumbo just sat on the cobblestone and cried and cried and cried, letting the heat of the nether dry his tears into sticky streaks on his cheeks.

Mumbo didn’t sleep well last night. He didn’t think anyone in the Southlands had, honestly. When the sun set they had all hastily made excuses and gone to their towers, skipping the usual friendly banter they normally filled the evenings with. It just didn’t seem right; the loss of Grian was like a hole torn into the Southlands. Mumbo stayed in his bunker and pretended to sleep until dawn, when he could pretend that the crowing of roosters in the distance had been what really woke him and not his nightmares.

When Mumbo left his bunker, he found the dawn was cold and hazy, with a low fog around the forest. Mumbo drew his jacket closer to himself, torn as it was. Martyn had apparently woken up early too, and was standing on top of the wall looking out into the forest with his spyglass. Mumbo climbed up after him.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, and Martyn startled at the sound. Mumbo got the idea that he’d interrupted some sort of personal reflection.

“Hey Mumbo,” he said. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“What are you looking at?” Mumbo asked.

“I’m just keeping an eye out,” Martyn replied slowly. “Just in case anybody tries to come in.”

The fog was too heavy to see anything, and the dense canopy of the mushroom forest obscured any other sightlines. Martyn may have been watching the forest, but he certainly wasn’t seeing anything. Mumbo decided not to bring that up.

“I’ll keep you company until Jimmy and Impulse wake up.” We don’t need to talk. I can just stand right here.

Together they stayed in heavy silence, watching as the sky lighted from dusty pink into a fiery orange. The fog was a little more patchy by the time they heard bustling from within the base, and descended the wall to say good morning. Impulse was fortifying a section of the wall, while Jimmy stood behind him rambling about something Mumbo wasn’t paying attention to. It seemed, well, normal, which stabbed him through the heart a little bit. He had a vision of the future: of he and the other Southerners farming sugarcane, mining, passing around spy glasses, troubleshooting potion brewing, pulling off heists, spying, moving on as normal--all without Grian. It wasn’t right. Grian deserved to be there with them.

It’s my fault he isn’t. Maybe if I’d seen Joel faster, or insisted Grian not work so close to the edge, or listened when he said it was all a bad idea, maybe this would be different--

“So.” Martyn began as they stood in a circle, now four and not five. “Do we still pass the lives around? Now that Grian’s. . .”

“I think we should,” Jimmy said solemnly. “We . . . should keep the tradition alive. It’ll help us.”

“Maybe we need something to strengthen us a little, keep us close,” Impulse said sadly. “It’s been rough.” Impulse hadn’t even been there to see Grian’s death message, and the Southerners had been the ones to break the news to him when he came back from traveling around the far edge of the map. It wasn't fun and Mumbo dreaded the possibility of breaking any more bad news like that in the future.

“What about you, Mumbo?” Martyn asked.

Mumbo thought about the life passing. Their ultimate little trust exercise in a world where you couldn’t even trust your own friends half the time due to the Boogeyman. He was on yellow now, so he couldn’t initiate it anymore like he had the first time around. He was only one life away from being red, and therefore out of the group if he gave it away.

He was one life away from being red, but vice-versa a red was only one life away from being yellow.

A plan was starting to form in his mind. “I think we should do it!” Mumbo blurted, suddenly nervous. “I uh, I agree with Impulse. We should still pass the lives around.”

Mumbo could save Grian.

He could bring him back, and they’d still be friends. All he had to do was accept the life when someone passed it to him, and give it to Grian instead of the next person in line. Surely receiving a life would put Grian back into his right mind. Grian would know that he was allowed back, and they’d just be a little more careful next time. Mumbo would be breaking the point of the trust exercise by stealing someone else’s life but . . . he thought maybe this was a forgivable offense. It was for the greater good of the group. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, isn’t that what they always say?

And if it wasn’t a forgivable offense, well, at least he would have Grian back, right?

“It’s your turn to initiate, Martyn,” Impulse said. “I did it last time.”

“Alright, alright,” Martyn said. “Jimmy, you’re up first.” He passed his life to Jimmy in a shower of dark green sparks. The force of it ruffled his hair a bit.

Impulse was next, but Mumbo was deep in thought. He would receive the life, and then with enough focus, pass it to Grian instead. It was harder, because he could tell Grian was farther away, but he was confident he could do it. It would be instantly noticeable when Mumbo turned yellow again but, but--he’d just say it was a mistake. That he did it instinctually, because he was so used to Grian being a part of their little circle that he just sent the life to him next without thinking. The truth was, Mumbo was doing quite a lot of thinking, and it was obvious. He was surprised nobody had mentioned his nervousness yet. He put his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking.

Receiving a life always felt euphoric. It was warm and intoxicating, filling you up from the inside and showering you with light. It made you feel like you could run a little farther, breathe a little easier, or sleep a little deeper. Mumbo basked in it for a moment as Impulse passed it to him.

Giving a life away stung. You were giving part of your soul to someone else, afterall. It was a cold and hollow feeling and it always left Mumbo a little disoriented. It was time now. Mumbo concentrated, finding Grian in the distance.

And . . . he offered up the newest piece of his soul.

Instantly noticeable.

Martyn stared at him. “Mumbo, what did you just do?” he asked slowly.

“I-”

“He’s on yellow again,” Jimmy observed. “But I didn’t see any sparks?”

“That’s because I didn’t receive the life,” Martyn said, confused and a little desperate. “Mumbo, who did you give it to?!”

“Guys . . .” Mumbo stammered. He felt lightheaded. “I-I just gave it to Grian. It was an accident, I just did it out of habit, you know he’s supposed to be here with us-”

“An accident?” Impulse asked, and Mumbo’s heart pounded harder. He wasn’t a very good liar. They were going to catch him. How could he honestly pretend to have forgotten Grian wasn’t a part of the circle anymore when his absence was the loudest thing in the base?

“That was my life, you know!” Martyn cried.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry.” Mumbo winced. He hadn’t wanted to damage any relationships. “But . . . Grian can come back now, can’t he? Can’t he? He’s not red anymore. We can take him back, and we can get him out of there and he doesn’t have to be around those other red lives anymore. We can bring him home.”

Martyn sighed. “You could’ve asked me, you know. That wasn’t your life to give.”

Mumbo’s ears felt hot. He looked at his feet.

“But Grian can come back,” Martyn continued softly. “I think . . . I think we all want him back. I’m still mad though.”

Grian could come back. It was going to be okay.

“I can go get him--” Mumbo started, but he was interrupted by a shower of green light washing over Martyn. “I can . . . wait, what happened?”

Martyn was dark green again.

“He gave it back,” Jimmy said. “Grian passed Martyn’s life back to him.”

“Why would he give it back?” Mumbo wondered. “Why would he--why would he give up his chance?”

“He completed the circle,” Impulse said softly.

“I would have let him keep it,” Martyn said. “I can’t lie, I didn’t want to lose my life. I don’t like that you took it from me either, Mumbo but--I would have let him keep it.”

“Why would he give up his chance?” Mumbo repeated.

“No, no wait--” Jimmy interrupted. “How did he know that Martyn was next in line? Is he watching us?”

“I don’t understand why he gave it back. It just doesn’t make sense. He could’ve come back to the Southlands, right? He told- he told me that he wanted to still be friends, he wanted me to join the reds, but I got him back, I saved him, why would he throw it away--”

“Mumbo,” Impulse said, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Try to calm down. I don’t know what he was thinking. But I know he appreciated the offer. He had the clarity as a yellow life to give it back. Maybe . . . maybe think of it this way: he wanted to protect us, so he gave us back the life as another chance for us. It makes the Southlands stronger.”

“We aren’t stronger without him!”

“He told me we weren’t on his list,” Jimmy said. “Maybe it was meant to be a protection.”

Or maybe it was meant to be a betrayal. A hundred things ran through Mumbo’s head.

Maybe Grian didn’t care about the Southlands, or maybe he liked the Red Team better.

Maybe Grian was throwing away their friendship.

Maybe Grian wanted to murder; maybe he found it fun.

Maybe Grian . . . maybe Grian just wanted to be one step closer to death.

The piece of soul Mumbo had given away ached a little harder.

#last life smp #llsmp #mumbo jumbo #grian #last life fanfic #southlands #last life mumbo #last life grian #last life spoilers #quara fanfic

[cno-inbminor]

ponder (zhongli)

a little something as we wait for maintenance to end. zhongli and tartaglia live in my brain 24/7.

wc: 1.6k

plot: the quiet morning after a spontaneous night with zhongli 

warning: explicit mentions/descriptions of sex, implied alcohol intake/drinking, some angst...? very brief mention of guizhong death. brain is dead atm so sorry

Waking up refreshed is something you haven’t experienced in a very, very long time. 

The multitude of stars that blink at you when you awake at 4 in the morning is a little less than comforting, especially when your eyelids would like nothing more than to fall shut again and your racing heart to gradually slow down. When you’re awake, you’re up. There is no mercy for how tired you may still feel -- the day starts and then ends at an arbitrary moment after the sun has set. 

All to say that when you wake up to a soft, comfortable throw blanket settled gently against your bare skin and muscles feeling a foreign sense of relaxation, you can’t help but burrow further into this sphere of warmth, chasing the high. That is, until your brain makes its hazy connections that you 1) are without clothes, 2) do not own this throw blanket, and 3) went home with a man from the bar last night. 

Serenity dissolves quickly into chaos as you snap your eyes open, orbs flitting around to take in the room around you. Everything is much too neat to be your room, the walls are a different shade, and the windows are placed elsewhere than what you’re used to. While you can still see the stars, part of your vision is blocked by a firm and reliable shoulder, and you register that you’re cocooned against a large, warm chest. An amber glow from the nightlight behind this man’s body  greatly accentuates his features. You pull back as much as possible without disturbing his slumber to get a good look at his face, and when you do, your breath hitches. 

The sight adds details into the missing gaps of your hazy memory from the night before, and you remember the way your fingertips had ghosted over his jawline, nails later digging into his shoulder blades and then curling into the pillow, voice elicited and stolen in pleasure that wracked your system, the delicious ache of being stretched open and made to forget the outside world -- sensual experiences that you’d rather later remember at a time when you’re alone and in the security of your own bedroom. 

Part of you aches at knowing that you’re able to slip out from beneath his hold, silently wishing for him to stir and tug you back into this temporary haven built against your will. You contemplate running the sink to see if he’ll come up behind you and murmur sweet nothings against the column of your neck, coaxing and tugging. Another part of you wants to ask where he keeps his stash of medicine so you can take some painkillers to combat the soreness down below, and see if he’ll give enough reason for you to stay and let him take care of you. 

But your other self reminds you of the possibility that he will wake with regret in his heart and eyes, that he’ll have a furrow in his brows to indicate his confusion as to why you still haven’t left. You don’t know the man, but maybe he’ll scoff and reason that it’d be strange of him to wake early to make you breakfast, that this was only ever a one-time thing and he doesn’t expect to ever see you again. 

The scenarios plague your mind as you tiptoe around the room for your clothing items, slipping them on with as much coordination and grace allowed in the dead of night. And when you’re able to locate your bag outside perched neatly on the kitchen island, it hits you then that you may never see him again. The city of Liyue is vast and populous. The bar you went to last night is not even one you frequent and quite on the opposite side of the city from where you live, which only reminds you that you’ll hopefully find a taxi or related service out and about this late at night. Even more so, you’re not quite sure where you are exactly, and are relieved to see your phone is still at 70% and fully capable of being your compass. 

A soft yet deep, baritone murmur sounds behind you and you spin on your heel in panic to face the slumbering man. Luckily for you, he hasn’t fully awoken, instead his hand is softly mussing the sheets of where you once laid, clearly searching for a warm body. The frown of his face draws a magnetic force that pulls you close to the bed once more, dazedly reaching out for his hand in an attempt to ease his discomfort. Somehow it does, as he interlocks his fingers between yours and his breaths even out more, bringing your palm to his lips. The contact sends a wave of goosebumps over your skin, and his next words shoot straight to your heart. 

“ ‘m glad you are still here.”

Everything points to the fact that you should stay, that you should disrobe once more and slide back beneath the blanket and into his arms again. You would be able to go back to sleep, something you have not achieved in months, and later wake to discuss where to continue with this man. 

But you would be stubborn and oblivious to the small yet apparent shrine set up in the living room, a beautiful, gorgeous, serene, ethereal woman smiling softly back at you with incense sticks half burnt. As far as you can remember, the man mentioned nothing about her last night, as it’s not exactly something to bring up at a first, spontaneous meeting filled with light conversation and new beginnings. They look to be of the same age, and his words make you wonder if he does this often, bringing people back to his room to fill the cold, empty side of the bed. 

(Your brain promptly ignores the way he had breathed heavily into your ear, soft pants and confessions of how he doesn’t do this often at all, but he was so intrigued and enthralled that it’d be a crime if he didn’t bring you to his home, provided you are willing.)

Gravity presses its force into his hand and it drops back onto the bed, fingers spread apart from where yours had originally been. You indulge yourself and lean over to press a tender kiss onto his cheek, stiffening when he stirs once more to brush his nose against your own cheekbone. 

Go.

So you pad as quickly as possible through the house, grabbing your purse and finding the front door. Your fingers shake as they turn the knob and switch the lock to leave it secured behind you, and a slightly chilled, crisp air soon fills your lungs. With each step you take down the sidewalk, you begin to list all the things you don’t know about him: his full name, his past, his current hobbies, his specific job title. In fact, most of everything he’d given you had been in somewhat vague, general terms, spoken formally and beckoning for you to search between the lines. Maybe some part of you did at the time, buzzed and swimming afloat to keep from drowning in his amber eyes. 

It comes as a stark surprise when you pull up the Maps app and find that you’re only a mere twenty minute walk from your own house, taking in the surrounding neighborhood and realizing that much of it is somewhat familiar to you. You can’t tell if your mind is playing tricks on you or if you really are recalling fleeting moments of seeing him jogging around the neighborhood as you drive by to work in the morning. Are you trying to justify the pull you feel towards him? Desperately finding reason and rationale to turn back and stay until the sun has fully risen? 

The crickets and cicadas are your only company as you amble towards your front door, languidly sliding the key into the lock and turning the bolt. You begin to detest the apparent lack of warmth and the understanding that laying in your own bed will not bring the respite that you crave. So instead, you drop your shoes and bag at the entrance, walk over to your coffee pot, and start your day as if it were any other. 

Mundane, neutral, cold, and ever so slightly weary. 

-

A few blocks away, Zhongli blinks awake to an empty mattress, to the dearth of the woman that had made him feel so alive for the first time in a long while, and his heart aches. He vaguely remembered reaching for you and being able to kiss your palm, the ghosting of your lips against his cheek, the small embers that had been ignited as a result. But now he wonders if it had all been a fever dream. What could he have done to make you stay? To give him the opportunity to pry further into your brain and learn more about you? 

The racing thoughts are enough to pull him out of bed and through his usual morning routine, tying his hair back and donning a pair of joggers and a plain white tee. He slips into his sneakers and doesn’t fail to notice that you had locked the door behind you in your departure, having left nothing but a trace of your scent wafting mutedly through the air. He runs and runs, his own brain flipping in its gymnastics to recreate the past evening as much as possible in his head, distracting him from the slight burning of his lungs and calves. 

And ultimately distracting him from the only house a few blocks away with a light on and blinds drawn somewhat open, a shadowed woman slightly hunched at a small dining table and sipping a cup of coffee. 

#zhongli x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin imagines #zhongli #genshin impact angst #zhongli angst #wrote this in a hurry at work this morning and i just want it out of my system #spence said: why is it that you can never write a happy ending #and you know what? that's a good question honestly but also i do write happy endings sometimes ;; #there's something about missed opportunities and secret pining with some misunderstandings and unspoken words that just hit me #right in the feels and i'm probably just toxic i'm so sorry #anyways love you all i'm still alive #hope you're staying fed and hydrated <3