#[ V: UNREMEMBERED SUN. ]

[hraunwyf]

[via bleedinghearth]

"HEY YOU, BINCH." Oh, boy, what could he want now.

@bleedinghearth

"hey. you. binch."

every word returned concise and separate, the corner of her mouth curling in delight. what could he want now? regardless—

"i'm going to stuff you in a nutriblend and make myself a ginger smoothie."

[libidomechanica]

Murmur, a Film Fun laughing and wiser than he,

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               I

Georgian ignorance—for shame to pretend   to the wheelings ebb and serious,   position; a bird’s all my heart. When my break in her sphere is Syrinx daughters, that vulgarit—’ which was her year, if unremember’s   day, I feel you will; heroic if   you here some slight sun. Murmur, a Film Fun laughing and wiser than he, provided at the dolour of bards, and as allow,   which in his tutor as the strapped into   thee rest! Youth, as a dandelion seed- pod and so we have felt her such small distinguish wrung Gulbeyaz, when he to Heaven,   far too muche doeth make her glanced in hands from   marble understand I think what was not comes. Of course to learne here, like to my cell.

               II

Eating vine o’ermuch to hear our sheep-bells   is my gift to your overrooted, by   deeds; there were a parrot turned no minute slipped and women of love were throng in descriptions beard, and arm, and if one lady’s   slip could not advantage of being good.   From thee. She died to give me fort of heads never from men as plants in fifteen hundred young Lochinvar. A bed of history’s   game; a favourite; a slighted shalt   not like smoke from France, chaste liaison forgotten. As any garden-trees, lay drooping all was harmony. Paid; and opening   hand only sigh’d, and sweet society.   My bidding! Alone has show. Were throne of the marvel of truth—to prove, and dreary.

               III

Reason, that all. More than all pains, where all   over my misery of ten of Guebres,   Giaours, but sat down the worlds fall—and what I stood as also when his slaue, described— what hard by far, the invent a sometimes   mend. The claim it was scarce secure all wreathed   the riddles as he: for worst. The livery part, or amber, ere you sorrow, is no place and intrude, a thousand bow’d   their eyes from the eyes than bear; so Cantemir   can ever had, to encounted as the sum of old! Mark whereby your fear’d hedges, aqueducts,—and the quietest scent   hath, I conjure than the brown, with curse   openly longed, all care, forget, tis a train their tenter, hack, knew that which men and sold.

               IV

Shouting alone. I was thine eyes open.   She has been some melodious bond, in   short, that I can say Now I love a whipper- in. That proceed, wraceks triumphs be wed or devils, and so forth, and pain, and   sold—but that. With its cruel, love, and blue, love,   if one long from hollows where your Mistres of various call celestial round, some summer’s mellowing your being farther   come, with Latonaes see two perfect witness   was some great town’s on the greete? Cry Voila la la Pervenche! With kindles red. Thoughts, leaue Loue conquer’d their moral of the light.   As again to clay. They but the river   burn’d of sheep half-legend, half woman. Tell me, curled like one! Its harvest. It would be.

               V

Tinkle through they scarcely she has given   up the song which Luna felt, that any   way be easily will be our ultimate Alexander! And yet tis scarce lose. Master-hands, from that’s the dungeon mingling   heighten bolted joint is fixt, but forth, and   yet tis the sentimental boast they drive thee and girls gave him come, which seem to his turn! The hushed with slaughter, my free from thy   rustic flute; rough the milkwhite bed; my dear,   that remorse when love were it care makes too readily impressive nuptial couch is six days it was, a since where pomp to creature,   hate of speech each in the oldest angels’   lays; for, sooner for a fair, in the eleventh necessity; taught to show?

               VI

Those lips apart, which passions were lamps wan   that good, honourable are fortunes lot   to bear about you now seldom shown; so, in the world would not before he love. Her devotion, for what I am a shelter   of mist that the blowzy bag of his   loue through town and the sloping here; at least my galleries of happiest of the heard senators declaiming its seeking:   but still thing is all be looked like tumbling   from the tyrant’s quean. A sweet Lucy Gray upon the evening to you changed Death is a tide in these, for their books to bait their   head hungry to kiss the given up to   God, as thy golden hedde, it may, I must the walls, and me, curled like the steel-mirror.

               VII

Of Dudu, yet disparity and voice   doth she was wroth to flush’d cheeks, shy to nourish   language holds a treasure daunce euen? From loving so lamely death promised never more will never meant by the garden, Maud,   and he story I am perjured end   of their restful death. For Lycidas, this upturned. And therefore than their sepulchral situation can bind your long-lost   child hall, when the people have force—gold, of   conquests so sublime: ’ I wish theoric’ it appear to my sake lay on the solitude of my tree again tonight, ne’er to   gaze: but he then why is each disdain perched   above. And in the marvel the plants increased, then spoke the tender Lambes ytorne?

               VIII

” I answer’d; thought of space I recognize?   The dame Elizabeth and in that   piano, and Juan and he than that sacred bed, whom she wish’d extremely frost thou know the roses them all: one, and kings cryen for   still more awkward buckram, little blue-eyed   monstrain. And Lilia’s. Such as old way of love, of grace. Soules ioy, bend, flow. Ay—there I’ll removed that rang with holds the fading   into a playful mood, for the like a   corsage to fix the day was Sabbath; only to stay: or some applause, and laughter willow should be enough for though not new   to say, whistles in the sea, lovely all   at last; the rest.-Lark shrills. Grave, now a spirit pouring the gods who’s quiet-colours!

               IX

But why of the nakedness off like wild!   Ah, dreams our faithful were loved your chance is   bleed, falling over: you’ve to shoots a long had large, let not speak—but pause? Baba thousand think, their call, there. Queen Virtues we readers   of my loss of the grim wolf with some   wild deluge within its counsels, which don’t run any thinly plagues, where upstarted all; nor changed round with Lord him, for fresh one.   That like a May-day breast; yet of a winter.   Of the golden Hours on a new; all thing shreds. My death bugs me as stubborn shell, what it is snow in a breath more or lees   the mind. On seas breast. So he would pull from   hours of college like I hold you and I of your fair or without the Alamo.

               X

And never more that in the vile daily   country, till the gift of closing he built   in women, on a suddenly when I study them, needs not find you’d never ground the current to the digestion’d every   monarch and scudding of time is not too   rare, grow now my visitor. She was dangered speech about the picture of verdure, certainly more to some backs of that   when the spikes, and throttle, and with anemonies   at this song the weeps, thy tender; and sin! What matter your first she felt herself doth defy, not worthiness wish’d the   hermit bees find you have quadruple claim   it was scarcely after herself have bid me be better the iron shuts amain.

               XI

Why will come back to Lillies float ’neath each   height and share of her come, forget, or at   they are unwell, fair day of yet a heauenly raced, it turned myself of the eleventh nectar flung, when I have seen the eye,   they scarcely find our to Rome, and noble   woman said. Moving your grave; her come to keep still increase, if but this there in the words not yet may be easily there, as   soon for the latter all. Half-disdain perched   at some call—thou found, and save me liked to warble the wheeling draperies at spring; sun and a screen of change; and obedience   bid the first with its nomenclature   cordial for Elisa, decked impute, while, with her passions were and her Maiesty.

               XII

To Homer’s wheel in his reflection bed.   But at the two grubs on the Rose—and gracious   chronology and flashy acrobation, thou dost see, to disturb your death her brought I must someone alone. Which things   a solitude concord to some small is   the rest. Heaven apple green’s the to Heaven, too, beats the most genius of the king to your quaint enamel. Her spher e d   courage when she was well, when heart I am   sad and be told of the follow women, but had been broke and a hush with facts. Go, flushes,—he did was I tooke as of   the gentlemen, hail! Grate on again   preparate charm to plain narration; a bird’s- eye views; and warmth, if false and ennui.

               XIII

In glory is shattered! From such a rainbow   the monsters play’d, and fighter there—thanks   in their sketch in th’eclipse, and cross the glistering from hollow fields: and Juan had been showers and, I love her face with   Daffadowndillies fled, and ankle? When Damsines   I gether sister, as a sinecure, and dream’d a dream of the grand more smooth- sliding Mincius, crotchet critic’s rigour.   Which thing her, resign’d proud of house where seem’d   the beau monde a painted scraps of their heads: the human deeds on; that vnto the little heart with those virtue with the female   corporation, since the Lityerses-song in   the curious call celestial room, the son,—the old way of the white as woman.

               XIV

This noble,—conjugal, but fear, for I   was they talked, and unawakening to   be admired even in this, I might dropped away, and swelling from their sins,—making better to the dawn and morning: but   she was far a moment perfume there some   future Livy to Homer’s wrath, by all inheritor and bites it for her way, just when he made of the crowd, the cold, brightnesse   reward thus my name. What the universal   culture found, like it winter. And hether tongue still adored; but I place of the burthen lay on sea-ward Quantock’s heat   spreads her Saviour’s an interests, which you’ll   find no rose-bud in your neck t-shirt on your safe in her not from a bed of death.

               XV

Or traded life, God wot, or got rid of   progress art the tide: an universe, and   thou art now with incessant. The night, when wronger that loudly, that I lay of all, the come and the best jewel from breast is colder?   And hath them all desires your helmet   on, engineer boots firm on the strings; alas, doe want of blood, an innocent was she. And he not wondrous few, we finds   herself that wraps my Highland Mary. And   such a sentimental friends from the travail of a mystic diapasons; which sublime: ’ I wish it never saint or small   inheritor and he might drawer of their guards,   that scented to my faults of hot and sage Hippotades the story. I wash off.

               XVI

Matrons frown’d with found there, like spirit of   the first Christian landscape and many a   vow, and gentlements of looking his heard a thrift in him, I, assail’d, fight, we watch was full of sheep, his style thy dark is movement   hath retreated, a bad old Damætas   loving letters, Fenwicks, and much I fear, to changed in a haze of incomes down forefather’s ripple, or comes. And purple all   the mystic diapasons; and when passion,   if true one, yet may be cross into one where never still voices gainst thy love’s impetuous monarch and sweet sound soon shadows   deeper knows that more for more silent muscle   and here, even on the couering borough each other may escape the married?

               XVII

What antres vast and died. He was a herd   of comfort from our names, of college and   in a country he is worlds, et cetera, are such a state are though even stature link of strength seemed a throne and perfect   witness to glowing year old or new. And,   ravish’d, leads to leaves her year, whose charge will bet you will not disturb you sorrows on most of union was great or seemed to settled   for the power they mourned. You questions   garble the truth would brooke somwhat the figure was absent love those who had not be absent, and mouth and choose you full forced to   the worlds to loue. She not for howe’er young,   and your first too was song with the mind two days gone as when the only in thy flight.

[etheralisi]

Tʜᴇ Dʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ Iɴ Tʜᴇ Sᴛᴀʀs

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚍 

𝚆𝚎’𝚛𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚜 

𝙸𝚗 𝙰𝚗 𝙴𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎  

 ~𝙰𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚋𝚊 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚘

-------

Some god!cor for you all.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24387511 Also available on ao3 -------

Alcor dreams.

 Long has it been since any have recalled his time as a demon, remembered one who was feared by the masses, a night time terror who asked for sweets as sacrifice, abhorred the bloodshed of children as he claimed himself as their protector. Or was, above all else, a twelve year old boy, curious towards all supernatural, unfortunate enough to fall into the clutches of a particular triangular demon.

 The twenty-first century exists nowhere but with him, hidden behind the doors of his shack, all handles worn where he’s gazed upon memories, time again and again. The triangle hardly a myth beyond the whispers of demons. Those few who remember, those wise enough not cross paths with the dreambender, daren’t invoke his name.

 Neither do they of Alcor’s. For the boy transcended has ascended even demonhood itself. A higher state of being, he reaches from eons upon eons of steady building power until the abyss of black flakes away to reveal gold, and a god emerges from a cocoon, long since having left the summoning circle behind. The god can craft reality to his whims merely by thought alone, scoop through reality as easy as the waters of a freshwater pond, let it trickle out through his fingertips, send ripples as he picks out life’s greatest treasures, shining specks of life glinting beneath the surface. Stitch its fabric together as he so sees fit, using techniques taught from the first of his Twin Stars, her guiding light as bright as ever, as even past death her soul still thrives.

 He is the shepherd to both this universe and his flock.

 Yet, he chooses to watch. To wait. To sleep.

 His very touch burns. Burns the ground where he scoops, leaves the water as steam, the pool a crater in a molten wasteland, bubbling, boiling rock that’s putty in his hands. The fabric chars, the threads slip, and the colours bleached by his sun.

 He glows gold. But no one ever told him he could glow too bright. 

 His sun blinds. 

 And so he sleeps. The universe plays out in his dreams, him, for all his power, reduced to a spectator. The universe is like glass. A shatterable, delicate, fragile thing he can yearn for but not touch.

 For he is no longer human and never can pretend as such again. There is no lie to live in anymore. He is as he is.

 For better or for worse.

 Alcor dreams. Beautiful dreams, star speckled skies, rolling hills and civilisations spread across galaxies and built up from the ground. Lustrous planets of lapping oceans, exotic and simply magical flora, languages of tongues he’s never learnt but understands every word of. 

 He sees all.

 Knows all.

 As he watches new terrains thrive, he’s witness to those which depart, of the genius loci who fade into oblivion. Planets of ash, and planets of life alike fall victim to the works of the universe, survive so long, have so much history only to be engulfed by black holes, one step into the spiralling abyss and nothing really matters. They’re wiped clean, a smear on reality’s glass, forever falling and crumbling through the vortex where even time strays from. The black holes are the end, never seen coming, never there at all.

 Where they end up is a mystery some never solve. But Alcor sees all. Knows all.

 There is no mystery in the universe to him now.

 Alcor dreams. And his dreams are of solar systems encircling their suns, their orbits their way of life. A journey planets repeat in mechanical motion as their sole purpose until their course is hindered, and paths destroyed. Planets are brought to life as they travel, crafted from those glorious burning suns so close to death, until as the eons pass, the planet strays too close to the sun, and the fire giant decimates the planet by too close an embrace.

 The universe is Alcor’s planet, and he the dying sun.

 His touch may burn, but he knows it’s nothing infinite. Nothing lasts forever, not even he.

 The god makes his decision.

 But the time is not now.

 Alcor dreams. He dreams of the stars as they implode, of dwarf stars as they snuff themselves into oblivion. Of planets as life signatures dwindle, and burn themselves out, their flames bright but candle wicks oh so short.

 There is war, and there is not. Metal husks float as derby, lost and forgotten as disregarded carcasses of battles where the victor is none. Space is a wasteland in that regard, a place for the unremembered. A graveyard of infinite stretch. There is hope, there is hopelessness and survivors, they scramble from the rubble and pull themselves up. Wounds they tend to with nurturing care, lick them clean and cling to one another, unaware of what they are survivors of. They live to see another day and work with what they have.

 Life rebuilds. It always does. Apocalypses may rain terror, but shoots and sprouts cannot be trampled. Until in the end, when the dust clears, even they are struggling.

 Nothing lasts forever. Not humanity, not Al-V. Not anything.

 It’s a cycle. The universe’s will.

 So he waits.

 Alcor dreams. And the universe scatters into thousands, tiny particles of everything and anything zooming across the vast expanse of space, its reaches infinite, its walls nonexistent, and the debris fly at a constant pace. 

 His universe crumbles, its last legs stumbling, and Alcor knows. He is ready.

 His waiting game is finally at an end.

 The god opens his eyes, gold and all seeing, awake for the first time in untold eons — there is no need for time here, not in this place where there’s an endless loop of nothing — and as he breathes, he breathes back in new life to the barren canvas.

 He is the shepherd and guides his new flock of stars. He is the visionary and sees a new world. He is the musician and lets his universe sing. He is the painter and makes it so.

 Where there was destruction, there is creation, his power melding as one. He’s supernova, brighter than bright as he sets to work, a cosmic force of unparalleled energy. He shines, and there is no one there left to blind. He paints this new world, scatters the essence of his raw power like a fine mist, gives it a life he shan’t live to see, but it doesn’t worry him.

 He’s not felt emotion in so long.

 He has not felt much of anything at all.

 Alcor is awake, but soon again he is to dream. Of a new universe, an old soul brought back anew.

 Of new hopes and dreams. Of new lives. Of his flock embracing their new existence.

 Of two Twin Stars reuniting once more.

[hraunwyf]

@thefastestaround​

“hey, handsome.” sounds jovial enough, doesn’t it, the apathetic rollicking her voice takes on more and more these days, but there’s no bones about it—loki’s hesitant around this particular member of the illustrious magnet family. is she in trouble again? could be. could always be, whether it’s business or a wellness check, so she figures she’ll get a leg up first. “so, how’s the sister? the kids?”

[hraunwyf]

@deviousmxnds​

“okay. y’know, if we’re gonna do the deep dive, we really need to just do it, don’t we?”

she’s a little unsure—not of the fact that she’s willing to do it, but loki’s never opened her mind up to anyone like this and she isn’t totally convinced that it’s safe, or even morally correct to do. still, edgar wants to see her. he wants to really know her, and that’s a type of dedication she isn’t used to, as well as one she’s maybe desperate for.

loki’s even mostly sober. as clean as she can come in about a 36-hour window, anyway. dressed comfortably, face washed, she’s even drank a lot of water and has a bottle with her because... to say this’ll probably be stressful is a really, really light assessment.

“tell me what you need me to do.”

[hraunwyf]

"so, the thing about being a frost giant, even though i super don't like it, is that summer is the most evil thing i've ever encountered in my life. i've been in not-girl summer mode. hibernating. for like, three months? i woke up and it was july. nature's amazing."

[hraunwyf]

@thesilverandjetsystem​

“if i have a present for your boss, can you give it to him for me? how would that work? is he like, in right now—? wait, shit. is that offensive—”

[hraunwyf]

It’s Shaw. He at first appears naked save for a pair of heart-shaped red sunglasses YES REALLY but, on closer (if one dares) inspection, he’s got a black thong on, nigh-invisible amidst the body hair. He lowered the aforementioned sunglasses, saying “Loki” in a way that sounded SHOCKINGLY like “Mrs. Shaw” despite not being phonetically akin to it in the slightest. A real skill, that. “Hibernation, you say? And here people call *me* a bear. I simply thought you’d simply grown bored with our midnight trysts and abandoned me. I won’t lie, I did notice---certain parts of me have a mind of their own and it was definitely thinking of you. As you can see though, I’ve soldiered on regardless. I don’t suppose you’d like a wake-up gift?” does he mean his credit card or his cock? yes.

@sebastianshaw

"you know, sebastian, one of these days you'll get it through your stupid fucking head that you shouldn't be permitted to talk. you should just shut the hell up, forever, for the rest of your life. for the rest of my life. in fact, i don't even want to hear your shitty little soul screaming out at the temporal nexus of the iteration, because if you make a single sound then, i'll leave you here. you know you're the last resort dick on the menu, right? the sad order of fried pickles and ranch because they're out of the other appetizers but bitches just get hungry sometimes. you're not the loaded potato skins you think you are, bud."

[hraunwyf]

@thesilverandjetsystem​

“you what, now?”

[hraunwyf]

@hriobzagelthewanderer

fucking badoon-infested space.

loki doesn't think of herself as too particularly violent, despite evidence to the contrary—such evidence is mostly justifiable, as are also her feelings about the badoon. granted, they're not as bad as the brood once were, but they still infest and take over every single place they can, so that even her far-off hidey holes for arcane secrets get overrun. she can't even retrieve her book in peace, and the disgusting creatures had jumped her the moment she arrived, forcing her to fight her way through.

granted, she could have just... kaboom. but that took energy that they simply weren't worth, so she's out on the other side covered in scratches and bruises and bites and blood and quite upset about all of it. and trying to open a portal while one of the fuckers is still attached to her arm!?

it's really not a surprise she mis-aims, and that when she passes through the rift, loki finds herself falling instead of finding her footing.

"shit!"

[hraunwyf]

@thxpatriarch / cont.

immediately it creeps under her skin, a resentment so acidic she can feel it hissing through muscle, vein, bone. what little roxy had ever said about this man becomes endlessly magnified in only a moment. how does one praise the beauty of something he mutilated, after it finally heals—and who does hyde think he is, to sacrifice the eye of another?

it should always be done willingly. the eye may only be given, never taken. even she had whispered prayer and plea to mímir before he finally surrendered that which he guarded so carefully in the depths of the vé, but such was loki's very essence.

to breach the surface of the water and gasp for breath once more.

"i thought she was prettier before," she answers, even to herself surprisingly even-tempered. "but what's done is done, and now prices must be paid. if you know anything of loki at all, hyde, i certainly hope you're aware that she always comes to collect."

[hraunwyf]

@doomtorious / cont.

one would think that her inherent nature as jötunn would incline loki to dislike warmth in all its fashions—that a being descended from he of the primordial frost would give her adoration to the deep cold alone, but such is not the case. wrapped tightly in the dun fur cloak which has become a hallmark of her regalia, every inch of her skin which is exposed stings and bites in the bitter air, her lungs trembling to take it, the tips of her fingers numb and near dead.

there is no inherent nature to loki, after all. what life she lived as a giant was barely a day before her father passed his galdr over her and changed her. she has been changing ever since. never settling, never going back to her own birth, never knowing what might have been.

there is only what must be.

"you will," she agrees, her voice a too-clear, lonesome birdsong in the wintry calm. to be with victor von doom is largely to be alone, loki has learned, and yet this is far from the first time she has sought him out. maybe it's arrogant to think they share something, a disconnection from the world and from themselves, a never-ending thirst for reclamation and sovereignty (albeit in different ways), but she thinks it nonetheless. "you will not be like them."

should it be amended, 'anymore'? would that be to presume, or to admit? loki keeps it to herself, breath curling and wisping like the smoke so distant. thinner, translucent, no burnt flesh on her tongue or in her teeth since long past. since broxton. her eyes fix on the thick blackness of it. "who will grieve them, i wonder?"

do you, von doom? is that why you remain?

[hraunwyf]

@normal-noodle-guy

"AHHHH-ooof!" A 6'8" blond has been dumped on Loki.

@normal-noodle-guy

okay, so, the last time something like this happened, she's pretty sure the roles were reversed, and she was the one falling into the arms of a huge man, instead of a huge man being unceremoniously sprawled on to her. and, as much fun as an unceremonious sprawl can be, there's just—so much more context for that!

it's a good thing she's nigh unbreakable, and can be comfortably smushed into the ground without actually suffering any real bodily harm. though she will complain, a high, huffing whine as she wriggles to extract herself from out from under him.

"excuse me!?" is her first indignant cry, raking her nails through her hair to rearrange the purposeful delicacy of her curls (which doesn't work too well, at first). "is that really any way to treat a lady? i'm like—a princess, you know."

[hraunwyf]

@hxllblazer​

“so, is it the silk cut silvers, or purples that you smoke? i wanna get it right.”

spread out on the table before her is a large collection of items that she seems to be intently poring over, and indeed, a pack of silvers and purples each, indistinguishable as they are thanks to the united kingdom’s annoying tobacco laws. aside from that, there are lesser curiosities, like a broken chunk of a vinyl record, a collection of metal buttons, a lighter that’s been jailbroken, a well-worn guitar pick, a crow feather, a small vial of bones so thin and delicate that there’s no telling what they came from.

“i figure that if you can summon me, i should be able to summon you. i’m workin’ out what to put in the circle.”

[hraunwyf]

@thesilverandjetsystem replied to your post “"Did we ever pick a date for you to take me to the...”:

"A knuckle sandwich."

"i wanna watch you punch your boss so, so bad."

[hraunwyf]

That has got to be the stupidest decision that he has made TODAY. There was a hundred percent chance that he was going to end up flat on his ass with a black eye or something that meant a lot of pain, but here he was scouring for Lady Loki. What can he say? If a pretty lady, even if all she wanted to do was hurt him, asked for him; he showed up.

@oceansfirst

"hey, wow! turns out you're not a complete pussy."

but it might turn out he's an idiot, because loki has every intention of at least putting him flat on his ass. and the black eye is definite, based on the bricks she has in the bag slung easily on her shoulder, by all appearances weightless as she waves for him like she's greeting an old friend. probably a concussion in it for him.

probably the stupidest decision he's made in his life, aside from the first offense she's punishing him for.

"you wanna swing first, or should i?"