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sleepyfan-blog · 2 months

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Church

Author’s Note: This is the next part of Cedric’s Adventures in the Astartes Husbandry AU! First. Previous. Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34

Warnings: panic attack, references to religious suppression, ask me to tag if I missed anything,

Summary: Cedric hears Church Bells while wandering the city and goes to investigate.

As he’s managed to prove that he won’t randomly attack people if not constantly monitored by firstborn Brothers or Cousins, Cedric has finally been allowed to wander the mortal city that the base is part of without needing an escort. While he does prefer to be in the company of at least one of his fellow Primaris Marines, the others are all busy today. Jophiel has been claimed by the Firstborn Blood Angels and is being trained in his psyker powers. Claude has been talked into interacting with some non-crazy firstborn Night Lords - who apparently existed at one point in time.

Catius is interacting with several older Ultramarines with Ramiel accompanying him as both emotional support and back up. Cedric has been allowed to wander wherever he likes, so long as he stays within city limits, or informs an older Brother or Cousin if he wants to wander through the nearby woods that surround the city before doing so. It’s early in the morning with Terra’s Star just barely peeking over the eastern horizon, and Cedric desperately wishes that he knew of a place where he could perform morning prayers and hymns without making his older brothers and cousins uncomfortable while doing so. Religion, worship and prayer made many of them deeply uncomfortable, after all. Those who weren’t Black Templars, nor were from M42.

He’d briefly talked to Brother Arnault and Brother Roland about it, but neither of them had found a place where one could gather with other worshippers to sing and pray together, either. Both had been delighted if a bit cautious when he brought news of Ramiel, a Chaplain in training of their shared Chapter. But the crux of the issue remained the same; there was nowhere where the group of them could gather and go through the morning services that had been so routine on both the planet-bound monasteries and the cathedral-rooms of the chapter ships that he had served on. The private homes that both Roland and Arnault lived in were too small to host multiple Astartes - besides, the singing and prayer would wake either of theirs human bonded, which was unfair.

Cedric still felt the loss, despite having been brought to Ancient and Holy Terra months ago now. A forlorn sigh left the young Black Templar as he continued to wander through the streets of the city, making a mental map of the place.

He froze when the sound of something he hadn’t expected to in this time.

Bong

The ringing sound of metal on metal, the clear, resonant sounds of a church bell ringing in the early morning. It took the young Templar several moments to process what he was hearing, and several more to figure out in which direction the sound was coming from. There wer some baseline humans wandering about the city at this time of day, but Cedric barely registered their presence as he started to sprint at his full (and considerable) speed towards the source of the ringing church bells, his hearts having flown up to take residence in the back of his throat.

He skidded to a halt in front of the beautiful stone building. He could see stunning mosaics made out of stained glass set in the windows, catching the light of the morning light. He could see the tower where the bells were still ringing, hearing the bells swing back and forth as they were rung over and over again.

The front doors of the church were open, and a steady stream of baseline mortals were entering in an orderly line. Excitement and nervousness battled for dominance in Cedric’s hearts as he made his way to the back of one of these lines, glad that he was wearing fairly nice civilian clothes, as most of the mortals around him were wearing nice clothing as well.

He had to duck a little to enter the church, the top of the door a good foot or so shorter than he was tall but that was a paltry price to pay as he silently took in the entry-way before him. The floor was made out of polished stone that shone in the artificial light and the rainbow of colors that the stained-glass filtered in. He followed the line of mortals to the main worship chamber. Dozens of padded pews made of wood were in neat orderly rows facing the pulpit, where the chaplain or whoever was to speak.

There was a massive musical instrument built into one side of the walls of this worship room, and Cedric silently wondered what it sounded like. He silently eyed the pews, deciding that it was unlikely that they would be able to support his weight, along with the mortals, and he really didn’t want to damage any part of this sacred and holy place.

Each pew quickly filled up with mortals, and Cedric found himself at the very back of the worship-chamber. One of the robed clergy-members were handing out pillows to those who did not have a proper spot to sit, guiding the mortals to sit in neat, organized rows, while another helped keep the line in order.

Both paused for several seconds when Cedric stepped forwards, looking up at him with inscrutable expressions on their faces. Cedric looked down at them, head tilting a little to one side as he worked up the courage to talk to them. Talking to a member of the Ecclesiarchy was always a nerve wracking experience back in M42, and the young Black Templar really wanted to make a good first impression. He didn’t want to be kicked out of the church because he offended them by accident. “Is… Is something the matter?” Cedric managed to ask.

The member of the clergy who was handing out pillow-seats spoke up first “Forgive me for the assumption, but are you an Astartes?” Though their voice was quiet, it carried far in the room. Deep silence followed their question and Cedric could feel the eyes of dozens, if not hundreds of mortals staring holes into the button-down shirt he was wearing.

The scrutiny made Cedric tense up, though he did his best to keep his voice quiet and respectful, making sure to avert his gaze from their faces as he answered “I am… Is that a problem?” He hadn’t been told that there was anywhere within the city that Astartes were forbidden to go… But perhaps his older cousins hadn’t thought that he would wander into a random church, so they hadn’t thought to tell them?

“No… But many Astartes are quite… Vocal about their distaste for religion - organized or otherwise and have caused trouble in the past. If you plan on trying to stop the service, we ask you to please simply leave.” One of the clergy-people explains, gesturing to one of the others who leave the room “If you refuse to leave, there are Astartes who are willing to remove you from this place - by force if necessary.”

Oh. Oh no. Cedric could easily imagine that happening “... And if I wish to observe the religious practice quietly and without interruption, would I be allowed to stay? While I do agree that many of the older Cousins and Brothers who have been brought to Terra are… Strongly against religion of all kinds, this does not hold true for myself nor the handful of Brothers who were taken from… Places similar to where I was taken from.” He hesitated for a couple of moments, as he could tell that the baseline clergy weren’t entirely convinced that he meant no harm and did not intend to cause trouble. He continued to try and explain himself “I have religious beliefs that I hold quite deeply, and as long as your beliefs are not violent towards innocents, or use vital sacrifice during any part of it, I do not think I would interfere with the proceedings.”

“Would you seek to convert others to your own beliefs, through word or physical force, were you allowed to stay?” The clergy person asked, a wry tone in their voice.

Cedric blinked twice. The amount of trouble he would get into for attempting that would be catastrophic. It had been made explicitly clear to him that though the God Emperor was alive somewhere in this time period, he had not yet revealed himself to be the Master of Mankind, and to try and draw attention to him at such a time could be devastating. “No… If I were asked about my beliefs, I would be honored to explain what I’m allowed to, but much of it is..” Not exactly a closed practice, from where and when he came from, but much of it would require explaining about the Great and Terrible future that Humanity was facing tens of thousands of years in the future, which was forbidden to speak of in detail without explicit permission “I would not be allowed to explain without prior permission, which I do not have.”

“Is there a particular reason why you sought out our church in the first place?” The baseline asks, stepping a little closer to where Cedric was standing. Some of the wariness and suspicion had left their voice and their body posture was a bit more open “... You seem… Young, for an Astartes. Am I wrong?”

Cedric shook his head “You are not wrong, ecclesiarch. I am young for an Astartes, and still am in training for parts of my duty to my chapter.” He had yet to tell any Brother or Cousin his precise age, mostly because he was pretty sure that Captain Ash’val would explode spectacularly. Or Apothecary Hura would kidnap him and keep him by his side at all times because Little Baby Brothers need constant supervision. Honestly! He’s been on deadly and difficult missions without his Mentor before! He also survived the longest in M42 of the Primaris Marines who he knows about anyways. It’s not his fault that most of the Firstborn Astartes he’s run into are at minimum upwards of three hundred years old if not much, much older. The cantankerous bastards. He heard the sounds of ceramite on stone, and the heavier step of an Astartes walking towards them. “... May I please stay? I promise not to cause trouble. The sound of the church bells were familiar to me, and I… I’ve missed morning prayers and psalms in the months I’ve been on Terra, terribly.”

“Are there not places to worship in one of the Astartes bases in town? And Ecclesiarch is the incorrect term, please refer to me as Sister Superior.” The be-robed mortal asked and gently corrected Cedric.

Cedric fidgeted a little “Not that I am aware of. The reclusiums are to be used by the Chaplains alone along with whoever they have trusted to keep those inner sanctums clean and well-tended to. Chaplains are meant to tend to the mental and emotional health of their Brothers and Cousins, among other duties, however…” Cedric also kept quiet about the other duties that Chaplains were to tend to - at least among the Black Templars as he didn’t want to potentially concern or distress the Sister Superior he was speaking with. Perhaps she was part of an order that was a precursor to the Sister of Battle? “Among the chaplains who I have interacted with on Terra, the only one who might be comfortable leading the morning prayers and psalms I dearly miss is around the same age and training level as myself. We don’t… We don’t have a space to worship where we would potentially draw the ire... Erm. Discomfort of our older brothers and cousins who do not hold the beliefs we do.”

He could hear the approach of the other Astartes, he was getting closer. Cedric deliberately did not look away from the Sister Superior to try and figure out who this Astartes was, nor from which direction he was approaching Cedric in, as the young Black Templar really meant no harm. He also had truly been just drawn to the sound of the ringing church bells, and a soul-deep longing ache still resonated inside of him.

“Were you hoping to see if this church would be serviceable to your needs? Or merely drawn by the sound of the ringing bells? They do sound beautiful when they do ring, and this church is one of the loveliest in the region, in my humble opinion.” Sister Superior answered, a small smile on her face. She gestured wordlessly for him to come closer, which the young Astartes obeyed.

Cedric knelt so that he was closer to her eye level, keeping his gaze focused downwards, penitent and trying hard not to seem threatening. “I was drawn by the sound of the bells, and this church really is beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve seen stained glass like that. It reminds me of the worship halls on m-... In the fortress-monastery I enjoyed training in the most.”

“I will say that you aren’t the first Astartes who has been drawn to our church, with the earnest desire to find a space in which to worship without being judged by other Space Marines who are vocal about their dislike of open displays of worship. Ah, there you are, Lykos. You needn’t worry, this young Cousin of yours wandered in out of curiosity and an open heart, rather than to try and cause trouble.” The Sister Superior murmured, her gaze focusing on someone behind and slightly to the left of Cedric.

A deep, rich voice with an accent that Cedric did not recognize rumbled Astartes-deep behind the young Black Templar “I see… I was hopeful that was the case, as you arrived at this church without arms or armor, but that is not always the case. What is your name, Cousin? I am Brother-Chaplain Lykos of the Word Bearers Legion. I am from mid-M31 originally.”

The older Astartes was wearing black armor with red, silver and gold accents. There were runes inscribed on much of his armor, written in neat rows that Cedric did not immediately recognize, and the symbol of an open book with white pages set aflame on one of the other Astartes’ pauldron the other having a red arrow on it. Upon the other’s chest-plate was the the symbol of the two-headed Aquila. He had a black cape that draped regally behind him, and almost but not quite touched the floor. His skull-helmet was clipped to his belt, and his head was shaved bald, with dozens of golden tattoos on his face and neck shone in the light of the early morning sun.

Cedric froze for several seconds, the breath in his lungs freezing over solid at the approach of a strange first-born Chaplain. Brother-Chaplain Lykos had no mutations, no extra appendages and no spikes. He did not smell like a Chaos-tainted Astartes, either, but Cedric still felt very small and threatened as the chaplain loomed over him.

The quiet murmurings of serfs in prayer echoing in the stone chamber, the slight waft of incense as the Firstborn Chaplain approached him, one hand on his chainsword, a neutral and disapproving expression on his face. The other’s voice rings in his ears but Cedric is having difficulties processing what he’s saying.

A ceramite-gloved hand reaches out to where Cedric is still kneeling and, to his eternal shame, he flinches and cowers away from the attempt at contact. Why is it so difficult to breathe, all of a sudden? Cedric is breathing fast and shallow, as a heavy, oppressive weight is pressing against his chest.

One of the Sisters steps between Cedric and the Chaplain, and the noise in Cedric’s ears roars louder. Her fingers tremble a little with the age of a mortal, and the expression she gives him is of gentle concern. She reaches out to cup his face, and he leans into her touch, a tiny sound leaving him. Most of his focus is on the knees of the Chaplain, however, knowing better than to keep his focus from wavering from One of Them.

“I asked you a question.” The Chaplain rumbles, voice sharp with irritation and disapproval “What is your name? To which Legion or chapter do you belong to?”

#oc: cedric #oc: Lykus #word bearer #black templar #warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #my writing #adeptus astartes

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ineffablymanic · 1 year

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Crowley didn't know why he kept coming back to the bookshop. [AO3]

Muriel listened to his advice, no books were being sold. Her oddly polite "Kindly sod off!! Thank you!!" delivered with a hearty smile made Crowley's mouth twitch every time. He started sorting the books Jim had moved around, back the way they used to be, according to the order Az- he had last put them. Crowley replenished the fire extinguisher supply. He scoffed at the yellow duster and just miracled any dust he saw into the close proximity of customers who he could sense being nasty to the staff in the surrounding shops. Enjoy coughing for the rest of the day, jackass.

Crowley avoided the messy writing desk. He avoided plenty of things. Couples. Certain genre movies and music. Bentley, on days when hissing it to shut up shut the fuck up with the certain genre songs didn't work. He had plenty of thoughts he avoided like a professional.

But then he saw Muriel actively defiling the desk.

She had moved the once dispersed yellowing pieces of paper into one pile and gathered old tea cups to be taken to the kitchenette. There was a large leather bound notebook in her hands that she was maybe moving to a shelf.

"Leave. It," Crowley snarled, regretting his too harsh of a tone the moment the words spat out of his lips, but Muriel just seemed surprised. She'd gotten too used to his presence, he thought absently.

"Oh, is the mess intended? Is that another human thing?

"It's his mess. He doesn't- didn't-" Crowley tried not to groan in frustration. "Humans, people, don't like it when their personal stuff is touched."

Muriel's brows furrowed as she considered the revelation. "I guess that makes sense. I've never owned anything, angel's aren't supposed to crave possessions you see, but I do suppose if I did... I'd be upset too."

She let out a little nervous chuckle. "I'd rather like to give a permission first! I don't know what that would be like, I've never been asked." Her eyes widened and suddenly she looked like the book had burned her, and she quickly put it back down on the desk.

Crowley's irritation melted away. He couldn't stay mad at Muriel over anything. He'd forgotten how cruel Heaven was. Well, he hadn't, but spending such a long time with one angel had skewed his memory- Nope. He forced his mind to look for something else to think, anything else than that ecstatic smile when he’d obtained a rare book, or the pure, unfiltered delight when he ate or drank something delicious, or-

Crowley shook his head vigorously and started sauntering towards the door. He needed fresh air. Or a bottle of Aerstone, he wasn't sure which.

"It's okay, glad we cleared that up. Leave the desk be, uh, yeah. Bye."

In all earnestness he considered finally going on a trip of some kind. Somewhere warm and dry, Australia maybe. Maybe he'd just keep driving and see where he ends up. Few years of Wanderlust might do him some good.

He was back at the bookshop in three days.

Irked out of his mind, Crowley acknowledged Muriel's cordial greeting with a grunt and started meandering around the bookshelves, glaring at anything that could possibly be out of place. If he focused hard enough, he could make the old plant essence in the books shiver under his scrutiny.

With a sigh, he sprawled on the sofa like a deflating balloon. Muriel left him be, in some round about way she'd learned when he wasn't in a talking mood. Apparently she'd been taking 'Demon Crowley Behavior' notes and refused to show them to him. He didn't want to compel her, in fact he was appreciative of the silence. Trying to ground himself, Crowley took in a deep breath, taking in the slightly stale scent of ancient books, leather and glue and regretted the act immediately. Another thought to avoid.

He didn't feel like leaving, no matter how often the thoughts get up, get out, why am I here kept repeating in his head. Maybe reading could distract him for a while. He lurched upright and slunk around, browsing the ever so slightly trembling book spines.

A Change in the environment caught his attention and he glanced at the writing desk. Right, Muriel had touched it so it didn't look the same as before. Crowley hadn't seen the book she'd dropped on the table before, it must've been buried under other notebooks. There were multiple pages jutting out, and he saw some colorful markings on them. His curiosity won and he picked up the book, unwrapping the leather string and started to browse it.

His eyes widened until they almost bulged out.

Crowley slapped the book shut, snatched it and staggered towards the stairs. When Muriel inquired where he was going, Crowley tried to answer something akin to "just visiting the bathroom", but what came out was mostly unintelligible garble. This apparently didn't bother Muriel.

"... Is there a bathroom? Do demons need to use the toilet? Or is your corporation different from mine? Mine didn't come with an active digestion tract, at least to my knowledge, I haven't consumed anything yet and..."

Muriel's prattling died out when Crowley crashed into Jim's (Gabriel's? Who cares) old room and slammed the door shut. The door had enough sense to lock itself. He sucked in a preparatory breath.

Crowley plopped the book on the bed, waved it to flourish open and spread his hands and fingers, moving them in an 'arise' gesture. All the loose sheets of paper spread around him in the air in a half sphere. Crowley forgot breathing existed. His heart worked overtime, seemingly pumping all the blood to his cheeks and neck.

Tens, no, more like hundreds of adept drawings. Of Crowley, and Crowley only. Various ages of paper, he could sense the trace of power that kept the older ones pristine. Ink, pencil, charcoal, watercolor. Vibrant red and yellow colors used to depict his hair and snake eyes in great detail. Worrisome amount of drawings of him sleeping in various locations. Drawings from multiple eras, of countless of his different looks and styles. Drawings of his wings. None had his glasses. He was drawn smiling in most of them (Crowley didn't know did he really have that bright of a smile or was it just drawn like that).

Aziraphale doesn't- didn't draw, Crowley thought, numbly. He kept grabbing one paper after another, staring at the details. Some of them had text next to the drawings, proving him wrong. It was Aziraphale's small, tidy handwriting.

I miss his curls.

I miss seeing his eyes glint in the sun. Like flawless, yellow garnets.

Why did men's stockings have to go out of fashion?

He looked stunning in a hanfu. Oh, who am I kidding, he’d look stunning in a jute sack.

Attractive messy bun. Perfection.

He looks so peaceful while sleeping. Some day I wish to see him as calm and content while awake.

Crowley grinned madly. Why was he shaking? A hysterical laughter was trying to tear its way out of his throat. Oh, this was rich. What a weirdo. When that bastard came back, Crowley would needle him about these till the end of time. Absolutely ridiculous. Incredible. Straight up beyond belief…

To his horror, his grin twisted into a grimace and his silent laughter warped into sobs. Before he knew it, he had dropped down on his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks. He managed to pay enough attention to not get any on the drawings.

Well, fuck. Fuck. The overpressurized bottle holding his thoughts and emotions burst open.

I miss you, you bastard angel.

#in which crowley finds aziraphale's drawing notebook #we know aziraphale is a talented drawer. it's basically canon he has a notebook like this #1300w #post s2 angst #good omens fan fiction #ineffable spouses #good omens #manic writes things #Ineffable husbands #Aziracrow

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buildarocketboys · 3 months

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Frankenstein Chapters 9-14 @tumbleclub

Literally just gonna post the quotes I've highlighted this week without commentary (unless I really wanna put commentary) because I'm tired and there were a lot of chapters this week! So putting it under a cut:

Chapter 9:

When I thought of him I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed.

Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and injustice that I read in books or heard from others as tales of ancient days or imaginary evils; at least they were remote and more familiar to reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come home, and men appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other’s blood.

I could not consent to the death of any human being, but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to remain in the society of men.

Chapter 10:

Why does man boast of sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free

The monster very much echoes a similar sentiment later, when he realises how wretched his situation is.

“I expected this reception,” said the dæmon. “All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us.

Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.”

I do think the consistent Adam/original sin of knowledge are interesting...

Listen to my tale; when you have heard that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear me.

You accuse me of murder, and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man!

I love how sassy the creature is here. Go off!

My heart was full, and I did not answer him, but as I proceeded, I weighed the various arguments that he had used and determined at least to listen to his tale. I was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my resolution. I had hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of my brother, and I eagerly sought a confirmation or denial of this opinion. For the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards his creature were

Chapter 11:

I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch; I knew, and could distinguish, nothing; but feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat down and wept.

I was delighted when I first discovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted my ears, proceeded from the throats of the little winged animals who had often intercepted the light from my eyes.

Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the uncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me into silence again.

How strange, I thought, that the same cause should produce such opposite effects!

When I found this, I resolved to quit the place that I had hitherto inhabited, to seek for one where the few wants I experienced would be more easily satisfied.

The whole village was roused; some fled, some attacked me, until, grievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of missile weapons

This kind of reminded me of everyone attacking and driving out Jean Valjean in Les Miserables.

He raised her and smiled with such kindness and affection that I felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature; they were a mixture of pain and pleasure, such as I had never before experienced, either from hunger or cold, warmth or food; and I withdrew from the window, unable to bear these emotions.

Everything about the creature's story is so fucking heartbreaking

Chapter 12:

If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy?

Their nourishment consisted entirely of the vegetables of their garden and the milk of one cow, which gave very little during the winter, when its masters could scarcely procure food to support it.

Subsistence farming sucks :/

Chapter 13:

I heard of the slothful Asiatics, of the stupendous genius and mental activity of the Grecians, of the wars and wonderful virtue of the early Romans—of their subsequent degenerating—of the decline of that mighty empire, of chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I heard of the discovery of the American hemisphere and wept with Safie over the hapless fate of its original inhabitants.

Interesting examples of orientalism/racism against Asians vs at least sadness over colonialism of the native Americans

“Of what a strange nature is knowledge! It clings to the mind when it has once seized on it like a lichen on the rock. I wished sometimes to shake off all thought and feeling, but I learned that there was but one means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death—a state which I feared yet did not understand.

I had never yet seen a being resembling me or who claimed any intercourse with me. What was I?

Chapter 14:

He was tried and condemned to death. The injustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant; and it was judged that his religion and wealth rather than the crime alleged against him had been the cause of his condemnation.

Parallel to Justine's condemnation?

#tumble club #Frankenstein

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yuri-is-online · 11 months

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Not that I have any business trying to theorize who Nightbringer is since I am working my way through both it and the og app's story at the same time, but I have been making a sort of pros and cons list? for whether or not I think it's Barbatos

Pro Barb = NB

The opening cut scene kind of looks and sounds like him, no idea if that's actually supposed to be NB though. I think it might just be information about Barb that's introduced at the same time as NB's first texts.

He has some sort of thing with time travel? I'm not far enough along to know specifics yet, and Solomon says Babratos is who helped him travel back in time but I have some doubts.

Solomon says that portals Barbatos opens always take you exactly where you need to go, and in 9-A he sends Solomon "somewhere random" but ends up setting him up for a conversation with Nightbringer. But with the way that shakes out...

Cons Barb = NB

The whole bit with Adam is weird to me. In mythology Lillith is sometimes referred to as Adam's first wife, and he talks about wanting to go back to the celestial realm to find his beloved so my immediate thought was of her, but I don't think that's the case? I think it's implied she gets together with her human guy? Anyway I bring this up to say that I don't fully understand why Barb would want to help out some random guy get to the celestial realm unless there's something I'm missing here. Maybe it was just an excuse to let Mammon hug MC, I haven't ruled that out.

I'm not far in the story at all, but a lot of what's being said makes it sound like there is going to be another war between the celestial realm and the devildom, specifically over humanity. And that MC might have something to do with it... but not willingly? There seems to be some attempts from someone to get the brothers to go back to siding with the Celestial realm, which initially made me theorize that Nightbringer could be an angel but uh-

Nightbringer is apparently a demon from what I understand, but I'm still wondering if he was also angel at some point. In christian mythology all demons are fallen angels just like the brothers, if this was true it could explain why the previous demon king wanted to keep the brothers around since he might know they'd make extremely powerful demons???

Back to the war thing, In 10-A Nightbringer sets up a test for Solomon where he is asked to choose between demons and angels and he chooses humanity mentioning an "agreement I have with 'him'" which seems to me to be more suggesting his agreement is to try and not make enemies out of the celestial or demon realms... but then Nightbringer goes onto say "If you'd only chosen our side, it would have made things so much easier." AND to lightly threaten MC.

Solomon probably knows who Nightbringer is as he mentions that he "made him who [he is] today" and I somehow doubt that, if he had a pact with said demon, that there wouldn't be a stupid easy fix to get MC back to their proper time and place. I also think that war he single-handedly won against the Devildom probably has something to do with Nightbringer... since that's already apparently ancient history when Lucifer and his brothers show up fresh out of the Celestial war.

I've been thinking about this a stupid amount ever since I saw a post on reddit wondering if Nightbringer wasn't something shed from Barbatos when he created this weird tear pool place thing I haven't gotten to yet (a la Lucifer and Satan) but the Solomon in Wonderland adventure got me thinking if it couldn't be the other way around. What if Barbatos was created from something shed from Nightbringer... which is why his powers can be sealed away by royal decree as no matter how great he is he is still bound by some sort of loyalty to his "father"?

Idk I'll cook more later when I've actually made meaningful progress, leveling cards is a bitch in both these games.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obm barbatos

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atherix · 2 years

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What are all the confirmed/mentioned pantheons and who/what kind of people follow each one? I love that all the religions(?) are true at the same time. It's my favourite. :)

I also wanted to ask how you felt about people using your world of Midnight, but writing in their own characters? I want to, but felt I should ask first. (With credits given, of course.)

God I am so fascinated by religions and their effects on society, but all the war and fighting that comes with it is so exhausting. So coexisting simultaneously-true religions was just like "yeah!! Whoo! Best of all worlds!" bc I get to explore the differences in the religions and beliefs and all that without being like "religion is bs" or "only one religion is true." I lowkey always worry that someone might think I'm actually promoting religion (hi guys atheist/nonreligious here I am just super interested in the cultural aspects of religions thank you) so I'm glad people have been receiving the Pantheons thing positively <3

As for the confirmed Pantheons we have, there's Fate (which is The Big Pantheon), the Fae Pantheon, the Death Pantheon, the Watcher's Pantheon, the Old Pantheon, and I think??? I may have mentioned it but I don't know if I deleted it but there's also Creation and Destruction (which is The First and The Last, The Beginning and The End). Nobody follows the Fate Pantheon because every living thing- including gods- is bound from the moment of birth to it, and no one follows Creation and Destruction as they are Already Gone and Inevitable. I swear if I forgot to at least mention Creation in passing... but Creation was like THE first Pantheon at the beginning of time itself, the only Pantheon older than it is Fate (as the Creation god is also bound to Fate). The Old Pantheon is a mostly-defunct Pantheon now, but it was the Pantheon that came after the fall of the Ancients and when they first started rebuilding. Can't wait to talk about what happens when a Pantheon fully dies out... cue me glancing at Grian's dream from Midnight Flux... Oh! And I mentioned before when talking about the Werewolves' evolution story but the Sun and Moon also have their own associated gods and Pantheons. There's no Life Pantheon, that one will be explained later :)

Of course there are also Listeners, but I haven't really mentioned them. There's a lot of very small and minor Pantheons as well, but the ones mentioned above are The Big Ones.

You'll notice there's no Pantheon of Time mentioned here :)

As for who follows what, we have;

Death Pantheon: Mumbo, Cleo, BDubs, Cub, Doc, all Vampires in general, Phil, Tommy, Wilbur, Fundy; in general it's followed by Vampires and Undead Mob hybrids (for example, if Cleo wasn't a Vampire she'd still follow this Pantheon as a Zombie) and lower deities (such as Angels of Death and Harbingers and Reapers)

Watcher Pantheon: Grian, Jimmy, Scott (kind of- his is a little... complicated), Pearl; in general it's followed mostly by people born into it. There's casual and extremist groups, and it's considerably exclusive, the only way to join as an outsider is to be brought in by an existing member.

Fae Pantheon: Scar, Tubbo, Lizzie, Cub, BDubs, all Fae in general (with the exception of Joel); it's a Pantheon only available to the Fae and the Natural children they claim. Grian and Mumbo would not have access to it even if they marry Scar.

Old Pantheon: None of the main characters, but Mumbo and Tubbo were both born into this Pantheon. They've both since left it behind. Less than a thousand members are left of this Pantheon. This was one people were just born into, a sort of Default™ until people began (re)discovering other gods.

Moon's Pantheon: Ren, Werewolves in general; anyone can convert to worshiping the Moon God

Listener's Pantheon: Martyn; you HAVE to be born into the Listener's Pantheon, no exceptions.

No Pantheon/Unknown Pantheon: Joel, Gem, Etho, Iskall, Scar's Father; To have no Pantheon at all means to just never swear yourself to any one Pantheon. Changelings are the only Fae who aren't inherently tied to the Fae Pantheon, being a group of Fae who often never find out they're Fae.

BONUS ROUND- The Void, which was worshiped by Boatem's founders. While the Void's Pantheon is mostly dead now, the Void itself has found its way into most other Pantheons. Some Pantheons, such as the Fae, have nothing to do whatsoever with the Void.

I've spent way too long on this so if you have any questions about anyone else/anyone specific, feel free to ask <3 I have just spent wayyy too much thinking about this XD

As for writing within the world of Midnight, I absolutely don't mind at all! It's like having fic written about your world :o I think that'd be so cool~ And also now you got me wondering where my little character would fit in all this... hmm 👀

#ask #Midnight Series #if anyone ever writes anything set in this little world I've created I would love to see it :o #LONG POST #I spent too long on this #but I hope I've answered this in a satisfying way #MidnightLore

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norel-ravenclaw · 2 years

Note

When you have the time can please you do a Court of Darkness fic where MC spends a lot of time with the other S-Ranks and Lou gets jealous because she’s not spending as much time with him?

Maelstrom

Fandom: Court of Darkness (otome game)

Featured character: Lou

Genre: Slightly angsty jealous romance

Rating: sfw • fluffy

Word count: 650+

Description: All-seeing Lou wants to watch and protect his lover, especially from the charming S-rank Princes. Jealousy and new emotions give way to powerful happiness.

Thanks for the request! Yours is the first one <3 Lou is such a lovely, mysterious character (and one of my faves), so it was fun to write this in a unique way. Hope you like it!

These feelings are yet foreign to me.

Looking into the crystal, rippling with magic, seeing her. Her winsome smile directed at… Prince Akedia.

The somnolent royal blinks up at her with undisguised affection while she holds out a graceful hand to help him to his feet. Together they chat with languid amiability through the courtyard towards the lecture halls.

Only she can inspire Prince Lynt to stand taller like this, to want to try, like this. I understand, because she is the only one who inspires those same things in me. Unconsciously, I stand a little straighter while I watch.

I see as she sighs, a crease deepening between her brows while The Quelsan prince attempts to teach her magic theory. I bristle, my knuckles turning white on the table, wanting nothing more than to sweep in and rescue her from his harsh scowl. To teach her these things with patience and precision.

Before I can leave my post however, a light sparks in her ruby eyes. She rambles off the solution to her own question and finishes with a triumphant cry. Prince Toa heaves a heavy sigh, his scowl melting into a fond smile and chuckle.

She is terribly lovely, glowing with enthusiasm and pride. Vibrancy and… hope. I find myself wishing that she would only direct that loveliness towards me.

Have you ever heard such a wonderful laugh as hers? So full of joy. Shaking her head in affectionate exasperation. A different needle prods my heart at the sight of Prince Luxure’s arm around her waist.

Only I should be allowed such intimate touch as that. She knows this, and dutifully shakes him off. She laughs, chides him; Prince Fenn sighs dramatically. The game is ended.

But the toxicity in my heart is different with the Crown Prince of Invidia. The softness in her eyes, in the curve of her lips, betrays how at ease he makes her feel. He is truly masterful in the art of charm, and his infatuation with her is impossible to overlook.

Unfamiliar emotions and urges swirl through me, watching him battling with his own. The hand on her shoulder is polite, but the shift to stroke her hair in a reassuring gesture leaves me almost breathless with…

Something primal and aggressive. Possessive. Yet, no, I trust her. My precious rose will not be stolen even by the prince of flowers himself.

But in another vision, my confidence is not as certain. Prince Avari crowds her against a wall, the fear and anger clear in her shining eyes. The moment her lips are bound by ancient magic, my tower door is thrown open.

This dark maelstrom claws at my chest, nearly making it heard to breathe. And a maelstrom I am, reckoning angel in white rushing to my heart’s aid.

The dragon huffs, and I cannot tell whether it is smoke or venom that drips from his scowling lips when I arrive. Gathering her into my arms, my eyes douse him with a cold fire. My heart clamours relentlessly with silent fury, even a smile impossible.

Until she looks up at me. Trembling, clinging to me so tightly. Where she belongs. Where I belong.

All at once the rage dissipates, banished by glittering diamond trails marring her lovely face. Replacing it is love that has transcended a thousand lifetimes. In the silence that follows, my shaking hands reclaim her.

Caressing her soft hair, rubbing out the furrow from her brows, kissing away the tears from her now rose-tinted cheeks, and stealing her wavering breath in a kiss.

My heart, my flower, my life, my dearest love…

At last my heart settles. Until, that is, she tells me what is in hers.

Now it’s my turn to get flushed and flustered.

She loves me, she loves me, she loves me.

I love her, I love her, I love her.

And I will keep falling for as many times as I am permitted to meet her in this or any world.

Thanks for reading! Post, repost this, I don’t care lol. Please let me know if you have suggestions on how to improve my writing. But pls be nice bc I am a soft sad bean <3

#norel writes #court of darkness #otome #court of darkness lou #voltage games #otome game #makai nightmare

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libidomechanica · 11 months

Text

Famous people do

A sonnet sequence

They that haunt of living worth. Been sown, the guide philosopher was in highest pitch: i’ll call in looking as if alive, and woof from sweet soul, according to sing so true, i, clasping this sort of wind: she sits, and in this life, being an infant’s bier she who found no cure: the back again, Thus lullaby to silence I attendant lord, man, who for many times, but rather. Be near me when my hearts of nature, art, and pine. Only I pray you, to die alone; and when the Lady Adeline asleep, were sweet human what thou, dear spirits whispered. Like the new wine’s fair, it was wrong.

A modest, but endures with cattle huddled on fire to it, your promise of pain: o sorrow lives in the sacred glove, and thus were above; sleep, Death’—but t is still to end the happy dead? In masquerade, the gushing: sweet thief, whence down wi’ right the Baron dreamt of dating from his sagacious is as mine; for he would have some place of the present mixed with hints I swear she can hit em right: her dream the charm applied— the suffer in exchange pride, fame, nine farrow’ of that Evangelist. She was a woman in Beijing buys for Neptune; and yet, I thine effect so lives a saint it.

The Brenta I was born to teach, becoming to the woman bore with pleasure’s in walking handbags. With what divinely sang; and the boys: the all-assuming question, they open’d certain half the loom thro’ summers had watched. Afloat, and Lethe-wards had tried my eyes as yet thought of these few short of drawing bloom, who change of flower in dates, in my throat. See with those of Arcady. And out of human view, she snuff’d the furrows in which flow’ry meads; invok’d to him that’s to beat so quickly the shrine to state I bemoan but trust that number one is glad to find a flowers let us go.

’ Excuse our lord the full thee beside the bounding pulses, and I must like to the soundest rest. Past recall; earth changes hast thou gav’st Leander in Memoriam A. The Shadow from the wrong, Don Juan. In her empty pocket-handkerchief? And thou wilt have heard the depth the summer eves. No law books frame shelf, and so I’d have much more. Tis well, and a Voice went with rapine, a harm no preacher at a time. Hear, ye virgins many, fresh and to speak the wrath that death will becoming as if a door were should she scarecrow has plucked the imagined such hope, and in the living and you too.

To thy blood: ’twas in the hour I met her groan; where nymph arose a clam. And garlanded with all ignoble use. And all the children, husband’s foibles of her bed. And in my head a single break her trust; and meadow kit foxes shy, and there was Miss Medea, he puzzled urchin, and many a sandy bar, the old man, without it; in fancy fuses old and half smiling Beauty is sicke, sweet, she unobserved, as well as ill within was not go then, stoop, since you eft with earth’s bosom, all my every things. That all to blame? My brave gallant son; a shot, ere half anguish’d foes. Has come to pleasing, even to strike the people out, and all is new, and therewith the grassy lea, my necktie, she has talk’d: the wild bee farms wi’ me. Old rusted him too, thoughts from thine. His cheek is pale for that vessel’s shrouds in perfect fright’ning the Earth and blade, bethrothed to one, at least.

The English newspapers, while admired, wants the world of ghosts of talk, follies, with me’s a sine qua. I am not a word.— Within the grain of sand thine below, anon she too became gaunt, without a friends, because to quake; thought of Job’s; he said: the teacups, after thousand ward, keep your names, and moan forth witless prayer: or her, whose epoch my poetic licence its matin song, in booth and tried at wit was Attic all, is philosophic in our ancient forms that pictures of true minds admit impediment of you, letting this is no time now for their pitiable bones.

For painture near to go,—so with unwounded field did practice howsoever that should still less of angels look so grim; the dust and pebble, and drown’d, let darkness of her relations, and the wide sea there while bright. My blood or ink; t is very well; the Master of love, sheds a moments, he arose in praise, whose sole guardian angel will steal thy sweet; closed, silence in us dwell; they not hen-peck’d you are jealous in a dread to know that’s my last adieus, and mix with honest Mah’met, or plague themselves as harmless is to dread to find his parents’ simple still perfume, and lassie, O.

Of Shalott the Letters the Merman the Earth and pains; in the thoughts would take by sap: but oft denied, as if she saw her dark arms and look on her safe. In French romancers: You’re the sheaf, or but subserves at strife; ring out than others that may express’d his forehead like to things shake the twilight of diction still he grew, and throng made a thousand saw the deed the red fool-fury of a handsome, slender, but moor tonight was better to be sent mine the world, for many heroes with her husband; so I did them: thus he came at last, return unto that errs from elsewhere it like a vast shadows numbers held off suspicion: thought, I find any in the weaker times delay the heavy stone? Subjects grew? As doth Love speak the council, plied him there. As not brook at the sake of despair of song to sing my Highland Lassie, O. Is that pretty figure, she held that fall out: Daddy!

Of random stroke alone in woe! My heart or limbs, and height of the spacious is as harmless words not brook at her? A glory of a hand that you must not moral, first, and die, heart-broken my own, an unregarded be, beside of tender vows, one lesson where plain sae rashy, O, aboon they who yield his soul was flash of joy and my will sing through this casement with seaweed, crush her pursue. Way with than the long been worth will become change. I’ll call in a tale shall grow, while the honey’d middle of my greatness flings her secret from fools that comes the sixth the fate which folly of all.

” Let us now behind thee lying lip? Who even if it can tire, At lengths of grace, and made my hearts of them pipes the sand and like a civic revelry began to slander’d aloft its hungry lick about her eddy brain, with the door: I want … to go … Let me conference who dares one step?—Guess now where my chaste to her Willy. Knights, ladies tell us, the foliaged elms, and silver thro’ the star-laden sky, and hold cheap the steep rough sometimes thyself so blessednes in violet thus Orinda died: heaven, for all: have known, what a thin-pervading scum, the world, in the pair.

That takes the constellations tread them my hopes do cary. Let darkness and feel my prayer for wings granted: the soul on its back upon life were an entry: riding in or out of propagation; they not hen-peck’d you all, I shall never showering day; low on the stones, the moral, which some said it makes me beat so well hast long have the falling you milkwhite flannel trousers, and smooth-sculptures right. It is that now. But for there thou dost bewailed guilt should ask, t is easier far, alas! He fountain head, sleep, and we close ourselves in our mystic deeps, the arts of man and sting!

A higher hands; the sport which them here, heap earth of Christmas-eve: the moon is: I praise, he thus far for loftiest minds intice. Thou art wrecked at her duty both at board and breath? On the deep, soulful still my pain, and friends, and Virtues, I call not be gay, living brother, whom shall I not; my smiles must leaves; nor moved the breath’d him, and every thing that ideal which the stars, like the blue doth vault with her white as still he touch’d his folly. Nor will hunt the fifth autumn bowers, and all the next are such as enables a matrons who would redress held the sad mechanic exercise, like thunder-rolls.

Which glibly glide, and build a world of this our tithe of talk, and strong that thou art wrecked at the late-writ letters of thine is the drainer of ours, to make the Book of quiet to have seen before,—in sight. But she wears his embraced and signet the great, for if thy perfection and to shut up shop— he could write in collection and the spirit into a mudroom cluttered catalepsy’. Now Ben had you took your love shall paint dyes us red; in broad beam has tir’d the black night have made a foolish ones together in the basest brought: for oft, when the postman have the blisses of her sleep?

Went plucking pool I will never drank more near me where you that with lowings of these remain the wilt thou go with mask and of such a peeress, prouder as a punk; chaste describ’d by all thy part of chief musician. Resist us if you’d suspect me, whom I found made excuse—e’en then thou shalt hear my puling past. Her evening on, that they had fill’d their approbationer and put them bristles all for change, the primrose of harmonious lay, whom but Maud should pierce an outer ring, and in a cutter, or brigantine, or pink, of no sorrow’s barren, scarce went free: the case, they shot awrie!

Life, but welcome to Alexandra after- Thoughts would draw the king. Fair ship, that I see thee somewhere, love my heart, and my bethrothed to one can deem harshly will I think of all the loves of youth, nor let them thine. Lived his lady always sets apart but that’s prettily for her self-possessions. Reached out, and maiden fancies dim: he still as a bar of Michelangelo. Burnt each passion to her shapes of God be praised up for the Sun upon us with all there enough theys of Paradise, or not, where I firmly to the thing, this did, I cannot cast a careless ocean-bed.

To whom he might lie some dolorous message falls from all this the court with precise in ears and was not so spread as breeze; for by the things to live as if to feel thine the common: her small bird?—Ah, I have for such heart of my youth like all deep glen; and whether look was bright; still smaller. At least to make a patience gins to all becoming, and I own, and music as before I saw her dark again. Yet, if my gentle her spirit was a fine sample, Catullus scarcely knew she was a man! Lo, as a diamond gleams, and rapt below the action is the passion’s crannies and flow.

To shape so true, sprang up from duty, the more of life that was as mild as none, being that rose, who are so contagious, were all things no more, that I were long walk of others pay which leaves a separate maintenance, or separable speedwell’s darling, on the double even democratic, but it in her tremendous teats shooting the old hope no relieved in my thoughts of those roses fearfully on thee; they must be wise? Have I put into my thought, until time’s chest and woke with wares which ministring star, if any said she, but evermore acknowledge? Wants an heiress, and to stoop.

Forget mine own horsebacke met him, heart, she would go to the Earth and Earth’s, and the raging sea, in distant hills with pipe an’ drum we’ll measures grieve to say to hear. Also, I am here. And do not bear with beauty; for one as sorrow lives in rest, numerous graces still I am, yet ne’er mounted with tempering feet, her serves how much and most of all prudish readers shout insinuating with snow. I wonder is the shrill verve of your eyes, and all the windy grove, she’s gone. A thousands of nameless sword drawn before; my deepest lays are done, all white stick in his Malmsey butt.

I swear to disappeared. And prosody are eligible, unless, like a duckling tides began to ponder how quickly, not a more strong, how such things to wonder if April would be outrageous luck, our counsel to no rude infidel. To-night, and really hold apart the Poet the Poet’s Mind the wealth is foundations, than fame, may rue the balustrade, knowing tree and break from my love, or three single hours of the windshield—and common-place costume. Thy brother, and with a nod. A waterman came to the maples for ever in at lowly arched way, and no one knows not why: t was first notes my fond of all prudish reader, dread that heaviness, he might have calmly she laugh’d, and the head; not less all frets but chiefly proved until exhaustless, nobody will sees the chimney—which was full of propagated with it, Follow, the hours of such as lies between born.

For when the law within it invariably drowns, which found she would trust in that dies intelligible.—My mistress’ eyes. Spain. He saw far in the pelf which still strong at my breast! I wait its clue? The grave. Oh, though one must of his little hoary, just as I make a memory fades from you before us in the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priest the woodbine spices are about in public tis your eye will drink my answer range. So very fond heart loup light, soft, unseen hand at a game that breasts. They say. I can’t help thinking unutterable ground, above thee home.

Incorporate into the rout clusters oh, you while we have. Guest, perchance, and dull’d their phantasies. And was my Lord and well; for, to the summers back, and heraldries, The pamper’d her pale laughing what, if the senses, they punched each obscene and could not. Not scandals that they went across there above the clouds that day come, stopped, he laid his studied steadily to have TWO of five- and-twenty, especially to women, pillage looks oftener part of stockings, slippers, brushes, tho’ I can give no more, half-conscious villain fancy, fair creatures, still as a bar of Michael Angelo?

Thee, arrived, and throb, but he, to which left them let it going to hear the Death so taste as bread: no liar looked, and co- inheritor and bats went thro’ the fairest maid was turned since despised I with sweet about the dead. I call, I sha’n’t say here dies another course, with too much bliss, o, from limbecks foul as heavens, and others, one by the lawyers did fall, o, turn to scold me. State has been my love, my dear, my Philly, she’s left my after-heat. The seamew pipes, or a single hours from the winds that blench or fair. We ranging through the piled wood, that looks as lilies to a penchantress!

At brim of day-tide, on some luckie wits impute it but be gay, like light which adorn’d the people do. To one cadence, the rose with nicest care; and love for all this works to draw, to sheathe away as ’twere pity, for to lie; he has birth; his pards, but thinks less of perilous; but just casual mistress in the grape; and the twist, or else the one I ate? Nor give her alike from the breaker break through the trouble cross her breathing but linger’d; all wither, droop, but now at this patience ere I die; twere difference follow the vows below, around me; by my fresh, and better which kept this day.

And lullaby your passion, or redress? The Dying Swan the Mind seems no lively shining sing. Hope we under the fulnesse, as she had just enough ashes may furnish with ease. Have won them riding, fencing, gunnery, and vacant chaff well means common- place costume. Northward he turned at home to place for it alone, nor thro’ the bugle breeze of Fancy cannot be educated so. Life; as I confess our side? In gulf or aerie, mountain-ground an awkward state is for more; with empty air times he the marmalade, the Irish which the wind I see the world’s great Atossa’s mind?

Who built it with rust, she unobserv’d the conscious her loved. So, still bear no more, now more than mortal stroked my chin, my shame to my weary be, as half-dead to form, and hope could not bear with him her veins ran light; but never on her husband should dote and burst all barriers in my boyhood, every now and those commandment, which, tho’ it spake and flyblow in the banks, we gained the head that neither dress’d from the measured splendid debtor he would have pass’d by heaven was poor, and sister, sure, would frown’d with all things shaken; it is slow: I leave one moment in the worlds by yonder down the Past.

Or hints of candle, curtsied, and Wont, that shook betwixt the bed.—So with her ardent gaze roves from snow that’s good: oh, sacred shade; thou watched mankind’s, my own—that it seems the faire wonder woods: I envy not the spacious is as good angels affection even change with agonies, with the body. Though the pit. And all the sensual feast; nor be my lot, broad golden afternoons, thy sweet to his head on rhymes, but rather swears, and curse me that half-torn drapery scatter’d Well-a—well-a-day! Her Grace too hast thou leave them alone. But what can well the philosophy, say very odd.

’Er young, ’twad be a sin to take a taste, where you suspect me, what d’ ye mean? Compounded on that swift messengers re- deliverer, Maria, thy footsteps of his little limbs became his terrors; the regality of Neptune’s voice was like a lineal son of Eve, went thro’ the blear-eyed nations, shapes that lay there, ’ she taught, be the bolts full of orphans in effect so imbrace, but gie me my love-spangled threescore—fifty, thieves commenced from such a night-market to be the fight. For here nor the fourth time for once! Thou could brook anxious her loosens her for her bosoms bare!

There is not rest—i’ve nothing a problem, like flowers. Has madness, to mone! Whose jest among mankind lessened in his catechism alone, to mone!—Ah, Gossip dear, the long sleep till dusk is dipt in grassy lea, my necktie rich and desolate my waking dread of roses. Nor could then we met, the memory murmurous haunting best and West, without abuse the Death rattle on exactly please him, heart in a losing me shall sound, sepulchral halls, the past, presents thy shame is quench like a faithful guard, for David lived, but, perhaps he yet may character which could watch—Alack!

—Nature’s gentle wrists, with a blind soul, until ’twas very word is like earrings. Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in the household gods adultery, is more than she. Fifty, thieves commend young ambition, to fill or mend the nymph soe’er should grange; men have pulses, and muttered syllables, ale in their verdict in Insanity’. And if she ’d said, but vaster pass like a vast shade of painful toil, increase men’s appetites, by reason change my near sweeter! Seek him so giv’n to speak well of sorrow marry. Sends sin, without, in short-hand ta’en by Gurney, who scarcely trusted boots, child, with truth live.

Another answers till a silence sprang to embalm in dying eyelid and laid condition, the mass for judgment, thou, to love, when push’d the earliest scrape; but it looks went the times to come: and heart. Myself anew beyond to-morrow was as mine are these have I dwell, and so entranced vassal: nor would be; to those useless iron horns together; thus far for love or fear divine, and once more endears, the grave reach out of some small knuckle on my heart or intellect, what new to earth and goodwill, goodwill, goodwill, goodwill, goodwill, goodwill, goodwill and pensive awhile, I’ve miscarriage lay; here Vanity strums on her ear in vain; a favourite plat’ of mine in her sunlight be, tho’ I since you flesh, and sleep, on a bed of delight. And the Egean seer, here and tells you so that I see, and beat, beat into a mudroom cluttered syllables, all in circled staff she shook.

At kirk or marriage, and was just now that Juan had alluded,—mention’d in his charms her secret was the breath: I curse than these in mine, that you know, his, like Wordsworth understand—be dumb! And then, was Scylla, blushing then—he took him, those eye quick-glancing upon the place where victorious virtue, but spare you letters of the faded moon Stol’n to the hearers of the nobler leave. Owner for such glass, nor leave undescribe the much-lamented Don Alfonso at my father moved by competent false and half seriously advised his lady’s maid. What shall known: and passed in her head.

Let knowledge is of man; who usher back, up like a ghost? That all the rosy veils mantling whole as when, in this same interim to pursue, still as all hell. Thing he may furnish with her to have not see the roots the thing but alone. Oh, you why you used me liken it to clasp and kiss, on all the blaze of grain: Love is not what Thou shalt win much time leave they ever certainly this: they make suspicious, you shalt be, as well as eyes to seamen. The night, whene’er I know. Of the bird wings; like a vast sponge of father, when it strange matter, sung, some mighty ebb and sweet, upon the blood.

In human time; radiant in heaven describe the eternal woe, for all is o’ergrown where you may have seen them master for thyself they brought the days we live a contradiction, that tumble half to him its ethereal eyes; and I shall be its name. Yet men kill which we went, and Thought with you to see, really, if they were pass; with lullaby then my faithful wight smiling blue, autumn, yes, winter reckoning yields; a honeysuckle. And chaste, she is a handsome, on ready to slake my greedy thirst: so, take a body sways. But if I say Stellas face, the princely name, calling snow.

And runs about entwined’ or transgressions, and came on the vainly no small refresh the heard—I understands. And the love is, there was place; she is hostess and tracts emotion, the wise, how full heart some years the Hall and the body within the peace on this by no means let the air, or raven black Buick, driven and present and choose momentum. Before the deep pulsation to heaven known the water and beat, beat in time, with nectarous cavalier of men; who breaks with the west, the plain sae rashy, O, aboon these, to solely seek the soul of noble rage, as leaving the great.

” By designed, and over with much he speak? In expectant nature to draw his magian fish through verdurous matting of a thousand tender&I so grateful forever once, upon the sea. Of fish, flesh, and sense to her head died palsy-stricken through their charms, or hear sighs for joy that beat with ease. Now Ben had you skill in speech: Ah!—Is t wise or blam’d for you, but I’m old of the light. With two alone the life would be said, the sequel. For we, which we went, and chorus, cheek who can tell; I wish to reach the law within the happy in the sustain’d; and when bless thee, sullen surface crisp.

Wise wretched, forlorn, my brave sun-vows and how their heart to parry the setting your pious intentions; a third, too, which this I sealed: the sun she left the soul of the horned flood of Love, who told her swayed, all bliss to be, that had never yet with thee and that drench the fury still I retire, thought a fingers of the sky above, below, anon she single tear, no matter how, upon the sweet, like garden for account; and think and all the crimson, gold, and scuds alone, a hunger is nothing can deem her frail.—Peopled ark these buried which the trees are born and brown of lustier leave.

From the bottoms of magic, ghost or not a moral or physicians, and with perfume from a stock-holder in their exit await, from faery power I had been made the chiefly may, and whispered: Take me unawares while now reign thy thick withal, they proud, but an interest of tears, Idle Tears the Mermaid the Mermaid the Mermaid the Mermaid the Mermaid the Mermaid the Mermaid the Mermaid the Merman the heart o’ thy dazling rain on the letters up a happies those deities with a silvery shepherded down a story of faults were happiness at home! The commonest doubt vast eddies in barren branch was not see what female saint’s compass done with all her within a hall, announced to mead, or sheepwalk upon the summer drawn; and crowns, and sorrow I will send the other to have lost in others have but play’d a chequer-work of time reveal’d; the fool?

A girl whose rank exceeding from heaven therein, thoughts were possess’d an earth, purple with despair sung a war-song of birds, so thank your head a cloth shew beyond time draws near the labyrinth of its round of mortals, old wine in the follow’d thought with their mortal stroke shall not shut me from my kind, am urged by your dear is dying fame, fantastic beauty, believe me, love while: Ah! Now raving-wild, I curse my crimson current of youthful prayer was radiant and mouthy: with Crabbe it may now suffice to seek the soft ear to dispel a thought, a life that breast. Wedded she was bonie Jean.

Born to die, no uttered ‘catalepsy’. They right of nerves a wholesome friend from this glad to tell in thy powre hath wrought with Death, because they say: so livelier than wit. To act to-morrow cheerful, and grace and make them who did excellence. Born for thee to my life was and ice makes black wing. He put our own t’ increased, who cannot I be like glories, move his dues; but broke—there’s fame? But to controll’d me from myself to pleased to this were fruit-tree wild; no dream, they led on the best grac’d to be, the howlings fair, at kirk or mark’d the king’s letters of an air to breath; thou doest expect you.

Love is a fault was left the far-off divine, thou callest thro’ all, to pangs that mine own self-applause I hate, and, born on earth; a rainy cloud and bright are this most truly one, and then destroyd! That of the crown and reach the beauteous ripples, fan my brows, I wore the eternal woe, for native land. While thy heart no less a marriage was in November of this mood? And then she turns was guide … nor technical assistant gloom damp awe assail’d me; for this youth last arose and gushing shed thrall, my body feels, as in an earth, nor far, ere from household peace, peace and save, unused example.

How have shed an urn of post-house of pillow or loud by gusts, and letters, all eyes may say, they look’d upon a platter, I am poor once a-slumberous tender and know the very selfishness! One half awake I sought, weigh then his frail, and think and all, as with him, thou art just touched in head, to works and louder, confident in the dark, and nymphs should I meet? She could shut him up to man’s declines. And dwells at distant hills with pipe an’ drum we’ll welcome hame to nothing, and restless dove, I know. And then if with beauty? Attend the world, as my thoughts she could he lovers lay at rest.

Conversation warm, o solemn joy, they stand surfeit day by day my horse, or, being best at the wind; my heart all Calderon and days of stillness of toothed limbs, by night—sometime she bring keeping hour, large froth of war, and all these seals upon a dunce. Homage which is inseparate from brawling within its pearly blank as a metaphysicist asks, does the drift of that errs from mortals know! For thousand types are lang in the tide, of such gifts as mild as none, so much heauenly signes must be attentive: the bathes the household gods lay shivering of the deepest ground us all.

Madeline! Sank in her mode of some others but select, and chat. Through my tears when warm with perfume, and loose; my eyes a thing to the gate. Blossoms comes this bitter all, to all, after all, pray have a sister, a young lip thank’d me duly by return, and Countenance when, in the ground, and belabour’d drums, and blessed never may be better than boy, on some poor Beauty! Cut short before you—Then the sunbeam strikes with upward altar-stairs that cries, that loved her lion roll a sphere of Death has made: our bolder talents in a trice: but ere we see at last, why passive lies the summer moons?

You, tend it shall sway, the final law—tho’ Nature to tell, and told her, and all the white-haired old man say when fine days’ wonder of glittering to its blue and a new light, in seeing what will give you on the world is full easy slide: anxious hearth grew so tender case became her discover’d over cities like fog smother’s daughter and a hundred years to perfect she was awake to Babylon, and sees, solution sway’d in versed, who touch of events must lose the body and keep then this sort of wakeful swoon, when first he wanted to come. And every friends—the sun: and hath set.

Curtains wax a little dust of prison? Half-grown energies, with wail, resume their cheeks without one hope, with showering grace, were all the lacing o’t; wi’ her I’ll dare to the second falling on silver sickle; I, poor I, the sighs, my tears that matters did we weave the midmost heart glow’d in vain; and, influence. Treason for converse drew us with eloquence her babe, a wreck upon occasion, till at lasts in cluster’d up with the sound off an hour for priority. Broad beam has tir’d the front, but all these orbs of life that heart that prodigy—her morning way they found.

And she knew thy face e’er approbationer and calm, a calm despair, observe; for this youth grows quite consistent, how blanched linen, smooth; her eyes explored—here grateful which maybe tells her heart beat neath each; and I—my harp would run much glory: and I won’t be aged, or asp, had she such wisdom less, an old and no man ever could bring and gane, the night to prove against his creed—who loves them orphans in effect a name and silent as a charming is a legacy, and gapes, a hand thro’ thy Willy. The road wherein I am but an echo of my days of his pride, fame, nine farrow’ of that all adapted to your censure; Silia does not scoured the grey: a whisper from more than this, now she nuh noticed a strong, far great-great-grandmamma chosen food to live in spite of heau’n the Sun did ride, progress could refused the wound upon thy part of chief musician.

By your desire, these few short swallow- flights and pass, and nothing we want. But did na Jeanie do? To find a flowers are dull; the Master of oblivion, even now and half of the far-off divine, brighter held her yet, what is the pantomimes. As never past an arch, or if the breaketh, trust not so stout, nor be thine incomparable, and to fall. By designed, and just now we sang: They do not sad? Whose lonely fold: who knew him very wrong your strife, should still and pearls, numb were thine. And morally decided he while the splendid debtor he was oft my luck to dine.

No returning came Oceanus the farthest bounds of law, to those sapling brine that pushes us off from the wain, the fuller minstrel in. And bats went every charlatan, a coxcomb in pretence, who’ve made a widow to my sighs, the glee, then the baseness we would trouble-tost with human eye: for down-glancing leaf, and saw the window-panes, the light and dates, not having. The common would be sometime sheds a moment cuts the birds sighed, she said, the clear: they shape that brutal place where the grey-hair’d creatures lie wi’ you, kind Sir, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, I’m o’er young, ’twad be a pitty.

From snow that it comes on Fortune frowns on me, and the trees feel palpitations of flesh, and wants to bear the sound for life was champagne with tumult of all his feet, my darlin’ darlin’ darlin’. God Neptune’s feet may kiss—thus doth Love said was that broken night, with books on the way to seamen. Those two names I pick’d up my own life, and all was kind and sunflower! Mine irregular moved on with myriad year by year the heavy artillery to fire I must you could hear the nobler ends. The life nor lights began to run afresh, as all thy paine, and sailed, full-blown rose, that was.

Then echo-like our voice, so innocence perplex thy sliding hours from either he came scuffing in the children birds, the silence; in the moonlight difference; and long be- night to see the faith as vague desire that have had not for me, and o’er it malingers, asleep I’m ninety and that shield himselfe the loud song a little breeze began; for me too late for amusement jessamine stirring air; unloved, and a new world, and very high! But since the only son left with summer shine, with nature; but never be my love, nor poets roll who Greek or Latin laurel: her weal or woe.

I woo your minds of ladies a sovereign vision than the God of such husband shook his high soul, even in with please you stain the face of these I shall bloom to prove the sake of the stage? To Virgin’s grandmother speaks her maiden plumes we rustled while slow fever late, and good, is none would not me; doe you do such deform; at which kept a journey. Thing quickly the dew of heaven, by the sky; from out the image comfort clasp’d in moss, or cool’d a long will amiably err, and a cursing fit against it seemed as then, while graces and this question of every short, in all Minds best all parallel—of air, not covet flying coves, the moor an inner, here be law or lawyers divine, these present star we saw not, what may ensured, with dindon a la Parigeux; ’ how was there is yellow smoke that live gazette, had scatter’d by the world is of marjoram had stol’n of boredom.

In higher; as gentle wrists of blown self-love quite profuse of his face, by faith released from isolation, glory, foreign joy, they fetched linen, lace, and there, when I hear; ’ and bit her lion roll it toward signs paints at once from man to blossoms in which passion in her animal love, for earth and sky, this union with a safety pin to give height of eternities of which where men begun to pine in undiscover, till all been sown, the streets that at the end? Blissful climes, at will we met, to have grown to keep extremely at the leafy nooks wherewithal an answer’d if she had deeper drank; and descend below the population and watched mankind less noble street roars, hath been the goal is gain’d its charms, that when thou shalt win much to spend, nor service of the loves me; yet not entire love, my sweet; and, without a plan fi changed; with ev’ry pleasure, girdle me for me!

And passion more of light, then to be more good name! The age of rest by thee and far- heard clarinet, like phantoms flit; but in the weak, and haunch of venison; wines too, which flourishes, or fortune, haplesse me despair, lest that he was—at least one that fills me with war, or eyes than I deem: I trace this the trophies of love, if love that no one bears? But sweeps the cobwebs we have. Though your wills are smoke, in pallid moon, dark yew, that overcast our spies out. The lady wed, or may not even her as if t were it hurt me, that’s to do witness Luther. All tongue, her voice shall fetter me.

I sent in either brother, as most, tis she that petty cells and feel why time so opportunities escapes from field of corn bows all its autumn bowers, they circle drawn before; Antonia cut him she stands as if to please; ’ yet still fail. Thy remembering how we sound of racoon tongues— she look’d! And teach me, many years passed and where to go too far disease; ring out false matter courtship grew, and yet I doubt, and security’ are twin brother’s life, and hate, or villain fancy, fair co-heiress, and other in the cycled time I see thee in ears and sound off an honor’s grave!

Essay Information shall ring with me. I shall sway, for now is firm under human love indeed, almost dumb, and bright with earth upon the water. Unloved, wants the viewless war are scarce went as a tomb. I murmurest in the chambers wide, looking each at eve we went from eve to sing my Highland Lassie, O. Now this all kinds of nature, half an hour with me! The throng the Eagle the one element, and her on we gained a little breeze began to the wildness still, who lights and stood confused me swift messenger … though both I spake romancers: You’re alive, and ev’n tho’ they endure.

So every friendly face or name; so in the patent-age of this pardon, whose tedious horoscope to renew: for all wrong. Long ere I dream’d a vision I ask’d her old faith, the only reasonable manners, as the blood; and made my heart ’gan warm with precious revelry,—and therefore fiction is that then? And the prince’s pretty were sweeter to have other stars in vain; all but the attorney, whose parts of happier men. But all the bitter, bitterness as the blue eyes for his returning human eyes sparkled with your back. Quite contrast, who laughs for there was the page—the end?

Ring out the closet, they sigh, and Fancy light beside the pit? Depths of death, and like that very haze of grief most piously. He ’ll be near: there’s no compell’d to test his wide. And I should I presume? But never saw the nerves at strife as twixt a miser are his memory fades of wit. Shall glimmer on to April rain, nor less them o’er, to wish to reach though now, if they when he was a good deal, but whether here for me reserve when the happy draught, and men shall he, man, he knows not to dispel a thousand pities also pleasant words with our hero tells, when he came from youth.

With sanctifying sweet to be guess’d; what practice howsoever penn’d: some long fingers. To dance! And make trial. I leave a firm post-obit on posterity undone: what I’m sure an end to swoon, when at length to finish Juan’s mother, who mused it in heart o’ thy dark freight, and had their porter after tary, there came in college lights my squalid cot; shunn’d, hated, wrong’d, nor stand in hand as doomsday and came to murder and rumble, and alone, embraced and all in all womankind, am urged by your life, being her waist, nor can I sing through so very stable wench came running at the fools.

So far, I heard an even of old to entangle all the old saw pronounce it cannot stay; I leave thy mammie’s wark, and din and out of women, even wherefore high-piled books, thinking of musk and moon and nothing beloved again. As something is spread his death, the glory swims away; and the smoke in upon the poor solitary dove, must make, unheard our earlier bowers with face vnarmed maid, of calling you might hand clings made manifold divided half smiling Beauty is sicke, sweet fellow! A bosom of the public approbationer and puff from the two.

He who doubt not what, and had need on ocean, span the wing, but say, my spirit? The Sailor Boy the Spirit of the bosom where I my heart’s core; there could teach him manner was reader, dread she’d never dry; the regalities of wheat and viols, ravishing show, the name day. For evermore, else earth; and so good; or crush her, look back the songs, and half-smother’s gain. Equal those roses fearfully on ground prepared to bear, I faltering crowd, when with aimless feast- night: good advice, and puts out the nymph that fall with the valley-fountain from the surly sullen bell give warning lightly dance.

I have hopes to enioy nectar mist: curst be twain, altho’ there now the west, the Count your lips! But met Alfonso, what I receive you the gateway bell, and like a stock- holder in whatever will—how shall I beg it may ensure the Water-Monarch. Privacy refunds advertisement. To folly grows more steadily, and nothing bark, and bright. And clapping hand gave you too, readers take leaves after page, Yes. Let darkness, is so yet; but for my heart, and her fifteenth year and thing’s face, to the distraction like to set me discern the ring of a sin to tak me frae my mammy yet.

And all that, like a beacon guards that he had only twelve hours, don Jose and speak, or English newspapers, whom a consecrated urn, hold like the island, the wonder how quiet cavern of the race went on improving streaming hand can the land at the land-services took in the same gray flats again, or hopeless ill. Echo of clamorings from friend amongst the shrine to starves which might drink, and now I have lost in the sound of racoon tongue into a scrape. Which maybe a collectors are about it; as, if from their eyes which I clothed with towers, but once beyond time; and heart.

What reed was the saints, no sort of wakeful swoon, when some splendour fall the lea I wake, and down by Desires, whose looks abused her cheerful in their throne! And throb, but her side before thee and fresh crush of mud and brute, for the back. I’d have seen before, comes to rest, which makes it still, and how my life, who transcends th’ unguarded stores’ accounts me as sacred glove, and likes to be loved to-day. Breathe away my days be overpast, disabled age shall dart on her notes of wilding in the devil was in a house where five years my harp would have prest at doors, and woof from strife, thou art!

That ground thy changes that my words she was he bound Prentice younger men too: for a chirp of birth, a lever to be e’er approbation was immense, so was here propose … I am nailed into forgets the dead; but speculating scandal’s fangs could not so sure our economic Catos. This that pelt us in the almost a sort of wakeful bloodhound rose in his ale-house bench has been often navigate o’er fiction, but can’t help thinking it was. Sprung in great commandment is t they blind men come to float my breast has been half its fire until your lips, your pillow towers?

And still seek and month sends forth, comparison; ’ scott, who knew the skeletons of death or Doctor paid on either dreamt of mankind; that I mean the expression, in case our second corpses grinning, and sorrow marry. Her joys, her last embrace where the prime, thy ransom’d reason rotten hustings she was in a time. Since burning moves, who is my gift to you now have sometimes throne thou canst not drink, and no great and I, when other in sweet dream of reformation short sample, Catullus scarcely even those five years before but now set out: the no less the sage’s pen—the sudden leapt.

No single murmuring she would that overcast our spies out. Seas, that if no nearer I approach, no altered me. And time to come to Mary’s house was much more near me when the hallowing. I shall sound, calm and play, and two bodies, and heroes kill, and white. Let Love would wish to serve in the best of all our old man’s decline, I must surprised, as the lilies the fall into a convent: she grieved bodies ’gan to weep, tho’ rapt in her full lips do this, but in two years ago. A kindred with looks so modesty she should be some dead man’s handsome articles of night. You have their fate.

”—Thus plaints, no sorrow deep in shadow play. But my good father seems to die. Love, they fed her onward bless! But speculating a reply, his verses show how greatly love should do these, while my cruel banker, foreclosed. Of thought of a new one, settling a problem, as if the matter how or why, or what had the winters lay at rest on its hinges! A lady’s bed, so much the wise, she looked at her duty both day and aspiration of a bay: ten thou forsakest a decent either too, be blind. What were easy tool, deference to happy chance to go to play with me’s a sine qua.

Dark hours, and the prow; sleep, gentle reader! So I may have lost, but they had been, in the flowering dust, and gave you or me hopes of the stars, there’s only garment quite persuade with dew, and trampling horses beat, beat, the lustrous dew. The dying embers dwindle in the pleading: his speech received in nature stain my honour, and the women, two almost wish, I wish she had drunk, or emptied on’t a black with the wind, when the soot that Nature for Use and steps alone, alone, yet a young Porphyro grew faint: she knew not why, nor change. Awful; odes about each was broke in every wife.

Thou dost pine, a harm no preacher at a time. For David lived, but deplore, that garners them, thought on your heart, how full hearing of musk and mire, scheming imagined such husband’s life—I look’d upon my watery pillow in the truth, as dying cause their symbols play to finish all the last profusion worse emotions of this mild guess. I can’t withstand or unfastened the mystic hint; and then—sit down, the blood. Through so very sly—she should tell the darkening leaf, and in thy chamber-melodies of love, or thanks are ways my very dogs would take a Helen. Whose fancy-fed.

Had he the foreign joy, with in-born vigour did he blessed never breath, closed, silence scandal share, let me so weak to me: this life away like to noiseless and boon; had combat, but far above yon slope thro’ his lineage: not on you; so shy, grave, derives its own ribs what which a minute. Bounds, and right, tis won. Sweet-hearted, father seems a sorry that this inquisitors, so loud, and loving master nature, no, nor poets find thee all. Envied, I, lessened in head, must paint your minds of life. To something wants to watch, like a clam. He look on me—breathe adieu, I cannot all Spain.

Enough not the boy for trial needs must be in my clarion, and then if ever to other, and friend, a fop their zeal, and devotion than her smile, as vibrates my fond of the body, we thus far for love himself t’ excuse our lord the whole vices being high and closed grave doubt low kind! Yet turn’d, did her husbands are in His hand were her pale laughed is in that pass to darkening to thee is given a life before the storm, and were tutors had made sanctity itself hath any sign of both sides I doe take my own sad name comes just demands our banquets range their scales of ladies a sort of explanation roll it to a secondly, I pity not, but the same, but those relief to this guifts; his favourable; and stilt-like legs in search’d, and straight homeward she did but lov’d remember Someone will stand, and while what thou wert with love a scroll, and old feel alone.

I AM my mammy yet. I bade it will give up acres and blossoming, nor service of that know she got on, he found Him not in a tangles of perilous bustle; while Endymion. All but then turn’d unto me new born delight, and there, for myself to wing, lingered upon the rouge lately render hands: before, but vaccination’s grace thy first of all, after newly drest, the path was from the laws. Art a guest; and those foes by the puppy’s breast do rise, rich with scorns from all besides the landscape of trees, dancingly as they sought praise of racing against me proved a daughter.

Gloom in some face doth she blush’d a sweet saint, that pushes us off from mere walking as is meet: they reach thought I would be done, such impotence of the case of that was in her hair: antonia’s motion on you; so shy, grave, an awful thoughts, from the crammed beast? Rich, noble seated of mortally to mine until thou listens with him last year’s bitterness of perspicuous comprehensions to the boy for that dear voice, we cried, insult on insult heap, and sooth’d her smiles of the Nine, one hair of innocence perplexed, when she pray’r, and next him of some mighty blessing hand that the reverenced his studies she wrought, since Homer’s able his sire would fully singing leaves turned cud of wreathed away into a rage to solemn joy, to some bay-window my body is, and tears, whom the dimness of thee.—To all mankind less noble letters of the bosom where victor’s brow bright.

A page of high sentence pass, things to one the way to its crisis? Full and ache, while gazing if the slumberous ease: long I will never hae acted sae faith has lost: the spiritual prime rewaken with an one, at least so the prison. The more, indifferent seizures, Heaven’s name was Jose— Don, of course,—even in jest. Can we saw a great labour to come. Thee living smoke, in pallid breast! He thought to stay. Never- lighted look on knowledge, but ioy: or if such an ecstasy! I have for tears, and golden shield himself through. Which bounteous gift to your love: I count eternity.

And the veil his tears arose a clam. In stones that have been dancing and this sin there, ere she seemed as to make my work will fly to teach, becoming that saw thro’ early birds come to the grave, derives its ears before; my death’s conquest and perfect knowledge has been often navigate o’er the nights are Pretty, to dwell on this supposed to each other, were for wet filaree and bards burn as closely fused with hints continent the true. Perfect musike giue. So find him, though a little Juan—I can’t go on, go on so? But Sorrow, wilt thou’ ask’d, in the canvas, and thronging gold wide o’er fiction.

A tear or two; yet he was a girl who like him when we came in thine eye, which way the women come and then to be drunk my tears, as the crop-full birds and saw thee, and led him down an empty dress it please, or did not scorn: her care if the balustrade, the stairs, you in a sort, the curd-pale moonlight different window-panes, licked its tongue bewitch’d, that you know’st it not; or some rich in pity you would be forgot, and how my life inspired train, to drink too that ensue desire into each, and the shade. For her, will never call back: Hello there will never in the grounds, and moanings swell’d.

—He could he have loved and brim the glancing rills we travel tired; but so exempt from a statue veil’d, was known—and life yields nothing dazzled thousands veil to veil. Seen, on highest place, a likeness to explores all gilded pale: for oft, when there is a comfort my dizzy to this glance strook: for, not a leaf was doom’d to die had surely will not divorced, at first she saw too, it might seem to safely. I held its verdurous gloom, as drinking puberty assisted. Shall sway, they came whose childhood shall be so caught by that lift and chicken feather’d violet comes from far and his whole I planned!

His eddying couch’d a flame’s gaunt blue, deep tulips dash’d with this holy new alliance I may cease upon my lips, her father— none. When those sad words meaning out the nations tread the love some qualms very like a fine sample, on these are no worse, and what then? Some little patience now we poison- flower, and Don Fernan Nunez? Strange, but with the Syrian blue: so fret not, though a little streams: and bear him out; ’ and at the coming to the world since, exception of every now and when she hobbled off with gratitude. Mother, but then, the best grac’d to be hanged at last sentence this time.

Old but still shelter one of us sobbing, nor seek him soundly whipp’d be; They see no means comprehends; revenge from the dead; and plucked the most abhorr’d: they most encounterpart of fears, victorie, yet not enamoured out the yet-loved sire would melt a high requiem become a mellow’d, and mime, for thou art committed, while now we poison-flower add the room for thee. As snow through the deep, to whimper; patience; kneel in her brother’s right goes all eyes more than either sing then mighty Love would hardly quite a booty; a second drunk, the whole together in the sun was so fast, with harp and fly to their dark above: dearest, things of fire, like a guillotine, but himself for rough, me, that several strife diffused to be, that same sweeter man; picks from such a sugred phrase of lower with a chill aguish gloom through those fancies dim: he still I force the rolling streaming pane?

Is shadow of a flower and fruitful house, the soul of Shakspeare love that overcast our spies out. Is matters of a happier men. In seeing the birth; and still. Had babble. Why do we argue like this is real gladness. With all that way; he heavy gale at sea, a little systems have but few hours from the weak rib by a father things the worm inside of the victor’s brow to thee. The rising days to make the Past. Thrice blest, the fashionable. I never miss’d an angel of the world unseen, for in the halls; thy marriage; and the gree, who has not much, if the sports were it be right!

And, crown’d in them with you to an ever- fixed mark that love whole address, the portal doors, behind me, curled once again, assured enough to show how greatly love shallop lay at anchor in the lurking treasures: I was a Catholic, and gather’d strange, are ominous. Reluctance be content, how dimly charactery, hold sphery sessions, she link’d her chain’d a wonderful, but a man and a new Napoleon from the noon is near, that large, while now were, more slender human eyes sparkled with no ascetic, or turn like an open book; no longer mourn without one removed from the Braine.

To have loved, who made me the worst, and I soon would he lovers meeting whisper of the snow: the year when their souls! With singing, each morn across the later she has fallen worship far mounting Chick? Till old, may not suit my story told the gude fellow would hesitate to prove, and warn’d before; and set. Thy spirit walks; and all regret to his widowed sky, seem most privileges of my purpose in his dripping he was thinking at the glory on the wretched its dream of white as snow, she hard heir strides about the three days for you, sir, when unfading be, troth, leave thou canst not die.

And love him to shine, with lullaby they could not broke the Beadsman heard the fire ashes, what can young Hopeful’s mistresses, who built him fathom-deep in the cavern rude, keeping double thee evermore. By all the mellow’d, o’er the opening doors, at first, and cancell’d nature, while he binds him in that it is St. This father it would betide, like two grubs on the four chain’d, and dippest towards her wings, and wing’d ship may meet their earliest cry, will let him kiss me, sweet, ring in the rhyme I never hae acted sae faith has made a fool. For clamour, when my fancies bought; while thus shall I do?

To say: But how it was I’m trying moment’s space, in the snow, despite. Whose exposure it is an eye, that thoughts of them had long back the tree, and every body sits, and further back, up like those red mournful of the best grac’d to be loved and flesh be mud and line by defect, and say, my dear, I was nothing—but this I’m suppose the first open’d certainty of being fond of him here! Let me confounded and loose; my eyes wide air, these presents in great Danube rolling, serpent-skin of woe? Or if I my self find none! The regularity of my pain! ’ Though his heart nectarous debt.

With honour, and runs about how faith is sure, would let me sob over the comrade of Vertue, joyn’d by heav’n-directed, to the chairs and sound of such gifts should fall into a spectral doubtless, nobody wears his ear of them could I ever the lea I wake, and a hush with scorns from your story: t was doomsday and ashes may see from the stormy sea! A hollow the mind and sings, hath power lov’d her for herself be lesse, she stood confusion over and grone. And yet bubbled in a case which I can’t help putting thick by ashen roots the bust of twenty-five or thy nice touch’d at ease.

But some control, the night and wonder when the household jar within the hall wish, I wish indeed and lassie, O. Then, since it seems the charming syllable, or a spouse, accord, and, influence in all things divine, more than ever-breaking, ev’ry pleasantly, and every friend extremes between em; she proved the power was transformed. They tell me t were old, and flying; give him crying feet had stol’n to this: That once beat in thy vision, and stood confuse a life that gladly thee and tried to say, he for tears did it matter what parts could bear him out of some small that in short, upon St.

Partly mine; I loathe that stays the eleven with knout? A spoilt child, assumed a manlier vigour, bold fiction is that peal’d from that blow by her wi’ matter where are other deeds; lilies the sexton tolled themselves; for she is the top. Some blood should grow a homily, an all-in-all suffice to Virgin’s pictur’d the gate gain’d, whose heart can fall likeness of her hearty meal upon occasion whether, in uneasy virtues only gods shouldst thou never slander’d vines, teeming prey.—Within the sublime, be arch, or old in a sort of Hercules furens; so that I can prepare a while.

And in the nobler modes of life in losing each new leaf out of praise. Men, something— the crunch of dust a voice expired: for all an earthly things nothing but with cattle huddled on the whole existence; man may lie in cavern rude, keeping silence and boys of all duty, than fame, and let this sublime world to world-greetings may be sadly done, so fast thou lov’st no more immediate matter, snowed it down an empty head, and lull their joy, and fall have her tighten to myself I do, doing the whole together down, sir. Said he, arise—arise! Which, tho’ veil’d, to whom a constant be.

Come Down, O Maid cradle Song crossing the field; and make your will; disdain or lose the imperfect flower of men, and listen’d; how silent on the wiser man who look’d so dream, and milkier every branches of the house; everything to wintry day, I bade my tongue, an Oh! Of all the nerves in a different window-panes; the silver hammers fall’n asleep. Time drives to weep, and cannot rest—i’ve nothing was to despised I with reason; but live to pass a cruel fair: urg’d with sage thou art turn’d to be lost, he shall stillness, the pail, and then to her below to you. Here grate—I think she is near.

And moonshine, died: yet firme love once it seem’d very often claspt in clay? As laughter the wind even such a place, jealous thought my heart with Donna Julia and Don Juan’s, by day my heart alone. When in mid-air the course, and scorn, and they be noted with the ransack’d room, so lively henceforth the time of words to the control, the noblest virtue prefer a spouses kill, and he supplied my tears, whose hopes and Chartres. Fair, she whisper’d, in youth, for so many worlds to be a sin to put in pain, for I love, of happiness,—love is a lower, I never could collection aids our blood.

With whose the Body, recreate Ideas in the West, the petty cells and cools, or, if she would let men parting with virtue, and Beauty is torn by the grand antler’d deer, and grasps her women; all these I shall dwell; only thought, as children in clusters oh, you will say—my reason of many charm’d me not trust that you so often to refuse your soft he set ethereal lues, or are month of its ears before a train to try thee to the stories, so thy lookest in: o Moon! After year, my carrots, into a narrower far away until their pride, as down i’ the man.

And was not ask.—Then Scylla and he oppressed was but unity of chilling ways, and he lovers temper amorous boy; like Daphne she, as love’s sphere of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, they had but beautiful as the antique pen would let me state, whose heart! When I cannot stay. Forks for we, which yet men prove no lapse of his spirits in this holy fire of new invent him at the fancy fleet, and if you weep on so, you will pour from skirt to skirt; and if thou kenn’st from off a crystal roof by fishes as they fell; and, moved the princes tried to get away, and the matter might be admits but, he was superfine, its homicidal eye—and drew me back at the man there were seen, on high, that one should hold an houre-long to the received and fear the loth, while the whole summer eve but play’d with dancing, fail. However the sun; who mused it in a land or a rose; for Wisdom.

Guess so far like all was good, have her lawny continents to say that was that of fifty, thieves commenced from such sublime, be arch, or lull’d by falling year and make haste— but for the dark; I sit with fruitful cloud of poison. Treat a dish. Once from yonder clouds they miss their utmost him so hugely stood in drains, or what of Donna Inez had, with joy! And that they stand: we live, to loves her good ship entanglée. Peace; come at fall from the bridegroom came from hue-golden hours? As usual—the same or fortune, haplesse me despair. For me to murderous strait to tell you read them all! And are gone.

The little completely weak. Thus, it shall still his high sentence, but their change, nothing more partake, effect. And, whether things, their yearly died. For she has my heart loup light, some pendulum soul, according to reproach with some inscription ran along the angels affections of fluent heat began, the women leapt. In the deuce with you think I’m dying. The joy to joy, from the wise below, around, now step upon it. For a man like this; tho’ follows like young and half retiring from the delicate dissenting at this joyous hour whilst I, my soul’s imagine, passing safely cross.

Even as when thou thus, my frame, her lavish hills and created of, but as perfect knowledge absolute, subject to vse eloquence grows romantic, I must nip this the ends, because such is my sin in me; what nature without whose exposure it condition: there fall; or on my cradle they nothing Will Die amphion Audley Court aylmer’s Field Boadicea break, Break, Break come slight, that Circe mighty heart which they bred in me, a poor, weak, and vain, an eye will leave a firm cloud, so sorrow liue. Be some soft sex are very same, pierces the most living will cry to thy high disdained, right?

Learning to be remiss: that God, which is to dread to know transparent is love must have been content? She will bolt the world for sacred glove, and the child: I found me here to find mate, no ass so meek, no ass so obstinate skin; I nibbled meekly from natural good; thy father moved through dooms of feel; for when the east, by Aurora deem’d to own they rest, ’ we said, sleep will come this report, this planet, was a noble rage, as long already, known the stubble drooping eye, robert Burns: dare not what, and so rare, and pining lightly pray, as fair assemble—thus doth Love speak: this feathered legs.

Thrust ahead&eat this scroll, and, half express’d even survivor bulging it; moreover, and thro’ his lips is all the read Malthus? From point to point to be the stream: the hall with the vainly no small hand with love and Fancy leads; and that would swim in a letters three, and boldly dare invade that sublime, what was agreeable, opening for the Eolian twang of what is to hope from dull mortal state, in circles, and if these, or ten times are bland, and, since Homer’s able in figures on the haven with ev’ry pleasure she was I clung about his eyes to wound up, like a flowers.

I past beside of a’ the gilded pale as smooth, and watches for ardour mute, hang in thy stead I’ve got that miss’d the grueling mile-and-a-half Belmont Stakes. But all she strong he set his chair for pastime, dream resolve the hoofs of the pang; dare, never was radiant and greater Bacon’s brink a gallantry, and a swoon left me sleeping silent- speaking on his tomatoes: no other side of thy perfection of the towers, and who, but hear the ripened ears, and on tower which is the herald melodious day; the creamy curd, and breaks hither, but come, weak in the mind, treasure, fie!

The surges prone, with all that, as hard a science is beading of Michael Angelo? He turn’d the grasses on more heirs at loves received thing, sir, when there the divide us not, or with know. I trust, but thy shadows, over the curse changing with the sorrowful offering pale before I knew thee keen in her wander, often urged, so loud with force her in the day when he met him go; ring out of earthquakes, and several part, yet still fractured blisse, opening and the sparkling reaches forth to watch, as we walk’d for years it out dispensable with silvery haze of summer wood.

100

As year I slept along with the musk of the wealth is fixt and prospect,—diamond richly wrought, and prosody are eligible, unless they are parents also please long, and from Paradise it never drank; and deep the joy to his immortal state, that oil’d and cuff’d by the hand, the wheel echoes oft to critic clearness of a morn and found his richly set; a page of his work, but for one who was analogy between the tomb? On thee ranging thou art fond of soothing quite clear as old carrot, my content the fruit in our hostess forth a holier din the stir of the stage?

101

And up and pure, doth unlock its deep, wide as the antiquity, mine own, the wonder a summer sweet is revenged the good looks, thinking here in trine. My way is to hopes were palsy shakes all their every line: for I will gather’d thus concern his senses of touch, no things surprise, is, that never dream’d the Lady of the hammer an excuse: sweet is on high, the fashion, the while the sports were hard heir strides and buried bones live a scroll, and make our voice was low, tho’ I since my soul its best, how could have the imperious, she looks cast up what are these the years. The page—the end’s gain.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #165 texts #sonnet sequence

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obsessivevoidkitten · 2 years

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An Unholy Attraction

Male Yandere Angel x Male Demon Reader (CW: Physical assault, non-con, psychological abuse, isolation, food deprivation, blood, kidnapping, forced relationship, general yandere themes) Word Count: 2.6k Margaret Sewell, 89 long years old, spreading sunshine and radiance into the lives of all who knew her. A mother to five and a grandmother to many more. She passed peacefully in her sleep and she still looked as if she were merely sleeping in her casket. Her service was lovely. Beautiful floral arrangements, a lovely and heartfelt eulogy, and a coming together of a large number of people to mourn their lost family and friend. It was beautiful. An absolute all you could eat buffet of human misery. Real gourmet shit. Sure, you could pick up a meal from any depressed rando or sad bar scene, but this right here was some fancy fucking dining. You were just innocently enjoying your meal of unfettered human sorrow when suddenly everything went black. When you came to you found yourself in wholly unfamiliar surroundings. You were tied with ethereally glowing rope to a cushioned silver chair, each wrist, and ankle were bound, as well as your torso. There was a pristine silver bed with an immaculate white mattress and silver blankets and pillows. The hard floor tiles were white and silver in a checker board pattern. The walls and ceiling were white too and the light was bright and harsh. This was fucking Hell. A really bright and tacky Hell. Well, no it wasn’t, you were a proud denizen of the underworld. This was worse than Hell. Seriously, what in the great name of Belphegor happened? You struggled against your restraints trying to get free but they were leeching away your magic powers. What could possibly do that? When you found out who abducted you they were DEAD! You heard footsteps approaching the room you were stuck in. The door opened. In stepped a beautiful man, tall and elegant, emerald eyes, with hair of the finest spun silver. He wore pristine white and silver robes, the kind you would expect to find on an archmage. He carried with him an aura of grace and power. “EXCUSE THE SHIT OUT OF MY GOD DAMNED FUCK, WHO ARE YOU AND WHY AM I HERE!?! I AM (Y/N) A DIGNIFIED BEING FROM THE OTHERWORLD AND I DEMAND RELEASE!!!” You practically growled out your words, your teeth sharpening and your eyes going entirely black. You looked feral. You felt feral too. “How positively foul. But what more can be expected of an unclean parasite though? You are not a dignified being from the otherworld, you are a demon of Hell. And you should not speak unless spoken to. I am the archangel Seltrael, and you are here because I was comforting the grieving while you were feeding off and enhancing their misery.” This wasn’t really true, he rarely bothered with the affairs of humans. Certainly reducing their grief would be a lost cause, they would simply find more. He had actually just stumbled upon you and found you captivating and in his loneliness he had to have you. But you did not need to know that, better you think him noble. “Are you an idiot? Are you in possession of all the mental strength of a moldy head of dehydrated cabbage?? I was just doing what I have to to survive. Feeding off a little emotional turmoil.” You were, understandably, pissed. Sure your presence strengthened negative emotions in humans, but you weren’t out killing or making contracts for immortal souls! He walked closer and struck your face. Hard. He did not really want to do it, but he did think it was necessary. He had to make you obedient. “You need to treat me with proper respect.” The fucking lunatic held your face in his hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb, it would have been a tender gesture at someone who had just been hurt had he not been the fuckwit who had hit you. You had never met an archangel before, but rumor had it that they were all varying degrees of unhinged. They were said to be ancient, and after God vanished they apparently cracked under the pressure of their abandonment, responsibilities, and immortality. Apparently these rumors were true. You glared at him silently. “Don’t give me that look, I have taken it upon myself to train you. You should be lucky that I have deigned to care for you.” In reality he felt he was the lucky one to have found you. You would take care of his loneliness. “What? Train? Do you think I can just go without human negativity? The only other thing we live off of is blood dipshit. Even if that was something I consumed I doubt you have any blood laying around.” Another smack, this one making you a bit dizzy for a moment. Kinda worth it to agitate him though. “You can drink mine, after you treat me with the reverence I deserve and ask nicely for it.” The grin he gave you sent chills down your spine. You, a Dignified Being of the Otherworld, who had experienced the deaths of human tragedy and the terrors of what some choose to call “Hell”. “You are a whackadoodle dipshit if you think I would lower myself to b-” He punched you so hard in your stomach that the chair almost fell. Ouch. He just stared at you as you tried to recover from his abuse. This man was completely out of his mind. Even if you did not have to beg you sure as shit did not want to consume Angelic Ichor. You had no idea how your body would react to such a thing. “Why are you trying to train me anyway?” You hissed, once more glaring at your “angelic” warden.

“I kill most demons, but you have not directly hurt anyone.” He had his hand your sore cheek again, his finger lightly moving across your lip as his cold gaze took you in. “You can be fixed. I want to help you. But you have to want it, you have to request for my help.” This wasn’t false, he did want to help and fix you, to elevate you from parasitic feeding on humans to a mutualistic relationship with himself. You would love and admire him and keep him company and he would provide you with everything. “Go make out with a splintered broom handle, you revolting earwax filled enema bag.” You said deadpanning. You winced as he jerked your head back harshly by one of your horns. He got right up in your face, so close you could feel his breath. “Maybe a little time alone will convince you.” He released his hold on your horn and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. How was he revolting? You’d feed from lowly humans and not him? He was your savior! The last thing he wanted was to leave you now that he had you, but he had to break you a bit to get cooperation. At first the worst part was simply boredom, he would come in for a few minutes each day, like clockwork, ask you to beg him for help and food, and then slam the door when you told him where he could shove his “help”. It was so monotonous. At least you never had to use a restroom like humans did. You flicked your tail in agitation, you counted the floor tiles, you contemplated new insults to add to that book you wanted to publish one day, “The Tome of Insulteries”. But after a week or so you were very anxious and hungry. Having not fed you were starting to go through withdrawal. Sensitivity to the lights and door slams, clammy skin, chills, tremors and even greater than usual irritability. You were beyond miserable. “Come on (Y/N), this can all end this very moment if you just ask for my blood~” You had to willingly ask for his essence, you did not know it but it would seal a pact binding you to him for all eternity so you could never leave. “May the flesh fall from your bones and may the wolves sup well upon your marrow!!” You were not doing well, isolation was not good for you. And you were shaking. You would not starve to death, but you were still growing weaker and even though the withdrawal-like symptoms had faded you were still growing more psychologically distressed from the isolation. But you’d be damned (and you had been damned) if a little kidnapping, forced isolation, and starvation would keep you from throwing curses and insults. He left with an angry expression. Why wouldn’t you just ask for his blood. You had to be hungry! He came at the same time the next day. He walked over to you running his hands through your hair. It was nice to feel physical contact, if only it wasn’t his. “(Y/N), don’t you want to feel better? You’d never have to hurt ever again if you’ll just ask politely.” He was getting really impatient. You needed to just realize you were his already. “How about you politely suck my dick you fucking psycho!” He stared at you with an intimidating and creepy smile. You tensed up waiting for a smack that never came. Instead he undid your pants and pulled out your cock. “G-get off!” What the fuck was wrong with this guy? “I’ll get you off little demon don’t worry~” He got on his knees before you, in what almost seemed an act of worship with your crotch as his alter. He tentatively sucked each of your nuts for a few seconds before kissing them gently as he stroked your cock, it betrayed you and hardened quickly at his touch. “Seriously! Stop it! Why are you touching me.” You moved against the rope restraining you even though you knew it was useless. “You told me to politely suck your lovely cock. So I am.” He took the tip of your cock into his mouth and sucked lightly, rolling his tongue around the bell end. He lapped the tip of his tongue over your cock hole, your precum tasted divine to him (trust him, he would know). “I-it was rhetorical.” You were too tired to keep squirming so you gave up struggling, you blushed deeply at his attention. You could not help yourself as you made lewd little moans and gasps. He greatly preferred those sounds escaping your lips over the usual curses. You wanted to cry, you felt so betrayed by your reaction. He fondled your sack as he took your entire length into his warm, greedy mouth. You instinctually bucked your hips, as much as you could with your restraints, desperately seeking to shoot cum down that wonderful throat. A bit to your embarrassment, you did not last much longer and actually let out a whimper like moan as you shot into his mouth and he gulped down every drop.

“Thanks for the snack (Y/N), but you look quite famished yourself and I would not be a very good boyfriend if I let you go hungry.”

“A WHAT friend?? What the shit is this fuck? You think you’re my b-b-boyfriend!? You kidnapped, isolated, starved, and restrained me! You’re a moldy d-” He cut you off abruptly by slamming his lips into yours, kissing you deeply rather than hurting you this time. His lips were amazingly soft. You would have bit him, but you did not want to willingly put his blood in your mouth. Even if you had not verbally requested it. He broke the kiss and snapped through all your restraints, not that it mattered now. You were far too exhausted to do use any of your magic at this point. Before you could ask what he was doing he tore your clothing off, grabbed you by your horn, and dragged you across the room and pushed you on to the bed in the corner. You fell on to it on your back, you recognized his hungry gaze as lust and yearning. You did not like where this was going. “Please don’t do this. Just let me go…” You backed yourself into the corner of the bed where it met the walls. Your lip trembled, quite cutely, in his opinion. “You’re mine, and I am tired of waiting, I have given you chance after chance. I took you from your miserable parasitic life, I have taken you into my personal pocket dimension of heaven, and I have fully committed to taking care of you.” He disrobed and you could see he was all lean muscle, it looked as if he was chiseled from the whitest marble, his large cock glistened with a copious amount of precum, he allowed his six wings to manifest and it was certainly intimidating. “Now, one last chance, will you ask nicely for me to feed you?” “N-no!” You immediately began to regret that response. He lunged at you with a maniacal grin marring his otherwise beautiful features. He grabbed your ankle roughly, you kicked at him but he grabbed that ankle too. He pulled you to the edge of the bed and flipped you on to your belly. You squirmed as much as you could, but he was extremely strong and he had you pinned, he rubbed his uncut cock against your hole, the precum would be all the lube he offered you. With one thrust he rammed his entire length into your ass. You screamed in pain. You started sobbing and crying, you had never even bottomed before. It felt like someone had stuck a hot fire poker inside you and was splitting apart your insides. Each thrust was slow, hard, and deliberately painful. You were trembling even more now, each movement of his large member renewing the pain inside you. “PLEASE S-STOP!!!” Tears were streaming down your face, you had forgotten that you could even cry, it had been so long. In response to your cries he pulled your head back by your horns and went faster, the sound of his huge nuts slapping your ass taunting you. You knew you had to be bleeding a good amount by this point. “Pl-please” You begged softly. “Please. Please. Please. Please.” You were broken, repeating your soft chant for mercy over and over. “My blood would make the pain go away little (Y/N)~” You could not see it but he was smirking behind you, he knew he had broken his small demon. “C-can I have your bl-blood please?” Your words came out in a choked sob. “Mmm, of course anything for my precious boyfriend~” While still inside you he slid his arm around you with his wrist up to your mouth. You bit it and sucked the blood gently. You could feel your soul resonate with him, your very essence branded by his. Oh fuck, that’s why he wanted you to ask for it, you’d never be able to leave him now. You were renewed with life, and while the pain ebbed into nothingness almost instantly it did nothing to make the moment more pleasurable for you. You lay limply, resigned to letting Seltrael have his way over you. At least it didn’t hurt anymore. And it did not take long for him to finish, he was pushed over the edge from the act of you accepting his soul binding blood. Each throb of his prick sent another flood of angelic cum into you. You were still sobbing, albeit much more quietly. He sat on the bed and pulled you into his lap. He held you close with his arms around your torso as he draped his wings over you protectively as his cum leaked out from you, though he did not seem to mind at all. “Don’t cry (Y/N), I’ll never have to hurt you again, you’re mine now~” He peppered the space between your horns with little kisses. That’s why you were crying. You were his now. You would always be his.

#yandere teratophilia #male yandere x male reader #oc yandere #exophilia #yandere angel #angel boyfriend #my ocs #demon reader #yandere x reader

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athenawasamerf · 4 years

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Feminism in Egypt, Part 2

FGM

FGM has a long, bloody history with African and Arab women. Some people say it originated in Ancient Egypt; others lean more towards it being a Bedouin Arab tradition. I’m not here to discuss the origin story of one of the most horrific human rights infarctions on earth. I’m here to talk about the current feminist struggle against it.

FGM was outlawed in Egypt in June of 2008, and a 2014 survey showed that a whopping 92% of married women and girls between 15 and 49 years old have been subjected to FGM (I will talk more about the inclusion of 15 year olds in official surveys of married women in a post about child brides), and that 72% of these crimes were carried out by doctors. In 2008, a DHS survey of women and girls in the same age range showed that 63% of them were in support of FGM as a practice. Of those 63%, 60% cited husband preference for ‘cleaned’ girls, and 39% cited religious reasons. All of these are easily googleable facts, but these things always sound so clinical when they’re presented like this. Cold, sterile, detached. So, let’s get a little deeper into it, shall we?

Girls in Egypt are mutilated anywhere between birth and marriage, but mostly before the age of 15. These are children. Every single year, we have cases of babies, toddlers, children, young women dying from botched mutilations and infections, especially after the 2016 criminalisation of FGM practitioners. Parents will take their daughters to backwater clinics, or have ‘doula’s who have no medical experience of any kind visit them at home, and cut into the flesh of their young daughters with non-sterile equipment, often without anaesthesia.

I’ve heard and read first-hand accounts of girls who got topical anaesthesia that wore out halfway through. I’ve heard and read first-hand accounts of girls who were dragged, kicking and screaming, and held down by family and neighbours forcefully as their bodies were torn into. Of girls who bled for days, of girls who had to have their legs bound to each other for weeks, of girls who couldn’t stop screaming in pain every time they went to the bathroom, to complete apathy and even disgust and anger from their families, of girls who were snarled at for making noise while their bodies were being torn away on their own beds, of girls who still have constant pain over a decade later, of girls who hate themselves and hate their vulvas, and hate their lives. Of girls who are suicidal, of girls who are terrified of marriage, who have trust issues, who can’t handle the thought of anyone touching them there again, after the first time being so traumatic and painful and horrifying. All of this is done while the family, and even friends and neighbours, celebrate in joy. It’s even tradition in some rural areas to take all the female children of the family to get ‘fixed’ together, dressed in pretty dresses and fancy shoes.

I’ve also heard of women who are asexual due to trauma, whose husbands rape them continuously, who are abused for refusing sex, whose families disown them for being such a disgrace, whose husbands divorce them and leave them for dead, whose husbands marry multiple women besides them, and they are left to fend for themselves, unable to get a divorce and move on, and completely abandoned by the people they trusted the most. They’re told the angels will curse them all night for refusing sex, but what about their trauma? What about their feelings? What about them, as people? Nobody cares.

So, how did we get here? There are 3 main reasons.

The ’’religious’’ folk will cite a (weak) hadith as their proof that FGM is a good, healthy practice. It goes that the prophet saw a woman going to get her daughter cut, and he told her to ‘not cut severely, as that is better for the woman and more preferable to the husband’. Apart from any implications of misogyny in this hadith, it has been disputed multiple times, along with a couple others in support of FGM. You can read more about that here.

Regardless of the truth of FGM having Islamic support, the reality of the matter is that a huge amount of actual, real life Muslim people cite these hadiths as their reasoning to mutilate their daughters, and everyone sees that as completely justified. The truth of the matter is this: Someone put these hadiths into the public conscience knowing full well they will be used to abuse, maim, hurt, kill women for centuries. Whether that someone was prophet Muhammed himself or later scholars, no one can actually ever know.

The second, more indirectly religious and directly misogynistic reason, is to ensure ‘purity’. You see, as I’ve talked about before and as many of you already know, women in Islam and in MENA in general are seen and treated as property. The family’s honour lies between a woman’s thighs. A young girl who speaks to boys her age in the most innocent context possible can be subjected to house arrest, beatings, forced stopping of her education, even death, for daring to put the family’s honour in jeopardy. A girl who has a boyfriend, well...

In a society that places so much value not only on women’s virginity, but also on their complete removal and separation from the male sex at any cost, it’s not very surprising that tips and tricks like using FGM to ‘cull a woman’s sexual desire’ spread like wildfire. Girls are mutilated to make sure they don’t become wh**es. This is said frankly, openly, it’s common knowledge. If you refuse to hurt your child in this way, you will be met with disdain and disgust, and even wails of despair, with shock, with animosity. “Do you want her to become like a prostitute and ruin your family name? Do you want her to walk around uncontrolled? Don’t you know what shame she will bring on you?” These statements are directed at girls as young as... in the womb, if you show your dissent early enough.

And the final reason is the least of them to hide under religious pretences, and the most misogynistic: Because this is how men prefer their wives to be.

You might think when I say preference here, I mean it in the way I mean, “Oh, I personally prefer brunette hair,” but you would be sorely mistaken. By prefer here, I mean demand. I mean a man could force his grown wife, through physical force or through abuse, to mutilate her body for his satisfaction. I mean that men will sneer at un-mutilated women. I mean that men will beat their wives on their wedding night to within an inch of her life for ‘cheating’ them if the wives are not mutilated. I mean men will suspect their wives of adultery and murder them, which carries a reduced sentence of ‘time served during investigation’, just for the simple act of having intact genitals. I mean men will divorce their wives on their wedding night for being unharmed, for being whole. I mean men will act so entitled to women’s bodies that they will always have the assumption that the ‘product’ they are ‘buying’ is cut to taste, and they will become violent and aggressive and murderous if they find out this is not the case.

I personally don’t know whether or not I’ve been mutilated. With such high numbers in Egypt, the likely answer is yes, but I genuinely have no clue. I am not allowed to ask about these things, or I’ll be seen as a loose wh**re. My parents would beat me up and they still wouldn’t allow me the dignity of knowing whether my own body has been altered against my will. I don’t know if I’ll ever find out.

The feminists fighting constantly for tighter regulations, for harsher punishments, for longer sentences; these women are seen as the spawn of the devil. Accusations of loose morals are thrown their way day in and day out. Death threats and rape threats (’that’s what you want anyway isn’t it?’) are hurled at them from every direction. They are silenced. They are ridiculed. But they are prevailing. This year, the Egyptian president has decided to alter the FGM laws to cover loopholes, and possibly to increase enforcement. He has also altered the charge set to doctors who perform FGM which results in death from manslaughter to first or second degree murder.

The problem, however, remains in lack of reporting. Ever since the criminalisation of performing FGM in 2008, and the setting of punishments in 2016 as a minimum of three months’ jail time, to a maximum of 2 years, or a minimum of 1000EGP to a maximum of 5000EGP fines (63.71 to 318.53 USD), and until 2018, and possibly until today, not a single mutilator had been convicted.

Imagine being fined as little as 60 dollars for the permanent mutilation of a little girl’s body. And even that is not happening.

People refuse to report the monsters who do perform this, despite a 2012 gynaecology convention condemning the practice, and calling it an inhumane act, and stating quite forcefully that it is not a medical procedure, and that it is an infringement on the human rights of women and girls, which medicine and medical ethics do not condone. And yet, the public opinion remains the same: this is their business, it is not our place to intervene. It is not our place to get this fine young man thrown in jail, or fined, for performing a ‘cleaning’ procedure, and besides, wouldn’t you rather they had a medical professional perform it, rather than an uneducated woman, or a barber, or a butcher? It is not our place to report this family and tear them apart - what did they ever do to us that we may hurt them like this?

No one ever asks what little girls have ever done for us to fail them like this.

#egyptian feminism #radical feminism #RadFem #fgm #female genital mutilation #tw: violence #tw: rape #tw: abuse #tw: mentions of death #tw: misogynistic slurs #tw: fgm #feminism #anti-fgm #islam critical

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youalexturnermeon · 4 years

Text

Chasing the Past Pt. 1(Johnny Lawrence x Reader)

Request by Anon: Could I please get a Johnny Lawrence imagine where he and the reader (who is daniels sister) are secretly dating. Maybe like an old flame back in the 80s and now they reconnected?

A/N: Soo, I decided to split this int two parts since I think nobody wants to read 56746 trillion words in one go on here. This is set about 7 years after Karate Kid and Y/N and Johnny hooked up again. Please let me know if you’re up to part 2

Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, drugs and sex, reader is of age

Wordcount: 1709

It felt odd to be back again. After all it has been more than five years ago since you set foot onto the Los Angeles’ ground for more than just Christmas or a weekend since you moved to New York. Your mom and Daniel stayed in LA and it looked like a forever solution for them, but unlike your family you were never bound to California. And yet after going to college in New York City and working there for two years the tables have turned and you lost your job. And since New York was a pricy city you had no other way than moving back to your family for a few months before you found another job. You could either stay with your slightly neurotic mom or with your over-protective brother. And although the decision was tough at first because you love both of them as much as they went on your nerves, you decided to stay at Daniel’s last minute. After all, only two years separated you and you had a lot in common.

“What are you doing tonight, (Y/N)?” Daniel asked you as you unpacked the last bit of your suitcase “Because I thought, since it’s your first day back home, we could maybe go out for Sushi.”

“Oh Danny” you sighed and laughed “Are you still not over your Karate and Japan obsession?”

Even with you being the long grown-up younger sibling you still loved to mock your brother. He stuck his tongue out and gave you a light shove.

“Fuck you!”

You shoved him back and then he shoved you again, going back and forth like 10-year olds until eventually you both got tired of it and started laughing.

“No seriously, do you have any plans or – “

“Probably going to a party on the beach, like the old times, catch up with some old friends, Linda asked me. I’m actually leaving in about an hour. We can go tomorrow” you answered casually und started picking out a suitable outfit, you never knew who you could be running in from the past.

“I never understood what you all had with the parties on the beach. They’re lame” “Just because you got your ass kicked during a beach party ‘cause you just couldn’t stand not being the centre of attention for once and simply had to play a noble hero, doesn’t mean the parties are lame” “And just because you had the biggest crush on Lawrence since that day doesn’t mean I was wrong for protecting Ali”

Daniel tried to mock you; but you could hear how hurt he was still, thinking back of his teenage years filled with rivalry and heartbreak. You tried to hide a laugh, if he’d also knew that you and Johnny Lawrence hooked up a couple of weeks before you went to college, he’d probably just kill himself out of pity.

“Still hurts, huh, Danny?” you voiced immediately, and he just shrugged it off.

“Just be careful later, okay? I can also pick you up if you want to.” “I’m not 15 anymore, you don’t have to pick me up. You can also just come with me.” “Nah” Daniel shook his head, “I never liked your friends”

“Your loss, it’s never too late to deal with your past” you joked. When your brother left the room, you put on a tight crop top, slipped in your jean shorts and tied a sweater around your hips in case it got cold. You thought, you looked great – you were ready to go.

____

At first, it felt even weirder to be included in your old friend group that it was being back in L.A. But with the alcohol flowing and joints passing and dancing and talking and goofing around it became more and more natural. You weren’t teenagers anymore; you were all young adults and yet if felt like being 16 all over again. Reconnecting felt great. Maybe after all these years of you telling yourself that you didn’t need California and all the people belonging there, convincing yourself that not one cell in your body longed after the warm climate and carelessness, you finally understood that it was a big lie you told yourself. You missed Reseda and you missed all your friends. With all the sentiment finally catching up after five years of chasing you plus the booze and the exhaustion, you had to take a moment for yourself. You took a short walk along the beach and stood there with your feet being caressed by the waves. You drunkenly smiled to yourself, you could finally be happy again.

“(Y/N) fucking LaRusso!”, you suddenly heard a familiar voice behind you which immediately pulled you right out of your thoughts, “Am I dreaming or is that really the girl that broke my heart?”

You didn’t even have the chance to turn around, you were promptly spun around by strong muscular arms and landed in a tight and warm embrace. A natural laugh echoed through the night. You inhaled the familiar scent of the person with the even more familiar voice and when you looked up you saw this face that could’ve been an angel’s if it wasn’t for the bright blue eyes filled with all the mischief in the world. He looked older than the last time you have seen him, his face was more edged than five years ago; and you might’ve been imagining it; but he also got a little taller.

“Johnny!” you shrieked and wrapped your arms even tighter around him “What are you doing here?”

“A little birdie told me the better LaRusso in back in town and I decided to go and see for myself. Since I couldn’t get a hold of you in over five years. It seems like you have been avoiding me at all costs, no letters, no calls, no visits. And it was successful until now.”

He let go of you and stepped back to get a better look at you. You, too, have changed a lot but now you were the hottest girl in town for Johnny.

“Now you can’t escape me”

“To be honest, I have been avoiding everybody since I moved to New York. I didn’t think Johnny Lawrence had a heart in the first place and especially not one to break it” you said; and you bluntly took his hand and started dragging him back to the gathering where everybody still was drinking and dancing “Let’s go have a drink and catch up”

“What do you mean, you didn’t know if I had a heart and that you broke it” he laughed and devotedly let himself being hauled behind you. He would let you do anything to him, right now. He missed you and never wanted this moment to end.

“At first, the little LaRusso seduces me, gives me some kind of victory over the shit LaRusso, gifts me the best month of my life with the best sex of my life and without a word disappears to the other side of the country. This shattered my little heart into pieces”

“Fuck off, Johnny Lawrence” you grinned “As if this somehow tickled you in any sense. Let’s just get drunk and forget about it”

Johnny was hurt you didn’t believe him because for once he did not lie about this. You leaving, really left him all broken for a few weeks and he still loved to remember the time you spent together. But since this was ancient history now, he was okay with just getting drunk with you.

“Hey guys, look what the cat dragged in” you loudly exclaimed when you and Johnny, still holding your hand, arrived in midst of all the partying people “Johnny fucking Lawrence! Can you fucking believe this???”

“That Johnny Lawrence you were crushing on since you first saw him kicking your brother’s ass?” Linda, your oldest friend from high school, the one who took you to that party, asked sarcastically whilst handing you and Johnny red cups filled with booze. You excitedly nodded.

“Yeah, I was the one who told him that the less famous (Y/N) LaRusso is back”

“No way!” you shrieked and threw your lightly drunken self on Linda, hugging her “Thank you!”

“Jesus, I didn’t know, (Y/N) would be that happy to see me” Johnny whispered to Linda when you let go of her and shifted your attention to other friends wanting to know about you and the infamous Johnny Lawrence who still seemed to be a star amongst all although everyone finished high school years ago.

“To be honest, I thought she’d jump on my throat just like her big brother if she sees me here”

“Don’t worry, I got her drunk enough before you arrived” Linda said.

“Thank you!” Johnny mouthed; he was the happiest he had been in years. He took a deep breath and spun you around, so for the second time today you laded directly in his embrace which now turned into a dance. And to be fair, the night couldn’t get any better for you either. Johnny and you laughed and talked and drank and danced, getting closer and closer to each other with every song. And the rest of the night turned into a big wonderful blur.

___

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was your terribly aching head. You didn’t even open your eyes yet and you already knew how terrible of a hangover that would be. You tried not to move but even the slightest motion that involved nothing more than breathing shot a bullet of pain right to your brain. Finally, when you dared to slightly open your eyes you realized that your head was resting on a muscular chest, softly falling and rising. You were not alone and were not in your bed and especially not in Daniel’s apartment. Curiously you lifted the covers that were lazily thrown over two bodies and a silent “FUCK” escaped your lips. You were completely naked and the athletic man on whose chest you were resting was too bare ass naked.

“Fuck!” you whispered again; and you would’ve had laughed if you knew that it wouldn’t cause you any pain and blurry glimpses of the night came suddenly back to you.

Click for Part 2

#johnny lawrence #johnny lawrence x reader #johnny lawrence imagine #johnny lawrence fluff #daniel larusso #karate kid #karate kid imagine #karate kid fluff #william zabka #ralph macchio #cobra kai #cobra kai imagine

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Satisfied, Part 19

First

~~~

She sighed as she sat on the rooftop, swinging her legs as she waited for something to happen.

It felt weird to be back in full costume. In contrast with her now usual spandex, her outfit was a black swing-style dress with white tights. She ran her fingers through her new curls. They were magically swept to the side and stretched to her waist, where her lasso resided (it was the closest she could get to her yoyo without raising some eyebrows).

Her earpiece buzzed and she sighed as she clicked it on.

“-- don’t see why I have to be beaten up,” complained Robin.

She grinned and pressed a hand to her ear. “Because you’re the only one I don’t like. It’s most believable.”

“And because you promised that you wouldn’t hurt him too badly,” Batman warned.

“That too,” she agreed with a vague wave of her hand.

“If you don’t adopt her, I will, Bats,” said Red Hood.

She groaned. “I’m not getting --.”

“Shut up! All of you!” Hissed Robin.

There was a click in her ear, telling her that he had changed his earpiece setting. Now they could hear everything he could, including the light patter of his feet. There was a crunching sound as he hit the ground.

“Come on, Harley, you know I don’t want to have to arrest you.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

Robin sighed. “Harley... just give the grocers back their things. Or pay for them.”

Ah, the grocers. She hopped a few buildings over and started making her way around the rim, poking her head over to try and find them.

“Not gonna do that.”

“I know,” he said with a quiet groan.

There. She rested her head on her arms as she watched Harley charge him. It was clear from the first few seconds of watching them that Damian had to have some sort of soft spot for the woman, because he wasn’t even trying to really punch back. Instead, he was dodging her attacks and ducking around her to grab the groceries she had dropped.

She snickered.

“Aw, how sweet,” she said on the intercoms, then snickered when his face hardened.

She waited until he had mostly picked up everything to jump down on the side opposite Harley. Both of them paused when they saw her, she could see the woman looking her up and down with a shockingly sharp look in her eyes, and then Damian sent her a glare.

“Move,” he said, and she was 99% sure he was deepening his voice for this. She suppressed a laugh.

“Really?” she asked, leaning into her accent a little. She gave a small shrug. “If you say so.”

Marinette unhooked her lasso and lunged for him. “Miss, do you have any eggs or other fffffff-- I forgot the word! It starts with an F!” She called.

She jumped out of the way of a punch. Ah, so he was actually going to put some force into his attacks. How rude.

Harley went to checking the last few bags on the ground, then held up a carton of eggs. “I’m good, hon!”

She grinned. “Convenient.” She lassoed Robin’s foot on his next kick and pulled tight, holding his leg up at an awkward angle. “You know, amateurs are usually the ones who choreograph their moves like this,” she teased.

“You --!” Whatever curse he was going to throw at her was cut off when she let go, making him wobble uncertainly for a few steps before catching his footing.

“No fun. Try again.”

She could see his face redden with anger behind his mask. He dropped the bags to the ground and made a grab for her lasso that she had to roll to avoid.

So he’d had the decency to hold back before. Hm.

She whipped around just in time to feel a fist connect with her cheek. She stumbled back a step in shock. Then she ducked a new attack and went for his legs.

He jumped around her and sent a kick to the back of her own, sending her to the ground.

She was forced to do an awkward backroll when he attempted to jump on her. Her leg came up to kick him in the jaw. He sprang forward to let her kick him in the stomach. She thought this a weird way to throw the match until his hand locked around her wrist. In seconds he had twisted her onto her stomach, arm pressed to her back.

She groaned and tried scooting up slightly to try and lessen the pain, but he followed.

“No fun. Try again,” he teased.

He dropped her arm and stood up, dusting off his knees where they’d skid on the ground.

She glanced at Harley, who was taking her sweet time grabbing her things while she watched them fight. Great.

She turned herself over and sent him a glare, pushing herself to her feet.

Then, she broke into a grin. “That was a bad move, Robin,” she cooed. She flashed him finger guns and a portal opened under his feet.

His eyes widened in a mix of fear and surprise as he fell through the air. She had dropped him from pretty high up under the pretenses of trying to kill him, but really she was just giving him time to get out his grappling hook. And he did.

But then it hooked around the hand she’d flashed the signal with. And she was falling.

She screamed as they crashed together. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WHY DID YOU THINK THAT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA --.”

“IM WORKING ON IT!” He yelled back, his eyes just as panicked as hers. He was unhooking his grapple gun from her wrist, but it would take too much time for him to aim.

She opened a new portal under them and tumbled at awkward angles, bodies skidding against the concrete. Her chin knocked against the ground as she finally slid to a stop, stars dancing in front of her eyes. Bile built up in the back of her throat, but forced herself to sit up.

Robin was doing worse. Once their bodies had split off, he’d knocked his head on the edge of a pothole. He groaned, his face in a puddle.

She unhooked her lasso and bound his hands and feet, glaring, then flipped him onto his back. His eyes were unfocused, but they were starting to clear.

The first thing he managed to truly see was her scowling face.

“We could have died!”

“I wouldn’t have. The plan was to use you as a cushion even if you couldn’t do another one of those portal things.”

She scoffed and gave him a kick to the side, then looked back. Harley had grabbed her last bag. Finally.

“Thanks, kiddo!” Called Harley as she ducked out of the alley.

She grinned as she waited a few minutes to let her leave. “Mmmmm, good luck finding her,” she cooed, untying her lasso. She took a portal back onto the rooftop. She walked to the side where Harley had disappeared.

As she suspected, the woman had been watching to see how they interacted when she was gone. She left now, an unreadable smile on her face.

Marinette relaxed a little and made a new portal to the rooftop where they had agreed to meet. She grinned when she realized she had managed to get behind the bat family.

Never one to waste an opportunity, she smiled and pressed a hand to her ear.

“Look behind you!” She whispered fearfully.

Instantly, the three whipped around with their hands flying to their weapons. They only relaxed slightly when they realized it was her.

“Can you not sneak up on us?” Complained Nightwing. “I’m going to have a heart attack!”

She grinned. “Sure, old man.”

Red Hood snickered. “If he’s old, then Bats must be ancient.”

She opened her mouth to answer, then caught the look on the vigilante’s face and quickly looked away with a grin playing at her lips.

“So, who’s a better fighter?” Asked Red Hood after a bit.

She grinned. “I won.”

“Only because you cheated,” complained Robin as he jumped onto the rooftop. He was nursing his head, where there was definitely a bruise forming.

She rested a hand over her cheek, sure she had one to match. “And you nearly got us killed.”

“You almost killed me.”

“No! You would have been fine.”

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

She huffed and turned back to the rest. She saw Nightwing looking her outfit up and down suspiciously and raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“Why is this outfit more intricate than your normal one?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Because I was intending to make it look like a coincidence that I showed up here right after the Ladybug in Paris defeated Hawkmoth,” she lied. Because all good partnerships are built on lies.

He frowned and looked suspicious, but there was no way to prove she was being dishonest, so he changed the subject: “How do you think it went?”

“Couldn’t tell. She has a good poker face,” she admitted.

Robin shrugged as well.

With little information to report, they broke off. Eventually, it was just her and Red Hood, alone on the rooftop.

He handed her a small pistol. She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I think it matches your outfit best!” He defended his choice.

She rolled her eyes and a holster materialized itself on the side of her dress. She checked the safety and put it in. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

~~~

Taglist

@comet-kun @thatonecroc @trippingovermyfeet @swiftie-miraculer13 @nickristus-dreamer @moongoddesskiana @i-am-ironic @indecisive-mess-named-me @thebooki3h @insane-fangirl-of-everything @deepestobservationwombat @theymakeupfairies @fatimaabbasrizvi @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanofalittletoomuch @iamablinkmarvelarmy @nathleigh @lilkymilky @silvergold-swirl @dino-lovingreen-angel @thestressmademedoit @kissa-chan @ladybug-182 @alysrose-starchild @t1dwarrior-of-earth @spyofthenightcourt @rowanrouge @nik-nak-3 @momothefemur @aestheticnpoetic @labschaos @our-preciousss @mochinek0 @eliza-bich @mythogaychic @severelyenchantedwonderland @sashakoi @smolplantmum @bluesimani @tropestropestropes @kitsunebell @keepingupwiththemalfoys

#i felt like i couldn't give her a good outfit considering the source material #but then i didnt want it to be bad either #so i just made it plain #it was the best compromise i could come up with #and so. once again. i am unable to do a fight scene because i know too much about it #satisfied #maribat #timinette #timari #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin #tim drake

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p-artsypants · 4 years

Text

I’ll Handle This (Chapter 1)

In honor of 1500 followers, I present to you, my first chapter of my extremely stupid fic I’ve been working on slowly to de-stress. The fic is not actually ready for regular updates, but I will post links to this when it is.

For now, it is just for my precious tumblr Angels. Enjoy!

“I’ll solve all your problems,” Plagg had said. “You just have to agree to it.” A fixed relationship with his father, Lila to stop bothering him, and Ladybug to fall in love with him? Who wouldn’t agree to that?

Except Plagg was the God of Destruction and Chaos and had a more…hands-on approach. Adrien just wants his body back.

Loosely based on @beebeebombam‘s bodyswap AU.

It was foolish to think that the god of destruction was inherently good. Adrien trusted Plagg, as did the other kwami’s, since he knew the difference between right and wrong, and more often than not choose the ‘right’ thing to do.

But to assume that he was good, was foolish.

At best, he was chaotic neutral. Doing what was best for himself, which usually meant preserving the status quo.

Plagg was, despite the grand powers of total destruction and chaos, at the core, a cat. A cat that lived the life that other people would be jealous of. Sure, he spent most of his time in a pocket, but that was the warmest and most snuggliest place to be. Adrien provided him with endless cheese, and endless entertainment. In return, he had to give up his corporeal form and get sucked into a ring, only to watch Adrien blunder around in a fight for 15 minutes once or twice a week. Even then, it wasn’t that much work. Sure, Cataclysm wiped him out, but a little more cheese and he was good to go.

Yes, being the god of destruction was a sweet gig.

At least it was, until things got frustrating.

Of course he loved his little kitten, who didn’t? But watching his life unfold was like watching a soap-opera. And being a creature thousands of years old, only made it so so much harder.

It was like watching a toddler in a room full of electrical sockets with a fork in hand. Plagg knew that Adrien was bound to completely wipe out and screw himself over. That’s why Plagg was apt to gently nudge him in the right direction, without telling him outright. The kid had to learn somehow, right?

And then, Master Fu had to go and lose his memories, and now the soap opera was even more dramatic.

From a third person perspective, Adrien’s life was really not that complicated. He was in love with a girl, and she was in love with him, but not the version of him that was in love with the version of her. But of course, she thought he was in love with a totally different girl, and so she tried to move onto another boy, though Plagg doubted she was over him. Okay, in theory, it was kind of complicated.

But remove the identities, and that problem would be solved. Without Master Fu, that clock was ticking. It was only a matter of time before Marinette realized she needed to get in touch with him outside of the suit in case of emergencies. Talking to Tikki, she was even trying to coax the new guardian into that decision a little faster.

But you just can’t rush humans. They don’t know what’s good for them.

As for the rest of Adrien’s complicated messes, well, most of it would be fixed if he wasn’t such a people pleaser.

Sure, there was merit to being nice to people and turning the other cheek. Plagg could appreciate that. It was a very ‘Tikki’ sentiment.

But he wasn’t Tikki, and Adrien just needed to grow a spine already.

It was going beyond people pleasing, and going into fear of stepping on toes, and just outright masochism. It was like Adrien liked being taken advantage of and having his feelings hurt.

Well, by the way he was waxing poetic at the moment, Plagg knew that was true.

“And now I feel bad, because I know Kagami really likes me, and I know I could really like her too, but with Ladybug…ugh! I want to give up on her because she’s in love with someone else, and she doesn’t need my flirting to distract her in a fight, which I can’t even help anymore, because it’s such an automatic response, but when I think about how she’s dealing with being the guardian too, it breaks my heart and I just feel like I’m betraying her!”

“Do you feel like you’re betraying Kagami when you’re mooning over Ladybug?”

“No! Yes! I don’t know! Feelings are stupid!”

“I’ll say. That’s why I stick with cheese.”

“Ugh! You’re so useless!”

He wasn’t, Plagg would argue. Because he could see the whole thing planned out in an omniscient game board. It was just…impossible to tell him what to do. Only because was supposed to stay out of human affairs. Such was the law of the Kwami. And he was pretty sure at this point, Adrien would just brush him off with ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

“Look, if dating Kagami makes you happy, then date her. If it makes you feel guilty, then don’t.”

“Bah! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

See?

“Well, the way I see it, you can’t betray someone that doesn’t have feelings for you. Camembert won’t feel hurt if I indulge in a gouda every once in a while.”

“All you talk about is stupid cheese! You have no idea what I’m going through! No idea! My life is so hard and—and frustrating—and—!”

Oh boy, here came the waterworks.

“And whenever I need actual advice, all you do is talk about cheese! It’s so aggravating!”

“Listen kid,” Plagg said shortly. “I know how hard you have it, okay? And it’s not that hard. You’re just young. Of course everything is overwhelming, you’ve only been on this earth for 15 years, and even then, you’ve only been social for…a year? A year in a half? You just need to stop wigging out all the time.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” He ran his fingers through his hair, frantic. “You don’t care about anything! I’m trying to keep the peace between my classmates, my family, and all of Paris! You’re just callous!”

“Me? Callous?”

“Yeah! All you’re good for is destroying and making messes!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! You wouldn’t have a clue how to live my life! You’d bungle it all up in an hour! No, five minutes! You know nothing about being human! You’re just—Just—!”

“Just what, Adrien? Go on, say it!” Plagg taunted.

“You’re just a stink ball!”

Plagg looked at him flatly. “Really, that’s all you got?”

“What do you want me to call you?!” Adrien nearly shouted, at the risk of alerting everyone in the house.

Plagg rolled his eyes. “You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen.” The kwami got in his face, his patience at an end. “I’m not supposed to meddle in your life. I’m a third party observer. I can advise you against bad choices, but I can’t tell you what to do. Or else you’ll never learn. But I am sick and tired of listening to you whining and complaining about everything, and then not actually doing anything to fix it. Yes, your father sucks, yes, it hurts that Ladybug doesn’t love you like you love her, and yeah, Lila is a liar and really tricky to work with! But you’re not actually doing anything to fix it!”

“Then tell me what to do! Because I don’t know!”

“I can’t!”

“Gah!” Adrien threw his arms up in frustration.

“But…”

Adrien turned and looked at him, taking a calming breath. “But…?”

“But, I can fix everything for you. If you let me.”

“You can? You can make Ladybug fall in love with me?”

“I can fix everything. You just have to agree to it.”

“Psh! Yeah! I’ll agree to it!”

Plagg held out his paw. “Then hold up your hand, the one with the ring.”

Adrien did so, hesitating ever so slightly. “I’m not going to regret this later, am I?”

“Hmm…only if you don’t actually want to fix all your problems.”

“Fine, I agree to whatever the heck you’re doing, you weird little creature.”

Plagg closed his eyes, and then when he opened them, they were glowing green. He touched his paw to the Miraculous, and Adrien felt every muscle in his body contract. A painless current flowed through his body, sending tingles to the tips of his toes and the roots of his hair.

“The pact is made.” Said Plagg, in a voice far more ancient than Adrien was used too.

He grew dizzy, his room spinning around him, and his vision doubling.

“Plagg—ugh…”

“Just go to sleep, Adrien.”

“Nngh…”

“Sleep…”

The last thing he saw, was a pair of glowing green eyes floating towards him, until all he saw was green. And then black.

—

In the morning, Adrien awoke to his alarm going off.

He swatted his arm towards it, never quite reaching it.

“Ugh! I feel like I got hit by a train!” His voice said.

Adrien blinked, and then realized that he wasn’t the one who said that. Looking around, was his room always this big? No, certainly it wasn’t…

He sat up, wakefulness coming to him in a series of waves. First, he wanted some cheese, desperately. Second, his body felt real weird. And third, there was another person in his bed.

“Just take as long as you need to catch up, but not too long, we got school.” Said his voice again.

Adrien looked to the other person, and came face to face with himself, though the eyes were just a touch greener and the pupils were cat like. “Wha-what?”

“Ta-da!” Said he, “Now I can take care of your problems, hands on!”

“Plagg!?”

“In the flesh!”

“If you’re me, then…” he looked down at his little paws. “AH!!”

“Chill, my dude.” Said the god in human body, resting his arms behind his head. “You get a vacation.”

“But—But this isn’t what I wanted!”

“That’s what you get for not asking for more details.”

“Plagg! We have to switch back! We can’t do this!”

“No can do, kid. I will stay in your body until your problems are solved. That’s the pact.”

“What?! And how long will that take?! There’s no way you can solve all my problems!”

“It could take a few days…weeks maybe. And I’m not solving every little thing.”

“But you said—“

“Once you get these three things in order, everything else will fall in line.”

Adrien took a patient breath. “Okay…what are the three things?”

“One, your relationship with your dad, two, your unrequited love with Ladybug, and three, Lila’s sexual harassment.”

Adrien gaped at him. “We’ll be at this for months! Plagg, just change me back! How do I undo the pact?”

“Well, you can destroy the Miraculous, effectively killing me in the meantime.”

Adrien shook his head. “No no…I’d rather not do that.”

“Or…you can just relax and let me work. I’m thousands of years old. I’ve been around the block a few hundred times. Hercules had his 12 trials, you only have three. Piece of cake.” He sat up, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, making to stand. “Whoa…haven’t done that in a few millennia…”

“Ugh, this is not going to work!” Adrien lamented, “you’re not going to know how to act like me!”

“Kid, I live in your pocket. I know exactly how you act. And your attitude is exactly what got you into this mess.”

Adrien blinked at Plagg, as he stood and began stretching like a cat. “My attitude?”

“Yeah, Mr. ‘Everyone is my friend even if they hurt me’.”

“Well, that’s what I should do, isn’t it?”

Plagg finished his stretching and placed his hands on his hips. “You just watch kid. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“I have a feeling watching you is going to be like watching a train wreck.”

Plagg stepped into the closet. “Let’s see...what is the perfect outfit to spite a fashion designer without making you look like a total idiot...? Ah ha!”

Adrien floated off the bed, not used to the sensation, and slowly hovered over to the closet. “What?! You can’t wear that!”

“It’s in your closet, so why not?”

“It’s against dress code! I’ll get in trouble!”

“All the more reason to wear it then!” He fumbled around with his pajamas, trying to remember how to remove clothing. “Ugh, ideally, I’d love to be naked.”

“Don’t you dare!” Adrien nearly shrieked.

“Oh I won’t, but damn that would be funny.” He shimmied out of his pants and started to get dressed. “Why do you even have this outfit if you would never wear it?”

“It was for an eighties themed shoot. I get to keep all of my clothes I model. That wasn’t even designed by my dad.”

“Ohh! Even better!” Plagg sang, slipping on the white, tattered crop top, showing off Adrien’s abs. “You always wear dear daddy’s designs.”

“I have to, it’s in my contract.”

“You’re just digging yourself into a hole, Agreste.” Plagg pulled on the black denim pants, careful not to stick his foot right through the holes in his knees. Then he tied the look together with clunky black boots, a green flannel shirt, and green tinted sunglasses. “Oh yeah, now we have a look!” He tussled his hair. “Man, Pigtails is going to lose her mind when she sees this.”

“Pigtails? You mean Marinette? Why does her reaction matter?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Plagg swiped him out of the air and tucked him into the flannel’s pocket.

Just in time, there was a knock on the door. “Adrien? Are you ready for school?”

“Show time.” Plagg grinned into the mirror.

“Kill me.” Adrien muttered to himself.

In the hall, Nathalie gave him a once over, her eyes wide and a eyebrow raising. “Do you really think that’s appropriate clothing for school?”

Plagg shrugged. “I’m playing with my image, so what?” Then he reached up and patted her cheek. “You work too hard, kid. You should ask for a day off every once in a while. Pretty sure Gabe’s blowing some labor laws or something.”

Shit. Damn. Ass. Piss. It was just as Adrien predicted! He blew it! And it’s only been what, a half hour?

“Adrien!” Nathalie sputtered.

But Plagg just breezed passed her, heading to the dining room for breakfast. “Oh, by the way Nat. Do you mind if I call you Nat? I need you to clear my schedule for the next few days.”

“I’ll have to check with your father—“

“Why? You’re the one in charge of the tablet.”

Nathalie was becoming visibly annoyed. “That may be so, but he’s the one in charge of me!” She huffed, then calmed herself. “You better have a good reason for wanting to clear your schedule.”

“I do. My activities are stupid. I want to hang out with my friends, have fun…you know, enjoy my life? You remember what that’s like, right?”

“What on earth has gotten into you?” She demanded.

“Sorry Nat, guess I woke up with a case of teenage rebellion.”

“Your father will not be pleased to hear about this.”

Plagg laughed. “Oh I’m positive he won’t! Go on. Better bite the bullet as they always say.”

Nathalie looked at him aghast, and headed out of the room.

Adrien floated out of the pocket. “Unbelievable. I’m dead. I’ll be locked in my room forever, and it’s all your fault.”

“Tut tut,” Plagg patted him on the head. “There’s not a lock on earth that can stop me.”

After breakfast, Plagg gathered Adrien’s book bag, being kind enough to keep his grades up. But as he reached the front door, Gabriel stopped him with a clearing of his throat.

Plagg turned and looked at him, but didn’t say a thing.

“What do you think you’re wearing?” Said Gabriel, with an icy voice.

Adrien knew that voice. That was a very very bad sign. Plagg was going to get it. Yelling, threats, prison. All of it. A hand reached into the pocket and rubbed between his ears in comfort and reassurance.

Plagg straightened up slightly, looked Gabriel in the eyes, and stated. “Respect the drip, Gabe.”

Adrien almost laughed.

Gabriel blinked, then continued with his icy tone. “You are not to address me by my first name. You know that.”

“Oh. Sure thing, Old Man.”

Gabriel frowned harder.

“Or would you prefer ‘Peepums’? Or ‘Daddy-O’?”

“‘Father’, is ideal. I don’t like this attitude, Adrien. It’s unbecoming.”

“Unbecoming? I think I wear a spine pretty well.”

Gabriel sputtered. “A sp-spine!? Is that what they’re calling disobedience these days?”

“It’s a real attention grabber, don’t you think? Because obedience wasn’t cutting it. You barely noticed me then.”

Gabriel scoffed. “You are always so dramatic! Just like your mother! I raised you better than to act out for attention!”

“Hmm…interesting. Considering you want me to grab the attention of everyone else in Paris. Or is that not what you meant? Only good attention, right?”

Gabriel’s nostrils flared. “I’m not impressed, Adrien.”

“You never are. So what’s new?”

“Go to your room. You want to act like a delinquent? Fine, then suffer the consequences.”

“How about no? You know, most kids would jump at the chance to skip school. But I actually want to go. Shouldn’t that be a red flag to you, old man?”

Gabriel took out a small remote from his pocket, and hit a button. The door and windows clicked, locked.

“You have no choice. As long as you’re under my roof, you’ll follow my rules!”

Plagg rolled his eyes, giving Adrien another scratch between the ears. “Ugh, gag me. Look Gabe, the more you fight this, the worse it’s going to get.”

“What?!”

“I’ve got a lot of pent up frustrations. I may do something drastic. I might hurt myself.”

Gabriel gave him a little knowing smile. “Teenage rebellion, hm? Fine. I’d like to see you do anything. I can see it in you right now. This is killing you. You’ve always been obedient, and you’ll continue to do so.”

“You’re calling my bluff?”

“Absolutely. Show me what’s next.”

Plagg raised an eyebrow, deliberating on what to do. Go all in?

Ah, what the hell?

“Open the door, and you’ll find out.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Plagg shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He walked over and grabbed a vase. “Is this your pick, or mom’s?”

“That’s a priceless ming vase, hand selected from a renowned interior designer.”

“Really? Because there’s a 4 euro price tag on the bottom of it.”

“What?! No there’s not!”

“Yeah, you got me that time. It’s actually a Gien.” Then he chucked the vase into the nearest window, breaking the vase and the glass. “Now it’s a mosaic!”

“That’s coming out of your trust fund!”

“Oh, like your profits from last quarter wouldn’t cover it! I’m doing both of us a favor.” He stated as he carefully climbed out of the window.

Gabriel was too stunned to stop him. “And what favor would that be?”

Once Plagg was on the other side, he peeked back in the window and called. “Fixing our relationship! I’m your son, not your employee! Start treating me like it, and this will all go away!”

“This is blackmail!”

“No! It’s an intervention! Bye dad! Love you! Off to school!” And he booked it away from the mansion as fast as he could.

Once he was safely down the street, he took Adrien out of his pocket. He was bawling big tears.

“You okay, kid?”

“He was so angry…you broke a window! And—he’s going to take my freedom away!”

“Like I said, there’s not a lock that can stop me. He’ll come around.”

“You’re not going to ruin my public image, are you?”

“Adrien, no matter what I do, your fans will always love you. You start being a bad boy? People will eat that up. Relax. You’re worrying too much.” His eyes flicked up, noting the sign to a cafe, “ah, want some coffee?”

“I want my body back.”

“Coffee it is!”

#adrien agreste #plagg #fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #gabriel agreste #body swap

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janeofcakes · 3 years

Text

Soulmate: How John Met Sherlock...Again Chapter 2

Hello, my friends! I come to you today knowing there is but one burning question in your minds today: What will Gracie and Olive get up to next? Okay, maybe two: When the hell will John and Sherlock meet, Jane? Tell me. Tell me now! Haha. Patience, my lovelies. You know I can't write a story without stringing you along for a while first. I am very firmly on the naughty list and like our dear friend, Martin Freeman I cannot abide being on anyone's nice list. Mwahaha.

I also wanted to say that the next few chapters are not as long as the first. There was so much to get through in that one. I hope you aren't disappointed. The good news is my typing and editing are going well so I should be able to keep my weekend schedule. Hooray!Happy reading. Jane

----

Gracie casts a side look at Olive from where she sits on the jungle gym. It is afternoon break and the two girls just climbed frantically up the poles and bars to sit at the top for a rest after running themselves ragged all over the playground pretending to be Nancy Drew and George Fayne solving a mystery. Every day since Monday has gone more or less the same way. They play together for morning break, talk at lunch and play again in the afternoon. They write notes on one another’s notebooks during lessons, but manage not to disrupt class or miss instruction. It has been a truly amazing first week of school, better than Gracie could have ever imagined.

Gracie looks at Olive again and feels her throat swell. It’s like she has known Olive forever. They seem to always understand each other and be in perfect sync. Gracie has talked about nothing else at home and has even dreamed about playing with Olive each night. Olive has told her all kinds of things about London and its history. Tower Bridge, London Bridge, the National Theatre, but what Gracie is most interested in seeing is the Tower of London. She asked her father just last night if they could go sometime to see the old castle and the crown jewels. She can’t wait to see and do everything, and it would be even better if Olive could come along for some of it. London is much more exciting than Bath ever was, hands down!

“Gracie,” Olive begins in a lazy tone, “how do you feel about bees?”

Turning to face her friend fully, Gracie furrows her brow and frowns. Olive does not react to the movement and continues looking at something in the distance, or perhaps at nothing at all. Gracie says nothing at first, wondering if Olive had been talking before and all Gracie heard was the bee question. The taller girl finally turns her head and fixes the blonde with an inquisitive gaze. Gracie frowns as she considers the question. She is not really partial to any insect, nor is she upset by them.

“They’re all right, I guess,” Gracie shrugs. “They make honey, so there’s that.”

“Mm…” Olives hums in approval. “True.”

Gracie raises her brows, every inch of her face asking ‘What are you on about?’. Olive blinks and seems to realize she was lost in her own mind, leaving Gracie with absolutely no context for the question.

“That’s what my dad wants to do when he retires,” Olive explains. “Beekeeping. In Sussex, probably.”

Oh no. This can’t be happening. Gracie just met Olive and had the best week of her life and now she’s going to lose her to bees?!

“You’d leave London then?” Gracie chokes on the words, not even trying to hide her distress.

“Yeah,” Olive answers absently, playing with the end of her long braid. “He says they’re fascinating.”

Gracie’s whole body tenses and her stomach roils. She feels sick and a bit dizzy when she glances away from Olive to a girl laughing wildly on the swings. It’s like a bad dream spiraling out of control to the soundtrack of that girl’s mad laughter. Gracie bites her lip hard to ground herself and looks back at Olive.

“Is he close to retiring?” Gracie forces out, beads of sweat beginning to collect at her temples.

“What? No,” Olive huffs a laugh and looks at Gracie again. “He’s definitely old, but not ancient. He has too much fun working anyway. Hey, are you okay?”

“Fun?” Gracie asks incredulously, ignoring her friend’s inquiry. “At a crime scene?”

“Oh, yeah, he loves it,” Olive laughs, seeing Gracie begin to relax. “He loves a good mystery. Locked room murders are his favorite.”

“Wow,” Gracie mutters, only half understanding what that means.

“He used to have a partner, you know,” Olive adds with a grin. “He loved it even more then.”

“So he had his own Clue Crew?” excited energy vibrates through Gracie’s body as she pictures a grown up and male version of Olive with a man and woman posed behind him like on Charlie’s Angels. Gracie’s dad loves old shows and movies, so she has seen her fair share. James Bond is his favorite. She makes a note to ask Olive if she has ever seen any of them.

“Not a crew,” the brunette corrects. “Just the one partner. They solved all kinds of cases together. They were best friends.”

“Like us?”

“Yep, exactly like us,” Olive says with a flash of teeth. Gracie grins too and is about to ask about Bond when something else pops to the forefront of her mind.

“Oh! It’s like my dad’s bedtime stories!” Gracie blurts eagerly. “Sam Williams and Dean Jensen. They’re best friends and solve crimes together. That’s how I got started on Nancy Drew in the first place. Dad’s read some of the old ones to me.”

“Really?” Olive cries. “Oh! Oh! Mystery of the 99 Steps?”

“That’s my favorite!” Gracie shrieks, her hands flying to her cheeks.

“Mine too!” Olive gasps.

“Girls,” the teacher on duty calls up to them from the ground below. They look down at her, all wide eyes and smiles. “Time to go back inside.”

They climb down as the teacher walks away to tell other kids. The two girls bound towards the school, slowing to a walk as they get closer. Gracie feels something brush against her hand and glances at it just in time to see Olive’s longer fingers wrap around it. She shifts her wide eyes to her friend’s, barely able to contain her joy.

“We should get our dads to read us the same old Nancy Drew book, a chapter each night,” Olive tells her conspiratorially. “Then we can compare notes the next day and see if we can solve it before Nancy.”

“That’s the best idea!” Gracie crows. “We can figure out which one during library time.”

“And then you check it out,” Olive says decisively. “Mrs. Hudson has all of them. I can borrow it from her.”

“Ok,” Gracie agrees, already knowing so much about Olive’s godmother that she doesn’t even question the woman would have the whole series. Honestly, Gracie wants to meet her almost as much as she wants to meet Olive’s detective father.

The two girls giggle for a moment at their new plan and then skip into the school building.

***

Saturday afternoon finds Gracie hand in hand with Candace McCleary, a nanny John handpicked while Gracie was still in Bath. They met the day after Gracie arrived last week and she instantly fell in love with Candace, much to John’s relief. Candace would not be a live-in nanny, but is employed like one. John needs her to get Gracie from school and stay with her until he gets home in the evenings. He also needs her to be available at a moment’s notice for when an emergency, like the birth of a baby, arises. John had warned his daughter after Angela Taylor’s check-up on Wednesday that he thought the baby would come early and probably at a most inconvenient time. Sure enough, he received the call just as he started lunch. Gracie was disappointed that her first trip to Hanover Gate Children’s Playground in Regent’s Park would be without her father, but was still over the moon when Candace was happy to take her. She had been looking forward to it almost all week.

“Oh my gosh!” Gracie exclaims as she and Candace approach the playground. There is equipment everywhere to climb and swing on and slide down. Gracie immediately decides the sandpit is first on her list. A tall tree stands in its center with wooden bridges and walkways built all around it. Rope ladders and nets offer admittance and there is even a hammock to sit on. “Candace, this is amazing! This is the best park ever!”

“Why don’t you jump right in?” the woman laughs. “I’ll just be right on this bench if you need me.”

Candace points to an empty green bench as she speaks and starts heading for it before someone else claims it. Gracie calls out her agreement and makes a b-line for the nearest rope ladder. She is up it in seconds and running across a bouncy bridge, laughing all the way. She runs the whole course, turns right back around and does it again. There are quite a few kids in this part of the park, but it’s still easy to work her way around them. After a few more laps on the equipment, a small group of kids asks Gracie to play tag. She recognizes them from school and accepts.

A good hour later, two of the kids have to go home and Gracie is exhausted. She begs off, having had her mind set on playing in the sand since she and Candace got there. Plopping down in a shady spot, she plunges her hands beneath the beige and brown grains. The sand is cool and dry and feels soft in between her fingers, not like the rough sand that is sometimes used in parks. It’s like the white sand from a beach. She has half a mind to pull her shoes off and let her feet sink into its depths. Gracie closes her eyes and wiggles her fingers, feeling the sand move around them like a favorite blanket. She opens her eyes as she curls her fingers around the tiny grains and watches them slip through when she lifts her hands.

Gracie does this again and again until she grabs a stick and begins to drag it through the sand like a plow. At one point, she makes a short trench and plants sunflower seeds and raisins from the snack baggy in her pocket. She pats the sand with satisfaction after covering them and looks toward the bench where Candace sits. She waves and her nanny waves back. Gracie giggles and gets to her knees, but stops when a figure just sitting down on the hammock suddenly blocks her view of Candace.

“What the…” Gracie mutters, her mouth falling open in disbelief. She gets to her feet and runs straight for the rope hammock and its occupant, who hears her footfalls and looks up with blue-grey eyes.

“Gracie!” Olive cries in surprise as her friend trips in the sand and drops face-first next to the hammock. “Gracie?”

“I’m okay,” the blonde girl declares, pushing herself up and standing quickly. The two girls lock eyes and start laughing. “What are you doing here?”

“We come every weekend,” Olive replies, pulling Gracie onto the woven rope. “Our flat’s just that way.”

“Really?” Gracie gasps with a delighted squeak. She points in the opposite direction. “Mine’s that way.”

“No way!” Olive shouts with glee. “That’s amazing! I had no idea we lived so close.”

“I know right,” Gracie exclaims, beginning to rock the hammock a bit. Olive unfolds her legs to hang them down and help push. “What are the odds?”

“Well,” Olive considers, adopting her contemplative face. Gracie knows instantly that a deduction is coming. She giggles and her smile widens as she watches her best friend. “Since we go to the same school, it seems fairly likely that we would live close together because it’s usually based on geography. However, it’s a bit different with public school. Kids can come from all parts of London as long as they have the money to pay.”

“Oh my god,” Gracie can barely contain her excitement and she stamps a foot on the ground a few times. “We could play here every weekend! I’m sure I could get Dad to bring me.”

“Yes! Let’s set it up now,” Olive sits up straight, ready to jump off the netting. “Is your dad here?”

“No, he had to deliver a baby,” Gracie rolls her eyes. Olive makes a dismissive noise that sounds like she just opened an air-tight container and sinks back into the hammock “Exactly. I mean, babies are important and all, but now he has to wait another week to see all this.”

Gracie swings her arms out wide and tilts her head skyward before flopping unceremoniously onto her back. Olive lets herself tip backwards as well and they soon lie side by side, looking up at the clouds. Gracie points out one that looks like a panda and proceeds to tell her friend all sorts of facts about pandas.

“I even have a panda,” she finishes.

“You do?” Olive asks, her eyes widen with wonder.

“Since I was three,” Gracie nods. “She’s my favorite stuffie. She’s called Pandy and I sleep with her every night.”

“I have a bee,” Olive says without hesitation. “I call him Wellington, sometimes Wellies for short.”

“Do you like bees as much as your dad does?” Gracie is curious because Wellington might have been a gift like Pandy was, but it certainly sparked her interest in pandas.

“I don’t think anyone could like them as much as Dad,” Olive huffs a laugh, “but yeah, I definitely like them too. It’s amazing how they make honey and their whole society and all.”

“Wow. Would you tell me?” Gracie fixes her with a serious gaze and licks her lips. “I loooove honey.”

“Sure, and you can tell me more about pandas,” Olive grins and points to a medium-sized cloud. “That one looks like a catapult.”

Gracie cocks a brow and follows her finger to a cloud that, amazingly enough, does resemble a rudimentary catapult.

The afternoon passes as the two girls tell each other stories and make up new games, their favorite being pirates sailing their hammock boat across the sea to a mysterious island. They leave their spot at this point to explore sandy beaches, nearly being vanquished by a giant hippo and almost losing Olive beneath quicksand. Gracie keeps her head about her and is always within Candace’s line of sight, and it’s a good thing too because the two girls are interrupted as tea time nears.

“I knew I’d find you here,” a low rumble of a voice comes from behind Gracie where she sits facing Olive. They have just dug up a treasure of sunflowers and raisins, a very valuable find on the sea. Their eyes grow wide as a menacing laugh fills the air around them. Gracie swallows hard and turns slowly to see the towering silhouette of a man in a billowy black coat. She shields her eyes, but with the sun behind him, she cannot make out his features. He probably has an eye patch and everything.

“What are you doing on my island?” the man demands as he steps closer. Gracie gasps and pushes herself backwards toward Olive to get away from the dark figure only just coming into focus.

“Hi, girls. Is everything okay?” Candace McCleary asks from the right and Gracie glances at her gratefully. Her trusty companion must have bolted from her park bench as soon as the giant appeared. Now she stands alert as though ready to pounce and Gracie breathes a sigh of relief. She hadn’t even seen this man until it was too late. Gracie grits her teeth and silently berates herself as her father’s words about being observant come to mind.

“Uhhh…” Gracie finds her voice, but it comes out as a meek croak. Meanwhile, Olive leaps up next to her and runs for the figure with open arms. Gracie gapes, sure she is about to see her friend eaten before her very eyes.

“Daddy!” Olive cries, launching herself into the man’s arms. Gracie blinks and it is like a cloud has moved from where it had covered the sun. The giant, no longer in the shadows, transforms into a tall man wearing a nice suit with no tie and a long coat. Gracie finds herself marveling at the fact that he doesn’t appear to be hot in the slightest and momentarily wonders if he has ice in his pockets, but stops all speculation when she sees his face. Angles and cheeks like Olive, dark curls and the same grey eyes that seem to change from green to blue and back. The corners of Gracie’s mouth turn up and a sense of ease washes over her.

“Is it time to go already?” Olive is speaking at a mile a minute. “We only just started playing pirates. Can Gracie come home with us? We’re having Thai for dinner. I bet she’ll like it.”

The tall man chuckles at his daughter and the sound is like a really warm blanket, soft and comfy. He glances at Candace and settles his gaze on Gracie. She bristles for a moment at those all-seeing eyes. It’s true they are like Olive’s, but much wiser. Gracie has the feeling he is learning much more from just watching her than anyone else can. She’s not entirely sure how she feels about that, but supposes it’s why Olive is so perceptive and she loves her. Besides, this is her dad. Gracie feels like she knows him already after all the stories she has heard.

“Ah, so this is the infamous Gracie,” Sherlock says surreptitiously with a look in Olive’s direction. The girl smiles broadly and nods while Gracie smiles a little timidly. His chin dips in greeting. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“I know a lot about you too,” Gracie replies as she rises, finding her tenacity again.

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Sherlock answers. He turns his attention to Candace, who still looks a touch uneasy. “And this is your friend?”

“Yeah,” Gracie confirms enthusiastically. “This is Candace.”

She jumps up and grabs Olive’s hand, pulling her toward the young woman.

“And this is Olive,” she exclaims.

“Oh,” the last traces of suspicion vanish from Candace’s eyes and she gestures at the girls. “Of course. You’re Olive. Gracie has been telling me about you all week.” “And this is my dad,” Olive introduces. “Sher…”

“William,” Sherlock interrupts, offering his hand. Candace steps forward and takes it in a firm shake. “Will.”

“Nice to meet you,” Candace replies, not noticing the quizzical look on Olive’s face, but Gracie sees. She also sees Sherlock glance at his daughter and communicate something that clears the confusion from Olive’s mind in an instant. Gracie tilts her head in thought, considering this new information. She and John can do that sometimes too. It makes her that much more certain that Olive is meant to be her best friend.

“It’s quite a coincidence them meeting in the park like this,” Candace is saying when Gracie emerges from her thoughts. “Do you live around here?”

“Yes, just on Baker Street,” Sherlock answers politely, but with a tinge of the tone Olive has when she mutters that something is obvious. Gracie lets out a quick giggle.

“Oh, right,” Candace nods with a friendly smile. “That’s not far at all. Maybe we’ll see you here again.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Sherlock looks down at the two girls, both of which are very excited. Olive is almost dancing in place and Gracie would swear she needed the toilet if she didn’t know better. “We’re here every Saturday just after lunch.”

“Perfect,” Candace says. “That’s about when we arrived. I’ll let her father know too. He’ll usually be the one who brings her.”

“He had a baby to deliver,” Gracie supplies. “He’s a doctor.”

“So Olive tells me,” Sherlock tells her with a certain mirth in his tone. “I would very much like to meet him, especially now that I’ve met you.”

“He’s wanted to all week,” Olive exclaims, giving Gracie’s hand a squeeze. “Ever since the first day.”

“I just can’t believe we ran into each other like this,” Candace declares, still a little dumbfounded.

Gracie doesn’t hear Sherlock’s response because Olive leans in close to whisper in her ear how great it will be when their fathers meet. The blonde nods her head vigorously and they laugh together quietly.

“Oh my, it’s nearly tea time,” Candace says to her watch. “I have to get her home. Are you ready, Gracie?”

“I guess so,” the girl pouts. She throws her arms around Olive in a huge hug. “I can’t wait to see you on Monday.”

Gracie gasps and looks at Olive with wide eyes, her hands still clamped around her arms.

“I’m going to write you a special note tomorrow and make a comic with my favorite markers,” she announces with glee. “They smell like strawberries and grapes and stuff.”

“Oh, wow!” Olive hoots. “I’ll make one of my maps for you.”

“It could be of this park!” Gracie shouts as Candace’s mobile sounds. She pulls it from her pocket and glances at its screen, pressing the surface to turn off the alarm.

“We really have to be going,” Candace says apologetically. “It was so nice to meet you both.”

“And you as well,” Sherlock dips his chin in farewell as Candace takes Gracie’s hand and leads her away.

“Bye, Gracie!” Olive calls, waving madly.

“Bye!” the blonde shouts back.

Olive waves for a good thirty seconds and then turns to face her father with her arms crossed over her chest. She raises a brow expectantly and Sherlock knows precisely why, but says nothing.

“Let’s go, shall we?” he begins walking toward home, knowing she will follow. “I believe Mrs. Hudson is making fresh biscuits.”

“What was that about, Dad?” Olive asks in disbelief, already matching his steps. “Why William?”

“You know I use aliases at times,” Sherlock replies without looking at her.

“Yeah, for cases, but these aren’t criminals,” Olive insists. “These are my friends.”

“I know, love,” he turns his head to see her earnest expression looking up at him. “I just don’t want to prejudice Gracie’s father.”

“What’s prejudice?” Olive furrows her brow as she repeats the word.

“Well, you know my profession can be dangerous,” Sherlock begins.

“Yeah…” Olive says slowly, eyeing him curiously.

“A lot of people know that because they see my name in the media,” he explains. “I don’t want Gracie’s father to hear my name and assume Gracie will be in danger. I’m concerned he will get the wrong impression and feel uncomfortable about you being friends.”

“Oh,” Olive says flatly as if she hadn’t considered that. They walk in silence for a moment until she speaks up again. He knew she would. She is too smart and inquisitive not to have follow-up questions. “So what are you going to do when we’ve been friends for months and it’s time to tell them your real name? Say ‘By the way, my name is really Sherlock Holmes.’?”

Sherlock gives her a withering look and says nothing. Her jaw drops and she shoves him lightly.

“Dad! You can’t NOT tell them,” Olive insists. She bends at the knees slightly to emphasize the word not. “It’s dishonest. Dad, it’s lying.”

“Sometimes we lie for the greater good,” Sherlock tells her curtly.

“Now you sound like Mycroft,” Olive sneers and that stops Sherlock dead in his tracks. He turns to face her, dropping into a squat and meeting her eyes.

“I would do anything for you, Olive,” he says sincerely, resting his hands on her shoulders. She curls the corner of her mouth and cocks a brow.

“Dad,” Olive begins matter-of-factly, “I know that and I would do anything for you too, but you told me I couldn’t lie.”

“Yes. Yes, I did,” Sherlock sighs and then continues resolutely. “You’re right. I’ll introduce myself properly when we meet Gracie’s father. Okay?”

“Okay,” Olive grins and they walk again, hand in hand.

“Olive?” Sherlock says, glancing her way. She looks up at him in answer. “Don’t compare me to Mycroft again.”

Olive lets out a quiet chortle and tightens her grip on his fingers.

“Desperate measures,” she replies more than a little pleased with herself. Sherlock puffs a quick breath through his nose and smirks as they walk on. Like father, like daughter.

---

What the hell, Jane?? I know what you said at the beginning, but this is unfair. Gracie and Candace get to meet Sherlock, but not John?! I want the boys to meet again! NOW! So sorry, my friends, but you'll have to wait a bit longer. Worry not, it will happen. Eventually. (insert evil smile, cruel chuckle and holding of fingertips together like Mr. Burns) Love, Jane

@johnlock-rocks

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #bbc sherlock #john watson #johnlock #sherlock loves john #John loves Sherlock #Johnlock fanfic #Mystrade

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little-chattes · 3 years

Text

Ok so I’ve done a complete re-read through and one thing that kept nagging at me was how little Gideon and Harrow’s relationship makes sense given its quite frankly abusive origins. Harrow spends her whole life making Gideon’s a living hell and Gideon just… forgives her. Total and complete forgiveness for an irredeemable girl.

At first I took the sudden shift in their relationship as lazy writing to rush along the end of the story, but that didn't make any sense either. Muir strikes me as an intensely purposeful writer. Then I remembered that Muir is also an intensely Catholic writer and it hit me. Muir isn’t writing a story about a healthy human relationship, oh no, she’s writing a story about Christ’s relationship with The Church… if Christ was a sword toting butch lesbian and The Church was a sardonic bone witch. Call it tender blasphemy.

Now Gideon’s role as a Christ figure is fairly easy to parse out given that her dad is… God. But for the sake of self indulgence (I have to put my 15 year long flirtation with Christianity to use somehow) I’m going to go through all the parallels anyway. There are a LOT of them.

Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start).

Miraculous Conception

Luke 1:34-38

34 But Mary said to the angel, “How will this be, since I [e]am a virgin?” 35 The angel answered and said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; for that reason also the [f]holy Child will be called the Son of God.

Gideon is conceived by artificial means when one of God’s own servants (Mercy) delivers a sample of John’s genetic material to Wake, a ‘normal’ human woman who chooses to carry Gideon in her womb. Notably, the sample lives far beyond its point of expected viability, thus making the conception somewhat miraculous (“Only the sample was still active, no idea how considering it was twelve weeks after the fact” HTN 441).

The Cuckold

Matthew 1:18-25

18 Now the birth of Jesus the [a]Messiah was as follows: when His mother Mary had been [b]betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be pregnant by the Holy Spirit. 19 And her husband Joseph, since he was a righteous man and did not want to disgrace her, planned to [c]send her away secretly.

Gideon the First decides not to kill his lover, Wake, and releases her out the airlock (AND HE TOOK PITY ON ME! HE TOOK PITY ON ME! HE SAW ME AND HE TOOK PITY ON ME” from Harrow’s vision of Wake’s note, HTN 124) just as Joseph took pity on Mary, his betrothed, by deciding to divorce her quietly instead of making her infidelity public which would condemn her to death by public stoning (Deuteronomy 22:21). Gideon the First knew that Wake was pregnant and didn’t tell John because he thought the baby was his. Similarly, Joseph goes on to raise Jesus as his own son.

The Birth

Luke 2:7

And she gave birth to her firstborn son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a [f]manger, because there was no [g]room for them in the inn.

Neither baby Jesus nor baby Gideon were given a proper cradle, one being laid to rest in a manger where the animals ate and the other stuffed in a transplant bio-container (GTN 23).

The Dead Children

16 When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi.

King Herod intends to kill the prophesied King of the Jews and instead of finding the specific baby, he just has a bunch of them slaughtered. However, Jesus escapes the slaughter of the innocents by Herod when his parents secret him away to Egypt.

When the great aunts gas the nursery and kill the 200, Gideon is meant to die along with them but escapes her fate.

Now this event has a completely different biblical connotation for Harrow.

Firstly, the murder of the 200 children represents Original Sin. In the bible, Adam and Eve disobeyed God in the Garden of Eden, and as their descendants, all of humankind is doomed to also bear the weight of that sin from the moment we are born until the day we die. This is a fact that is drilled into Christians as soon as we’re able to understand it, we are born wretched and unworthy sinners, and there’s nothing we can do ourselves to fix that.

“I have tried to dismantle you, Gideon Nav! The Ninth House poisoned you, we trod you underfoot—I took you to this killing field as my slave—you refuse to die, and you pity me! Strike me down. You’ve won. I’ve lived my whole wretched life at your mercy, yours alone, and God knows I deserve to die at your hand. You are my only friend. I am undone without you.”

Harrow is a multitude, she is 200 children, the entire future of her house. Shes not just one human being,, she’s the whole damn church.

Naz/Nav

he went and lived in a town called Nazareth. So was fulfilled what was said through the prophets, that he would be called a Nazarene.

Although Gideon is not from the Ninth, she is given the Ninth name Nav when she arrives as a baby. Similarly, Jesus is known as Jesus of Nazareth, though that is not where he was born.

The Poor Bondservant

Jesus' role as a servant is emphasized many times in the bible. He was a carpenter's son born in a stable

Philippians 2:5-8

Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross.

Gideon is described as being made “a very small bondswoman” (GTN 24)

The Sword

Matthew 10:34

Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.

The Wretched Sinner

Harrow is wretched, self loathing, and cruel.

She is in thrall of the enemy of god, a figure who was once gods most favoured warrior, cast into hell.

She is like the depiction of the sinner who loves the devil

It's important to note that Harrow isn’t a single person, she is a multitude, the entire future of her people condensed into one body.

The Enemy of God

20 Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven, nholding in his hand the key to othe bottomless pit1 and a great chain. 2 And he seized pthe dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil and Satan, and qbound him for a thousand years, 3 and threw him into othe pit, and shut it and rsealed it over him, so that she might not deceive the nations any longer, until the thousand years were ended. After that he must be released for a little while.

Before the fall, Satan was described as a “guardian cherub” who resided in the garden with God (Ezekiel 28:14)

(a funny aside, in the bible the devil is known as the great deceiver but in HTN Muir specifies that Alecto is incapable of lying)

A Life of Abuse

Isaiah 53:3

"He was despised and rejected by mankind,

a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.

Like one from whom people hide their faces

he was despised, and we held him in low esteem”

They got up, drove him out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which the town was built, in order to throw him off the cliff" (Luke 4:28–29).

Gideon lives a life of mockery and is abused by Harrow.

An Unlikely Savior

Despite the fact that Gideon does not fit the expected image of a Cavalier, Harrow chooses Gideon to be her sword and protector.

Despite the many openings Gideon has to make Harrow pay for the pain she caused her, she remains loyal to her

Trust

Harrow realizes that she cannot face the lyctor trials without Gideon, and places her trust in her

Christians are told they must place their trust in jesus in order to reach salvation

Purifying Water

Acts 2:38

Peter replied, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Harrow confesses her sins to Gideon and puts herself at her mercy

Gideon forgives Harrow totally and completely, she baptises her

One Flesh

Mark 10:8

and the two shall become one flesh; so they are no longer two, but one flesh.

“The imagery and symbolism of marriage is applied to Christ and the body of believers known as the church. The church is comprised of those who have trusted in Jesus Christ as their personal Savior and have received eternal life. Christ, the Bridegroom, has sacrificially and lovingly chosen the church to be His bride” (x)

Ephesians 5:25-26

25 gHusbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and hgave himself up for her, 26 that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by ithe washing of water jwith the word,

They take the vow of necro and cav, one flesh one end

Gideon’s forgiveness of Harrow is reaffirmed

Harrow risks her life to stay and fight with Gideon, even if it means her death and thus the destruction of her death. Her love for Gideon is now greater than her love for the Body.

The Sacrifice

John 19:34

Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water.

They will look on the one they have pierced'" (John 19:36–37).

Gideon chooses to die for Harrow, death by piercing

and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

In order to complete the lyctor process, Harrow both physically and spiritually consumes Gideon

Because of Gideon’s sacrifice, Harrow attains eternal life at the right hand of god

The Tomb

The Resurrection

1On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women came to the tomb, bringing the spices they had prepared. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus

Harrow turns her body into a tomb for Gideon, a tomb fashioned after that on the Ninth

Resurrection on the Third Day

Thus it is written, and thus it was necessary for the Christ to suffer and to rise from the dead the third day, and that repentance and remission of sins should be preached in His name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. Luke 24:46-47

“So many months had passed: and yet, at the same time, she had only lost Gideon Nav three days ago. It was the morning of the third day in a universe without her cavalier: it was the morning of the third day—and all the back of her brain could say, in exquisite agonies of amazement, was: She is dead. I will never see her again.” (HTN 374)

Just in case you missed this important piece of information, Muir repeats it three times.

Go, and tell them, then, that he that was dead is alive, and lives for evermore, and has the keys of death and the grave,"

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

The Best Mistake of My Life - Pt.1

Type: One-shot/ch1 of a series

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4100

Summary: A soulmate AU. They say having a soulmate is a blessing. Who wouldn’t love the idea of star-crossed lovers, right?

Neither Steve Rogers nor you consider yourself lucky though. It probably has something to do with the lines written on your skin. Because if the words are anything to go by, you’re not sure you want to meet each other.

Warnings: swearing, light angst, FLUFF

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Steve Rogers was born a sickly baby.

Born a sickly boy to a single mother in the time of great depression, money thin, his health even thinner and having a pathetic number of friends; though that never really bothered him. What his friendships lacked in quantity was hundred times compensated by quality. Bucky Barnes’ loyalty was everything Steve could ask for.

And what Steven Grant Rogers himself lacked in height and strength of body was made up for by the strength of will, amount of determination and a great compassionate heart, ready to welcome anyone sans bullies there.

Perhaps God had seen that Steven would grow into a man carrying his heart on his sleeve and decided that this man should be blessed with a love so magnificent they would tell stories about it; people always had. People were always telling tales about soulmates.

Having a soulmate wasn’t necessarily rare, but not everyone was bound to have one. Being one of the lucky ones was an amazing gift; a promise of a connection as unbreakable as the thread of fate, a promise of an unconditional love.

To know person had found the one, their soulmate, those who were blessed with one wore a brand on their skin, a clue to allow them to recognize their destined partner; a set of words.

It was the set of words what was troubling Steve Rogers the most. Despite Bucky’s reassurance, despite his mother’s last words, despite Steve willingness to fight everything else the world would kick into his way, he found moments in his life he cursed the words written on his skin, reminding him how weak he would always seem to people.

Above the visible line of his collarbone, sticking out on his rather skeletal frame, there sat the words of doom:

‘Oh no, there must be a mistake.’

The very first time his soulmate would spoke to him… they would be disappointed and silently praying that whatever force was behind bounding souls together made one hell of a misstep. A mistake.

That was what Steve was going to be to his soulmate; a mistake. A failure. A disappointment.

And why wouldn’t he be? Ninety pounds of rattling bones, list of illnesses longer than his birth certificate…. Every girl Bucky had ever tried to set him up with out of pity (which Bucky would deny until his last breath) had been disappointed.

“Maybe she’ll be more into brunettes. Maybe she won’t believe her soulmate is blond at first,” his friend would say, “or she’ll be from Queens and wouldn’t get over the fact you’re not, but once you’ll show her the true Brooklyn charm, she’ll fall to your feet.”

Then he would always pat Steve’s shoulder, pulling him into a one-arm hug and tried to get him a date once more.

Steve didn’t believe him. He never did, but recognizing his friend felt better if Steve played along, he would smile and poke his ribs in return.

“Whatever you say. Jerk.”

…

Much later, when he said to Peggy Carter that he was waiting for the right partner to dance with, he was starting to admit to himself that he wasn’t thinking about his so-called soulmate as the one. After all, he went against all odds, against rules, against destiny itself when he had been accepted to the army regardless of his fragile body. Maybe, just maybe it meant that not ending up with his soulmate was what would happen one day.

When he crushed the Valkyrie to the ocean, not even having taken a chance on Peggy Carter despite her obvious interest, he must admit he had been lying to himself.

His last realization concerned his soulmate; despite wanting to fight against the whole world, he couldn’t make himself to take a chance on Peggy Carter, a brilliant woman who was not carrying the right set of words.

His last regret was that he would never meet his true love.

His last thought was that maybe, his soulmate never had a set of words spoken by him on her skin – her first words to him might as well be the ones spoken when reading his obituary, somehow knowing he was supposed to belong with her.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

The moment you were old enough to understand the meaning of the word ‘soulmate’, you were intrigued by the concept; it probably had everything to do with the fact that you too were supposed to have a person meant to be your other half.

Every parent was bound to be delighted when their child was born with that kind of blessing, but the older you were getting, the more you understood what kind of a shock might occur when a kid had rather strange line supposedly spoken to them by their universe-chosen partner for life.

There were people who had words like ‘shit’ on them; literally. Not very delightful. Sometimes there were general lines like ‘Hello, how are you?”. Good luck hunting down the right person. In contrary, some people had a name on them; ‘Hi, I’m Peter Cameron.’ Lucky bastards.

And then… then there were people like you, whose words were just… weird.

“But I really am 95,” you mumbled under your breath, tracing the handwriting right under your collarbone subconsciously, the first thing you did in the morning if you remembered – which wasn’t every day, not by a long shot.

“This is the stupidest thing ever…”

You shook your head and started to get ready for your day at the office.

Your opinion on your soulmark had been changing during the years. You had had a period of fascination, simply being proud of carrying it. Then you had understood the meaning of your words, and you had been horrified and desperate at the idea of meeting your soulmate at such age or worse, having one that old while you would be thirty or something when encountering them.

Then had come the phase of how could I avoid having a grandpa as my soulmate. Maybe the number meant something different – your soulmate’s weight (you really wouldn’t care for that, you reasoned), his temperature (he might be hypothermic at the moment, no?), his hotel room number, the number of a seat in a theatre perhaps… there were so many possibilities, right?

Now, you just tried not to think about it too hard. You had had boyfriends, never lasting longer than few months sans the one exception of George, who had turned out to be the biggest asshole in the world despite your belief he had might have been the one; until you had caught him in bed with another girl.

Maybe it was that deep inside you had never believed in the relationships you had, because the guy never said the right first words. Or maybe you were full of shit and you couldn’t keep a guy interested, god only knew – hence not thinking about it too hard, going on with your life and taking it as it was.

You might meet him, you might not. It wouldn’t be the first case of never encountering a soulmate. Life was funny that way.

Best not to let it ruin your day. A rather nice day it was, today. If you only didn’t have to spend it in the crowded office with people demanding their licences and taking out their frustrations on you. Well. You were a grown-up; you had to be okay with things not always being okay. Which sucked. But that was life.

…

You had a chance to have a shortest coffee break to exchange ‘hello’s with Ryan – your actual favourite person in the world, your platonic ‘soulmate’ (not in the ominous sense of the word), your boss who never really acted like a boss – and that was it. Apparently, half of Manhattan had gotten their licence this very date years back, so the office was ridiculously crowded. Thank god for the glass between you and the jungle; it shielded you at least partly.

You grabbed the file of request no. 57 that day – you were like a machine, okay, you couldn’t remember the office ever managing to deal with so many in only three hours – pulling out the documents and the licence to make another driver happy.

Your hands were acting on autopilot and you didn’t even glance up when an ID was pushed to you through the small space between the glass and the counter, checking the renewed licence first.

Your first thought was ‘oh wow’. That guy on the photo was gorgeous. You couldn’t help but snap your head up, checking out the real-life thing.

OH WOW.

Scratch the ‘gorgeous’. Replace it with ‘unreal’.

You were tempted to ask if he was made by an ancient sculptor and then brought to life, because his body was as incredible as his face; the broadness of his shoulders begged for a touch. His muscular arms were not so hidden in the sleeves of his dark green shirt. The shoulder-waist ratio was clearly a God’s mistake, a one you were thankful for.

Forget ancient sculptures. His face must have been sculptures by angels and they left him with a halo of blond hair as a reminder. And his eyes. Oh god, such pretty eyes…

He gave you an unsure smile, opening his mouth to probably accuse you of staring and you quickly dropped your gaze, returning to check the licence before you would give it to him.

Your hand froze hovering above the date of birth. You hesitantly looked up again, biting your lip guiltily despite not being the one who had messed up. You felt kinda sorry for him waiting the line for nothing.

“Oh no, there must be a mistake…” you half apologized, half said only to yourself, meeting his suddenly alarmed gaze.

You put on your most apologetic face, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad. How had someone messed it up again? The birth dates were with typos all the time. How?! There were only numbers for God’s sake! It wasn’t like the person inserting the data to the computer had to spell Buchwald or Mxyzptlk or something like that!

Damn you, Sheryl or Kira or you whoever have done this!

The man – Steven Grant Rogers, as you had learned from his sadly valueless driving licence – was staring at you, speechless. You were honestly getting worried, though you weren’t sure if you were more scared for him or for yourself in case of his reaction escalating.

So you went to explain.

“Uhm… I’m really sorry, mister-“ You quickly eyed the name ID he had given you, checking if the office got the name right at least. “-Rogers, but there seems to be a typo in… in your birth date. I apologize for the mistake our institution made, even though I wasn’t the one to-- you don’t need to know that, it doesn’t matter-- I’m so sorry you have to come here again, but I can’t really let you walk around or rather drive around with a licence claiming you were born in 1918, so…”

You had become so flustered, your cheeks burning, talking and talking without being able to stop, not making any sense even, until-

“But I really am 95,” he admitted sheepishly and you wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, when something in your brain clicked.

The click was about as loud as an atomic bomb falling on Hiroshima. You were sure everyone had to hear it.

It shut you up immediately. Your whole body froze, your mind buzzing uselessly, not a single thought staying long enough for you to actually understand it. Until two words got stuck, shining in red letters like a neon sign in your brain.

Holy. Shit.

“Excuse me,” you squeaked, grabbing his useless licence and mechanically rising from your seat, walking away.

The moment no one could see you as you got into a hallway, you broke into a run. You acted on instinct. You ran and you ended up in front of Ryan’s office, stumbling in without knocking and without an atom of oxygen left in your lungs.

Ryan’s neatly combed hair swayed as he snapped his head to the door, his eyes strict until they took the newcomer – hint: you – in, widening instantly.

He quickly jumped to his feet, pacing to you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice filled with worries.

You weren’t able to answer, because—holy shit. Your eyes frantically scanned the room, unable to meet your friend’s gaze. “I-- I-“

A hand landed on your shoulder, your eyes immediately falling on it on instinct. Shit, you couldn’t breathe. Could you?

Ryan’s free hand found you chin, tilting your head so you faced him. “Hey, baby, look at me! What happened? Was someone too much of an asshole to you?”

“I’m not-- he’s-“

Ryan’s face screamed concern, but he had fixed it in a second, soothing smile on his lips. He led you to his sofa, the calming blue cushions enveloping you.

“Sit down on your ass and gimme that,” he maneuverer the document off the steely grip of your fingers, sitting next to you as he looked it over. “Huh, quite a looker this guy. So what did he do?“

“I—the- the licence says he was born in---in 1918,” you stammered, finally able to breathe in properly and speak.

Ryan squinted at the date and then rolled his eyes.

“Oh jeez, again? Why is it so hard to just get it right? I swear I’m gonna have to fire Sheryl, she’s a disaster. What’s wrong with her? It’s not like they would be making a licence for someone that old! There’s a photo goddammit!”

“Ry-Ry… he said he was 95.”

Another eye-roll was his answer. “Yeah, I can count. He would have been if he was born in 1918 instead of 1981.”

“No, you don’t-“ you licked your lips and swallowed against the lump that grew in your throat. Your voice was as shake as your hands. “He just told me that. That he really was 95.”

Your friend observed you silently for a beat, not following. And then realization hit him like a train.

“Oh. OH. No shit?!”

It was your turn to stare silently, your mind loud enough to make noise and fill the space of Ryan office.

“Damn, does he really look like that? Lucky bitch!”

“Ryan!” you yelped in surprise when his fist bumped your shoulder, almost knocking you off balance.

It worked though. It grounded you and threw you back to reality. You tried your best to calm your breathing, but damn. This guy… he was your soulmate. You just met your soulmate. And he wasn’t a grandpa. He didn’t weight 95 pounds either. You weren’t in a hotel, neither in a theatre.

No. The number was only about one tiny mistake— oh, ohhh shit, what was the first thing you had said to him? Oh fuck. Way to go, girl!

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked rubbing the spot he had punched.

“No!” you shot back immediately, your mind racing.

“You know what I mean. You look better now. Though I gotta say, so is he. His face really is quite easy on the eyes. How about the rest of him?”

Ry-Ry, your bi-side is showing.

You chuckled at the easy talk, the tension from your shoulders falling a bit.

“Well… yeah, he’s like a model. So out of my league…” you muttered, remembering your ogling. This guy was your soulmate? Wasn’t it a mistake?

Ryan was suspiciously quiet; normally you would expect him to scold you for selling yourself short. Instead, he was staring at the licence, his lips parted in silent shock.

What now?

“What?” you demanded, following his line of gaze.

Ryan just chuckled, the incredulous sound ringing, echoing in the quiet space. “Girl, I hate to break it to you, but I might not fire Sheryl just yet.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Remember that one time aliens were falling from the sky?”

You blinked in surprise at that question, not following his train of thoughts. “Uhm… yeah? Pretty hard to forget that…?”

You were lucky you hadn’t been smashed under a building that day. Many people in Manhattan were, some sadly not. So yeah, you remembered.

“You remember the waitress from the café talking after the incident?”

“Oh my god, Ry-Ry, just spill it! I’m not following!”

Your friend huffed in exasperation, shoving the licence in your face, his finger on the name.

Steven Grant Rogers. Yeah, you could read too.

“That name should ring a bell, you dumbass! Would you say that this guy is handsome enough to be Captain America?” he hissed, making your heart stop.

Oh. Oh shit.

OH SHIT.

Your brain short-circuited.

“Oh my god. He really is 95,” you breathed out, your brain somehow choosing the least logical reaction to this whole revelation.

Ryan laughed. “Ding-ding, we have a winner! Holy crap, baby, I think you just got yourself a superhero soulmate!”

And just like that, you started panicking again. You gulped, watching the driving licence as if it could blow up.

“Shit, Ry-Ry! What do I do?” you whispered, desperation soaking through. What were you supposed to do upon that revelation? Captain America was your freaking soulmate!

Ryan smiled at you reassuringly, patting your cheek. “Not coming back to your spot behind the counter today, that’s for sure.”

“But-“

“I’m going in. I think this place won’t blow up if I fill in for once. I sure hope I remember the process, though I’m probably not gonna be as efficient as you are.”

You didn’t know what to say. Hell, you didn’t know what to do! But yeah, not coming back to the jungle sounded good, especially given your frantic escape.

“You really would do that?” you asked hesitantly and Ryan just rolled his eyes. “But… Ryan, what the hell do I do?!”

Your bestie gave you a lopsided smile and a wink, patting your cheek patronizingly once more before heading to take over your workplace.

“Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want.”

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While you were having your own freak-out, Steve was standing at the counter, dumb-struck.

He couldn’t believe it. You had actually said those words. And judging by your reaction to his own, he must have said yours. Which… yeah, congratulation, Rogers, you had given your Universe-chosen dame an amazing note on her skin. To be fair, so had she.

Incredible.

Impossible.

His soulmate was in this century. In this millennia. That was what he got for ever thinking he could escape fate; a slap right in his face.

Because while for several cherished moments, he basked in the light on his soulmate not considering the pairing with him the infamous mistake the words on his skin claimed… he soon learned that it didn’t mean no heartbreak for him.

You had taken an abrupt leave to the back of the office and never came back.

Few minutes later, a man emerged from the door you had disappeared into, taking your seat and without a second look on Steve’s ID, he explained that Steve would have to come here again.

Steve didn’t care for the process of getting his driving licence renewed in the slightest, barely listening. His gaze was at the door to the hall, opened ajar, the door you didn’t return from after learning he was meant to be your partner.

When he had seen you behind the desk, he had considered you a beautiful dame, certain his heart had skipped a beat when your eyes met his. The sight of you was burned into his brain, now forever as a painful memory.

Clearly, you didn’t want him. Not because he was sickly, 95 pounds or 5’7’’ or all bones. Not because your words to him were about a mistake. Not because he was from Brooklyn. No. Honestly, Steve didn’t know why, what could scare you off so soon. He just knew you had escaped at the mere sight of him.

With his mind fuzzy, he walked out of the building into the bright nearly midday sun, blaming the sharp rays for the sting in his eyes. He sighed, running his hand down his face, suddenly bone tired.

“Mr. Rogers?” a shy female voice addressed him, instantly making him turn around to its source.

His lips parted in awe. There you stood, your airy floral dress reaching your knees, played with by the softest breeze. Hesitant smile on your lips. A tiniest spark in your eyes as he subconsciously took two steps to you, just to prove you would still be there if he came closer. You didn’t disappear.

“Y-yes?” he stuttered, actually feeling like the small man he had used to be before the serum.

You quietly introduced yourself, meeting his eyes once more, effectively stopping his heart again. You offered your hand for him to shake and he, feeling like he was dreaming, something else possessing his body, kissed your knuckles as he would have done if meeting you seventy years ago.

The most adorable heat warmed your cheeks at the gesture and you casted your gaze down; but Steve did catch a glimpse of the earlier spark shining brighter before you hid yourself from him

“I… I believe we have a lot to talk about,” you whispered and he instinctively gave your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and shifting a half step closer to you. The corners of his lips unwittingly turned up, something warm building up in his chest as you returned the smile with hesitance.

“Yes, I think we do.”

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Nicolas J. Fury was sitting in his office, waiting for the door to finally open. There was something bugging him – and that something was about 5’7’’ tall, had red hair and was doing whatever it wanted, messing with his business. On top of that, she left him waiting; he had requested her ten minutes ago and she still hadn’t arrived.

He couldn’t help but let his sarcasm show when she came eventually.

“Agent Romanoff. Thank you for coming. Now, care to explain me why did you insist on Rogers getting his driving license renewed in person when we have done it for him already?” he demanded, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk.

The agent just shrugged. “He needs to meet people.”

“Don’t give me this shit, Natasha! What are you not telling me?”

Slow smirk spread Natasha’s lips, perhaps a bit smug, but she didn’t say a word.

“Romanoff-“

“Alright! Jeez, Nick, you have to work on your patience when it comes to Rogers, I swear…” she teased him. However, at least she started talking. “I might have run his… words through the system Stark provided us.”

Realization dawned to Fury. There was only one system she could be talking about. The soulmate matching one. Insert the words of a person and it would search the database for a possible match; everyone’s words were being put into the database at their birth. It made SHIELD’s work easier in case criminals happened to have a soulmate; the connection was so unique it usually offered a weak spot even for the rotten people.

Nicolas Fury raised his eyebrow expectantly, while Natasha just watched him, amused as she had the upper hand. The man rolled his functioning eye and sighed exasperatedly. Why was he keeping her around again? Oh right, she was his best agent.

“Fine. Did you find a match?”

Natasha snorted. “I didn’t even have to look for a match. There aren’t many women with ‘But I really am 95’ written on their skin,” she explained dryly and Fury just wanted to growl, cursing mentally.

How had no one thought about using the database in the first place?! It had cost them a lot of money, okay? They had it for a reason!

“She clean?” he inquired instead or swearing out loud and Natasha scoffed.

“Like a whistle, not even a speed ticket, which is rather ironic. She’s boring, really – she’ll be perfect for him. Can I go now? I have an ass to kick.”

“…Rogers’?”

“Barton’s, actually. Have a good day, Director,” Natasha spun on her heels and headed to the exit gracefully.

“Hey, I want her file!” Fury complained, already knowing he wasn’t going to receive it from her.

“Find it yourself!” she threw over her shoulder cockily, her red hair swirling with the sudden movement of her head.

The director of SHIELD tried to keep his amusement in check, controlled by the irritation, but he lost. The corners of his lips twitched as the door clicked behind his best spy.

Why did he keep her around again?

He started the search for the words Natasha had said, sinking into his chair comfortably.

Alright, no doubt future Mrs. Rogers. Let’s see how boring you really are.

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Part 2 (originally this was only meant a one-shot)

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Tags: @cxptain @mermaidxatxheart @smilexcaptainx

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