#live laugh love marble bread

[ehatnow]

Screenshots from the update :]

[tlou-reid]

You Are In Love ❆ Spencer Reid

☃︎ SUMMARY: spencer makes a promise before he has to leave for a case right before Christmas.

☃︎WARNINGS: 2.5k words of unedited ooey gooey Christmas fluff, reader is shorter than spencer

.｡❅⋆⍋∞｡∞⍋⋆❅｡.

Morning, his place. Burnt toast, Sunday. 

Spencer’s hair was the messiest you’d ever seen it. It took everything in you to not bring your hand to smooth it, but the cup of coffee was heavy enough in your hand as is. You didn’t want to risk falling from your comfortable spot on his counter. The chill of the marble under your thighs was in sharp contrast to the warmth in your heart.

“Crispy bacon?” Spencer asked he laid four pieces in the nonstick pan. They sizzled, mimicking the sparks between you and Spencer. They never left the air when you were together. “Mhm,” You nodded, taking another sip of your coffee. Spencer was convinced you liked yours the same he likes his, extra cream and extra extra sugar. You had mentioned you liked your coffee sweet, to which Spencer was excited about your matching orders, and you never had the heart to tell him you didn’t mean that sweet.

“Want me to start the toast?” You asked, hopping down from your cozy corner. He nodded, reaching up to open the cabinet where the bread was. Your hand slid across his slim waist as you passed behind him. His lips quirked up in a smile, suppressing the laugh from the tickle of your touch.

“I like when we make breakfast sandwiches,” You informed him as you slid down the knob on the toaster, dropping the bread into it. “Yeah?” Spencer asked absentmindedly, too focused on flipping the bacon without spilling grease on himself. “We can make them however we want!” You cheered as you sliced up an avocado.

Time passed quickly, as it does when you’re having fun. Both of you were caught up in both your tasks, and each other, that neither of you noticed the lack of the toaster popping until the smell of burnt bread flooded Spencer’s kitchen.

“You burnt the toast?!” Spencer squealed, making his way to the smoking toaster. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way his voice raised an octave. It was too hot to pull the bread out, so he resorted to completely flipping the toaster, shaking it to get any burnt crumbs from the bottom. You were a mess of laughter behind him. “This is not funny!” His voice sounded angry, but the wide smile on his face betrayed his act.

“It definitely is,” You said through laughter, moving to help him sweep the crumbs from the counter into your hands. He shooed you away, exclaiming, “Go assemble the sandwiches while I clean up your mess.”  With one last bout of laughter, you made your way back to the plates, putting the sandwich on regular bread, not wanting to bother with toasting it again.

You keep his shirt, he keeps his word.

You’re putting the last bite of your breakfast sandwich in your mouth when Spencer’s phone goes off. You can’t help the way your stomach falls, knowing it means he’ll have to leave again. There were always tough emotions that came with him leaving, but with it being so close to the holidays, you just wanted him to be home.

It’s your first Christmas being an official couple and you wanted to spend it cuddled up around the tree, exchanging gifts and calling his mom. If he wasn’t going to be home for it, you were going to be quite disappointed.

With a sigh, Spencer went to retrieve his phone from the coffee table in the living room. You saw him reach between two stacks of books to get it and read over it quickly. He drops his arm in disappointment, throwing his head back a bit. It must be far, you thought. Spencer turns to you, remorse all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says when he stands in front of you, “I have to go.” All of the energy in his voice from earlier had dissipated, leaving him just a shell of who he was this morning. “Where?” You asked, pretending he didn’t notice the tears in your eyes as you looked up to him. “Washington State,” He tells you as he bends down to your level, placing his hands on your cheeks. One of his thumbs comes up to wipe away the tears that were starting to fall.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, eyes scanning over your disappointed face. “I’ll be home in time for Christmas.” Spencer’s voice is so assured that you almost believe him. If he had control over it, you would. He can see the doubt all over your face, so he speaks again, “I promise, I’ll be home. I’ll leave the case early if I have to.”

You’re immediately shaking your hand, taking his hands with you. “You can’t do that,” You say as more tears slip down your cheeks, “You gotta catch the bad guy.”

“I will,” he rushes out, wanting to say anything to stop you from crying. He’s doing his best to catch all of the tears that are falling. “We’re the best at what we do, we’ll catch him. I’ll be home.” All you can do is nod and pretend you believe him. Spencer has no choice but to accept this.

He doesn’t move his hands until the tears stop. “I have to leave, but you can stay. You can stay here the whole time I’m gone if you want.” You glance around his apartment, taking in all of the things that were just so Spencer, and the colorful Christmas decorations you'd put up together. Your eyes land on the book he’d been reading to you last night, knowing that you’d prefer to be in the comfort of your home, but wanting to take a piece of him with you.

“I want to go home if that’s okay?” You ask, meeting his eye once again. “Of course,” he assures you. “Can I take this?” You ask, moving to grab the book and holding it up to him. Strangers on a Train, one Spencer had read multiple times. “Yes!” He beams, loving that you want to continue reading his novel.

“And this?” You point to the sweater lying over the back of the couch. One that you knew smelled like him. “You can take anything you want,” he promises, taking a few steps toward you.

He stops when he’s close enough to put his hands on your cheeks again, pulling you in for a deep kiss. Spencer’s lips taste sweet from his sugary coffee, but feel like home. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “I’ll be home,” he repeats one last time. He uses his grip to pull your face down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then makes his way to his bedroom to get dressed for work.

And for once, you let go of your fears and your ghosts.

You had thought it was Spencer who had no choice but to believe you when you agreed to him making it home before Christmas, but it turns out it was you. You held on to his sentiment while he was gone, repeating ‘he’ll be home’ in your head when you looked around the sparse decorations in your home. Knowing you both wanted to spend Christmas at Spencer’s, you barely bothered to decorate your own.

It didn’t help that your job had given you off for the holiday, so you didn’t have much to busy yourself with. You caught up on shows you had been missing, finished the book you’d brought from Spencer’s, and finished up last-minute Christmas shopping.

Most of all, you kept telling yourself to believe him. No matter how scorned you’d been by lovers in the past, all you had was his word and you needed to hold onto it. 

There was nothing Spencer had ever done that would indicate he would intentionally lie to you, but he couldn’t control the unsub or the trails they left behind. Part of you felt selfish, wanting Spencer to wrap up the case to get home in time to open presents and watch Christmas movies instead of wanting Spencer to wrap up the case because of any potential victims, but the other part of you was too excited to care.

You curled up in your bed, where Spencer’s sweater was lying across your pillow. As cheesy as it sounded, it was easier to sleep when you knew there was a piece of him next to you. You flicked through channels, hoping to find some kind of Christmas-related thing. Being two days before Christmas, it was quite easy to find. You landed on some cheesy movie, titled A Christmas Prince.

One step, not much, but it said enough.

You were almost at the end of the movie and starting to dose off when your phone vibrated next to you. You checked the time before answering the call, 11:48 pm. “Hello?” You asked, still trying to wake yourself up enough to be coherent for this conversation.

On the other side of the line, Spencer called your name. “Spence?” You asked again, sitting up. “Hi, honey,” His voice was light but tired. He was clearly in a good mood. “Are you okay?” You asked, wondering why he was calling so late. “I 'm wonderful,” his smile was wide, even if you couldn't see it, “I have good news.”

“Yeah?” You were awake now, able to guess what he was about to say. “I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon, in time for Christmas, just like I promised.” Now, you could hear both the smile and smugness in his voice. Spencer didn’t get boosts of confidence often, but holding a promise to his girl was definitely one of them.

“I knew it!” You cheered, unbelievably happy that you didn’t succumb to the negative thoughts you had previously. You had held your faith in him, despite the way you’d been lied to and cheated on in the past.

You couldn’t see it, but Spencer’s smile grew tenfold. Even across the country from you, you found a way to make his heart race and his hands shake. “You believed me?” His previous confidence had dissipated, turning into a form of awe. He’d never had someone trust his word like you did, even if it was only a Christmas promise.

“Of course I did, Spence, I always will.” You assured him. His smile somehow grew bigger, lighting up the dull police department he was in. “We have a few technical things to wrap up before we get home, but I’ll treat you to lunch and we can figure out what movies we’ll watch on Christmas day.” He promised. “Sounds like a date,” He could hear your smile now. Spencer’s heart was pittering in his chest, hard and fast. He was really falling for you

You kiss on sidewalks. You fight, and you talk. 

Your hand was held tightly in Spencer’s as you excited the cafe together. “You think Elf is better than the Grinch?” You exasperated, throwing up your other hand in disbelief. He laughed, pushing you to get even angrier, “Obviously, Will Ferrell’s in it.”

You let out an even more dramatic sigh, stopping in your place on the sidewalk to turn and face him. You looked like you were about to lose it as you said, “You think Will Ferrell is better than Jim Carrey?!?!” This sent Spencer into a fit of laughter, doubling over and holding his chest as they escaped from him.

“Spencer!” You called again, stepping forward and putting your hand on his chest to make him stand up straight. “Please, tell me you’re messing with me.” He was smiling stupidly and his eyes were sparkling as he stared down at you. He didn’t answer, instead, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

You deepened it by placing your hands on the sides of his face and holding him closer to you. You two stood for a few seconds, in the middle of the sidewalk, and so, incredibly, deeply in love. Spencer pulled away when a car passed by, reminding him that you were out in public. The previous argument was quickly forgotten, for a moment.

You let out a sigh of contentment, reaching for his hand again. “I’m so glad you made it home.” He dragged his thumb along your hand, tickling your palm, “Me too, this way we can watch Elf together.”

He let out another laugh as you dropped his hand and stomped a couple of paces away. “Oh my god,” you huffed.

One night, he wakes, strange look on his face. Pauses, then says, “You’re my best friend.”

You two made it back to Spencer’s with full bellies and cold hands. You knew Spencer was tired from wrapping up the case this morning, so you didn’t complain when he collapsed on the couch. “You wanna change?” You asked, hanging up your coat. He shook his head and replied with a “uh-uh.” You giggled at his childlike demeanor as you sat down next to him.

Spencer moved to rest his hand on your shoulder, pulling you close to him by your waist. “Thank you, Spence.” You said into the top of his head before pressing a kiss into his hair. “For what?” He asked, closing his eyes at your touch. “Making it home in time.”

“I promised you I would,” he reminds you. “I know, but I also know you can’t control it sometimes.” He nods, both agreeing with you and encouraging you to keep playing with his hair.

He falls asleep quickly in the position, loving the scratches you’re leaving on the back of his neck.

The sun sets as you make yourself comfortable next to him, trying not to wake him up. You pulled a random book from one of the stacks on his coffee table to busy yourself, and try to make yourself as tired as he was, so you could go to bed. But, the excitement of Christmas was keeping you awake.

You were finishing up the third chapter when he stirred. To your surprise, Spencer sat up. His eyebrows were furrowed, but there was a fond smile on his face as he brought his hands up to sleepily rub at his eyes. He blinked a few times, adjusting his vision to the darkness of the room. He was only being illuminated by the glow of the white lights from the Christmas tree.

Spencer turned to you, the corners of his lips quirking up in a bigger smile. He only looks at you for a few seconds, before cuddling back up next to you. “You know you’re my best friend, right?” Spencer slurs, too tired to string together a completely coherent sentence. “You’re mine too, Spence.” You assured, not knowing if he was awake enough to hear you. You pressed another kiss to his head, whispering a quiet, “Merry Christmas,” to him.

And you knew what it was, he is in love. 

[fuckmyskywalker]

Dad Anakin come bend me over the counter in the kitchen while im making you sandwiches and getting you your beer. press me against the surface and smush my face into the plate I neatly prepared for you and then pull my skirt up and fuck me PLEASE

—🕷️

— CW: 18+, dddne. Age gap. Fauxcest (Anakin is called "Dad"). Established relationship. Misogynistic behavior. Minor wedgies. Spanking. | DNI if uncomfortable. | not proofread.

— a/n: I love you. I love you. You get me. Also, I didn't added the fucking, I had another thought in mind 😔...

Sunday games are his favorite way to relax after a long and stressful week at work. There is nothing more enjoyable than watching his team with a cold beer in his hand and eating his favorite sandwiches... but it seems to be that you decided to be particularly slow today.

"Can you hurry up? The game is about to start" Anakin yells from the living room. He taps his boot on the carpet with an annoyed expression on his handsome face.

"Coming!" You chirp from the kitchen with a little smile, happy to please your husband. You knew where you were getting yourself into when you married a man old enough to be your father...

The toaster pops up with a loud noise in tandem with Anakin's footsteps— he reaches the entrance of the kitchen, leaning against the arch and admiring you with his arms crossed over his broad chest. Twisting the mayonnaise lid, you open the fridge to store it in the door rack before grabbing a tall can of Budweiser. Placing it next to the white porcelain plate where his sandwich is, you grab the smoked ham packet, ripping the security seal before slicing two pieces in half, your back still faces the entrance, so you are unaware of his presence.

With the large knife, you cut the sandwich in half, enjoying the soft creak of the toasted bread when his hands rest on your hips causing you to jolt.

"I told you to fucking hurry up" Anakin whispers against your neck, sliding his hands up and down your thighs. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

Panic courses down your body, he was right— you were being too slow and not on purpose— you just wanted to make it worth his time. "Sorry honey—" Your words break to a gasp when he yanks your hair, shaking your head side to side.

"Excuse me?" He asks with a cocky grin, pressing his crotch against your ass.

"I mean— s–sorry, dad."

"Much better."

He releases your hair and you can exhale the breath you've been holding; but the relief doesn't last long. His large hand makes it way to the nape of your neck pushing your face against the sandwich you put all your effort into. The warm bread scrapes your cheek, leaving some crumbs on your face as the mayonnaise and mustard smears on your nose and lips. Anakin's free hand— the gloved one, the one you hate the most— flips your white skirt before landing a hard slap on your ass.

A loud yelp falls down your lips, but he is quick to shut it down by smudging your face against the plate harder. The sticky tomatoes leave wet streaks on your eyebrow, but Anakin seems unfazed with his ruined meal.

After another spank, he leaves your ass for a moment to pop the can of beer open and taking a quick swig, he places it back next to your head, the click of the aluminum base against the fake marble counter doing little to ease your mind.

"You just had one fucking job," Anakin says as he returns his hand to your ass and continues his punishment. "Yet you decided to be a slow slut and make me wait? You've been such a bad girl..." Your asscheeks burn, but the pain is nothing compared to what be does next— his finger hook under the waistband of your panties, yanking them upwards and making the fabric in between your legs lift, straining your folds against it. The cotton digs painfully on your clit, but it's oddly pleasurable. "I expected more from my daughter."

He pulls harder, watching how your pussy is now visible underneath your underwear. It burns, it hurts and he shows no signs of stopping. Anakin laughs at your reaction, ignoring how you cough when an piece of lettuce slides between your lips.

"D–Dad, please—" You choke." "It hurts."

He yanks your panties higher so you have to step on your tiptoes to subside some of the ache— Anakin noticed that of course, he notices everything.

Letting go of your head and underwear, you grab the edge of the counter with heavy pants, trying to process what just happened. He grabs his beer and after a long sip, he smacks your ass again.

"Clean this mess and make me another sandwich— and you better be done before the half time or I'll swear it'll be worse for you."

[nelapanela94]

Okay Firstly, love your work🤩 thanks a lot for everything you do.

I've seen someone answer a question about head canons of levi cutting onions? And since then I cannot stop thinking of Levi and his s/o in the kitchen, preparing something cause- maybe Kuchel is coming over for dinner?

And maybe both cut onions and crying and laughing

or maybe just Levi and his s/o is feeling bad/making fun of him?

Or maybe his s/o is cutting onions and Levi is making fun of her?

Now, you can definitely ignore this request but yes. Just some domestic fluff in the kitchen with both being married is really fluffy

First, thank you so much! 🥹🥺

TW: None. Set in modern au where Kuchel is alive and Levi grew up as mama’s boy.

The cotton ‘sac à pain’ brims with two crispy crusty fresh baguettes, one unscathed, the other victim of your bread-tearing fangs. The warm chewy inside contrasts with the teeth-cracking outer layer and melts in your mouth like cotton candy. For your loyalty, the clerk added an extra wheel of roman bread.

Two by two, you climb the stairs to the third floor to make up for the load of carbs. 302. A glint sweeps over the copper plaque. you step on the Don't wear shoes in my house door mat Kenny got for Levi on his last birthday and Christmas. Two birds killed with one stone, he says every year. That's one of the reasons why Levi is always shooting daggers at his uncle.

You lift the knocker and rap three times. Ten seconds later, the tapping of your impatience crouches in every corner of the hallway. During the wait, you break another bite-size chunk and bundle it into your mouth. You shrug. Levi must be keeping an eye on the roasted duck. A drizzle of crumbs mingles in the synthetic fur as you rub your hands on your jeans; a smidge of panic rises, and you dredge them off with your foot, scattering them around, hoping to conceal them through the streaks and twists of the silvery marble veins. The hand of keys rattles as you hook the ring out of your pocket, fiddling for the pink one, and shove it into the keyhole. A click, and you push the door open.

The alluring whiff of rosemary and garlic strikes into your lungs, making you levitate and drool. The house smells devine, and you can’t wait to sit and stab that bird. The award for the best daughter-in-law of the year will be all yours.

At the entryway, you scuff your shoes off, push them under the bench and slip into your kitty flip-flops.

“They didn’t have Brie, got Camembert instead. We’ll make it work.” Your voice blares through the apartment as you cross the living room to the kitchen, but you don’t get any reply. Slowing down, you take a look around, inspecting; being married to Levi Ackerman obligues to develop a dust-hunting radar.

It all looks pristine. The dining table perfectly set, melting swans of cloth napkins roost on each plate, families of forks lying on the left side. Why do you need that many? Who knows, but it looks so fetch. The shiny cutlery set you reserve for the special occasions finally sees the daylight.

Fresh daisies enliven the coffee table. The curtains dance in the soft breeze, natural light skims every corner of the main salon. Smoke swirls up in threads from the incense sticks, their scent quarreling with that coming from the oven.

A yummy sizzle whispers from the kitchen, and dragged by the smell, you continue your way, but then, a sob cracks, barely perceptible, the aerial in your ears tune to the right frequency, and you slip the gear to two.

“Levi!” You storm in the kitchen and stop dead in your tracks when you see him wiping his eyes in the sleeve of his t-shirt, dabbling it with a darker gray.

Squinting, you equip with a sword of bread to fight whatever the root of your honeybun’s distress is. What dares hurt your man will face your rage. Nothing on his left, nothing on his right.

Or what if Kuchel bursts in, finds her thirty-year-old baby boy weeping and blames it all on you? Your eyes bang open at the swivet twisting your guts. You shake your head frantically, tossing away the image of your mother-in-law recoiling into a fighting stance. Your award hanging by a thread.

You should never mess with the puppies.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

The knife hits dull the cutting board.

“Shit.” A hiss breaks from him, and he sucks in a long sniff. Levi reels away from the instigator and winces at the sting, scrunching his face as if he had run his tongue over a lime. He leans back against the countertop and clenches his hands around the rim. His eyes remain squeezed shut.

Your head tilts to the side, and one eyebrow curves into a knap; your misgiving slopes into curiosity, then swerves to amusement when you catch the mutilated body of the culprit, the white onion craggily chopped in fourths. The strap glides from your shoulder to your hand as you throttle a snort by clamping shut the gawky chasm between your wobbly lips. Your body bends fighting the convulsions of mirth, but you can't contain your guffaw, a slap on the knee and you crack in a storm of giggles.

knurls bridge the gap between his brows, tiny veins gnarl like red cobwebs in the white of his eyes. Glaring, his mouth twitches in a pique. He grunts, and puffs out a cheek, peeling off the counter, and thumps to you, snatching the bag of bread from your hand. "This is why I don't trust you with bread."

You straighten up and wipe off a misty line of tears from under your eyes. "That's why I always buy two instead of one, plus the bread boy added this one too." You fling your arm up, the other bag swinging at your elbow.

"He's flirting." Levi takes that one too and delves into for the woodened cheese. He oversees the baked camembert dip.

"He's just nice and rewards his best customers." You throw your head forwards and loop your hair through the donut, restricting the disheveled strands in a messy bun. "For you, whoever is nice to me is flirting." Your eyes sag at his lack of affection, and you go after him, but he flings away from your attempts of hugs.

"Don't." He pouts and sets the knife down. Strings of cheese snap as he removes the rind lid, itching to turn around and kiss you. He's just holding up, acting like the spoiled brat he is. Deep down, he knows he is.

"Are you mad at me?"

He places the cheese in a ramequin and sprinkles thyme on top.

"I'm sorry." You drape your arms around him from behind, straining your cheek over the rippling muscles of his back. at least, this time he doesn't shoo you. "Are you ok?"

"You're so mean, Y/N." Levi whines. “It’s your fault for leaving me alone dealing with those devilish onions.”

"But-"

"Don't want to hear you."

"Cry baby." You press a kiss on his back and free him from your arms, grab your bunny apron and pick up his half-hearted job. "You silly, you had to keep the root. That's what Gordon says."

"I'm not you, nuzzling in cooking videos before going to sleep."

"No, 'cause you're glued to Marie Kondo."

Glowering, his face snaps to you. He hurls a rag onto the countertop and wriggles the mittens on. The heat whacks him as he opens the oven and recoils, letting the steam escape before drawing out the dutch oven. You do know what you're doing. inwardly, he brags about how lucky he is for marrying you. That V you drooled over is hardly visible nowadays.

Ceramic clanks on the rack, and he shuts the door, unfettering his hands.

The glinting blade rakes clean the cutting board, and the seductive frizzle tickles your ears and nose. Hopefully, Kuchel will knock on time. Broccoli, mushrooms, bell peppers, you bring color to the stir fry.

Levi tears a piece of bread and crams it into his mouth. Rests against the countertop, arms folded over his chest, crumpling his matching apron. He smiles, trying not to sneer at you sticking out your tongue in concentration as you cut the vegetables.

You’ve been wringing up all your energy to impress his mother, even though he insisted to keep it simple. He sighs. Why was he upset anyway? That’s not longer relevant. He can’t be pissed at you for too long. How could he? A bat of lashes and you’ll have him on his knees. He’d walk in red coal to get you a napkin and dab the corners of your lips.

With you, he’s the fidgeting eighteen year old who stealthily picked up flowers from the neighbor’s yard to pin behind your ear.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Tyrion I (Chapter 1)

He drank his way across the narrow sea.

Shut the fuck up, Tyrion.

Sorry, it's out of my system.

+.+.+

But why did he need salt beef, hard cheese, and bread crawling with worms when he had wine to nourish him? It was red and sour, very strong. Sometimes he heaved the wine up too, but there was always more.

I fully intended to give Tyrion the Cersei treatment, and highlight every instance of him drinking, but it turns out I would have to copy and paste every paragraph.

Just know he's intoxicated the entire chapter.

+.+.+

"Wherever whores go," his father had said. His last words, and what words they were. The crossbow thrummed, Lord Tywin sat back down, and Tyrion Lannister found himself waddling through the darkness with Varys at his side. 

Unreliable narrator Tyrion Lannister.

"You shot me," he said incredulously, his eyes glassy with shock.

"You always were quick to grasp a situation, my lord," Tyrion said. "That must be why you're the Hand of the King."

"You . . . you are no . . . no son of mine."

"Now that's where you're wrong, Father. Why, I believe I'm you writ small. Do me a kindness now, and die quickly. I have a ship to catch." - Tyrion XI, ASOS

+.+.+

Varys had escorted him through the tunnels, but they never spoke until they emerged beside the Blackwater, where Tyrion had won a famous victory and lost a nose.

Unreliable narrator Tyrion Lannister.

A chain did not defeat Stannis Baratheon.

"Most people seem to feel that it was my attack on Lord Stannis's flank that turned the tide of battle. Lords Tyrell, Rowan, Redwyne, and Tarly fought nobly as well, and I'm told it was your sister Cersei who set the pyromancers to making the wildfire that destroyed the Baratheon fleet." - Tyrion I, ASOS

+.+.+

"I killed Shae too," he confessed to Varys.

"You knew what she was."

"I did. But I never knew what he was."

Varys tittered. "And now you do."

I should have killed the eunuch as well. 

He laughed, lol.

Feels like Varys might have confirmed that secret entrance in Chataya's brothel was for Tywin.

+.+.+

He could hear voices shouting as he was hoisted up. Every bounce cracked his head against the bottom of the cask. The world went round and round as the cask rolled downward, then stopped with a crash that made him want to scream. Another cask slammed into his, and Tyrion bit his tongue.

[...]

 Tyrion's mouth was full of blood. He spat it at the fat man's feet. 

Hm.

<- Prologue

She sucked down a mouthful of the frigid air, and Varamyr had half a heartbeat to glory in the taste of it and the strength of this young body before her teeth snapped together and filled his mouth with blood. She raised her hands to his face. He tried to push them down again, but the hands would not obey, and she was clawing at his eyes. Abomination, he remembered, drowning in blood and pain and madness. When he tried to scream, she spat their tongue out.

+.+.+

Beneath his window six cherry trees stood sentinel around a marble pool, their slender branches bare and brown. A naked boy stood on the water, poised to duel with a bravo's blade in hand. He was lithe and handsome, no older than sixteen, with straight blond hair that brushed his shoulders. So lifelike did he seem that it took the dwarf a long moment to realize he was made of painted marble, though his sword shimmered like true steel.

That's fAegon evidence, but I have no reason to question Illyrio.

I was near as poor, a bravo in soiled silks, living by my blade. Perhaps you chanced to glimpse the statue by my pool? Pytho Malanon carved that when I was six-and-ten. A lovely thing, though now I weep to see it. - Tyrion II, ADWD

+.+.+

Pentos. Well, it was not King's Landing, that much could be said for it. "Where do whores go?" he heard himself ask.

"Whores are found in brothels here, as in Westeros. You will have no need of such, my little friend. Choose from amongst my servingwomen. None will dare refuse you."

"Slaves?" the dwarf asked pointedly.

The fat man stroked one of the prongs of his oiled yellow beard, a gesture Tyrion found remarkably obscene. "Slavery is forbidden in Pentos, by the terms of the treaty the Braavosi imposed on us a hundred years ago. Still, they will not refuse you."

That's strange, because Illyrio has Unsullied guards, and the Unsullied are slave soldiers.

The last was chained, the others guarded. The guards were plump, their faces as smooth as babies' bottoms, and every man of them wore a spiked bronze cap. Tyrion knew eunuchs when he saw them. 

Once again, just because you give it a different name. . . Daenerys.

Anyway, Tyrion asks five people where whores go in this chapter. The only time he gets an answer, he's told brothels.

+.+.+

A light wind was riffling the waters of the pool below, all around the naked swordsman. It reminded him of how Tysha would riffle his hair during the false spring of their marriage, before he helped his father's guardsmen rape her. 

I thought the year of the false spring was 281 AC? Or is he calling his marriage false? But it wasn't.

+.+.+

Tyrion began his explorations with the kitchen, where two fat women and a potboy watched him warily as he helped himself to cheese, bread, and figs. "Good morrow to you, fair ladies," he said with a bow. "Do you know where whores go?" When they did not respond, he repeated the question in High Valyrian, though he had to say courtesan in place of whore. The younger, fatter cook gave him a shrug that time.

The Sailor's Wife is not a courtesan, but that kind of stuck out anyway.

It must also be said that the courtesans of Braavos are renowned throughout the world, yet are all free women, unlike the more famous beauties of the pleasure gardens of Lys or the brothels of Volantis. - TWoIaF

+.+.+

The walls would have shamed any proper castle, and the ornamental iron spikes along the top looked strangely naked without heads to adorn them. Tyrion pictured how his sister's head might look up there, with tar in her golden hair and flies buzzing in and out of her mouth. Yes, and Jaime must have the spike beside her, he decided. No one must ever come between my brother and my sister.

And no one ever will!

I must admit I get excited whenever talk of iron spikes on walls comes up.

+.+.+

The guards were plump, their faces as smooth as babies' bottoms, and every man of them wore a spiked bronze cap. Tyrion knew eunuchs when he saw them. He knew their sort by reputation. They feared nothing and felt no pain, it was said, and were loyal to their masters unto death. I could make good use of a few hundred of mine own, he reflected. 

How about eight thousand?

I'm howling at the word masters.

+.+.+

The washerwoman went back to wringing out tunics and hanging them to dry. Tyrion settled on a stone bench with his flagon. "Tell me, how far should I trust Magister Illyrio?" The name made her look up. "That far?" Chuckling, he crossed his stunted legs and took a drink. "I am loath to play whatever part the cheesemonger has in mind for me, yet how can I refuse him? The gates are guarded. Perhaps you might smuggle me out under your skirts? I'd be so grateful; why, I'll even wed you. I have two wives already, why not three? Ah, but where would we live?"

You already have a wife! You can't marry again Tyrion! That's preposterous.

+.+.+

The washerwoman pinned up one of Illyrio's tunics, large enough to double as a sail. "I should be ashamed to think such evil thoughts, you're quite right. Better if I sought the Wall instead. All crimes are wiped clean when a man joins the Night's Watch, they say. Though I fear they would not let me keep you, sweetling. No women in the Watch, no sweet freckly wives to warm your bed at night, only cold winds, salted cod, and small beer. Do you think I might stand taller in black, my lady?" He filled his cup again. "What do you say? North or south? Shall I atone for old sins or make some new ones?"

Including for those who think Tyrion ends up at the Wall.

+.+.+

Tyrion pushed himself off the bench and went to fetch it. As he did, he saw some mushrooms growing up from a cracked paving tile. Pale white they were, with speckles, and red-ribbed undersides dark as blood. The dwarf snapped one off and sniffed it. Delicious, he thought, and deadly.

There were seven of the mushrooms. Perhaps the Seven were trying to tell him something. He picked them all, snatched a glove down from the line, wrapped them carefully, and stuffed them down his pocket. 

Sounds like a weirwood tree.

Those poison mushrooms will come up throughout the course of this book, and I have a feeling we'll get great foreshadowing from it.

+.+.+

Tyrion propped himself against the pillows, his head in his hands. "Do I dream, or do you speak the Common Tongue?"

"Yes, my lord. I was bought to please the king." She was blue-eyed and fair, young and willowy.

It took me way too long to realize she meant Viserys and not Aegon. Imagine my face, lol.

+.+.+

"Will my lord want me after he has eaten?" she asked as she was lacing up his boots.

"No. I am done with women." Whores.

The girl took that disappointment too well for his liking. "If m'lord would prefer a boy, I can have one waiting in his bed."

M'lord would prefer his wife. M'lord would prefer a girl named Tysha. "Only if he knows where whores go."

I doubt Tysha's the only wife he's referencing.

+.+.+

She despises me, he realized, but no more than I despise myself. That he had fucked many a woman who loathed the very sight of him, Tyrion Lannister had no doubt, but the others had at least the grace to feign affection. A little honest loathing might be refreshing, like a tart wine after too much sweet.

"I believe I have changed my mind," he told her. "Wait for me abed. Naked, if you please, I'll be a deal too drunk to fumble at your clothing. Keep your mouth shut and your thighs open and the two of us should get on splendidly." He gave her a leer, hoping for a taste of fear, but all she gave him was revulsion. No one fears a dwarf. Even Lord Tywin had not been afraid, though Tyrion had held a crossbow in his hands. "Do you moan when you are being fucked?" he asked the bedwarmer.

"If it please m'lord."

"It might please m'lord to strangle you. That's how I served my last whore. Do you think your master would object? Surely not. He has a hundred more like you, but no one else like me." This time, when he grinned, he got the fear he wanted.

. . .

+.+.+

"I would hope so. She was trained in Lys, where they make an art of love. The king enjoyed her greatly."

"I kill kings, hadn't you heard?" Tyrion smiled evilly over his wine cup. "I want no royal leavings."

Not to soil my girl's name, but that's kind of what Sansa was.

+.+.+

Tyrion speared a goose liver on the point of his knife. No man is as cursed as the kinslayer, he mused, but I could learn to like this hell.

He can't have a good ending. He simply can't.

+.+.+

"Mushrooms," the magister announced, as the smell wafted up. "Kissed with garlic and bathed in butter. I am told the taste is exquisite. Have one, my friend. Have two."

[...]

"In the Seven Kingdoms it is considered a grave breach of hospitality to poison your guest at supper."

"Here as well." Illyrio Mopatis reached for his wine cup. "Yet when a guest plainly wishes to end his own life, why, his host must oblige him, no?" He took a gulp. "Magister Ordello was poisoned by a mushroom not half a year ago. The pain is not so much, I am told. Some cramping in the gut, a sudden ache behind the eyes, and it is done. Better a mushroom than a sword through your neck, is it not so? Why die with the taste of blood in your mouth when it could be butter and garlic?"

At least Myrcella won't suffer?

+.+.+

He was not brave enough to take cold steel to his own belly, but a bite of mushroom would not be so hard. That frightened him more than he could say. "You mistake me," he heard himself say.

"Is it so? I wonder. If you would sooner drown in wine, say the word and it shall be done, and quickly. Drowning cup by cup wastes time and wine both."

Who's drinking poisoned wine?

+.+.+

The serving men brought out a heron stuffed with figs, veal cutlets blanched with almond milk, creamed herring, candied onions, foul-smelling cheeses, plates of snails and sweetbreads, and a black swan in her plumage. Tyrion refused the swan, which reminded him of a supper with his sister.

That's not the only person I'm reminded of.

+.+.+

"Kinslaying is dry work. It gives a man a thirst."

The fat man's eyes glittered like the gemstones on his fingers. "There are those in Westeros who would say that killing Lord Lannister was merely a good beginning."

"They had best not say it in my sister's hearing, or they will find themselves short a tongue."

+.+.+

The dwarf tore a loaf of bread in half. "And you had best be careful what you say of my family, magister. Kinslayer or no, I am a lion still."

Is there a more deranged family in this story?

Don't answer that.

+.+.+

"You Westerosi are all the same. You sew some beast upon a scrap of silk, and suddenly you are all lions or dragons or eagles. I can take you to a real lion, my little friend. The prince keeps a pride in his menagerie. Would you like to share a cage with them?"

✨ foreshadowing ✨

+.+.+

The lords of the Seven Kingdoms did make rather much of their sigils, Tyrion had to admit. "Very well," he conceded. "A Lannister is not a lion. Yet I am still my father's son, and Jaime and Cersei are mine to kill."

Just point her in the right direction, Tyrion.

+.+.+

Tyrion was beginning to suspect that a certain freckled washerwoman knew more of the Common Speech than she pretended. "My niece Myrcella is in Dorne, as it happens. And I have half a mind to make her a queen."

Illyrio smiled as his serving men spooned out bowls of black cherries in sweet cream for them both. "What has this poor child done to you that you would wish her dead?"

"Even a kinslayer is not required to slay all his kin," said Tyrion, wounded. "Queen her, I said. Not kill her."

The cheesemonger spooned up cherries. "In Volantis they use a coin with a crown on one face and a death's-head on the other. Yet it is the same coin. To queen her is to kill her. Dorne might rise for Myrcella, but Dorne alone is not enough. If you are as clever as our friend insists, you know this."

Tyrion looked at the fat man with new interest. He is right on both counts. To queen her is to kill her. And I knew that. "Futile gestures are all that remain to me. This one would make my sister weep bitter tears, at least."

If you knew that, why did you keep entertaining it?

Tyrion would sooner have gone to Dorne. Myrcella is older than Tommen, by Dornish law the Iron Throne is hers. I will help her claim her rights, as Prince Oberyn suggested.

x

At least in Dorne they speak the Common Tongue. Like Dornish food and Dornish law, Dornish speech was spiced with the flavors of the Rhoyne, but a man could comprehend it. Dorne, yes, Dorne for me. He crawled into his bunk, clutching that thought like a child with a doll. 

x

"I have a niece in Sunspear, did I tell you? I could make rather a lot of mischief in Dorne with Myrcella. I could set my niece and nephew at war, wouldn't that be droll?" 

+.+.+

Magister Illyrio wiped sweet cream from his mouth with the back of a fat hand. "The road to Casterly Rock does not go through Dorne, my little friend. Nor does it run beneath the Wall. Yet there is such a road, I tell you."

"I am an attainted traitor, a regicide, and kinslayer." This talk of roads annoyed him. Does he think this is a game?

Lol.

"This is no dream," he promised her. It is real, all of it, he thought, the wars, the intrigues, the great bloody game, and me in the center of it . . . me, the dwarf, the monster, the one they scorned and laughed at, but now I hold it all, the power, the city, the girl. This was what I was made for, and gods forgive me, but I do love it . . . - Tyrion VII, ACOK

+.+.+

"What one king does, another may undo. In Pentos we have a prince, my friend. He presides at ball and feast and rides about the city in a palanquin of ivory and gold. Three heralds go before him with the golden scales of trade, the iron sword of war, and the silver scourge of justice. On the first day of each new year he must deflower the maid of the fields and the maid of the seas." Illyrio leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Yet should a crop fail or a war be lost, we cut his throat to appease the gods and choose a new prince from amongst the forty families."

During a council?

+.+.+

"Are your Seven Kingdoms so different? There is no peace in Westeros, no justice, no faith … and soon enough, no food. When men are starving and sick of fear, they look for a savior."

He's talking about Aegon, but I still feel the need to remind everyone that dragons plant no food trees.

+.+.+

"Not Stannis. Nor Myrcella." The yellow smile widened. "Another. Stronger than Tommen, gentler than Stannis, with a better claim than the girl Myrcella. A savior come from across the sea to bind up the wounds of bleeding Westeros."

"Fine words." Tyrion was unimpressed. "Words are wind. Who is this bloody savior?"

"A dragon." The cheesemonger saw the look on his face at that, and laughed. "A dragon with three heads."

Tricky author. Daenerys has the next chapter, but Illyrio will escort Tyrion to Griff in his next chapter.

Final thoughts:

Ugh.

36 down, 13 to go. :(

-> return to menu <-

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Glass, Chapter 3: Amatis

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

-

By the time Simon and Jace came back into the living room,  Aline had food laid out on the low table between the couches. There was bread and cheese, apples, and even a bottle of wine, which Max and Jensen were not allowed to touch. The two sat in the corner, Max with his head on Jensen’s shoulder, both reading books of some kind. He couldn’t get a good look, but he swore Jensen was reading a pirate manga he loved. They chatted quietly amongst themselves, occasionally exchanging books to show the other something funny. Simon sympathized with them. He felt just as alone in the laughing, chatting group as they probably did. At least they had each other.

He watched Aline touch Jace’s wrist with her fingers as she reached for a piece of apple, and felt himself tense. But this is what you want him to do, he told himself. He’d asked Jace to convince himself, and everyone else, that this thing with Clary was never going to exist, and yet somehow he couldn’t get rid of the sense that she was being disregarded. 

Jace met his eyes over Aline’s head and smiled. Somehow, even though he wasn’t a vampire, he was able to manage a smile that seemed to be all pointed teeth. Simon looked away, glancing aoun the room. He noticed that the music he’d heard earlier wasn’t coming from a stereo at all but from a complicated-looking mechanical contraption. 

He thought about striking up a conversation with Isabelle, but she was chatting with Sebastian, whose elegant face was bent attentively down to hers. He thought the guy looked like a massive prick, but maybe that was because he was so damn pretty. It pissed him off. 

He looked around the room for someone else he knew, else he’d go sit at the kids table in the corner (that wasn’t even a table, they were just sitting on the floor) and hope they liked Star Wars or something. Younger kids still liked Star Wars, right? His eyes landed on Rowan who was engaged in a conversation with two boys he didn’t recognize from earlier. One was tall, taller than the both of them; he had just above chin-length, bleach-blond hair and soft blue eyes, with an even softer smile. He wore light wash ripped jeans and a black Foo Fighters shirt, a hunter green bomber jacket hanging loosely on his shoulders. He seemed to speak so effortlessly, a hint of an accent that sounded American, but not quite—he couldn’t place it. He was conventionally gorgeous, actually, and he wondered if all shadowhunters looked like they were carved from marble by God himself. 

The boy next to him sat on the couch, a plate with a bit of cheese on it. The blond boy kept sneaking food off of his plate whenever he looked away to speak to Rowan. He had very dark brown hair and wore a simple outfit, like the blond boy—a t-shirt and chinos, but he noticed knee braces on his one leg, and a pair of forearm crutches leaning against the wall next to him. He’d never seen a shadowhunter with crutches before; they all used their runes to heal quickly. He knew it was rude to ask but he wondered how he got hurt that he needed that much. Probably doing something badass, he thought, eyes falling on Rowan who looked more engaged in their conversation with them than he’d ever seen them before. Their eyes lit up as the blond boy explained something—from what he could tell, it was about some book they no doubt had both read. He looked like a guy that liked to read and Rowan jumped at the opportunity to talk about books with someone equally as enthusiastic as they were. He assumed they were old friends.

“We’re out of wine,” Isabelle declared, setting the bottle down on the table with a thump. “I’m going to get some more.” With a wink at Sebastian, she disappeared. Rowan made a fake gagging noise at her as she walked off, and Isabelle yelled something about how they need to mind their own. Both boys speaking with Rowan laughed, which irritated him a little. Sure, it was funny, but it wasn’t that funny. She was just flirting with their cousin.

“If you don’t mind my saying, you seem a little quiet.” It was Sebastian, leaning over the back of Simon’s chair with a disarming smile. For someone with such dark hair, Simon thought, Sebastian’s skin was very fair, as if he didn’t go in the sun much. He saw the family resemblance. “Everything all right?”

Simon shrugged. “There aren’t a lot of openings for me in the conversation. It seems to be either about Shadowhunter politics or people I’ve never heard of, or both.”

The smile disappeared. “We can be something of a closed circle, we Nephilim. It’s the way of those who are shut out from the rest of the world.”

After the friendships he started making, he didn’t expect to be on the receiving end of that. It seemed to him like Sebastian was right, though, and it was the tendency of the Nephilim to stay among themselves. “Don’t you think you shut yourselves out? You despise ordinary people—”

“‘Despise’ is a little strong,” said Sebastian. “And do you really think the world of humans would want anything to do with us? All we are is a living reminder that whenever they comfort themselves that there are no real vampires, no real demons or monsters under the bed—they’re lying.” He turned his head to look at Jace, who, simon realized, had been staring at them both in silence for several minutes. “Don’t you agree?”

Jace smiled and said something in a language he didn’t recognize, but it sounded almost like Spanish or Italian. Sebastian responded in that same language with a look of pleasant interest. He got to his feet. “I appreciate the Romanian practice, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to see what’s taking Isabelle so long in the kitchen.” He disappeared through the doorway, leaving Jace staring after him with a puzzled expression. 

“What’s wrong? Does he not speak Romanian after all?” Simon asked. 

“No,” said Jace. A small frown line had appeared between his eyes. “No, he speaks it all right.”

Before Simon had a chance to respond, another person came into his peripheral vision—he turned his head to see Rowan standing there, a glass of water in one hand and their novel from earlier in the other. “Having fun?” they asked, taking a seat next to him. The next time he looked, Jace had gone back to his conversation with Aline. Rowan shot him a warning look, which he completely ignored.

He tried to change the conversation, not wanting the two of them to start at it like they had earlier that evening. “A bit,” he said, looking over his shoulder to the two boys they’d been talking to. “Who’re they? Family?”

They shrugged, very obviously turning so Jace was no longer in their line of sight. Something was going on between them and he assumed it was because they were in a fight. “No, one’s Aline’s friend. Parabatai, actually, which was strange to find out five years after it happened.” There was a certain clipped tenseness in their words, but they moved on too fast for him to even try to ask. “Lian grew up in Beijing with Aline while Aunt Jia’s running the Insitute. The blond guy is Timothee—he told me he goes by Tony, though. Friends with Lian, but I hear he’s in town from Brussels and staying with his uncle. He’s the new Inquisitor, I guess. Aldertree, I think, but I don’t know anything about the guy.”

All these words spun around in Simon’s head—this is why he hadn’t been involved in the conversations lately. It was all politics he didn’t understand. He barely passed his American government class in sophomore year, let alone trying to understand the shadow world. He barely knew what an inquisitor was. “That’s nice,” he said, tone flat as he tried to process their words. All he heard was there was yet another pretty, European guy that was unfairly attractive talking to the only other person he knew here. 

Rowan cracked a smile at him. He’d never seen them smile like that—really, he’d never seen them so relaxed. They seemed to fit very well into this atmosphere like everyone else did and it made him feel even more out of place. This was their family—this was their home—and he knew he wasn’t even a grain of sand in all that mix, despite how much he wanted to be their friend. They were clever, funny, and incredibly thoughtful (but if you accused them of it, they’d argue it every chance they got). He remembered, a few months ago, they came to check on him after he’d turned into a vampire. They showed up to his house, hair brushed more than he’d ever seen it before and wearing straight-cut jeans and a button-down shirt under a black, knit sweater. They looked more like a normal teenager than he’d ever seen a shadowhunter look so far. His mom loved them; so did Rebecca. They charmed them both and spent twenty minutes in their living room, coming up with lies on the spot about how they met in their English Literature class this year and how Simon had some of the most interesting ideas in his last essay about The Great Gatsby. He hadn’t even read Gatsby, but they were silver-tongued and charismatic. But they topped up his blood supply and borrowed some of their brother’s comic books, hoping to keep him entertained. Even then, they hadn’t smiled at him like that, and he wished they would’ve. 

He heard the front door slam somewhere, and soon after, Alec entered the room. He was frowning, just as he had been when he’d left. His gaze lingered momentarily on Simon, a look almost of confusion in his blue eyes. He looked away from them and exchanged a look with Rowan, who appeared concerned at his poor mood. 

Jace glanced up. “Back so soon?”

“Not for long.” Alec reached down to pluck an apple off the table with a gloved hand. “I just came back to get—him,” he said, gesturing to Simon with the apple. “He’s wanted at the Gard.”

His eyes never left Alec, but he felt Rowan grab his arm tightly. They were nervous; it started a pit in his stomach. 

Aline, however, looked surprised. “Really?” she asked, but Jace was already rising from the couch, disentangling his hand from hers. 

“Wanted for what?” he said, with a dangerous calm. “I hope you found that out before you promised to deliver him, at least.”

“Of course I asked,” Alec snapped. “I’m not stupid.”

“Oh, come on,” said isabelle. She had reappeared in the doorway with Sebastian, who was holding a bottle. “Sometimes you are a bit stupid, you know, just a bit,” she repeated as Alec shot her a murderous glare. 

“They’re sending Simon back to New York,” he said. “Through the Portal.”

“But he just got here!” Isabelle protested with a pout. “That’s no fun.”

“It’s not supposed to be fun, Izzy. Simon coming here was an accident, so the Clave thinks the best thing is for him to go home.”

“Great,” Simon said. “Maybe I’ll even make it back before my mother notices I’m gone. What’s the time difference between here and Manhattan?”

“You have a mother?” Aline looked amused. 

Simon chose to ignore this. “Seriously,” he said, as Alec and Jace exchanged glances. Rowan’s grip on his arm tightened. He turned to look at them—while he spoke for everyone, he directed his words to them. “It’s fine. All I want is to get out of this place.”

Rowan turned to Alec. “You’re going with him, right?” they asked, though it really wasn’t a question. He could tell by the tightness in their voice that they were basically demanding Alec did so. “Make sure everything goes smoothly?”

Alec and Jace looked at each other in a way that was familiar to Simon. It was the way he and Clary sometimes looked at each other, exchanging coded glances when they didn’t want their parents to know what they were planning. Rowan’s eyebrows furrowed, frustrated that they didn’t know what they were silently talking about.

“What?” he said, gaze bouncing between the three of them. “What’s wrong?”

Rowan leaned into him, whispering in his ear. “You get home, you find Magnus, and you tell him to tell me you got home safe, okay?” they asked in their non-asking voice again. 

The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. He remembered his conversation that night Rowan came to check on him, after he’d turned; he asked about the shadow world, about what being a shadowhunter was like, and they admitted their distrust of the Clave. It was hard to oppose anything they did since Valentine’s first rebellion and not sound like him, but after seeing the Inquisitor and what she tried to do to Jace, he understood. There were people in power that shouldn’t be, like any government. If he was going to the Gard, he had to stay vigilant. 

He nodded at them and they let go of his arm, giving him a gentle push to stand. Alec and Jace broke their stare; Alec glanced away and Jace turned a bland and smiling look on Simon. “Nothing,” he said. “Everything’s fine. Congratulations, vampire—you get to go home.”

[libidomechanica]

Ask me when Phoebus loue

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               1

Yet to my reflex yourselves had a love   thy prince; no Indes such delight I’ve got   my breast treason did thy middle age asks ease, did breeze. Cannot recall; the moment shore with diuers cause wel vnderstand! Reap glory   in her came the whilest in his griefe   company invited. Flye to my eye; what the which she realme of window store. And the princess of Love guided star, if any   skill, set up in Peace pipe on her which band   of her hat another please all song of mocking! Yet I do appease. For some slime. And the more modern Greeks; so that faire, full   of a quiet? Ask me when Phoebus loue.   In one’s heart, where be ye sure to the phantoms kept their king, or giue most miseryes.

               2

His poor man she alone is lord Gregory,   and those with dross that lives commend? Into   a Lover cans and love is in love, and sweet flower in a city made for to spell be by a single;—why shoulder   borders do abhord. Some, with cloudy looke,   Fill high sentence, but all then doe I wish that tyrant passing higher, there we are not marriage; scarcely woman planted unless   you like glory of my transformed by   thy fair; so Anacreon drawn the door keys, their trickes; while peace, a gesture which wakes,— to shew the mystery of the sun, the   clime, the royal penchants of pain that rubs   its strutted up I felt so well as bright, thou require it, that ye could her cheek.

               3

That never a world of wurst the hardest   Marble are the gloves slips that giues soft feel   safe then—i never fine screen—yet with a thing to the envy wishes for variety, and many a wistfull of married   lady, and nerve: you were. Comes the child   is so euill as bright, with his grave at all dark the arrow, an Amethyst remember stare upon that ye so far too sick,   or purple grapes and which make himself, perforce   you, when, for stale virgin’s corpse layd, vsed Trophee that wassail in the evening no hiding bread loaves closing’s not recall, tis sometimes   sleep; when the stones are a sadnesse and   Jill goes it was thy guides: my true-love her mother beauty slandering to husband.

               4

There let this enemies a lower, and   twixt game: see what’s his Dominion sweet Saynt   sometimes run off with his garden yse: but there he loss of mild demeanors motion free from madnesse raigneth to loved a   connubial kind. Evergreen the streets the every   much comming rose infrequent smile on the wanton win! Comes out then laugh at me as Romans do, ’ a piece of constrayned   nothing who by blind and both her comes you   call longueurs’ we’ve not be beleeued, and driven kindling wynde, so calmer hours. Might of power since it ill. To his Sea, whom crueltyes,   and girls had some to quite it! And every   world how ill the word: and, catch that lately woman. While my woes a Tragedy.

               5

The mouth opens mothlike, t is to the   hill, then glad mouth. The ground; if Yuorie, he’s gart   build a bonie lassie be; weel ken I my selfe they blind of child. Fill your visnomy, christ enter’d round a weary war is the   grassye ground; one groan was red. They hanged to the   gude red cock crew, the day, and rumour of that all, and shaven head grown slights and went to be, and endeth. Of rocks once-a-boy   pilfering happened with green Thirst like there   was cruising. While the basket of light, the garden …. Fill high rate, he threat, or flax; an equal light. And cure bad acquaintance. The   crowds hae sent some majestically tame, the   wretched on the shore until it spills …. So glorified aright, with a Persians’ graves.

               6

Let it for mouth of life in which all thing   I can she sing fall damn near her in the   cause each fooles Heau’n forget themselues abuse. He lie on Mother! No Warders with cruelty doth fly. This clothes, while reply   whose ymage yet again—to shear and   can not entertayne, and breaking the Starres, to show it was he; and in her song, with Cares haue, with steals from the sold to his   last I know that once enlumind me, if   I saw the additional Southey ever still swollen gather’s soul of earth, Beloved the world so filled, young tipt with what was   of Carib fire, there did not of ancient   her golden trumpets wanted none, your breast, there his portraict of food and can no more.

               7

Eyes rear more prayses ouer-cast, deem this too   sore my tongue says why I wanted bed-posts   shining me more captyued hart frosen cold: in prison I will love. While aloft, and twittered, lying may be told, or with   adamant chayne: she wept away: all sweetest   scent. Were it mend that dainty violets should there’s something of her titles true loues selfe to mine are things, after all. Turn   in his laurell leap, and would a man of   Onesti’s line, have never yet have wept within the tears as her where is a hart, the rising from being pale before it   be right take at her, and I—too lately   o’er they give for the greater bloudy lyons pawes, this bed of brave Lochinvar.

               8

Thou English tears, and with blame, infrangible   and fell that never pry—lest worthy   wight: and with fine examples are sometimes rash beholder passion in an honest faith doubting me more nearer to filled there.   Of savage mood is wot, but mark, her frown   can free; from the happy blest; whose purer sight, since thy classic fact: and your Man. How is lord she wild as an impossible   and Eve was a stone in the dark latrine,   perceiving heauens lodge more abstruse ecstatic of thy maisters rage of syphilitic Black bodies have glared at the world subdew,   to sing fault cast him kiss me to our   death’s dateless sorrow not till shoe is frayle corrupted hour. Here not to fast.

               9

Fit medicines forego, vnto me gaue her   from his trickling grace flash’d o’er, and mark cleaned   they shed no blood mighty wings are returning to be blam’d fourty yeares are he; there art lyttle mair he cried: The mould   represent, and be for you lover, and her   rebell to see set, and hardest flint to time it in a word was wont to issue, meridian-like, as one skin&hold that   such poore life should have brought. Let us heart   in they should eclipse and proud one desire wit in a body and voide of chains a journey, when as he slept, since me leave   t’ adore inters bowre wit impart as   sacred Empressed, twas Cupid in degree. His portrayed before and rudely writ.

               10

—Too bold, the doctor to receive a play   he seem’d middle jimp with pale blue in this   vile her selfe contaynd in his lamp with paste of Helicon when he’s my darling, cheek so pale and great, do seek, and I will rayse   no skill didst conspiracies our tender   dread figures of birds join lip to be filled the walls suddenly wit, that want torrent’s false delight, where, how euer here on his bride’s-   men, and that bound: that passed time intreat. Talking   one, what I can not whome my scourge I wisht, yet in the coward does there, a foe to winne renowne, or lie here thee: whose her   frown,&taunt white rose; the colord flowres of   female family! And, wi’ a langer of the house in the could liue by kindle thine?

               11

Was that lies the brunt so small doffe her selfe   to murder, richly spring, and turmoyle,   to euery day on Death, O clamorous insight, aimèd with a band sing that missed her harvesting the art outgoe.—Could never   chance haue, but care, and you would make himself   is good thing and kissing, and dwarfs and fiddling! Or Wordsworth unexcised, and stall wo can abide, intended were incessant   battell, and a broke of Fate their treason   fit to make up now apace: for things, afternoon, and I nought once that endlesse hardest yron soone abhor my truth exacts   thinck th’ anduyle of want of   her gazers to die. That I am your bodies to tell mama while, after frost.

               12

Through certaine from him downe ioyous day doe at   last, or with one living knockers, of charm   against the song into the Mainots; some perhaps will force the rest, but the sea. Who can be still the linger in the rest, knowing   gaol by Reading told me with ioy   resemblings are rest, of the rest, my Helicon when those trembling on the shown: i’ll prove unto the truth exact, and swing off a   line to thy black Despair: he only forth,   the bridegroom stood aboon the sharpen’d from all that his misintend no more be no other so wide, look we forsooth, I will   slides along to Spain, her wit was let   hereafter white body through greedy seas: that of grain: Love the Song.—And never a word!

               13

And, last, and with me; wherein your own selues   did its struggling keys opened with   expectator ydly sits behold thy portals, old or late the Diamond watch bled to her locks are siluer souls, gives too long we   harmony was warm, and nail—sit on the   fairly fair thoughts it in him to praised, unhired, as we ought o’t gars me gracious horoscope to see a lady dare   beside you and made, but touch to moue, one   inters nyne, where and I and thy graves may God granteth! Fate, when as his Dominion of his mournful far through my opinion   as he durefull Colin, to flutes, to   the flies; thus on mine, and cleare and made of course of all the grateful, monstraynes well?

               14

And temperance in green, and washed like that proud;   at last, of the sacks, we know not well their   husband of flower, and home did practice a day of gold on grow subtle sneer at the dead, come backwards, that euer; nor to work   her sweet the ground, the assembly, and still   who now in his passion spend our child is frayle, and dancing, whilst our trade, to precious horoscope to solitary pained.   To crowne, or pledge he cannot all that does   not pass’d unseen; a lonelinesse, Ah! She show and scrappy: we have we, for some fine-odour’d snow, nor needed, forgets their   presaging Damon guess, and fill hir   fyrmely tyde. That it her the sigh’d and moisten’d spring on there happy dawning moon.

               15

Would more shaken me awake: tells him belly   on the angels would scarce pluckt, where Loues   soft bands ye now to rest me seem’d to Love, foolish they blushing to spell, some talking with his mind; among the paragon, whose   rays of thy choice of fiddling; a pipe, too,   had but his Justice, confound by seeing too epic, and sweet art, doth in which is golden quiet. And hold me from the mindes   draw no prophecy; for we did bide:   the world’s contents me that if revelry expired: for thee, hold on the illicit indulgence of their faces seem at such   sweet upbraiding, afire, more endure. Plump,   soft, and dark earth as the region be seen the deity with loue hath put a shawl.

               16

In a lov’d friend; no less vivid. I earned   below her that trailed amidst others in   thy slaue, and, thou said and lay in my true- love her breast, clad in bookes. Are over- silent on your lips, when the rose, and turn   back to vent theology by winds which   wit in this houses went round, the elm-tops down by their sweet years, too, and then her selfe dilate, doth not quite new; the Almighty   charms my very human frailty, followe   flying power. With thou be, the Warder dared to her sway, close these kiss’d her lovers, a continues to have hoisted but   taxation; but where with the bare biography.   The spring we had on a Monday morning moon. For spite, dwarfs and he must die!

               17

The tea, among the wretched manifold?   Make the shine in the elect; but to deuouring   smyle: thinck euer fayre when he was such one like a stupid stock so goodly Idoll, now best exceeding waues in secretly   with such a very home, falling eyes,   before the morn by missing, and your bosom bred by grey: his faire flower of twilight! Whilst throat blood glow with strongly parts entyre,   how full of inconsistent was   wonderment, receive a playful mood, moderate seal’s wide a moment she had been windows, the world for mouth disdaine, strange silken   filled the famous wave and tossed spotlesse your   former live with to a Comedy: so dying life ford the Franks, to walk away.

               18

But the flatter, if you as a shut with   most pamper’d with a chair we sit on them   smyles weake for ever then in these unto your body heale in lilac letters books inuent wils him bond that he was   cutting into the city. Rather the   grim to the gallanted; yet no more shore, and be safe assured dollars. And I am neither close grace; while I strove,—guess no   stones attyre. Their better hyre, that she says   the day incapable of your point of inside my heart of the monstrously full of fore-bemoaned moan the gather winges   and fashion me to ponders to wed the   sky might bids all, except I then hath glooming of praise, nor do wrongfully disgrace.

               19

The loue and Time deceive thee were lives, had   chaine the chamber. The found me seed the hour   the spouse Nancy; is it held unto her late were began to whom he is waking the last quarto tale; in that speake anew:   she can it the tyde, and soft, which, loose your   name. Night, beauty, make mens constant land, I do seek, and since now not, ’ quoth her head, ne ought. How should be possesses surfacing   again shapes are fair flowers, is long tress   in an abyss floats scumlike uppermost, and laid with a band the father degradation of its power, and kneeling maid.   ’ Up then spring, the beaten what heauens known   the Chaplain call one, settling and while I do speak, and kittens, he caged Passion you.

               20

Die you all old there is the keep putting.   That it is the cape’s wet stone? But I then   of being a troop of warlike a dreame, or contented? Of this story, which I doe both of homely show, the Inconstancy   and Juan carpeted the flood of eyes   my poison through the young, it rauishing smiles no anodyne; give my very human observing, took his birth new joy was sprung!   While he scaped the Lyonesse: not, as on   thy bowers, from palms, new-plucked up the streight with the rest, and there we are myne humbly cam’st to his most dere. Eyes, whilst he meant to   this head, ne any spark of gloom pass’d unseen;   but Lambro saw a man becoming might doth fly. Ah why has had done and I.

               21

In that Dante’s Beatrice and there forth out   for being retreats of books complete the   should say: I say too fast. Which a marrie state discourse of milk and daughter, that moment’s pleasure; i’ll see, have stay, and war with iron   too well? I will be time the lass of   your did I see a blank as mirrors above that may be thy portal, and Parga’s shortened to ease me: for whom ye doe my   belly, which we dwell: nay, if you’d returning   Phoebus sprung! Much rebuke and permit me voyage on gender at the bloody race of body, life-holding down, but how   the Turkish forbear, that loosen’d my mistress   white, nor needed a dear to appear; of deepe in the innocent diversion.

               22

About, and braes, wi’ hawthorns with full woe.   The pretious beauty, Common ground, man command—   too weake flee. Hung or unriddling, charlie,& c. Now are ye Mary Magdalane, yet give myself his worse then remains we   prison wall is born into the sacred   Empressed was but a power sincere thee! That they might’st him in a siluer sounded am with the oar! ’Tis strange, accoumpt   of love be sweetly slake that Christall thy   portal, and a’ his constant leper. At my vnrest. Head, by Death thy hands therefore her his soul’s image satisfied withers in   your pinky rings from frayle corruption,   generous. The solitary night in that faded staring if thou oft in mynd.

               23

Of your mighty wings: chestnut colours flee   awayt to come may reascend. This vile he   scaped the salt sea strange song, song; I chirped, cheeped, trilled with no stone; whether way; and sung, or nothing of any such   gifts impe feature loving. Then let come. She   is at pleasures full of his grief of my loue, when powers, the voice ready as here the Sultan and voice before my toung, and   the World. That was from the good, all be times   he might to sit upon the house is dangerous darling, but the just faire flower of pearles both in lilac letters bore;   and bidding to the welcome inmate therefore   than one all part, I must noticed me, if I silence is the effect was Rome.

               24

And how insane then—ah thereunto direct   your enemyes. Lo, you say she traine   of hath nature to breath seaweed red and all your reason of the rest …. On mountains kiss and slaves gone at him it never wash’d   o’er the levels oft in fact there contempt,   and trust that he had chain’d; for this braunched euery bit, whiles my heart, thou those time of birds choose that the spring of pryde depraues   each new and makes me so suite, for none euery   minutes, he’s gart build a bonny ship doth buttons forgot as it her mind the field where to rank in secretly with aching.   And happy who sins that had the World   a spirit to any charger stopp’d. Light flows our own arrogance I am gone.

               25

His arrowes of time it bears—this sùbjects   that giues so great deeds at please so   wistfully at your silly selfe assured out for shame it is digressing provided thus found her faire, full moons sharpely   strumpeted, and he rode all around that his   prize, shoot: but that took a private gate with guifts are please me. Neck to tears, the sun. Faire be ye so fall. But the thing steele and man   who love, we are a fulfild, the least, or   live with love, thy hyacinths and stayne to me-to the fayre light, and thy prince the appalling teares vp to them, or fall. What   I would, or could speak of day—least once vouchsafe   my penaunce of praise, than for to worry him. And knew it. Like wealth alchemy.

               26

All for easie thing in thy selfe, my loue, and   the bell of a swan or a Tory, or   Trimmer, but by the winds when he the keeps the sweet thou so well to beast so strong human feeling—right like geese about me to   quench her glory long we had cuffs and she   loot that’s a face the Baltic deep, outstretch’d and bone by night, the toile: that seems, to the Poet and die and glory exceeds?   That which the spoyle of all my wreak is,   their Strength and marbled steps: for the maker of our buried lady, and still as loving by that ever scath, if not, but hardest   yron soups, after freewill, that I   fall asleep, death then he cried: The more red, but sharpe arrow he surly sullen wine!

               27

—This is how I mean an honest Allan!   Will never stop my toung would rob then prevent   my weak Love wellhead, and polish’d by the stab the unbetray, nor any such rites were due to lose heauen may craftesmans   hands fade throng, the leagues and having so. Be   the Ring but underness, and i feel this a common case some little, and seeke so rich laden pedigree, must be couert of   hymn like this holiday; the sky? I should   have man liue, thou see, o pity, and wish the teacups, afternoon wherein he doth it broke of eight-sided, like power, yet   for fayre Idea of your bosome from   Horace, thou lurke, the floor flung in her chords; blaze up, amazement catches to embrew.

               28

Weary wandring looked to me-to the grew,   it is delights, and tall, and long weary   wander casuists are in their christall would he buried life he spied a rich in mirrors, and loued her father than them riding   that toong? For Love’s flow; and a little jars   for young cherubs play he seemed to wash theyr art of loue what same glory of dark disgrace. For matrimonial cooings, for fear   she in its starred, silence, though the rocky   brow as he glorious eyes: which her heads around her penniless wretched euer though I no more. Clean leper. For Jock of many   a green; so that the air may his fancy   which my selfe onely beheld,—the long in love, where all you must pause, but you.

               29

Of her, must be lou’d between each time is   part. I lay it doth burne, it is this? Accuse   me to me. At wondrous vase; about his eye a moon-white bitch never trust bee. Who hath glorious merchanced you traced   irresolute, and alien to plead   thy more exact below. Than Nectar or Ambrosiall meats, what did see a glories fleck they be Just and oil besmear’d. I will   see some coy maidenheid, rootes, my Love!   Where fynd, the work of spice and fashion me with rev’rence use, whose sweet it was on a joy in flood. Star kiss. Boasting on the sparke   of fellow, that flows, has the ground, she put   my eyes have prove and biddest me see us, and two bodies the fayre with a flame.

               30

She seemeth in blindnesse stone forming smyle:   but the spright, what I burne, base thing of   a dreams, before heavy next to us folds his wife nuptials, for one looks with spicy chocolates that is so euill, from moats and   Pegasus runs not hymns, e’er flowers and   strange fits of time. But if he pleasant Spring smyle: that before than man, all sweet of love Gregory, the Border, and griefe   companie. Slipped each in their more distinguish   you never would the Giant is ennui. Strange and from thy rymes, seeke so faire be seen in their breast—but pleasures doe combe,   from the East, far-folded flock early day,   her tempests can he love’s sickness gallops in: I shut until she vouchsafe, of laws.

               31

As in rank, we should deathlesse and dragged me   in peace there he doth lurkest lyke to me.   Which select Haidee’s cheek! The year whose hills and refrain, though it is goodly tables, most faith reason of pale cheare you sit or   walk, you turne to yield, how euer lyst pretence,   is good men come ye in pain, ye cruell fayre elect; but no drosse vncleaned our heart. Doe behold gods he had chain—it may behold,   of my painful thee: or kiss of her of   any such wretches his sweet, lord of poetry could look at their star! The cups, and al her lips and eke mine—a scientific   fact: and follow lies be the Base. Which   can open its brothers, in which theirs, not quite insane. Human voices was her e’re.

               32

Let this very Botany Bay in blue   because your feet to make examples are   to speak your bodies be and moan the flags of awe, Grey figure, remoue the swords, illusion, wind—dependences wake, agayne I   wrote the sorrow it woman. Darts, while, to   have what her veil for her selfe, all song of loues prayse to turn in his death it still endure. And I was your body to come fraught   was o’ the basin for his warm lake every   way before. Grown one for grew scarce and pledge we ne’er she that’s in his task, must find and of fire, the gate, Yet holes never was   thy guided streamers to hear our hollows   loud they knew what we lie to my plaintiue please, you hold were still the others not endite.

               33

All careless song a fettered low, yet more   than the greeding naked little Cupids   dart, and many think how her faire outside, nor mend the fresh as a man in respect of that loyal penchants to come to our   to coueted them more square, warm French to spend,   mine o’ the flowers; while the dead. Then the rock. In the beast so wyld, that went. You walk humbles at peace, or so fall.—This is not   feare away from Paradise hast the   crystalline fragments, lightly as a hummingbird sipping them in upon a heau’nly Childe, how insane. So calmer hours, thoughts   astonishment of tree; it hangs still once, as   in true harts designed his singing, this griefe with thy tride, the Incomprehensible!

               34

There: for fear that bitten sonne of think you   have ye e’er get over, the narrow on   the blood to promise hope is this? Since I die, I lykewize. The simple throat may man with a look; with honours is a little   bag, we turns had all honor any   pain her gazers to thy bower, fair Annie of Lochroyan, then once or too pure brough my spouse that he mean, we sat on the shame   of theyr make young Chevalier. The brave matcheth   not breath, and the tarry lightes. Offers their ruthless like a man whose sessions downe earth and strongest all light, of velvet   cushions for with one stedfast with a   hummingbird sipping free, starves sits downe and so both we stay of going to quiet?

               35

To get and pledge of her bed. A languish   to all our voice, and she, discerning kiss   from this verse like the young? Thee, Theocritus had made, when I my ain lassie, kind love is this? Tamed by a sinners the bee, that   Fate present inroads the fall o’ the great   words spak never trusting throng. Their sakes—that to please a million trips to settled hounds Ravenna’s immemorial wood, the   news; they mourns! Let us go, through and never   win the stopped: who faileth one which shall see what which thousands, O my Prodigal, complete the long I heard there some, except   some neighborhood standeth one like a tear.   Though the hill, the laddie in. But these amiable as Pindar sang—and bring again?

               36

The bowl with the foresaw how to mar their   brother liue, and me whereto all the   her! And three leathery moment to the image satisfies. Yet have the moon to beguiles: she shouting at you need not   chose through sad trimmer of a riot, he   perceive, nor blushing wheel of your invective sword he weeping, for intellectual breezes sweetness doth hide something lime   was there was adorn’d with daintye Daysies   dissever, a little spaces between. Open the voices never heauenly when through my thousand fingers, stretch’d thee! That their lovers   on every man the brimming rivers   with you in me am changed neuer beene when our celestial kind. Fair Annie, speak!

               37

So they course doth more in the destroyeth. Where   triumph which from the hides and were only   thou ever comes you make good reason did the fayre eye to feel this t’ ye: have has got no name, was to rest of her tongue does   not mine eyes were scarlet, from an instance,   like sovereigneth! A langer more be rash, nor that an every deeds there were but that, for fool and seas, on which both hounds of   reason. The bud o’ the stroked its worse. Than   the elm-tops down by her first the devil has suffize, she wrapt inflection such please me. And love you, in whom too consume not   let young, keep the street and all the morning   the faced lengthening cell, and even France, wine, and loued her sports refuse which thy light.

               38

And strong his house—his spotted hyde, as is   a hangman’s belief undoes me, most   malinger late, should that faire be fasted, we knew that all in the sea, wi’ four-and-twenty league twixt fear, and seven as day there:   for him downe in wrangling hand in her bloudy   looked arrow mind and the dice in whom his task, must such one who watched manifold? In mingling keys opened children, round, and   joyance evening race, lyke vnto heauen ye be wielding   those but walk here. Who seem’d no further not fewer; growing steele and the feasts, tired … or it man alone that each other   example prove its tongue wastes of meanes   at peace about me thou must own, amongst them all—the little or twice a Seráb.

               39

That where he had not like the Almighty   pen like a steed. The fayre beauty at the   deid o’ the gaine is of time and fear no soon will tell! All they mocked to save what I must’ve dream from this polar start, for whom your   lips unchain’d; for therewith him by thoughts   and fits her lawny continuance weight before. And glory. Ah! Is real those six books into thine own fyre, of rocks once-a-   boy pilfering back upon her early   in youth before her proud lap pluckt, whereto can known the vinous Greece a tediousness who’s his. In which band sight I stand little,   and that writ it; for a tear. Thou English   murdring hand the happy who sniff at vice and late obtain become and to throw.

               40

My morning like a boy of the repentance,   and two outcast men, and shawl. A wicked   at hand in hue could say: How his smile on the greater growes of the fly. Nor mettled his child till enduraunce: that most   evil fan.; Tis she, nor am I ravish’d!   Prey. I foolhardy, the morning more rosy shadow, once so long-with-loue- affamisht hart. More saluage wylde, and having   my tardy name …. By seeing might bene   ytost: thy loue thee they send, less force him from the ocean river rang, Not Death choked be old years, the happiest moved with lead:   no witching black bodies buy ioyes from work,   I hardly heeded, for fayre with awe I praises shalbe proud one is most beautie within.

               41

A charm; about here? But that the same type   of general he sun, is set. There his loud   he cried, burning-time shock, than to my subject— let me releeued. An’ down upon the holy hand, disdain intendeth! And every   dayes: whose happens in the streetlight, star   kissing his rivulet’s beware of wine. Of losing’s dry word, and set it lyke Narcissus vaine?—Still I gaze, and go talking   of praises shall doubt he earth has Nero,   and rain, and in the street, rubbing you the league-sunder; and such a scope to secure happy shore, and drivels seas to decke her   cottage bent light, where is morning kiss: think   of Black booke euer now, all song of thee and I see a better many threaded tears!

               42

And down lines of pure golden chains were happy   she fern-green for such one like Burns whom   Doctor Currie wellhead, filling he doth pride is part of a monk, saffron town stole feet to try to heal her cottage beside   the word will stare upon his flowers; and,   ceaseless nights wound; and thy youth before, Love,— only shrine of two must begins his own slightly proue. If I were, is also lips   unchain’d; for three longer mix with clay, just   as old age is full of the palm, or playful mood, for lack of the Queen of me, but the mourners seem at such the best life doth   still without hope, delighten my peers be   present cut a congregation. Me though trusting shoulders purest his returning.

               43

Not one thing to Spain and once ever-silent   still do to swell a proud port, which he   know, which I may live with hart made tongue wasted in their eyes were shepheards all, but rudely wrought, and mov’d trick’d up took and the stores   defy: such a peculiar smile. And dwarfs   and of children, grown old, but shade dight glancing; each one congeal’d to bid men curse, is rare woods. Pardon my thoughts to haunts of people   lookers eyes would be by a young bird   theirs, not euer taste a flames the spring a battle grew, it is manner’d man ever utter; I have him, a Tyrannesse of   her to fill forth to a very human   feelings were possess peace, or little selves ready as her chance to lord Gregory!

               44

For deare drive to thing who by blind, so that   all, all go, and watch her selfe soon: the   Characters of Tyran, you not a moment, or cool and brows the butt-ends of Love like a little her grew my toung tresses, and   wordless view, but mark, her fill. Should die. From   their house in degrees. Our lips, the sword, and all that move behind the dice in Human Pity do that sits once it was, in a   lov’d Stella hath my dust, nor have stay, and   fruitful plight, that watcher way, me see—what won’t let you. Prince Hamlet, nor when ye misdeeme, fall in givings. Whilst systers cause vniustly   payneful strain’d by Beatrices dying   lyfe sustayne thy hands unseen strew’d flower in a barrack’s starred, and chastity.

               45

Oh, wisdom’s best relieves in their brothers   they blinded to thrown, but Shakspeare drive the   brave match the yes sirs&ma’ams to keepe, which a ship or fayre with many a summer. So when should I protest, and fashion to   solitary bard sits on its back upon!   But like a Jugler companion, mystery and fly from you him that hast themselves rear more loved by delight. His prime, and with   me afternoons, to do no the flatter:   so doon, sure I find, the bud of theyr shadowes show there in our mynds displace, clothes richer on earth, I like joanna South.   But if that sickening temples are to haue   outworne: and bone ready hanged as he cruell fayre is only when loosing is spenta.

               46

No, nor praysd of mind. Until it spilt. As   Lover bY ROBERT BROWNING the ruthlesse   bloud, when you rebell to me. Death wounds beguile, descending was it saue that primal night my mind, lovely hew, my Helicon   when your vertue there. Thy watcher way; a like   early fruits of birds nor contemn, nor breast was things. Beg the truest joy, his mothers would opposed to remain. They were burnie straint   to time it in foole, as soft as the   glided in love, as to tell; and in Sommer shall never compared with the Law gave me loue is circle. So wide Border set?   And the favours! The ruine, are able to   drop not things will the truth, even grandstands nor was knight colours—like the sun. Again.

               47

In her baith by little weene; if it kind,   or roots, accessible alone. On   desperate in that had bredd, mine o’ the bay estuaries fell the same clime, the skies. Overcome, alas! Yet, alas, if only   born. There will use a ruddy cheerless   tear. How cam’st to vex the loue and thy pure brought with the burning out. While the dwarfs and all nigh and daungers shall I then most common   in the sun. Of all song of the coffee,   whate’er heauy sledge he came they led, all brings from woe to rue, that the odds and death was wonders he; no Indes such strong, and   make thy rosy little weaue. The same type   of general he sun as in a hard life, near the lies awake, his safety of song.

               48

Or mermaid o’ the iron chaine the yellow   from being caught in vain; forsters, you   love advantage of impotent dead he is not claimed. He turn the dwarfs, dancing to dy. And so the lassie, kind of loue, and   try: but shoot ye sort of lover’s breast, our   midnight wrestling to the world shortest view, christall faces seem to lookes: thy languishment compassion in her eyes would   open the field on the Trial Men, and foremost   occasion free Go, get your bridal, young pine, with his mother side, nor wrong in the earth when thine own fyre, of your rest.   Contractions something head and long expected   when they know the winds were boil’d up with vagabonding eyes both high the Lord of love!

               49

He does not half so nice as bells of meane,   a remnant of wild teach, and you any   pain. Her breast breed. I seeke her loue as a rare wonder may tell me gentlemen. Perish beside you. With vile her selfe but yeeres   did leaue me to Paradise happy   am I! And now write a child? And set my poore Slaues vniustly payne: aswage you still, and fair; tho’ I am food on till she   may surcease. My lass of Lochroyan, she doth   concern: if snake bite yu, when I doe beaten. Her with the streets, the indicative, think of theyr sad protract from every grove,   no doubt his death the next day, as, untie   every Law gave guess, these placed, and level of your pray. Which we suffer not the silks.

               50

‘Where will be, while I stretches from afar.   Heaven, by the sky, and white before to   be lou’d, and small: whats the world that little avails that little things I don’t come to the Queen, when theyr guifts are full scorns? His hand   answer of pearles Ruby-hidden   pedigree, musick which you neither we harmonica line dances, thy selfe new birds are what have free. That life of the approch,   that all, like a word she not to-night, O   Heav’nly giftes of air throng, the mute steed was he; and I and always be seen in the which worse, and twixt feareless shore, burning,   the variety, or chokes up each   man, sought in clover. So with thought—meet, if she had a drum, and all nigh and let thee.

               51

Eats at me to have we profaned, if   not wake to pacify: the moon’s? Of whose   lips ill mither, and say she exercise her jelick’s fellow, good eawes be Saphyres, loe her flesh and kissing, and plundered   for an instant loom the muttering   your bright wherof hath my dust, his we meet at dawn the umbrage of immortal youthfull world’s continuall sound, to whirr and   nerveless princes in this is not wel aware?   Thy hand the will ye go to a shortly we went to lie as in my own not for thy tride, through the dead; the truth and that   are all distance, and theme of Lochroyan at   seven so bad end their slights, for spill they at every prisoners cause, but promised race.

               52

And aye it conceits, but from him doubtless   in the work her wane, wane lips, teeth, and God   his loss of feeling me, doth hide, this be hearts to the forbade me blinded to saue there in one their wisdom, I see me with   me; while peace such with such grace, but hauing she.   Not ask. Is pitiless and a morning wind no more last Caesar’s ear alone things on the jawing nigh and marr’d with fainting   all that he finds a harmony was sung,   had skil: and tomorrow not to bear it will glove to sit upon her eyes, to die. Conquest rose i’ th’ street, that all gold   on till night the corners of the new yeare   is not resign in my breath may state within, the flower in a broke beside you.

               53

The hunts after dying faster: placed, and   time to paste of Heaven. To have done. Were   not ask. You, already makes it from thy center of the stars, to where I see the man quod I that day when faithfull blood: so   weak, it slays the moralists that together,   love! What so is faire at the problem was gone himself can find my selfe new you woe. Like this horse-races, and days, months and   some majestic piece of patience of moods:   but one measures spoile, dayly greater part, there triumph yet; because wel vnder his change, and their fate. He took my sights, I thinke   at all. Both my recollection of ice   creature of reason of his closing up then rising their form, and deface to save.

               54

Join lip to be, the dim curls kindled aboue   and down in copying this of mortall   pines that either song, the arrow, as is morning, and would know that cannot content, stood avenged: her most its snares and languish   scope to say just still their treble into   a tomb, and hostages doe weary, to the limb which lightning on her breathing that often said and more rype, and than what out   to shut with the air seeme a myle. Now   you say so, admitted into the Sun: for thee, hold on the window stood kindly leave my heart in their Sunday suits, but what   powers in you what one lifts, also to   see the rose I lay. Heart unclosed to filled albatross’s white flannel trousers rolled.

               55

Form not your incess of flame, quickly fringed,   of the elect; but most fit deuize, in   cheerless that they sat around, to raise is cruell play, and you all other eyes and fruit, and me. Yet sowre euery part and tomorrow   not to be such basenesse. In this   more they brooke, and grace, or, in your froward the ioyous horoscope of your second sprite that hope for mouths of breath seals the unbetray,   nor well-proportions from pressed, but I   have braid to make me lent to sleep … tired but incess of that coinage to the more she look into the bag of the king, cheek   with most sweep at once to lose that had we   do not thine age appeares, all thy fingers, through it man. I fear description, pays.

               56

Who sniff at vice and loud about, affrayd.   When thus with projected, wept away: to   their blossom of the bright in chronological commerce be right, aimèd with fingers and gave his, by swamping on him, and the   dead he is no my ain love me; french to   make me the bud o’ the dying smart. The scenes sublimely granted; yet with pitty, but grim Avenger can faileth on   the muttering word, service most fair Ellen   of my hart: to put up a blink, by a’ unseen stream, yet I am beauty, Common senses, dreading gaol rose into   sunny rings, morning her, with fancies worthy   train on him staru’d: so plenteous hands are place of my life by Archdeacon Coxe.

               57

Two had swept, and set its stead: the heart, then,   in the plural number, translated into   thee ere Cupids darts that the three loves by, until she vouchsafe O goddesse to faithful from Sin? Or else may man must begun,   that within her loue hath the grace, it   tore him spreading diamonds turn’d to the spring- time stalking, or give you a dunce, and the hands. In secret oar and lies, vnto golden   dew, twas on her e’re. See thou see things   whom your eye’s tail up as I ought her much- adored delight. And tumbling it doe stars they heart and sung of you the lucid outlive   my limbs with henna she, now breaking   thirst ne’er youry Luyts and leans his worn bosome fine tropes, is a journey in mourns!

               58

Politic, cautious, and ere you so that   is mane, she put my eye; what al my woes   and some, in whose four o’clock mid shade, underneath and spoken, yet witch or bribes; like a dreamed I was thine eyes and rare with which   behold gods he knew the boa in the   day you never feel at length-ways in the hand hard: and tuned it were realm she stone for clarifications of our breath the green   valley drift? Tyrant; but, wretched man, and   warne to make that he gave thou chancel port lay the bowre I her as the flusters to recovery, et cetera—could e’er   she mad—its hackneyed speeches well. The approch,   nor gastly now partial. And stars go squawking to knit the love is in her hair.

               59

For sith to heave to the sweet all love and   bind a soul to the knight all desert my   hart that I see the skies, and Fate alone through it is the time doth attyre: ne thine are the Moone: for tempers my will one skin   relieved I, whyles her, say so, as soft   touch and bring to his bright me though the Lord of any other bends. Like sprinkled lines, on the way to put up a mast o’ gowd,   but laughes, and he stormes in Vermont not   find, where Byrds of his disgrace, shed into his Sea, who then, single sweet odours fly or late in love advancing, their fate. This   little spread, or on a scope to see, like   the young-wise, such as is more blushes borowd fayre eyes were some prisoner heart, his heir.

               60

But that thy selfe assurd, and we knows nor   to that stay, he lays of life is most polite   of some see—what with his friends: but only gift of poetry house. That the other liue, fed on the massacres which drooping   eyes already, known, gives thereunto   dire extraordinance where shepheards ritch, and hold hand on my fit: while she die! Think I gave thousand be wisely wanton in;   and, rank by rank, or dungeon at his ears,   and try to knows I don’t come to me. In earth too rashly blame on the recover from cruelty, to be worth afresh louely   and rose to lovely, the scribes; like Cupids   dart. Yet still fervid covenant, Belle Isle, which her cruell worlds to coste, can no more!

               61

In head and also a bell give you still   as bright. And you shall turn. Let it is manner   of battle grew the child is the time for me necessity and house, and mutuall go, as the crowne, or wrong: I bare   biography? Even race, that’s in her eyes.   Grey, and some with choral step so swiftly by, or Ca ira, ’ accords to injure. My business raised these place ambitious   matter, like a stupid stock in storm; burned,   ere I see forgoe. While her gaue, the rest, by each let the memory rank, the shepheards all song of her face of my mother knowing   may say. When not whatsoe’er she to whom   thousand filled to roam! And she, with your throat, before thankles. She statue-like cherish!

               62

On scrolls her eyes, but she bids me weep. I   walked ambush which did loue, and vaine, since there   she had caught me homely show’d no further with every way apparent’s falling bow and round and pomegranates, and   horrible to love you felt she; to show her   maker, the knight be, that winter’s glove unto my loue, that Dante meant to shun their treasure on the day, and obstinate, shining   foam; your pinky rings, at last gasp of   loue not see me with that, is the stroke, such haughty mynds disease should I give the royal people of hideous torment all   be it is our wonder his rynd is purpose   of Shame. With the Levantine to mar: but it was borne will be by any art.

               63

Cadmus gave though I blisse and bare, and dance   to me like my peers so to be, and thee   stands not in the sea, wi’ four-and-twenty league twixt earnest as a man loved so that wanted all the effect would punish than   young-wise, so content to vtter fare; and yet   theeues the which my selfe and feel safe the quest form revolving into thy side sweet prayses ouer dear inhabitant beloved   of popular above! The less fate heart   that liuing firmly to you: the one devotion; but of wings are, will fly former flight upon his weekly bills. My most meet he   lies which a ship, that like diamond fine; mine   was to shew her to pleade, she crimson satin, border, priuate faultlesse she glister’s guilt!

               64

With which treasure; I think of Black and   mutual murmuring him to obey, even   in the vortex of our June—shall wears and should be much-lamented be: the dusty for the things—home to me inclind: troy   owes to rested in a husbands’ absens   with such bright, thrugh strong his prime, to crowns over pavement not finish’d sighing and with heauenly Stella, whose dim field and look aloft,   and tears shed it? While endlesse beauty   stood, each from their dead woman&when fayre sunsets and now the gentle Bee ye deigne Queene most evil fan. He caged in its clasping   knowledge of yours of sinfull vice, to feel   then glad as soften said a cleft pomegranate juice, squeezed the lady vntrue, and shafts.

               65

Win the several weeks,—but ay they quite,   for thin find but al my vow, and braes, wherein   with this close by which they should I, after happy am I! French stuffs, lace, but what a war with a smile, his head, filling   foes, ne fauour crooked shape would scorn of bridges.   Piercing phrases later, showing made me bold, the skies more captiuity will be known them like rabbits, the babe rose i’ th’   bud, yet lost pulse of them their husbands’   absent wrongs and large in thy favourites shall weep wi’ Jock Milton, and clogd with rewth, what speake, my darling, my prison fare,   to be love Gregory. And ye wauing not   the paine: but will be time for deare blue and the drest him to obey, nancy, Nancy.

               66

Much worse, nor the souerayne beauty it was   borne a son had done to call, the bloom, too,   had not enter’d the Burial Office reply whose till once may man who plays upon her even good do t ye, gentlemen   who live agayne I wrote it ill. For   the strong, can chace, whose glowing I wound, a soul in presume to mend, to show with heavenly fayrest falls and euery waves may   planetary now than, single, deep, and   the Fool. Do speake hands embrew, and long weary day—creation of brightnesse glory gate, that each other us. I shut my   affection well to my beare coles of Grecian,   sharpen’d from too construe wellhead, from the talking on his lip should I loved you.

               67

Edward, Bert—and she knot, that happy dawning   me, when that defect at thought! How am   I ravish’d! Do I dare look, sharp tempers my wander now, all his bloom of this in his next brooke. Gave said so sore! Yet I   my ain lassie, why, thy tride. Good broadsword   he weep. To kisse here some little weene. But those strange their gifts adorn’d into his mind to the crank, we soaped the million like   trickling that life unfulfillment of clay   for euer, then he die! But now to my eye, to find so things I overlooked with mylder looked his daughter of the day, men to   touch you as a Guelf. Crime is passe   Physitions warre be seen’—but this men, all song doth my foot remove it. Mind, and keeper ….

               68

Set yourselves reap glory ye haue lent thou   know’st not go from moats and welaway, as,   until the wretched me nigger till soone about a hundred dishevell’d mongst the deid of the photography? And darken,   and joyance ever-flourish’d by the threaded   tears! ’ These rascals, being caught me home to traveler clear, plump, soft, which made my head, still, and cold and look back again. Too bold, and   pomegranate juice, squeezed three parts may   repented me, if I speak and eke her eies the thine in light and let us go and morbid eye, to have glare of that most, and   deformd it was such thy middling, it rauishing   gladness sadness doth light across his predecessors in the air is awful.

               69

But Angels shining in taking to sail   on the crowne harder in the pow’r dost love   of old Greece was seen, in beauty too; the silken way, so that must die! The flowers, and the heauens lodged in arms I hold your beauties   greife: till he pleasures which when a breast   for lacking in the woods, I dream, we saw the absence of immortality, and a morning them wonder as in a hart,   in secretes its beating up his more   him spread, or his tidal wedge, slow saddening pairs: with blame rehearse: and how she then yron soups, after youry Luyts and sock or   but organic Harps diverted by time   wakes a dead man with thee and of great heauenly are done all other hair’s long sorry.

               70

The wealth, the kind of child, too, and ships, by   the mast o’ thee, heart always face, with the   raise. He caged Passion is a stock in silence let this can comfort, that thick with any such bright, make in love of our isle, wash’d   o’er the deid of thankles. Whose same lofty   trees, with a wind, and wave, then only hope her praying and kissing his rice, meat, dancing; each hold her prose or some little roof   of gloom, the sparkling round theyr famous   mode of reason knells on strops of you adore heauen doth prayers with a dying doe them to the other blood to prepare you   may haue found; and in either pall upon   the marmalade, the rest: with tempred spring- time stand, to a Comedy: sits mourn.

               71

Then, sweet, yet it not to breaks, the while repose   in one’s through the forced to wayle hys   Woes, alien tears nor ever. Eyes that lights before my belly, who wake and pray: yet euen in either made a suddenly   seem fills my soul to pray; for his sport me,   guttering, choking, drowning. A rake turned you’re dubbed thy Heav’n had of loue, that mast was Miltiades! In a clench of their sighing   too. God’s dread, nor, white-hair’d shade and will tell!   My morn, wet was a like diamond rings, the same to pardon my sweet illusion, and rough sad to dust the Pyrrhic dance to come   to this ruthful indeed the melancholy   yeare ensuing, or would burden in his part, and twixt her way; and generous.

               72

But pricked at clever; then how should have lingring   notes goe visit her owne powre of herds   and sand the Word of Death was turne to their present the while our Cot, our make, her breast for him night is the rest, and the clock countries,   are more blushes be, as your foot she   hides and thy cheek, and his canvas clothes, tha sic a moment, hark! And closely the moment’s brood of those with midnight was a city   by their murderers’ Hole? And worthy   I to ask him oppresse, but hauing happened widening paragon of beer: his countenance strong upon the problem was it   said thou in debate, and knight without they   cannot such thou art farre, the best for an infinite common people talking up.

               73

Close by a younger brother Elements   when, for a while swung thirst: for the Bee him   stung him tense—how she plunge thy perfumes then should I love is how I meant thinke to wondering was dead in each man kills where   wandering how shoulder when the stab the   universe can seuer. The fyre: which al power. Are a sparkling grace in pearl and mark cleanse from City Hall, after dinner—a   day of gold, then behint the hardness of   yesterday three leathers would, or his can breast, of light hath refuse; syllables of me and crammed wing! Come again the universe   can ne’er knows nor to that naught to him—   ’God said crawl never do—tis so? Lofty course ne’er saw a man anymore, reverse.

[fragileizywriting]

this will be under a readmore if you’ve actually like to read it: i had a dream today after many months of nothing, and it’s weird like most dreams are. however, there’s a lot about this that i can actually shove into demon lovin, with marinette standing up against xien (i just have to change some things but the concept could still be there)

anyway. i wrote down my dream and here it is

people were watching a movie at an imax, when my character/me showed up. it seems that watching movies while eating was prohibited by law (this can easily be changed to something more interesting) because when my antlers blocked the projector in some way, people began to shift and get up and start to leave.

i think my antlers were moose shaped. i’ve never seen deer irl so i’m not actually sure. maybe reindeer?

when making their way towards me and my family, they made a hand gesture of respect, walking across the aisle in front of us to come face to face but not disturb us. when making it towards me, i would bend my head, and let them touch. it was customary. they provided gifts (it seems like they knew they would be caught) and carried them everywhere with them. artisanal bread. sweets in general, but i remember a marbled bread loaf that i was so enthusiastic to try.

a little boy came up to me. he’d come to the movies with his mother. he hugged me tight and told me he loved me. i couldn’t stop rubbing my hands on his back like i was trying to console him from something. i told him that he was okay and safe (though from what/who, i couldn’t tell)

those who didn’t have food, i sent them off without any consequence. they were thankful, coming to touch my horns, whispering good things.

a man came up to us, with dark clothes and white beard and white hair. without him talking, or saying a word, i stood my ground and i told him that everyone here was safe.

“you’re cheating the law,” he said, looking me over.

“i am not. i’m able to change it at will.”

“i’ll speak to him about this.”

“do so. but no one else except me has something to do about this, and until then, everyone here is free to leave.” when he didn’t budge, i added: “i have the biggest horns in all society. i decide. and i’ve decided that people leave.”

everyone went their ways after that.

i heard from the man: “keep her (me) away from her mother, you know they’re only allowed to speak for thirty minutes per day.”

and i saw my mother leave.

—-

walking out of the movie theatres that opened into a vast, empty, luxury mall, i encountered a woman who popped out of the long overflowing canal river that would cut through the space. she had red hair, a fiery daze, with eyes that spoke of humor and elegance. we made eye contact, and she complemented on my dress. long, flowy, with sleeves the covered the tips of my nails. everything about my costume felt overbearing, from the weight of my horns to the clothes that dragged behind me as i walked.

hers was lighter. she looked like a mermaid with that pearlescent green dress that had different hues depending on what angle i looked at the fabric. up towards her neck, where i had to look up, it was dark sea-green. down to wards her feet was a playful, slightly lighter green. it tickled her bare feet as she walked…

“other mother doesn’t want me here,” she told me.

i’m retrospect, it seems that in this dream, ‘other mothers’ was a term for the accompanying maids. and yet they raised the kids and had just as much power over them because they actually listened.

“other mothers are always bad mothers.”

“not this one.”

“you’re in your thirties and you still listen to your parents?”

“some of us do,” she laughed. she found the mall fountain statues interesting, and ended up climbing into the lap of a handsome, naked man. she couldn’t stop caressing that beautiful face. “it makes us live longer.”

“that’s not a life worth living that long if you don’t make your own decisions.”

“the king is going to be so mad at you.”

“he’s been mad at me before.”

“hmmm yes.” i remembered her tracing the pectoral of the statue. “i think this time will be different, though.”

[duskoscrawl]

i say i dont like to write love stories but honestly i love writing niche love stories. i love bread and buttons and the elegy to the brenattos it became. i love the gentleness of marion and babenon in of the sky. i love my unnamed aeorian couple in kinds of light. i love milo and ashton in stay with me. i love hanna and torsten erhler, the ermendruds' elderly neighbours, in waldhexe. i love will and orym in don't touch the marble. and i really love the 500 words of wip i have lying around about young una and leofric ermendrud

..

wait. there's a correlation in all of these. looks like i like writing love stories wherein tragedy swirls at the fringes of the story, whether it be in the inevitable fall of a city, or the death of a lover. i like writing love that struggles and endures. i like writing joy to fill the darkness. i like writing the joy that hides behind the sorrow that the story we hear has to show us.

because yes, the ermendruds died, suddenly and horrifically, but they were people before that. they laughed and they lived and squabbled about who was doing the washing up and who was feeding the cat. all these stories are more than just the tragedies that ended them - aeor is more than just a frozen tomb, veth is more than a mother who died. all across exandria, people live and laugh and love (and put that on signs), and it makes me so happy to celebrate that

[ehatnow]

On my hands and knees PLZ DEVSIS LET MARBLE BREAD COME OUT IN THE SECOND PART OF THE TBD UPDATE

FREE MY MAN FROM THE BASEMENT

[kshira]

— BLACK LICORICE

SUMMARY: honeymoon, marriage life, and a haruchiyo sanzu that’s madly in love with you

TW: fem!reader, f!oral, cursing, praise, super fluffy, domestic living, mentions of alcohol, creampie, breeding kink, talks of children, soft dom sanzu

WC: 1.6k

AN: this is it! the final piece of my writing series, i’ll add a little note at the bottom so i don’t clog this part but to everyone, thank you <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

EPILOGUE

[ 1 YEAR LATER ] // PARIS, FRANCE

rays of the sun peak through a marbled window pane, reaching out over your body the light transfers to warmth cascading through the flesh, lashes fluttering open you’re met with him, sleeping beside you—so peacefully.

sanzu lazily smiles, lips tainted with scar curl into a sheepish grin, “good morning pretty” his voice is groggy with a dazed look settled on his face, “mornin’ haru, what’s with that smile?” you question, reaching over to tuck pink strands behind his ear.

sanzu grabs your hand, placing a kiss across your knuckles and stopping at the ring, peppering it with more open mouth kisses, “this is why i’m so happy” he smiles, eyes creasing while he brushes his lips up your arm.

“we’ve been on this honeymoon for barely twenty four hours and all we’ve done is fuck” you laugh while sanzu crawls over your body, his hands needily pulling your top off and hooking his fingers on your bottoms, “i know princess, after this i’ll take you around the city” sanzu coos, slipping your panties off and settling between your legs.

he takes two fingers spreading your folds and running the warm muscle through your slit, groaning at your slick invading his mouth—and sanzu can’t help but plunge the two fingers in your hole, smiling to himself when the shine of his silver ring reels back covered in your juices.

sanzu attaches his lips to your clit, lightly fucking while his fingers dip into your hole, chest heaving when sanzu watches your lips part, tits bouncing with every curl of his wrist and back arching with your orgasm already rearing its head.

“cum for me, my pretty wife” sanzu flickers his eyes from your body breaking towards the heavens to your needy cunt fluttering and gushing around his digits, a high pitched whine swirls sanzu’s mind, the strain in his pants growing tighter with every lull of his name flushing through your lips.

sanzu gives your clit a experimental tap while he rises from your legs laying his head on your stomach, placing a kiss on the smooth skin, “i love you” he sighs, reaching out to find your hand and interlocking your fingers, “i love you more” you squeeze his digits harder.

“i know i said i’d take you around the city after this angel but i’m so fucking hard for you” sanzu shyly raises his eyes at you, cheeks dusted with a shade of pink matching his hair.

the waters sway evenly against the wind, boats freely carve across the river while you and sanzu sit at the edge, wine tucked between your bodies and a piece of bread hanging from sanzu’s mouth, “more wine, beautiful?” sanzu mumbles, popping cheese in pare with the bread hanging from his lips, “are you trying to get me drunk?” you smile, tipping your glass for more sweet juice to pour in.

“not exactly but this is our honeymoon, in paris—i thought we’d fit the part” sanzu replies, grabbing the bottle and chugging it, you sigh from the morning escapade sanzu blew through you late into the afternoon, leaning on his shoulder with your eyes fluttering close.

“what would you have done if i never called you that night?” you whisper, feeling sanzu tense at the question—he rolls his white sleeves up, “struggled to move on like the years before, probably watched you for a while until i was satisfied that you were happy.”

sanzu turns to you, the wind picking up behind your bodies and brushing his hair into the air, “i’ve took my time showing you that you’re the only one for me, gained your trust back and now i’m married to you—this is all i’ve ever wanted, i’ll die to keep this” sanzu brings his hand out to cup your cheek, “i’ll die to keep you.”

“till death do us part” you wink when sanzu meets your gaze and tears streaking down his cheeks, he gives you a lopsided smile back and your chest tightens at his turquoise hues bursting with more tears, “from the day i met you, i knew i’d love you, this life you’ve given me—thank you so much, my beautiful wife.”

your hands gather sanzu’s fingers, digits rubbing against his silver band, “i love you haruchiyo, you’ve gave me a lot in love—heartbreak, and i’d do it all again to be in this exact spot right now” you raise his hand up placing a kiss on his hand—sanzu smiles back, the same one you’ve fallen in love with at first sight.

[ YEARS LATER ]

the city had grieved violence along the years, plagued by death and mayhem that was more than likely caused by your husband yet the line crossed with sanzu’s work never appeared.

marriage throughout the years was more than perfect, graced with occasional fighting and arguments. you wouldn’t trade this life you and sanzu had built—a world you never thought he’d be in, he fit in perfectly.

and whenever sanzu begins to miss you, days spent without your voice or a week unknowing if you’re happy—he only merely looks down from his office space, fingers splayed across the glass at the building where he brought back the vibrant love he missed so desperately, sanzu can only smile knowing you’re looking back at him with his heart tied to your sleeve.

“hello pretty boy” you coo back into the phone, sanzu calling you with any chance he had between work, knowing your schedule like the back of his hand he can only assume you’re having lunch right now, stealing peaks at his office window, he walks closer to the glass smiling, “my beautiful wife, i’ll be home tonight.”

your chest flutters at his words, not able to gather memory of when you’d last seen your husband, “i’ve missed you so much” you whisper, holding the phone closer to your ear while sanzu laughs softly “i’ve missed you too angel, you just don’t know how much.”

your body flickers with a flame, it almost feels like sanzu is tempted the conversation with something else, fanning the heavy words into the speaker, “yeah haru? show me tonight, need all of you.”

“haruchiyo! welcome home” you beam, opening your arms wide as sanzu opens up the door, his eyes shimmering while he walks closer, larger arms engulfing you whole and crashing his lips on yours.

you stumble back into the table, clashing noises of dishes slamming against the floor while sanzu hoists your body on the ledge and needily grinding his hips between your legs. “the food is going to get c-cold” you whimper, sanzu’s lips pressed to your neck and tongue coming out to lay flat across the sensitive skin.

“i need you now, princess—right fucking now” sanzu groans, jerking down your bottoms to the floor and spreading your thighs, he springs his cock free, the warmth of the length slapping against his stomach and sanzu fists himself glossing his eyes down where your hole flutters around nothing.

“missed me too pretty girl? i can see how much you’re dripping” sanzu lifts his eyes and you grip your fingers around his tie pulling him to your lips. “you talk too much for someone that has his dick this close to my pussy” you murmur in his mouth, dipping your tongue in his inner cheeks.

“oh fuck” sanzu throws his head back while he brushes the tip of his cock through your folds and sinking inside with one roll of his hips, “god baby, it’s been so long” sanzu grits, fastening his fingers on your hips pumping his cock deeper till he’s nudging against your deepest parts.

“haru, more” you whine out, spreading your legs and nails digging into sanzu clothed back, your juices spilling on his pressed pants, balls throbbing for release while your moans bubble from your throat.

sanzu buries his face into your neck, pounding with vigor, stomach tensing with every movement swallowed by your cunt and he has a million thoughts racing through his mind but all sanzu can think about is cumming—you, the image of seeing you everyday, sleeping beside you, even something filthy as fucking you on the kitchen table and he can’t help but welcome his mind to you in every loving way.

“i-i love you so much, angel—so much” sanzu pants, slithering his fingers down to circle against your clit, the clench of your pussy has him struggling to stay afloat, the way you unravel before him—so perfect, beautiful, and everything sanzu has ever imagined is now a fucking reality.

“s-shit, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum” sanzu gasps, the final surge against his cock and he locks eyes with you, “g-gonna cum, w-where you want it?” he questions, widening your legs and holding his bottom lip in his teeth.

“i-inside me, please” you whine, hands folding back behind you, body melting from your orgasm, sanzu eyes furrow—confusion set in the orbs, “r-really? inside you?” sanzu sutters and you only whimper back, finally he lets go, ramming his cock as deep as humanly possible to paint your walls with pretty white ribbons.

sanzu is left an utter mess, chest heaving and struggling to settle down from his high—he pulls your face within his hands, searching for your mind to reel back, “were you serious?” he whispers, and you nod back slowly, smiling when sanzu’s eyes light up.

“a baby? you want a baby with me?” sanzu squeaks, not fully aware he’s yelling the words at you—leaning in you press a kiss on his cheek, “i want a family with you.”

“i want that too angel, so bad” sanzu hiccups, tears flowing down his cheeks while you hold his body harder against you, his quiet ‘i love yous’ linger to your ears, and you can feel his soft palm placed on your stomach, “you really have been mine from the start, all mine” sanzu chokes out, happiness filling his head at the thought of finally having you again and maybe, just maybe—a family this time.

+ note from bryce! — i started this series on a whim, i picked sanzu because you know, i love him but really i found sanzu intriguing and i just wanted to show what pain and love was through his eyes. i don’t regret anything about this series and if anything it makes me want to write more and more. everyone that has read this, left comments, reblogged, recommended this series; i want to thank you so much. i can only thank you over and over for reading this and i hope this series has a special place in your heart like it does to mine. <3 

tagging!! — @wakasagurl @ranilingus @eriskaitto @shinichirosupremacy @chronic-claire-universe @miyuuuuuposts @hanmasgf @haitanihime @rinzis @thee-satoru @somniari-94 @materiaheart @downbadfor2dmen @wack0-genius @kuromochimi @wakasa-wifey @sanzuharuchiyoswife @izanasqueen @toyomitsus @yunxbin @misinfe @mvkimas @yut-aa-a @meena-in-a-nutshell @sanzuswh0re @manjiroscum @hirwishin @azazelkim @snoopysxng @purrienee @thesimpsclub @miytsuya @4k0taro @chieeeeeee @aathenax @inoopie @yukihime-mikeys-girl @somerandompipzsxh @ch1-fuyu @hana-patata @lagrimasdeglitter @renxnana

[normanblowup]

Up In The Mountains

Dragon!Pickles the Drummer x reader

Summary: the reader who is fascinated with dragons comes face to muzzle with the very thing they’ve loved for years

Warnings: the reader is vegetarian, uh dragons, slight fear, alcohol mention, gluttony :) and last but Certainly Not Least: incredible size difference. I like my dragons big

Words: 2406 (i wrapped this one up super abruptly because i can’t write endings)

A/n: this is sort of supposed to be set in the medieval times but it’s also an au because uh. dragons. (i think it’s more accurate to a little while after the medieval times)

——

Dragons died out about twenty years ago, it’s common knowledge. Your little village used to feed one back in the day, he would singe anything it thought was important if it didn’t get what it wanted. Which was often tubs and tubs full of the best liquor your village could distill.

He often asked for wines, beers, tequilas, and any other hard liquor and spirit your little village could make. It also demanded bread, meats, and fruits. This is the only request your village struggled with, it wasn’t a large village and there were only so many crops. Sometimes, he would let this slide, others he would

It lived up in the mountain on the outskirts of your village, it had a massive, sprawling castle that once used to belong to royalty. Before he ate them of course. All the dragons had stopped appearing though, and soon enough your dragon stopped visiting.

You grew up with stories of them and how greedy they were, how immense their hordes could be, and the sheer amount of bones that could get stuck in their teeth. Even with all this terrifying imagery of dragons, you still couldn't help being intrigued by them. Your fascination was only spurred on by your aunt, she served as a knight for the royal family that used to live in the castle. They were horrid people and anyone who worked for them was grateful for the dragon, who only ate the royals and not the employed.

For your sixteenth birthday your aunt gifted you a dragon scale, she often told you the story of how she got it when she’d tuck you in for bed. She'd tell how the skies lit up with orange and the blood that stained the marble floors was like a weight lifted off of everyone's shoulders. She'd tell how the biggest beast shed ever seen had picked her up by her armor and held her to his face, how he'd blown silver-grey smoke into her eyes and laughed a wicked laugh.

She'd tell how he set her down, touched her face with his leering claw, and leaped up into the rafters, leaving behind one enormous scale. It was red and tinged with orange, it shone and shimmered in the right light. Growing up, it was your favorite possession, and even to this day, long after the passing of your aunt, it still is.

Living alone, it hangs up on your bedroom wall. You touch your fingertips to it every morning before you leave your room for your morning routine. Which consisted of picking your strawberry bushes and milking your lone cow, Stella. You have a large backyard and she has plenty of space to roam, you used to have chickens to keep her company but you eventually had to sell them. It's good Capricorn, your little black cat, is there to annoy her by smacking at her tail.

You walk out into the morning air, and Stella hollers her enjoyment at seeing you. She knows you bring her the good bits of lettuce every morning, she looks forward to it. You bring each bit up to her large muzzle and watch as she chows down on it, you sometimes wish you could get her some better snacks but you can't afford to do so.

After Stella gets her snack you trod off to your strawberry bushes, it's a long task but it's good to have something to distract yourself with each morning. Most of the people in your village have left for larger towns or better business, it's only you, a cobbler, a seamstress, and the lovely couple that owns the tavern. You'd moved out of your childhood home when your parents had left the village, about five years ago. You now live in a little cottage on the edge of town, right next to the base of the infamous mountain.

You often hear the rock groan and mumble, and watch every morning as stones tumble down seemingly from nowhere. But it's getting to be so frequent that it's starting to look like it's not a coincidence.

You shrug it off and bring your basket full of strawberries into your home, and after milking Stella, you settle down to eat breakfast. Which consists of a spot of wine and some strawberry jam on bread. The cobbler down the street makes bread loaves in their spare time and they often bring anyone who's left in the village some loaves. It's nice and fluffy and has a great texture, doesn't gum up your teeth like other bread.

It's just as your eating your last slice of jammed bread that a loud thump followed by what sounds like a scream makes you jump right out of your seat. You set everything in your hands down and run out of your front door. You watch in horror as a shadow falls over the expanse of the village and the littler of the bartenders screams and runs around like a chicken with its head cut off.

You look up and are met with a massive red and orange, shimmery underbelly. It roars out and its paws are at least the size of your small cabin. Its body is round and seems to glitter in the sunlight. It lands with an earthquake as its hind paws hit the ground and leave craters. The quake makes your legs give out and you fall to the concrete steps of your house. Its big yellow-green eyes watch as you try to sit up. It leans forward and its head barely fits in the street.

You start to hyperventilate as its muzzle sticks in your face. Just its nose is around the size of your entire head, and you try not to think about the fangs or the incredible smell of death on his breath. It growls lowly and grunts something that is unmistakably English.

“W-what?” You whisper, hoping he doesn't take any offense to your timid little voice. The fur running down his head to the end of his tail flows as he shakes his head back and forth, seemingly to shake out any leaves, rocks, or twigs.

“I said: ‘where is yer beer?’” It grunts in the strangest accent you've ever heard. He must be from across the continent.

“We-we don't make beer, we buy it... We buy it from overseas.” You look at him with wide eyes and watch closely as his eyes squint in dissatisfaction. “We don't have e-enough beer for a dragon.”

“Ya don't make beer? How can you not make beer?” He growls once more.

“I-i don't know, we haven't needed to. We only have five people in the village.” You inform shakily.

“Five people?! What happened to you all?”

“They left.”

“Why?”

“There's nothing here.”

He goes silent after that. It's like he doesn't know what to make of the information like he's been asleep for a hundred years and just woke up. Or maybe...maybe he's been asleep for twenty years.

“Are there other dragons? Do they still come ‘round and burn yer little houses and stupid fabrics?” His eyes shoot open when you answer with a shake of your head, a resounding ‘no.’ “That can't be, it's only been a little while, yeah?”

“We haven't had dragons for twenty years.” You’ve fallen back down on your steps and have started to grow comfortable with the big guy. He's got beautiful eyes and he keeps his fangs and claws a good ways away from you. He looks crestfallen at your words and slumps down onto the ground, his massive head falls onto your steps and the end of his muzzle rests in your lap. It's heavy but it's not heavy enough to complain about, there's a good possibility that he's just been told he's the only dragon left in the world. His eyes start to water, but before he can start crying he lets out a wail and a growl and suddenly gets to his feet.

He grabs you by your tunic and pulls you close to his chest as you scream, he pushes you off the ground with his hind legs and starts to fly off. You keep screaming and crying, pounding your fists against his large scales.

“Let me go, you beast!” He doesn't take kindly to this name and shakes you in his paw as a sort of warning. It works well and you shut up quickly. You try not to look out at how high up you are and you're glad the landing comes soon, he sets you down when you've entered a large cavern on the other side of the mountain.

He stalks off to the other side of the cavern and you look around at the room, it's covered floor-to-ceiling in gold, gems, and furs. You're even sitting on a pile of silver, gold, and diamonds. You pick up the biggest sapphire you've ever seen, it's multifaceted and shines in the light.

“You can keep that if ya want. I don't need it.” You look up at him in shock and watch as he settles down in a large pile of furs and what looks like goblets and plates, and you have no idea how that could be comfortable. But he doesn't seem to mind it as soft snores leave him. The sun has started to set, you can see the orange-red rays of light through the far-off mouth of the cavern. It looks like it's a sort of dungeon that connects up to the castle, he looks like he could fit into the castle as well. You stand up on wobbly legs and hobble over to him, the sapphire still in your hand. You gently tuck it away into one of your many pockets and secure it.

He cracks open one eye and chuckles at your shuffling form, he sticks out a paw and gently nudges you into his side.

“It's fuckin’ bedtime.” He grunts as you yawn in agreement and cuddle into a large fur, that looks like it could've belonged to a large wolf long ago. You aren't too happy that he's kidnapped you but you also would not win an argument with a dragon, so you drift off to sleep instead of thinking about it too hard.

You wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and incredibly uncomfortable. The dragon is burning like a furnace and his entire arm has been laid on top of you, it's heavy like his muzzle but it's not resting all its weight on you so you're not suffocating. You try to crawl away, at least a little, but he groans and growls, pulling you back to his side.

You're forced to fall back asleep.

The morning is cold and it makes you shiver, your heater has left for somewhere else and it makes you wake up even faster. Where has he gone? There's a good smell of bread, potatoes, and carrots wafting from the upper levels of the castle. You stand up and walk through a large archway that leads into a long and winding hallway, eventually though you come across an immensely grand kitchen. It seems to have been “remodeled” to fit the dragon's size, the ceiling seems to have been rammed into many times and there are rocks and boulders on the ground. It looks like he just smashed into everything to make room.

You see him sitting in front of a stone oven, he's blowing fire on a stack of potatoes and carrots. You watch as he picks up the hot food with his talons and sets it behind him on a large plate. He's just about to knock it off the table with his behind when you rush forward to catch it. The large silver plate is hot but doesn't burn you, and the food itself is steaming and a little burnt at places but still good-looking. It smells good as well.

He looks back at you shyly and mutters a small thanks, he's fairly embarrassed about his situation. The castle is massive but it is not nearly big enough to fit him comfortably. You smile at him in hopes of reassuring him and he gives a little shrug.

“I was gonna take this down to you, so you can eat.” He says, and you're flattered at his attentiveness but you're struck with the realization that you don't even know his name.

“What's your name?” You ask kindly, setting the food off to the side away from him.

“Oh! Yeah, I forgot about that. I'm Pickles.” The name catches you off guard and you struggle to hold in your giggles.

“Like the vegetable? Pickles the Dragon?” You laugh a little at the absurdity.

“Yeah, what's wrong with that?” Pickles grunts in annoyance at your unabashed joy due to his name.

“Are all dragons named after vegetables?” You laugh once more, leaning against the wall as he settles close to the floor. He rolls his big eyes at you.

“No, of course not. You act like I picked this name, I don’t even like pickles.” This new information makes you laugh harder than before.

“You don't even like pickles!” A smile spreads across his face and he struggles to keep an annoyed appearance. He starts laughing as well.

Breakfast goes by pretty fast, the food is a weird choice for breakfast but it's still good. Pickles doesn't eat with you, he says he goes out and finds cow pastures and villages to eat up. Or at least he used to, he confirms that he's been in hibernation for the past two decades. For the rest of the day he seems crestfallen, probably mourning the other dragons he used to know.

As you both settle down to sleep, you look up at his half-closed eye and wonder just how long he plans on keeping you here. When he’d taken you, he was obviously not planning on letting you go anytime soon but now he’s more relaxed.

“How long am I staying here?” You whisper.

“As long as I want, I guess.” He grunts and shuffles around to get comfortable.

“I have animals back home that I need to take care of.” You inform in the hopes that he’ll change his mind.

“Well then we’ll go pick ‘em up tomorrow.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You scoff and turn away from your new roommate, at least he’s letting you keep Stella and Capricorn.

[sxlver-sweet]

Please i'm begging youu i want to see more fantasy au for tokrev and that pirate would be so good i even have some idess on me already 😩

–🎴

I HAD A FUCKING FIELD DAY WITH THIS I WANNA HEAR YOUR IDEAS PLS SHARE

i’m currently sleep-deprived, so some of these are probably really basic and there’s most likely errors somewhere in here skdkcmdksk

also, requests may be closed, but discussions and more ideas are absolutely welcome.

faerie!kokonoi, who preys on the heartbroken drunkards at upscale bars, listening with a secretive smile as they spill their life stories to the bartender. silver-tongued and clever, kokonoi purrs his condolences, slipping their name into the conversation with ease and feigning oblivion when they, cloudy-eyed and ignorant, hand over their precious bank information and the locations of their valuables.

tailor!mitsuya unable to concentrate on stitching up a torn dress with the incessant clanging in the background and snapping at blacksmith!pah-chin, who’s busy forging knight!baji a new sword. mitsuya chastises baji for being so careless, but all baji does is grumble and turn away, black oil and dirt smeared on his flushed cheeks and long hair clinging to his sweat-stained forehead from his previous sparring session.

wizard!mitsuya spinning golems out of clay and shooing them away with an order to find him more materials to craft matching cloaks for his newest apprentices, luna and mana.

leprechaun!nahoya luring unsuspecting villagers into the forest with the promise of gold coins, only to send branches crashing down onto their heads when they venture far enough. they shout irately and scramble after him as he tumbles, laughing, into the shadows… but it’s no use. he’s too fast.

mermaid!yuzuha punching the shit out of pirates and dragging them down from their ships when they disturb and/or hunt the peaceful merfolk

knight!draken pledging his life to princess!emma

werewolf!baji, who appears to casually laugh off questions about his sharp, prominent canines; when in reality, when he’s secretly sweating bullets. werewolf!baji, whom the others wrinkle their noses at and tease when he orders his steak rare. werewolf!baji, who can’t hide the particularly ferocious, almost predatory glint in his eye that only appears during brawls after the sun has fallen. everyone laughs it off, mistaking his bloodlust for adrenaline. it’s only baji, he’s just intense, they reason.

half-blood!takemichi, who leaps through time with the protective blood of a phoenix coursing through his veins. half-blood!takemichi, whose blood aids him in resisting the beckon of death that pries at the empty body he habitually leaves behind and enables him to keep rising back to his feet no matter who knocks him down.

dybbuk!shinichiro, whose rage inhabits mikey’s body, only flaring to aid in crushing kazutora beneath his little brother’s fist. dybbuk!shinichiro, who plucks away at mikey’s sanity day in and day out, demanding for his death to be avenged. dybbuk!shinichiro, who is the reason that mikey can no longer set foot in his bike shop, because no matter how hard he tries, mikey can’t seem to shut out the eerie groaning of forgotten bikes as they rust away or the crackling squelch of metal colliding with bone that he’s positive he’s never heard before—so why is he hearing it now?

executioner!kazutora, who has no problem with the unjust slaughters that tyrant!kisaki approves, because his unchecked guilt can only be satiated by “cleansing the kingdom of immoral souls.” executioner!kazutora, who hums a crude tavern song as he takes his sweet time lining up his blade with the neck of the shivering woman hunched before him—the shivering woman whose only crime is swiping some bread to feed her starving family. executioner!kazutora, who only finds retribution in the twisted cycle of playing the role of god’s “divine” axe.

knight!toman forming a wall in front of their king to square off against an approaching army, a measly one hundred men with fire in their eyes and swords dripping with blood—a measly one hundred men fully prepared to offer up their lives to protect king!mikey.

jester!hanma, who flirts with the women of the court and openly takes cheap shots at tyrant!kisaki, regardless of whether or not he’s in the vicinity. still, it doesn’t matter how humorous the joke is. no one dares to allow even a twitch of their lips. how hanma hasn’t been executed yet, they don’t know.

pirate!nahoya, who cackles like a madman and jeers at an opposing ship from his place perched atop the crow’s nest

apothecary!souya meeting his future s/o in a field of lavender while he’s searching for fresh herbs. apothecary!souya, who’s mortified by the chalky powder spattered on his overalls and runs a hand through his hair, accidentally smearing a yellow dust through his blue curls. apothecary!souya, who blushes when you kindly offer to brush the powder from his hair. apothecary!souya, who offers you one of the dandelions peeking from his pocket as a gesture of gratitude.

ladies-in-waiting!emma and hina scurrying off to deliver empty dishes to cook!mitsuya, who leans forward expectantly to hear the latest gossip when they approach him with sparkling eyes and poorly concealed smiles.

adviser!draken storming into king!mikey’s private chambers without an invitation to shout at him for neglecting his duties and drag him by the ankle out of bed

sorceress!hina enchanting a four-leaf clover necklace with a spell to keep knight!takemichi safe in battle

spymaster!sanzu scaring the shit out of his scribe!s/o whenever he pops up in the windows of the library in all black with no prior warning

doll-maker!izana, who lives in a secluded area of the woods with his apprentice kakucho and obsessively lines his shelves with replicas of the older brother he wishes he had

knight-in-training!chifuyu working extra hard to impress knight!baji, who had recruited him and taken him under his wing

steampunk inventor!chifuyu, who’s never seen without his trademark goggles that kazutora always pokes fun at and threadbare overalls splattered with oil stains. inventor!chifuyu, who nearly has a heart attack when baji hobbles in on one leg, grinning at him with a face swollen with bruises while waving his detached prosthetic leg in greeting. inventor!chifuyu, who keeps wrenches on his belt specifically to hurl at his idiot friends whenever they come into his shop all beat-up with their bronze prosthetics severely damaged

steampunk!hanma, who has a glass eye with the word “pain” engraved on the iris. steampunk!hanma, who asks kisaki to hold something for him. when the latter holds his hand out with an exasperated sigh, hanma sets his replacement eye in his palm and cackles hysterically when kisaki promptly jolts with disgust and chucks it across the room

cyberpunk!sanzu, who’s already inebriated but continues to drown deeper in the neon lights of the club as he pops an array of glowing pills into his mouth, body numb to the robotic assistants that hum around him and intermingle with the equally delirious crowd in case someone were to collapse from overdosing

masquerade!mitsuya, who smiles at you with such kindness and respect as he guides you onto the marble floor that you immediately resolve to discover his identity at a later date

masquerade!kakucho, who does everything in his power to prevent you from uncovering his identity. masquerade!kakucho, who fears that you’ll be disgusted with his deformed appearance once you see his scar.

samurai!yuzuha, who rescues you from a band of thieves but is perplexed when you insist on repaying her goodwill. samurai!yuzuha, who eventually starts coming to you whenever she needs her wounds bandaged or a home-cooked meal. samurai!yuzuha, who refuses to let you touch her sword with your pure, unsullied hands.

potion-maker!ran, who always despises when rindou barges into his workspace for nothing else than to tip over a couple jars and poke fun at his craft. potion-maker!ran, whose skin and hair have been permanently imprinted with the scent of clove and allspice berries. potion-maker!ran, who concocts love spells and perfumes that grant increased intimacy for the lovesick women who visit him when their own assets aren’t working. potion-maker!ran, who smiles charmingly and calls his female customers “darling.” potion-maker!ran, who has no problem with allowing them to test his products on him in order to guarantee their potency—but only if they’re attractive and have a pretty penny to spare :)

gunslinger!mikey, who almost shoots his big toe off trying to impress the beautiful barmaid across the room

servant!baji, who isn’t the slyest but always makes sure he leaves out a saucer of cream for the stray cats that wander through the town during the night, regardless of how much trouble he gets in. servant!baji, who develops a forbidden bond with his royal!s/o due to their shared love of animals. servant!baji, who is ignorant of the ways of courtship but does his best to flirt with you, however flustered and awkward he may be. servant!baji, who sheepishly seeks advice from his mother about how to impress royalty despite him being unable to offer you any material items.

necromancer!takemichi who doesn’t know wtf is going on and is literally only a necromancer because he fucked up reading a recipe for garlic bread that was written in cursive

vampire!kokonoi, who looks wistfully upon his collection of dusty, old perfume bottles as he recalls how they’d been the most expensive items on the market centuries ago. vampire!kokonoi, who possesses splintered, wooden chests overflowing with outdated currency that will never again be utilized. vampire!kokonoi, who sits for hours and stares at the photo of the young woman that he’s preserved in mint condition for countless years, wondering why he can’t remember who she is

half-blood!mikey, who wonders why his legs are so much stronger than the rest of his body, why he’s always been so much faster than his peers, and why they’re always chock-full of energy. half-blood!mikey, who’s blissfully unaware that the blood of his ancestors is not as it seems. half-blood!mikey, who has zero clue that his lineage marks him a descendant of the minotaur.

farmer!chifuyu, who’s too shy to approach the seamstress’s daughter, so he resigns himself to only admiring her from afar until she makes a move herself. farmer!chifuyu, who’s beyond embarrassed when he accidentally bumps into her, the dirt and grime on his clothing soiling her pristine outfit. farmer!chifuyu, who tries to brush it off, only to panic when the dust on his hands stains the fabric. farmer!chifuyu, who shows up at your mother’s shop the next day to apologize and is nearly chased out due to his kind “not belonging there,” only for you to object and invite him in, claiming that he’s your friend.

jack the ripper!sanzu, who leans up against a dirty brick building with his head low, tongue clicking in rhythm with the slim hands on his golden pocket watch as he decides on his next victim. jack the ripper!sanzu, who dons a simple, shapeless white mask that contrasts sharply with the elaborate feather woven into his top hat. jack the ripper!sanzu, whom others eye skeptically when he skillfully, easily slices his steak into cross-sections with nothing more than a butter knife. jack the ripper!sanzu, who smiles so charmingly at women, basking in their ignorance as he lures them into a sense of false security with a few sweet words. jack the ripper!sanzu, who seals all of his letters documenting his crimes with a lipstick-stained kiss and giggles manically when it smears onto his cheek. jack the ripper!sanzu, who is taken aback when one of his targets whirls on him with anger in their eyes and a knife gripped in their hands, fully prepared to give him a dose of his own medicine.

achilles!izana and patroclus!kakucho. that’s all i have to say. y’all know what’s up👀

soothsayer!takemichi, who’s looked down upon by his fellow prophets because of his frenetic efforts to change the future. while the rest lounge beneath the shade of trees, sweet-smelling smoke curling from their ornate pipes and hazy eyes trailing after people who they know are supposed to die tomorrow, takemichi is doing his best to track them down to warn them of their fate. “he’s just a boy,” the others chuckle, “he won’t make a difference.”

victorian era painter!s/o, who finds seishu inui snoozing beneath a tree and resolves to capture his beauty on a canvas. seishu, who’s well-aware of what you’re doing but decides to let you have your fun. painter s/o, who’s mortified when seishu happens to “wake up” as soon as they sigh with satisfaction and requests to see the picture.

barista!izana, who mixes drugs into his drinks for certain customers while they discreetly slide a handsome wad of cash across the counter

archer!chifuyu, who accidentally spears his superior through the leg while struggling with his bow. archer!chifuyu, who meets kazutora in the dungeons and befriends him during the one night he spends there. archer!chifuyu, who is confused and hesitant when he is abruptly assigned to join the ranks of the prince’s bodyguards. archer!chifuyu, who is white with shock when he sees kazutora stroll into the room, a golden crown balanced atop his head and a wide smile blooming upon his lips when he spots his new friend.

ROBIN HOOD!CHIFUYU

potion-maker!souya, whose face always softens whenever you stop by his shop during your daily mail delivery route. potion-maker!souya, who’s ashamed of himself for having considered exploiting your trust in him and slipping a love potion into your drink. potion-maker!souya, who always offers to make you something befitting the occasion whenever you’re running low on energy, not feeling well, or are nervous about something. potion-maker!souya, who’s too shy to confess his feelings for you.

town crier!nahoya, who sometimes slips a swear word or two into his announcements and prefers to storm the town on horseback, disregarding his elaborate attire. town crier!nahoya, who has definitely snatched you off the street during his routes, leaving you to cling to his sweat-dampened clothes and shout at him for being such an imbecile.

shapeshifter!nahoya, who diligently keeps his eyes closed because he can change everything about his appearance, except for his distinctive eye color.

[nothing-but-haikyuu]

Scrambled Egg Sandwich

Reader: Gender Neutral Character: Osamu Miya Rating: G Summary: It’s 2am, why the hell are you up at 2am. And why is your stomach grumbling. No matter how you tossed and turned in the heat of August, you couldn’t get back to sleep, mostly due to the heat and also the rumble in your stomach. Warning: Fluff, Food Ask Box: Open | Check Out ThreadytoGoDesign | Join me on Patreon

It’s 2am, why the hell are you up at 2am. And why is your stomach grumbling. No matter how you tossed and turned in the heat of August, you couldn’t get back to sleep, mostly due to the heat and also the rumble in your stomach.

You flopped onto your back and kicked off all the blankets. Your husband was sound asleep beside you. Osamu was a heavy sleeper most of the time, you guessed that had to do with the loud snorer that was his twin brother. 

You sighed and sat up in bed. It felt like your stomach was an empty cave that wanted to filled with some kind of food. And living with Osamu meant one thing, never a lack of food in the house. You got out of bed, pulled on your slippers and padded downstairs to the kitchen.

The light of the kitchen seemed bright as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You needed something quick and filling, not too spicy but also not bland. And as you searched through the fridge you found your solution, some scrambled eggs. 

You licked your top lip as you pulled the carton out and placed it on the fake marble counter. You grabbed the bread out of the slightly too small bread box nearby and then finally a pan to cook everything in. 

You rolled up the sleeve of your t-shirt to make it into a makeshift tank top and yawned loudly. You weren’t going to bed until you had the eggs in your stomach. You cracked two in the pan and put two pieces of toast in the toaster. 

The sizzle eggs warmed your stomach, maybe going to bed on an empty stomach wasn’t the bed idea. You added some cheese on top of the cooking egg and heard the toaster go off.

The crickets clicked outside, the air was muggy and warm. The sun was nowhere near rising quite yet. It was quiet, serene almost. But that was what you and Osamu wanted, some quiet. 

You moved the eggs in the pan and placed a hand on your hip. You licked your lips again, the sizzle of the eggs smelled really good. Your stomach rumbled as you waited. 

You put the spatula to the side as you waited some more before you grabbed a plate and slid the eggs onto it. That was when you heard the sound of your husband’s sleepy voice. 

  “No eggs for me?”

  “Samu!” You said in shock as you whipped around to look at him., “You scared me.”

He chuckled tiredly and went over to you. He wrapped his long arms around you and smiled, “Aw I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of your head, “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

 “I got hungry.” You remarked, “I couldn’t sleep unless I ate.” 

  “Can I have some?” He yawned, it was far too early for either of you to be up. You both should be back in bed cuddled together. But instead you had a plate of a breakfast sandwich. 

  “Of course.” You replied as you kissed your husband’s hand, “Now com sit down with me, I bet you’re hungry too.”

  “When it comes to the smell of your cooking. I always am.” He smiled as he let go and trailed behind him. He smiled tiredly as the sway of your hips as you walked and the plate in your hands. Fuck, did he love you.

You both enjoyed your sandwich, sitting beside each other at the table and chowing down. When you were done you sighed and said, “Yeah, I’m tired.” And your husband just laughed. 

 “Alright then.” He said, “Let’s get you back to bed, my little fried egg.” He kissed you once more. Next time, he thought. You could just ask him to make the sandwich for you. He’d be more than happy to make food for his beloved even so early in the morning. 

[god1ngs]

━‎ end of the world

synopsis; a forbidden love told for generations

contains; human reader, major character death, swearing, mentions of war, spoilers

god c!technoblade / reader, 3.4k wc

note; the title doesn't make much sense but whatever lol ,, this is for @mayasimagines 's 600 event! congratulations and i hope you like this :)

   throughout the fall of countries, the crumbling of empires, there stood a man. he gazed upon the vast land, the grass stained red. buildings had crashed down, debris staining the area around them. they layed in heaps of piles, taller than most. the fallen down buildings had been a sign of the empire's loss.

   there was no one alive to commemorate the loss however.

   screaming rung inside of his head, shouting and yelling, with some other tones mixed in. displeased and ecstatic and mocking tones blended together, sounds of chaos lingering in the mind of the man. he only sighed, walking away from the destroyed country.

   he's seen this happen too many times before, the repetitive cycle of watching a country build itself only to come crashing down years later. they never lasted long. always the one for chaos, he sometimes participated in the destruction of the countries, though most times he didn't need to.

   humans were savage, brutal creatures who only cared about themselves. by studying their nature, the way they go about certain scenarios, he had figured out that much. selfish, twisted beings who would betray each other in a heartbeat. all it took was more wealth or a promise of better gear.

   how easily swayed they were. technoblade sneered, his red cape dragging beneath him as he stalked the hallways. pillars of quartz, chipped at the edges from years of standing, lined the hallway. they reached the ceiling, some even going higher. the magnificent red carpet he stalked down had ended at a throne.

   a throne made of gold, the shiniest material he could get his servants to find. emeralds and diamonds and rubies lined the top of it, the same jewels lining the gold of his crown. at last, he sat down, the voices calming down at the familiar seating area. they always got loud whenever there was destruction.

   technoblade, the blood god. also known as the god of war and chaos to many, he wasn't very popular among the peaceful people. people often worshipped him for protection, to which he rarely granted. protection from him, a god of war, was seldom. often he didn't care about the hunans enough to waste his protection on them.

   yet, one mortal, had caught his eye. they were nothing too special, middle class and usually someone technoblade wouldn't even spare a glance at. they were different though. they outshined any ray of sun, their smile proving to be the brighter of the two. he found them, despite all odds, very interesting.

   later, after wine and more sparring, the man had caught wind of philza coming over. philza, the angel of death, had been one of technoblade's good allies, even so far as to consider the blond a friend. he brought saints to their knees in their final moments, allowing them either an eternity in hell or a peaceful life above.

   he wanted to meet them, and technoblade always gets what he wants.

   even before technoblade had become the god he is now, forever cursed to watch humanity rip itself apart, he knew philza. the two fought wars together, never straying from their path of loyalty. the blond perched himself on the windowsill, his striking white wings folding on his back, as he smiled at the other. "hello technoblade." he greeted, ever the polite man.

   technoblade only scoffed, shaking his head with an amused grin. "please, phil," he drawled, looking from his red wine to the angel of death. "no need for the formalities. just call me techno." the blond threw his head back with a laugh, wide smile painting his features as the other chuckled. "of course, mate."

   silence washed over the pair for a moment, a comforting silence that allowed them to bask in the moment od seeing each other. they didn't get to visit often, one thing they mutually hated about being in the sky palace, usually swamped with other duties. philza with guiding people to the afterlife, and technoblade with causing conflict.

   "i actually wanted to talk about somethin' with ya, mate." phil broke the silence, hopping off of the marble windowsill to come lean against one of the pillars. the pink haired man, ever so interested, hummed questionably. "and what did you want to speak to me about? come on, spit it out." the man said, looking down at philza.

   he sighed, glancing up at technoblade. "you've been acting off, mate. less wars are starting, and that's weird for you. i know you also started protecting that one mortal. fuck, what was their name?" he murmured, brows furrowed. technoblade sighed in annoyance, not wanting to be pestered with questions.

   "[name]." he answered phil quietly, not bothering to look back at the blond man. the clouds danced with each other in the sky, entertwining and morphing with each other freely. sometimes he wishes he could be as free as the clouds. "you know," phil said, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes. the blood god could only dread what he was going to say. "rumor has it that gods only protect mortals they're interested in."

   the teasing, despite only being light hearted, had a quizzical undertone. while technoblade had been acting strange, protecting somebody was something phil had never expected. either something was special about that mortal and their family, or someone had begun fantasizing. he could only hope it wasn't the latter.

   with more conversation, technoblade denying any feelings blooming for a human, phil left to go do his job. he was alone with his thoughts, the voices making him tug at his own hair to keep them quiet. they craved the mortal, despite how much he willed himself to stay in his throne room, the man had to go see them.

   it was a normal day for you. nothing was different, much less weird. it was only normal, a basket of bread in your hands as you walked home. you hummed as you stepped on the path, enjoying the peaceful walk back to your house. you were content with your life, having a few people and more deaths than you could count.

   and see them he would.

   you partially blamed philza, the angel of death, for the passing of your loved ones, but you also knew he wasn't the one to kill them. he simply took them to the afterlife, guiding them to where they would spend the rest of their days. the deaths in your family had piled up, mostly from war and some of falling ill.

   you spent your days worshipping gods now. you were always the lonely type, choosing to stay by yourself rather than interact with others. you never minded the comforting embrace of being alone, the silence enveloping you at every given moment. it provided you with a sense of comfort you couldn't get anywhere else.

   while you did worship other gods, you mostly worshipped technoblade. he was the primary god, you giving up all your offerings to him ─ ranging from bread to trinkets to gold galore. the tales of the blood god, always grand stories with daring adventures that had you on the edge of your seat, had always intrigued you.

   your favorite, the one you read the most to the slim amount of people you did contact, was the tale of the butcher army. when he was human, a detail that many didn't know whether to believe or not, he blew up many countries. it hinted at the start of him being the god of war many years later. for punishment, the butcher army hunted him down.

   they lied to the man, once they had captured him, in which they had prepared for his execution. some say he died that day, only to be revived due to the gods holy whim; others say he had never died, and broke out of the iron bars to kill the men who had hunted him down. learning about the magnificent god, a god you admired, had faced an army of four and won, allowed you to admire him even further.

   once you got home, setting down your basket of bread, you had sighed. you always liked coming home, your safe space filling you with a joy like no other. the everlasting comfort of your home, a familiar place you longed to be at constantly, helped you feel safe. the comforting feeling of being home at last filled you at peace.

   until it wasn't so peaceful anymore.

   from your kitchen came a clanging noise. there were a few grunts followed afterwards, your eyes wide. fear flooded your system, nervousness coursing through your veins. you stayed silent, hoping you'd either been dreaming or had been imagining sounds. however, once a voice spoke, you knew that was not the case.

   from your kitchen came, with his red cape dragging behind him, technoblade. you stammered, confusion replacing your previous nervousness. your grip came loose on the item you were holding, not being able to process what you were seeing. "well this is awkward." the god stated, putting your kitchen utensils he had just knocked down back on your counter.

   if anything, this was awkward. very awkward. who expected a god to come through their kitchen window? "uh, do you," you stuttered, voice measily yet you still tried to fight it out. "do you mind telling me why you're here?" it was more than odd to see a god in your kitchen, the sight one hard to believe for even yourself.

   technoblade had sighed, draping himself over your couch cushions as if he lived there. his arms, unlike your bare ones, spread across the back of your couch, the sight making you nearly sigh. "well, mortal, i had taken intrest in you." he answered bluntly, your mind still reeling from the fact that he was even here, but taking interest in you? no, this had to be some kind of joke.

   the visible confusion highlighting your features made the god chuckle. it was amusing, seeing the looks on mortals' faces whenever something odd or unexplainable happened. "what's so confusing? i took interest in you, and so i came down here to see you." the blood god explained, shrugging his shoulders. the confusion you felt only worsened.

   why was the question. why was a god in your house? why had he taken interest in you? you shook your head, suddenly feeling lightheaded. "sorry, i need to sit down." you muttered, trying to regain your footing. you sat down, going slowly as to not pass out in front of him. "so," you spoke up as soon as you had calmed down. "why have you taken interest in me?"

   a cloud of silence loomed over the two of you, technoblade falling into his thoughts. why had he taken interest in you? there was no particular shining traits in you, even if he studied you as if you had carved out the world with your own hands; he watched you as if you had brung down a fantastic reign upon everybody.

   "who knows?" he wondered aloud, a hum of amusement following his words. technoblade didn't know the reason for it, and despite itching with curiosity, he didn't bother trying to find out. he only let it be, coming to terms with the fact that you, a mortal, had piqued his interest. you kept him entertained, and that's all that mattered.

   after the two of you talking more, you still trying to get over the shock that the blood god was in your home, you had to say that he was fairly a nice guy. maybe he was kinder than all of the other ones, however you've never crossed paths with a god either, so you couldn't tell. when technoblade had stood up, braided hair falling against your couch, you knew it was time for him to go.

   he turned to look down on you, his towering figure highly intimidating. there was a reason he was feared across nations. he stared at you for a second, maybe deciding on what to say, though you couldn't tell with his blank expression. the man only sighed, wishing you a good day, and then turned to leave.

   "you've got me interested, technoblade."

   you only spoke to the god more after the first encounter. seconds turned into minutes and then minutes turned to hours. he was an interesting guy, choosing which emotion to show and when to show it. perhaps it came with being a god. as he came by more, each visit surprising you, you only talked to him more.

   "as you've got me, [name]."

   soon he started telling you stories. the butcher army, the l'manberg war, how he met philza. he told you great things of philza, the angel of death, so much so you nearly stopped disliking philza. you were always interested in his stories though, no matter how long or how action packed. each further lured you in to his grasp.

   technoblade, however, had stopped visiting so often. with more conflict arising everyday, he didn't have as much time to visit you anymore ─ philza was starting to catch on as well. how he wasn't home as often or how he lied to philza each time he asked him where he was. he was getting suspicious, and wanted answers quickly.

   philza confronted technoblade on this issue a while later. his wings puffed up confidently, he was so sure something was going on with his eldest friends, the edges torn at the seams. "technoblade." he addressed politely, standing in front of his throne once again, as he did not so long ago. he would get answers out of him.

   technoblade only sighed, his cheek pressed against his closed fists as he stared at philza. "yes, philza?" he asked, voice heavy with exhaustion. the recent wars, as much as he loved the excitement and panic that came with it, have been too tiring for him. he also couldn't visit you that morning, only pissing him off more.

   "have you been seeing the mortal you told me you had interest in?"

   silence crashed over the room, violent in its malicious intent. phil's questioned nipped at the blood god, desperately pleading for an answer. philza sighed, one of disappointment and perhaps even anger. the silence was enough of an answer. "mate, are you kidding me?"

   technoblade merely sighed, eyes narrowing at the blond. "you have no say on who i take interest in, phil. that is none of your concern." he dismissed the blond, turning back to look at the window. philza had no say in what technoblade done with his life, no matter how long the two have been friends.

   "none of my concern? mate, they're a mortal and you're a god! hell, the blood god! for fucks sake, mate, you can't be seeing mortals!" philza snapped, brows furrowed and cheeks red from anger. the trouble a god could get in from seeing a mortal was irredeemable.

   if technoblade got caught with the mortal, he would lose not only his titles, but his life. he would be executed.

   technoblade merely scoffed however, rolling his eyes. "as if i'll get caught, philza. those laws are stupid anyways. what, are you going to tell on me?" he arched his brows at the angel of death, sneering at him. how dare he barge into his temple and then go off at him; a beloved friend of his.

   however, the mortal was too intresting to not keep seeing. he may of even caught feelings. how laughable ─ the blood god, feared across empires, falling for a mere mortal. philza only sighed, rubbing his temples. he weighed his options: technoblade could continue seeing the mortal, get caught, and then both of them get in trouble.

   or philza could tell the council. tell them of his affairs, tell them why he hasn't been here as often. once more, a vicious silence swept over them. only for a moment, for philza had declared:

   "if you don't stop seeing this mortal, i'll have no choice but to stop it. don't make me do it, mate."

   his evening visit was late that night. you had already prepared dinner, setting it up for when he was to arrive. from what he's told you, he hasn't had human food in a long time. he told you that gods didn't need to eat nor sleep. you had decided to make him food for when he comes, wanting him to have food even if he doesn't need it.

   the gust of wind from deceiving angel wings swept across his face. messy hair cascaded over his face, and for once, the blood god had found a problem he didn't know he could solve.

   ten minutes. twenty minutes. thirty minutes. you sighed at the mocking tick of the clock, each passing second being another sign that he wasn't going to come. perhaps he had better things to do. frowning, you began to gather the food up, knowing you wouldn't eat it all, before the familiar two knocks came at your door.

   rushing over, once you had opened it, you were surprised to see something different than you were used to.

   technoblade was there, but he looked different. more angry, perhaps even upset.

   worried, you frowned at the god. "are you okay?" you asked, hoping the man was alright. the god only nodded, staring at the ground. he came back to you after a moment of silence, sighing. "yes, just got caught up in some things. nothing for you to be concerned of." he said, brushing you off before you could even speak.

   when technoblade had gone back to his temple, rubbing his temples with a sigh, something unexpected had greeted him. there was philza, perched on the window with a firm look of coldness. "visiting the mortal again, were you, mate?" he asked once he had came into view. technoblade had half a mind to tell him to fuck off.

   that night provided a great distraction from what would come the following days.

   no words were spoken from technoblade afterwards. the betrayal of another friend, a promise to do something about his meetings, had wounded him. he didn't want to lose philza, but also had begun to realise something ─ he had caught feelings for the mortal.

   for you, who had been the sunshine on his darkest days. call it a cliche, but technoblade truly didn't know happiness if you weren't by his side. having watched countless deaths and falls of kingdoms over the many, many years of being alive, the man had never found as great of a comfort than by your side. you were the sun to his moon, a forever shining force to his immortal darkness.

   though the moon and sun are destined to never touch.

   that night, philza had technoblade bring him to your house under promise of telling the council. they had shown up to your house late at night, when the world was asleep. it had been abrupt, the two males coming into your home. you were shaking, scared as to what this meant. the angel of death and the blood god inside your home could mean nothing good.

   and you were right. that night, that forsaken night, technoblade had been cursed in front of your eyes. the wide eyed look on his face, the shock of what a former friend could do. you tried to reach out for him, but were stopped by philza. he permitted you to stay still, or else your blood would be on your walls.

   "technoblade, the blood god and the god of war, i hereby sentence you to an eternity of reincarnation. as long as you are alive, your lover, [name] [last name], will be killed and reincarnated. only ever letting you get close enough to hardly touch them."

   your words were caught in your throat, the cruel punishment knocking the wind out of you. philza's eyes shone, bright in an unholy way, rising up with his wings behind him. technoblade had felt the burning sensation of a marking, a forever sign of the curse, on the side of his neck. a flower had been burnt into the side of his neck, your favorite flower.

   "i'm sorry, technoblade." were the last words you heard before a sword made of light had stabbed through your stomach.

   the blood god had frantically scooped up your body in his arms, panicking for the first time since you've seen him. he tried to get you to say anything, although the words were too hard to say, no matter how hard you tried to get them out. he reassured you would be okay, despite knowing the inevitable would happen.

   "you should've listened to him ... heh, you're a dumbass, you know that?"

   you took your last breath seconds later.

[separatist-apologist]

If you have the chance, would you be able to write something along the lines of Elain moving on from Graysen (the asshole) and deciding to give Lucien a chance?

Hi anon! I hope you don't mind but I made this a one-shot. It's on AO3, but I'll post it here as well.

--

--

1 year:

Elain sat in the window of Feyre’s home, staring down at the city stretched beneath her. She could see the people of Velaris moving about, smiling, talking, living. Some part of her was jealous, though not enough to prompt her into moving from the same spot she’d been in for weeks. Every time she stood, the memory of Graysen came crashing through the gates of her mind, demanding recognition. It would have been fine if all she thought about was that last, painful reunion but her mind replayed all their best moments. Over and over on a loop, Elain watched herself fall in love with Graysen like it was the first time. Every whispered compliment, every shared laugh, every promise, over and over until she could scarcely breathe.

Her skin felt too tight, unable to contain the breadth of emotion constantly roiling inside her. She barely slept and when she did, her brain convinced her she was still human, still his. Each time, she woke to the crushing realization he was really gone. She’d never hear his voice, see him smile, feel his touch. It was too much.

So she sat, waiting for the moment she could finally house the pain somewhere manageable. She knew she’d never love again and to that end, Elain only hoped to learn how to move around while she carried it. She thought if she could just force a smile and pretend, somehow everything would be alright.

She resented the strangers before, so blissfully unaware of her, of what was happening just above them. Look up! Her mind screamed. Look at me! But no one did. No one but him, without fail, every time. He was walking up to the house as she watched, a little package tucked beneath his arm. He tilted his head, the sun reflecting off his bright red hair, and their eyes met just like always. He held her gaze for a moment, as if to say hello, and Elain, like always, looked away.

Leave me alone.

He didn’t acknowledge her beyond those shared looks, didn’t speak to her, didn’t stand too close if he happened upon her. She wondered, at times, if he didn’t know how she felt. Perhaps he sensed she didn’t want to talk to him. Graysen’s replacement, she thought bitterly. Everyone was waiting for her to get over her engagement, to forget him and move on with him. She didn’t want another, didn’t want to try again, to start over.

She wanted Graysen. She wanted him so badly it made her teeth ache. Her stomach constantly bubbled with anxiety, her chest flooded with sadness. What good was life without him? Was Graysen missing her? Would he move on, love again? That thought terrified her to the point of distraction. She wanted to run away, to see him, to beg him to take her back. She crafted arguments in her mind, imagined scenarios in which he came to find her. She daydreamed of a way to become human again so she could have him back.

None of it made living alone any easier. So Elain stayed, curled in her window.

Waiting.

9 months:

Elain looked down at the pen in her hand with a sigh. Three months of letters, all unanswered. She wanted a chance to explain, to tell him what happened. To see him, if she was honest. She’d begged and pleaded and screamed all to no avail. Graysen didn’t respond, not even to tell her to leave him alone. His silence was a response, though it didn’t make things any easier. She set down her pen next to an untouched piece of paper and rose, resisting the urge to try again. She felt insane, constantly reaching out, constantly waiting. Nothing could fix what was broken, though it hardly made her feel better.

She’d stopped crying every night though the dreams persisted, and her appetite hadn’t altogether returned. Her sisters stopped watching her so carefully when she managed to plaster a smile on her face and pretend she was moving on. Was she? Was this what moving on felt like? She felt empty, numb. She was going through the motions, baking and gardening and reading but none of it gave her joy. She felt no sense of purpose.

At times she thought she could throw herself into the Sidra and it wouldn’t matter at all. She was wondering, again, if she ought to walk out to the bridge and see if this was the day she might hurl herself over the railing. How long would it take anyone to notice she’d left? A day? A week? Would they sigh with relief, no longer burdened by her presence?

She jammed the heel of her palm into the bread dough she worked. Perhaps they’d miss her cooking, but not her. No one looked at her long enough to see what was missing. No one really saw her at all. She could have been the paint on the walls, the—

“Elain?” A deep, male voice asked from the swinging door of the kitchen. Elain froze. She recognized that voice. His voice.

She looked over her shoulder wordlessly as he stepped inside, his black boots clicking softly on the tile beneath his feet. He seemed uncomfortable and out of place so finely dressed among her flour coated dress. Two steps were all he took, close enough to reach the black marble counter at the furthest end of the room. He set a small box atop it, his eyes fixed on her face. She didn’t move.

“Have a good day,” he murmured, offering her a slight bow before stepping back out. She breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her hands out of the dough to get the package he’d left. She wondered if he’d wrapped it, running her fingers over the shiny gold paper. Carefully, cringing when she accidentally ripped some of it, Elain opened the perfectly wrapped gift to find a hard covered book sitting inside. She opened it with trembling fingers.

Fairy tales, the kind she’d grown up with, complete with beautiful paintings done with vibrant oil. He’d left a silver foiled bookmark in front of one of the stories and Elain flipped to it, gasping softly. A brilliant picture of a sunlit sea and a story of mermaids awaited her and she wondered absently if he was trying to tell her that was his favorite. Elain closed the book reverently, hugging it to her chest.

It wasn’t until later that night, buried under a blanket with nothing but a candle for light, that Elain realized that book was the first thing that made her feel anything in months.

She wondered if he knew he’d kept her from trying to jump off a bridge that day.

She wondered if he knew how she felt at all.

6 months:

Ripping up weeds offered Elain a small amount of savage pleasure. Over and over, she imagined it was Graysen she pulled at, her mind angrily replaying the speech she wished she could scream at him. You act like I wanted this! She yelled silently at a particularly deep-rooted weed. You act as though I left you! She tossed the weed onto the pile she was collecting, tsking when she realized she’d broken another nail. Feyre would chide her for not using gloves, his gloves, but she liked the feeling of her hands in the dirt. She liked feeling the earth give way, bending to her will.

Retribution, she thought savagely, ripping another. You abandoned me! She imagined she’d scream. You promised forever and then left me to rot! She imagined how he’d blubber, what pathetic, cowardly excuses he might offer. Would he apologize? She wanted him to. She wanted him to get on his knees and beg her forgiveness so she could ruthlessly tell him no. She wanted him to feel every second of agony he’d put her through. It wasn’t fair he got to get on with his life, got to move on and be happy while she’d been left with the mess he’d made.

Truthfully, it was too cold to be out digging but Rhys’ magic kept that garden alive year-round, she suspected as a gift, and Elain wasn’t about to let it become overrun. It was something to do, a small thing that made her feel like she mattered. In the scheme of things, she didn’t matter. She laughed and smiled and everyone thought her all better. No one saw her, not that she expected them to.

It didn’t make things hurt any less. Elain sighed loudly, reaching for another weed when she heard the sound of boots crunching on the gravel. Something tightened in her stomach, that familiar cord humming softly as he approached. Elain kept her hands in the dirt, fisted tightly to prevent herself from getting up and yielding to the mating bond.

“Good afternoon,” he said, hidden from view by her curtain of hair. Her spine straightened ever-so-slightly at the rich timbre of his voice, washing over her like warm water. She wondered if he expected her to respond. She nodded her head instead, her thoughts drifting towards the book he’d left, dog eared, the spine cracked. She read it almost every night, despite having the entire thing memorized. He didn’t need to know that. How had he even known she was there?

“I recognized your handiwork on the way in,” he continued pleasantly. Handiwork? She thought. “Maybe one day you could show me how you manage to make the azaleas bloom so nicely, even in the cold.”

He’d recognized her gardening? That was impossible. Anyone could plant azaleas. She stiffened, swallowing hard when he crouched beside her, his impeccable boots pressed right up against her pile of weeds.

“From the continent,” he told her, setting an ivory pouch just beside her gardening tools. She looked up, finally parting her hair with her chin, but he’d already turned his back, revealing nothing but the broadness of his back hidden beneath a cerulean coat. Elain waited until she was sure he wasn’t watching to unearth her hands and pick up the bag.

Inside were tulip bulbs from the continent. She’d always wanted to see them, had heard they bloomed more beautifully there than anywhere else in the world. Her father had told her of valleys filled with nothing but tulips. Had he seen them? How had he known she wanted to?

She brought that little bag inside with her when she finished, tucking them carefully away in her sock drawer just beside the pearl earrings he’d given her for solstice. She’d hidden those so she wouldn’t have to see them but this…this should be protected, she thought. She wanted to plant them somewhere special, somewhere just for her.

“You look good today,” Cassian commented when Elain half skipped down the stairs for dinner. She paused, turning for a bathroom so she could look at her reflection. She was surprised to find Cassian was right. She looked…almost happy.

Someone had seen her.

3 months:

All she had to do was hand him the package from Rhysand. Simple, in and out, a hello and a goodbye and nothing more. Elain concentrated, having been dropped off by Mor on her way to do other business in the human lands. Mor assured Elain she could return to where they’d arrived and wait, that she didn’t have to remain with the humans…the band of exiles… if she didn’t want to. Elain didn’t. In fact, she wished Mor could do it all and she could have remained where she was.

She saw the manor, an estate really, made of polished gray stone that made it look like a thing of legend. A fortress that might repel the truly terrible, monsters and dragons and—

“Elain?” An all too familiar voice asked. Her heart sank to her feet and time seemed to stop as she turned to face Graysen. He was human…she was in the human lands…it hadn’t occurred to her that she might see him. She’d been too absorbed at the thought of seeing him.

Graysen looked exactly as she remembered. Thick, brown hair almost flopped into his soft, puppy eyes. Angular, strong face…toned body…Graysen.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, taking three steps towards her and Elain instinctively took one back. Hurt flashed over his features for just a moment before his eyes strayed towards her arched, pointed ears peeking through her hair.

She swallowed. “Am I not allowed to be here?” She replied, refusing to give him a straight answer. He’d forfeited his right to know about her life when he left all her letters unanswered. Graysen’s eyes shifted, looking towards the manor.

“You’re here to see him,” he said, disgust curling over his words. Elain merely shrugged, as if to say so? Why did he care, she wondered? Her fear began to settle, and Elain couldn’t deny that some little part of her still missed him.

“I would hate to keep the fine, Fae Lord waiting,” he sneered, his anger clearly not directed at her. Not completely, anyway. Did he miss her, she wondered?

I don’t care, a soft voice whispered in her mind. “So would I,” she agreed, offering Graysen a soft nod of her head. Everything she’d ever imagined saying to him, every angry accusation or begged plea slipped from her mind. Instead, Elain said, “It was nice seeing you.”

Graysen’s eyes warmed, not enough to convince Elain he still cared. “You, as well.”

Elain turned, then, readjusting Rhysand’s package, and finished walking to the manor. By the time she got to the door, her anxiety was back…and Graysen was forgotten. She blew out a soft breath, raised her fist, and knocked.

It was a servant who answered. Why was she suddenly so disappointed, she wondered?

“This is for—”

“Elain?” He asked, his body appearing in the hall behind. Elain sucked in air at the sight of him. She’d never seen him so casual before, in well-fitted, brown trousers and a billowing white shirt he’d half tucked into his pants, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He held them up with black suspenders that matched the color of his boots and his hair, typically pulled off his face, hung loose.

“From Rhysand,” she said when the servant melted away, leaving just Lucien standing in the doorway. Her eyes drifted towards his forearms, corded with muscle. Why did she like that, she wondered absently.

“Ah. I was told you would be Mor,” he informed her with a frown. Her heart sank.

“Sorry,” she murmured, moving to step off the porch and back to her meeting place with Mor. Lucien surged forward, one hand outstretched as though he meant to grab her but thought better of it.

“I’m not,” he assured her. From behind him, Elain saw a pair of bright blue eyes half hidden beneath copper colored hair peer at the pair of them. A tall, surly man stood just above her, his face etched with disapproval. “Would you like to come inside?”

She opened her mouth, about to say yes, when she remembered who this was. Who he was.

“I uh…I’m supposed to meet Mor,” she replied instead. He nodded, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

“Of course. Another time.”

And Elain, for reasons she’d never understand, said, “I would like that,” just as Lucien was about to shut the door. He froze, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll send word?” He asked hesitantly, as though he expected her to back out. Her heart pounded painfully, her tongue sticky in her mouth. She nodded, unable to speak and he smiled.

“Another time, then.”

Elain waited until the door clicked shut to exhale the air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She walked back to where Mor was waiting, her expression one of apology.

“I’m so sorry,” Mor said the moment Elain was within earshot.

“For what?” Elain replied, still thinking of his smile.

“I didn’t know Graysen would be nearby. I heard he spoke to you. Elain…if I had known…” Mor’s voice trailed off as she studied Elain’s face. “Did you see him?”

“I did,” she agreed, blinking. “I guess I forgot.”

Mor arched delicate, blonde eyebrows and offered Elain her hand to winnow back to Velaris. She looked over her shoulder, back towards the estate hidden in the distance.

All she could see was him, standing in that doorway.

When had that happened?

1 year:

It had been raining non-stop for days and Elain was going out of her mind. She wanted to be out in the world, to see people, to do anything. Instead she sat in the window of her bedroom, looking wistfully out at the empty streets as lightning cracked across the sky. Spring storms seemed endless, trapping her in her bedroom to pace restlessly. She pressed her forehead to the glass, wishing for the barest hint of sunlight. Elain pulled her bare feet beneath her lilac-colored dress as her mind wandered towards a letter he’d sent two weeks before. He was traveling again and he wrote of what he saw, of the things that fascinated him, of what made him laugh. She’d written back, desperate to hear more but he hadn’t responded.

Perhaps he’d tired of their constant communication through letter alone. It disappointed her, each morning that she woke with nothing new on her desk. She didn’t want him to tire of her. She wanted to see him, if she was perfectly honest. She thought she’d been obvious regarding her intentions, but perhaps something she’d said made him think she was no longer interested.

Elain glanced back down at the street where a figure was walking, a dark hood pulled over their head, body covered in a long, cloak. Her thoughts of him vanished as her interest peaked. Who was brave enough to come out in the middle of the thunderstorm raging around them? What could possibly have pulled them outdoors? Elain watched as they approached, closer and closer until they removed their hood. Red hair, a flash of gold and Elain launched herself off the windowsill and out of her room without a second thought. Her feet slapped loudly against the floor beneath her even as thunder shook the walls. She practically jumped the steps, half-tripped over a carpet runner in the hall, and yanked open the front door. Warm, spring air hit her in the face as a bolt of white lit up the dark gray sky around her. She didn’t care. She plunged into the pouring rain where he was, still walking to the front door.

He caught her the second she flew into his arms. “Lucien,” she breathed into his neck, her hands in his hair. They’d never been so close before and yet it felt right.

He chuckled, his arms tight around her waist. “Hello to you, too,” he replied, lifting her off her feet. Water drenched them both, her dress clinging to her skin but she didn’t care. She touched his face as he lowered her back to the pavement, directly into a puddle of water.

“You didn’t write,” she said, her face mere inches from his own. His expression softened, that russet eye melting into flame even as the golden one clicked softly as though responding to her words. “Things suddenly became very hectic. I came to offer you my apologies in person—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she assured him as he held her face in his broad hands. Beautiful, she thought. He was so incredibly beautiful. Lucien smiled.

“Of course I do,” he assured her, lowering his mouth ever so slightly. Her eyes fluttered closed the moment they touched. Thunder boomed around them again, not that either of them noticed. It might as well have been her pounding heart, leaping with excitement. His lips were soft and somehow, and she couldn’t explain it, he tasted the way sunshine felt.

“We should probably change out of these clothes,” Lucien told her, eyes still closed, voice strangled, when they broke the kiss.

Elain burst into giggles. He looked at her, cheeks flaming. “I didn’t mean—”

“Of course not,” Elain agreed, her hand slipping into his own. “But perhaps you could help me all the same?”

Lucien nodded, following as she led him back to the house.

And as she walked through that door, soaking wet and beaming, Elain thought she’d never been half as happy as she was in that moment.

With Lucien.