#Deaths Head Sutra

[driftlessarearev]

How to Detonate the Novel: A Rough Guide to the Later Fiction of Louis Armand

Form follows destruction.

Check out my essay in the latest volume of the European Association for Studies in Australia

[wittyworm]

Leviticus chapter 20 shook me to my core i have to pause this shit and go to bed.

[saintobio]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.

rule #1: even if the world crumbles down in front of you, never, ever trust sylus with your heart. because even the fiercest flames can't match the danger of loving a man like him.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. angst, smut, boss/assistant, 18+

♱ tags. villain!reader, reader works for onychinus, reader is not l&ds!mc, set in the N109 zone, unrequited love, profanity, petnames (kitten, baby doll, darling, sweetie), unprotected sex, throatfucking (m!receiving), cunnilingus (f!receiving), cum-eating, slight dom/sub play, spitting, hair-pulling, spanking, biting, choking, overstimulation, bondage, blindfolding, lots of jealousy, possessiveness, yandere themes, stalking, blood, violence, usage of guns, allusions to prostitution, killings, death, *coughs* that one harley+joker scene.

♱ notes. 8.2k words. inspired by this song bcos i can’t stop thinking abt him for days

“Boss is looking for ‘ya.”

It was already nighttime when you emerged from the library, only to encounter the eccentric twins, Luke and Kieran, lounging on the window sill as if they had been waiting for you to come out of your bat cave. They always donned their signature uniforms of leathered attire and beaked masks, an outfit reminiscent of Sylus’s mechanical crow, Mephisto. Behind their silhouettes, the red glow of the blood moon poured through the window, casting an eerie, crimson hue across the dimly lit hallways. Any normal person would have found such an atmosphere disturbing. 

But that was the N109 Zone for you—a dark, lawless, enigmatic place you called home.

“Is he in his room already?” you asked, quietly closing the door behind you. In your arm was a thick book, an archival file you had spent nearly two hours searching for. It contained records of historical events, of life before the Chronorift Catastrophe of 2034, before the Deepspace Tunnel was opened. Sylus had tasked you with finding the file for reasons he didn’t care to disclose.

A curious Luke tilted his head and swung his feet in the air as he pointed at the book. “Let me guess,” he began with a teasing tone, “Is that book some sort of Kama Sutra?”

Kieran’s snigger followed. “I bet it is, since it’s her birthday in a few hours.”

“Very funny,” was your quick retort. “It’s a history book, you idiots. Sylus needs it for something.”

The twins then let out a teasing coo. “Aww, so no birthday ‘fun’ for you?” asked Luke, “I thought sleeping with your boss would have its perks, too.”

Although his comment was meant to be a joke, you bristled at his jab at your professionalism. It had been a few years since you started this kind of relationship with Sylus, with him being your boss and the leader of Onychinus, and with you as his personal assistant and, well… escort. 

In and out of the N109 Zone, Sylus was a popular man for both good and bad reasons. His notoriety was mostly for his influence, and sometimes for his crimes. He was known to be unforgiving—a brute man who carried no conscience towards his enemies. One wrong move and you’d find yourself six feet under. Perhaps, that was what you admired so much about him. His aura, his domineering persona, his dangerous charm. He had mastered the art of seduction, the sin of hunger and desire. His power. There was no one like him. 

And so, you were the happiest woman alive when what began as an unrequited admiration eventually blossomed into something more. Spending more time with your boss played a pivotal role in gaining his interest towards you, because day-by-day he started to learn how much of an asset you could be for him. You were his prized possession. You were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Despite Luke and Kieran’s constant warnings of the abyss you were throwing yourself into, you were willing to be a pawn in Sylus’s game of chess. You wanted to be the Queen next to a King. Because that meant you were too valuable to simply set aside.

Yet Sylus was never one to clarify the nature of your relationship. He’d often say there was no need to clear up such a silly thing. All you knew was that when Sylus needed you, he had to have you. In all ways. He’d still act professional and distant depending on the audience. But behind closed doors, he spoiled you like a princess, treated you like a queen, and worshiped you like a saint. He was a sadistic, draconic man towards others, but he always had a gentle spot for you. Only for you. 

And that was a spot you would never, ever share with anyone else.

“Whatever. I gotta go see him,” you excused yourself from the two, just as one of them tossed a black box to you. “Is this my present?”

The twins jumped down from the window sill in perfect sync. “Advance happy birthday to the princess of Onychinus. Make sure to open the gift when boss is around.”

Your lips spread into a smile as you held the box in your free hand. Luke and Kieran giving you a gift was the last thing you would expect from them. “Why, thank you—”

“Yeah, yeah. You should go see him now,” said Kieran, pushing you forward by the shoulders. “Can’t keep boss waiting.”

By the time you reached Sylus’s door, the twins’ distant, mischievous chuckles then echoed down the hall. You couldn’t help but laugh and shake your head before grasping the door handles, stepping inside of Sylus’s bedroom with slow, measured steps. You didn’t know why you were nervous. As the door shut behind you, the familiar scent of leather, cardamom, and sandalwood immediately enveloped you like a fragrant, hallucinatory mist. However, his king-sized bed lay empty with the sheets still perfectly arranged. There were no signs of him anywhere, until the sound of cascading rainwater drew your gaze toward the bathroom, where his tall figure was visible through the frosted glass. He was engaged in a steamy shower, clearly unaware of the intruder that entered his room just now.

“Boss?” you called out, standing by his bed. “I’ll leave the file on your nightstand.” 

Receiving no response, you placed the book on the bedside table and waited for him patiently. Should you stay or should you leave? It usually depends on Sylus’s mood. There were nights where he wanted to be left alone, and nights where he craved your presence. His lack of response may be a sign to exit his room. But as you prepared yourself to leave thinking that Sylus purposely ignored you, a certain black velvet box resting on his nightstand suddenly caught your eye. Unlike the typical small box that might hold a ring, this one was more rectangular in shape and you were drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It was your curiosity that led you to touch the soft surface, wondering what lay beneath it.

Is it for me…?

“They say curiosity kills a cat.” Sylus’s deep, resonant voice broke your trance as he stepped out of the shower. Wrapped in nothing but a white towel around his waist, his muscular form was on full display as he approached you with assertive footsteps. Every curve of his muscle flexed as he moved. And his carnelian eyes sparkled with amusement, the corners of his thin, pinkish lips curving upward when he walked closer to you. “Touching my things without permission. Are you asking to be punished, kitten?”

Your heart raced as he closed the distance. Yet, maintaining composure around Sylus was a skill you had honed since the day you began working for him. “Oh, forgive me, master,” you merely teased. “It caught my attention.”

“Curious about the box or who it’s for?” he taunted, raking his fingers through his damp gray hair. Beads of water glistened on his bare skin, and you found your gaze wandering to his perfectly sculpted abs until you felt his finger lifting your chin up. “Eyes on me, honey. Don’t tell me you thought that velvet box was for you?”

So it isn’t? You suppressed a disappointed expression, but your clouded eyes betrayed you. “No, I… just curious.”

“Is that a sad kitten I see?” he asked, tilting his head to catch even the slightest changes in your expression. “You wanna open the box?”

“No, thank you.” Your stubbornness prevailed this time.

Sylus’s lips curved into a smile as he stepped closer, his arms wrapping around your waist and turning you gently. He then went on to open the velvet box and fastened a silver necklace around your neck. “Happy birthday, my darling,” he whispered into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as he planted a tender kiss on your shoulder. “That’s a red beryl crystal—one of the rarest gemstones in the world.”

Your eyes sparkled in awe as you touched the red pendant, feeling its exquisite value beneath your fingertips. Oh… to receive such beautiful, rare gem from the boss of Onychinus himself. You were too overwhelmed with appreciation as you turned and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Sy!” you exclaimed, your heart swelling at his effort. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

He returned your gaze with a smug look. “You better love it. I sacrificed two gold bullets just to get that for you, sweetie.”

“You…” Your eyes widened at the implication behind his words. Someone’s life was lost in exchange for your birthday gift. It was beyond your expectations to know that Sylus went to such macabre lengths just to surprise you, but banality was his worst enemy, and the last thing he would do was be called boring over things like birthday surprises. “...Well, thank you. I’ll treasure it forever, my love.”

“Now,” he said, abruptly breaking the sweet moment as he glanced at the other box on his bed. You realized he was scrutinizing the gift from the twins, which you had unwittingly left behind when you hugged him. His expression darkened slightly, clearly displeased at the foreign object on his bed. “Care to tell me where this is from? Or did some other bastard get you a present before I did?” he questioned, “Tell me his name, his identity. Give me his location.”

Chuckling, you cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s not what you think. Luke and Kieran gave it to me before I came here.”

Still unimpressed, he raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the box. “Who told you to receive gifts from other men?” 

“I…”

“Let’s see what’s inside, shall we?”

“I’m sure it’s just some…” you began, hurriedly untying the ribbon at the sight of Sylus’s growing pique. But as you opened the box, your mouth dropped in shock upon seeing a black lingerie set inside. An awkward laugh forced its way out of your mouth. Those two! “I… Ha-ha! They fool around too much. Don’t mind it. I’m just gonna throw it away.”

Sylus’s frown quickly transformed into a deep chuckle as he lifted the lingerie by the strap, his eyes widening with interest as he examined the lace corset. “Why don’t you try wearing it first, baby doll?” he suggested, an idea clearly forming in his mind. “It’s rude to toss aside a gift.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, you thought, feeling your cheeks flush under his gaze. You almost lost your mind when he looked down at you with a roguish smirk, like he was an animal who’s about to devour his first meal in a long time. “You really want me to put it on?”

“Since it’s your special day,” he insisted, settling at the edge of his bed while keeping you positioned between his legs, “Let me help you with that.” His tone was more command than suggestion as he slowly unbuttoned your shirt, peeling it away from your body. “That’s it, be a good kitten. Just follow your master’s orders and you’ll do just fine.”

You felt his cold fingertips brushing against your chest as he slipped your blouse down, his hands reaching behind to unclasp your bra and set your breasts free. Instinctively, you shied away from the intensity of his gaze and covered your chest. But he was quick to grab your wrist, an eyebrow raised at your disobedience. “I’m sorry…” 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he mumbled in a deep, orotund voice before continuing to undress you. His hand now fiddled with your pants, unzipping and sliding it down your legs in a painfully slow way. To your surprise, he had also pulled your underwear down along with your pants, leaving your lower body as bare as it could be. “Looks like my kitten’s prepared,” he said with a lowly chuckle, his gaze locked on your freshly waxed lady part. “But I’ll take my time before I devour you.” 

Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand on where his shoulder and neck met. All your clothes were discarded on the floor and you were nothing but naked in front of the very man you so deeply adored. He alone was the most perfect gift for you. “Boss…” your voice came out like a whisper, “About your upcoming transaction with Mr. Davis. H-He agrees to meet at the nightclub this Friday.” 

Sylus displayed a devilish smirk, noticing your effort in opening a subject to distract yourself from the compromising situation he had put you in. Though, instead of shaming you further, he had decided to play the part. “I’m surprised you managed to bargain with him,” he praised, slipping in a black, lace underwear up your legs. It barely covered your folds, and with Sylus’s warm breath tickling your cunny, you knew that your underwear would only be ripped apart sooner or later. “But then again, it must be your… irresistible charm that made him agree to meet up,” with a pause, he made a twirling gesture with his finger. “Turn around for me, sweetie.” 

You did as told, chest rising and falling deeply as your boss began to tie the corset behind you. It was too tight, but he seemed to have liked it that way, because your breasts were almost popping out of the padding. “I-I… Is it supposed to be this tight?” you asked, hesitantly, “I can’t breathe.” 

“It’s perfect.” He let out a deep chuckle before suddenly pushing you down on his bed. The sudden force left your heartbeat somersaulting, the anticipation and nervousness rising deep within you as you looked up at his predatory gaze. “Now, for the best part.” 

Sylus whipped out a handcuff and a blindfold from his drawer, and his first action was to grab your wrists and lock it within the silver handcuff around the headboard. The very next thing he did was cover your eyes with the blindfold, tying it neatly behind your head to deprive you of one of your five senses. 

“Sylus—?” You weren’t sure what was happening now, and hated that you couldn’t see his handsome face because of the blindfold. Your vision offered nothing but darkness, blinding you from whatever Sylus was planning to do with you in his king-sized bed. There were sounds of fabric rustling around you, the sound of clothing dropping to the floor, and the wet, sloppy noises near your face. When you felt the tip hitting your cheek, you realized it was Sylus touching himself, leaving you to imagine how he was stroking his hard length in front of your face, preparing his cock for a wild night ahead. “Are you—”

“Shh.” Your voice was cut off after he held a strong grip around your jaw, forcing your mouth open before the taste of his cocktip started entering your mouth. Not even halfway in, you already gagged from his cock. He was too huge for your mouth—too thick, too veiny, too lengthy. But nonetheless, despite the threads of saliva that waterfalled on the sides of your mouth, Sylus still shoved his entire length in. He didn’t care if you had started choking from his monstrous cock. He was too focused on burying his member in and out of your mouth, hitting your uvula, and allowing for tears to escape your eyes. “That mouth of yours is heaven for me, honey,” he said, your chin on his hand as he released a deep, guttural groan. “Move your tongue around it.” 

“Mmh—ngh!” Even if you were getting asphyxiated, fucking your throat was one of Sylus’s favorite foreplays. And so, like the obedient kitty you were, you started bobbing your head along to the rhythm of his thrusts. You also moved your tongue in circles around his shaft, and Sylus’s moans got louder, turning you on knowing that you were doing great at pleasuring the love of your life. You couldn’t even taste him enough, your mouth was too sore and numb at that point. 

Not even long after, he started angling his cock to your cheeks as if he was desperate to feel every inch of your mouth. When he pulled away, you released his member with a pop, and the string of saliva ended up coating your chin. While you couldn’t move your hand to wipe it off, you did try to move your wrists around the handcuff wondering if you could set yourself free. 

“Trying to break free?” Sylus’s voice was so near your right ear, the weight of his body becoming heavier on top of you. “We’re not done yet, darling.” 

A sloppy, open-mouthed kiss quickly calmed you down. You allowed Sylus to explore your mouth with his tongue, letting him lap you up like a meal he couldn’t stop eating. And with every bite on your lower lip, you were whimpering like a helpless cat. “S-Sylus,” you begged, “S-Sy… I…”

“Hmm?” His mouth was now on your neck, suckling and nibbling on the skin until they would leave purple marks all over. 

“Mmh… I want you.” 

“Not so soon, birthday girl.” Sylus’s teasing led to him pulling away from you. Now, you were unsure of his next move. But your chest only continued to move in an unsteady rhythm, the lack of sight heightening your auditory sense as a compromise. 

The next thing you knew, his manly hands started kneading at your breasts. He cupped them with such a force that made you stop breathing for a moment, focusing the sensation of his touch as he slightly pulled the padding of your corset to peek at one of your tits. In an instant, his mouth was attached to your nub. His tongue licked around your nipple, flicking it playfully before sucking and biting on your mounds. 

“Haaah!” 

“The twins did well in delivering this gift to you,” he made a subtle remark, releasing your tit from his mouth. His movements suggested he was moving down south, down to where your crotch was, and he only confirmed your thoughts when he began spreading your legs open and pulling your underwear to the side. “Look at how wet that pretty pussy is.” 

You moaned at the feeling of Sylus’s finger toying with your entrance. “T-The twins,” you barely said, squirming from the coil you were feeling inside your body. “What do you mean they delivered… the gift? Was it your idea after all?” 

Too bad you couldn’t see his face, but you were sure as hell that there was a triumphant smile spreading on it. “How else would they know your bra size, kitten?” he replied in a low voice before surprising you with the feeling of his tongue moving inside your slit, “Only I have access to your body.” 

Fuck, fuck. You were going insane. “Mhm—ngh! Aah!”

Sylus’s mouth was rough against your cunt, the tip of his nose tickling your clit as he continued spreading your labia apart to give himself better access inside your pussy. He completely devoured your sopping cunt, grunting and growling like a rabid dog as he alternated between french-kissing your pussy to burying his digits inside. His three fingers orchestrated deep and fast movements against your walls, with each stroke inside earning a wild whimper out of you. 

“Haaah—! Sylus, I… I can’t hold it… anymore.” 

He found your sweet spot soon enough, and chuckled darkly as you tried to squirm like a pathetic little kitty under him. With your legs dangling on his shoulders, he resumed abusing your sore cunt by fingering your vulva until you were at your seventh heaven. And as soon as you felt the need to pee, you knew he’d only pick up the speed of his fingers even more. 

“I-I… Please, Sy… I’m…”

For the first time in your life, you felt yourself squirting all over his bed. Your hips raised itself involuntarily, legs shaking violently on top of his shoulders. The overstimulation was sending you to ecstasy, as if you were in a place where every pleasure in the world was given to you. In your extremely vulnerable state, Sylus chose to grab the opportunity and forced all eight inches of his member inside. He hushed your moans and whimpers by kissing you on the mouth, his lips encasing yours in a loving and passionate exchange. 

This was the most erotic you had been with him. 

“You’re so fucking sexy to me, Y/N.” His cock moved fast and hard inside you. You could even feel his member twitching as your tight walls gripped him like vacuum, milking him of his every seed until he was fully drained. His lips then trailed around your jawline, then onto the valleys in between your breasts while he went on to thrust even rougher than the last. He plowed his cock inside you like there was no tomorrow, rutting and rutting and rutting like he was desperate to reach his own climax. “This pussy… Can’t get enough of your sweet pussy, kitten.” 

“Ah—aah! Mmh—ngh.” 

“More?”

“Y-Yes… please!” 

“Harder?”

“Mhmm!” 

“Faster?” 

“S-Sylus!” 

“Such a nasty girl you are,” he quipped, your hips now gripped by his strong hands as he sat in bed, readying for the final position. “Next time, I’m gonna eat your ass.” 

Gosh. You were already feeling limp under him. And when you felt his hands ripping your panties off, you knew it was game over for you. He was a hungry beast whose desire for lust would make him the worst sinner in hell. You couldn’t contain the loudness of your moans and whimpers as Sylus started thrusting into you at an otherworldly speed, your cunt feeling the soreness of his every slam. The skin-slapping sound dominated his entire room as your slick coated his entire length. At that point, he began biting on your lower leg, his cock doing its last twitch deep inside your cavern. He was balls deep inside, his bollocks slapping against your pussy with every jostle. 

“C-Cum…” you pleaded, “Inside me… Please.” 

But to your disappointment, Sylus pulled out. You didn’t know where he was releasing his seed until you felt the warm liquid shooting at your stomach. Three times you had asked him to cum inside, and he still continued to refuse. You thought your birthday would have been an exception, but Sylus was too smart for that. He knew knocking you up would ruin his plans. Getting you pregnant would make him lose his chances with her. 

“You can sleep on my bed tonight, darling.” Sylus easily released your hand from the cuffs with his evol, and did his own effort in untying the blindfold around your eyes. Little did he know that your tired eyes actually carried pain inside. “Close your eyes now. I’ll take care of the rest.”

You watched as he walked toward his nightstand, oblivious to the pessimistic thoughts swirling in your mind. If only she never existed in his life. If only she was you instead. 

“Sylus.” You fixed your gaze on his face. “I love you.”

His eyes widened in panic for a moment before he masked it with indifference. It was as if your declaration had caught him off guard, as if your years of devotion hadn’t already made it clear how deeply in love you were. 

“You shouldn’t.”

~~

The N109 Zone’s most famous nightclub was alive with pulsating lights and thumping bass on a Friday night, a den of excess and shadows where shady deals and dangerous liaisons were also par for the course. Sylus was dressed in his signature dark attire, leaning against a plush booth in the corner, and the red glow from the neon lights flickering off his white hair and crimson eyes. Meanwhile, you, draped in a red revealing dress that accentuated your every curve, moved with foxy grace as you joined Sylus at the booth.

Let’s just say Sylus didn’t exactly approve of your dress tonight. He thought it was revealing too much skin that was supposedly for his eyes only. But ever since the night of your birthday where he didn’t return your declaration of love, you started rebelling against your boss. Everything he disliked, you did out of spite. You did them out of the bitterness boiling inside you. 

Across from you two, in a secluded corner of the club, sat Sylus’s business partner, a man whose sharp suit and cold gaze reflected a ruthless demeanor. The table between you was littered with documents and blueprints, a clear indication of the shady business transaction underway—an armory deal of massive proportions, weapons, and munitions that could alter the balance of power in the underworld. Sylus’s arsenal of weapons could already destroy Linkon City if he wanted to, but there was no fun in that. It would be too much an easy disposal.

Nonetheless, Sylus’s eyes sparkled with approval as he glanced at the stacks of weaponry displayed before him. “I must say, I’m impressed,” he remarked with a sly grin. “The quality of your armory is unparalleled, Davis. You really outdid yourself this time.”

The business partner, clearly pleased, gave a curt nod. “I aim to please. But payment in cash alone doesn’t always satisfy, does it?”

Sylus leaned back, his gaze shifting to you. You were just settling next to him, your quiet presence commanding everyone’s attention as the low neckline of your red dress drew admiring glances from his business partner. Sylus was quick to notice the man’s eyes lingering on your breasts, a hint of predatory interest flickering in the old man’s gaze.

“Seems like my partner here is quite taken with you,” Sylus mused, hinting at a dangerous edge in his voice. “How about it? Would you like something other than money for your trouble?”

Mr. Davis’s eyes never left you as he smirked, a flicker of greed clouding his gaze. It was obvious to everyone in that booth that the old geezer was undressing you with his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

Sylus’s smile grew sharper. “Y/N here is quite the treasure. If you’re interested, she could be yours for the night. Do what you want with her. What do you say?”

Unbelievable! Stunned by his words, you quickly turned to Sylus in protest. You couldn’t believe he was offering you like some whore to that old man, but you had to hide your disgust after meeting Sylus’s glowing carmine eyes shooting you a knowing look. Just play along and stay quiet, you could almost hear his voice in your head. 

Mr. Davis’s perverted gaze remained fixed on you, clearly tempted as he battled with the demons in his head. And at your boss’s signal, you were ordered to walk towards Mr. Davis apprehensively, sitting on his lap while keeping the disgust you were feeling from showing. His hand soon grazed your thigh, the other squeezing your breast. “That’s a tempting offer,” commented the old man, a triumphant grin on display, “But I’d be a fool to refuse a bad bitch like her.”

“Good,” Sylus said, his tone suddenly serious as he slid a sleek, black gun from the table. He idly toyed with the handgun, clearly unfazed. “Let’s finalize our deal then. I’ll just take this gun you’ve provided. Don’t mind if I do a little ‘quality testing’,” he added with a chilling smile, loading the magazine with .45 ACP bullets.

The business partner’s eyes widened in realization as Sylus’s hand tightened around the weapon. Panic soon flashed across Mr. Davis’s face before he desperately pushed you off his lap and scrambled to his feet, hoping to de-escalate the rift he had caused with the Onychinus leader. “Wait, Mr. Sylus! I-I didn’t mean to offend. I’m not going to steal your lady, I swear! Don’t—”

But just as you expected, Sylus’s expression remained cold and unyielding. With a swift, practiced motion, he pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was sharp and final, cutting through the pulsating music and leaving a deadly silence in its wake. Mr. Davis quickly dropped to the floor, his eyes wide open and the hole on the side of his head leaking with dark, red blood. 

Your eyes remained cool and detached as you watched the scene unfold, your expression too unreadable for the killer next to you. You’ve seen worse things while living in the N109 Zone, right? was Sylus’s inner thoughts as he placed the gun back on the table, his gaze steady while regarding the now lifeless body of his former business partner. The carpet was now drenched with an unsightly amount of blood. 

Just then, the twins, Luke and Kieran immediately swung the door open with a guarded stance, worried that something had happened to the Onychinus leader whom you all served under. But upon looking at Mr. Davis’s fresh corpse sprawled out on the floor, both twins merely shrugged it off, praising their boss for dealing with the old man in a brutal fashion. 

“Leave us for a while,” Sylus instructed the twins, pulling you closer by gripping your waist, “If any of Davis’s men try to come in, kill them with no mercy.” 

“Roger that, boss.” 

As soon as the door was closed, Sylus turned to you, you recognized a demonic glow in his eyes as he tugged at the neckline of your dress. “You,” he spoke under his breath, “are testing my patience.” 

~~

You weren’t sure how to feel about it.

Heck, you couldn’t tell if you were even turned on by it, but Sylus fucking you in front of a dead man did bring in a rush of adrenaline in you. This was the fourth time he had killed a man for desiring you, and while he would usually play it off and say he was just feeling bloodthirsty at the time those incidents happened, this was the first time he was compelled to actually touch you next to a man he had just mercilessly shot. It was as though he was trying to prove a point, that dead or alive, no other man would have the pleasure of having you. 

“S-Sylus,” you let out a whimper, knees beginning to feel sore as your boss continued to hit you from behind, hips snapping against your bum in a rough, merciless manner. A stinging sensation was soon felt on your butt cheek as Sylus sent a hard, crisp slap on your ass. “Mmh—!” 

His nails dug into your hips, jostling you forwards and backwards so your ass could meet the base of his cock with how deep he was plowing himself into you. You had already creamed around his member multiple times that night, too satiated by the possessiveness Sylus was showing towards you, and yet, the signs of him stopping seemed to be a far end of the line. 

“Did you enjoy my show, kitten?” he asked, a question borne from feelings of spite, “Did you like how he was gawking at your tits? Look at his pathetic face now. You see that?” 

Sylus grabbed you by the face and forced you to look at Mr. Davis’s lifeless body for a good minute. A minute to remember such a ghastly image for the rest of your life. And only after he was satisfied at the fright in your eyes did he start pulling you by the hair, only to then wrap a tight hand around your neck. You couldn’t breathe. You were choking from his hand, restrained to receive any bit of air down your throat. The strong smell of iron, gun powder, and leather was also beginning to intoxicate you, and you knew you were a minute away from passing out. But Sylus was too enraged to stop, his mind was a toxic fire you couldn’t easily extinguish and the only thing you could do was allow him to take his anger out on you. 

“Hnngh! Sy… Sylus…” you cried, moaning as his hard thrust almost sent you forward to his business partner’s corpse. The pressure on your windpipe was too strong that barely any sound came out of your mouth. “Sylus, I’m all y-yours, my love. Ah—aah! All… yours.” 

He did loosen his grip on your neck, because he had pulled you by the chin to spit into your mouth. A string of saliva connected your tongue to his, your chest undulating in heavy breaths as he began to grope your tits from behind. “Dress like a whore again,” he whispered a warning into your ear, “and I wouldn’t hesitate to treat you like one.” 

Your mind, too numbed by the overstimulation all over your body, couldn’t fully grasp the words he had just spoken. All you knew was that he pressed you further down the carpeted floor, with your ass high up and your body down low. The next thing he did was to spread your butt cheeks apart to gape at the exact hole he was destroying. 

Sore. Too sore. Too numb. Too… Too… “Sylus, I’m g-gonna…” 

“Fuck,” he cussed, accelerating his thrusts at an animalistic speed, his deep breaths turning into a guttural groan as he chased his high. His cum was thick when they landed on your face, and the taste was sweet and salty when he forced the rest of his cum onto the back of your throat. You gagged as he hit your uvula, drool oozing at the corner of your mouth as you choked and yet managed to swallow every drop of his semen. 

Like a good girl, for him. Always. 

You didn’t exactly black out afterward. You were caught in a liminal state, not fully awake but not unconscious either, as you collapsed onto the floor. Sylus discarded you like a toy he’d grown tired of. If you had been more aware, you would have immediately noticed the abrupt shift in his behavior. The sound of his fading footsteps made you realize that the man you loved so obsessively had just left you in that booth, right next to a dead man.

“Y/N?”

“Y/N. Hey, you okay?” 

The coat soon enveloping your body wasn’t Sylus’s; it belonged to one of the twins, and you could feel yourself being carried in his arms. 

“Luke…?” you murmured weakly. 

“No, it’s Kieran,” he clarified, since his older brother was occupied with disposing of Mr. Davis’s body. “I’m taking you home.” 

You clung to his shoulder, your heavy-lidded eyes searching for Sylus’s distinctive white hair. “Wha—? Where’s he? Where is Sy—” 

“Boss already left.” His words felt like a blow. “You know he’s dangerous when he’s angry, so you should just go home for today.” 

You tried to wriggle free from Kieran’s grasp, confused by the sudden turn of events. “But what did I do? Why is he angry with me?” 

“It’s not you, just… complicated,” were the last words you heard before exhaustion overtook you, unaware that you were now outside the nightclub. 

Continuing to squirm from Kieran’s hold, you cried, “What do you mean complicated!”

“Luke and I tried to warn you, Y/N,” he said, grimly, as if he felt bad for you. “You’re not supposed to mess with his emotions. Those feelings are reserved for another.”

~~

The night air in the N109 Zone felt heavy and suffocating. It had been a month since Sylus had abruptly cut off contact with you, leaving you in a state of uncertainty, overthinking, and anger. When he had asked you to take a break from work, you already found his command suspicious, and then the silence that followed was a deafening confirmation of your suspicion. No texts, no calls, and every attempt to visit Onychinus’s base was continuously met with cold dismissal. 

With this, you found yourself at your makeshift gun range, the repetitive bang of the shots echoing in the dimly lit space. The targets were riddled with holes, each bullet a release of your pent-up frustration. Your thoughts were a tempest of spiteful musings: how you should have maxed out his credit card for everything it was worth if you had known he was going to just dump you. The thought of doing so now felt petty, but it also served as a bitter reminder of how easily he had discarded you that night.

But amid your rage, a more serious thought began to surface. Sylus’s avoidance wasn’t merely a cruel game or a sudden whim; it seemed to hint at something deeper, something more troubling. Was there something he wasn’t telling you? Had something happened that he couldn’t or wouldn’t explain?

You should probably confront him, but you needed a sign. Barging into Onychinus’s base without prior notice would be a suicide wish, so you had to have a reason on showing up unannounced. A sign. You desperately needed one, and perhaps the universe was toying with you, but the very sign you were looking for came in the form of a mechanical crow that landed on the lightpost. Its red eyes glowed like lasers through the night, tilting its head as it looked at your way. 

“Caw! Caw!” 

“Mephisto,” you breathed a sigh of relief. Did Sylus send him to watch over you? 

With your confidence growing back, you decided to finally confront the situation head-on. This cold war would bring you nothing but a painful whirl of overthinking. And so, you returned to Onychinus’s base that night, your anger tempered by a new, steely resolve. As usual, the base was as imposing and foreboding as ever, its corridors silent except for the occasional echo of footsteps.

Where is everyone? 

As you neared Sylus’s quarters, your heart pounded with a mix of dread and anticipation. You approached his door, and through the thin walls, you could hear soft, unfamiliar voices. Your breath was caught in your throat as you recognized a woman’s voice, distinct and unfamiliar, but laced with a strange resonance that made your skin crawl.

“From the beginning, you trapped me here, forced me to resonate with you, and even said we’re ‘the same’... One wouldn’t treat a stranger like that, so… don’t tell me you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?” 

…

“You’re so gullible, kitten.” 

The twins, who were lounging nearby and keeping an eye on things as usual, saw you by their boss’s door and exchanged knowing glances. Luke, with his usual smirk, leaned in. “Oh, look who decided to show up. You’re just in time.”

Kieran, with a more serious tone, added, “He’s got a guest in there. A hunter from Linkon, with an Aether Core, no less.”

Your heart sank. The mention of an Aether Core was a dagger to your already shattered heart. Sylus’s connection to you had always been complex, but it was a lot different with this other woman he had been keeping an eye on for the longest time. They were marked by their shared Aether Core, which tied them together in ways you could never fully understand. To hear that he had met the girl he had been searching for with the same rare core was like a death knell.

“Since when did Sylus bring her here?” you asked the twins, struggling to keep your emotions in check. This was the real reason Sylus had asked you to take a break—he knew that the presence of this girl would push you to the edge of losing all sense of morality. For the first time in your life, he saw you as a threat. An enemy. 

Luke responded with a shrug. “A couple weeks ago after she leaked her information in The Nest. Boss has been trying to resonate with her, you see. So don’t mind their little bonding moments.” 

Kieran took the initiative to drag his older brother away. “We gotta get going. Don’t cause a scene, Y/N. You won’t like it when our boss is angry.” 

Disregarding the twins’ words, you pressed your hand against the door, the muffled sounds of conversation and the soft rustling of fabric seeping through. The realization of what this meant was crushing. Sylus’s soul was bound to this new woman in ways you could never compete with. And the anguish of this discovery broke you inside. 

Why? Why can’t it be me? 

With trembling hands, you turned the knob and pushed open the door just a crack to peer inside. The sight that met your eyes was enough to confirm your worst fears. Sylus was there, his attention fully on the woman from Linkon that he had pinned down on his bed, a tenderness in his gaze that had never been directed at you. 

Unable to bear the sight any longer, you quietly closed the door and retreated, and Sylus’s head turning in your direction only made you hide even further. You were already taking hurried steps before he could catch up to you. But then again, what kind of idiot would he be to leave that fragile girl alone to run after a woman he didn’t even care about? You were nothing but a placeholder for her, warming her seat temporarily before she finally came into the picture. And now that she was here, you were easily cast aside like worn-out clothing, no longer bearing any purpose for him. 

“…I hate you,” you muttered, the words barely a whisper as they escaped from your trembling lips. Running through the hallways had quickly become exhausting, each step felt like a drag with the weight of your emotions. “I hate you, Sylus.”

Your hands, shaking uncontrollably, grasped the Beryl pendant that hung around your neck. The sharp pain from the necklace’s chain digging into your skin only added to your anguish. And with a frustrated cry, you yanked the pendant off and hurled it down the hallway. The pendant skittered across the polished floor, its once-beautiful gleam now discarded like mere rubbish.

“What did we tell you?” The twins’ imaginary voices were mocking you in your head, their taunts reverberating through your thoughts as you headed out of the base with no footsteps following you behind. It became clear to you that Sylus had chosen to stay with the girl instead of chasing after you. “Just because boss gave you a chance, doesn’t mean he’ll actually date you! You poor thing! You’re just a game he likes to play!” 

“Stop. Stop!” You had to press your hands into your ear, suppressing the torture that your mind was creating.  

You decided to run away. Far, far away from Onychinus’s base. Far away from Sylus’s reach. 

Your footsteps echoed through the deserted streets, your mind still reeling in jealousy from the events you saw earlier. The image of the woman pinned under him, her dark hair and fair skin, had your hands shaking from the anger in your heart. She was as beautiful as he described, as radiant as he’d often whisper about in his dreams. And now that she was within his reach, did you really think he would let her go? 

~~

The night was cold, the air biting at your skin as you walked aimlessly, lost in a whirlwind of emotions and tortuous thoughts. The betrayal, the hurt, the lingering sense of being used—all of it churned within you, making your steps heavy and your heart even heavier.

“I… hate you,” you murmured under your breath. 

As you turned down a dark alley, a sudden prickle of unease crawled up your spine. You quickened your pace, but the sound of a second set of footsteps followed closely behind you. Panic set in as soon as you realized you were being stalked. 

Before you could react, however, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, blocking your path. The man’s eyes gleamed with malice, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “You no longer have Sylus to protect you,” he sneered, his voice dripping with menace. It was one of Davis’s men. “You're all alone now, and I'm going to make you pay for the death of our master.”

Fear gripped you like a tightrope, but before the man could take another step, a swirling mist of black-red enveloped him. The pressure of the mist seemed to squeeze his entire body, forcing him to his knees, his screams of terror cut short as if the mist were obeying commands from an unseen master.

You turned around, your heart pounding, to see Sylus standing at the edge of the alley. His domineering eyes bore into yours in a mixture of curiosity and cold calculation. “Should I kill this guy? Yes or no?” His voice was low and raspy. “My decision depends on you, kitten.”

Your gaze hardened after hearing the term of endearment he was now recycling with the hunter girl from Linkon. “I can handle him,” was your cold reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. You drew your gun with a swift motion and fired repeatedly, each shot bouncing in the narrow alley. The man’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Sylus watched you with an appraising look. “Impressive. Still feisty as ever.”

You then pointed your gun towards him, but keeping a safe enough distance. “Why were you following me?” you demanded, your tone cold as ice.

A chilling laugh echoed through the alleyway. “My own assistant wants to kill her boss? Now, isn’t that a spectacle?”

“Shut up!” you yelled, finger tightening on the trigger. “I don’t care if one bullet won’t kill you. I can shoot you enough times to make sure you’d at least feel some pain.”

Sylus sighed before reaching into his pocket and revealed the necklace, the red beryl pendant glinting in the dim light. “You forgot your gift,” he said, his voice softening ever so slightly.

You stared at the necklace, feeling a sting in your heart that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m not worthy of such a gift,” you replied monotonously, “Give it to her if you want. And also, take this night as my formal resignation as your assistant."

Sylus’s eyes widened, a rare look of surprise crossing his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. It seemed as if he was truly, genuinely stunned, caught off guard by your decision.

I can’t back out now. You repeated it like a desperate mantra in your mind as you turned and walked away, leaving Sylus standing alone in the dark alley, the necklace still clutched in his hand. You were done with his games, done with being played. You were determined to leave him behind, until suddenly, he vanished into a puff of black smoke. Dark feathers floated in the spot where he had stood moments ago. To your shock, he reappeared behind you, his hand forcefully grabbing your chin to make you look up at him.

You struggled, trying to wrench his hand away. “Let go—”

But he silenced you with a bruising kiss, locking his lips around yours despite your desperate punches to his chest. He only pulled away when he felt your warm tears streaming down your face, looking at you with a gaze full of unwanted sympathy. Sympathy that cut deeper than any blade.

“Are you happy she’s back in your life?” you choked out, your voice trembling as you stared at him with tear-filled eyes.

Sylus responded with a hesitant hum. “I am.”

You inhaled shakily, his answer shattering your heart. “Then, why are you here?”

“...I don’t know.” His crimson eyes reflected the sorrowful glow of the moon peeking from behind his head.

“Do you intend to keep me as your lover?” you asked, forcing him to confront his true intentions.

Sylus took a long, agonizing moment to respond, as if wrestling with a tumultuous storm of emotions—the pros and cons, the rights and wrongs. Finally, he spoke, and his words were a dagger to your soul.

“No,” he said at last, his hand retreating from your face. He stepped back and turned the distance between you into a chasm of heartbreak. “It’s been nice working with you, Y/N. I’ll send you a year’s worth of salary for your dedication to me. This should be the last time we meet.”

The weight of his words crashed down on you like an earthquake, and the full reality of your situation made it hard for you to breathe. Yes, it was a gut-punch. You were breaking in half, your heart shattering beyond repair because the pain was too much. It was all too much for a person to take, and it twisted something dark inside you.

“If I can’t have you,” you began, your voice shaking with an amalgam of rage and despair, “then no one can.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed. “Y/N, you won’t dare—”

“I’ll kill her,” you spat, your tone dripping with venom. Your vow was laced with a genuine resolve, as if it were a promise you had embedded in stone. “The next time I see her, I’ll end her in the most brutal way I can. I swear it.”

His eyes flashed with a sinister light, one eye emitting a faint glow like a candlelight in a dark room. “If you try to go near her,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “I’ll kill you first.”

A twisted smile spread across your face, and madness began to gleam in your eyes. Driven to the brink of insanity, you laughed—a wild, almost feral sound that scared even the rats hiding in the darkest places.

“Then, do it,” you challenged, the final thread of your sanity snapping as he raised a finger, and the tendrils of his black-red mist soon swirling around you and crushing your bones with its pressure. “You’ve already taken everything from me, Sylus. Finish what you started.” 

SECOND PART

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

Behold, a bracket!

Text form below the cut because trying to copy all the 256 into the alt text sounded.... horrifying. Warning for 128 matchups, seriously, this list is long, and so I've avoided adding the artists until the polls.

a note: the pinned post has started misbehaving, so only open polls will be directly linked. closed polls instead have the results page linked in the set header, all the polls are linked from there

Set 1

The Lament for Icarus (Miao He) vs The Lament for Icarus (Herbert Draper)

The angel came to me in a fever hallucination, perched upon my bed as I returned from the bathroom. vs Sweet Brown Snail

Figures vs A Philosopher Lecturing on the Orrery

Happy Shoppers vs Hubble Deep Field

Lovers Painting vs Bath Curtain

Dr. Helen Taussig vs Une Martyre

Orangoutang étranglant un sauvage de Bornéo (Orangutan strangling a Borneo savage) vs Can’t Help Myself

Rape vs Technicolor Hiroshima

Set 2

A Walk at Dusk vs Based on “Autoportrait with the Model” by Maria-Rayevska Ivanova

Diary Page vs Les Jours Gigantesques (The Titanic Days)

Dead of Night vs You Won't

Christina's World vs Bobby

Untitled (I’m Turning Into A Specter Before Your Very Eyes And I’m Going To Haunt You) vs Two Sisters (On the Terrace)

Sharecropper vs Lustmord

The Parca and the Angel of Death vs Untitled (Zdzisław Beksiński)

Stress vs The Fallen Angel

Set 3

Device to Root Out Evil vs Travelling Light

Diana vs Fifty Days at Iliam: The Fire that Consumes All before It

The Plains, from Memory vs Exotic Bodies

Doubting Thomas vs Self-Portrait in the Bathroom Mirror

Empty Nest vs Somebody Fell From Aloft

Anguish vs If I Died

Cat in Obsolete Bath vs You're Not Boring Anymore

Salvator Mundi (Savior of the World) vs Untitled (billboard of an empty unmade bed)

Set 4

There Will Be No Miracles Here vs Symphony of the Sixth Blast Furnace

Fox Hunt vs Tarpaulin

Khajuraho Group of Monuments vs Ranakpur Jain Temple

ปราสาทสัจธรรม (The Sanctuary of Truth) vs Grande Panorama de Lisboa

Heroic Head of Pierre de Wissant, One of the Burghers of Calais vs The Weather

The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit vs If this is art

Statue of Vincent and Theo van Gogh vs Jeanne d’Arc écoutant les voix (Joan of Arc listening to the Voices)

Fountain vs Judith Slaying Holofernes

Set 5

Cueva de las Manos (Cave of Hands) vs Cave of El Castillo

Chauvet Cave Bear vs Uffington White Horse

Laocoön and His Sons vs Winged Victory of Samothrace

Crouching Aphrodite vs Statue of Taweret

Guardian Figure vs Kūya-Shonin (Saint Kuya)

Ancient Greek doll vs Arena #7 (Bears)

Enbu (炎舞) (Dancing in the Flames) vs Yearning Shadows

Belfast to Byzantium vs Freedom

Set 6

The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayan vs Portraits

The Blood Mirror vs Nighthawks

Electric Fan (Feel it Motherfuckers): Only Unclaimed Item from the Stephen Earabino Estate vs "Untitled" (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)

Lady Agnew of Lochnaw vs Forgotten Dreams

Saint Bride vs Pixeles (a group of 9 works)

War Pieta vs The Sunset

The Handmaidens of Sivawara Preparing the Sacred Bull at Tanjore for a Festival vs Ajax and Cassandra

Nāve (Death) vs Abstraction

Set 7

Yes vs Meeting on the Turret Stair

Hacked to Death II vs Stańczyk

Closeness Lines Over Time vs Voice of Fire

The Maple Trees at Mama, the Tekona Shrine and Tsugihashi Bridge vs Portrait of Sir Thomas More

Survival Series: In a Dream You Saw a Way vs Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre

Death blowing bubbles vs The Kitchen Table Series

Painting 1946 vs In the Grip of Winter

Untitled (Black and Gray) vs NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt

Set 8

Blue Plate Special vs Red Cedar

Palace of Fine Arts vs Mosque–Cathedral of Córdoba

Le Château des Pyrénées (The Castle of the Pyrenees) vs Susanna and the Elders, Restored - X-Ray

Moby Dick vs Viva la Vida, Watermelons

Venus Envy Chapter One (Of the First Holy Communion Moments Before the End) vs how to look at art

St. Sebastian vs Untitled #12

Carroña vs The invincible one

Untitled (Two Dogs) vs The Dog

SECOND HALF

Set 9

David (Donatello) vs David (Michelangelo)

The Other Side vs The Temptation of St. Jerome

Seated Woman with Bent Knees vs Starry Night

Headdress - Shadae vs Untitled for the Image Flow's Queer Conscience exhibit

Woman with Dead Child (Frau mit totem Kind) vs Les Amants (The Lovers)

Siroče na majčinom grobu (Orphan on Mother's Grave) vs You Make My World a Better Place to Find

Fighting Against SARS Memorial Architectural Scene (弘揚抗疫精神建築景觀) vs Fallingwater

Resting vs The Hull

Set 10

Olive Trees vs Worship

Glow vs Wheatfield with Crows

Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X vs Untitled (He Plays Very Badly)

D.I.Y. by John Wiswell vs The Tragedy

Judith and the Head of Holofernes vs Beethovenfries (Beethoven Frieze)

The Memory of Me (How Could I Forget) vs oh god i had a really big epiphany about love and personhood but i’m too drunk for words

I am happy because everyone loves me vs 瀕危形態 (Endangered Forms)

Three Scaffolders vs Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan

Set 11

San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk vs Water-Lilies, Reflection of a Weeping Willow

The Grief of the Pasha vs Monolith in Vigeland Sculpture Park

Passion vs Space Diner

Hamlet and Ophelia vs Two Earthlings

Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth vs Seer Bonnets

Photograph from "SNAP OSAKA" Collection vs Clytemnestra after the Murder

“Untitled” (Perfect Lovers) vs The Lovers (TIE)

Kedai Ubat Jenun vs Orange Store Front

Set 12

The Apotheosis of War vs Portrait of the Dancer Aleksandr Sakharov

Julie Manet vs Mouth

The Icebergs vs Kaleidoscope Cats III

Maman vs Caza Nocturna (Night Hunt)

The Book of Kells Folio 188r: Luke carpet page vs Ardagh Chalice

Yusuf and Zulaikha vs Dome of the Rock mosaics

Rowan Leaves and Hole vs Untitled (prisonhannibal)

Le Désespéré (The Desperate Man) vs The Dedication

Set 13

Deimos vs Dog and Bridge

The Mocking of Christ vs Prudence

The Broken Column vs Siberian Ice Maiden shoulder tattoo

Transi de René de Chalon (Cadaver Tomb of René of Chalon) vs Head of Christ

The Day vs Spirit of Haida Gwaii

Eleanor Boathouse at Park 571 vs Jatiya Sangsad Bhaban জাতীয় সংসদ ভবন (National Parliament House)

Juventud de Baco (Bacchus Youth) vs Barges on the Seine

Oath of the Horattii closeup vs Visit hos Excentrisk Dam (Visit to an eccentric lady)

Set 14

Christ Crucified (With Donor) vs St. Francis

Thunder Raining Poison vs Piazza d'Italia

The Grove vs Among the Waves

Pintura Mural de Alarcón vs Sagrada Família stained-glass windows

Noonday Heat vs La Dame à la licorne (The Lady and The Unicorn)

Matroser i Gröna Lund (Sailors in Gröna Lund) vs Gielda Plakatu

Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks vs The Garden of Earthly Delights

Kuoleman puutarha (The Garden of Death) vs Haavoittunut enkeli (The Wounded Angel)

Set 15

i've wasted a lifetime pretending to be me vs da oracle

minus #37 vs Panel from Fun Home

Excerpt from illustrated edition of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner vs La Mort de Marat (The Death of Marat)

The Veil vs Düsseldorf 4 (Museum Kunst Palast)

Capriccio vs Zodiac calendar for La Plume

The official imperial portrait of empress dowager Cixi vs José y Maria

Blooming Lilacs vs Lágrimas De Sangre (Tears of Blood)

An Interlude vs Boy Staring at an Apparition

Set 16

Mermer Waiskeder: Stories of the Moving Tide vs The Gran Hotel Ciudad de México Art Nouveau interior

Unfinished Painting vs To Arms!

Memorial to a Marriage vs The Island

Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn vs A Few Small Nips

Saturn Devouring His Son vs Guernica

Fairy Princesses vs Lamentation over the Dead Christ

Mummy with An Inserted Panel Portrait of a Youth vs Little Girl Looking Downstairs at Christmas Party

Agnus vs The Cup Of His Murders Is Flowing Over And In His Coat Shall Be Many Curses

[kvetchlandia]

Joe Rosenthal Allen Ginsberg at Lawrence Ferlinghetti's "City Lights" Bookstore, North Beach, San Francisco 1959

I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look for the sunset over the box house hills and cry.

Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery.

The only water on the river mirrored the red sky, sun sank on top of final Frisco peaks, no fish in that stream, no hermit in those mounts, just ourselves rheumy-eyed and hung-over like old bums on the riverbank, tired and wily.

Look at the Sunflower, he said, there was a dead gray shadow against the sky, big as a man, sitting dry on top of a pile of ancient sawdust--

--I rushed up enchanted--it was my first sunflower, memories of Blake--my visions--Harlem

and Hells of the Eastern rivers, bridges clanking Joes greasy Sandwiches, dead baby carriages, black treadless tires forgotten and unretreaded, the poem of the riverbank, condoms & pots, steel knives, nothing stainless, only the dank muck and the razor-sharp artifacts passing into the past--

and the gray Sunflower poised against the sunset, crackly bleak and dusty with the smut and smog and smoke of olden locomotives in its eye--

corolla of bleary spikes pushed down and broken like a battered crown, seeds fallen out of its face, soon-to-be-toothless mouth of sunny air, sunrays obliterated on its hairy head like a dried wire spiderweb,

leaves stuck out like arms out of the stem, gestures from the sawdust root, broke pieces of plaster fallen out of the black twigs, a dead fly in its ear,

Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then!

The grime was no man's grime but death and human locomotives,

all that dress of dust, that veil of darkened railroad skin, that smog of cheek, that eyelid of black mis'ry, that sooty hand or phallus or protuberance of artificial worse-than-dirt--industrial--modern--all that civilization spotting your crazy golden crown--

and those blear thoughts of death and dusty loveless eyes and ends and withered roots below, in the home-pile of sand and sawdust, rubber dollar bills, skin of machinery, the guts and innards of the weeping coughing car, the empty lonely tincans with their rusty tongues alack, what more could I name, the smoked ashes of some cock cigar, the cunts of wheelbarrows and the milky breasts of cars, wornout asses out of chairs & sphincters of dynamos--all these

entangled in your mummied roots--and you standing before me in the sunset, all your glory in your form!

A perfect beauty of a sunflower! a perfect excellent lovely sunflower existence! a sweet natural eye to the new hip moon, woke up alive and excited grasping in the sunset shadow sunrise golden monthly breeze!

How many flies buzzed round you innocent of your grime, while you cursed the heavens of your railroad and your flower soul?

Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive?

You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a sunflower!

And you Locomotive, you are a locomotive, forget me not!

So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck it at my side like a scepter,

and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack's soul too, and anyone who'll listen,

--We're not our skin of grime, we're not our dread bleak dusty imageless locomotive, we're all golden sunflowers inside, blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sitdown vision.

-- Allen Ginsberg, "Sunflower Sutra" 1955

[yoga-onion]

[Image above: Gobajo statue with a crown of elephant, the largest animal on land, on its head. One of the Eight Legions.]

Legends of the humanoids 

Reptilian humanoids (10)

The Eight Great Dragon Kings – Dragon tribes who listened to the Buddha's teachings.

They are the eight kings of the dragon races, who belong to the Eight Legions of Buddhist dieties. They protect the Buddha Dharma.

In Buddhism, Nagaraja (lit. 'king of the nagas') in Hindu mythology was incorporated as various dragon deities, including the Eight Great Dragon Kings. 

Nagarajas are supernatural beings who are kings of the various races of Nagas, the divine or semi-divine, half-human, half-serpent beings that reside in the netherworld (Patala), and can occasionally take human form. The duties of the Nāga Kings included leading the nagas in protecting the Buddha, other enlightened beings, as well as protecting the Buddha Dharma.

Some of the most notable Nagarajas occurring in Buddhist scriptures are Virupaksa, Mucalinda, Dhrtarastra, and the following Eight Great Dragon Kings:

Nanda (Ananta, lit. joy): Ananta and Upananda were brother dragon kings who once fought against the Dragon King Sagara.

Upananda (lit. sublime joy): Brother of Nanda. Together with King Nanda, he protected the country of Magadha, ensuring that there was no famine, and when the Buddha descended, he sent rain to bless it and attended all the sittings where he preached. After the Buddha's death, he protected the Buddha Dharma forever.

Sagara (lit. 'Great Sea'): king of the Dragon Palace. King of the Great Sea Dragon.The 8-year-old Dragon Lady in the Lotus Sutra was the third princess of this Dragon King and was known as the Zennyo Ryuo (lit. "goodness woman dragon-king").

Vasuki (lit.'treasure'): sometimes referred to as the Nine-Headed Dragon King with the 'nine' meaning the extremity of yang and extremely large and powerful in number. Thus, he was thought of as the "Nine-Headed Dragon King". In the original legend, he was seldom called the 'Many-headed Dragon King' because there were a thousand of heads. Originally, he protected Mt. Meru (Ref1) and took tiny dragons to eat.

Takshaka (lit. ‘polyglot' or 'visual poison'): When this dragon is angrily stared at, the person is said to die out. From the Golden Light Sutra, the Seven-faced Tennyo is said to be the daughter of this Dragon King.

Anavatapta (lit. "cool and free from heat"): was said to live in the mythical pond in the northern Himalayas, Anuttara (lit. "free from heat"), which emitted great rivers in all directions to moisten the human continent of Jambudvīpa. A pond that stretches for approx. 3142 km, the banks of the pond were said to be made of four treasures, including gold, silver and others. This Dragon King was venerated as an incarnation of a Bodhisattva.

Manasvin (lit. 'giant' or 'great power'): When Asura (See2 & See3) attacked Kimi Castle with seawater, he twisted himself around and pushed the water back. Kimi Castle is the castle in Trayastrimsa at the top of Mt. Meru, where Sakra (Indra:Ref) resides. 

Uppalaka (Utpala: lit. blue lotus flower): blue lotus flower dragon king. He is said to dwell in a pond that produces blue lotus flowers. In India, the shape of the petals and leaves is used metaphorically to represent the eye, especially the blue water lily (nilotpala), which is a metaphor for a beautiful eye. In Buddhism, the Buddha's eyes are considered to be dark blue (nila), one of the 32 phases (ref4) and 80 kinds of favourites (ref5), "eye colour ".

伝説のヒューマノイドたち

ヒト型爬虫類 (10)

八大龍王〜釈迦の教えに耳を傾けた龍族

彼らは、天龍八部衆に所属する龍族の八柱の王である。仏法を守護している。

仏教では、インド神話におけるナーガラジャ (ナーガの諸王の意) が、八大龍王をはじめさまざまな龍神として取り入れられた。ナーガラージャとは、冥界 (パタラ) に住む神または半神半人の蛇のような存在であるナーガ (参照) の様々な種族の王であり、時には人間の姿をとることもある超自然的な存在のこと。

ナーガ王たちの任務は、ナーガたちを率いて仏陀や他の悟りを開いた存在たちを守護し、仏陀の教えを守ることであった。

仏教経典に登場するナーガラージャの中で最も有名なものには、ヴィルパクサ、ムカリンダ、ドルタラストラ、そして以下の八大龍王たちである:

難陀 (ｱﾅﾝﾀ:歓喜の意): 難陀と跋難陀は兄弟竜王で娑伽羅 (ｻｰｶﾞﾗ:大海の意) 龍王と戦ったことがあった。

跋難陀 (ｳﾊﾟﾅﾝﾀﾞ: 亜歓喜の意): 難陀の弟。難陀竜王と共にマガダ国を保護して飢饉なからしめ、また釈迦の降生の時、雨を降らしてこれを灌ぎ、説法の会座に必ず参じ、釈迦仏入滅の後は永く仏法を守護した。

娑伽羅 (ｻｰｶﾞﾗ:大海の意): 龍宮の王。大海龍王。法華経に登場する八歳の龍女はこの龍王の第三王女で「善女龍王」と呼ばれた。

和修吉 (ｳﾞｧｰｽｷ: 宝有の意):「九頭龍王」と呼ばれることもある。「九」は陽の極まりを意味し、数が非常に多く強力であることから、「九頭龍王」と考えられた。そのため、彼は「九頭の龍王」と考えられていた。元の伝説では、頭が千個あったため、稀に「多頭龍王」と呼ばれることもあった。もともとは、須弥山（参照1）を守り、細龍を捕らえて食べていた。

徳叉迦 (ﾀｸｼｬｶ: 多舌、視毒の意): この龍が怒って凝視された時、その人は息絶えるといわれる。身延鏡と金光明経から七面天女は、この龍王の娘とされている。

阿那婆達多 (ｱﾅｳﾞｧﾀﾌﾟﾀ: 清涼、無熱悩の意): ヒマラヤ山脈北部にある神話上の池、阿耨達池 (無熱悩池) に住み、四方に大河を出して人間の住む大陸 閻浮提 (えんぶだい) を潤していた。 全長800里 (約3142 km)にも及ぶ池の岸辺は金・銀などの四宝よりなっていたという。この龍王は菩薩の化身として崇められていた。

摩那斯 (ﾏﾅｽｳﾞｨﾝ: 大身、大力の意): 阿修羅（参照2 & 参照3）が海水をもって喜見城を侵したとき、身をよじらせて海水を押し戻したという。喜見城とは須弥山の頂上の 忉利天にある 帝釈天 (梵: インドラ参照) の居城。

優鉢羅 (ｳｯﾊﾟﾗｶ: 青蓮華の意): 青蓮華龍王。青蓮華を生ずる池に住まうという。インドでは花弁や葉などの形状を比喩的に眼を現すことに用いるが、特に青睡蓮(nilotpala)は美しい眼に喩えられる。仏教では仏陀の眼は紺青色(nila)とされ、三十二相八十種好（参照4）の一つ｢眼色如紺青相｣となっている。

[whencyclopedia]

Ennin

Ennin (c. 793-864 CE, posthumous title: Jikaku Daishi) was a Japanese Buddhist monk of the Tendai sect who studied Buddhism at length in China and brought back knowledge of esoteric rituals, sutras, and relics. On his return, he published his celebrated diary Nitto Guho Junrei Gyoki and became the abbot of the important Enryakuji monastery on Mount Hiei near Kyoto and, thus, head of the Tendai sect.

Tendai Buddhism had been introduced to Japan by the monk Saicho, also known as Dengyo Daishi (767-822 CE). Based on the teachings of the Chinese Tiantai Sect, Saicho's simplified and inclusive version of Buddhism grew in popularity, and its headquarters, the Enryakuji complex on Mount Hiei outside the capital Heiankyo (Kyoto), became one of the most important in Japan as well as a celebrated seat of learning. Ennin became a disciple of Saicho from 808 CE when he began to study at the monastery, aged just 14.

Travels to China

Ennin was selected as part of a larger Japanese embassy led by the envoy to the Tang Court, one Fujiwara no Tsunetsugu, to visit China in 838 CE and study there. The main aim was for Ennin to study further the Tendai doctrine at the T'ien-t'ai shan. Ultimately, he would stay there for nine years, studying under various masters and learning in greater depths the tenets and rituals of Buddhism and especially the mysteries of Mikkyo, that is esoteric teachings known only to a very few initiated priests.

On arrival at Yang-chou and awaiting to be taken to T'ien-tai shan, the monk wasted no time and there and then found priests to teach him shitan, the Indic script used in esoteric texts. He also made his own copies of such texts and underwent an initiation with a priest called Ch'uan-yen. As it turned out Ennin did well, for by the time the Chinese authorities had organised his transport to his original destination he was informed there would be no time to do so if he were not to return to Japan as planned with the embassy. Ennin decided to stay and passed the winter at a monastery in Shantung run by Korean monks.

In the spring Ennin set off for Wutai, an important pilgrimage site and home to some more learned monks who could help satiate his thirst for Buddhist knowledge. Mount Wutai, where the bodhisattva Manjusri was thought to have appeared, was also a centre of esoteric cults. Over the next 50 days, Ennin acquired such techniques as rhythmically chanting the name of Amida Buddha and changing the intonation each repetition.

From 840 to 845 CE Ennin then studied at Ch'ang-an, learning more of Mikkyo, copying texts and mandalas, and being initiated by three different esoteric masters, going beyond the level that the recognised Japanese master and foremost expert Kukai had reached. In 845 CE Ennin, like many Chinese monks, suffered the persecution of anti-Buddhist emperor Wu-tsung, and he was compelled to return to Japan. This was easier said than done and it took two years, the death of Wu-tsung, and a general amnesty for him to finally find a ship that would make the voyage.

Continue reading...

[tanuki-kimono]

Hi! First off your blog is such an important resource for me in kimono patterns, thank you for keeping it! Secondly, a question. What patterns are associated with death? I know of spider lilies, and pure black kimono accessories for funeral wear, but otherwise not much else. I suspect that kind of pattern would be more of a novelty item print than an estabilished and used pattern.

Hi and thanks for your kinds words! Off the top of my head, they are several patterns associated with death, mostly linked to Buddhism.

Tbh, mourning attire for women are for me more an affair of colors (black/muted) and discreet not-celebratory patterns (it also depends of ones means). Novelty "death-themed"patterns are more and more present in modern kimono, yet you can also find "traditional" ones - even if they are on the rarer side.

Formal mourning garb, as you note, asks for mofuku (black kimono and obi with a few white accessories). Obi usually have very traditional woven ground patterns - for example ryuusui (running water) which kinda symbolize "the flow of life".

For the Buddhist anniversary of one's death and rememberance services, ladies would (when they can afford it) go from all black to half-mourning dress in muted colors like dull greys or ashen purple. For such occasions, you can find Buddhist patterns like sutra (Heart sutra especially), lotus flowers, gorintô (stylized stupa), etc.

More seasonal items could reference Buddhist Obon (festival of the dead) or Higan (more especially autumn equinox Shûbun), but such patterns for very specific events are on the rarer side, and more a matter of taste and style.

Patterns can include higanbana (spider lilies) for Higan, and for Obon: lanterns, cucumber or eggplant "spirit horse", hozuki (ground cherry), nod to Kyoto’s Daimonji kanji, or memento mori-themed motifs (like skeletons, nozarashi or graveplates).

As a step further into morbid imagery, another pattern which can sometimes be found, especially on men juban or haori lining, are decaying corpses (referencing Buddhist meditation on kusôzu or "nine stages of decay"). This was a subject in Japanese art, you can find an example here (cw: corpse depiction).

Hinting at Buddhist concept of impermanence and search for enlightment, Hell courtesan (jigoku dayû) with uchikake coats depicting hellish torments could also enter the death patterns category. Same goes for Buddhist hell imagery of Hell king Enma, or Hell guardians Gozu and Mezu (I believe I saw them on men juban/haori linings + on netsuke).

Finally, because we are talking of death, have a look at this super unsual and puzzling kimono depicting butsunehan (death of Buddha). Becky Mitsui's article is a wild ride xD

[obetrolncocktails]

Karma Sutra | Sam Kiszka x Reader | Part 2

Warnings: 18+ readers ONLY. Slut shaming, sexual objectification, frat culture, alcohol consumption, drug usage, mention of graphic injury, mention of death and grief, sexy piano-playing Sam, sexual tension, fluff.

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: Sam Kiszka. He's flirtatious, charming, and oh-so-sexy...Despite your initial reluctance and indifference to Sam, you find yourself strangely drawn to him after an encounter at a college frat party. Sam, having dealt a scandalous bet with his friends to seduce you without your knowledge, he engages in playful and casual banter which leaves you both surprised, leaving with new found and unexpected chemistry.

Listen while you read! | Karma Sutra Playlist

PART 1

Your ears rang as you stepped into the frat house. Abandoned Solo cups, beer bottles and cans lined almost every open surface. People had to scream at each other to be heard. “How are you not deaf?” You asked Sam at your side.

“What?” His eyes squinted and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you, his eyes tracing the movement of your lips. Nevermind, I spoke too soon. Sam bent closer to you, which suspended your breath immediately. You gulped.

“I said, how are you not deaf with all this noise?” He grinned, tracing his gaze from your eyes down to your lips and back up again. “Honey, I am in a band–this is nothing.” He chuckled, running his fingers through his hair, shaking his head left and right, dismissing your silly thought. It made sense. He probably didn’t notice how loud the party was because he’d already lost a good amount of his hearing anyway.

You waded through the house, weaving through a sea of drunken students. Entering the kitchen, there was an endless assortment of cheap liquor, wine and beer. “Now or never. White or brown?” Sam gestured to the bottles. “Don’t mix them. You’ll end up on someone’s bathroom floor before you know it.”

“I can handle my liquor, but thank you,” you replied with an edge in your voice, but he didn’t seem to care. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for an answer. “White–I’ll do some tequila.” He nodded his head with enthusiasm, grinning as he poured two shots for you and himself.

“That’s my girl!” Coming around the kitchen island, he handed you a miniature solo cup. “Cheers!” You decided to inquire, trying your best to flirt.

“What’s the occasion?” You asked. He cocked an eye your way.

“Just to new adventures, and no hangovers.”

You smiled, tapping your cup against his and again on the countertop before emptying it. “Cheers!” He easily knocked back the shot without exaggerated expression. You paused and watched him. “Y/n,” He points loosely at your full cup. “You’re supposed to drink it–that’s how alcohol works.” Rolling your eyes with a cheeky grin, you fired back.

“Really? I had no idea!” You threw the shot back in an attempt to impress him. Your eyes watered and your throat burned, but you steeled yourself. You forced your face to remain neutral.

“Wow, I am impressed–a woman who can take her liquor.” Sam took his plastic shot glass and aimed for the trash can at the other side of the island, but missed. “Shit–let me see yours.” handing out your empty cup, his fingers brushed against yours as he took it from you. This time, he made it directly in the can. Walking over, he bent and picked up the previous failed attempt, disposing of it as well.

“Ping pong?” You suddenly blurted, peering beyond the kitchen into the dining room which had been converted into a makeshift game room.

“Yeah–you play?” you nod.

“I do–well, I did. I kinda had an obsession with it freshman year of high school. My best friend had a pingpong table in her garage. We spent hours playing every day after school.” You turned to him with a shrug. “Let’s just say I’m a veteran.”

He placed his hands back in his pockets, leaning against the counter. “You couldn’t beat me, though. They call me The Master.” He bats his dark eyelashes in feigned innocence. You release a chuckle through your incredulity.

“Very creative, did your mom come up with that?” He grimaced at you before pushing himself off of the counter.

“Say what you want sweetheart, but I am cutthroat–and a pretty girl is no exception for a worthy opponent.” he lifted your chin with a curled pointer finger, beckoning your eyes to meet his. Your cheeks flamed, and every sinapse begged you to look away from him. Tilting your head back down with determination, you countered him.

“You’re on, Jackass.” Sam reached his hand out for you to take.

“Loser buys lunch.” Your heart fluttered. A date?

Shaking his hand, you simply answered with a nod, “lunch.”

The room was crowded with people, many of which were cheering on the players at the table. “Aye, Sam!” Christian came from around the table to embrace Sam.

“Hey man, what’s the score?” Sam absently reached up to stroke the stubble on his chin. You heard the repetitive din as ping pong balls and paddles collided, lulling you into dissociation as Sam and Christian conversed with one another.

“Eight to seven, close game,” Christian answers. “They are so crossfaded, I am surprised they are upright, let alone playing fucking ping-pong.” They laughed, watching the game progress.

“You know Y/n, right?” Sam gestured to you and back at his friend. Christian smiled at you, tipping his head in greeting as if he were wearing a hat.

“Friends with Paige Gilbert, right?” He asked. You nodded kindly.

“Yeah, we were roommates for a few years before I decided to move off campus. She’s my best friend.” A quiet moment passed before Sam cut through the awkwardness. Wrapping an arm around your shoulder, he continued. “So, Y/n challenged me to a game of ping pong and I told her she has no chance of winning.” Christian nodded and shook his finger, pointing at sam.

“He is a fucking animal. He plays dirty–Good luck. Make sure he doesn’t cheat–he’s good at that.” Sam’s face went ashen for a moment but he covered it immediately, clearing his throat. “Alright man, I’ma head out. Gotta be up at six for work.” Christian glanced back at you, offering you both a salute before winking at Sam and leaving the room. What was that? Sam sensed your confusion, watching you and clearing his throat again. The room suddenly erupted in cheers, catching both of you off-guard.

“Fuck yeah!” Todd slammed his paddle on the table before jumping up and down, knocking into other partygoers.

“Better luck next time buddy,” Sam mentioned to Ben, the unfortunate loser of the evening. Ben offered half of a smile to him before throwing a wadded up twenty on the table. “Don’t spend it on blow–” he retorted at Todd, making a display while wiping at his nose before chuckling.

“Like you wouldn’t join me if I did.” The pair parted ways, leaving the table open for another game.

“Well, Y/n, it’s been nice knowing you–prepare for annihilation. Red or blue?” Sam lifted both paddles at either side of his face for you to choose from.

“Blue, and you know these paddles don’t just work for hitting ping pong balls, right,” you said, grabbing the paddle and slicing it across your throat in the classic ‘throat slitting’ gesture, wearing a massive grin as you did so. You had to find a way to keep up with his cockiness somehow.

“Wow, Y/n, threatening physical violence–that’s really cruel.” The flirting tossed your insides like a game of squash. He possessed real skill in making you feel desirable and sexy.

“Alright, you two–first to ten wins the match. Heads or tails?” Ken asked Sam to start the game.

“Tails,” Sam answered. With a quick flip of the thumb, the coin spun through the air and landed, revealing the winning face.

“Tails. Opening serve goes to you, my man.” Ken Harding told Sam. He was the quarterback of the football team, who had been serving as referee for the night, albeit, a very bad one. Considering the lengths that players have gone to win tonight, you might as well have called him an emcee. Sam served the ball to you lightly, which you were appreciative of. You had no idea how the game was going to go–you hadn’t played in years. You smacked the ball back on his side, moving your body with its trajectory. With a deft flick of the wrist, he slammed the ball back to your side, bouncing it on the playing field. Before you could hit it back, it bounced behind the table, earning a deflated “Oh,” from the crowd surrounding the table. Your serve. Alright, Y/N, don’t fuck it up, you told yourself. With quick agility, you fired the ball to Sam’s side, making him work for the point. The ball rallied back and forth, hitting your paddles in quick succession. Ah, now I remember. You started taking risks with your play. Timing your paddle, you struck the ball forward across your boundary and into Sam’s side, forcing him to jump backward in order to hit it back. He missed and it sprang directly into the net.

“POINT!” Ken bellowed, throwing a signifying arm in your direction. You threw up a fake gun, blowing the smoke from the barrel.

“Very cute, I’ll give you that.” Sam spun his paddle in his hand, waiting for your serve.

“What can I say? it comes naturally.” Sam nodded in agreement, pointing the paddle at you.

“You trying to beat me at my own game? I’m the one with the God complex, love.” Shaking your head, you served the ball to him, catching him off guard. Impressing you, he caught the rhythm with a fast reflex, knocking it back, sending the ball rallying once more.

Just as you prepared to score again, a collective gasp echoed throughout the house causing you to fumble your next return. Heads turned towards the front end of the house as the music shut off, leaving your ears ringing.

“What’s happening?” You asked Sam, who looked just as equally confused. He came around the table, grasping your hand and squeezing.

“I have no idea, but don’t go anywhere. I will be right back.” You nodded as you watched Sam wade through the crowd, finding the head of the frat.

“Damien–Damien, what’s happening?” Sam approached him through the crowd.

“Someone took too much acid, tried to jump into the pool from the roof, and fell on their head. Police and ambulances are on the way now.” Sam’s expression intensified, his eyes widening.

Thanking Damien quickly, he rushed back through the panicked mass of people to find you. Taking your hand without a moment to explain, he pulled you out of the room and through the house toward the entrance.

“Sam,” you attempted, but he made no attempt to stop or listen. “Sam! Where are we going? What is happening?” He stormed through the crowd, shouting, “Move!” He elbowed his way through the room, shoving people left and right as he dragged you along. Within a few moments, you both arrived on the diamond-shaped lawn outside. You rubbed at your sore wrist as he released his grip from you.

“What the fuck, Sam? What’s Happening?” He threw an anxious hand through his hair.

“Someone got hurt –they just jumped off of the roof and landed on the pavement. They tripped on acid. From this house.” Sam pointed to the earth below you. “It’s not safe here. The police are on their way as we speak.” You gulped and nodded, feeling your gut swell with adrenaline. “Did you drive?” You shook your head.

“I got an Uber–I can order another–” He cut you off immediately.

“No. Let me drive you home.” You attempted to protest.

“Really, Sam. It’s no big deal. I’ll get home safe.” You tried to fight the nagging feeling of wanting him to care for you, but you forced yourself to believe that it was all temporary, fleeting fun. A moment.

“Y/n. Please. Let me.” He took your hand with a glimpse of tenderness that you had never seen from him. You nodded reluctantly, squeezing his hand slightly. He offered a thin smile, bringing you close to him as you walked together.

The night was frigid and you both found your lips and teeth chattering against the cold wind. Finding his car quickly, he jogged around to open your door for you. You couldn’t help but laugh as you lowered yourself into the Tesla. “What’s so funny?” he asked, closing his door and starting the engine.

“Your nipples are probably hard as a rock and you still open my door for me?” He eyed you with a sly grin.

“Mama didn’t raise a complete asshole.”

“Sam ‘Cocky’ Kiszka. That’s your reputation.” He placed a hand behind your headrest as he peered behind you to back out of the tight space.

“A reputation doesn’t always accurately reflect someone’s character, Y/n. You should know that.” He emphasized the word ‘you,’ which almost seemed accusatory.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You snapped back at him, turning your body towards him as he drove.

He shrugged. “People think you’re quiet. Inexperienced. Sheltered. That you don’t have a personality.” His eyes found yours in short glances before turning his attention back to the road ahead. “But you’re fiery and opinionated. Strong. I like that.” Your cheeks flamed from feeling so exposed. The silence in the car became overwhelming as you realized that no music was playing.

Music was your comfort blanket; It was always there for you in times when you couldn’t find an avenue to express yourself. In many ways, there was unconditional love between yourself and music. It never demanded more from you than it gave, and you could find exactly what you needed from it without judgment or concern. “What are you thinking about?” Sam cut through the silence as he drove. You turned to him, debating on whether you should be honest.

“Music.” You said simply, meeting his gaze.

“What about? Did you wanna play something?” Shit. I am going to sound pathetic. “Oh, no, I was just thinking that the silence feels strange. I never drive without music playing.” He smiled over the steering wheel as he approached a red light.

“Katy Perry? Ariana Grande? Oooh, T-Swift?” You scoffed and rolled your eyes playfully. “I would rather let you pour molten steel into my ears.” He flashed you a toothy grin.

“Ouch, sounds very painful.” He handed you his phone. “Let’s listen, then. Play something.” Suddenly, the hand of insecurity stole your smile. You didn’t share your music with others very often; you didn’t listen to popular music. You listened to what spoke to you, and you knew he’d have thoughts about it.

“Don’t judge,” You said as you scrolled through his Spotify account, typing in your information through the search bar, finding your go-to playlist. You pressed the shuffle button, landing on Sam Cooke’s “Bring It On Home to Me.” You considered skipping it, but it was one of your favorites, so you decided to listen anyway. Looking up, you saw Sam tapping the rhythm against the steering wheel, beginning the song.

“If you ever change your mind, about leavin’, leavin’ me behind, oh bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin’, bring it on home to me.” He sang the words quietly with a warm smile, glancing over to meet your gaze. “Sam Cooke- one of my all-time favorites. How did you know?” His eyes were kind, easing your worry.

“Growing up, my dad used to sing this song around the house on Saturday mornings when he would make breakfast for my family. It makes me feel closer to him.” You smiled in remembrance of him using a mop pole as a makeshift microphone, swinging back and forth as bacon popped and sizzled in the pan. “Dad, you’re going to burn the bacon!” You shouted between giggles, watching the personal show from the breakfast nook at the back of the kitchen. You suddenly ached for him, wishing for one more burnt piece of bacon and one more morning filled with his music. You noticed Sam’s expression intensifying, not sure what to say. “My dad passed away six years ago–sudden heart attack.” His expression softened as he reached over to grab your hand as he drove.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I had no idea.” You offered him a light smile, shaking your head.

“It’s okay–I don’t talk about it very often, so I listen to his music instead.” He nodded, reaching up to flip his hair back–a habit of his that was becoming somewhat comforting to you. You let the song play out gently, the sound of the highway lulling the moment somewhat.

“Can I show you something?” He asked, his glassy eyes meeting yours for an answer. The two of you had been driving aimlessly for a while, driving down the main strip of town away from school.

“Of course.” John Denver’s “Annie’s song” began to play softly. The melody that you knew so well always found its way back to you, comforting you.

“And Denver? Where have you been all of my life, Y/n?” Sam chuckled, swaying to the lilting melody. You chuckled as he asked.

“Listening to good music, I guess. I’m a rare individual–I’m different.” You spent time leaking sarcasm through your words. A grin too wide for your face spread, causing your cheeks to cramp.

Fuck-I could kiss her. She’s beautiful. Sam struggled to keep his eyes on the road, lost in his own thoughts. You couldn’t help but steal glances at his features, spending perhaps a bit too long admiring the softness of his lips. Street lamps sliced beams through the windshield in natural rhythm as he drove. You pressed your head against your window, feeling the chill prickle your skin with goosebumps. Your eyes began to loll closed as “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor started to play.

A few minutes later, you felt Sam’s hand softly nudging you awake. “Hey sleepy head, we’re here.” You straightened in your seat, finding yourself in a dark parking lot. There were many darkened shops, all closed for the evening.

“Sam, where are we?” He turned off the car’s ignition and turned to you in his seat.

“You’ll see. Come on.” He found his way back to your side, opening your door.

“You’re not gonna murder me and leave me in a dumpster somewhere, are you?” In truth, you were a little concerned; there was virtually no light in this parking lot.

“On the first night I really got to know you? Come on, I’d wait until at least the second date. I’m not a sleaze.” You snorted, stepping out of the car and shutting the door. He held out his hand for you to take. “You’re safe. I work here in exchange for practice time.” You had no idea what he was talking about, but you walked with him anyway, enjoying the way your fingers laced together so naturally with his. You made your way to one of the glass storefronts. You tried your best to look inside, but the darkness obscured what was behind the glass. Sam dropped his hand from yours to reach into his pocket for his keys. Unlocking the door, he held it open for you to enter, a collection of bells tinkling above your heads. His fingers drifted upward to the lightswitch on the wall to his left. It was obvious that he had memorized its placement because he didn't need to see it to find it. You squinted as the room blinded you with incandescent overhead lighting, revealing the contents of the store. Pianos. Dozens of them of all age, size and color. Sam tilted his head down, eyes fixed on yours as you took in the sight. “Welcome to possibly my favorite place on Earth.” He paused for a long moment as you both scanned the room. “My boss lets me use this place to practice as a trade off for pulling extra hours during the week.” You nodded and took a few steps further into the room, its vastness spanning further and further. An enormous record collection lined the walls, stacked within towering milk crates that seemed to wrap along every open space around the perimeter of the store. “When I need time away, I come here.” He pointed to a large mahogany Steinway & Sons piano that sat in the middle of the room. “This one is my favorite to play. Made in 1914.” The piano was remarkable; it was the centerpiece of the store, beckoning musicians of all kinds to play. You enjoyed the way Sam spoke about his art, and though you had never heard him play, you were fully invested.

“Sam, this place is amazing. How do you not live here?” His cheeks blushed slightly as he listened to you speak.

“You’d be surprised. I am here more often than I’m at home. I’m amazed there aren’t ass marks worn into that piano bench.” You grinned, and watched the same expression snake across his lips. He took your hand softly. “Come, let me see if I can pull something out of my ass.”

You took his lead, approaching the piano before taking a seat beside him. “I’m sure anything you play will sound better than anything I could. I could do a kick ass rendition of “Mary Had A little Lamb,” though. I’m not sure you’re ready for that type of humbling.” You couldn’t help but grin so large that your cheeks hurt. Sam placed his hand on your thigh, leaning into you.

“You could play anything for me and I’d still tell you that it was the best thing I had ever heard.” His smile melted you like you had sworn it wouldn’t, cracking at the guarded exterior that you wore so well. “Anyway, here’s a little something that I am working on.” You dropped your hands into your lap, preparing to listen.

Sam took a moment to close his eyes, centering himself upon the keys. He began to play, fingers flying gracefully across the instrument. He was so focused and diligent that you couldn’t help but feel hypnotized by his expression; he was lost within the music, possibly even forgetting that you were sitting next to him. The piano was his true lover; he treated each note with respect and dignity, caressing each key with care and importance. His eyebrows rose and lowered with the swell of the music, carrying him into the thin boundary between simply sitting at the piano beside you and hovering somewhere else, a place that transcended time, worry or circumstance. For reasons you couldn’t understand, a lump sprung in your throat and your eyes began to burn with overwhelming emotion. Get it together, what is wrong with you?

You had decided then and there that you wanted him to see you in that same way; to desire you, to want you the way he wanted music, because in truth, you wanted him that way. His eyebrows furrowed together and his mouth opened slightly as he played. His features pulled taut, his expression pinched and tilted with ecstasy, which sent flames lapping upon your neck and cheeks while you watched. You averted your gaze, the embarrassment of your inner thoughts becoming far too loud for only you to possibly be able to hear. His innate passion consumed you with desire, clouding the simplicity of the moment; he was just playing a song. That’s all. But it wasn’t. Not in the slightest.

Eventually, he opened his eyes, softly concluding the melody with a delicate, virtuosic flourish. Lifting his gaze back to you, he noticed the stupefied expression plastered on your face. He brought his hands back to his lap, letting the silence linger in the room as his cheeks pinkened. “Um, that was something I guess.” He brought a hand up to nervously fluff his hair, a mannerism you had become familiar with. Your eyes trained on the rose-plushness of his lips, struggling to meet his gaze. You were silent for a long moment.

“That was…so special, Sam. Really, Thank you.”

He nodded, smiling. “Y/n, when are you going to call me Sammy?” You paused, caught off guard by the question.

“Well, you haven’t really given me a reason to.” You shrugged casually as you responded, noticing as the smile on his face fell into something more contemplative and anxious.

His glassy eyes traced the pink of your lips, his teeth nibbling at the corners of his mouth before he raised his attention back to your eyes. The mutual desire for each other was palpable and there were no words to speak. In the silence, only one unanswered question lingered; one that could only be answered by his touch. You were drawn together, wordlessly providing that achingly-obvious answer. You closed your eyes and felt Sam’s warm breath against your face as his lips skimmed yours with ponderous reluctance, a surprise to you. You nodded slightly in consent and dissolved into his kiss, your thoughts silently scattering the word ‘yes’ over and over. Parting your lips, you let him wash over you completely. He tasted of sweet tobacco and tequila; his hot breath swirled upon your skin, consuming you with desire. The roughness of his beard rubbed against your chin and cheeks, destined to leave proof of his touch. He brought you closer, his fingers guiding your chin up to his, silently pleading for you to pursue him just the same. Your head curved with his in a languid dance, searching and finding each other each time. Unfurling yourself within the kiss, you released all reluctance into the warmth of his embrace.

Leaning further into him, you laced your arms around his neck, combing his dark waves between your fingertips. He reciprocated without hesitance, pulling you closer, looping one of your legs over his body so that you were sitting in his lap. His hands made their way to your face, his thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks as his gaze washed over you. The silence of the room transformed, replaced with frenzied senses, leaving you only able to process the feeling of Sam’s touch, and the overwhelming sexual instinct blooming deep in your core. He seemed to search for something within your kiss; a place to inhabit, a secret to know, a promise for more. He parted from the kiss, leaving you stunned and breathless. He rested his forehead against yours, still so close in the embrace, and whispered with a simple smile, “Hi, my name is Sammy. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He traced a thumb against the softness of your smile.

“Well, Sammy. You’re a very good kisser.” He chuckled warmly, leaning in to kiss you once more, sealing the moment.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

—

End of Part 2.

Taglist: Taglist: @gold-mines-melting @itsafullmoon @gracev0609 @dilflover-4ever @fleetingjake @savannhuh @jazzyfigz @ashisill @wetkleenex-gvf @ageofwagner @lipstickitty @muffin-heads @stanfordpinesmarryme @i-choose-the-road @dannythedog @lizzielbr @mar-rein12 @weneedsomehealing123 @feelslikejakey @watchingover-hypegirl @peaceloveunitygvf @jjwasneverhere @goodpointsandbadpoints @freefallthoughts @thesadiebee @wagnerbrainrot @madneedshelp @lynchgrippers @ameliakenzie @starcatcher-jake @tripthelightfatality @brooke-so-done @lizzielbr @jenniferkiszka @spacerose747

[lostmyremembrall]

NSFW & SFW HC for Amit Thakkar

Photo by Rezoeline on twitter

As an Ominis enjoyer and Sallow Worshipper, I adore them to death. But let me explain why Amit is so perfect for MC

SFW

The only character who doesn't ask anything of MC

Actually, in-game he only GIVES to MC.

The telescope. Assistance with Gobbledegook.

He’s devoted to MC.

Will literally do anything for MC.

He is bitter he can't protect MC like Sebastian

So he will find other ways to help

He will take care of MC's wounds when they come back to Hogwarts

Becomes an insomniac ever since meeting MC, due to his anxiety for their safety

A hopeless romantic

Love letters, roses and expensive gifts

His affluent background means he thinks it's NORMAL to spend galleons on you

Will always await MC's return with open arms

Inside his arms is the only time MC can escape from everything terrible about their life

As MC gets dragged further into dark magic because of Sebastian,

Amit will be there to bring them back to the light.

When MC feels like they're surrounded by enemies,

he will show that compassion still exists

When MC grows desperate, and is willing to do anything to protect their friends like use the unforgivables,

Amit will be the grounding figure, leading MC with his strong moral fibre.

He shows that there are ways to care and protect your loved ones without becoming a dark wizard

Literally, Amit is the Sun to MC.

Amit’s smile is so bright, so unbroken and untouched by the cruelty of the world

(Sorry Sebastian, Ominis, Natty, Poppy but we all see your pained smile)

MC will do anything to stay in his innocent world

Amit will shed light on the darkest corners of MC's broken heart.

And bring them back to the light whatever the cost.

Amit will compare MC to his moon.

He says MC "outshines every star in the night sky."

As much as MC outshines everyone, a moon cannot shine without a star.

He is in disbelief that he gets to have something so special all for himself.

And he will always remember that as he treats you with utmost love and adoration.

He will treat you like a literal star, plucked from the night sky that he gets to keep for himself.

NSFW

He IS possessive and a soft dom.

MC thought he was just a shy boy who needs to be led at all times.

But my god MC was mistaken. He was just raised very strictly to treat women with utmost respect and gentleness,

So he's learned to restrain any of his urges.

He was hesitant at first to display any desires for fear of scaring off MC or being rude.

Displays the amazing self-control that he was raised to have at all times.

He may be inexperienced and shy at first.

But once he gets comfortable, and learns that it’s okay to want MC, he will unleash everything.

His curious Ravenclaw ass wants to study MC.

MC's every moan. What works for them. What doesn't.

Everything is about MC.

He will go down on MC until they're shaking underneath him.

Smiling softly down at them as they have their fourth orgasm.

When MC starts to beg they can't take it anymore, Amit will tilt his head.

And gives the most charming smile as he asks "Your body seems to be begging otherwise,"

As he glances down at MC's core still pulling him in.

Studies everything about sex to please MC.

Reads up on Kama Sutra as he furiously blushes and tries to hide behind the pages.

Will literally train himself to last longer and come back quicker for round 2 and 3 so he can give MC the pleasure they deserve

---

There WILL be other guys who underestimate Amit and approach MC.

Sebastian offering his scarf to MC because it's cold.

Amit will somehow always find MC in dicey situations and intervene before things escalate.

"Thank you, Sebastian,"

Amit will smile, but his eyes are narrowed into threatening slits.

"But I can take care of MC just fine.”

Rest assured, he would later be taking MC in the Room of Requirement in a domineering display of possessiveness.

His favourite position is missionary.

Snaking his fingers with MC’s as he whispers how adorable MC looks underneath him

His favourite part is seeing a side of MC nobody else has seen before.

The fact that he gets to have their moans, their euphoric expressions, their incoherent babble all to himself

It ignites something he's never felt before

On particularly stressful days, when MC gets distracted by anxious thoughts about exams, ancient magic, etc.,

Amit will pound even faster, deeper, and rougher until MC can't think of anything but him

He pouts, "I want you to be thinking about just me."

He'll smile contently when MC begins to mutter his name like a mantra, knowing they're close.

Making MC come and forget everything is a massive ego-boost for him.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk. Based on the fic 太陽と月, which has thrusted me fully into Amit phase.

[thefinalcinderella]

Tsurune Book 3 Chapter 5 - Declaration (Part 1)

whoa it's been more than a month since i posted here

anyways masamina fans come get ur food

Glossary here

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

The original Japanese is "生者必滅、会者定離", which contains the characters for kai and hanare

These are all traditional Japanese wind instruments

Takamagahara is the home of the gods in Shintoism

An imina is the real name of a noble or deceased person

Previous | Next

The light rain was falling onto their kyudo raincoats.

Minato and Shuu were visiting the kyudojo where Saionji had taught them when they were young. It was the perfect place for intensive training as they could avoid the public eye. But something unexpected happened.

“Please let us join the Saionji school,” the twins Senichi and Manji said.

“I as well. I would very much like to learn from the master of the Saionji school of kyudo,” Seiya said after them.

Saionji’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Oh my, you are all being very dramatic, aren’t you? I don’t have such a sign put up, though. Do you have the approval of your current teachers?”

“Yes, there is no problem.” “Please let us become your disciples.” “Please.” The three refused to budge, their heads bowed. Saionji laughed aloud as he looked at the three round heads lined up.

“I’m not taking any disciples, but let us draw our bows together. It’s a pleasure to have more companions. I welcome you all.”

Seiya bowed deeply, and Senichi and Manji pumped their fists.

First, they swept, sang prayers, read sutras, meditated for three minutes, and did warm-up exercises. Then, Saionji told them to do these things at home next time.

“It has been a long time since I’ve held a bow in front of people, but Fujiwara-kun asked me to do it, so I had no choice but to accept it. Please watch my shooting.”

Saionji went before the targets with four arrows. He raised his bow up high. His eyes were half-closed, similar to the Buddha’s meditative state. The genuine article couldn’t hide his brilliance even when he became old. The rain hid the scenery that should have been visible, even erasing the sounds of people that should have been audible.

The drawn bow overflowed with joy and begged him not to let go yet. The kyudo terms “kai” and “hanare” came from the Last Teaching of the Buddha, “Death is the doom of every living thing, those who meet must part.” (1) The truth that no one could overturn, and a proud statement of will by the archer who accepted his mortality but never stopped walking. The bow and archer were together until the very end.

When the arrow landed at twelve o’clock, just before the target frame, Senichi and Manji let out cries of admiration.

The second arrow landed at six o’clock, also right before the target frame.

The third shot hit the target at nine o’clock, near the target frame once again. At this point, Seiya’s body was trembling. “N-No way,” Senichi and Manji muttered. Shuu and Minato were silent.

For the last shot, Saionji hit the target at three o’clock, the arrow just grazing the target frame.

Minato went to collect the arrows. Meanwhile, Senichi and Manji were still extremely excited.

“It’s difficult just to hit the target, but to hit the target in different directions!? That’s superhuman!”

Unusually, Shuu showed emotion on his face. That was no wonder, since his master granted his disciple’s wish. He was intoxicated with this greatest luxury.

“Aim at the target without aiming, while having the skill to hit the spots he’s aiming at. After personifying a hundred shots, he aims for even higher peaks. Awa-hanshi from Zen in the Art of Archery was able to do the same thing, apparently. I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to be in this miraculous place.”

“As expected of Shuu’s master. I got goosebumps.”

“It feels like a legend becoming truth, and truth becoming myth.”

Senichi and Manji were speaking enthusiastically, but Seiya felt something like despair.

“I’ve heard about it, but when I actually see it with my own eyes, it just makes me realize how weak I am. No matter how much I practice, I don’t think I’ll ever reach that level.”

When Minato returned from arrow collecting, the five of them sat in front of Saionji.

“My earlier shots are improper, so please don’t copy them. The way of the bow is about perfecting one’s personality and uniting with nature. It is not about hitting a target with arrows. It would be difficult to suddenly free your mind from obstructive thoughts, so the first step is to visualize good form. Believe in yourself and love yourself wholly even if you are hopeless. Then verbalize ‘I can do it’ and fix that into your brain. Your brain will faithfully respond to your words and send commands to each part of your body. If you change your thinking, your body will also change.”

Shuu added, “This is an easy-to-understand example of the placebo effect. If you take a simple nutritional supplement after hearing that it’s ‘medicine,’ your symptoms would recover or be alleviated. It has been medically proven that the expectation or pleasure of a drug activates the part of the brain that boosts the immune system.”

“That’s right. And if we go one step further and follow the voice of our inner soul rather than the voice of our brain, the powers we have as living beings will begin to function. Saying ‘keep at it’ with your heart even when your body is tired will only create an estrangement. Your soul should be telling you that it wants to rest.”

“So, you’re saying that the words uttered by the body, mind, and soul should be the same.”

“We are immature creatures who have not yet matured as humans. It could also be interpreted as saying that we still have room to grow. When we learn to listen to the voices of our inner souls, good situations naturally follow.”

Then, they let out yagoe.

As soon as they released their arrows, they let out a powerful “Yah!”

Minato and Shuu roared without hesitation. It was a lion’s roar. In the other martial arts kendo and judo, one shouted kiai, but this technique had somehow disappeared in kyudo. Seiya, unused to it, was reserved, but Senichi and Manji shouted without hesitation.

“Whoa, this actually feels good.”

Saionji observed everyone’s shooting forms.

“Keep stretching, keep stretching. Yes, that’s perfect.”

“When you reach daisan, your right elbow will remain tense. At kai, the bow hand and sword hand twist, as though wringing a rag.”

They also practiced stretching out their arms and lightly gripping the pillars, then twist their elbows without moving their hands.

After finishing two hours of practice, Minato took out his bento box.

There was takoyaki inside.

“There might not be enough since it was intended for three people. Shuu is around here.”///

Senichi and Manji were glued to Shuu.

“It’s kinda refreshing to see Shuu eating takoyaki in his kyudo clothes.”

“Sen, Man, if you’re not going to eat them, then I’ll have them.”

“Hey, wait, we’re eating them! What, this is really good.”

“They seem to contain the Narumiya family’s secret ingredients.”

“No wonder Shuu loves takoyaki.”

Senichi and Manji devoured them in no time, and Shuu, who was trying to enjoy them thoroughly, stared at the empty bento box.

When they were about to head home, Saionji stopped Minato and Shuu, and asked Seiya, Senichi, and Manji to return home first.

The rain had stopped before they knew it.

The azaleas withstood the weight of their wet petals.

On the scarred floor of the dojo, the long shadows of one man and two boys faced each other.

The sun tilted to the west, dyeing the horizon red, and the sky became a river of deep blue and madder. Purple-tinged clouds dyed by two-colored light flowed slowly along the river. The clouds constantly changed their expressions as they drifted, never remaining in the same shape. Everything returned to the mother sea.

The setting sun gave off its last rays behind Saionji’s shoulders.

“The statute of limitations has already expired. I was hiding something from both of you. In actuality, I told Narumiya-kun’s mother that he was drawing a bow under my tutelage. After the accident, Fujiwara-kun was saddened by the fact that he wasn’t informed of anything. It was a foolish act on my part. I apologize.”

Shuu was ashamed.

“Since Saionji-sensei didn’t say anything, I thought that there must have been some sort of deep reason behind it. I also knew that it wasn’t as though Minato had suddenly lost interest in kyudo.”

Saionji looked into Minato’s eyes and continued.

“Narumiya-kun’s mother once watched a match that you and Fujiwara-kun were in. She told me that she cheered for you both. The promise that you made with your mother has already been fulfilled. Please be rest assured.”

“…Yes, thank you.”

Shuu put his hand on Minato’s shoulder. A faint vibration was felt.

“I guess it was bad of me to keep things a secret… After the accident, I distanced myself from the kyudojo and didn’t contact anyone. Because of that, I made Shuu worry as well. I’m sorry, Shuu.”

“I understand, there’s no problem. I’m glad that your mom was able to watch your shooting.”

He responded by lightly patting Shuu’s hand on his shoulder. Afterwards, something spilled over and wetted his hakama.

Around that time, Kuon, a first-year from Kirisaki, was stretching his legs on a chair. He was watching the footage of the yabusame competition that took place the other day on his phone.

“Fujiwara-senpai, how beautiful you are. In comparisons, how impudent that commoner is!”

On the screen was Minato answering interview questions. Kuon tossed his phone onto the side chair and grabbed several pages of documents.

This was the report from the detective agency.

“Narumiya Minato, born on December 21. Graduated from Kotonoha Elementary School, graduated from Kirisaki Middle School, has a medical history… What, he has such an obvious weakness? This might be useful.”

Kuon uncrossed his legs and stood up. He called for a maid.

“Give this detective his completion bonus. Also, tell him that there are additional requests. The others are incompetent, so keep them out of my sight.”

“Yes, sir.”

When the maid left, the corner of Kuon’s mouth raised.

The sound of a flute resounded through Yata Shrine.

Gagaku music was being performed to the members of the Kazemai kyudo club, who were gathered in the front shrine. Minato and the others, sitting in seiza, waited impatiently for the moment when the performance would begin.

Gagaku was a form of Japanese classical music, and was a unique art that combines traditional Japanese music and dance with music introduced from the continent. It boasted a history of more than 1,200 years, and many people might have heard it at hatsumode or Shinto wedding ceremonies.

The performers were Masa-san, Ren, and Masa-san’s mother. Masa-san’s mother was in charge of the main melody and played the hichiriki, Masa-san played the shou, and Ren played the ryuuteki. (2) They were all made from bamboo. The hichiriki, shou, and ryuuteki were called the “three pipes,” and the taiko, kakko, and shouko were called the “three drums.” The wagon and biwa were also included at times.

The shou represented the sound of heaven, the light that shined from heaven. The ryuuteki was the sound of the sky, the cry of a dragon that rushed between heaven and earth freely. The hichiriki was said to express the sounds of the earth and the voices of the people, and it was believed that by playing these instruments together, it was possible to create the universe.

“I’ve heard that Western music adopts the rhythm of the heartbeat, and Japanese classical music adopts the rhythm of breathing,” Keyaki whispered to Kanbayashi.

“It’s truly elegant music. It sounds like the divine voice of heaven, or the voice of the sobbing dead.”

Ryouhei and Nanao also joined the conversation.

“It’s not the dead, it’s a cute dragon. Pyuu, hyororororo.”

“That’s the sound of a water whistle. Isn’t it more like fuaan, kyuu, bobobobobobo?”

A shadow descended over Kaito’s face.

“You guys talk too much. Shut up and listen.”

The three girls decided not to listen to the boys’ innocent conversations.

After the performance was finished, Minato ran to the performers.

“Masa-san, may I ask you a question?”

“Is it about the priesthood stuff from the other day?”

“No, that’s not it. A long time ago, I read an explanation book on the ‘Heart Sutra’ after Saionji-sensei told me that I didn’t study hard enough, but there’s a part that I was confused about.”

In Buddhism, there were the “six sense organs,” the “six objective fields of the senses,” and the “six consciousnesses.” All together, they were called the “eighteen components of perception.”

The “six sense organs” were the sense organs humans were equipped with—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind.

The “six objective fields of the senses” were the objects of perception—color, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental presentation.

 The “six consciousnesses” were the perception that arose from the six sense organs perceiving the six objective fields of the senses—seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching, and reasoning.

“The Buddha gave words to the materials and phenomena of this world, classifying them in detail. He also taught that we should abandon our obsessions. But the Heart Sutra says that the organ called the ‘eye’ perceived ‘color’ and perceived it as ‘beautiful.’ So, it’s saying that all of this is just an illusion, right?”

“Yeah, that’s probably the most common interpretation.”

“I also found it strange that the sixth of the six sense organs was translated as ‘mind.’ The others are names of parts of the body, so why is the sixth one different?”

“I can’t answer that right away due to my lack of study, but I think that what the Heart Sutra was trying to convey wasn’t so much the first half, the empty mind, but the second half. If I were the writer, I would put the important points in the conclusion.”

“The ending is an incantation, right? ‘Let’s all chant it together,’ like that. I thought the theme of the Heart Sutra was to learn the truth and wisdom of the universe, wasn’t it?”

“If you cannot attain enlightenment unless you give up earthly desires, then most people would be unable to reach this state. Because wanting to save people is also greed. Heaven wouldn’t give to man useless things. Kukai taught that the desire for food, sleep, excretion, and sex, are all of the status of a Buddha. If the desire to eat and sleep disappear, the survival of living beings is in danger. The Buddhist teaching to abandon greed means ‘do not covet, do not go too far.’”

Ren, who was listening nearby, laughed lightly.

“Archers have to learn Buddhism too? Sounds busy. Sorry to interrupt, but I think it’s time to call it a night. Masaki, you have another errand to do, don’t you?”

“Yeah, got it. Sorry, Minato, next time.”

Masa-san hurriedly left the scene. The other members were also preparing to go home. Minato realized that he was the only one left behind and was about to follow everyone else.

Suddenly, he felt something like an electric current near his shoulder blade. He turned around and saw Ren with one finger outstretched.

“You’re a sensitive person, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

“I just put my fingers on your back and sent some qi. Is your sensitivity hereditary? Does it run in your family? Actually, Masaki is also sensitive, even more so than me. He can see and hear all sorts of things. Minato-kun, what is the color of the outside lights of Yata Shrine to you?”

“It’s usually rainbow-colored. I’d say the purple is deeper.”

“To most people, myself included, it only looks white or yellowish. You may be one of those people who don’t realize they have a strong connection to the gods, or in other words, nature. Since both of you are spiritually inclined, you should ask a lot of questions now. That guy may not be back for a while. And I don’t know if he’ll continue coaching at Kazemai.”

“…What?”

“It seems that he found something he couldn’t catch if he didn’t chase it now. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold him back.”

“What do you mean, you can’t hold him back?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Ren took off his eboshi hat and put it on Minato’s head, then turned on his heel.

As always, Ren did nothing but tease and didn’t talk about the important parts. To only drop hints and not inform him of anything was too malicious if he was doing this while knowing that it would cause him a lot of stress. It would be fine if it was good news, but that would transform into anger if it was a rejection email.

The sound of the gagaku music lingered in his ears, and the scar on his left side started to itch.

Minato stood there, holding the hat.

One Sunday, Minato was riding his bike.

He was taking a short trip to town to go shopping. He was buying daily necessities for the summer.

The wind caressing his neck felt comfortable. The sky was blue with rising clouds. Flowers were in full bloom in the gardens of the houses he passed, and he saw two cats sleeping snuggled together. A dragonfly was flying parallel to Minato’s speed, but he wondered how far it would follow.

After passing through the crowd, he parked his bike in front of a store. It was a casual clothing store. While looking at the suggestions for coordinated outfits, he proceeded to the department he was here for.

On the way there, someone called out his name.

“Minato?”

“Masa-san.”

“I saw a bike similar to yours in front of the store, but I didn’t think you would really be here. You came all the way here by bike? I thought your house is a long way from here.”

“I also just wanted to ride my bike. There’s a hole in my jeans. Which one do you think is better?”

“Let’s see, you look good in the classic indigo blue, straight-leg style. For the upcoming season, chino shorts would also look good.”

The two looked around the store. They separated for a while and then promised to meet up again at the exit.

Masa-san handed Minato a package.

“If you want, you can take this guy home too. I think it’ll go well with the jeans from earlier.”

“Huh? Oh, t-thanks. Um, actually, I also…”

Minato also held out a gift-wrapped package containing clothes. It was the exact same wrapping, only the color of the ribbon was different. Both people were momentarily speechless.

“We ended up exchanging gifts.”

“Haha, that’s right.”

“Thank you, I’ll try it on as soon as I get home. I’ve also bought some other stuff, so I’ll give them to the other Kazemai members tomorrow. Minato, are you free right now? You can come and pick up the book I was telling you about.”

“Oh, the book that wasn’t for sale.”

Masa-san had come by car, so they loaded Minato’s bike into the car, and Minato sat in the passenger seat. After a while, they arrived at the parking lot of a two-story apartment building. Masa-san’s apartment was a one-bedroom apartment, and it was built not long ago. When Minato first visited, he imagined that Masa-san was living in a four-and-a-half tatami room that was built over thirty years ago. “What kind of image do you have of me?” Masa-san had lamented. There were ornamental plants by the window, Scandinavian-patterned cushions on the couch, and a Shinto altar enshrined on the wall, as expected of a priest. Everything was neat and tidy, but Minato noticed a prescription bag in the corner of the kitchen. What was more, there was something sitting there that didn’t fit the season at all.

“Masa-san, the kotatsu…shouldn’t you be putting that away soon?”

“I was too lazy to clean the kotatsu futon, so I just left it there.”

Masa-san opened the closet and took out three cardboard boxes. He spread his arms out towards them, which looked heavy.

“Search to your heart’s content.”

“Were you tired of searching? Is that why you called me here? That’s what I thought. You’re so lazy.”

He found the book he was looking for when the box was almost empty. After putting it on the table, Minato and Masa-san sat down at the kotatsu facing each other. Their feet were touching, and they both laughed.

Minato was searching for a book titled The Archery Saint Awa Kenzou—The Representative of Heaven, Earth, and Nature by Sakurai Yasunosuke. It was published to commemorate the 120th anniversary of Awa Kenzou’s birth, so it was thick and heavy.

Masa-san slid his long fingertips over the cover, as though caressing something dear.

“Awa-hanshi’s words are difficult to understand unless you have a background in Buddhism, Shinto, or Confucianism, but this book explains the ‘path of shooting’ in detail. Beyond a hundred shots and hundred hits, there are the ‘one shot and expire’ and ‘shari misei.’ Shari misei refers to the inherent manifestation of someone’s inherent Buddha nature or divinity through archery. It involves letting go of negative emotions such as worry and anger, and it emphasizes dantian breathing. He even said that ‘Takamagahara is inside people’s stomachs.’” (3)

“Saionji-sensei told me once to listen to the voice in my stomach, not head. ‘One shot and expire’ is the teaching of ‘you died with a single shot. Now, become a newborn baby.’ So, I wonder if shari misei is growing even further from a baby.”

“In fact, the hundred shot-hundred hit level is the lowest of the five stages called ‘shakai,’ and it’s still at the entry level of ‘learning shooting.’ However, Awa-hanshi says that even if you don’t hit a hundred shots, you can still reach the realm of one shot and expire and shari misei. He also taught kyudo at high schools, and it’s said that he loved young people very much. When his disciples shoot with all their might, he would embrace them and cry with joy.”

“I’ll take my time to read it. …Um, Masa-san, Ren-san said something recently…”

“Did he say something again?”

“Um, something about your eyes.”

“Oh, my eyes are fine. Because I’m living in a place surrounded by so much greenery.”

“That’s right. I also grew up in the mountains.”

It was weird to forcefully ask someone about something they were keeping secret. Nothing was clear yet, so he was sure Masa-san would tell him if it was true.

Minato was about to return the book to where it was before and found another book at the bottom of the box. It was as though it was hidden away. He picked it up.

“There’s a name on this picture book. Maybe it got mixed up with someone else’s book? How do you read this?”

Minato was pointing at a name written in oil-based marker.

It read 玉守正樹.

“It’s ‘Tamamori Masaki.’ My old name.”

“Is it your old last name?”

“I changed it along with my first name. For me, my old name is a cursed name. I don’t really want to remember it.”

Masa-san had a bitter look on his face, which was unlike him.

Just like Ren the other day, these brothers had too many secrets. Minato didn’t care if he didn’t tell him the reason. But, it was too sad that he hated his own name.

“No, it isn’t, right? Iminas were used until the Meiji era, and they were important things that only the lord and his family knew about. The only time someone would tell it to another person is when they are proposing marriage.”*

“…Huh, that’s bad. Seiya would beat me up if he finds out about this. So, can I hear your answer?”

“Answer?”

“Your answer to my proposal.”

“Huh? I-I don’t get that kind of thing.”

“That kind of thing, huh…”

“I’ve never thought about that kind of thing.”

“You’re calling it ‘that kind of thing’ again.”

“You’re a terrible master.”

“Minato, you’re a surprising Urashima’s casket. I can’t even imagine what’s inside you.”

Masa-san chuckled. Apparently, Minato was being made fun of. Ugh, I seriously can’t win against this guy.

Minato stood up.

“I have to go home soon.”

“Shall I give you a ride?”

“It’s okay.”

When he pushed the doorknob, a gray sky spread out before him.

“Oh, it’s raining. I didn’t bring my raincoat today.”

“A rain that’s trying to prevent you from leaving, huh? Do you want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Minato closed the door.

Previous | Next

[mumms-the-word]

The Art of the Night

Day 27 of the BG3 Fic February Challenge

Did I already have this scene written? Yes I absolutely did. I like Gale's romance scene but I was so disappointed when the game created a mashup of the Kama Sutra and One Thousand and One Nights and DIDN'T let us read passages from it.

So made up some passages for myself.

Check out my masterlist of BG3 fics!

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27. Choose any scene in the game and write it with your headcanon

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How about the perfect night in Waterdeep? Yes…let’s imagine how it would be. The scene is this: you and I stand in the room that is the centre of my universe. The sculptures, the paintings, the walls enlivened by the spines of a thousand books. The grand piano plays the Lliirian Suites all by itself, and as we look out beyond the arches that lead to the terrace, we see the weary sun take its daily dive into the sea.

———

Dani moved to the railing of the terrace, placing her hands on the wood and leaning her weight against it. It felt as real as any she’d touched in Baldur’s Gate, worn smooth by craftsmen, time, and weather. She closed her eyes and soaked in the warmth of the setting sun and the salt of the briny sea air. Just like home…

She knew it was all illusion and fantasy, that the magic was merely tricking her mind into feeling the weight of the wood and smelling the scent of the sea. But for the moment, she wanted to exist in that illusion. After so many days surrounded by decay, the warmth and light of even a setting sun was like a balm to her spirit and body.

She felt Gale join her at the railing and she opened her eyes, turning to look at him. But his gaze was on the horizon, a deeply thoughtful, almost sorrowful expression on his face. Despite the obvious concentration it must take to make and maintain this illusion, his mind was clearly on the future and the choice he felt was all but inevitable. He gazed at the horizon like a man who knew he would never see such a sight again.

She wanted to reach out and caress his cheek, turn his face back to hers, kiss him until he forgot all his worries. But she settled, for now, with taking his hand.

He glanced down, as if surprised, and then met her gaze. He gave her a soft smile. 

“What do you think?” he asked.

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I love it. I could spend every evening watching the sunset here, with you.” 

“Could you?” He seemed surprised by her words, lifting his head to gaze out over the ocean again, as if looking at it a little differently than before.

“Once all of this is over, yes. I’m a sucker for a good sunset.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to smile at her little remark, but he was lost in thought once more, his eyes scanning the world around them. Memorizing, she realized, or perfecting the memory. As though this might truly be the last night his eyes beheld the scene.

She couldn’t let him stay lost in his thoughts. She tugged on his hand, leading him back to the cushioned bench that sat off to one side. There, she sat down and patted the space beside her, inviting him to join her. He smiled faintly. 

“My favorite spot,” he said, gesturing toward her. He settled beside her, body close, shoulders brushing. “Many times, evening turned to night and back to daybreak once more while I sat here, lost in words.”

She raised her eyebrows playfully at him. “Oh? Up all night reading? I do love that rebellious streak of yours.”

He gave her a teasing, half-mischievous look. “Allow me to live dangerously while I still can.”

His words, though said with humor, made her smile falter. She didn’t want to think about that now. His possible death. Not while they were, for the moment, surrounded by the comforts of home, his home, far, far away from the Absolute.

“What sorts of books did you read?” she asked. “It can’t have all been spell tomes. At least, I hope not.”

He chuckled. “No, not all spell tomes or magical theory, though there was plenty of that as well. I’d read just about anything I could get my hands on, if it interested me. History, philosophy, literature, poetry…romance…”

He shifted to reveal a book on the side table behind him. “This,” he said, reaching for the book, “might just be all of that wrapped in one.”

Dani glanced at the cover and instantly recognized it. “Is that…?”

“The Art of the Night,” he said, running his hand over the cover. It depicted a man and a woman in sensual embrace, their bodies fluid and ethereal. Around the woman’s head was a round halo of divinity, like a thin crescent moon in the starry sky that surrounded them. “It details the first thousand nights of a newlywed king and queen. They turned everything they did into an art. The art of conversation. The art of taste, time-honored and newly acquired.”

His thumb idly traced the halo of divinity around the woman’s head. “The art of the body. The exploration and acceptance of the self and the other. The art of the night itself.”

“I’m familiar with this story,” Dani said, reaching for the book. He gave it willingly, watching as she traced a finger along the curving lines of the woman’s body.

She recalled what she knew…what she had memorized, back when she’d gotten her hands on a version of the king and queen’s story a couple of years ago. She hadn’t kept it long, because her troupe had to travel light and books were heavy, so she had only memorized a few pages to entertain her fancy when she could no longer read the physical copy. It wasn't much, but what she did remember was that this tale was more than fairy tale. It was sheer, poetic eroticism, beautiful and haunting, alluring and sensual.

She stood and wandered a step or two away, opening the book and flipping through the first few pages, her eyes skimming the text. It wasn’t precisely the same as the tale she’d read. In the margins of the text, on nearly every page, there were magic symbols and words. Each night was embellished with the markings for a spell or a ritual, accompanied by poetic instructions on how to recreate the experiences and lessons the noble couple gained in their first three years of marriage. And, more than occasionally, the pages contained diagrams of the couple in the various ways they experienced their pleasure, drawn in the same fluid, ephemeral style as the cover. 

This copy, this version, wasn’t just the tale itself, she realized. It was both the romantic, erotic tale and a magical Quarta Sune, both poetry and sex manual, mixing in magic and making the hypothetical romance of the king and queen entirely possible, if one knew how to manipulate the spells.

She turned to a passage she knew well, almost by heart. She was quiet a moment, reconnecting with the words, before she began to speak them softly, a note of fondness in her voice.

“‘That night, the king met his beloved once more in their chambers,’” she read. 

“‘Dearest one,’ said he,  ‘Gold I have given thee,  and jewels from my store;  chains for thy neck  and bands for thy wrists;  and still, thine eyes shine more brilliantly  than any treasure in my kingdom. 

‘What gem in all the realms  can be more precious than thy gaze?  What more can I give to you,  my beloved, so that you may know  the ardent depths of my heart?  What more, when thine eyes alone  make all riches seem as dull iron?’

‘Tender-hearted king,’ said the queen,  ‘I need neither gold nor gems;  my love is not so cheaply bought  nor so willingly sold.  And yet, already thou possess  that which I long for most.  Thy steady gaze, my love,  and thy faithful hand are all I ask.’”

Gale stood and joined her, brushing nearly against her back as he looked over her shoulder and spoke the next few lines softly in her ear.

“‘Come, take my hand,  and look beyond this simple visage. I will bare my soul to thee, this night,  and gaze boldly at thine. For more than bone and blood are we, but spirits merely housed in flesh.’”

Dani’s breath caught, her mind distracted by the way his breath stirred her hair, by how close his lips were to her neck. She turned her head slightly and found his dark eyes watching her. He hadn’t been reading the lines, but reciting them from memory.

She was at a loss for words. He was barely touching her and yet she felt like her entire body was slowly kindling aflame, warmth spreading from her core to her toes and the very tips of her horns. She clutched the book a little tighter, casting about for something to say.

“My, um…my copy didn’t have pictures,” she breathed. "Or spells."

He blinked, as if processing her words, and then chuckled, shaking his head. “You were missing out, then. Some of the later diagrams can be quite…fascinating.”

When he looked at her again, his smile was half-apologetic and half-admiring. “You know…I must have read that passage a thousand times, but never have I heard the words expressed so beautifully as you did now. You have a gift, Dani. You are…” 

He trailed off, his gaze slowly taking in the features of her face, lingering a moment on her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You are wonderful,” he breathed. “So wonderful I can scarcely believe any of this to be real.”

Dani didn’t know what to say to that. She felt lost in his brown-eyed gaze, trying to discern shades of deep amber from chestnut and mahogany, enchanted by the flecks of bronze that appeared in the light of the setting sun. She had never considered herself a fawning romantic, but staring into his eyes, she felt she could all too easily become one.

After several heartbeats, Gale dropped his gaze to the book, gently taking it from her hands. “Can I show you?” he asked, turning the pages. “What they mean? To experience love and pleasure in more ways than just the body?”

“You mean…like the gods do,” she said, turning to face him, the book between them. “Like you said before.”

“Precisely.” He smoothed flat the pages of the book, showing her two diagrams of hands, magic symbols and poetry surrounding the sketches. “Why confine ourselves to the pleasures of mortal flesh? It is but one stitch in a vast tapestry. Let me show you more.”

Something about the brightness in his eyes made her hesitate. He would know more than her what pleasures could exist outside the body, she supposed, and she trusted him. And yet…

As if sensing her hesitation, he closed his eyes in concentration. Dani felt herself grow lighter, floating apart from her body. The sky around them darkened and then shone with a million brilliant stars, draped with purple, blue, and red stardust shimmering in clouds and galaxies, appearing both within reach and endlessly far away. The more she turned her head to look, the more the structures and objects of Waterdeep fell away, leaving them in the expanse of beautiful, eternal space. Even their bodies were left behind. They existed now as spirits only, shining and translucent. 

“What do you think?” he asked again. “Beautiful, is it not?”

It was, but already she missed the real Gale. As a spirit, his eyes glowed with magic and she could see the stars through his body. But while the swirling galaxies and glittering stars were stunning, she missed his rich brown eyes. When she reached out to brush his arm, she found his body simultaneously tangible and intangible, as though a mere thought could allow her to phase through him completely. 

She had no doubt that if they stayed like this, Gale would reveal a hundred avenues of pleasure she had never experienced before, but her selfish little heart didn’t want to be impressed by magic. She just wanted the man himself.

“It’s our first night together, Gale,” she said. She could still sense her body, somewhere in the material plane, and focused there, reaching out to it like an anchor. Outside of the galaxy illusion, she placed her hands over his and closed the book. The visions of galaxies melted away, their spectral bodies becoming physical and visible once more, though the illusion of Waterdeep remained. “Shouldn’t we start somewhere closer to the beginning? I want to experience you first. We'll have time to try all the rest later.”

He looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

“Gale,” she whispered softly, pressing her hand to his chest, over his heart. Her touch silenced him in an instant, though he still looked uncertain. “I’ve never been more sure. Tonight isn’t the end for us.”

This was what she wanted, more than the beautiful illusions or spectral experiences. She felt his heart beating beneath her palm, felt the warmth of his body. She wanted more of that. More of the real, touchable Gale, with his soft brown hair and his gentle, dark eyes. She wanted to slip her hands beneath his shirt and touch his skin, feel the way his muscles twitched or tensed when her fingers grazed over them. She longed to taste his lips and feel the weight of him against her and watch his face flush and see how far that flush traveled down his neck and chest.

With her other hand, she gently slipped the book from his grip and set it on the railing. She stepped into the space between them, filling it with her body, pressing her palm more firmly against his chest. “You are what I want, Gale. The real man in front of me. Not the illusion and not the fantasy."

"But—"

"You don’t have to worry about impressing me. I’m no goddess.”

“Yes, you are,” he said, placing his hand over hers. He said it as though it were a fact, irrefutable, and with such warmth that it made her breath hitch. 

She was used to admiration, entertainer that she was. She was used to praise. She was used to flattery. But the deep sincerity of his words and the way he looked at her was new. He spun poetry from mere words without even trying, and she was always caught off balance by the beauty of it.

But then his clever smile was back, and he said, “Trust me, I would know.”

She scoffed and gave him a light shove. He swayed on his heels but didn’t budge, chuckling at her feigned irritation.

“That said…" He kept ahold of her hand, threading his fingers with hers as he lowered them away from his chest. "Will you meet me halfway?”

“Halfway?”

He snapped his fingers and the balcony and sunset shifted, bookshelf-laden walls enclosing around them once more. But rather than his study, this room was a little smaller, a large canopied bed taking up the majority of the space. Stacks of books sat precariously on beside tables and spots on the floor while a fireplace burned cheerfully on one wall, a cushy armchair angled in front of it. Dani half expected to find Tara curled up in the armchair, though she hadn’t the faintest idea what Tara might look like.

“Your bedroom?” she asked, tilting her head. "In Waterdeep?"

“Indulge me,” he said. “Unless you’d like a canopy of stars once more.”

She shook her head. If this was a true, or mostly true, reflection of Gale’s room in Waterdeep, she was in no hurry to leave. She looked around with interest, but some of the details, like the words on the spines of books, shifted and blurred beneath her vision, as though Gale didn’t want her looking too closely. 

Not matter. She wasn’t here to read anyway.

“I’m sure you’ll find the bed more than comfortable,” he said. “And, should I soon find myself a little too distracted to maintain the rest of the illusion, the bed will remain. For a few hours, at least.”

She arched an eyebrow at him and he shrugged, offering no further comment. She grinned and hopped onto the bed, flopping back with her arms spread. He was right. It was solid beneath her, not at all an illusion, and it was certainly comfortable. Better than the bedrolls on hard ground that she’d been sleeping on this past month or so.

“Oh, I could get use to this,” she said, settling right in. “You’ll have to teach me this little spell.” She lifted a hand and gestured like she was revealing words on a banner. “Conjure Bed. School of…er…”

“Conjuration,” he finished, the humor obvious in his voice. “As the name implies.”

“Right, I could have guessed that.” She propped herself up on one elbow to find him watching her again, that same fond, enchanted look he’d worn the last few days, especially tonight. She held out her hand to him, an open invitation for him to join her. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

He opened his mouth as though to answer, paused, and then shook his head fondly. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He reached out and took her hand, climbing onto the bed with her. She lay back, cradling his face in her hands as he rested part of his weight against her, gazing down at her with a look so filled with love she could only smile and stare. 

There they were, those dark eyes she loved so much. There, too, was the oddly pleasant scratch of his beard against her palms, the softness of his hair as her fingertips sank into it, the heat and weight of his body as it pressed her into the downy mattress. Exactly as she wanted it.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His smile was gentle and loving, reflecting her words before he even spoke them. “I love you, too, Meridan Zavrai.”

He bent his head to kiss her and she let the world around her fade into a hazy blur, until at last the only thing she could see, the only thing she could hear, the only thing she could touch, was Gale himself.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The fairest creatures The Biyi love birds. The Sydcarmy legend that comes from the Far East and spoils their whole arc

In the heavens, we vow to be as two birds flying wingtip to wingtip,

On earth, we vow to be as two intertwined branches of a tree.

— Song of Everlasting Regret, by poet PO CHÜ-I 

Over the Nu River Grand Canyon, a pair of birds in white and black forms the shape of infinite. They are legendary bird(s), the “biyi bird” (biyi niao, birds flying wing to wing) — The biyi bird is a one-eyed, one-winged mythical creature in which each entity is half of a bird, such that only when a male and female pair up and fly together, can they become a whole bird. It later became a metaphor for a loving couple. There are many interpretations of this legendary bird(s), one of PO CHÜ-I the Fairy Poet’s most well-known works “Chang hen ge” (Song of Everlasting Regret), illustrates the immortal love story between Emperor Minghuang of Tang and his Imperial Consort Yang, making reference to this legendary bird(s) within four parts:

Falling in Love, The Inseparable Couple, Farewell to Lover, and finally Reunification in Fairyland.

According to legend, there are still flying bird people on both sides of the Nu River Grand Canyon. For these mysterious villagers, their lives are heaven-like and they lead an ideal existence in harmony with nature. As they live remotely outside from the world, that’s why they can fly, also find and join the legendary biyi bird. The wonderful sound of Kalavinka descends from the sky where the sun and the moon shine together.

Keepers of the wheather

Their marvellous sound from heaven passes through the biyi bird, and flows into a turbulent Nujiang on the ground.

There's more: The fable on Jivajivaka

The fable on Jivajivaka is returned primarily on Vinayavastu of the Mulasarvastivada Vinaya. in the Nirvana Sutra is called Mingming Niao, in the Pravara-deva-raja-pariprccha Sutra is called sheng sheng niao, in the Shorter Sukhavativyuha Sutra and the Miscellaneous Treasures Sutra is called gong ming niao.

The Jivajivaka fable is related to an entanglement of Dharma (the order that makes life and universe possible) and Adharma(disharmony, unnaturalness) life after life.

The fable says that the Jivajivaka bird has one body and two heads, one is called Dharma, and the other is called Adharma. One day, while the latter was asleep, Dharma saw a tasty-looking fruit and ate it, considering that, as their body was the same, it would be nourishing for both of them. When Adharma awoke, he smelt something good and criticized Dharma for eating it and not sharing it. Later, when Dharma was asleep, Adharma ate a poisonous fruit and thus, both of them died. On the verge of death, Adharma swore to harm Dharma in every future life, while Dharma wished to be his good friend forever.

The inner landscape – the eternal perplexity within the human psyche, and the real key to the self-liberation to attain eternal flourishing, is represented fully in this Jivajivaka fable.

Source: Dali Wu

The Jivajivaka fable in a Sydcarmy symbolic context

It can very well represent Carmy's and Syd's respective arcs.

They both need to do their inner evolutionary work to eventually be able to be together in a healthy way. The thing is that as they share their wings they can't do that work separately.

As I have been pointing out and elaborating on in multiple previous posts I suggest you read for context:

Let's put the ship in partnership

Her avoidance

Never apologize

His avoidance

Not fucked up enough

Once they learn to fly together without hurting each other, they are destined to be together for eternity, as the Fairest Creatures legend goes.

Bonus track: Storer has always been inspired by Eastern philosophy, especially in Syd's voice.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[b0nten]

BLOOMING FLOWERS SPRING CAN’T FEEL

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ what more is there to hate when life takes away the one you loved the most?

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ for my bae @insomniac-jay <3, took so long because i tried to do the best research i could, and because i never liked what i wrote until today. also! if you squint, it’s slight naoto x reader but it doesn’t really matter. i hope you like it!!!! not proofread

you still can’t grasp it, it sort of feels surreal.

just like this morning felt, when you put your kimono on, and did your hair. hina loved the way you looked in traditional clothing, she said it made you shine.

and albeit you two’s pictures flooding the tachibana home, you were still surprised when her mom rang your doorbell to gift you a box, feeling slightly heavier than the last silk garment they had given you while you and hina were still in high school.

“please wear it, y/n-chan, ” ryoko’s voice was just as gentle as you remembered it growing up, but it was sad, “they make you…shine.” and full of anguish.

you could only nod, swallowing back the thick saliva that was gathering in your throat, blinking back the tears with the same eyes ryoko knew how to read as if they were her own daughter’s. reaching out for your hand longer than usual, she only smiled.

you still didn’t quite grasp it, not even when you put on your pearl necklace, and locked your front door, heading down the apartment block’s stairs, like usual.

it was like your normal way to school, and later, uni, and even later, work, walking exactly 100 meters and riding for 7 minutes and a half, before switching lines at otomachi, and riding for another 5 minutes. this time only, you had to take the south exit instead of the north one, and stroll for thirteen minutes, passing by a park, a bakery, two liquors shops and some sky-rise towers.

“welcome.”

it was different, because you entered the funeral home, where the assistant, ready to guide you to the high-school colleagues category, was interrupted by naoto. he simply took your hand and walked you over to the rest of the family. you were used to seeing naoto on saturdays, not fridays or the both of them. you had seen him yesterday, at the wake, when it was friday, so it almost went like any other day. or that’s at least how your mind put it.

and when you were sitting down, eyes glued to the monk’s back as he chanted out the prayers, naoto’s hand still found a way to get to yours, firm touch against glass skin, afraid he’d break it any minute now.

and now you sit between your younger brother and his mother that took you in when you were at flourish in your heydays, deafly listening to a monk chanting a sutra for hinata. you glance over at her and can’t help but think how beautiful she looks in the matching kimono, and how much hina resembles her. resembles, not resembled, she’ll now forever keep her beauty.

you heard japanese people experience three religions in their lifetime: birth as shintoism, marriage as christianity and death as buddhism, but you didn’t even go through one. hell, hina herself only went through two.

and whereas ryoko always told naoto to stop hurting the table because even the piece of wood had its own life itself and the boy silently complied, you were stuck figuring out what it is that you believed in. you believed in kindness. the kind of kindness hina showed you, that was the firm conclusion you accepted, so now you could only pray that the afterlife was going to show her the same gentleness and love she gave the world, her journey smooth in crossing over the sanzu river and mind clear in choosing the paths she takes, making it easy for her soul to find serenity.

you wake up once you’re signaled to join the incense rite. with slightly shaking fingers you pinch up the dry fragrance, touching it against your forehead. amidst blurred vision and hours of unslept time, you see masato wipe a ghost of a tear with the back of his crisp black suit. you set the incense in the flame bowl, and walk away, next to the parents, pupils blown and face puzzled, as if you don’t know what the world you live in is. you see familiar faces; old classmates and family friends of the tachibanas’ that you got to meet long time ago, cousins, teachers, and ex-coworkers. you think you notice some of them staring at you, what is she doing here? — what is she doing there? — next to your best friend’s family.

naoto definitely sees them, he definitely notices their judging looks, but today he can’t do justice. he won’t, because he likes to think he’s partly come to terms with his sister’s death, but no matter what, police academy never prepares you to lose your sister when you least expect it.

he throws a quick glance over his shoulder, reassuring himself you’re still there although you don’t look or feel like you’re there at all, bones wrapped in flesh, wrapped in soft black silk. you start to think maybe there is something wrong with you.

grief is a weird emotion with no textbook manifestation. there is no right or wrong way to feel following a loss. but why don’t you feel anything? why do you know that it’s happening, but you’re not fully in yet? why can’t you scream or cry or whimper or fake a smile. why has your whole face been frozen this whole time?

people come and people go and like an old charlie chaplin movie on repeat, the same action you have done repeats itself a million of times fast forwarded until your mind goes blank. you feel black-and-white.

naoto taps your shoulder. “do you want to see the body?” he eases you into it. he was always such a gentle soul.

you try to say something but choke on the words. he sees, eyes widening as his muscles tense. you only nod, and he walks with you to the casket.

maybe if you see it, your mind will take on it. you’re given a flower, the white chrysanthemum you dreaded to even think about, and the same happens to naoto.

the people in front of you all put their flowers in the casket, small step by even smaller step allowing you to approach her face. it’s just the same, except it isn’t glowing, or happy or doing anything. she’s not singing, she’s not moving. she’s dead. you know it. but why can’t you acknowledge it?

you reach into the deep inside pocket of the kimono, a neatly kept, small picture grazing the white coffin. you don’t ponder, and lay it next to your friend.

naoto freezes when he sees it. he took it, the day is burned into his memory so deeply that if he were to ever lose his reminiscence, this is the only recollection he’d have. it’s you and his sister. you’re dressed in kimonos — that was your first time wearing it — and you were excited. just fresh into spring, you both chose to wear pink: hina’s dress had delicate camellias on it, scattered playfully all around the fabric, while yours had orange blossoms intricately all across. it also was your first time wearing getas; your feet hurt so bad he had to call his dad to carry you home by the end of the festival. he didn’t mind it though, because you had fun that evening.

he reaches for the picture and looks at the back.

“doesn’t this kimono make her shine, naoto?”

“yes, it definitely does.”

scribbled on the thin paper are some almost unrecognizable kana and kanji, but naoto knows what they say by heart. he slips the square into his sleeve and puts his flower in his sister’s casket instead.

not long after everyone is done saying their goodbyes, the tachibanas and you head to the crematorium. ryoko holds your hand as she picks up the bones and sets them in the urn, and you try your best to soothe a mourning mother’s aching heart.

once everything is done, you pass the envelope to the receptionist. it’s a little over a million, and you see it on the woman’s face that she knows it too, by the width of the wrapping. you didn’t notice how much money it was until you recounted it, half an hour before leaving your apartment, so you just left it all there. no 10.000 bills, no crisp bills, at least that.

she hands you the little bag with salt, tea and snacks and you bow before leaving the crematorium.

“y/n, wait!” a voice you know very well shouts after you, tall silhouette speeding from the building into the same darkness you’re headed into.

“mom said to walk you home.” naoto looks down at you gently, as if he’s your big brother and not the other way around.

“you know you’re not actually my older sister, right?” he interrupts your exact thoughts, “we’re the same age, you were fortunate enough to be in the same grade as hinata, that’s all.” he taunts, taking you back to your salad days.

you smile approvingly and he doesn’t hesitate to take the gift bag from your hand, and walk right beside you.

the air is grim and you still feel a little bit unreal. you feel limitless, but like a void, rather than the young shoujo manga protagonist you always dreamt of being, and you can feel it in naoto’s breath too, how he tries to not let the anger drown him out. you know it’s unbearable for him too.

halfway through the walk, he breaks the silence.

“i’m glad you finally learned how to walk in getas.” he admits, and you look up. a genuine laugh stifles from your throat and his face lights up.

“naoto,” you say, “these are zoris. i wasn’t going to attend a funeral in geta sandals.” explaining, you watch his face drop in embarrassment.

“yes, i totally saw that…!”he stutters but continues to joke, hinting at the past, talking of hina as if she’s still there, next to you. in passing moments of silence, you feel overwhelmed, guilty.

faith’s a game of cat and mouse, and you play it just like you want. you laugh with naoto and you realize it’s nice to feel this sense of .. belonging. in between numbness and denial, he made your day a little better. he took some of the burden off, he ripped some of the weeds growing between your lungs, letting you breathe normally again, granting you a peaceful moment in what felt like a lifetime since your best friend died.

you step foot into the apartment building, giddy and smiley, but it all vanishes once you look around. it’s dull, it’s ugly. and you feel like you’re right next to hinata. that’s how she made you feel every time you came back from a night out in the city, arm slung around her shoulder laughing at everything she said, almost knocking over the both of you.

you look around as you climb every step and somehow, the laughs and the joy all seem to disappear in the place you spent some of the most time with her.

when you reach your front door, it feels almost surreal again, because instead of hina behind you, it’s the boy you grew up with. he looks nothing like her — he takes after his father — but he feels so familiar that when he stops you from entering your home your breath hitches a little.

“don’t forget to throw the salt.” he reminds with a slight lecture in his voice, like his sister once said “don’t forget to change your shoes.”

so, when your wrist brushes past your shoulder-blade, your zoris break under the memories you shared along the way and the ones etched into the walls of the hall.

you tug at your necklace as you finally let yourself cry.

you finally know it’s real, even more so, because you feel not one, but two familiar presences engulfing you in warmth.

one strokes your hair with the palm that keeps you pressed into his shoulder, while the other hand looks at an old photograph, and the second hugs you both, wanting to lecture you with the love and gentleness of an older sister that didn’t get to say her part.

[santoschristos]

Way of Bodhisattva #6 Yura Miron @ YuraMironArt

Description: This artwork is a powerful visual interpretation of the assembly of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva's emanations, as described in the Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva Fundamental Vow Sutra. It vividly captures the momentous occasion in the Trayastrimsas Palace, where multitudes of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva's forms, each accompanied by trillions of liberated beings, gather to honor Shakyamuni Buddha.

The central figure is a striking embodiment of the Bodhisattva, radiating wisdom and compassion. This being, with a golden aura and with arms extended in blessing, represents the countless manifestations of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva from across innumerable worlds. The liberated beings surrounding the Bodhisattva are depicted with a diverse array of expressions and postures, each illustrating the myriad paths walked upon before their liberation through the Bodhisattva's profound teachings. Their faces and bodies, etched with intricate detail, reflect their journey through samsara and their ultimate transformation under Ksitigarbha's guidance.

The artwork is adorned with offerings of incense and flowers, symbolizing the gratitude and reverence of the liberated beings towards the Buddha. The celestial setting, detailed with cosmic and architectural elements, creates a sense of grandeur and sacredness befitting this spiritual gathering.

In the heavens above, the Tathagata, represented by an all-reaching presence, touches the heads of the Bodhisattva's manifestations, imparting blessings and wisdom. This represents the Buddha's recognition of the compassionate deeds performed by Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva across the vastness of existence, aiding sentient beings ensnared by the defilements of the world.

Through the visual narrative, the piece conveys a profound message about the compassionate deeds of the Bodhisattva, reflecting the sutra's teachings on mercy, the cyclical nature of life and death, and the transformative power of the Buddha-dharma. The collective gaze of admiration and joy towards the Buddha, the reluctance to even blink, captures the deep reverence and spiritual fulfillment of those who have been guided to enlightenment. --YuraMiron

The Key of becoming a Bodhisattva:

One who wishes to protect oneself and others quickly, should practice exchanging oneself for others, which is a great mystery.

All those who are unhappy in the world are so as a result of their desire for their own happiness.

All those who are happy in the world are so as a result of their desire for the happiness of others.

Enough of such talk!

Note the difference between the fool who seeks his own benefit, and the sage who works for the benefit of others.

One, who does not exchange his own happiness for the suffering of others, surely does not achieve Buddhahood.

How could one find happiness even in the cycle of existence?Therefore, in order to alleviate my own suffering and to alleviate the suffering of others, I give myself up to others, and I accept others as my own self.

[kvetchlandia]

Uncredited Photographer Beat Poets Allen Ginsberg, Harold Norse, Jack Hirschman, Michael McClure and Bob Kaufman, Caffe Trieste, San Francisco 1975

I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look at the sunset over the box house hills and cry. Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery. The oily water on the river mirrored the red sky, sun sank on top of final Frisco peaks, no fish in that stream, no hermit in those mounts, just ourselves rheumy-eyed and hung-over like old bums on the riverbank, tired and wily. Look at the Sunflower, he said, there was a dead gray shadow against the sky, big as a man, sitting dry on top of a pile of ancient sawdust— —I rushed up enchanted—it was my first sunflower, memories of Blake—my visions—Harlem and Hells of the Eastern rivers, bridges clanking Joes Greasy Sandwiches, dead baby carriages, black treadless tires forgotten and unretreaded, the poem of the riverbank, condoms & pots, steel knives, nothing stainless, only the dank muck and the razor-sharp artifacts passing into the past— and the gray Sunflower poised against the sunset, crackly bleak and dusty with the smut and smog and smoke of olden locomotives in its eye— corolla of bleary spikes pushed down and broken like a battered crown, seeds fallen out of its face, soon-to-be-toothless mouth of sunny air, sunrays obliterated on its hairy head like a dried wire spiderweb, leaves stuck out like arms out of the stem, gestures from the sawdust root, broke pieces of plaster fallen out of the black twigs, a dead fly in its ear, Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then! The grime was no man’s grime but death and human locomotives, all that dress of dust, that veil of darkened railroad skin, that smog of cheek, that eyelid of black mis’ry, that sooty hand or phallus or protuberance of artificial worse-than-dirt—industrial—modern—all that civilization spotting your crazy golden crown— and those blear thoughts of death and dusty loveless eyes and ends and withered roots below, in the home-pile of sand and sawdust, rubber dollar bills, skin of machinery, the guts and innards of the weeping coughing car, the empty lonely tincans with their rusty tongues alack, what more could I name, the smoked ashes of some cock cigar, the cunts of wheelbarrows and the milky breasts of cars, wornout asses out of chairs & sphincters of dynamos—all these entangled in your mummied roots—and you there standing before me in the sunset, all your glory in your form! A perfect beauty of a sunflower! a perfect excellent lovely sunflower existence! a sweet natural eye to the new hip moon, woke up alive and excited grasping in the sunset shadow sunrise golden monthly breeze! How many flies buzzed round you innocent of your grime, while you cursed the heavens of the railroad and your flower soul? Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive? You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a sunflower! And you Locomotive, you are a locomotive, forget me not! So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck it at my side like a scepter, and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack’s soul too, and anyone who’ll listen, —We’re not our skin of grime, we’re not dread bleak dusty imageless locomotives, we’re golden sunflowers inside, blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our own eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sitdown vision.

Allen Ginsberg, "Sunflower Sutra," 1955

--

my head felt stabbed

by a crown of thorns but I joked and rode the subway

and ducked into school johns and masturbated

and secretly wrote

                                     of teenage hell

because I was “different”

the first and last of my kind

smothering acute sensations

in swimming pools and locker rooms

addict of lips and genitals

mad for buttocks

                                that Whitman and Lorca

and Catullus and Marlowe

                                          and Michelangelo

and Socrates admired

and I wrote: Friends,

if you wish to survive

I would not recommend

Love

-- Harold Norse, "I Would Not Recommend Love" 1973

--

I ran down the street and into the house smelled of oregano and shook Mickey Monaco, said C'mon, Balaban's got a breadloaf climbing over old Gruber's fence, he thinks the mad dogs is doves.

But Mickey grew up in the bed till he was too old and besides Balaban was crazy, he sucked his tongue and got left back twice.

So I ran to Joey Bellino's house but his mother's black stocking said Joey was out early shoe shining. And besides a, that Balaban he's a crazy a kid, he suck a the tongue and Joey says he get lefback three times.

So I banged on Bitsy Beller's window yelled he was near the top, the mad dogs waiting down below he thinks is doves.

But when Bitsy stood up he turned into a stiff cue stick. And didn't want nothing to do with nobody cracked upstairs. And Dickie Miller became a semipro. And Howie Fish a doctor. So I ran down the street full of hope

by myself because I was on fire. But I got there too late for Balaban. Two of them had a stretch of skin between their teeth fighting over it,

and the foam of their mouths and Balaban's blood spattered in such a way, the most the greatest picture looked me straight in the eye, made me sit in the gutter and cry,

and when I got up vow to be Balaban from that day on

-- Jack Hirschman, "Balaban" 1969

--

for Jack Kerouac 

IN LIGHT ROOM IN DARK HELL IN UMBER IN CHROME,

     I sit feeling the swell of the cloud made about by movement

                 of arm leg and tongue. In reflections of gold

           light. Tints and flashes of gold and amber spearing

                     and glinting. Blur glass…blue Glass,

             black telephone. Matchflame of violet and flesh

                 seen in the clear bright light. It is not night

                and night too. In Hell, there are stars outside.

            And long sounds of cars. Brown shadows on walls

                                       in the light

                           of the room. I sit or stand

                 wanting the huge reality of touch and love.

            In the turned room. Remember the long-ago dream

          of stuffed animals (owl, fox) in a dark shop. Wanting

             only the purity of clean colors and new shapes

                                     and feelings.

                 I WOULD CRY FOR THEM USELESSLY

                   I have ten years left to worship my youth

                      Billy the Kid, Rimbaud, Jean Harlow

  IN DARK HELL IN LIGHT ROOM IN UMBER AND CHROME I

                                                                                            feel the swell of

smoke the drain and flow of motion of exhaustion, the long sounds of cars

                                                                                                     the brown shadows

on the wall. I sit or stand. Caught in the net of glints from corner table to

                                                                                                                       dull plane

from knob to floor, angles of flat light, daggers of beams. Staring at love’s face.

      The telephone in cataleptic light. Marchflames of blue and red seen in the

                                                                                                                            clear grain.

I see myself—ourselves—in Hell without radiance. Reflections that we are.

              The long cars make sounds and brown shadows over the wall.

                               I am real as you are real whom I speak to.

                   I raise my head, see over the edge of my nose. Look up

                    and see that nothing is changed. There is no flash

                            to my eyes. No change to the room.

                       Vita Nuova—No! The dead, dead world.

                     The strain of desire is only a heroic gesture.

                       An agony to be so in pain without release

                             when love is a word or kiss.

-- Michael McClure, "The Chamber" 1961

--

I have folded my sorrows into the mantle of summer night, Assigning each brief storm its allotted space in time, Quietly pursuing catastrophic histories buried in my eyes. And yes, the world is not some unplayed Cosmic Game, And the sun is still ninety-three million miles from me, And in the imaginary forest, the shingled hippo becomes the gray unicorn. No, my traffic is not with addled keepers of yesterday’s disasters, Seekers of manifest disembowelment on shafts of yesterday’s pains. Blues come dressed like introspective echoes of a journey. And yes, I have searched the rooms of the moon on cold summer nights. And yes, I have refought those unfinished encounters.       Still, they remain unfinished. And yes, I have at times wished myself something different.

The tragedies are sung nightly at the funerals of the poet; The revisited soul is wrapped in the aura of familiarity. 

-- Bob Kaufman, "I Have Folded My Sorrows" 1965