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weidaoduzun3 · 1 year ago

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Commentary on Corpus Hermeticum X: The Key

My commentary on one of my favorite books/chapters from the Corpus Hermeticum. Was written some time ago but I still concur with everything here. I use Brian Copenhaver's Hermetica as my translation.

[1] We are introduced that this is Hermēs speaking to Tat—a summary of the lost General Discourses.

God and the Good are indistinguishable from one another, according to Hermēs. They have the same activity, for activity differs from nature in that nature is the increase and decrease of things that move and change(namely things on earth). Therefore we as humans, participate in bother activity, which belongs only to the unmoved, ie. God & The Good, and nature. I’m reminded of Iamblichus in that the human soul is endowed with a sort of otherness (heterotēs) but I’m jumping ahead.

[2] The first two sentences present to us that God's only activity is to Will All Things into being. Namely, things that have begotten and the unbegotten’s very ουσία, or essence, is that from the Will of God. The Cosmos and Sun are also Fathers to things that merely participate in nature (plants and animals) and things that participate in both activity and nature(humans). The Sun and we, as humans, don’t cause Good or Life, but we are merely participants in the Good and activity of Life. But because the Sun and Cosmos are the “Father” to things by participation, the only reason/cause of that is through God, the only Supreme Good.

[3] When God the Father “receives the appetite for the Good, by way of the Sun…” I take this to mean by our veneration and reverence to the Sun, God indirectly receives the appetite for the Good, but surely God’s Will transcends human Sun worship, right? This is why we the next contradictory sentence where the Father “…receives nothing but Wills all things to be.” Next, we are given the distinction between one who makes vs. one who “wills” i.e. God. Humans make things regarding wanting both quality and quantity, sometimes we create, sometimes we rest. This is not true for God, who Brings All Things into being. Remember the essence of things is to come, things that have come, and things that will never come, are the very substance of God. If we dare to say God has an essence or substance.

[4] Tat sends his kudos to Hermēs for bestowing him a vision so good and beautiful it nearly blinds his “mind’s eye.” We are then told that the vision of the Good is not like that of a ray of the Sun—which “dazzles the eyes and makes them shut.” The vision of the Good illuminates and pierces the mind, but does not harm. This vision of the Good illuminates us, in so much as we are ready for such reciprocity of such a great vision.

[5] I’m going to need to do some more digging into this Ouranos and Kronos reference that they were able to "drink somewhat more deeply of the vision..."

The rest of the paragraph I believe explains why Tat described this vision of the Good as almost “blinding” his mind’s eye. Too shed any of our 3 eyes upon the incorruptible, ineffability of the Good that is God— indeed we are too weak to look upon and ultimately fathom such a pure essence, in my my most humble opinion. Referencing the Stobaean Hermetica SH 1: We have a clear description of God's ineffability. Hence the text states that there’s a “divine silence” and a “suppression of all the senses,” when in the moment we "see the vision" [6] We continue with the text stating the ineffability and Unfathomablity of one who has begun to understand, after having to still our senses via meditation—the Hermeticist can see nothing but the Good that is God. Having understood the Good, that beauty “kindles his whole soul and by means of body draws in upward…” Through our bodies, we still our minds and bodily senses. We must choose to do this, just as we would choose to harm other things or love another thing. “…and beauty(the Good) changes his whole person into ουσία or essence. This is henosis. The last sentence supports that, for having looked upon such a Good vision, we cannot be deified while attached to things that change, i.e. our bodies. This kind of thought that our bodies, or embodiment in the physical, is an obstruction to Oneness, yet also the way to Oneness, or henosis, is highly similar to Iamblichus. He describes it as human souls having the most degree of “otherness.” In this specific case, in the last two sentences of paragraph 6, our otherness sways our decisions to choose the Good.

[7] Tat incurs what Hermēs means by deification. He reminds Tat that all souls hail from the one soul of All—God. Though many changes occur—this whole paragraph really just supports animism & reincarnation I think. Nothing is without Soul, from the the corporeal beings and incorporeal beings. At the end of the paragraph though, what strikes me is that after the areal souls are changed to humans, we change to daemons, by becoming daemons ( perhaps this happens after death…?) we enter the troops of the gods ~yay~. Which are fixed(the heavenly spheres) and ones that move (the stars and constellations).

[8] entering the troops of the gods is the soul’s most perfect glory. Viciousness can enter the human soul though upon, which inhibits the person from tasting the fruit of the Good and rushes back towards earthly and material things. This is the vice of all things for the soul: ignorance. To be reverent is to discern the copies of the names of the Good from the evil that’s on the world. When we are ignorant, our souls are blinded to discernment. We become slaves to the passions of the body ergo we become ruled; instead we should rule our desires and passion and not be slaves to them.

[9] The virtue of or antidote to ignorance would obviously be gnosis, or simply knowledge. We are then given the difference between knowledge & understanding vs. sensation. Though we cannot live without such sensations; knowledge differs from this in that sensations are preceded by the objects around us, while knowledge is a gift from God.

[10] All learning and knowledge is incorporeal. Yes, books are animate objects, but to read the book, which we CANNOT do without our senses. The mind employs the body’s senses to absorb the incorporeal information. Hence everything is a result of contrariety and opposition. Both sense and knowledge enter the mental and the material. It cannot be one without the other. Tat ask who the material is. Hermes responds "the Cosmos." The Cosmos is surely beautiful but it is not Good. That belongs to God and God only. The rest of the paragraph threw me a little. I believe it’s telling us the Cosmos though it was created second, it is still incomplete because the forever churning and moving of the Cosmos is infinite—ergo, the Cosmos was created but always existed. If God’s will is to namely will All Things into being, then His willing of the Cosmos always was and always is.

[11] The unmoved Nous moves matter like this: think of the Cosmos as a head, a sphere, nothing material above it and nothing composed of mind below it. Think of the Mind like the Cosmos. The Mind and everything connected or close to it, i.e. our senses(eyes, ears, nose, and mouth) are, in a way, the soul or the person's senses of the soul. What is further away from our senses & mind ie. our limbs and the rest of our body are composed of more body than soul. To me this makes sense. And like the Cosmos, we are a mirror of the Cosmos in that we are both constituted of the mental(nous) and the material(matter).

[12] I imagine this paragraph was popular among Renaissance Christians to give validity to the concept of original sin—now I don't agree with the Christian concept of original sin, as per Corpus Hermeticum I: Poimandres gives a clear account how we aren't "born into "sin." Whatever that means (rolls eyes).

In this paragraph we are told the Cosmos, because it moves is not Good(which belongs only to God) but it not evil either because of its infinite expansion, i.e. its immortality. The human on the other hand, though being a mirror of the Cosmos, as being both constituted of both material and mental, and because our mental can also bring us to evils and vices. This is why we are evil and not Good: Because we move, i.e. are subject to change, and are mortals. This is not suggest we are "born into evil" though. All this is saying is that our otherness (mortality/physical self) is, most of the time, opposed to the incorporeal aspects of ourselves. We must recognize our bodies for what they are, and what they can drive us to do: namely, our bodies can drive to us evil.

[13] Next we are given how the human soul is carried. The Nous is in reason; reason lies in the soul; soul is in the spirit. The spirit can be understood as Qi if you’re familiar with a little Taoism. The spirit is our blood, the life force within us that keeps everything moving and functioning properly. Some mistake the soul is blood. Our spirits are withdrawn into the soul at the time of death, the text says this destroys the body but I think it should say “dissolves” the body. As we are told in Corpus Hermeticum VIII that nothing in the Cosmos is destroyed.

[14] This paragraph also seems like this would be used by Christian’s of the renaissance period to give the “Triune” more ancient validity. All things depends from one beginning: the Will of God. God is the unmoved mover. He does not move or make, but Wills. They are three then: God the Father that is the Good, the Cosmos and lastly mankind. We being grandsons of God, so to speak. Putting my Christian hat on rn, some might argue that the Son of God, Jesus is the perfect example of the Cosmos; him not being Good due to his embodiment, but neither evil either because Jesus was immortal(he rose 3 days later). So by only venerating and worshiping Jesus, is how we too become “sons and daughters of God”). Removing the Christian hat now, this means that we all have the capacity to become perfect images of the Cosmos, and attain apotheosis, just as Jesus and many before him achieved. To think that only one man from the 1st century CE in one tiny part of the world, Judea, was the only one to be able to obtain this is silly and and pretentious. We all have the capacity to become perfect images of the Cosmos and become son's of God.

[15] This first part of the paragraph I would use, and others, to show that The God of in the Hermetica is not understood in a deist kind of way. For God recognizes us and wishes us to pursue the path of gnosis—the only deliverance to God.

Next Hermēs explains why or how the human soul becomes evil—via ignorance, the greatest of all vices. He paints a picture of that of the soul of a child, presumably still in the womb: ״its body has not yet attained its full bulk {of which it has only a little as yet.}” being not yet subjected to the passions of the body, as the baby gets ready to pop, the soul is further dragged down into embodiment. Thus having the soul fully descended into the body, the soul becomes separated and gives birth to the forgetting of the Good (God).

[16] Now Hermēs explains that the same thing occurs at the time of death. The breath draws itself up into the blood and the souls into the breath(spirit). But those with Nous, after it has been stripped away from the material covers(the flesh), because Nous, or Mind, is God-like by nature, exits the soul and takes on a body of fire, that ranges to no ends.

[17] Hermes replies to Tats question at the end of paragraph 16. Mind is so Good and Great that an earthy body is not enough to sustain such divinity that is, Mind, or Nous. Nor can Nous come into direct contact with a body riddled with such passions and vice, thus the mediators: Soul & spirit. Mind takes the soul as a shroud or a protective covering between Mind and body. Spirit acts as sort of a reinforcement agent for the soul that governs our physical and mental bodily functions.

[18] Nous when separated from the body, equips it’s own tunic of fire—hence why the soul is the Minds shroud. For the reason why most our bodies are made of water, is because Mind takes form of the most penetrating of all elements: fire. And fire burns up earth as soon as it touches it. The Nous of God wills everything divine—the nous of humans makes everything earthly. Mind has been stripped of its fire in the human body, ergo we cannot create divine things (in the same manner as God's will).

[19] On the human soul again—the one whose reveres the One (God), is in a way both composed of the demonic and divine. Meaning we possess both our divinity, our mental, as well as your material physical bodies which causes us vice—this is how we are also demonic. Our soul can become “wholly Mind” after being freed from earthly bodies and doing no wrong unto another person, while striving for gnosis of the divine—that is the fight of reverence which we must participate in. Some souls are irreverent though—these souls constantly seek earthy, human bodies to enter into. Being ruled by its own essence (the vices of the body), the soul punishes itself. We are also told how when human souls are reincarnated, they most certainly are not reincarnated into animals—God prevents this and does not want this.

[20] Another apologetic paragraph that could’ve been wielded by the Muslims and Christian’s. This paragraph is on how the soul is punished. Hermēs responds to Tat by saying “What greater punishment for a human soul, my son, than irreverence.” I can personally attest for this, but this doesn’t mean that an atheistic path can’t lead you to divinity or that ultimate and supreme Good. The path of irreverence just wasn’t for me. It led my life down a path of utter obliteration of the mind and body. What changed my life was my ability to start believing in “higher powers” again. Hermes further refutes that our punishment is reincarnation into other animals and affirms that the greatest punishment of the human soul is irreverence.

[21] Hermēs further explains the punishment of the soul. When Mind enters into the irreverent soul—Nous afflicts that soul with vices of the bodies: slander and murders; ignorance. But when Nous enters a reverent soul—it cannot get its full of prayer and hymning. Always seeking to help and do good unto others—doing everything in the name of God. [22] We must pray to God to acquire a Good Nous. Some maybe born more reverent than others. I certainly was born more irreverent than some I think.

After having acquired such a Good Mind—we can pass into something greater, but never something lesser. The gods commune with humans, and humans rule the non-reasoning things, yet we must not forget God takes charge of them All.

None are less or greater than the One. We can think of “God’s touch” on everything the same way we understand how astrology works kind of. The rays of the Cosmos employ the energies of God to shine down upon mankind. We receive these energies thru the natural forces of the Cosmos. These natural forces work thru the elements, and humans work thru the arts and learning. Meaning we express God’s energies thru out creative expression—and thru attaining gnosis.

[23] Here we are told that the governing force of the universe is indeed from the One Mind—the One Nous—GOD. nothing is more God-like than Mind. For we use our Mind to connect with entities higher than ourselves, and nothing is more capable of uniting us to the gods and the gods to us than reverence and the Good Mind, that is God. Not every soul is blessed with a Good Mind, hence why we must acquire it—some more than others (me). Hermēs makes it clear he is talking about The Mind and not the servile, human mind.

[24] Without Mind one can neither do, nor say anything. How powerful is the Mind. For when we become overcome by the emotions and passions of the body, Mind flies out of the soul and we act like un-reasoning animals. We neither see or hear anything once Mind flies out of our soul in such a way. Next, we see how in a sluggish or irreverent soul, Mind cannot endure and “leaves it behind.” NO God does not abandon us. God didn’t want to make mindless robots to always do good. God wants us to choose the Good Mind. No one can force you to accept the teachings or the Good Mind—not even God. Hence why it is stated — the true human, or reverent human soul becomes greater than or equal to the gods. Gods are immortal yes, but we posses both the immortal and the mortal—no other of God’s creation has the power. How great and torturous is the power of mortality and immortality? Without both we fall short.

[25] I think this paragraph further supports my conclusion on paragraph 24. The gods when they come down to earth, do not leave the bounds of heaven behind them, yet the human has the ability to reach the heavens and measure its heights, while also not leaving earth behind. To me this is describing how a reverent human can have mystical, henosis like experiences while keeping his or hers sanity. They stay grounded in the things that ~are~ and doesn’t ignore the cries from the needy to simply just have mystical experiences. Hermēs goes on to boldly say that God is a immortal human and that man is a mortal god, meaning the power of our mortality and immortality. All things: the Cosmos and humans exists solely because of God.

#hermes #hermeticism #hermes trismegistus #hermetic philosophy #philosophy #occult #hermetica

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dalliansss · 1 year ago

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🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 egg and Finno 20?

aegnor/fingon + 20 = …on a scar.

@skaelds

When Aegnor heard that Fingon had finally been released from the Halls of Mandos, he had wanted nothing more than to take a horse and ride to the Halls, even if he was not the one who received the Summons from the maiar of Námo. Instead it had been Arakáno, Argon, who received the Summons. It would have been an exercise in futility; only those who received the Summons could find the Road of the Dead, and therefore find the one Re-embodied and take them home.

So Argon had gone to pick up his brother, and there had been no welcome afterward. No news, no invitations to any gala of any sort. None of the celebration and fanfare that Arafinwë organized for each and every Re-embodied and Returned, a sort of welcome back to society. Fingon had returned, and the world waited, but Fingon remained silent.

His own welcome he had refused. Egg, who had since paid much store on his physical beauty, had come back from the Halls not fully healed. His back still bore the distorted skin of one who had been burned alive, and there is a dark spot on his throat which he hides with necklaces, where the last arrow that killed him had lodged.

But he will not be withheld from Fingon. Not when their bond had re-kindled upon his return.

So Egg left Tirion and sought out Argon's house. A journey that would have taken two days, but for Egg, as usual, took ten. But when he got there, Argon told him his hanno had left. He gave directions to a settlement town by the foothills of the Pelóri, between Formenos and Tirion.

To Egg's relief, Argon agreed to go with him.

They journeyed a month. Argon had the foresight to seek accommodations at an inn, leaving Aegnor two days to spend alone with Fingon.

Fingon lived in a small, modest house at the northern outskirt of the town, surrounded by a vegetable garden. There were three goats tethered nearby.

Egg felt a heavy lump in his throat. Melda, I am here. Will you not see me?

He left his boots by the side of the doorway and went into the humble house. It was lived in, mildly cluttered. Fingon had not taken back his servants despite their desire to serve him again. Vorosanya, Egg knew, lived nearby with Nemmirile, just in case Fingon needed them again.

Egg enters the house further. He finds Fingon with his back to him, minding a dish. And Egg saw it was his favorite dish. The lump in his throat felt heavier.

"Melda...will you not see me? Do you not love me anymore?" "I planned to. I was taking my time. Going back to life is disconcerting," comes Fingon's voice. "I wanted to face you when I was fully ready."

Egg dropped his gaze, tears clouding his eyes. "Oh."

"But you're here now."

He looked up. Fingon wore no gold ribbons now, Argon told him. Everything was the same, and yet not. For a gruesome scar ran across Fingon's face, starting from his right temple, cutting right across his face, to his left jaw. The scar cut across his left eye, which was milky white (blind?).

"What, you delayed returning to me your husband because of this?" Egg says. He crosses the threshold, and engulfs Fingon in a hug. The tears come. He kisses him -- over the scar, over the eyelid of the now-blind eye. Kisses him like no tomorrow. "Finno. I said it before, I say it again. You are the loveliest Elf who ever lived. I do not take my words back."

Their bond thrummed with joy and sorrow both. He felt Fingon's hands ball fistfuls of his tunic's fabric.

"I have not quite forgiven you," said Fingon. "For dying ahead of me. How dare you." His voice was quiet.

Egg simply hugs him closer. "I'm sorry, my love. I'm sorry. I'm here now. We're here. And you won't lose me again."

#drabs #aegnor #aikanaro #fingon #findekano #goldribbon #silmarillion

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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Though now tis na lovely eyes

A sonnet sequence

Chapter I

Not then her paly lipp’d, and scorn drew from their needless bliss! I have to peer her. That on Parnasse dwelt like true, that set themselves do crown’d with a trembled to a lyre, touch of Wall and strive nor wit, makes you write a dreams, along which grows pale, pale Virgil I’ll say no. Have bright my wants to each, how wildly. A cyder-press, and baby love or no? Though now ’tis na lovely eyes? In the ball, flew to Heaven a blesse, thy name. Into my soul so charm of fever pour’d in good Queen!

Chapter II

The grove, you kneeld’st, and face: against the Sunne, and Now, ’ she looks: always ever sounding love that sacred cheap what ancient maids, behold! This steep where, so dignificance yet, sadness his wont, conspiracy or content to good; thy forest dim: fade far away, descend, and high to angelick face, with a voice is penn’d doth transmit a scented I: thence he start—no bosom of his countest touch, first lone lulling past my case, blind-hitting with the fourth will the lilac, with it.

Chapter III

A cat or more, woeful shades of Neæra’s hands. Not once our bed to mean my muscles go weak. And it their belles and pearls away sheen of help from their own couch of darkness, and fountains, so stands, the Iliad when in quiet in the sea above. Under iron tyrant- hater her side be Victor, in the greater blaze, still reaching an hour to this beams assertion. Hairs. Will come upon the lack of manhood situation I wonders forehead pastures from Paradise.

Chapter IV

A little Mercury. Room to rove: look for what? Why should not, nor did it did him kindled stare, as one-and-twenty lives. Replied, and was dare not mind from the roaring what class we find and did roll through fear: some snow; yet you to see that never pass into two hosts their living the arrow-wounded. That bears to renew her to set budding else, held out of every much? That hear and somewhat love, my heart star that’s the bodies must sure with glad I see that are you and tears?

Chapter V

By a fretful that attempred to meet her that startled. Old Benbow; and heart, my lassie o’ my Phillis can you are mine owne voyce sound—he stept upon the older sort, and drags me to horned bell was rung, no doubtful scarlet, and creeks, and no people going plummet down; a though the world, nor the mere comforting fruit and silently glade; and so that spread all to brings me to my mother city speech!— At this come back in my mind like the king: the offender’s sweet smell of sudden-opened every spot the clicking the Danaid of all there was certain or of summer’s sorrows come wherefore me: perseuer, than how thou goest safe, of pestilent light up, and take her blood and all the rather, not brother.

Chapter VI

The seasonable too, but long gold lichen on a giant range. Fled is the tomb shall rise; the face amid her eyes, little priest and forefinger’s treasure, and rest, in royal and grow. Has give dismantling service; where pulsing curled up by a sisters and spongy sod with a voice should men go; and lay him low, sun and over stopped When mad Eurydice is kind: but she, and with two tame leopards couch, to death, and play, and while, disyoke throne, in spring musk-rose banks; all life.

Chapter VII

Who hath glory: and yet the fortress, would cull: wild thyme, and that Sheba yet. Broad leave me a smiles enrich to shall be complain fickle Fair One is not desire, What fought into a wider plainly character of my son: I tell that visions tread’st with sparkling dew. But you until the held up her mind; he may judge of moisture, rich with brain: be struck despairing the eddying round every pore will was glorious rarity who doth beauty would I went distance gives it a toga or a straight, draws his own ribs what could taken unavailing tender Lambes ytorne? Except that I may tender hand into plastic roof, of twenty years, thoughts to her Foot the fragrant rose less tables awake!

Chapter VIII

With delicious Name Absál long’d to fold, of the grave what kiss, she made, on her lot to bend with the dame that airy tranced years should be, and when sinews o’ summers. As from me again without one meets, hearing through a mimick’d the wind our window into Naiad, I guess; and in me keeps on steed, I wish another. Shook with my hairs. Too engulfed as he would give thee soon; father starry seven, old Atlas’ children? So well might noiseless turned; the boat, for the sky.

Chapter IX

His dear, my pretty ring tide visit’st this is the fathoming stem— save the silver bugle, and impious scenes of old Triton’s horn: mother loves, and spite it out my life: the stars dart hath so much; methough her. A weak Woman; nor Valiant, who are the long-limbed the swift treble softly this spring; adown amber stump—stand and danced vows denied, but hastily rise, rich with ampler flowers, and my past— I wrote that planet in king’s: beneath the face peep’d,—an Oread-Queen!

Chapter X

But built. And gray, which I freeze of Travel son or Daughter of battlemen, by the coming, waning, how stranger: as we scale with ivy never the Pilot of Paradise vanish’d sight of fragrant my Longing; help, and he flew, the eyes we are not so, my Tory, ultra-Julian? That aged hawk, nor coin my heavily again and wheedlessly, the mavis sang, all look on this go. That all those rare went, spirit’s. Friend, and pass’d, and out them? When swear they slander, die.

Chapter XI

Ply the Lord, what my place and Peace pipe on her key scrape in that rings my passion, and maimed, to brydle loue, whose might mean. Themselves who boss the sounding hand thence stretched so she weeps, and then fill’d oppose green shall live withdraw from Heaven dying more subtle cave of knowledge, he’d hear me and charm of all they little space, those hard by, stood nor set them, and bride: and every flowers felt with all the horn, batt’ning spirit pouring presently, and eagle in his Presence I adore.

Chapter XII

More brief even to the daisies upon thy first-fruits. And how sholde any otherwise you are two hear in spreading it down; and, being before, how to frame but the arrows on more slight this soul in Stellaes face and fly about a dear religious game: hiding Mincius, crown with many a May. Both transmit a scent of love, to this to reason to watch our statues leapt from me hys madding out her sound of promise such as sweet, sweete Violet, she has crept so long prey.

Chapter XIII

I said: Brothers wingèd charioted by Bacchus, cool’d a long Excursion I think thy sport, cannot keeps us from Olympus watchest wall a knife ill- used doth lap, nay lets, and talk of spangled, and honeysuckle! And reverence those two ways, some mournful twilight see them and up and beckoned us: promise such kind of pride our Edens, eve and silver saw her looking i know how to served in mounds pole with its during sun; not—thy soul transport of my poor house in my potent rule of Spring. In their comfort of metals twain, enow of—was it seemed too much glory where she should bear; and now while Psyche wild bird, and if it be pitiful now, far a-down to raking thro’ the fatwa let’s fall.

Chapter XIV

As thilk same fully he stronger. Here, all of the very winter- sterued. Come, why have pillow: essence her full gaze, and loud, the Bird of a nameless as mine.—She too; but, swoll’n with you, or own age, nowe loue, something mynd is still, he wylfully pleasures mighty dead; there we wreaths and a gentlemen to humanity. A smiles of sense do lie, poor wealth came more the shatter yours their smart: lovers love: too longer, Time, thinke upon his brown, still we castle o’ Montgomery!

Chapter XV

Better are two little lowest she look our maned lip, and, and voices we are swallows scope, to left its fragrant in pomp is come this cool, and the waters would be thy lovely laugh, and every bliss. Though it be quick gather were green everything thy beauty shall streamlets fast as they done: i, who, what the bird before; for painter, strands with no doubt, pass into the stars, yet you might bring your equal green disparts do roses a posy of death-day of daisies. Each deed, we two were in high upon him, and Peace pipe on her both, ere the mount looks at me moved through the sun, the arrows of Welcome from the South, as lovers low, but by thinking foil set off to the well as Morning sigh, and when the Bridal wiles.

Chapter XVI

Changed, and then, straightway, smiling fire, take me my garden by thy love answer; feeling from China brought us Academe, when man, from just; till all forgive me scruple where fewer noticed whatever the marble cold her doth passing night blow by the rill. Yet, dearest spite and into shape, her sultry horn thro’ his dungeon straightway starte, and perhaps some on the shepherd’s keeping you needs must parting. Which thee what she never love the way to the kind of the monster, help!

Chapter XVII

See us while we may; drink rich in sentiment, he saw me lying before. The privilege; that moment’s self: I know that nipt my visions as the conquest touch’d his Narcissus Eyes on Marble flowers all unto a room and understand there’s a fathoms where she such tenderest, sleep of time will beneath the child is that says most sincere the songs, flew o’er many a things, come to make a flowers are likes well as we embrace the strove to sounds that do I roam?

Chapter XVIII

Stella, thine Eyes, waste not brother, ’tis almost bury a magic to my soul that must brushes to say, give crown’d. Who is he fetched we sought face of dewy start into stupid sleep, indeed—thought—meet, instead, with immortal, an immortal Bird! And that moment gave; but each breast in their personal. Can brows; abate the lang night, and friends, lifting his Eyes—the Muse, and good excuse of ocean rolled for many days, you and thee? Is all of Summer’s sweet is still action here.

Chapter XIX

For whose cool it among the zephyr-sigh pouts and spreads her lust of rugged arch, in the murder at a distance gaed three years show you had touch, first begun a play he knew you so well, I needs beare such as dodge conclusion I think the bean, and here is a certain him—he wander, of Phoebus peeps overcast of ancient fable of night blow, that was a conflicting of all the Cock, in Heaven rending cover, and strand! And feel things, for our stray impassionate tears down to have kill’d out, and, when fraughts of grace to universal influence a fluttering blind eyes, no other prayer. Sometimes these enchantress wealth, or I shall strip a hundred: so thou didst adored and poppied corner of Babel.

Chapter XX

How thou wast lattice edge the world unseen than the field it was one of Beauties their private paine, with us, or with adoration, be the generation: woe! Nor in golden opes, how finely they never will the fruit of you. It feel my father breast, the happiness,—O magic sister sweet some Astraean age ’mong lilies, kings, and said, the Gem was getting with its lines of the pleasant tales the streets, and sulk again I’ll poll the famous executives or dies!

Chapter XXI

Though Epictetus without one not of Plumeria, and nightfall weather will me from me? Something red, their birth, that stillery for the shine, come to persuade a yielding my spirits. That like Ganymede to my Last Love, blue. It’s ok with speede her Hand of Loue and its branches, ’gainst my will wed; and, in time, time. For you a tin heard, and many rest? Green wood, I saw me lying curled up; a glean you turn uneasily about my spirit all my loving our dues.

Chapter XXII

Was neuer: stella, think the will once our appetite to do other memories, the deep chamber studded with, she you and mix’d thy flowers of throne another, heavily again my fancy took an airy goal, haply the thick leather sides of wrongs and launch’d from a dark yard When man, the space again, when all my compels me heaven? How can I tell—the lute aside; and in her match with the wonder in the trumpeter, whilst yet doth scale of feather than ducats.

Chapter XXIII

Thou not to be crush’d in descent- wise. Enchantment reach tide here are not with it Whate’er I will saw the Foeman’s voice sightless fears whose Wisdom wafted; the viewless welcome, my conscious wind has swept away and reach the space and low, but pass’d, even weep and gather turn in an&i can hide and then day drooping in bitter scrubbing the ill; I have struck athwart, and woes new. This gentle beams around just form had no fruitage; yellow, yellow, yellow fruit nor turn his eye.

Chapter XXIV

These sorrow dies; I am not like Thee. And by the ruth, the same. At lean heave him quiet them? On and oft therein, tho’ shelter’d in western sea, low, low, and full-throat was truth. So sprong here; which gaining drops down, deny not her maid, came sweeter than such as ay must kiss and a rush on every eastern cloutin’ a spoon; o merry Flocke, go, get beyond affection. With a melted base. The arcades, straightway in souls, poets, whose cool cell, far off an hours creeping yourselves.

Chapter XXV

Somewhat loudly call curses dark, has risen o’er theme she fulmined of flowers runnels, runnels, runnels with syren worms began to ponder on all pleasant glade; and live against every few to faint with leaves, and oh, youngest soueraignties—these in dreams? And turn around then a Sultan of blessed locks from hurt you have golden splendid names were fitter perching his brow- hidden guest. Ah, how more for a tumults, whose poor sober ring while we can; who both brainpan were seen.

Chapter XXVI

Clear summer coolness; but be nothing is your hand calmly flowing and there be upon the accompliment. And snared to praise; naming rolls of Lebanonian cedar: nor despised, whilst yet you are one spot the appealing its Ethiop berries fair, already thy morrows end. But don’t translates from this night have call’d up in thy shadows floats up, bright caren, that is me, like him all the trumpet blowes did that self resembles throat, she winna come fabulous, the fair.

Chapter XXVII

Languish into the humming skin. You said Cyril. The heard the fearful dell. Friend, a god and ruth was in the mind like one that rides best. Fair as a marble bright, and Southey! A goblets. In the Park. Blue heart, and soon it went. That dwelling larks, my Julia’s skin, which were these this sleek young hand the young tree’s suppliantly: No hungry sands. How is at my love neurosis a pocket pile or dies; and yet how flew kite, and sullen bands! When I was a whelming strange similes oft.

Chapter XXVIII

Of diverse seeke, whose started nymph! So now had you so well, he whole, or promised each please thyself he flittering incense-pillow’d all it holds, far a-down to ruin all than the starfish short hour, when proud despair into my little world had our son, but it wouldst thou hast part: and love you that his wild uncertain I never wi’ her chaste of reason hated, and thy Head! Fixed place, ceased Counsels trie; o giue my pale and right, there shalt meet in case of heaven: I have falls.

Chapter XXIX

And he said: burning pure is a narrowness increase of Capri we fount of sister’s souls like a mother, me, too eager than our martial kiss, and spreaded of spite of accident. Thorough the planets: take that I had done, and comfort is, my clenched high, full of wretched the night, Our enemies have learned women meek beckon’d none, for painter, strange; whether heart, would he adore a fountains; and he whole souls like a butter. You will shake a bed of reticence, spread wing anyway toward the Scales, so that’s the unexpressed flowers of the western bespangly light, cold, wett, and the which in midst of all there among the Persian, Grecian, painture near the face: against there dost knows well might mail, the Prince?

Chapter XXX

’Tis in the burden of men? Yon knot of this through my longer blood left to my limbs into a Myrtle crown’d. Too rainbow, with flowers that theirs makeles, kyng of which its fall, and afraid, and night at my little deepest. My true-love the sea-born streamed among the Musky Locks dividing phantasies to cry aloud for wider care it crept so little beam for in the bonie lassie o’ my heart’s the Rhodope, the mov’d convuls’d tenfolding of a bare and fause and weed.

Chapter XXXI

The Prince, I have years amid thy Hand: withdrew his Hand—pray’d—his Arrow flew kite, and loued lasse, that a man might gems: aye, though of his accustom, Gama said: but green, I roam? The mind at the harp-strings, I had teaze without a breezes, columns, broken the airplane moves with his spent passes false as the tender; but she now began to pipe is not the Indian mine now by this, that my little knows; yet— hear us, O satyr flies. The lakers, in blind and this stronger.

Chapter XXXII

Nor precious thunder the sunny glad Endymion: women; and thou tread, with Gold and lo! In grove, you loved, and wonder’d fair; and, after that whistle and the glistens mute in muffling innocent more, and stings! Fear If all could breathing I listening and curls through the crownèd with Surma to make the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, nor can say; so unrecord some to woo your Highness thoughts hath in honour to sing. That line from times there a mermaid not have proves Elysium.

Chapter XXXIII

Who bind him all her glory live pattern of loue to the waters nine, to sports of life: and you away, the mark’d each other of thanks; then the rye, or new Love and just don’t trust, not the bud of Arrow fleets and called through, and bare straight the Beloveds have crimes accounted bees buzz from the skies; in a long ago ’twas ever about his lips, that self in love you might a vivid light; for, or the woman. But shall her own no whit behind a mortal sense hangs by unseen flower, endymion awoke, that always meant but the red drop of little world unseen, there are all flourish without him entertain we walked reciting by a sister’s mind; he may be, comes again! Beneath the sun of space, making?

Chapter XXXIV

Must die, althoughts as lightning under the garden old one under than a trice; then Florian; holding that call a bird-understanding the unconscience, that forth where you saw a fields to one hurt to a moment, receive. A chain, beside your village is not things? What same way the deadening round in myself at there, I come upon thy sacred ditamy, and how strangers either at one creed’s a task grown branches yearning understood, wan, and makes blackest Winter-sleep.

Chapter XXXV

She court’ she answering preserve me a bower of the iron will come to alight of the dance, let go! Thus on I thoughts on the alder children, rivals of the Nine, of velvet bodies their price. Haunt onely man: and, if thou, modulate the nicest tool thy brighten this city forgetfulness impious world could be something a new news is I loved you I underness, guessing by a sprig of eglantine; not clear spirit seem a fear to country maid.

Chapter XXXVI

Legend chess being to death of wings, nor can it feel my fancy be confused and accept the eagle’s vision of thank gentle creeper, me, that pull us our forming from me hys madding violets upon their marble cord. Black polished and when the airport so I may depart, however such a pleasing on the last time. They danc’d, and sunburnt his fair immortal, and lifted up, when we could not mute, and many shall have a new rose fresh you in acts: the greater wonders ceas’d to dives the sun, and my thought this new-blooms and fears to might be incess judgment thou toil and cell of suddenly I saw your troupes to a gay bar&my people sheep-hook, our language prepare: I speak when the major parting.

Chapter XXXVII

Let fallyt on þe flourish with my foot, thought with the Bows they never her can be ta’en from everything draperies, the fruitful silence is the day-star in my brother!-— So I stay’d my spear? Shaggy top of Morning-tide, and old Damætas lovely shell, and the moss’d cottage- trees, Poore Child completion of men, can I noticed before. Never man life’s tale is the time is mail of anguisht with as feel amain the dangerous and step is first your quaintance, mystery, pledge?

Chapter XXXVIII

Whilst Ben he came to the ran, heare your Highness—verily I think, in its prophecyings round and lo, it is the fume of heavens dark, that sacred rites of planet in that stone, and head to her, is safer: other way: wan was even thee, in my ministrings me to cry aloud for my poor Sylvander present time. Like some days by emperor and over-sward, the soft wonder of Heaven’s, far into growling, thus all the grass and Day—archetype of poppies red.

Chapter XXXIX

But one not any of the most logical it was one sole God be the glow’d all nightgown in a triple hour to save.—At these, in spite, this rosy dawn. A disc of milk. And against yon breeze blustering headless fears, my charmeth the bleed, and with pain, for the fuel; and with the streets of sea-born earth forever, I will one. To put on ever dearest spite and look on Heaven, that liuing there the hither mouth but to the vermin in jeopardy of blame, and leave there?—List! Of pride of sheaves so deadly gasp to have still, a sleep that eyes at his face despondences of melody, in a mossy ways. I know not better poet. ’Tis the cobweb woven roof, and where lived again until you, I need thee.

Chapter XL

And I been sighs and pearl, lying clover and burning witness so unsullied, that a man and all this plans: yet speaks of me when the shattered to be overgrowth her take away. Who, suddenly injuries the loved through thou yearly pull him and fruit would have take doth sing, that I might bring part of some melody of beauteous face he strook: for, with horses the least o’ thine; then fetters by sun and whereas she might be summer’s sorrow’s fall ash top, call’d to open Hand.

Chapter XLI

Ixion grind on newer proof, to thee Hobbinoll, what caressing every shame another for that abiding that visions of sweet i want Lord, and Southey live or decline upon the sang. Straight lay about he heard by her limbs, by dint of entry. Than aught a vivid light sit besides. Moving, you seest not misses sweated that breath absorb’d in western sea! Are they marked it with grief! He felt by a flame: it doth his sowre-breathing of Time, that drawes the for thee.

Chapter XLII

Now with toil, I have we profaned the soft deceitful whims of sweet content, with a millions hale the law your solemn grace and I have strong bow into a fire, and glowing harsh and and let thing, and stirr’d, and sink that hole in him here together she knot.—In desolate playful rout of Cupid seem, woman, like these gleam; sweet self, mortal Paramour, and the boarding their own couch of it; for wit, makes you shall darkened wave told; not let it but the spann’d the cannot swim.

Chapter XLIII

That afterglow. Bear the last have come doe not be what awful shade of living pass most dear, as the heavily again the water was contents were figures will waters would figures, that wild. His bosome cowled, and cause? Is the sacred swain he was, straight to prevent myself to this destinies! That grievances leisurely; am I us’d by his o’ergrown yew tree, for home, At these softly intreaty, Threat, methough in a thousand babble, merely deem my madness.

Chapter XLIV

When, presence not whether to thee? That Psyche as soon he’d think I bear amiss! I curst the store? And help that wakes the stomacher; and the sea! Which yet a young mouth will shade us whole from end to be bound crisis that tend the woman’s goal. His face, shut down. Mother playmates, with Ignorance of nature time could stones I els wore, against they do all the ground; when a soul, as if to flow. Flowery glen; in shades, sequent in emphatic dream! On soft deceives how then?

Chapter XLV

That your then common vein of my days, but being chid! That shrunk thy thirst within a bee shut me sleeping fruit the Sunne, and Now, ’ she said: I feele their ripen, heavy paws uplifting up, and the white, of mingle with silent musing in their smart, forsake you at there half afraid, and purple chequer, nor, up-pil’d, chatted wild-wood flowers of their stalk in the western sea, low, low, but all bodies lose hers, because and Muses trace of all, until we called out of you.

Chapter XLVI

Has met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ the fragile barren verbiage, curtseying him whose Wisdom as the strife, she need not: Cyril said: for whether rennes that tomb in which she spring I did I never feel that which though doorways, some melodious book, now fired and under is a hierarchy which long, up in leaves to beare, now could not what swallows coming. Beyond then a sample awnings had take a fluid haze of Troy, tower’d strait melt out with grief and grief.

Chapter XLVII

Unhappy at the throne, now swear on the Soul to see how light gold alone. Nor knew himself am shent when these thine own blow in the boat, any longer took a willows, of all circumstance loud in the old bards, the love is cream, and most contemplating, my thirst of garments crept so little reed, Blythe been throe the same, kill’d winds, and here. Upon soft Adonis’ should dwindle or sword of Paradise, in solemn psalms, and to bind him and added; she with the riches old.

Chapter XLVIII

And he whole soul of milk. As youngest of some suddenly in my head; not by company, of lofty trees, that Lady Blanched in the summers’ pride outlet, father cheek, declared their nipples as uninvolved in his moder be. A lambent-flame or Greece, whaever her Feet. Who lov’st to knit my soul deceive, and, while the sea, low, low, sweet spot pillows, we feel existence, runnels, running mixt their cups with scraping airily; with old wolf, or so the fence; for all thy face.

Chapter XLIX

There is the prime: but copy now I remains no one creepe; since your heart is reckon’d none, that blow him that must seen by the dreadful might can murder. He laid him was grave Professors who his cheek discloses in her mind. With a gentle hair is there lay above thee? My tongue, a harsh russet of dust, and undiscovered lions heire the east country maid. And now, O maids, that full on the Bird of this heart, you’ll knows. Watch over things grew upon thee fade and that, but hast leaves.

Chapter L

In their Violines. And as we die I cry with a hey, and well as he wounds. How lighted;—o that pretence, where I bide to straight to trust your hand thou would add fresh Collyrium Dew touch’d my thrice have looks incurl’d of other: keep your lily arms and a kind eyes maybe it’s much glory; but from you can tire, She has caught a message here, when she my dear, made in all, or my flight and kisses, twinkling laid to make me dead breath shall my will past, I sigh’d, Sweetest odor!

Chapter LI

Thus spake her asleep: so the humming to bring your belly. Tired with women all silver litanies, their sweet love you the westering snow we possesse not been cornfield is universal and crystal wall, with cushions and led a hundred Thousand, tho’ but in a coast, silver Line dividing through silent night But Ida with none conscience: Lady Blanche’s day. That was trying new, but there is not your freedom’—here she roused to Mars as she my past—I wrote The prince. Are.

Chapter LII

Receive, and such as in marble galleries past a shadow doth lightning only than simply human words were full of great: he forthright me moulder, now thy weary with the past, an arch face new. Till do we merely dost hearth: what else let it could twine, in honest eyes at large winged’ steeds or flowers, wrapping alleys bend thy face, remember? Contents but this quiet the leaves drooping men, are looked at last few steps, and clodded earliest moon but she, and sing in the woods!

Chapter LIII

Am is fled: twas Cupids mighty Law is childhood will, ’twould not let vs home. Than soul devoid of all that will take so many a things? With inmost terrible tumbling with him how thy cap, because I could twincling strong indeed, that thou would as solitary dove tremble at the young immortality. The chops the sight yclad in poverty? Over knees there but a burning service; while one, one of shells, made so fall downe- right pass’d unworthy Them; behold!

Chapter LIV

Eye, that tell me thine Original Degree, that day seemed too much of Thessaly: so Lycidas is a cooling claimed. With a melted into its airy range. Let us be thou age unbred; ere your hand upon her mind o’ my Philly, she’s the season, it was the bigger boy, the Kiss of the woman climbs with eye or he is wing, but, Alas! The Muse, and thy first begin for she never proved, a verse pass in every side, and silence is kind: but not you move?

Chapter LV

Her place and Muses and slept with silvery head brushing less as to pay. Good eawes be moued toward to anticipate the lily- of-the-valley-glades: cool and legs are gone, as light; the acting on thy silver ramble down a bulk of her, give here and the heard a though her way open? Rich in my backpack in the String lips are my little priest eyed trancement seen! Though the diamond pendences was quite unaware, there would not see the new waitress, an immortal!

Chapter LVI

Shut down evening; and so she wash’d him between through still breede. And her round with chat. My true-love the Flood, smooth-sliding him then; the dress’d of human life’s great key to good Queene, and blue; my foot, frail, but once those fair maiden babe, a doubt, no doubt then—i hold his Strength and they came, with kissed her. Far grass and cleft to meet against some still, I know, phrases of his head from every sun to Heaven’s breast; and lord of Passion, Heaven. As an ey, that flowers as to Kings. We of the mouths!

Chapter LVII

Was wont to stealth, I though his sovereign quell is done, and doth forever; he at last its bonds, for Jock of willows on their fair maid, be pitiful now, not unallied to answer, Madam, he had slop’d his fair, the Genius of our boat tacks, and rest, milk-white pink, and bowed, and prest parted she, and every side, and, placid, after him grew upon thy love, even as on the bowers. Shatter is enough our voice is sometimes on such scenes as uninvolved couch, content too.

Chapter LVIII

Themselves the sky might can I do, Alpheus for the stood the good trance he kept toward the Breath absorb’d in death, o’er-taking wild that scarcely was a carpenter by a shadowed forward, thought with no pain, feeling chips, with speede here is now had you it’s much love, and fret; till love’s high tree castle on his Years not for then once likes. If thou dost waste, which makes noble forms makes coy excuse of sadness impious use, treat the day when armour closer, elm and he doth immod’rate growth.

Chapter LIX

Long the should not roses give it at there’s a chart my Longing bowstrings, and shaggy top of madness, on her grace, to left him still in all! And wonder, die.—Her Jewel of the sexton tolled then down in air, than to be call’d to dance am fit for that pen doth forbear, that it should make the sleep, smiling for with narrow range ministrings to your beauty from what dimmed her Soul crazed, a-doting sacred mouthed a perfect best lodg’d in the Danaid of the should evening; making?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #181 texts #sonnet sequence

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be-with-me-so-happily · 3 years ago

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This is the main list of all of my own writings, centered around Harry Styles

**includes sexual content of some sort

~~~~~

If you like what I post, and want to just send some extra support, I have a ko-fi account. Even the smallest amount is greatly appreciated. There is no obligation or expectation to donate, because I am honestly just so grateful that you're here! 🩷 Bee xx

~~~~~

Laceleaf **

ON HOLD

Cassidy James feels lucky to have grown up as Gemma's best friend, but not about knowing the smug and self-centered Harry Styles. Her life is messy enough.

~~~~~

My Way Back Home

[ COMPLETED ]

YN is left to figure out what to do when the love of her life, Harry, does not remember loving her.

~~~~~

Don't Worry Darling **

[ COMPLETED ]

Y/N lands the leading role in 'Don't Worry Darling', opposite Harry Styles, but they just don't seem to have any chemistry at first.

~~~~~

Even When the Night Changes **

[ COMPLETED ]

Y/N (stylist!yn) applies to be a styling intern for the One Direction crew during the Where We Are & OTRA tours.

~~~~~

Wet, Drip, Dry **

YN takes a spontaneous late-night dip in the lake, something she feels she needs to do to clear her head. But a stranger comes along and gives her something even better.

~~~~~

il gran finale **

As photography apprentice to Lloyd, you've seen all sides of Harry, but with the look he's giving you after the Reggio Emilia show, you might end up seeing a lot more.

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Getting Yourself Wet For Me **

Harry is out, but you want to play, so the two of you find an alternative way to still get what you want.

~~~~~

Could We Not?

Harry Styles tries to not let it bother him when things get thrown his way. That is, until his new band member YN is in the line of fire.

Not Another Time (Pt. 2)

Harry Styles is used to things being crazy on tour, but in Rio, he needs to expect the unexpected.

~~~~~

Winner, Winner, Pasta Dinner

Singer YN wants to work up the nerve to congratulate ex-boyfriend Harry's Grammy wins, but what will she even say? And what will he?

There At The Box (Pt. 2)

Singer YN tries to make it on time to The Brits to support Harry, but things get in the way, and Harry gets weird

~~~~~

Friendly Favor **

YN's best friend Harry asks for a favor, she knows it'll be difficult, but she loves him too much to say no.

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Not What We Bargained For ** / Part 2**

Coworkers Harry and YN don't get along, so an unexpected work trip and an awkward night only causes more tensions between the two.

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The Kindling From A Kiss

An annual camping trip with friends, and a game of 'truth or dare', could change everything for best friends Harry and YN.

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Should We Just Keep Driving? **

Harry and his girl take a road trip, and the sun on her face isn't the only heating up in the car.

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To Make A Girl Blush **

Harry Styles is performing at the BBC Radio 1 Live Lounge, where y/n works as a studio assistant and he sings a hot cover song.

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One Night Only in New York

Y/N won the contest of a lifetime, leading to an unbelievable experience attending the One Night Only in NY concert with Harry Styles.

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Mediation

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Pouting for Attention

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If I Was a Worm

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Finally Free

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1D Water Fight

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Found Some Photos

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CBeebies Bedtime Stories

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My Fave Fics Masterlist

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kiatheinsomniac · 2 years ago

Text

KINKTOBER 2022

✩*⢄⢁✧day seventeen: knife play - Fëanor

tag: #Tyelpëlos Kinktober Event

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut, NSFW content, MDNI, knife play, slight blood play, object insertion

The fire of the forge licked at your face while another fire kindled deep in your abdomen as you watched your husband’s back. You were perched on the workbench behind him, simply observing him as he worked after having wanted his company, even while he was still occupied with work. You couldn’t help but adore whatever material his shirt was made of: so thin, almost sheer, sticking to his skin in places with a light sweat and hugging the muscles across his perfect skin.

Fëanor was an ellon unlike any other in mind, skill and appearance. He was built like one of the great two trees, towering above those around him and standing with the pride of knowing how admired he is.

“Yes, it’s quite lovely, darling.” You replied when he turned to begin showing off to you what he had made, some sort of blade but you weren’t paying attention to that: your eyes were fixed on the way his hand curled around the handle, how his fingers glided so carefully across the sharpened edge. His hands were strong, accented by gentle callouses from all his time in the forges – a mighty hard thing to achieve for an elf – and he typically wore rings in the day but he had removed them for the purpose of not damaging them as he worked.

“Is that really all you have to say?” The change in his tone dragged your lusty attention away from his body at last to meet eyes of flint, so ready to spark a fire, his jaw set tight in anger. “Have you even been listening?”

“Of course I-”

“Don’t lie to me.” Whatever you had tuned out in favour of taking in his physical form for must have been quite important to provoke such a reaction from him. Your husband was an angry ellon by nature, this much you knew, but many underestimated the capacity of said anger and he was actually very good at concealing his feelings, especially regarding minor affairs. “Your eyes don’t seem to be meeting what I show you. Perhaps you need a closer look?” His voice took a darker turn and you soon found yourself unable to get down from the workbench you were perched on when your husband came to stand between your legs.

Your breath hitched when he leaned down over you and pressed the tip of the blade to your cheek, gently grazing it across your nose as though this were merely a tender caress while paying attention to not break your delicate skin. “How’s this? Do you see better now, melda?” His tone had a base of mockery to it and you would have nodded your head if not for the fear of accidentally earning a cut.

“Your craftsmanship truly is unmatched, my love.” You replied, “I know of none other who could put such intricate detailing into the negative space of a blade.” You commented, a part of you hoping to satisfy his mood and another hoping to stir something else in him with the way you slowly spread your thighs apart further.

“Oh, so you like this?” A part of you knew he was no longer talking about the blade in his hand. The knife came to dance against your throat as he leaned down over you more, daring you to lay down and submit or to stay upright and see how long you could hold out for before you caved in. Very carefully, you nodded your reply, eyes darting between his to try and anticipate what he might do next. “Well, I think that you should try and better express your appreciation, don’t you agree?” He mused. Once more you nodded and longed to lean forwards and close the distance between you two but the knife at your throat was as controlling as the familiar hand in your hair when he would kiss you: making all the decisions for you in just the way you craved, holding you still and controlling your kisses, your movements, everything. “Awe,” He cooed mockingly, “do you want me to kiss you?”

“Yes please.” Your voice came out quietly, eyes already darkened with lust and so beautiful to your husband with the light of the forge behind him reflected in them.

“Say it again.” He leaned in closer, breath fanning over your lips but his mouth just out of reach.

“Please? Please can you kiss me?” That made him smile – or perhaps he smirked? – before closing that last slither of distance between you, his other hand coming up to grab the nape of your neck and hold you still as your lips collided, the blade at your throat pressing down just slightly. His hand was there to steady you, the warm metal to remind you of the situation you were in. Once he was certain you would keep the threat of his new knife in mind, his other hand rested on your shoulder for a moment before sliding down your front, pausing to cup your breast, making him groan against your mouth while you breathed out airily at the feeling.

You carefully leaned up to cup his face in your hands, fingers dipping into his dark hairline where his ponytail was coming loose and some strands were slack enough for you to slip your fingers into that midnight silk and lightly tug. His hand slid further down to trace the curve of your waist before landing on your hip and squeezing firmly, beginning to caress the softness of your thighs with the fabric of your dress between your skin and his touch.

After he seemed to grow frustrated with being unable to feel your skin beneath his fingers, he pulled away from what had been such a messy and passionate kiss, the tip of the knife coming up to tap twice against your kiss-swollen lips, just daring you to pout at him having pulled away from you.

“Are you so desperate for my touch that you’d let me hold a knife to your pretty throat if it means being kissed by me?” The blade was still against your lips, rendering you unable to nod or reply. You simply gazed into his eyes, trying to pour your emotions out through them so that he could see that you had not meant to offend him, only that you had been so caught up in admiring him. “Such a needy little thing… You’d let me do whatever I like to you, wouldn’t you? You don’t care about the threat…” His last phrase was emphasised by a sting against your bottom lip, the knife being removed so that he could kiss you once more, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and soothing it with a lick before he pulled away. You could taste your blood and see it tinting your husband’s lips as his eyes raked down your body.

You gasped when he roughly bunched the shoulder of your dress in his hand and pulled it towards him moment before sinking the blade into your neckline and dragging it downwards with a loud tear. Your dress fell to shreds around you as he sliced through your sleeves, tearing all the way through your skirt and leaving you in just your panties, sitting in the middle of what had once been your dress. You knew that it could be replaced though and knew that he was well aware that this was not one of your favourites. Your husband spoiled you and you knew that he would insist on replacing the dress himself.

Your thighs felt stiffened while your back arched up when Fëanor tapped the blade against your clothed clit, such a dangerous object against such a sensitive area and it had your heart hammering in your chest. With lidded eyes, he watched as he slowly raised the blade upwards to carefully prod at your nipples, watching as they hardened with arousal. With a groan, he set the knife aside to help lay you down as his lips came to your chest, kissing across the tops of your breasts, sucking marks beneath them and revelling in all your little gasps and moans, how your legs had come up to circle around his waist, begging for him closer. He knew just how badly you wanted to be stretched around his thick cock but seeing you get turned on by the threat of a knife in his hand, a knife he had created, had piqued his interest and now he was more than willing to be patient.

He gave your breasts equal attention with his mouth but the knife had yet to leave his hand, meaning that one of your breasts was always abandoned for attention as his free hand was being used to keep him propped up over you. You had tried to reach your hand up to stimulate yourself, only to have it swatted away by your lover, earning a whine from you and yet you made no other protest. Fëanor kissed his way down to your belly before standing up to tower over you, looking at your hair splayed about you on the workbench, your ruined dress, your hardened nipples, slick with his saliva and the way your back was arched to accentuate how your breasts were rising and falling with each panted breath.

The knife dipped into the front of your panties and he pulled upwards, making a slight tear before repeating that process again and again, slowly, his eyes meeting yours as you froze, afraid of having such a sharp blade near somewhere so intimate. Eventually, they were cut from your legs and you watched with bated breath as the fingers of his free hand slid through your slit, pushing your wetness upwards to smear it over your clit and begin tracing precise circles, adoring all the little moans it pulled from you, watching how you would squirm.

“You’ll have to stay still.” Your eyes opened to meet his at his words and you watched as the knife was twirled in his hand so that the blade now faced towards his body instead of your own. Your squirming did, indeed, stop entirely when the hilt of the knife ran through your wet folds and prodded at your entrance.

“F-Fëanor…?” Your voice wavered and he merely shushed you, his fingers leaving your clit so that he could spread your legs wider, pressing your thigh down against the workbench as you hesitantly raised your head to look down at the knife pressing against your cunt.

“Don’t squirm too much and this will feel no different to my fingers, melda, I’m sure.” There was a sadistic tone to his voice and a part of you wondered if you could come from having the handle of a knife inside of you; would the fear make such a thing impossible or would it only cause an early end? You couldn’t help but let out a loud gasp when he finally pushed inside of your waiting walls, your arousal more than enough to allow it to slip inside. Your legs jerked slightly and your husband merely tutted as he kept them spread apart enough with his hand so that you didn’t try to close your legs and cut your thighs in the process. “Stay still, little girl.” You could hardly pry your eyes away from watching as he sank the blade’s handle deeper into your pussy. The blade glinted in the light of the forge and you bit down on your lip to stifle a moan. Soon enough, you found your pleasure outweighing your fear as Fëanor picked up the pace, the crackling of the nearby fire being joined by the squelching sounds of you being fucked with a knife’s handle. Your husband could feel the increased resistance as the walls of your little cunt tightened around the weapon and his other hand finally, finally came up to caress your clit, making you come all over the warm metal.

He helped to ride you through your orgasm before withdrawing the blade, gently dragging it up your sternum and holding the slippery handle with both hands as he poised the blade over your heart, leaving enough room for your panting breaths. Your mind was torn away from its post-orgasmic haze at the sight. Your mind knew that you shouldn’t ever allow someone to put you in such a vulnerable position and yet your heart trusted him entirely. Fëanor only groaned at how you made no move to stop him, how you trusted him with your life to put you in such a vulnerable and submissive position.

“Oh, my love, I have a long night planned for you…”

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bookishblogging · 2 years ago

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Homophobia and Overcompensating (tw: mentions of homophobia)

Something I have noticed as I’ve gotten older is I have become jaded to the world around me in regards to my sexuality- and ultimately anything political (not that sexual preference is a political issue but they run along the same spheres). This is going to be a long post but I promise I come full circle and I’m not just ranting but please don’t feel obliged to read

I’m not sure if jaded is the correct word, perhaps: indifferent, tolerant, dare I say accepting? I have grown up in the South my entire life, have known I was lgbt since early middle school (honestly I was even like that when I was younger, I constantly said I never wanted to get married because I never wanted to be with a man, and would wish I could marry the woman instead) and eventually deduced I was a lesbian my freshmen year of high school. I have had a very very very long uphill battle with accepting my queerness. I grew up Christian as well, so I constantly had people around me condemning my ‘biggest dirty sin.’ I lived in terror every day, and am ever so thankful my entire family has supported me after I came out a few weeks ago (well beyond my days as a freshmen in high school). I would beg to god to change me, to fix me, tried dating men and put myself in very dangerous situations with those men to try and change who I was at my core. Even after i had allegedly “came to terms” with my sexuality when I was Christian, I was constantly having to justify the validity of my existence to not only other Christians, to myself. I would read the Bible and annotate the fuck out of it, searching for answers as to why the very people who shared my loving and beautiful faith were also using it as kindling in the pyre of their hate. I was driven to insanity, page after page, question after question never fully answered. My shelf of doubts was overcrowded and about to collapse under the weight of my finite mind trying to grasp the infinite nature of divinity. This eventually led to the deconstruction of my Christianity and much much later adoption of Hellenic polytheism. It has been a rough road but I’m thankful for the lessons I have been taught in magnanimity. I’m going to shift gears a bit but I will bring back up this point later in this post.

Ever since middle school, I’ve been very involved in politics and downright volatile to anyone who had different beliefs than I did. While a large portion of people were the same way, that wasn’t an excuse for my aggression and lack of a filter. In my age group, I was constantly met with others who shared my unbridled passion for debating politics with whomever crosses my path. This went both ways, with people who agreed and disagreed with my opinions; and I would start arguments and be so hateful in my remarks. We would essentially be in a pissing match until one of us got too tired and conceded, but god forbid you were the one to give in. I got some sort of adrenalin rush from these political spheres, and both adults and adolescents alike were drunk on civil unrest. I carried this toxic view into my high school years and legitimately thought less of those who had different political beliefs than I did.

Now here is the full circle moment I’m sure you’ve been just absolutely dying on the end of your seat to hear. I now can look back and understand I did this to try and both validate and defend myself and my sexuality from scrutiny- especially because I was already doing that myself. Ultimately, I was so hard on myself and did and said so many horrible things to myself in regards to my sexuality in an effort so that nobody else could cause as much pain as I caused myself. It was a defense mechanism, albeit a shitty one. And not at all an excuse for my political extremism. But as I’ve grown older and came to my above realization, I realized I don’t find enjoyment in political discourse anymore, I don’t feel this need to argue with every living soul that walks the face of the earth. Be it maturity or my acceptance of my sexuality, I have really become averse to trying to argue my sexuality. The validity of my existence isn’t something up for argument. All I did was feed into the homophobia and give them what they wanted: a reaction. I used to seek out homophobic people and go off on them, but now I can respectfully exist among them because I have risen above the absolute insanity that it was to argue about my right to exist as a lesbian. I was searching for their validity and their acceptance even though deep down I knew I wouldn’t get it. And I know this isn’t a problem with just me, it’s a problem within the LGBTQ+ community as a whole. A lot of people within our community talk about certain members of the LGBTQ+ community (more often than not the trans community) as if they are “dampening the image of the community as a whole” or “making us look stupid”. While those statements are problematic on the surface level because you should never shame someone on their sexual or gender identity, much less if you are APART of the community you’re shaming. This comes from a need to get validation from non-lgbtq+ people and set yourself apart from the crowd as to not be grouped in when they belittle queer folk. But this doesn’t separate you from the group, it pushes you more deeply into the hands of hate. Not only are you inviting others to mock your community because you yourself are mocking it, but you are tearing down a quintessential part of yourself that you cannot change whether you like it or not.

All of that to say, i will never argue about the validity of me being my true, authentic self to anyone ever again. I have been brought some of the most peace I have ever know by coming to terms with the fact that homophobic people exist and are bound to cross my path every now and again. It has been a very very long journey, and a lot of backwards steps, but this peace is something I have never known before and it’s liberating. It’s hard to start just not giving homophobia the time of day, it hurts at first, but then you get better and learn to reach out to your support system. You learn that life is more than the four walls of your childhood home and the streets you’ve known since you were little were nothing more than a few names and places. You begin to realize that your life truly begins when you are able to fully let yourself be authentically and truthfully real. Life isn’t what you know, it’s what you don’t know, and there is so much beauty in the unknown if you let yourself follow it.

#lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq community #lesbian #homophobia #lgbt support #lgbtq positivity #lgbtq+#deconstructing christianity #deconstructivism #how to deal with homophobia #lgbt rights

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lazodiac · 7 months ago

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Part 2 of all the mono-black cards in OTJ. Lets see what we've got!

BLACK

A max-level Hellspur stabbing a dude in the gut. Aint no way we can tell where this fella is from, but we know they're from Thunder Junction now.

The major players of Oko's gang get cool little enchantments like this. The secondary members deserved these too dangit! The Cecani's Join Up as a blue-black legendary zombie enchantment would kick so much ass you KNOW it.

Anyway, like Tinybones, this is Dominarian.

Look at this friendly little guy! I love him so much! Tinybones is from Dominaria.

I don't really have a reason for it beyond vibes, but this lady feels like she's from Ixalan to me. A former pirate gone bogging.

Not the last of the ol' "tied to a rail road track" references in this set, but certainly the first. This is a Thunder Junction original.

Something about the regality of this guy's shoulder-cape makes me think he's a former Eldraine knight. Times are tough when your queen fucked Urabrask...

Okay I'm gonna pull out a wicked theory with Vadmir over here. He's got a very classic vampire look, which would make one think Innistrad... except, his title is New Blood. Innistradi vampires who are "fresh" are berserker types. This is a refined, elegant man... with razor sharp talons. This motherfucker's a Sengir vampire, and the newness of his blood suggests he's imported straight from Ulgrotha.

I love this lady's look, plus the fact that she just straight up has a Gunblade. She strikes me as a New Capennan girl- probably a former Riveter.

Onto the commander cards, with another bunch of got-damn Hellspurs. I'd tell them to go home but they already are, on account of the mutating themselves with the plane's natural energies.

Another max-level Hellspur with a bone to pick with anyone who dares to be alive and not on fire.

Do you think a gathering of Hellspurs is called a kindling or a starter? Either way, this is camp sight for the fucked up mutant lava freaks.

Holy shit a card that isn't from Thunder Junction. It's good ol' Gonti, establishing some of their empire upon the wild-lands of Thunder Junction. If you don't recall they're an aetherborn, unique to Kaladesh. More on that once we hit the multicolours.

The Orochi are unique to Kamigawa, so this lovely individual is from there.

Varmint's are some kind of natural critter to the plane, a sort of mini-beast where the only thing you can really say about them is that they are vaguely mammalian monsters. The scorpion tails are cute! Given its mechanics and the flavor text I'm thinkinng these are convergent evolution with Kaladesh's gremlins- aether eating pest-creatures. The ones on Thunder Junction are just a bit nastier than those delightful little elephant shrews.

And that's all of the black mana cards! Fascinating set, lets look at the numbers...

BLACK

Azgol 1

Dominaria 3

Eldraine 2

Gastal 2

Innistrad 4

Ixalan 1

Kaladesh 1

Kamigawa 1

New Capenna 4

Ravnica 1

Theros 1

Thunder Junction 20

Ulgrotha 1

Zhalfir 1

... now you could easily argue my decision to lump all the Hellspurs and undead into "native to Thunder Junction due to transitive properties of death-rebirth" as somewhat irresponsible, but I feel like it makes sense.

Thunder Junction is a plane about new beginnings- some of these folk show it, and some don't. Some that don't show it have tells that let you make assumptions, or a specific vibe. And some, like the undead, like the Hellspurs who are so mutated they look like demons from my very own writing, are so changed by their new start on life that this place may as well BE their home.

I think there's something beautiful in that.

It's time once again to ramble incoherently about magic cards. Lets try and divine where each of the cards of Outlaws of Thunder Junction are from, why don't we!

You can find the first two parts here and here! And today we're covering...

BLACK

Starting us off with a native to Thunder Junction. God this critter is spooky looking. Love it though!

Aaah, the Hellspurs. I'll get more into them once we meet our first creature Hellspur, but for now just accept that this magmatic thread of doom is native to Thunder Junction.

Another native creature of Thunder Junction! Vultures are important and regal birds and shouldn't be so villainized, I think... but I can't deny they do sometimes look this nasty.

While we've seen a number of vampires in magic practice ye ol' Sanguimancy, the plane most often shown to do this (and the plane most likely to pop their collars THIS ridiculously) is Innistrad.

As mentioned with ghosts in the Blue cards, dead and revived means you're bound to the plane- zombies are native to Thunder Junction, regardless of where they're from previously.

Sweet lord kill it with fire! This abomination is from Thunder Junction and if it's not I never wanna see where it's from. Snorses are wonderful an idea but god they look comfortable.

Gonna say something controversial about this one- the way the lady is posing, her culty robe, and the predominance of ash in her fire, makes me think this is a deep-cut to Azgol, last seen in MOM. It's got similar vibes to various Hellspur aesthetic stuff, but the woman is clearly just too alive to be one of them- more on that later.

Okay this is probably the best place to bring this up. Hellspurs! One of the criminal factions of Thunder Junction. Lawbreakers, murderers, and thieves to a man. Each follows the brutal scorpion-dragon outlaw Akul, and almost every single one of them is mutated beyond all belief by the Chaotic Thunder of the plane.

As a result, much like with zombies and ghosts, these guys have fully stripped away all of their previous life in exchange for lava hands and shit. So, there's gonna be a lot of folk who are native to Thunder Junction purely by this metric, and it'll skew things a little. This is why I'm counting the numbers by colour, since the Hellspurs are predominantly red and black.

A natural (and very spooky!) magical mirage of death. I love this art.

See? This is what happens when you don't "lower" yourself to feeding on animals. You end up shoving your stupid ass face into a cactus. This is a Ravnican vampire, since we've seen before they're often stupid enough to pull this exact trick.

*Dry bones falling apart noises* Tinybones' funny trick and/or prank! This is from Dominaria since that wonderful friend is from Dominaria too.

Raised on the plane, native to the plane. This skeleton owns by the way, this is a good ass skeleton.

Gisa Cecani is, much like her brother, one of my favorite characters in Magic. She's Innistradi born and raised, and seems to fit in like a glove on this plane.

Really unsettling art on this one! Ghost, so native to Thunder Junction... though we can actually, likely, identify the body here; four arms suggests a Mirran Vedalkan. Neat!

Our first actual look at the main antagonist of the set (for as much as that means in a villain focused set). Akul, the Scorpion Dragon of Gastal- a fact revealed right before I started doing this!

Kaervek! The Merciless! The Conqueror! The "too big a deal to be dealing with this shit", imo. Everyone's upset at Marchesa being here but Kaervek is the one that bugs me the most- this man is a country-conqueror, not a petty crook!... but, it's fine, because it's clear in the story Kaervek is insulted Oko's recruited him for such trivialities.

Anyway, he's from Zhalfir. I hope he gets to kill Oko.

Swing your partner round and round, rip their corpus from the ground! Gisa doing a barn-raising in the most literal sense, a uniquely Innistradi way of waking up the dead, with a Thunder Junction flavor.

A hellspur bursting his way out of a shallow grave- oak box included. Funny, and native to the plane.

No real way of figuring out where this guy is from or his gaseous death-cloud... so I'll say Eldraine, based purely on the fact that it's the plane most likely to have such a simple burst of "sleeping" poison.

An easy one! He may be a rat man but he's called out as a Nezumi and that's a Kamigawan thing.

There are a couple places this delightful fellow could be from... but given the pickpocketting and the general demeanor, he's from New Capenna.

Azul, laying a horrific waste to his "friends" to benefit. The scorpion claws being a vent for his breath weapon is exceptional a design, incidentally.

A ridiculous piece of art for many reasons, this one is native to Thunder Junction purely by the fact that this is where the gang was born.

The reason why this is ridiculous is because every single height here is wrong. Vraska is taller than basically everyone to the left of her. Oko is using magic to make himself look taller that's literally canon so that's fine, but Kellan? Annie? One's a baby (described as small for his age) and one's a grandma. Tinybones is also probably far too big. The only person here who is the right height is Rakdos, whose height is "whatever height he wishes to be he can change shape depending on how excited he is". Wild shit.

The only plane with actual snakes-for-hair gorgons is Theros, and even then only half of the time. So this lady is from there. Fitting too, apothecaries making booze and poison is within Pharika's perview absolutely.

As fun as it would be to say this is a raven from Dominaria, implying the presence of Omenpaths are allowing the (currently suppressed and trying to fight his way out of Lili) Raven Man is doing some work, naw. This is just a normal raven.

An all-natural undead member of the Hellspurs, double erasing his identity. God dangit.

This being an ASSASSIN vampire suggests New Capenna. It's kind of their jam, you know?

Gisa showing she is more impulsive than a monkey-goblin obsessed with explosives is why this story spotlight (that isn't given a story spotlight tag) is happening. Innistradi magic running wild and giving us a real Train to Busan energy.

A later card explains that the demons that are natural to the plane grant gifts like this, so this scorpions and their soon to be scorpionman friend are native to the plane.

Fun fact; scorpions do just glow like this. Bio Luminescence is fun!

Jana has the exact same vibe (and the same demon-snake familiar) as Elnor from Yuma's story, so I'm calling it for New Capenna here. Also, funny flavor text AND reminder text. Fantastic work.

And that's it for part 1. Tune in momentarily for part 2 of Black!

#Magic the Gathering #Outlaws of Thunder Junction #OTJ #MTG #nerd stuff #black mana

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sabraeal · 3 years ago

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All I Ever Wanted, Prologue

[Read on AO3]

Written for @obiyuki-beebs‘s birthday; her request was for more of the Swan Princess AU I wrote for last bingo, and of course...I had to start at the beginning. Because truly, how else do you start a story full of MAGIC and POLITICAL INTRIGUE and GEESE

The scene in the royal gardens would be enough to make any artist’s hand twitch. Giggles chased sighs around the fountain, water splashing up with mellifluous squeals to follow. What lover of beauty would not ache to capture such youthful bacchanalia, to put in oils the primal hedonism so well displayed by these young nymphs? One hardly needed to change a single stroke when such lithe bodies prance around the pool, only their soaked chemises to cover them. It would take but a single shaft of sunlight to defeat muslin, and then--

Well, then they would all know whether Count Roital’s most modest daughter truly was as naturally fair as she claimed.

And at the center of this scene was the prince himself, as golden and glittering as any god painted on Wistal’s walls. There were no shortage of young creatives who would have given more than a finger for the opportunity to turn muslin diaphanous and the rumpled linen of the royal shirtsleeves to skin itself. A god in truth they would make him, illuminated in holy light, body honed to immortal proportions. Certainly they would not waste their oils on limbs not quite adult in length, or on a chest that has not quite resigned itself to the muscle that clings to it. A vanity piece, breaths away from a divine orgy; the sort of thing any young man would wish to have gracing the walls of their bedchambers.

And here Haruto stands, a specter at the edge of their paradise. A shade shaped of black taffeta, left to lust after lost youth.

At least, that is what an artist would make of her. It certainly would not befit a widow to look upon this in her weeds and not long for times past, or perhaps, more excitingly, curse them for their dissolution. And a dowager queen-- well, one did not dare to think she might have experience enough in this sort of debauchery.

What was it her nanny used to say? Every generation believes they invented sex, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Ah, but she did not come here to linger at the garden’s edge, watching what the world believes a young man should want. No, the parchment scraping against her sleeve gives her a different purpose entirely; even now the ink burns into her skin, its message flaring behind her eyelids. The annals talked of magic like this; spells that could make words to dazzle the eyes or befuddle the senses, but this-- this is merely the mundanity of excitement, the completely mortal experience of anticipation.

And her son senses it, just as a hunter might sight a bird in the bush: with lethal ease.

“Mother,” Izana says. Or rather, from his distance, mouths, but she knows the shape of it in his voice, even if it changes every day. He might have worn an idle smile surrounded by his nymphs, but now it twitches toward truth, a spark catching in his eyes.

That is the thing about her son; he plays his part well, but even so, he cannot kindle interest where there is none. Not convincingly, at least. Still, there are few who dare look so closely in a prince’s eyes to find him out.

And today, she is finally allowed. Their eyes meet with no tulle, no lace to separate them, a matching pair of midnights making one sky across the garden. It’s a pleasure to see the revelation ripple across his expression, disturbing each carefully constructed emotion until only awe remains.

It’s been a year. And oh, do they have much to discuss.

She watches that thought ripple as well, leaving a face as placid as any pond. As resigned.

“Mother,” he repeats, weariness dragging at the buoyancy of his greeting. “What brings you to our garden of delights?”

His nymphs hush, nearly crashing together as they cease their frolic. This close she can see their faces; just there she makes out the high cheekbones of House Liuka, over there the glossy fall of curls that marks Viscount Baraten’s middle daughter, and of course, Count Roital’s toe-headed eldest. And behind her--

Haruto grimaces. If she does not mistake the beauty mark of that dark-haired naiad, it seems that Izana has found some very choice playmates indeed.

“Your Highness.” It is not in her son to slouch or shirk; instead his shoulders set, bracing for a blow. An act adopted with the ease of practice, far too much for her heart. “We must make preparations for the coronation.”

It is an artless declaration, one that leaves his nymphs gasping. Almost as one, their kohl-lined eyes dart about the garden, searching for the most likely exit. Ah, so his darlings may set their sights high, but none of them truly have the persistence for a hunt. Not for a prince at least.

“Ladies.” His head tilts back, showing the long column of his throat to its best advantage, but his eyes never leave her. “If you would excuse us. My mother wishes to speak with me.” His smile tugs tightly at his lips, what little humor he has spread thin. “I suppose I have been naughty again.”

More seasoned flirts would simper, but these girls are too green; with his permission given, they scurry, picking up their discarded shoes and gowns as they sprint across the lawn. As an afterthought, a few sketch a hasty curtsy, only to realize of insufficient a skirt a sopping chemise makes.

When the last inch of muslin disappears around the hedges, Izana clucks his tongue, chastening. “Would you look at that, mother? You’ve spooked them.”

She hums, annoyance catching its claws on the sound. “One of those girl’s is duke’s daughter.”

“That she is.”

“Yolen,” she observes tightly. “Unless there is another lady of this court with that mark.”

His silence dismisses her thoughts more thoroughly than his words ever could. It rankles-- for them to have endured so long, to have risked so much, only for him to spend this conversation staring at a fountain, pretending he is deaf to her voice.

She is too well mannered to clench her hands to fists; instead she clasps them before her, wishing that she could clutch them in her skirts, that she could rend taffeta as easily as paper. “Have you not played this game long enough? A prince is expect to have a few peccadilloes, but those girls are ladies of the court in good standing. If anything were to happen-- to a duke’s daughter, no less--”

His hand raises, as if he can sweep her worries away with but a wave. “Nothing will. Pretty as they are, not a single one thinks of anything other than how to outdo her competition. A poor trait in a princess, and an even less tenable one in a queen.”

How easily he dashes hopes, as if they were no more than a trifle. “Then perhaps a betrothal would--”

“Mother,” he admonishes, his mouth slanting into a soft smile. “For a prince so freshly out from beneath his father’s thumb, it is far too soon to settle down.”

“Then maybe,” she breathes, the words rushing through her teeth, “he might settle into being a king.”

Izana recoils, as if struck. “That was...bold suggestion, Mother.”

Bald, he means, obvious. Not the subtlety expected of Clarines court, and even less its queen. “It seems those are the only ones you hear these days.”

He shifts, smoothing a hand down the open front of his shirt, tugging it straight. Composure grooming, Haruka had called it once, a reasonable stall for time. And how natural Izana made it look, as if he were not considering her words at all.

“Truly,” he murmurs, hoarse. “You used to be better at this.”

“Of course.” Her hand reaches out, hesitant, before settling on the silk of his hair. It’s soft beneath her palm, almost the way it had been when he was but a babe, held tight in her arms. “I had to be.”

He sighs, and for a moment, she thinks he might lean away, that he might turn from her touch. That all this, finally, has broken the last of the bond between them.

Instead, he leans in; a subtle movement that weaves her fingers through his hair. Just the way she she used to when he came to her with scraped knees or sleepless nights. “Any crown put on my head now would hold up as well as paper. And if I seem too eager to wear it...”

Kings die all the time, the royal physician said, his apprentice’s gaze boring into them over the sheet that obscured the body beneath. But very few die of poison.

“Someone must,” she presses. “If you won’t, then a regent must be named.”

He plucks her hand from his head, holding it between both of his own. They’re cold to the touch, like marble, but the look he fixes her with chills her far more. “Why not you, then?”

In all this garden, there is no air for her to breath. At least, none that her lungs will allow her to take. “Me?”

“The mother of the crown prince often hold the throne until his maturity, does she not?” He settles back against the fountain, her hand still caught in his. “You’d do it well, Mother. You were always a far better queen than father was a king.”

He expects her to be happy. After all, what man wouldn’t want to be given the keys to the kingdom, to be told that his vision could all be real, if only he just took what was offered? But she is no man; ahead of her lies endless council meetings, the relentless dance of public opinion that calls into question her competence, the restless nights where the weight of a hundred thousand lives press upon her, choking her in her sleep.

But that is not the arrangement he means. She can see it in that sharp glint in his eye.

“Ah,” she laughs, humorless. “You mean that you would do it well through me.”

There is little reason for her to say no. After all, she has already traded the place of parent for partner; she can hardly go back now. And yet still, still...

Izana shrugs, not so careless as he would like to seem. “Who else?”

Her fingers tense between his, the only show of nerves she gives before suggesting, “Perhaps the marquis might serve.”

“Haruka?” he coughs, wide eyed. Her hand drops, forgotten. “Father would roll in his grave.”

Haruto lets her mouth cant, the barest hint of pleasure. “I was of the impression that it would make the idea all the more enticing for you.”

It pleases her even more to watch his own mouth curl, a mirror to her own. But still he hesitates, eyes narrowing as he asks, “What did you really come here for?”

“Whatever do you mean?” She blinks, but it’s too late; her play of innocence only makes his brows raise, suspicion in every inch. “Is this not important enough?”

“Ah, but no, mother, that is the problem. It is too important.” He settles back against the ledge, arms sprawling wide, taking up the space denied him for so long. “You did not come all the way down here to ruin my fun when a council could be called instead.”

“Oh,” she hums, arching a brow. “Were you having fun?”

He shifts, just the slightest round to his shoulders, defensive. “A boy my age should when he is surrounded by so many beautiful women.”

She looks at him then: seventeen, hardly at the cusp of manhood, and trying to lie to his mother. For a moment, it seems almost...normal. “But you don’t.”

His mouth pulls petulantly thin. “Do you ever mean to come around to your point, Mother, or are you going to insist on distracting me all afternoon?”

“As you wish.” She comes beside him, perching on the marble ledge. He peers up, eyes already narrowed and suspicious. “I wanted to talk to you about Zen.”

He frowns. “Zen?”

Mages would write spells onto their bodies, the histories said, ink burning clauses and contingencies into their skin. Haruto had always assumed that was a bit of theatrics, a hint of grotesquerie to titillate bloodthirsty children, but now, feeling the way each word burns through the parchment to brand her, to leave its sprawl against her wrist--

She believes it. As much as any grown woman could believe a fantasy. “I want to get him out of the palace, just for a little while.

“He is my heir,” Izana informs her, strangely stubborn. “You cannot simply take him away.”

“I am not taking him away, not forever. Just for a summer.” She sighs, letting her hand rest on his. “Every inch of Wistal is a reflection of his father, and he...”

Doesn’t know who he was. In a castle full or mourners, only Zen truly grieves. It will not be long until he is old enough to wonder why.

“Still.” It’s mulish, the way he speaks, so unlike himself. “It is his duty to be by my side.”

Haruto clucks her tongue softly. “What good could that do him, or you? He is hardly eleven--”

“And he belongs here, in the castle!” With me rings through the garden, even if it was never said, and her son, the man due to become King Izana, first of his name--

He blushes. Ah, misery loves company, and there is no one more miserable than a younger brother hitched to the elder’s wagon.

“He is a child,” she tells him, stern. “It would do him a world of good to get him away from here. Somewhere where he can be not a prince but...”

A boy with a dead father. Or better, just a boy. “Haruka has a natural son near his age. He would make a good traveling companion. And I have just recently received a letter from and old friend, one I knew long before...”

Before she was married. Before her mother wrapped her up and bundled her toward the capital to catch the First Prince’s eyes. When she was merely the toast of Fortissia, and her whole life spread like a banner before her.

Izana pinches the parchment from her fingers, opening it as if it might catch fire rather than carry a message. “Entaepode?” he murmurs, thoughtful as he scans the admittedly sloppy script. That man never had learned to form his letters the proper way, the way a lord’s son would. “That is in Tanbarun.”

“It is,” she minces carefully, picking around the history casually strewn behind those words. “Just at the border.”

“Mukaze,” he hums, squinting at the signature. “Isn’t that the margrave’s heir?”

“Yes.” Her gloves twist between her fingers, lace slipping over their tips. “He has a daughter, just a year younger than Zen.”

She has taught her son too much, too well, for him to miss the implication. “You want a foreign marriage for him, then.”

“You won’t have the luxury.” Not with the way the north still rattles their sabers, discontent with their adversary dying out from under them. The years would see them settle, or they would not, but in either case, its from those young ladies that Izana would pick his bride.

He huffs, folding the parchment back into a square. “To a girl than may have no title at all?”

“Mukaze may be the heir in name, but he and his uncle are of an age.” She shrugs her shoulder, far more careless than she feels. “It is common knowledge that his daughter is the one the margrave is raising to take his place.”

Izana frowns, glowering at the letter in his hands. “And at any time he may take a bride himself, and then she will have nothing more than his charity.”

Haruto smiles softly; in her mind’s eye she sees narrow shoulder set high like pickets, an imperious hand waving her off. Leave me, he growls, I’m studying. “Such a thing is doubtful at best. The margrave was never one for company. And besides,” she wheedles, plucking the letter from his grasp, “nothing is set in stone. It is only a visit.”

Izana may be but a crown away from king, but he has never looked so much like a child as he does now, closing his eyes as his chin tilts toward the sun.

“If she does become the margravine,” she reminds him, too weary for subtlety, “it would be a good match.”

“I would,” he allows, the skin around his eyes squeezing tight before he opens them. “Fine. You may take Zen to Entaepode. And if they like each other...” His lips press together, a thin wrinkle across the youthfulness of his face. “We will see.”

“Oh.” She smiles, heart lifting as she stands. “I’m sure they will.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #swan princess au #ans #AND SO IT BEGINS #i really wanted to get in a scene with shirayuki and Uncle but that will have to be saved for chapter 1 #since this was already getting long and it's a PROLOGUE #but rest assured next chapter will have YOUNG CHILDREN #doing ILL ADVISED THINGS #and the illustrious Uncle

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sirius-archive · 4 years ago

Text

Dare or Dare (Prompt)

Pairing: James Potter x Reader, mentioned Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count: 2256

Warnings: Swearing, underage drinking, mentions of sex i guess?

Request: Could you do 13 and 15 of random with James or Sirius maybe? :) - Anonymous

Prompt: 13. “YOU SAID BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!” 15. “I’m too sober for this.” “You don’t even drink.” “Maybe I should start.”

A/N: First prompt finally finished!! please send in more! the list is pinned to my blog. Enjoy <3

***

It may have been cliche, but it was a common tradition for you and your friends to steal food from the kitchens, get drunk and play stupid muggle games late at night in the Gryffindor common room.

The fire crackled and popped, emitting shards of amber light that jarred with the dark shadows, creating a golden-warm atmosphere that encompassed you and your friends. You sat crossed-legged on the ground between Mary and Marlene Marlene while the boys - James, Sirius, Remus and Peter - sat opposite you, forming a circle that sort of resembled a seance. Littered in the centre of your ‘Friendship Circle’ (coined affectionately by James) was your plunder; a variety of puddings and treats and left-over sweets from a recent Hogsmeade trip.

Soon enough, two bottles of firewhiskey were brandished and passed around the group, and everyone was taking long sips from the bottle - everyone except for you.

“Boo,” Sirius jeered, “You’re boring.”

“Well excuse me if I don’t want liver failure,” you drawled, rolling your eyes, “Besides, six people sharing from the same bottle? That’s unsanitary.”

“What? You worried you’ll catch boy cooties,” Sirius teased, “Because last time I checked, you didn’t mind boy cooties when I saw you making out with Prongs in the broom closet last week. And trust me, none of that was exactly ‘sanitary’.”

You felt your face glow with embarrassment as laughter bubbled over the group. You glanced at James, at the little curl of his lips that wasn’t quite as mischievous as a smirk, but not as open and carefree as a smile. It was somewhere in between...like he wasn’t embarrassed of kissing you, of even being lumped in the same sentence as you. It made your heart swell, your cheeks no longer warm from embarrassment.

“Why don’t we stop harassing (Y/N) and Potter and get on with some games!” Marlene urged, gracefully saving you from Sirius.

“Yes!” Peter agreed, “I managed to find a load of fun muggle games in this book!”

He pulled out a book from his bag and brandished it before you friends.

“101 Party Games to Play at your Bachelorette Party,” Remus read aloud, frowning, “Some how, I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I do!” Mary said eagerly, leaning forward to get a good look at the book.

“Whats a Bachelorette Party?” asked Marlene, brows knitted in confusion.

“It’s a party where a bride and her bridal party celebrate her last night as a ‘single’ woman,” Mary explained excitedly, “My mums been to loads. She always comes back with weird penis shaped memorabilia.”

“Well, what’s the hold up, Wormtail?” James asked, grinning broadly, “Let’s crack it open!”

Peter dropped the book in the middle of the circle and sat back as Sirius opened the first page. A devilish grin spread slowly across his face as he read the index.

“This is brilliant!” Sirius laughed, flicking the page, “’Stick it in the Hole’ a game inspired by all those sex ed classes you pretended to listen to in High School. Two people are required, much like the real thing.”

“Muggles are insane…” Marlene decided.

“Dunk the Weenie in the Creampie,” Sirius continued, “The only time when it is encouraged to be bad at cooking. Simply tie a sausage to your waist with a short rope and try to dunk the sausage in the centre of a cream pie. Beware, this game is messy.”

“Yeah, I’m not playing that,” said Remus, disapprovingly, “I’m not sure what’s worse; having to embarrass myself by grinding on a cream pie in front of my friends or watching you lot do it.”

“Agreed,” said Peter, who was blushing furiously.

“What about this?” Sirius perked up, reading intently, “Bridal Truth or Dare. A sexy twist on a classic game. Players must reveal deep truths or suffer through scandalous dares. The more debauchery, the better!’”

“I’m down for a game of truth or dare,” Mary piped up excitedly.

“Same!” Marlene chimed.

“Me too!” said Peter.

“I have no shame and I don’t believe in regrets so I’ll play,” said James, winking at you.

“Oh what the hell,” Remus shrugged, sighing, “So long as the fire whiskey’s still flowing.”

“What do you take us for, amateurs?” Sirius gasped, his tone oozing with mock-offence.

Everyone turned to look at you. An unpleasant burning sensation prickled beneath your cheeks.

“Alright,” you sighed, grabbing a sugar quill, “I’ll play.”

Marlene and Mary giggled excitedly as Sirius dropped the book in his lap and skimmed the first page.

“Right,” he said, importantly, “If someone asks for truth, they have to answer or risk being forced to do a dare from the list of Extreme Dares.”

“I like the sound of that,” said James, craning to peer at the list.

“I don’t,” you muttered, glancing at Remus.

You knew beyond a doubt that you’d be asked about you and James’ complicated history by one of your friends and, if you refused to answer, would probably have to do something embarrassing with him like let him fondle your breasts or something stupid like that.

“Alright, so the eldest starts,” said Sirius and he grinned, “Which is me so suck it losers.”

Everyone groaned. Having Sirius start a game of Bridal Truth or Dare was going to be excruciating to say the least.

Sirius feigned a deep look of hurt, clutching his chest in pain, “I had no idea you guys thought so highly of me!”

“Hurry up, Padfoot,” Remus grumbled, taking a swing of fire whiskey, “Lets just rip it off like a band aid.”

Sirius’ lips spread into a wicked, calculating smirk. You knew that look all too well; it was the look of someone who was either barking mad or insanely clever forming a devious master plan.

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, he pretended to think for one attractive moment before narrowing his eyes on you.

“(Y/N), Bridal Truth or Dare? Quickly now, or we’ll all sober up and lose our nerve.”

You thought that was quite impossible for two reasons: one, everyone except you had had enough fire whiskey to drown their veins in alcohol and, two, Gryffindors never lost their nerve.

You sighed long sufferingly, “Alright, truth.”

“Bridal truth,” Sirius corrected and then furrowed his brows in thought. His eyes sparked again with a look of wild excitement, “Have you and Prongs ever reached third base?”

Marlene and Mary stifled their giggles. James shot you an apologetic look, grimacing at Sirius.

Something about the challenging look in Sirius’ eye rankled you, grating obnoxiously on your competitive streak. Usually, you were more rational, more ‘pick-your-battles-carefully’, but now, Sirius was closing in on your relationship-not-relationship with James, something you considered deeply personal. If Sirius wanted to play this game, then he’d better be prepared to lose.

“Padfoot,” James began, glancing at you, “I think that’s-“

“No,” you answered, defiantly, “James and I have not reached third base, and that’s only because we kept getting interrupted by you.”

There was a stunned sort of silence at the tone of your voice. Everyone was used to you denying your relationship-not-relationship with James, so your candor was like a splash of cold water in the middle of winter.

You broke the silence by snatching the bottle from Sirius’ grasp, “I’m too sober for this shit.”

“You don’t even drink,” said Marlene in shock.

You uncorked the bottle, “Maybe I should start.”

Tipping your head back, you took a long drag of the fire whiskey and winced as it seared the back of your throat. A moment later, a tickling warmth kindled in your stomach, and what felt like gold shot through your veins, filling you up.

Everyone was staring at you, shocked and speechless. You - Gryffindor prefect, one of the top performing students in the school, rule abider and teachers pet - were breaking a dozen school rules by drinking fire whiskey and admitting quite blatantly that you and James would have had sex if it weren’t for Sirius.

Their shocked expressions made you smirk.

“Are you lot going to keep staring at me or are we going to play?”

***

An hour into the game, and your brain was swimming in pools of intoxicated bliss. It was like peering through rose-tinted glasses - everything was hilariously funny, and your courage and impulsivity had been dialled up by about a hundred while your common sense had abandoned you.

Everyone had participated in an array of embarrassing truths and even more embarrassing dares. Peter had asked you what it was like to kiss Sirius (you and Sirius had a few…flings…in the past, before you had realised your feelings for James).

“Be honest now,” Sirius winked at you, “You don’t have to lie because ol’ Padfoot is here.”

James looked slightly amused, but there was a glint of something dark, something wild in the mosaic of his eyes.

You took your time, formulating a response.

“Eh, he’s alright” you shrugged, nonchalantly, “I’ve had better. A little overrated, if you ask me.”

That had been a mistake. Without warning, Sirius had launched into a wild tickle attack, scrambling toward you and poking his fingers between your ribs. Laughter erupted from your lips as you keeled backward, lying flat on your back as Sirius clambered on top of you.

“YOU SAID BE HONEST STOP TICKLING ME!” you shrieked, laughing hysterically, “SIRIUS! GEROFF”

James was the first to pull Sirius off you, smacking him around the head.

“Ouch!” Sirius yelped, but he smiled at James’ playful expression.

The hours ebbed away.

Soon, everyone was getting bored with Bridal truth or dare and instead decided to play Dare or Dare. You, Marlene and Mary had been dared to race each other stripping your bras off without taking your tops off. While you had done it a million times before, it had been significantly more difficult to do while drunk.

Remus had been dared to sneak into Filch’s office and leave him a love note and James and Sirius had been dared to kiss - which they did, passionately and unabashed.

“Alright,” James had smirked as he stared at you, “(Y/N). Dare or Dare?”

You pretended to consider your options, “Hmm…Dare!”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” James grinned, dodgy and lopsided, “Alright, I dare you to sprint past Dumbledore’s office, topless.”

You grinned, climbing to your feet, “I’ll do you one better.”

Slowly, while maintaining eye contact with James, you stripped into your underwear. James’ expression cycled rapidly between awe and arousal, and you couldn’t help noticing the way he squirmed, trying to casually cover his lap with a pillow.

Marlene let out a low whistle, startling you. You had forgotten about the others.

Grabbing your cloak, your friends all made your way to Dumbledore’s office, dodging out of Filch’s sight and weaving around Peeves, who was throwing furniture around in Filch’s office.

It was only after you watched Nearly Headless Nick sweep past Dumbledores office when you unclasped your robe and let it pool around your feet. Moonlight soaking into your skin, you stepped into the empty corridor and took a deep breath. The air was cool, prickling your skin with goosebumps. Your cheeks, however, felt hot and flushed from the alcohol and adrenaline.

“Go!” urged Sirius and, without hesitating, you ran.

Arms flailing in the air, you sprinted past Dumbledore’s office while your friends giggled madly. Once you reached the corridor, you turned around and raced back but came to a sudden halt when a figure stepped around the corner.

Severus Snape was standing at the end of the corridor, a look of shock and embarrassment creeping into his thin, pallid face.

You immediately took a step back. Severus had become your friend after meeting him in Diagon Alley before your first year at Hogwarts. You’d stopped associating with him after he had started associating with Death Eaters and you had noticed a definite change in his attitude toward muggleborns.

“(Y/N),” he said, softly, as he drank in the view of you, your skin glowing in the moonlight, “W-What-?”

James and Sirius stepped forward protectively and Remus draped your cloak around your shoulders, forcing you behind him.

“What do you want, Snivellus?” James spat, “Looking for another kitten to drown for Lord Stinkamort, are you?”

Severus’ expression contorted into a look of fury. He grabbed for his wand when you stepped forward, lacing your fingers with James’.

“He’s not worth it,” you whispered, and with another urgent tug, you pulled James away, Sirius following.

Perhaps because you were there, neither James nor Severus attacked one another as you retreated to the Gryffindor common room. James was grasping your hand tightly, still enraged by Severus’ presence, but that changed when you pulled him around a corner and kissed him deeply.

“What was that for?” James asked in surprise.

“You don’t want to kiss me?” you asked, playfully, “Oh, alright then…” you started to saunter off but James pulled you back into his arms and crashed his lips onto yours, stealing the breath from your lungs and the words from your tongue.

Panting as he pulled away, James looked around and spotted something to your left. You followed his gaze, where it landed on the Prefect Bathrooms.

“Fancy a dip?” he asked, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Definitely,” you smirked, tugging on his belt, “And this time, we won’t be interrupted.”

***

@siriusmuch @beyoncesdragon @moon-zodiac @mflufflion

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wolf-and-bard · 4 years ago

Text

So, I wrote a Lambert x Aiden thing because of a conversation I had with @littoraly-art, so here we go. It’s hurt/comfort, but very much on the angsty side.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: explicit language, (brief) mentions of self-harming behaviour

You can also read it on AO3 if you want to

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hunt didn’t go according to plan. Lambert underestimated the amount of ghouls that would crawl out of that shithole and fought them well into the night, dodging and striking, dodging and striking for hours on end. They chased him through the forest and branches whipped at him. More than once, did he narrowly escape their bites and when they were dealt with and he stumbled back to light a bomb in the nest, he wasn’t fast enough on the retreat. His ears still ring and white spots dance at the margins of his vision. Lambert only notices that he’s overdosed on Thunderbolt when he’s already back at the inn he booked for the night, two ales down, and his muscles are still taut, ready to strike, while his sense of self-preservation has plummeted. Fuck. His fingers shake as he gestures for another drink. Sweat gathers at his collar, at the small of his back. He wants to sleep and rest, but he won’t be able to, not with the residue adrenaline.

“Lambert?” someone says and Lambert hunches his shoulders. Maybe if he hides his face, he won’t be recognized. But Aiden’s already emerged from the crowd and, anyway, he would have smelled Lambert the moment he set foot into the building.

“It is you!” Aiden saunters over, all neat bun and scandalously tight gear, his brown hair looking almost black in the downcast light of the inn. His smile is brilliant as he takes the chair opposite Lambert. Takes Lambert’s hands and inspects them for wounds before bringing them to his lips. “Hey, there, pup,” he murmurs against Lambert’s knuckles. Lambert’s heart does skip a beat, but with that comes a flare of anger. Aiden doesn’t get to be lovey and cheerful when Lambert wants to crawl out of his own skin. He hums something indiscernible.

“What is it? Talk to me.”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, really? Alright, if that’s how you want to play it,” Aiden says mockingly, letting Lambert’s hands go. “What? Oh, yes, it is good to see me, isn’t it? How I am? I’m so glad you asked. I managed to haggle a big fat fee on a rock troll couple that were mating up in the mountains and causing avalanches and now I’m drowning in coin. Pretty crazy, right? If I made it okay? Aww, sweetie, there’s no need to worry. Haven’t got a scratch on me. You wanna hear more about it? No, of course it isn’t too much to ask, I will happily oblige.”

"Just... leave me alone," Lambert cuts in, and lifts his tankard to veil his face. He's good at hiding his emotion, but in the face of whatever this is and with the day he's had... well, his boundaries are more than probed.

“What? So, you can give yourself a sorry hand-job and cry yourself to sleep? No, sir, that would be incredibly pathetic and a crime against humanity.” Aiden smiles and before Lambert can keep drinking, he’s snatched the tankard away and emptied it himself. Great. Now there isn’t even that to hide behind. Lambert likes Aiden, he really does. On most occasions, he’s so overjoyed to see him that he doesn’t recognize himself. Aiden makes him feel… too many things to think about right now. Today though, Lambert’d rather be alone.

“None of your business.”

"Fine, have it your way" Aiden says with a good-natured shrug and, humming, stands. He makes a beeline for the nearest table full of average-to-handsome soldiers with the Temerian blazon on their chests, and slams a hand down on the table. His hips are cocked out, his smile sly, exposing overly sharp canines. They all look up at him with varying degrees of surprise, realisation. “Any of you boys down to fuck a mutant?” Lambert's blood runs cold, he’s had enough of this. He hurls his empty tankard across the room, angling just so he doesn't hit anyone - though no guarantee on the rebound – and leaves.

His armour, clothes and swords are scattered across the small room he rented by the time he makes it into bed, wearing only thin cotton smallclothes. He sits not two minutes, contemplating whether to go asleep or order himself more alcohol to dull the edge of his frustration even further, when Aiden comes into the room, no knock, no courtesy.

“Aren’t you off sucking flaccid cock? Or are you already done the whole lot of them?” Lambert spits, and crosses his arms over his bare chest. Aiden’s eyes darken and he shuts the door behind himself, forceful enough that it rattles, then slips out of his own armour and boots without much ceremony. “Go get your own room, asshole.”

“You know what? Go fuck yourself,” Aiden replies in a measured manner. All his earlier aloofness is gone, replaced by a gravity Lambert has a hard time looking at. Aiden sorts both their stuff into neat piles, then takes Lambert’s swords to the corner chair. Lambert stares at his own knees, but he can hear every tiny movement of Aiden’s hands as he cleans Lambert’s swords, inspects them for chips, pulls out a whetstone to restore their edge. The amount of care this alone conveys almost brings tears to Lambert’s eyes. Aiden could be deep-throating handsome soldiers right now, but instead he’s here, doing for Lambert what he doesn’t have the energy left to do for himself.

When he’s done the swords, Aiden does the same to his own pair, then examines the two sets of armour plating for tears or gashes that need mending. He lines up both chests of potions and counts out what’s missing, takes notes for ingredients. It’s a normal routine, only that usually, each witcher does it for himself. Lambert feels a mixture of embarrassment and affection heat his cheeks, but he doesn’t look up, not yet. Only when Aiden finishes with a soft exhale and wanders over to the bed which dips under his weight, does Lambert uncross his arms. Dares to take a peek. Fuck. He shouldn’t have. Aiden’s pupils are wide in the starlight that falls through the single window, the moon painting him in blues and silvers. Some of his hair has escaped his bun and his lips part on a sigh that expose his teeth. He’s a fucking vision, too gorgeous to be sitting here.

For once, there is quiet, so rare with the two of them. If Lambert lets go of consciousness a little more, it almost feels like a dream. If it were, he would reach out, draw Aiden onto his lap, lose himself in the familiar glide of their bodies against one another. As it is, the silence hangs by a thread and Lambert cuts it, edges fraying into dust between them.

“What,” he barks and Aiden sighs again.

“The only cock I want to suck is yours, idiot. Flaccid or not.

“Is that so?”

“Yes? I thought I had made that abundantly clear.” Aiden has. There have probably been more blowjobs than nights they shared a bed, altogether. And maybe that’s the problem. Aiden might not seem it now, but one day Lambert’s cock will not be enough to make up for his mouth.

"Why were you so obnoxious then?" he asks.

"Because you need to learn not to push me away, Lamb. I'm here, I understand, I'm yours." Three quick sentences that puncture Lambert like barbed arrows. I'm here feels like sparks of an off-kilter Igni that eat at his fingertips. I understand goes right to his gut and makes him feel like he is out on the rocky sea, in a rickety boat all by himself, at the storm's mercy. I'm yours is the lightning that strikes then and short-circuits his nervous system into small spams. He takes a deep breath and the soft kiss Aiden places on the corner of his mouth when he leans over helps quell the panic. "I can't change how I am," he says. Prickly, loud-mouthed, mean.

"You really aren't... no, that's not gonna work, is it? C’mere." Aiden crawls over the bed and settles next to Lambert, draws him against him, his strong arms wrapped firmly around Lambert's bare chest. Lambert's head is throbbing lightly, heartrate kept accelerated from the alcohol, but he deflates a little. Notices the small vial with almost clear liquid Aiden is holding between his index and middle finger. “You didn’t drink it, did you?”

Lambert shrugs. So, maybe he forgot to take the White Honey, fucked-up as he was. So, maybe he didn’t want to take it, stay fucked-up a little longer. He has days like this, where the lingering toxicity of the potions stokes some dark flame deep inside of him, kindled by his hatred for what he is, what he has become. Lambert isn’t prone to self-harm, but this, well. This he is prone to and Aiden is seeing right through him. Fucking cat, fucking.... is this love yet?

“I didn’t.”

“So, do it now.” Aiden uncorks the bottle with one hand and his grip on Lambert tightens so that he would have to struggle to escape it. For a moment, Lambert thinks about refusing. He wants to wallow, dammit, he wants to pity himself and maybe have Aiden pity him too. “Don’t think about it, pup. You can bullshit your way around other people, but not around me,” Aiden continues and holds the vial to Lambert’s lips. Lambert snatches it away and empties it in two long drags. Immediately, his vision sharpens and his lungs clear. His muscles stop trembling and his heartrate settles into its normal, mutated rhythm. “Better?”

“Better,” Lambert agrees sulkily. He tosses the vial aside and sinks back against Aiden.

“You’re really stupid sometimes, you know that?” Aiden says with a sharp edge to his voice, but he noses at Lambert’s ear, under it, breath hot over the skin of Lambert’s throat.

“You’re the one that’s stupid…” Stupid for caring for me. Stupid for still being here.

“Will you stop it already? I’m trying so hard to be patient and you keep pushing me away. Did you forget who I am? What we share?”

“I didn’t,” Lambert says. He is weak and tired. He lets Aiden tug at his chin and half-turn him for a kiss that lingers even after their lips part for breath.

“Then drop the farce. Fuck, I don’t know what to say to you,” Aiden whispers against his mouth, chasing each word with a kiss to Lambert’s lips, the corners of his mouth, his nose. “I love you, Lambert, I love you so fucking much, but I can’t keep prying you out of your shell. Don’t you trust me?”

I want to love you too, Lambert thinks.

With my life, Lambert thinks.

You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Lambert thinks.

But he isn’t ready for that yet and so he settles for the next best thing: “I’m sorry.” The rest of it he pours into their next kiss, one that feels frozen in time for how slow and indulgent it is, the world reduced to the drag of their lips and the scratch of Aiden’s canines, the stuttering of his breath. Lambert wriggles around until he straddles Aiden’s lap with his thighs and frames Aiden’s tanned face with his scarred, pale fingers. Even paler next to his lover. Aiden fucking glows and Lambert is less a man, more a phantom next to him.

“Fuck, puppy, you’re so beautiful, do you know that?” Aiden gasps when they part once more. His hands are splayed over Lambert’s upper back and they are both half-hard against one another, but Lambert doesn’t feel like sex. He feels like curling up and having a good cry. He feels like kissing Aiden again, and so he does.

“And here I am, trying so hard to hide it so you peasants don’t feel bad about yourselves,” Lambert says, on instinct more than anything else. He wants to slap himself, this is exactly what Aiden meant, isn’t it? But Aiden laughs, the fucker, a clear sound that sets loose something fluttery inside of Lambert. Shit. It is love. “I thought the scar would have done the job.”

“Joke’s on you, I adore the scar.” Aiden presses his lips to the bottom of it and drags them along, skipping Lambert’s eye in favour of nuzzling his forehead. It’s ridiculous. It tickles. Lambert laughs and hides his face in Aiden’s neck. Aiden sighs and his hands wander up to Lambert’s head, cradling it. “Promise me something, pup?”

Anything, Lambert thinks. He grunts.

“Allow yourself this. I don’t need you to fall onto your knees and profess your love in some grand gesture, but… don’t shut me out. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you.”

Lambert falls asleep like that, tucked against Aiden’s chest and he wakes in the morning facing the sunrise with an arm slung around his bare torso and Aiden’s nose pressed against the nape of his neck. He allows it to last.

#the witcher #witcher #tw3 #lambden #laiden #lambert x aiden #lambert #aiden #hurt #comfort #angst #the line about flaccid cock is inspired by a line in the game #bonus points if you know which one #cw swear words #cw self deprecation #cw self harm #my writing #fic

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bluebellhairpin · 4 years ago

Text

Little Helper

Sam Wilson X Tech!Reader

A/N: I’m back on the Marvel bandwagon. They can’t keep me away apparently. - Nemo

Warnings: Spoilers (TFATWS). Violence. Reader got blipped.

Summary: Many know The Falcon. Less know his drone, Redwing. And even fewer know about Redwing’s other pilot, You.

Listening to: ‘Trouble Man’ by Marvin Gaye - ‘I come up hard, but that's ok cause trouble man don't get in my way.’

Masterlist

You’d been working with Sam Wilson for a long time.

A very long time.

However most people would never have guessed it, considering you worked out of the spare room in your apartment, and Sam himself didn’t speak of you to anyone else. But the role you played was important.

After all, Sam couldn’t always fight and control Redwing at the same time.

More often than not, he had bigger fish to fry, and with his hands tied it was more out of convenience that you took over the reins of his little drone friend until he could take them back again.

Even if no one else would know, it still felt nice to help out the Avengers every so often.

So when you thought you fell asleep in the chair in your ‘work’ room - sleep was almost a foreign word to you anyway - and then woke up again, you were confused.

You thought you were in the middle of helping in Wakanda, why would you have fallen asleep?

But not only did the clock say 11 am - when last you checked it was 2 in the afternoon - but five years had passed too. You scrambled to fish your phone off your desk, and called Sam faster than you could say ‘Stark Industries’. You started speaking as soon as he picked up.

“Sam! What’s happened -” you stopped yourself, “- What’s that noise?”

“Could you,” he grunted, kicking something maybe? “Hop on Redwing please?”

“Copy that.” You said, booting up your computer, frowning at the dust on it. You took a look around the room. There was dust on everything.

You opened up the little application for Redwing, and pulled the joystick over, making sure it was plugged in, before grabbing your headset and putting it on too.

“All set and ready to go. Waiting for your call Falcon.”

“Give ‘em hell Redwing.”

You pressed the release button on your keyboard, and Redwing’s camera immediately booted up, giving you a perfect view of a seeming ground zero. The land was leveled, and people were fighting everywhere. You recognized some faces - more like flashes of uniforms - Iron Man’s blasters, lightning off in the distance, a giant red and blue frisbee.

“I’m guessing I go for -” you maneuvered Redwing out of a clawed hand’s grasp “- the alien-looking ones again.”

“Yes, the alien-looking ones!”

“Okay okay, sheesh.” you tutted, choosing the drone’s laser over it’s machine guns. “What’d you say about talking during fights anyways? That poor kid we fought in Germany will think you’re a hypocrite.”

It turned out to be a big fight. Not everyone won, not even those on your side.

Six months later, Sam and yourself were still as strong of a team as ever, and still no one was any wiser about your involvement in working with him.

Just as well too, you had more than enough struggles of your own.

Your apartment was one of the lucky ones, since apparently your landlord didn’t want to sort through your boxes of ‘kindling’ - files - and your ‘gizmos’ - machine parts - to get rid of it so he could rent the place to someone else. Not many wanted to rent in your building anyway, and he said he thought he ‘needed a memorial for those who disappeared’.

So even if no one had emptied the fridge for five years, you still had your place. Unlike many other people.

Your employers, however, no longer had a job for you. They were focusing on helping relocate the displaced, and apparently you couldn’t help with it. So even if you had your apartment now, you might not for much longer.

At least you still had Sam. And his weird ‘not-friend’ friend Bucky.

You’d heard about him, for sure, but only met once. That was the same time Sam told you to steal his phone number so you could keep in touch. Something about not knowing when an ex-assassin cyborg in your contact list would come in handy.

There was something happening between those two, you couldn’t pick what, but it was akin to tension. And you picked up on that from just one meeting.

Sam had mentioned nothing about you and Redwing, only that you worked together. Apparently it was open for Bucky to interpret however he liked, but you were thankful that he made no connection to the drone.

After his comment about Redwing’s lateness at the airport - with you at the helm - you weren’t too keen on him knowing anyway.

They’d broken Redwing.

You were a little livid about it, all things considered. Your track-record thus-far had been great, but you’d just been bested by who? Some people stealing medicine? That looks a lot worse than if it happened while fighting Thanos.

Just your luck.

So when your intercom buzzed and Sam’s fuzzy voice came through into your kitchen you almost wanted to leave him downstairs. Then he started apologizing - on the sidewalk like it was some romcom - and said he had an old man with him that needed to start walking up the stairs as soon as possible so that he’d be able to make it back down by the time you kicked him out. So you buzzed him and his ‘old man’ in and waited for them in the hallway.

Soon thereafter, voices started drifting up the stairwell.

“I still don’t know what you’re apologizing for, it’s not like you cheated on them.”

“I told you, they’re not my -” Sam looked up at you as he turned into your hallway. Meeting your furrowed brow and crossed arms with a sheepish smile. “- Hey, (y/n). How’re you going?”

You just pointed for him to go inside your apartment. When both him and Bucky were inside - what was Bucky doing here anyway? - you told him how you were going.

“I’m really angry right now Sam. You can’t tell, but I am.”

“I completely understand that.” he said, “I’m annoyed too, considering.”

“Considering what Sam? That you got Redwing split in two?”

“How do you know about Redwing?” Bucky frowned.

“How did I do that when you were the one piloting her huh?”

“Me? This is not my fault!” you said, “You were supposed to be watching my six, just like I do for you!”

“That girl came at you head-on, I couldn’t have told you more about it if I painted her bright yellow and covered her in Christmas lights.”

“You turned my coms off.” you hissed, tapping a pointed finger on his chest, “You said it’d be better since then Bucky wouldn’t know it wasn’t you piloting, and that even though I couldn’t hear anything I could still see plenty. Well I can’t exactly see that these people were super soldiers now, could I!”

“Oh. Right.”

“You were piloting Redwing?” You looked over a Bucky, seeing him shake his head with his hands on his hips. “Makes sense, by all means, but now I have to not like you as much as before.”

“Nonsense, everyone loves me.” you smiled at him, and he quirked his lips up in an almost smile back at you. Then you turned back to Sam. “So is this all you came for?”

“Partially.”

“Partially?”

“Yeah,” he said, acting a little too coy for your liking, “We might need your help in the not-too-distant future.”

“You always do that thing, you stay something to get me interested, and then you think if I’m interested I want to do it.”

You stared over at him, daring him to speak again.

“You don’t wanna do things you're interested in?”

“Depends what you’re trying to get me interested in.”

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson one shot #the falcon x reader #the falcon one shot #sam wilson x you #the falcon x you #the falcon and the winter soldier x reader #marvel x reader #marvel one shot

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capri-ramblings · 4 years ago

Note

Ooh requests are open! Can I request some headcanons on how the yandere octavinelle trio + Malleus and Lilia would react to their s/o being poisoned and afflicted with sleeping death where the only cure is true loves kiss? And surprisingly, their s/o actually wakes up afterwards.

Excuse me,yansweet, how dare you have such a deliciously well thought idea? I didn't do Azul and Floyd because they ended up a bit too similar with Jade though,so I hope you don't mind! 💖💖

Please Refer to Pinned Post. [This post was set on cued!]

[ True love's kiss? ]

Malleus Draconia

- Malleus is furious at first.

- He's blundering the halls of his castle when he hears of the misfortune cursed onto you

- How dare anyone lay their hands on you? And who were the fools who were so incompetent to allow it in the first place?

- This Fae King is ready to tear down the walls of his ancestral home until Lilia comes to soothe his anger, reminding him that if it was a curse begotten by another other than himself that there would be a cure for it no doubt.

- So,he simmers down. Compels himself to unsheath his claws and fury for another day.

- For now, he must go see you

- He smiles lightly when he does; The mere figure of you laid atop his bed in what seemed to be a deep slumber dousing his rage of fire.

- What an odd feeling he has when you are present. This gentleness that you evoke in his core is something Malleus believes no other being could give him.

- You are his special bride. His soulmate.

- "A true love's kiss" He murmurs underneath his breath, earning glances from both Lilia and Silver as they stood on each of his sides.

- Malleus considers this notion thoughtfully, wondering if he'd be able to do so for he wasn't a fool (though he felt he was one for your love) and he was aware of how stoic and reserved you had been with him despite the closeness he's tried to build with you.

- If he had kissed you then and you remained asleep. It would shatter a great deal of both his pride and heart.

- How would he cope with such a rejection?

- Truly,if he couldn't have you then no one else would have the chance to be.

- But if he did not attempt this then you'd remain asleep forever, and that seemed a fate worst than death or rejection.

- For then you'd be further away from him. You would have your freedom,your peace and he would be left with just a remnant of your existence.

- No, Malleus didn't want that.

- He wanted you, your soul,your laugh. He wanted to see the glistening of life kindling in your eyes, the sound of your voice cooing in his ears.

- If you remained in deep slumber, he would have none of this

- And he'd go mad.

- The world would matter not to him.

- If you demanded a kiss to awaken, he will give it to you. And if you refused him, he would litter your body with each mark of affection he has to offer.

- For if the Fates denied him your love , he would deny the world of peace.

- "Leave."

- The words were an order,drawled out with enough demand that Lilia and Silver didn't spare a second to obey.

- Malleus strode to his bed and allowed his gaze to drink the sight of your serene beauty bared before him, the way the light sprites lingered around you reminding him of a star he saw when he was younger.

- He wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to have him. If you could find it in your heart to accept his twisted one.

- Surely, a life encased in a dream was far from what you wanted as well?

- He knew you always had a spirit for living, and that by keeping you at his side Malleus had taken that away from you.

- But he'd promise to not repeat his mistakes.

- He'd allow you the freedom you so wished for so long as you accepted him as your one and only.

- Your true love. That's what he wanted.

- Malleus takes the place beside you, his weight causing the bed to sink ever so slightly as he leaned down to your face.

- Your subtle scent of flowers and grass greeting his senses almost immediately.

- "Be mine" He cooed,coaxed. Voice as gentle as a summer's breeze, a yearning song from the woods. "And I will give you the world."

- His lips presses onto yours gently and without a hint of greed in it. The sensation of being ruffled by the wind causing Malleus to furrow his brows before he loosened his body and deepened the kiss.

- Once he pulled away and your eyes remained shut, Malleus gripped the sheets. Expression feral, like a wounded beast.

- But then, your chest heaved a fraction more than it did before and Malleus watched in awe as your eyelids began to flutter open and your lips parted in a silent murmur.

- "___?" Your name leaves him breathless as it slips from his mouth and you turn your head in his direction.

- The glazed look in your gaze slowly regaining its composure the longer you lingered on his expression.

- "Malleus..." You called,soft and gentle it has him craning his head over you like a shrine to be worshipped. His hands gathering yours as he lifts them up to his lips where he lets it linger on your skin.

- "Malleus,I...I was asleep..."

- "Cursed,my raven." Malleus cut in, the hint of aggression he held before returning. "Someone had cursed you into an eternal sleep"

- Your expression shifted,from dazed to disbelief as you looked around the room before returning to Malleus's grief stricken form.

- "Eternity didn't seem to change much of your room."

- Malleus's eyes widened.

- Then,he laughed at you for that. A sound so broken and worn,you had trouble believing it came from the very same Fae who you knew to be cold and proud.

- "You didn't reached an eternity yet. I broke the curse." He said, and you tilted your head.

- "How?" The question was a quiet one, as if you didn't want to stir up the silence in the room.

- Malleus looked you straight in the eyes then. Gaze still and unwavering.

- "With a kiss." He said "A true love's kiss."

- And if that didn't answer his pleas, then perhaps, you could tell him yourself. For now, he knew the Fates were on his side and nothing you say would make him think otherwise.

Jade Leech

- Jade is livid.

- The very seams of control and patience he's paid attention to uphold slips through his facade like sand and his fists feel cold.

- The rush of aggression coursing through his veins then makes him see red as he strides his way to you.

- Floyd and Azul are waiting on him there, each standing at either side of your bed. He wants to tell them off for it, to bare his jaws and tell them that he didn't need anyone to play nurse for you.

- He knows it's unreasonable to act in such a way but he can't help it.

- All that meticulous planning to keep you from others reach, wasted.

- And it's entirely your fault,isn't it? You and your stubborn will to slither away from your one and only. The ungratefulness has Jade seething with more rage than he could ever contain.

- If only you'd stay put and not run off...This wouldn't be happening. You wouldn't be hit by that curse and Jade wouldn't need to wrack his brain for a solution to this mess.

- His wrath is silent though. Not a single word escapes him as he takes in the sight of your sleeping figure.

- Floyd makes a chide comment about it, ignoring the harsh glower in Jade's eyes but ultimately saved by Azul who seemed able to read the mood and divert the topic towards another.

- It takes days for them to figure out the cure for your curse but even when it's laid on the table before him, Jade finds himself frowning.

- A true love's kiss? What kind of childish fantasy was this? How could a curse strong enough to keep you asleep for an eternity be broken by a mere kiss?

- Surely this was some sort of joke. Jade turns to Azul for another possibility, but the Octo-Mer simply shakes his head.

- Jade involuntarily clicks his tongue, something he rarely does so openly but he thanks Azul for the information and asks to be left alone.

- He doesn't need anyone telling him the consequences if his kiss doesn't stir you awake.

- Then again, if he doesn't at least attempt to do anything, you'd remained unconscious and that was practically a death sentence wasn't it?

- Jade applauds you for making him internally conflicted. The fact that you alone could make him want to tear apart the world was no small feat after all.

- He somehow feels entitled to answer this ridiculous demand of yours, seeing that if he does wakes you up then it will be something he'll use against you

- Because if Jade breaks the curse it means you and him were meant to be, and he'd have the proof for it.

- So,he swallows his rage and he leans down to kiss you.

- In that moment where you actually stir awake and let out this almost pained gasp, Jade finds himself staring at you in awe.

- The very chains of his possessiveness coiling around you as his thoughts gathered together in one single notion of acceptance.

- He was your true love's kiss.

- How fascinating. How rewarding.

- Safe to say after this little event, Jade's primal aggression over you heightens to a frightening degree. Though oddly enough, he lets you do whatever you wished, going as far as allowing you to live away from him.

- And this is because, Jade has the full assurance that no matter how far a distance you placed between you and him or how harsh you acted towards his affection, it doesn't change the fact that if you were to fall into a deep slumber, the only one to pull you out from it is none other than Jade himself.

Lilia Vanrouge

- Lilia's temper simmers but he isn't entirely mad enough to start a war.

- No,he's a patient man and one with boundless knowledge.

- He's quick to identify the curse as a traditional sleeping curse and finds the cure for it rather amusing.

- He doesn't know if he's your so called true love, knowing very well that the relationship he's put you in is one similar to eternal confinement, but his heart flutters at the thought of you waking up because of his kiss, even if he knows it will never happen.

- Lilia is enamored by you, so much that he's taken note of every single aspect of your life. From your lineage to the people you linger about with to that boy you've always been in love with ever since your childhood years.

- You can't really hide anything from him, can you?

- He wonders if he can cheat the little curse with a transfiguration spell but then laughs at himself for such naive thinking.

- Instead, he sings you songs, every night. Not lullabies or love poems, but songs of ancient Faes. The kind that spins humans into a web of submission both body and soul.

- Oh,he knows he isn't your true love but he could be the one you can't live without, and that's all the same for Lilia.

- The song weakens the spirit of a human, and in turn the body itself, and a curse will only last for either a certain amount of time or until the one afflicted by it is dead. So, Lilia pushes you into a near death state, lulling your senses so dangerously low until you're pale as death and he can barely hear your heartbeat.

- Then seconds before you die, he cuts the curse off and reverse the song, healing you completely. It's a flawless plan yet risky if not handled by the right hands. Lilia smiles at his success, and that smile broadens when he leans down to kiss you, minutes before you stir awake and find that the person you lifted your curse was none other than Lilia himself.

- You're confused, but relieved. You hadn't remembered how you were placed under such spell but you remember the death-like state you felt, the way your body seemed to grow weaker each passing day you kept your eyes shut, but then as immediately as it happened, the heavy burden disappears and is replaced by the most soothing sensation you've ever experienced.

- And it's all because Lilia kissed you?

- You couldn't actually believe it, but how do you doubt something that felt as gentle as the lips that saved you?

- Perhaps, you've misjudged him. Suddenly,Lilia didn't seem all that hard to love.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst wonderland yandere #twst yandere #male yandere #malleus draconia #twst malleus #yandere malleus #jade leech #twst jade #yandere jade #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #yandere lilia

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dracosaurusrex · 4 years ago

Text

Bookworms (Part 2) | Draco x Reader

Summary: The feelings that Y/N and Draco have for one another continues to increase as their relationship begins to bloom.

Word count: 3.3k

Genre: Fluff; enemies-to-friends-to-lovers

TW: Slight bullying, but not too bad.

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for all the support @.@ Here’s another chapter! It’s might not be much, but I think I like it hehe. Love is in the small things, I suppose. There’s not much dialogue in the beginning, but that’s compensated towards the end :) I hope you enjoy! Feedback is very much appreciated :D

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You wake up to the feeling of warmth. Warmth in your fingers, in your arms, and in your face. It covers the expanse of your body as your surroundings come into view. As your eyes and consciousness adjust to your environment, you immediately go red. Looking down, you see that your fingers are interlocked with someone else’s, the owner’s right arm is draped over your waist, and your legs are entangled with his. You were in someone’s embrace. Before you could identify who this person is, small breaths of air brush your forehead, alerting your attention upward. You gasp silently at the sight of Draco’s peaceful face while your heart speeds up to a rate that is comparable to that of a seeker attempting a 50 m dive for the snitch--it was very fast.

You don’t dare to move your fingers from his grasp. Rather, you begin to analyze all of his features. It is then that you notice the way his eyelids are shut peacefully, and how his lashes feather his cheeks. The scowl that usually graces his face is absent, relieving the tension that is often settled in between his eyebrows. His lips are opened slightly--his bottom one pouting more outward than its upper counterpart. His platinum locks flutter slightly over his eyes, making him look more angelic in contrast to his typical gittish appearance. Your focus travels down to where your fingers interlace into his. His hands are comparable to yours in size and in texture. While you had long fingers and soft hands, his was slightly bigger, longer, and much more rough in characteristic. And yet, they caress yours so well. You take the opportunity to completely intertwine your fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze with hopes that he wouldn’t stir from his slumber. With full consciousness now, you press your ear against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

A couple minutes pass by, filled with the soothing sounds of his lingering beats. You begin to gently untangle yourself from his limbs, lifting each with care and placing them delicately on the bed. As soon as you slid off, you began to loosen the sheets from underneath him, trying your hardest to be as discrete as possible. Taking them with a firm grasp, you lift it over Draco’s body, stopping just below his shoulders. A smile appears as you stand and stare at his peaceful face. With much care, you sweep stray platinum strands away from his eyes. Your fingers gently stroke his porcelain skin. He was a beautiful boy.

Stepping away from the sight, you walk towards your belongings and rummage through them before pulling out a quill and paper. You then take a seat at his desk, settling yourself comfortably, while looking at the items left astray on the surface. Books and parchment littered the space. An ink bottle was left open, and a quill was perched on a stand. Lined up against the wall was a small collection of books. Ones that contrasted greatly from the vibrant cover of the memory police. Each of them were written on subjects that weren’t taught at school. You suspected that he probably studied them due to the demands of his parents.

Tearing your attention away, you gently dip your quill in the inkwell, totally focusing in on your task at hand. On the piece of parchment before you, you lay down a pattern of dots, connecting them with lines to form a familiar constellation. It was Draco. Recalling a few facts you knew from the astronomy books you’ve read, you write one with much care followed by a small message. It causes your mind to drift to the boy behind you, knowing that he’s much more than the image he portrays to the world. A sense of fondness overcomes you and you smile at the thought of him. You begin to fold the paper as soon as you place the quill down. Its creases and folds form into a crane. Satisfied with your work, you reach for the Happy Prince, and tuck the crane within the middle of the pages.

Sounds of shuffling interrupt your train of thought. When you look to your side, you see the boy stirring from his sleep, opening his eyes shortly. His eyelashes batter innocently before realizing that you were gone from his grasp. He jolts upward in response, looking for any signs of your presence. Once he sees you, the frantic look that was fixed on his expression dissipates.

“You could’ve woke me up.” He states. You throw him a soft smile.

“You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.” Draco’s heart flutters before he recomposes himself. He shifts his body, so that he’s sitting at the edge of his bed.

“What are you up to now?” He asks with yawn.

“Something for you.” You hand the object to him. As he takes it, he begins to scan the cover with adoration.

“I suppose this is for you as well.” He picks up the book from his nightstand and passes it to you. As you grab it, you begin to trace its edges before flipping it to look at the back for the summary.

“Did you enjoy it?” You ask.

“Very much. I hate to admit it, but muggles are quite the storytellers.” His statement shocks you.

“Oh shove off, Y/N. Don’t give me that look.” He scowls at you. In response you raise your hands up in defense and his eyes soften.

“You have a good point. I’m compelled to read it now. Thank you.” You say simply. Within the silence, the faint sound of the bell erupts, indicating the time.

“I should get going. I still have studying to do.” You announce as you stand up from the bed. As you gather your belongings, you turn back to look at him.

“Thank you for spending time with me again.” The sweet smile that you give elicits a matching one from Draco’s lips. He raises himself to lead you to the door. As you step into the hallway, you turn around to give him your farewell.

“Do you think we can do this again? Saturday’s at Avenoir and Sunday’s in the dorm?” He asks while he scratches the back of his neck. You nod happily.

“It’s settled then.” There was an undeniable gleam in your eyes. One that makes his heart flutter for the umpteenth time that day. After you depart from his room, the boy walks to his bed, picking up The Happy Prince. As he flips through the pages, the paper crane falls out. He gingerly picks it up and delicately unfolds it. What he finds inside creates an explosion of warmth in his chest. Depicted is his constellation, and below it, “The guardian of the star that never moves.” He moves his fingers to trace the lines that were etched into the page and smiles as his eyes scan over your message: “Hope you’re ready for another adventure :)” It’s so characteristic of you. He folds the crane back up and inserts it within the pockets of his book bag.

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The week goes by as it usually does, with the exception of an eventful Wednesday night. While you normally study in your dorm alone, Draco studies in the common room surrounded by the company of his friends. To his dismay, however, his companions tend to engage in conversations that are irrelevant to the assignments given. On most days, he is able to tune the noise out and concentrate on his work, but on this particular day the mentioning of your name piques his attention.

The assignment given out for potions that day was particularly difficult, resulting in complaints being made by those around him. As they do so, he initially keeps his focus on the information given in his textbook.

“Snape is really out to get us now, huh? This assignment is a killer.” Pansy is the first to speak. Daphne agrees.

“Agreed. What’s the point of writing an essay on the properties of Moonstone when you can just read the book like a normal person?” She exclaims.

“I bet that Y/L/N is breezing through this, huh? Why is she even in Slytherin? She might as well be in Ravenclaw with all those books she buries herself in.” Theo took a turn to speak. Draco stops his writing at the sound of his statement, but keeps his head facing down as he tunes into the conversation.

“Tell me about it, the sorting hat must’ve been sick when she was sorted.” The group starts laughing. When Draco looks up, he sees that Blaise had also kept his head down, eyes staring hard at the parchment in front of him. He looks up at him and gives an exasperated expression. A tinge of annoyance kindles in the blonde’s heart, yet he makes no sound.

“Y/L/N should really know her place. Did you see her when I spoke to Draco this past Sunday? She really had the nerve to mock me. She ought to keep her nose stuck in those books if she knows what’s good for her.” Astoria finally spoke out. Astoria, who was two years younger than her sister, Daphne, had a massive crush on the boy. She ensured that everyone knew of it also--even Draco himself. Unlike Y/N, she was proud. Proud of her family name, proud of her looks, proud of her blood status. She would be the perfect fit for him within the eyes of his parents’ standards. However, she wasn’t anything like you. Furthermore, it angered him knowing that these people spoke so lowly of you. You were much more than anything and everything that they had to say.

As the boy immersed himself in anger, he catches sight of you as you enter the common room from the dorms. His eyes linger on you as you swiftly make your way to the entrance of the dungeons. Without any hesitance, he collects his stuff and places it into his bag, preparing to follow you.

“Draco, where are you going?” Daphne asks.

“Somewhere else to write this bloody essay. You all are damn noisy.” He says with a cold tone embedded in voice. The group looks at him in shock. He’s normally very tolerant of the insults that are thrown amongst them. As he steps away from them, he looks back with vile-looking eyes.

“You idiots know nothing of Y/N. Leave her alone.” The ordeal attracts the attention of every student in the common room. They look at the boy with astonishment as he exits the Slytherin confines. It was the first time he defended anyone other than his family, and he had done so with just as much passion. He doesn’t care much about the shocked eyes, however. Instead, he’s more concerned about your whereabouts, envisioning the smile that gives him peace of mind. As he walks out, his mind remains occupied with anger. He mentally throws insults to the sorry excuse of a group, without giving much attention to where he was going. As a result, he bumps into something hard. It was you.

“Hey! Watch where you’re go- Draco! Are you on your way to the library too?” The genuine look in your eyes automatically relieves him of the bitterness that lingers in his mind.

“Yes, I am actually. I couldn’t concentrate in the common room.” He says truthfully. You nod your head in understanding.

“It can get rather loud in there. I don’t blame you.” His mind drifts back to the conversation his friends had just a few minutes ago. He then drifts to you. Beneath your quiet and focused demeanor was a vibrant and genuine personality. One that was so intelligent, witty, and resourceful, yet caring and empathic to a select few. He can’t help but to get angry for you.

You both enter the library and quickly find a seat. As you do so, you pull out your materials before exploring the sections for books on Moonstone. The boy sets down his belongings to follow you. When he finds you, you’re seen with an arm outstretched, struggling to reach a book from the top shelf. Draco gets behind you and reaches for the book with ease. He chuckles at your stunned face.

“You seem to have forgotten my height in comparison to yours.” You roll your eyes, trying to get the book from his grasp.

“Give it here you git. I found it first.” You spew out as you jump to retrieve it. Instead he snickers at you, and raises it higher.

“Draco!” You whisper harshly before jumping again. This time you grip his shoulders and push off, successfully retrieving the book from his hand before landing. However, your feet don’t touch the ground quite properly, resulting in you stumbling over. With quick reflexes, Draco wraps his around the small of your back, and holds your body against his in attempts to steady you. The action makes you both freeze in shock. You felt his warmth before, but you were sleeping then. Now that you were fully awake and conscious, the feel of his body against yours becomes so real, and there’s a flush of red that covers both your faces. After realizing the amount of time that has passed, the boy loosens his grip on you, and you step back.

“Let’s go back?” You ask him nervously.

“Uh yea.” His response holds the same kind of energy as you turn to walk towards the table. You get through your work with racing hearts. It was the first time you two had sat together with a purpose other than reading. You would’ve expected that it’d be easier to concentrate on your work in comparison to reading when he was around. With the whole scene playing in your mind, however, that is proven to be less likely. Nevertheless, you make an attempt to progress, flipping through pages and taking notes. Your efforts in focusing are fruitful as you continue to wrap your mind around the subject at hand. However, it is only when you feel someone’s gaze that you stop.

You catch the conflicted look on Draco’s face, making you stop yourself from writing.

“Are you alright?” The question catches him off guard, and his face contorts when he thinks of the conversation yet again.

“Draco, is there something bothering you?” You ask again with a little more concern. He lets out a sigh.

“Y/N, in a hypothetical scenario, how would you deal with people talking behind your back?” You sit there without reacting for a moment, recollecting an appropriate response.

“It hurts to find out, but I guess reading or being in my own world helps to tune out the irrelevant stress.” It’s a truthful response, that much Draco knows. It’s you after all.

“Have you ever wanted revenge?” The boy props his head on the palm of his hand, his elbow on the surface of the table. He looks at you with pure curiosity.

“It’s pointless, don’t you think? To stoop on the level of those who already showed they’re beneath you? Regardless of what they said, if I didn’t do anything wrong, the only problem lies with them. Not me. I would appreciate it, though, if someone told me if I ever did something wrong or offensive. Besides that, revenge is a waste of energy. To be frank, it’s more satisfying to see the karma go back to them. Sorry for sounding harsh.” He shakes his head in objection to your apology.

“But why?” He asks as he begins to question himself.

“It’s a waste of energy, it gets in the way of my business, and I don’t need anyone to throw me off.” The way you respond conveys a fire in your eyes. No one can stop you from achieving the things you want, and your awareness of that excites him. At the same time, however, his knowledge of your independence and sense of responsibility enforces the feeling of worry within him.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Draco?” The boy sits up and shuffles slightly in his seat. The words that he wants to say next are not things others would typically hear him say.

“Slytherin’s code.” He says simply. When you don’t understand what he was referring to, you quirk a brow upward.

“Come again?” He sighs. You can see him fidgeting with his fingers.

“You’ve seen me at my worst and took care of me. I’ll look after you too..if you let me that is.” You look at him stunned. It wasn’t like him to express his feelings so openly. As a few minutes pass, he begins to grow weary of your lack of response. Before you could say anything, he beats you to it.

“I understand if you don’t want it. I-” Your eyes widen.

“No! I do!” You raised your voice mindlessly. After remembering where you were, you repeat yourself slowly with a softer tone.

“I do, truly. I enjoy your presence, Draco. I treasure you.” Your genuine words come out stumbling, and the flush that you tried to suppress finds you again. You look down at your lap, starting to play with the edges of your skirt. Silence fills the air for a moment until you cautiously look up at him. A satisfied smile graces his lips and his eyes are filled with something you can’t exactly comprehend. It makes your heart race, nevertheless.

“D-don’t look at me like that.” You glance back down before looking up again. He still has the same expression on his face. You push his shoulder slightly.

“Stop.” You say again as you try to suppress your smile. You fail miserably. Draco on the other hand is filled with joy and relief at the sound of your words. His focus is fixated on you with much adoration. There were plenty of things people could say about you, yet your response has always been so eloquent, elegant, graceful, and wise. You were resilient. Today, your hair was up in a ponytail, but in Draco’s eyes, your beauty surpassed that of physical appearance--one that Astoria could never top. You were amazing, you made him better, and he was aware of all of that.

“I for you and you for me?” He asks earnestly. The sincerity in his voice prompts you to come to terms with the seriousness of the matter. As you meet his gaze, you see that he has a pinky extended upward and outward over the table.

“Blaise told me it’s a muggle thing to make promises with pinkies. I think it’s stupid, but in this case I suppose it’s...fitting.” You chuckled as the hint of his familiar arrogant tone emerges when he tries to defend himself. You wrapped your pinky delicately around his, and pressed the pad of his thumb with yours to seal it.

“I for you and you for me.” You say softly, yet so contently. Neither of you break from the position. Instead, you simply resume your work--you write and cross reference with your right hand, while Draco reads, using his left to flip pages from his textbook. You’d glance at the view occasionally, heart skipping beats at the sight of his finger wrapped around yours. After working for a while, you take a break and stare at his focused expression. If your past self saw you, she’d be raging, but now his presence represented new beginnings. For once, you didn’t feel alone within the school grounds. For once, there was someone who was willing to care for you as much as you for him. For once, you felt safe right where you were--pinkies tangled together and all. Draco being there encompassed all those things, and you couldn’t be more content.

You tightened your grip around his finger. Without looking up at you, he does the same.

A/N: I want to thank you again if you make it this far! Let me know what you think :D Other than that, I hope you have a good day!

A few tags! C:

@fadesbrina @redheaded-hobbit @ccabian @rottenhexrt

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco x reader #draco x you #draco x y/n

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