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libidomechanica · 1 year ago

Text

Whom but Maud should Fate sic pleasure, blind mans marke,

A sonnet sequence

First Stanza

All new successions to the kiss that makes me the lave o’t! Faith, my Mary, in mutual gain sweet disorder in them: globes, penal codes, dead cats floating on Latin King gold like a contemporary bust. Whom but Maud should Fate sic pleasure, blind mans marke, thou art a Mower to answer this? Must help the other delight. As if she were lost, I call to my paines that they have depart! Be better used where we stay’d to bud like a flower had chronicled the deep cold that month with which, snatch of meek forgive me patient I was accustomed to. Love, and would not stayed ere, love. Yet still she loved by wife, then bow downe his load.— Back too. As the misery is greater grief were not attained a rustic merchant buy, still live in thy shadow of white Alps alone; I saw a crowd, a host, of three hot Junes burn’d, since Juliana’s scorching like his active child do deeds of golden day.

Second Stanza

When Sorrow, say: a snake masked among the frost and on calming itself and his Finger fresh struck by the sheath silent as the little Love-god lying once again, my luve, that sits upon the pine; but on, on thy curious frame, whilst thy prison: My genitals have been the end of insolence, her flamie-glistring life from out of some small light is pass’d to its own. But, till the wood are bow’d caught thy nurse with tapers clear and fatal interview, by all pains, which think that sits upon the plain sae rashy, O, aboon the water’s edge, and turn with the bottom of my body was subdued.

Third Stanza

His fate he mourns, his own behoof, with your mistress bids me wear the eclipsing Curse and Sorrow, with her who believed be, according to my lord Loues oene behest, with joyes increas’d; for the world know that warmed our city and now delight the honeyed years. Sharp like his active counter and truth to mine! ’ Atlantic roar? Wrapped their vanish’d, yet doth beauty cannot die as in a cage, puts all Heaven’s smile had a visor of ice. Which we met! This is the soft god of pleasure have, life’s dearest bands of straw which foresaw how frivolous a baby man and fame shall be crushed until he exits.

Fourth Stanza

For fear of night’s startings, crying out, under their lutes did silent Dead thy hapless year had been fitted in the wound, at me so deep in us, to know whence it was right the leaves lay scattered words spoken lily lies—the story linger, why turn in blood, like a brier, tho’ hardly whence it was you me eternal are. Who lends what love is but a smile as sunny as cold, through the coffee and honour, wondering life. Gentle Silvia, do I muse as on a petted mood and sweet-briar, offers to bring to comforts have to do as did your coming hither, and let it speak?

Fifth Stanza

Is invisible to spill their house-affairs appeared. And whispering talk seem’d to serue the inward steps. How have I used rivers. I called it a jewel. And that footsteps to a sun-flower as love I blessed poor Margaret stood in my woes with a glassy smile, the rose from his a Wine that worlds are tearing gal, the news tonight: a debate about thee sink when hope has kindles in clustered me closed, and very day by one, a strange in zero gravity. From a sip of hemlock, I’d expire with our soft peace, this scythe, does cut each stroke between their days in peace proclaims olives of endless Boy, she swore, she heart has burst meet mass’d in death, but the lake, beneath her mouth’s a stuff will not belief; O gentle will be dead leave, the neck is free; but what Loue decreed: at length, beneath thoughts increse with half a harvest. We imagined us. Picking dandelions will believing him.

Sixth Stanza

With your magic shore. His part, variety, she swore to feel one sadness, that not so bitter wind invisible, but often a man, compare with the intent to be lost sweetheart may be eclipsed as forfeited? Hardly he, for fear that the amorous Deep Who feather’d into my heart came in corners cried, where two lovers powerless spot, lifts a young Chevalier. Garden walk through all the great soul would be, most musical of mourners, weep and sweet-briar, offers to thy remote. Disk caught sight, nor would sit the same root of some huge oak whose wings to come is still content you? The travelers cannot chuse but pity and awe And one keen pyramid with an encounter and cold dust disturbed from thee the Pilgrim of Eternity, whose prelude held discourse, of appearance, changing from though our bloodstreams and rose, and you are little prospect of a grave and quivering grace.

Seventh Stanza

Still fabled, in the ground by truant sheep. Alas thy words thy fiery tears frozen cheek. Of her pitying words express’d.— The story lingering fit, since on another veering fit, since her heart more bewitch me than half of paradise she sped, invulnerable nothing, not a subway car that Power may move the Pythian of the way, they ne’er touch’d by the garden-gate and sweetly play with such a dirty rat. Like mind soars forth, in its streaming of the hogs. But even our own neighbors, going about on the root of something written by a man in his Highland lassie, O.

Eighth Stanza

Yielding, mutually we alternate, aware of his babes and in your ideograms, how only a white-haired lady’s eyeballs pure I looked out along the wind a cold but in the pine; but there’s grit in my madness, that woman’s manly god must needs in nature, so that burden down, Mom popping the wing, his Arms—he held discourse, to me soon tasteless. While peopled the voice, and withering and tender, I asked me if it had full conqueror’s band! And over wrack, as thou not asham’d to doat upon the rose from that Fount drew first Desire, if I could promise to sup or dine.

Ninth Stanza

Earth receive; let but health I refusest. And grow a home forth, sweet pain, that song of night’s auto reply to teenish hunger. Sunshine to sup or dine. At evening meal she told me that shot in long lank slips, or currants hanging made cry, and closing isn’t hard to master-hands, from kindling buds, as if the brim had newly scoop’d a running luxury, has my heart bleeds from me be vanish’d, but yet no motion of the night’s auto reply to teenish hungers doesn’t cut it. That checks its flight in human heart more blest the color is involved in rosy wine and thaw, and restless thy darkness?

Tenth Stanza

With night were some few sad hours after tragedy. She hearts are little powers expanding slow for many years ago, and found him aright. Deluded swain, the swallow their songs, the subtle cargoes lie. Seemed presence gave no comfort shut our eyes to dance! A grave I come to the very plumes, those whom Nature’s sharpest pangs her hearts could they fell: revisited then, oh Sir! Of twelve sweet bird; Where wert truly fair; the ring. Let none, not even you, dear Love, or Vileness! Than to presage they transfuse with them to the foot-way path called out to find out as if the breezes idly roaming?

Eleventh Stanza

But thou, sad Hour, selected from change and counts his dying lips shall lead and Pleasure, blind but with little time it takes up one’s eyes the heart; ’twas a plot of garden-ground, depopulating silk or taffeta, which men miscall delight in human passions reign—back too. Stella, the fullnesse freely flowing: Most musical of mourners, weep anew! I miss them, so swept her on her wishes crowded round what was it else with his Hand—he rais’d her planets rotating in mind and in the low wind whisper’d from their daily work to time, whence my songs and place, my heart to see you can, for your dry, decrepit man who would have found her few books, which is the miserable nothings. Feel her goodness, that in the hour of accidents uncharactered, a daughter; what’s the wet date palms of heart beats in every eye doth stil keep there; sap check’d with a kingdomes gaine; and grassy air to smoke.

Twelfth Stanza

As dear to the hills where it was right back. Although I die thirst of blessing, leaves quite alone, aloof. But fickle glance, tossing the garland whispering talk seem’d to stone. Or the Spring dead; into the banks, close the door. On the din of strife, and mov’d trick’d in song fresh ornament, and set thy love confess; nor praise to suffered. And I—I took the other, rise the boundary layer between earthen ware; it is built up a pile of better to burn, with dull Time thaw not thou! And when I passed a man become, and scar’d the sunlight our hair. Arose; and always love depend on Fortune’s shining?

Thirteenth Stanza

Wandered long, too long, but in her eye-lids droop’d, her eyes. I found thy name,—sweet Robin Redbreast then it seemed to feel their fair shepherds came, died on their full force on another pure immortal thought invisible as if in constellation with a brightly: on a crust. Did chill wind shiver of dancing in spaces between, amid the unshod Colt, the sun rose and say, Your mother came and thus with gentle band sweeps thee the twilight chamber spreadings for sophomore girls. Each stroke shall speak. Makes her lulling sprites remoue. And somewhere a man, compare with inharmonious singer of high poems!

Fourteenth Stanza

The cold and laugh at a fall, but Colin only the pain … Do whatever you can, for you shalt find true, ’ have outgrown thatch. Feeds, like a bent finger-length I hailed him, glad thy love is blind below their vanishing love in sooth, as nature like to duct tape the vault of better when a soul, by choice and, with food of saddest memory—odours, and leads from a magic shore. A Robin sits on the suffering, haste to blow! Into his life—and like a bee, love’s wrong myself from a tenement saw the hardships of that cannot feel, or, being to a distant land, come slight shame one simple girl.

Fifteenth Stanza

In my own hearts had warm’d; and, looking our choosing! I can loved I never more! Persistent scent beneath; to its chosen snare, fond fancied it would he turned toward thee to his Ear: then, fixing their loneliness he sung new sorrow have my beads each of us will thrice more—thou lonely annoy. He would, we know, I think of thin disguises, alien to them revealed, behind me, Naomi turns on the budded peaks of men conceal’d their vanish’d, He has outsoar’d the sorrow. Which, one upon a featureless light. The herded wolves, bold only this turf, and winged through wood are born was bedded?

Sixteenth Stanza

Skies, the green access thaw not that shall all the warmer sun. Immortal stroke surprise— fling this, a friendly; were’t not set down. Thee on this deep pleats. The silken net and fawn at a victor’s feet. I slept on buying. Else with such familiarly do I perceive you leapt about the tears of millinery, that where thee, cut off in earth and horror have griev’d your very heart, glimmer, ye waves, they say, nor any more, my darling, swallows reappear; the blue mountain in its second autumns and ye meanwhile, abridg’d of daily vnbidden guest, fed with winter meet, leese but types of Woman.

Seventeenth Stanza

My evermore her eyes my life, or the wood are bow’d caught thy youngest, dearest one, has perish’d, but yet in vain you was let him kiss may live; a tear be in an old desk, dusty for the full conquest got. Musical of mourners, weep for Adonais, like a mourning Yet I saw the trembling things pant with me, her brother’s names, pullings of October frost closed her husband, and mellow radiance of that neither dry nor neat, the water’s edge, and there swung blindly wove another scarce extinguished his Bond: and oft so cling crimson current woe that love me also in silence, is rescued.

Eighteenth Stanza

Velvet, or the streets in the vault of better claim, because he is gone, so deep in the earth’s greater loss is no fixed a day the end. And while here for wet filaree and express the meadows in which my words thy figure be express train a minute mock their sweet sound, who was so gentle mates, nor in bed fright to be vnkind, her solitary trance, shaping that rain’d upon their loneliness, he is a presence gave no name I am but twenty, youth’s a stuff will never man on his Lips. In twilight chamber for a thought you were ruffled by the brook the stub of her, and of this is the storm is overpast. At length, to Loues oene behest, within the slave and spring. There is indeed an idle matters of emotional importance please a bonie Mary, and somehow, each other. And buried life, a thirst to speed the way to begin against thy cold embers it not set down.

Nineteenth Stanza

But what we would find out as if in dewy shade went out into the nobler agony to kill Desire. But scorching like a cloud which a newer band it sinks, the sight may be deceived: for fear of pity which the hulls of glass, his own angry pride is cap and because that I was numb with a dribbed shot, loue gaue the worst things of the wind that good god make it sweetly played to make a cherub cease to sing, with somewhat for possessed of that sits upon the Golden Ball and beneath them lying low. A wood, and loved. Unload my bundles, make coffee, delicious pledge of our choosing!

Twentieth Stanza

In fact I care na by. During mowers shout in the green completed. While these, however hard to marble; and now wept his fury from the case, slipping with you all old days that the East, and why are wet! Pale grew then and stranger, my unmendable wound, and, without shadow doth stand satiate her dew distill’d from a magic shore. Riotous and stone to have sun-vows and how to me here the daily labour and the lash, we also have heard, my friend: this flattery! Our waiter said, How’s married. Of their elegies and my home. Like unimprison’d flames best dreams, that is obsolete.

Twenty-first Stanza

They climb, life, like music of my arms. Speak to your sleep was cajoled. Ah, woe is me! To one, of one, straight to name my deadened me through another men; while with sad impatience with honey locust and do accept my madness might from that true we are at the thing is done! Follow with such a n active child who sate together what will keep, her tremble thought, may quickening scent came up from her lion roll in a country back? She comes when two people get married, one things—ocean and clouds of cold mortality. But sorrowfully sing? And which, ’mid the corner-stones, O Sea!

Twenty-second Stanza

To the banks, close of Apprehending never: dimm’d the quaking boy, who them really about the intense atom glows, and hell is mortal love, and you, you move towards a group of trees which binds his complaining twins do moue their midnight me you play at his sisterhoods may stay, since first time forth did many an open ground, now step upon it with tall men, puzzled by that my loves, my mother clipp’d her proof of desolate, the lovely ones. And do so, love; yet when the lack. Couch I lie in vacant or in shade, while thus he threw up the ceremony kneeling like a river or a war?

Twenty-third Stanza

And with a dribbed shot, loue gaue the world, and whom he taught,—within her maternal Hunger sits, but tis with howling woe, after than the hulls of white cricket chirps again! Her east before thou mayst call the lilac gives o’er; and hath its food served up in the moonlight, the white Alps alone; I saw him go o’er the garden walk, and sorry I could escape, the Veil flung off ordinary walls, the head, like flowers it seems but an ashen-gray delight, the tidings came. Let those bonds which thereof did ensue, by our long-hid love, thy worthless ruin spreads apace but droop there is often spoken.

Twenty-fourth Stanza

Whom but Maud should be wroth to spoil his shadow at his branded and sea. A glorifi’d to rise, but what we can jest, but the interested in cold wo; but now appearance, the long-legged young Chevalier. Poem: which a newer band that Women still will pluck thee page, will quickly tied to my ownest own, farewell the oaths which there, and weep! Like flower looked up because I wondering heifer and thou, ungrateful, hast not see: we die, my Friend, nor we alone, yet the last star had vanishing shot the simple girl. More true that enchanted me in the last, taught Grief made the last sentence.

Twenty-fifth Stanza

Pulling them away,—nor this is thrown Clasp with the same sad questions to the moment, or taffata cap, rank’d in soule up to him like weeds, as if a little wren shall soar. Is impossible, only movement in walls into the very staff, and express the manner, there arrived, I know thyself, and flood and bareness every day by one, and many other did if a football team won on homecoming mine own fears, and all day I think on, it’s pride, yet faded, and veiling heart more easy, and cries, oh! Were one, where you great enough, alas, none ever dear inhabitant be.

Twenty-sixth Stanza

Into a puff of smoke occupies me. In my ioyes for the fading melody, with silver lyre unstrung Bow—himself the Cord fitted unhelpt, and touch thee all my companionless by man and brought. A Hair, and in the meadow and wits, compos’d of gamester, captain, knight, and names, and traced with someone else. Heavenly touched, I’d grow a home; which Luna felt, yet couldn’t have been fitted in true plains with a glow that he could not mean falling. And when two people you might seem like paper-gowned we take ourselves? To blow! And I will fall down dead for grief, as if embalming its place.

Twenty-seventh Stanza

But fient a hair care I. Together what thou mayst true we are at the East doth not married, one gives o’er; and ruin’d Paradise but grief would demand of all the Echoes whom the cooler air the old man rose on that vow’d chaste life contentedly I view any room contains us both, me the longs to come would ply after night; lie buried in your eye I eyed, such seems too much mescal. And looked up because he is dead! Smile and good? Agape, he observes tuned for you waste, since Juliana’s scorching like a continue to find than a new, highly particular song we might be better!

Twenty-eighth Stanza

Whenever I want betrays, her who still control the waiting for Lebanon in the twilight on a remember’d name! The fault at last she rose from thy remote and weep! To mourn, till the dark, dark as a sabled evening roses on the last limits of ourselves apart. Honey to salve where everything for, to hold, with the stripes, and cries, oh! ’Twas on the show to me once asleepe thou should I meet? A portion of her smile these, I’m alive that be now posting on Latin King gold like a pale flow its way; and so thy though the same, as river- water bathes my way o’er the thousand years.

Twenty-ninth Stanza

Apparel on my panting sounds that doth seize my brain with a kingdomes gaine; and that shall we lov’d of him, but it should I meet? Even at the siller, I dinna envy him the graves unnumber’d lie; the flying and his men, an’ Charlie Grigor tint his pale limbs, so late her soul, the cloud, it faded violets, white, her hand, by secret troth and hopes and forlorn, as when the dark with lying on displayment. Iron skies, they stopt his own ankle glance, tossing there is no fixed subject, because, in the cool refreshment passes swiftly by, and plight brings forget how my mother’s taut stem.

Thirtieth Stanza

May make seem bare, in whose garments hung upon that it seemed to the villagers quickly tied to live, that never comes with repeated should be written into my head was bound with flaw-seeking eyes. The wise, and leaning a kitchen the wine in the wet and torture not so the genuine articulation with a face of deserving-boy apprenticed by the mere sight could they suppose it is built anew, Urania; had her spellbound for he was carries flowers, of rose and her who believes it is golden close hearts are slight shade and leads on to way, I doubted if I should she have seen the dawn, youthful Chloe, charming Chloe; till old days that shall lie—Anthea, Herrick, and nothing is ever drawn thread with women: but they will be dead Season gone. Of lost liberticide, your kiss Hark how they stopt his own identified by what distraction of the warmer sun.

Thirty-first Stanza

Renew their prey; which wields the worlds, until they’re boring me now. In to the gulf of death, welcoming hither, Sleep, and silent with savage caring, in this an hour was waste; the floor. To walk with, hand in my heart heaven! Distant shore, that Charlie Grigor tint his poetry. That leads from an infant bud of being, haste to blow! One sadness, this letter. He wakes—’tis Death in birth do scorn. Heat entering each pearl. Who makes the bottom of youth, so I, made love me, love me, love’s fire heats are like worms within, the breast. From your most high deserts the January photo in my attic bed; picture, till my grief itself disown: and her and yes I said to it, your poems stink like a forgotten sound. Behind the stern impulse of Fate resisting, therefore her eyes were, merely to myself, ’ said he, these hurts are driven: they starve. Never but the seeds of greenery which he had lost.

Thirty-second Stanza

The parent spark, at the East, and nothing, fire particularly sets him of Reserve. Has cost me you have seen the melancholy into all our day and does her man were made the first for a little thought itself and his Finger fresh struck Fire; or lifting in the heretos and the failure to withstand? And I will be telling far, and I am duped. Through her pursue; who wag’d contemplating all the woods in sorrows freshly gay, scorch not, but that brightness it may veil. Love depend on Fortune’s shining? My Adonais: wan they had chance, except the silent lightning and their trailing purple was not free of the news rarely makes the right thee. Descend—oh, dream among the snake or slow- worm bite thee; Through time and tombs of brother’s love! I said to it, your poems stink like Write it! We were not young.—Within the dark willingly should have heard my plaints, and grieves me your Valentine?

Thirty-third Stanza

Into her distance, shaping the her pale rage, nor would soone as though each mass may be more fit for whom she came. Over to dusk, nothing:-nothing to some palace-floor, most rude Despaire, my Silvia, do I muse as on a CD of something every brake, which consign’d my notes of Heaven whilst thy proud hearth was comfort, and that hapless fairies take me oft to lead there, it seemed the fall, but Colin only the swell of twelve sweet a flower. Summer dust burn to do as did your mother clipp’d her look and presence gave me, love. Here we hid from change, unquenchably the patient said it was for the while, then shall I be at fifty should ever at thy spirit’s awful night painfully quivering on myself so blessed never to dusk, nothing to drop equal divide what Meg o’ the Mill lo’es dearly, an’ ken ye how Meg o’ the Indies, my Mary, theniel Menzies’ bonie Mary.

Thirty-fourth Stanza

For that Tim’s year wake year to me as is throw a football with all the things work and mower both: which my words and night, her mate with an encountercharm of space I go: and yet, writing of the yacht’s rubber dinghy. In mutual risk some found, whom but Maud should be good do t ye, gentle band arose; and she was in hue, finding murmur’d: Who art dearer, better! Which wondrous excellence; the brown ear again, they stand and saw her distress’ thrall, came tripping naked walls. They at the tempestuous petticoat—a careless shoe-store … I’m lugging my Highland lassie, O. Ever removed.

Thirty-fifth Stanza

Hush, call no echo up in early but endured not on him! Sharp like her, and some, like mine, each pow’r of mine, each of us was bound with that all I ever wife was hard, with prise of my thought the night broken: time had not but be gay, in sunshine that hapless year had been the exact opposite of what we’re not so great, which all thy name,— senses from an higher beauty were used to deck. Thy spirits need blood; he went, unterrified, and mock’d with light like you, love. He set himself Narcissus, as to both wash’d by the body deranges itself disown: had learn’d—the heart I do hold worse.

Thirty-sixth Stanza

Benighted with the other month to his Ear: then, fixing the door she my mind like her, none. So fair, and sends a spark up: is it now we meet. Without drawing blood. Burning, there with tender feelings that makes me do the look, the lost be foes. Which, when two people? The old hopes and Adorations, he came; she stole into his Chamber—ran up to beget in my arms. I have lived she knew not he was once intent to be lost be foes. As if it were a wanton- scented the street, the young apple-tree lay at is not dead; the Stranger yet once from those good do t ye, gentle still, and loved.

Thirty-seventh Stanza

Two days before we had not to receivest, I can hear thine own: thou hast been, like slow fire upon the world there, it seems there shadowing things that rivers can’t imagination urging appetite! The window over the world’s biggest light doth hold. Who hauing made cry, and what sword consummated, is Love, whence to draw the idle length grew like weeds marked with expectation with it eternal. Robin in their open window, put on Nina Simone singing so to have to do time for years of the news tonight? Burns with no stain she faded, and laugh at a falling there rent the year?

Thirty-eighth Stanza

To feele my grandmother is by evil still exuberantly budding, our animal passion-winged throne, then, much good die first thy heart, into my boy. French perfume, her mighty heart to see the nursling of pearls. To think to riddle the door and fair had left the fresh number of bridge you might findeth not all grace of deserving- boy apprenticed by the hunter’s dart. For the Blue Field, salámán still to me subscribes, since in youth’s lamented Adonais! And said no and that with every roughness, yet still will strike this way the uselesse care; thou dost love from you the lost that path?

Thirty-ninth Stanza

Which methinks still amaze the trodden black. May nothing to light! Not die; but live a life of truest joy, his mute voice had suffered shipwreck with your mother’s names, pulling to the Indies can never-resting words of hope for her I’ll take you! We also in silence with nerves at strain, to dry one’s eyes were visible and when And that she must. We hae plight bleed. But a smile her poor hut sunk to decay, and in the melodies, as they pass’d between its grey line there was low, hey body were not young Chevalier. And senseless emotional importance please make all requests to head-quarters!

Fortieth Stanza

My soul from her little blaze and that he lived she knew not twas her own fire. The blacktailed hare: how they liv’d and vast; his mouth to thee, the reflex act of a cure that heart’s accepted sacrificial move—all the memory—odours, better, yet the spirit clings to that I discovers with a cruel tongue could, young- wise, wise-valiant, a gang a milking, for Charlie Grigor tint his poor rhyme, while the one eludes, music, words, and blue; thou noteless blot on a remembers it not seldom in my madness to him who do swell and Ocean a godlike mine, each gripping o’er the morning and you are not. While you wring you the joking voice, a gesture I love I shan’t have shown, on each other’s pangs o’erpay. ’Twas on a cheek the little changed, and hear thee. Margaret looked round about on their native earth a corpses in the deep cold that are extinguish’d not; or amorous Deep is chang’d.

Forty-first Stanza

Like dew upon a cheek the life to Love that doubt’s pain cry, Speak once more; be wise and peace is hush’d over the pearls are call’d for a cure, the reflex act of time procedure in temple of our charms, and with most ease and wretched days drew Blood to the sun declining shot a slant and wanted in these fools admire. The woman as of old to entangle me when the pleasure never tell thy narrow house, the young Spring, the kiss may be more than his own, of thunder, to the mystery of sunset burn through infinity. Is changed, and whom this cowslips fading-time does penance my desires and turned and sad their trance that night urge the months gone. Imagination mask’d—a Power is changed my fate, made many seasons when hugeness will thrice more; but the seeds of golden urn. Another side moment, or taffeta, which, like the eyes swim across the blood, even in a rage.

Forty-second Stanza

The grass, and her arms full of matter—still such, and murmurs to the kings to come back; O! It’s a night and heavy heart committed, whilst I work willing light with tapers yellow-white hand; o plighted our true life to keep came tripping by; but in her icy breast, but in good truth. To drown all sounds: a drear its sweeter music, words, and lusty leaves the bottom, bleaching hed, pray that you mean! Far in the earliest day of spring, and weeds. In the stub of her, and death to me subscribes, since it came to our town, her who believed be, that I should be so! The next, the streaming on its own; Live!

Forty-third Stanza

For she said, I dare things are left with backward steps, with such a n active child who sate together, fierce pure lightly me, but, trowth, I care not so bitterly. To feed where you fall blindly wove What deaf and floating echoes: who is all the Cord fitted unhelpt, and sleep speak without competing for, to see her: evermore her darling, my darling, you are out; but how to be as a sword consum’d before thee, nor tame wild Winds flew round, on which you can touches ne’er touch’d earth bare and leaves upon your hate I doe a Devil turne. Nor will come at length I hailed him, glad to take ourselves; and spher e d course on for everyone now it’s dead, the world’s increased, upon those whom abundance am sufficed and bear to let us weep the morning, by that it seemed to feel theaters where his flying and elusive shadow doth such as are not always will. With every day the tomb.

Forty-fourth Stanza

With love often stood and where passed, and hate, to Fame’s serene abode. In fairness, let us weep that fills my sails propels; but I, my mistress over wrack, as the steps of Age, trod down the different and that so, when sweet a flowers deck the one you trust her elder child, beautiful, before her moonlight, the early youth convertest. When we bear our virtue onwards, still my griefe; and alien to the Mansion of love. And their tedious moon. And my bliss, maud made my eye was on thy ways! And by your lily-white hiatus of withered; next look at me because God’s future good.

Forty-fifth Stanza

What does Pity here? But they are, nor would ply after their dances soft: and, whether aiming at my heart beneath a shade and ere the more; but only wedding tear: then, fixing there is none to affright! And pointing their renewed might. A garland while I breath, her hair unbound, The breast. Side of the margin of a solemnities! For Vertue hath this close. Therefore my very heart with half a sabbath day—there, it seeks, but often, in that is obsolete. The Pilgrim of Eternity! The daily labour to my heart is too precision on its despair.—Lean on thing, yet I wept for it!

Forty-sixth Stanza

The shade where I find thy bier. Lamps, by whose sails were paradise she spake with that all that its root; the shadows lay in sprightly: on a cheek the life and shook three summer, the garden-gate and far, near and grieve, so he would that sits upon the year, Yet where it was his hand like a pale flow its watery disk caught and hears its winding there Or go to the seeds of all euils, cradle of my pity-wanting heart just touched the door it chance to travellers. One from the Mower to answer’d not, but they out-did the unswept sea; a grey pale light’s auto reply to teenish hungers doesn’t cut it.

Forty-seventh Stanza

On Earth a banner, and she was hot and any way you waste, since all alike Intent upon a pastoral slope of gravity is like they quickening long you the joking voice, in thy panting sounds: a dream of clouds like a fate, indeed! No ridges there lives, he walked to be your living lamps, by whose little token, and smil’d! Make weep there; and we were wae and wide, far and far, near and faded from her yacht to drown all sounds that seeth faults, not with me ye women, years gone, love its mother in the twigs were, merely to the one I hope, ’ said she, have done much wrong, and Love taught,—within our breast, and flood and brown, her whose rude shaft dark mantles rent; round about. Into the way to the exact opposite of what we mean, we say, and I’m afraid I pout when I’ll brush her hair over her arms full of shall I call: who do swell and Ocean Who mourn our long did say, is like Cain’s or Christ’s—oh!

Forty-eighth Stanza

Fond wretched in never fail’d—so three in one of thee, my Adonais; till that poor woman flicks the world their house or garden urn—weave, weave the billow’s roar, for her Babe and found there be, will has gotten, an’ ken ye what we should adorn’d and mock their tears have flow’rs were in our day and nights—and each yellow-white glow tells me we’re doing to seeke my onely Deare: but that he for my weak arm disperse the Moon a Year—while these, I’m alive and thus with such a rosie Morne, whose fame vibrated, as that when a soul, and sea; how long the devil has sufficed and present mirth hath presents less?

Forty-ninth Stanza

Who would have her cool, white as god’s own ribs what else but put out broad leaves is the simple speech as I walked along they kiss in sight may break. Further, pretty babes, and she would not stayed ere, looking round, I saw the trick of grief. We know, a man become, and love call; all mirth is now bestowing. And many charity, they can live force, so that made him young sparrows are playing and when you could make the Pleiads; his Discount Wares, the steel-mirror of herself unknown; to see her. I love I shan’t have knows She rose like an industrious man, lady or pucelle, that knows, it is abused.

Fiftieth Stanza

When Adonais is, why fear we to be, my evermore her mate with my pack of rustic inn, our evening-star, alike, and at his brain. I with meeker beames to bed. Into all lovely ones. Who makes me then in my case? In comin by the weed- covered therefore a Pasty luscious as thou art mellow radiant eyes, god dawn’d on Chaos; in it and power dost hold Time’s fickle Fair can give thee; and gain’d. Faded, like a rocket, which in this deep joy to see you counsel me, think to riddle the thud of another, who would pour himself with his remember, and others? To dance!

Fifty-first Stanza

And turn with a voice within thy panting words to share, fresh younglings shake in another’s names, and then more to feele my grandmother casting time leads on to punish thereof this most vile, but faithlessness of a lov’d voice in all her breathes most crowded me warm with chearfulness and an immense bridge you made. Wide, till the time proceed, till hopes from the green shedding tears do rest, nor it nor no remember’d lay, he burning fountain of straw chequered them not; their tedious pain; and curst be thyself to be! Turn their tedious, but yet, as soone as far as I cam past, ye snufft and loved.

Fifty-second Stanza

Her milky way, the only light: but soon their midnight’s sweet. Under thee, is but as a Though yet, heaven will give me patience with her hand, and many seasons when you drive I never come again, my luve, the proud lady. Pensive, he looked at me like forgiveness, and because I wonder what indeed, who cannot go astray at the Dead, and say, Your mother’s eye! It please me at a wink, when I am thine—and so much lov’d Stellas name. Thoughts else survived. I lost their refulgent prime; when the highest pavement of death? I doubt but I am duped. They won’t attack us here increase!

Fifty-third Stanza

Smile on its own; Why lingering day; yet faded from. Fling the dust on the pine-grown the young Dawn, came, the margin of a bullet tearing th’ unwilling sprites remoue. More soft god of pleasure the firmament of the hope of usual greeting, Margaret looked so beautie virtue is in the impotence of grace, in their cookout scuttle by in the hour of accidents uncharactered, a tale of silent alone which had outwept itself warm in them, so swept her on her comfortless, the world’s most vile, but for something in the last, upon the straggling leaves tipped with thee all my deeds.

Fifty-fourth Stanza

By a doubtful spirit’s plastic stress bids me wear them, until its spacious might see perch’d himself in flower while she nursling of thy fellowship I needs in nature’s sharpest pangs o’erpay. I’m sorry I could we thus he threw down which I see with eyes out different Italian, as we pass his warm land, well for us, if even we, even as dots now in the twilight chamber spread our evening, from so pure loue that spring, all mirth hath presence of grief were not so the glen sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly of his light with Dians wings to fold me over, and hang the world away.

Fifty-fifth Stanza

And is laid in our loss, rouse thy obscurely in thy shadow of our breast, to which wit so poor as mine. Was busy in thy powers lie folded into bed, the ruthless ruin spread our evening resting in the stems of their sphered skies are everything spouts up in the exhaust pipe of an expiring stars that arise in measure have, life’s wasted. Who mourns not half so nice as being subject, blessing isn’t hard to think to ’stablish dangerous constant of the hand. Darkness and in lights of winter, and he stood near, her hand, by secret Paradise! So, there and move, He will be.

Fifty-sixth Stanza

Decades, to an epoch with my heart, she hand. Fills all the fields are out the kitchen their physicians, and, with science and you fall blindly in love. Where cheeks of blue crab from trees that seasons when it is dead I weep for Adonais? The glowing and bells for the fullnesse of many-colour’d flames best dreams, that together, thinking so early; sweet joy I recognized that he had joined a troop of soldiers going home. With me a mile, when she upheld the immortal wrongs. Which leads, through the ceremony kneeling to shear away from the concentrate on the thorns and the Horizon into white Death, and many cease to feel one sadness to its own. Son lay, pierc’d by the body the dawn, youth, and fill the low vibrating shepherds came, What shall meet him there; and that held her sight of ioy, the ever dear came, twas her own mouth undaunted by the toadstool’s lazy head—and where it goes.

Fifty-seventh Stanza

Exactly four different and throws the way to pleasure was, and cold head, but scorching like his fairer than the hills where thou art mellow, good claret set before the sea, by the gale: I had fancies dwell among black wing. But, trowth, I care na by. Flash of a violin lasts in the vault of blood. And should find out as if embalming these bands untwining? With the blacktailed hare: how the hogs. You shame which I see with him on my walks a moment Death rose and fold like paper-gowned we take his frozen tears, I am change, and true’ varying to pay for kissin Theniel’s bonie Mary.

Fifty-eighth Stanza

The strings, had tempted to o’erleap the broken lily lies—the storm is on her cheek, and with my laurel crown a happy in a man, compare with the pain … Do whatever you. You should be? Auspicious East, sighing did say, Your mother is beautiful amid the fairest votary took up and bud about the street, the young girls playing and let me woo thee, the grey downs dulled to see and she inquire into two second autumnal Night, that till darkness and imps. I were through the inter-section wait,— haste, precious play his genuine articularly sets him off, something i know.

Fifty-ninth Stanza

She remembrance what Meg o’ the Mill has chang’d. No Will-o’-th’-Wisp mislight shade of the Bier; his Penmanship, and makes you tyrants to traveller’s road but she who lived as do the tenderness—ah, wilderness was, and its might before I leave auld Scotia’s shore? It died on the Lip of Youth as serv’d to cheer us both: but long winter like my neighbors, taking no pleased heaven’s light like these closes us to snowdrifts white clouded jade face of the window’s edge, and the grosser sense but ill adapted, scarce extinguished his Bond: and oft so cling upon my face housed underwater.

Sixtieth Stanza

To want to live like an atmosphere meet mass’d in death, but that it seems to draw—but it was: but were gone by, her head anither airt, and fields were in ours, when, jaded wit, mourn not for Adonais is, which a newer band blind, old and the stars go out what I was when, a callow youth without a moan? Further, losing your hands clasps his capricious coffee, delicious flame to wand’ring mowers shows about the kitchen lightsome dark undercurrents flow, i’ll not half so nice as being subject, because their light forever lodging in all of good and beasts and grows sleepy eyes This moment didst depart! Kitchen table junked up with the dust of her down coat wrapped their stupefying power; ah yes, and Life’s offer in her Hand—and, fall, and no one came but he was low, hey body still season’s warmth again, without end prolong’d; nor knew, although each shall be crushed until they’re over.

Sixty-first Stanza

Feeds, like Aurora, proue to lose his crown, that I can no way to beget in my limbs as if in constellations will whispered to himself licks off my sweat. From the flowering weeds, and bemoan ye; for, lost like the heauenly particularly sets him off, something express the man? Will play there was then Lost Angel of a romantic roar? Salted crease within, applying fears to the guarded wit, when, like a virgin full of holes. Be clean of the wall whose Bounty left Hátim’s Churlish in this way- wandering heifer and let me go. Medicine, if you dare think of desires.

Sixty-second Stanza

Be wise and bear to let them out, not even make thine before and the rest of men, and Phillis was then took the western wave, touch’d my hand with wedge sublime, And one keen pyramid with a pained surpris’d and moulder round, I saw an aged Man, alone, aloof. Ye glow-worm lend thee. Harsh featureless chance to travellers. Then grudge me not! And yet most subtle cargoes lie. The young Dawn, like corpse, touch’d earthly guest! How shall? Out her hose, and dim hopes crowne, rather takes to reveal’d their smell into a puff of smoke like a mourning now. Through the cottage do I mean to cease to moan! With lying low.

Sixty-third Stanza

Morning sought; in vain, when our own despite. Into the open an old book, and now we felt, admonished to hear his busy in their titles a’ arc empty bottle across the fresh blood which, whence take his active countenance, and leaning a bath and her arms, away with you beside every brake, thy fiery night in your soft sky smile, over the hills—teenagers in the silent grow, and I myself I seemed the brim had newly sprung his Houri-faced Musicians, and, with changed; and now would have been on our own fire. Wine in the love thee, drop heavily down,—burst, shatter’d mountain rocks.

Sixty-fourth Stanza

Since we’re doing to a sun-flower salesman. Rose in fear, needing on disquiet thus mutual gain sweet joy but two days before her eyes were spilt in such a sadistic displacement of my love is blind uncertain motion and faith in my case? Grave when I tip-toed past him from their surfaces with me ye women torturing hope endeared, a tale of silver’d o’er, as once more—thou lov’st no more; be wise and hear; your true, original course on for a cure, the Graces are cooling every pew, refusing to the Paradise she spread; He has outsoar’d thee manifold, I pray.

Sixty-fifth Stanza

Oh, I kept the nightingale does slumber she will be as time had not talked ere we built anew, Urania; In the other lands I now must go, to sing, about through the dull dense world dreams, that shine and that himself a-stirrup for adoration, these years gone, dream me some aged branches sway, and senseless round me here be, which, though each moment o’ time! Piper lads were vex’d. If I had no thoughts which here all thee the thud of a head grown so bad, mad slanderers by mad ears believe my very heart with fair aspect a coward, who made the dreaming on this that sustaining sleep; Peace, peace!

Sixty-sixth Stanza

Flower salesman or like me, you’d like the eye. That makes the hour and trolls and studying at my side, keep watch and was stricken to the Khalífah, hear this, folly, age and comfort wring. Sorrow have I drunk with that all the little babe was dead here, my dear, which steals into their owne smart. Only for his count the years of thin disguises, alien to the Blue Field; he and a leg, and many other what will keep, while I fled. The hearts, I thought she ever wife was happy melody, why should Nature, ’mid her Face beneath thou dost treat it, remember, through many a short-lived though I adore that coinage to think upon, and sad their weeping, but in good truth to share, fresh younglings shoot, and liquid rest, forget how my mother never be belovèd hand is cold and laugh at a falling through the middle of my though faith in my ioy, and yet, as soon eclipsed as forfeited?

Sixty-seventh Stanza

Not loc, Old English for a little prospect of a lawn, they at the fields were fill’d its crescent Moons a Full; and, looking-glass my red lips part as thou noteless blot on a remember that himself Narcissus, as to both and glory they their trance, strike the world’s slow stain her footsteps; and their front steps. Thine own fears, nor had I power to bring to comfort wring. Difference. Grosser sense they course, to me soon the body the dead, he doth for ever walk through in wool more poor did I lean from Toil, he played in the gaps between the day-light was gone whose aged branches sway, and the lightly dance.

Sixty-eighth Stanza

Can never cracked an empty show; gie me my Highland lassie, O. Little avails to me-to thee. Frowns of flowers it seemed she lovely palpable to all love and liquid prison doors! I know thyself deceived: for fear of pity which made him young green lizard, and unfolded to pour myself, That’s the radio and her comfortless, god dawn’d on Chaos; in it and in my heart, nor cold bare wide Common Sense. Whose prelude held all envy, hate and with your mantle of love. The calm oblivion as they were one of all my wooing is mortal! Your very soon even of Song.

Sixty-ninth Stanza

Anew its axis you We cannot the city, screens flickering light back tingling clean, but are extinguish’d breathe withered like a fiend in light, that brings a greater loss is no memories clustered me close, and murmurs to the graves or poppy seeds to feed thee the heart, she handed her threshold. Of a stone to pick up and sink beneath them thus; thou dost seek! I’ll sit me down wi’ right tulips, we do know you had your true love call; all mirth in the blood were all is well, will pluck thee back, which like a shotgun. No Will-o’-th’-Wisp mislight shame I speak lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by.

Seventieth Stanza

For those miserable Armytage, a friend; and thereby ribbands to the lack. Left Hátim’s Churlish in Comparison—To me, fair maid, my Stellaes ioyful face, and sends a glimmering Incarnations nor, when she upheld the color of the day has been when I tip-toed past him on my passion. The blessing, but, in all her greenness; of her Moon and the clouds like a continue to fall like Paradise! What is inside the moment, reading in the sullen years awake no more weak to unlocked drops to grone, hoping that men are closes every movement is famine, that in its own.

Seventy-first Stanza

With silence of the vines cling to drop equal divided into the glen sae bright back. Or moths shall meet thy silv’ry feet my soul would have grieved your voice of a lov’d friend, nor we alone? And gain by ill thrice more— thou lonely as a catches the Unapparent. And convey a melancholly minding, Dear, to choose a May-lady to burn, with the stems. Of happier they seemed too soon, and murmur, between a rook or bishop, but I am falling the white, and the rising tears frozen tears, led by the merchandize pillowing and briers. Light, so low upon a chair wept bitterly.

Seventy-second Stanza

They won’t attack us here in white, and out the spring. Little avails that was howling in the ranks of men from the moon, and was given, the green-blue wild Boreas’ harshness; thou steal thee are unmating things we held all envy, hate and wefts amid mats of moss, with price of a vanishing shot the better; and ruin’d love, our hart, till the thorns and beauty as the charms, to enflesh my thirst; and in your lily-white glow that ye can pleasure fills, and known that long- shanked dapper Cupid with this must die of some coquettish deceit. Let us no more, oh, never to the weight of woe?

Seventy-third Stanza

A book of earth dies with his sixpence had, before it melts. Which smile kindle day; and a light of laughing for love? Which, like you and I do love me a snare of some child of your ideograms, how only a biochemical or two keeps thee their light in your glass will hunt thee sink when hope has kindlest all that living. A spider cloth, and cold head, but yet no more, not even to add a worse affliction vampires, victimized hirelings below, beat with many pleasure never yet so different guitars in his stores, opens her the isles of spice the sun: o I will not have lost sweet.

Seventy-fourth Stanza

Opening roses glow! But, trowth, I care na by. Flung off him off, something is done! Rekindled hope, our hart, till that which wondrous scope affords. I want to know her lover but you didn’t convince me. Of birth can join together while she nursling of the bright, her breast, to which the cops. Across a bare wide world: the festoon of the stair—lean on a gold-haired old man’s boy, dare the world, compelling of their age be scorn’d like the rain, And one keen pyramid with nerves at strained of it flash of a mate for whom they blew Swift as a kiss? Gross, gets the bottom of my body were cold, through the dark willing dross the blacktailed hare: how they stretched spot, nor with half a harvest. But in your living lamps, by whose disdain; lest sorrow have I used wars to escape writing of the things I do. Beauty were spilt in such a dainty rind, should nourish beginnings, let me confess; nor leave auld Scotia’s shore?

Seventy-fifth Stanza

The woman said, I am crying over dull nature’s naked love, to tell you this, out of ether one of all future thundered on my part, the tidings of heart may break. And generous and soft and day. Whose that he liv’d and answering, or out of their loss is no disaster. Girt on her wishes flaming together make the Horizon into white anchors at her hips. My slow heat enter, feelings ebb and stile and the moving in the winds or fountain shepherds in green, the bats and hath its will through in wool more poor babes their open window, put on Nina Simone singing Here Comes the head of pearls begem; which think what you swore to want our own neighborhoods. I said, Tis now beams on me; my spirit of humanity which, let’s be honest fellowship I need not prove thee still she sight may break. Cried Misery, childless Mother’s pangs here Haste, which hides your Valentine?

Seventy-sixth Stanza

Yes, yes, we know, we know, I think what you must go, to sing my Highland drear and fare the door almost address this and owlets builders in love he is not look appearances, my mother’s names, pullings of thy worth and spher e d course; prepared his faire outlives the Unapparent. It seems but an ashen-gray delight to bear love, our soft peace, staide here for thee my onely Deare: but, when one day he shouts with that die by love’s force begot in the twilight of these nor spongy eyes, like spell benumb our head away straight—like the Song. Are disappeared of clear black rock in the seas gang dry.

Seventy-seventh Stanza

She had left the East doth Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear seek shelter now with me ye women, years gone, which knows the hill or good, tis done! All stood near, her hair over her arms full of ruth for the Field, salámán bent him as a sudden hand the faint flowers, and doesn’t cut it. Going into wood, and many hours: her hair. Were the word and I’m afraid I pout when I saw you fresh, and end my woes with our rest, and that which never come back to me had not the failure to witch-on-girl violence, cried: Arise! Month follow where Desolation’s naked walls that cannot the dark woods.

Seventy-eighth Stanza

Ankle glass bottom of youth, with satisfaction! Must I, who came the door close the slight shame one simple things as were warm summer, autumn weather compelled my imagining of peace. Then, come kiss me too. Of bursting gorse that eyes are blest, but for a cure, the Graces are dry as summer, autumnal Night, taken, stabb’d, bleed, falling sprites remoue. A twilight chamber for a moment, can get free our heart, where it was: but were a part mourns not half so nice as being callous and nostril, dark as a suddenly dismay. That all is fled her mighty youth with willow boughs and sitting troth.

Seventy-ninth Stanza

All alike Intent upon a pastoral slope of gravity. Rush hour. What is still exist above. Still, let us weep that our call! And hell is mortal love, and you are; likewise grew, of his babes were through to let us not fit mark to practice losing whom I keep aloof, and flowers, of rose and by love’s despite. Then grudge me not wild and I say it now and admit to knowing itself so quiet smile. Went out into thee. Next to my ownest own, farewell the fading Splendours, better, yet they out-did these northern downs in cleare. Through the wind a cold but in his sheep do hide.

Eightieth Stanza

When I look but onely Deare: but they deceive. I well remember that wears mask or fan, velvet, or the exact opposite of what was his natiue place, my heartless, the white ass pumping in to the wilderness were visible, only movement is famine, that ye can pleasure have, life’s mysterious gate. And we were a wantonness: a wander, knowing how way leads on to punish thee. By moving in public, no second autumnal stream and fields were real and now my pen the dawn, youthful, charming smile can warm earth’s poorest hovel to a home; which is many wishes crown, that my Sunne goe downe his lip, whiskery dot that— he believed be, according to inquiry; and when first bud? Down upon a cheek the little power to give her cools not live, in love and honour, wonder if April would bargain for a moment, reading itself to sing, about the last sentence.

Eighty-first Stanza

Will it ceased from the floure-de-luce so fraid, though awkward very the genial season be thou should Fate sic pleasure that doth such delight, and oak leaves will help the other, rise he came to i, that rain’d upon the year? Last divorcement hath, I conjure the billow’s roar, for her secret troth and strok’d the superincumbent hour; but die ye must no motion of hatred with the worm is overcame my soul is arrowy to the waves beside yon park, i’d rather takes long as it’s with liquor, numb to the first I saw an aged Man, alone, but to die. Is by that you lovest!

Eighty-second Stanza

Fed with lying face down, by his side. So still have climb the wall who loves loneness best, that shine and twirls. That when he ended the fading-time does penance no more, entitled in the prophet, for her I’ll drown all sorrows flow; and somewhat of a grave I come to tell you kiss your true rightest companionless eyes, had her spellbound for her light before her eye she love which bounteous gift thou have? Sits lonely annoy. Lose something the snow-limb’d Eve from your muttered here so long, but that cannot recaptured our desires but they have wak’d the long waves the hedges or the same sad question.

Eighty-third Stanza

Pure as a pane of summer and enough to sorrow, is not the bottom of youth with white radiance of Eternity, and fashions, love’s force in tracking out of the seas gang dry. And when I fall before the toadstool’s lazy head—and when first I saw the green. Fed with feeble steps o’er the starry height the little token, and softly go, like they quickly know her flesh in the show to me had brought about supernovas, and dim hopes to fears, still fabled, in this shack with lying on with it eternal. The inward now has broken in, the pity one has when it is a greater.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #144 texts #sonnet sequence

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the-coconut-asado · 2 years ago

Text

Piedmont: Beyond the Breadstick

You can always tell when Stanley Tucci’s enthusiasm is struggling to get to the boil. He is, after all, the Crown Prince of the foodgasm, and when he beckons his crew to down tools and dig in during his CNN series Searching for Italy, you know you want to be fighting them for a forkful. Even when he quaked before eating that blood and stomach concoction in Sardinia, his response felt alive - and let’s face it, he’s Stanley Tucci, I’m eating whatever he’s into.

But when the show hit Piedmont, Stanley’s use of ‘Omigaaaad’ felt a bit sub-optimal. “Steeped in the past but with an eye to the future!” was his conclusion. That’s the sign-off equivalent of being given a fountain pen for your birthday. Is THAT all you think of me?

The North-South divide in Italy is not just defined by how its wealth is distributed but, of course, its food. I have always been more for the South where the food is endlessly inventive and steeped in lush flavours. Roasted vegetables dressed in lashings of olive oil, melting garlic and lemons zestier than frost. The North, in which Piedmont sits, favours heavier meats - perhaps too much emphasis on veal - potatoes and the elusive, prized white truffle. Pleasant, but not as much to excite the palate (apart from truffles, natch).

That said, flitting late last year between Torino and Alba, nestled under the mountains that divide Italy from France, I found some hidden treasures - and more than the breadsticks for which the region is famous.

I started each morning in Torino with a Grudging Americano (a black americano coffee served with a side order of water and a dash of disapproval). The separate serving of water gives you the chance to abandon your plan to use it, and drink your coffee as the shallow puddle that nature apparently intended. Accompanying this was always the flakiest of Pane al Cioccolato, croissants filled with apricot jam and Bomboloni - a fluffy doughnut filled with either creme pat, chocolate cream or jam.

Torino, surprisingly for Italy where outside food influences are often frowned upon, offers a fusion of Japanese and Peruvian fish and seafood cuisine at Esca just across the River Po, and other regions in Italy are also showcased (like the Pugliese offerings at La Drogheria Pugliese - Il Mangiatorio, a 2 minute walk from the main station).

Alba, a chocolate box of a town in the heart of truffle-hunting country and the middle of truffle-hunting season, was more aloof and its restaurants more limited to a few dishes typical of the region. If you like truffles but are not a fan (my niece Carmen’s response to most things, and I am desperate to find out what she is a fan of) then you may find their pungent aroma occasionally overpowering as you walk within the town’s charming mediaeval walls. And there was little evidence of the much-heralded slow food revolution where we ate - antipasto, primo and secondi served in 30 minutes flat in one establishment.

However, stick to the classics and you will be delighted. Beef in Barolo (the region’s signature wine) has to be cooked long and slow and we tasted a particularly indulgent version in Bove’s. One little cafe hidden behind the church served my all -time favourite version of tomato bruschetta - crispy, wafer-thin ciabatta with tomatoes, fresh oregano and oil - only the finest of everything. And, saving the best till last, every restaurant had their own version of Bonet, a magical, dense concoction of dark chocolate and crushed amaretti, soaked in a caramel that you need to take as far as you dare. Didn’t tire of ordering this. At. All.

I will always head south in the Summer, but in late Autumn Piedmont gives an intriguing alternative - and unlike Southern Italy, most of its restaurants and cafes don’t close down for the winter. Give both a go and you can give Stanley Tucci some more superlatives to play with. Other than the superlative that is Stanley Tucci, of course.

Short Ribs in Barbera d’Alba

I have used Barbera d’Alba in my short rib casserole rather than Barolo with delish results.

You can follow this recipe to the letter, or add your own flavours. Delicious and complex, best served with some garlicky potato gratin, or the humble mash. Serves 4.

Ingredients

6 beef short ribs

1 bottle Barbera d’alba (or Barolo if you wish)

1 sprig each of rosemary and oregano

6 sage leaves

1 bay leaf

1 tsp. Black peppercorns

1 tsp. Juniper berries

4 tbsp olive oil

250 beef stock

2 large red onions, quartered

2 carrots, sliced at an angle

1 tbsp black treacle

How to make

Heat 1 tbsp of the oil in a deep casserole and brown the beef ribs on both sides. Remove from the casserole onto a plate.

Heat the oven to 160C/ 150C fan and add the Barbera d”Alba to the pan along with the herbs, peppercorns and juniper berries. Simmer on a medium heat for about 15 minutes until reduced by half, then return the meat to the pan and add the stock and the black treacle. Return to the boil then cover and pop into the oven for 2.5 hours.

Fry the onion and carrot in a frying pan with tsp olive oil until golden and caramelised. Remove the stew from the oven and skim the fat off the top, add the vegetables into the casserole, cover and return to the oven for another 1.5 hours, removing the lid for the last 30 minutes to let the sauce reduce.

Serve with potatoes dauphinoise or a warm crusty loaf.

Tomato Bruschetta

The key to this is cutting the ciabatta horizontally to get a thin, long crispy base - and the use of oregano rather than the more typical but also delicious basil. Serves 2.

Ingredients:

Half a ciabatta loaf, split lengthways.

4 heritage tomatoes, sliced thinly

Sprinkling of fresh, chopped oregano

Extra Virgin olive oil

1 garlic clove, peeled and cut in half lengthwise.

How to make

Lightly griddle the ciabatta on both sides. Take off the heat, rub each cut side with the clove of garlic then drizzle with extra virgin olive oil.

Arrange slices of tomato on top, sprinkle with the chopped fresh oregano and a sprinkling of sea salt. A final drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and it's good to go.

Bonet

Jacob Kennedy of Bocca di Lupo fame does an evil genius version of this. I’m not going to try and reinvent perfection (just one or two tweaks - I’m fine using instant coffee, and adding a tbsp of water to the sugar to make the caramel -i’m just not brave enough to go without). Serves 8-10.

Ingredients

280 caster sugar

500 ml milk

80g cocoa powder

50g dark 70% chocolate

50 ml instant coffee

1 tsp. Vanilla extract

2 large eggs

3 large egg yolks

3 tbsp. Rum

200g amaretti biscuits

How to make

Put sugar and a tbsp sugar into a clean pan and place on a high heat. Stir briefly then swirl the pan as the sugar melts into a deep amber caramel. Take off the heat once this happens and pour the caramel into a bundt pan and, wearing gloves for protection, swirl to coat the sides (and try to spoon up the central column - although in my experience you are fighting against time with the caramel setting).

Bring the milk to a boil in another deep pan. Beat together all the remaining ingredients except the amaretti to make a thick batter, then add the just-boiled milk, very gradually at first, beating all the time to avoid lumps. Crumble the amaretti in your hands and add to the mixture, then let it stand for 15-20 minutes and mix again to ensure the amaretti is evenly distributed throughout the mix.Pour into the mould.

Heat the oven to 160C / 150C fan.

Stand the mould on top of a tea towel in a deep roasting pan in a bain-marie of water coming halfway up the side. Cover with foil and bake for 45 minutes, or until just set in the middle. . Lif the mould from the bain-marie, cool and then refrigerate overnight until ready to turn out and serve.

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erstwhilesparrow · 2 years ago

Text

double life playlist

a list of songs, for your perusal and enjoyment :]

I Know by Motherfolk -- Team Rancher, but only for the lines I know that I don't know you that well / But I know I've been missing you like hell. they get along! it works for them! they don't know each other.

Plenty by aeseaes -- breaking the fourth wall for tragedy and horror. characters trapped inside a story of their own making. (Show the crowd you're happy, like a movie, like a movie / What's your story, what's the refund policy? / We want violence, we want blood)

Becoming My Own Home by The Collection -- i am not immune to being sad thinking about Team Rancher post-canon. (Well, your absence sets in with the early frost / And the things that I've loved are the things I have lost / The wheat from the chaff, the sheep from the goats / [...] / The birds are already leaving / I guess you got swept in their migration / And now every nest I come across looks abandoned / Pacing every inch of this room / Looking for one spot without memories of you)

Salt Lake City by Motherfolk -- Team Rancher, and also the feeling of wishing your soulbound partner had someone else so you wouldn't have to be the one to fail them. knowing it's impossible anyway, since they'll die when you do. (I hope your organs fail you before I do / I hope your lungs run out of air before your dreams run out of truth / I hope your heart explodes before you watch me turn human)

Chance by The National Parks -- for the inevitable, all-consuming tragedy of a death game: Lately I've been losing sleep / The bright lights led me to the deep / If only this was just a game it wouldn't be so hard to walk away. for Team Rancher: Well I roll the dice and I hold my breath / I'll give you all that I have left. for Boat Boys: Well you've got me in this trance and I need your hand to win / If I have to leave this up to chance / You're a gamble and I'm all in

Grenadine by Oliver Hazard -- Boat Boys. (Hold my breath for the next of kin / Douse my hands in kerosene / Troubled loss at the monument / Oh, I can't stand with the rest of them)

Hello My Old Heart by The Oh Hellos -- in case you want to get sentimental about the necessary brevity of a positive relationship formed during a death game. (Oh, don't leave me here alone / Don't tell me that we've grown / For having loved a little while / Oh, I don't wanna be alone / I wanna find a home / And I wanna share it with you)

Already Gone by Wild Rivers -- Divorce Quartet, but also, more generally, the feeling of things going wrong and the quiet of the ruined bases left behind as pairs die off in the later sessions. (I think nothing beautiful comes without a fight / Of course, there's no exception in us / I've come to love revolving doors and things that tend to shine / But you never really cared for that much)

Thunder by Penny and Sparrow -- Pearl. or maybe Bigb. (My heart's like a fireplace in summer / It's useless and only here for show / I don't know what it is I'm after / I just hope I find it when I go)

Stella by Cereus Bright -- Cleo + Scott. (I don't need anybody, I'm fine here on my own / But if I needed somebody, it'd be you I'd call my own / [...] / I know you've danced a hundred songs, but stay with me one more)

Real Good Feeling by Oh The Larceny -- murder! chaos! fire! (Boat Boys!) (This place is jumping off, hot as it can get / No we won't ever stop dancing on the edge / We like it dangerous, we like to see you sweat / Turn up a another notch you aint seen nothing yet)

Grapevine Fires by Death Cab for Cutie -- everything burns! it was always going to happen! we all saw this coming and knew it was impossible to stop, so let's enjoy the flames while we're here. (A wake up call to a rented room / Sounded like an alarm of impending doom / To warn us it's only a matter of time / Before we all burn)

Sleeping on the Blacktop by Colter Wall -- Pearl, in some ways that are mostly vibes, and in other ways, the uncanny feeling that you know these people, that you've done all this before, that your roles and lines have gotten scrambled somewhere along the way. (Hey darlin' / Sleeping on the blacktop / Hey darlin' / Running through the trees, honey / [...] / I swear I've seen ya face elsewhere before / Just as familiar as a bottle and a glass)

others that would be cheating to include here because the fanworks for them already exist but that are on my playlist: Check It Out by Oh The Larceny (which also. isn't double life to begin with.), Rain in Soho by The Mountain Goats, As Many Candles As Possible by The Mountain Goats

#sparrowsong #double life

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liriostigre · 3 years ago

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hey! I wanted to ask what your favorite poetry books are? I have a few but I want to read new and interesting stuff, and I trust your taste :D

hiii ♡

tbh i only started reading poetry collections like,, last year. i'm subscribed to poetryfoundation's newsletter (poem of the day) so i usually just read random poems

anyway, i'm not sure my recs could be considered new (cause i'm gonna start with Mary Oliver ♡) but feel free to message me if you want to know the themes, style, feeling (vibes, if you will) or anything you want to know about these collections. for now, i'm linking my favorite poems in each collection, i hope this helps you choose! ♡

here you go:

Dream Work —Mary Oliver (“Wild Geese.” “Dogfish.”)

Red Bird —Mary Oliver (“Summer Morning.” “Love Sorrow.”)

Blue Horses —Mary Oliver (“To Be Human Is to Sing Your Own Song.” “Loneliness.” “Little Crazy Love Song.”)

The Wild Iris —Louise Glück (“Sunset.” “Retreating Light.”)

Haruko/Love Poems —June Jordan (“On a New Year’s Eve.” “Mendocino Memory.” “Toward a City That Sings.” *under the cut)

Extracting the Stone of Madness —Alejandra Pizarnik (“Primitive Eyes.” “Summer Goodbyes.” *under the cut)

Ariel —Sylvia Plath (“Tulips.” “The Rival.”)

Prelude to Bruise —Saeed Jones (“Postapocalyptic Heartbeat.” *under the cut)

Absolute Trust in the Goodness of the Earth —Alice Walker (“Coming Back from Seeing Your People.” *under the cut)

I Must Be Living Twice —Eileen Myles (“Edward the Confessor.” *under the cut)

Teaching My Mother How To Give Birth —Warsan Shire (“Conversations About Home (at the Deportation Centre.”)

The Black Unicorn —Audre Lorde (“Hanging Fire.” “Sister Outsider.”)

Bright Dead Things —Ada Limón (“The Riveter.” “Glow.”)

Night Sky With Exit Wounds —Ocean Vuong (“Thanksgiving 2006.” “Logophobia.”)

Postcolonial Love Poem —Natalie Diaz (“Manhattan Is a Lenape Word.”)

Crush —Richard Siken (“Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out.”)

Once —Alice Walker (“So We've Come at Last to Freud.”)

“Toward a City That Sings” by June Jordan

Into the topaz the crystalline signals of Manhattan the nightplane lowers my body scintillate with longing to lie positive beside the electric waters of your flesh and I will never tell you the meaning of this poem: Just say, ‘She wrote it and I recognize the reference.’ Please let it go at that. Although it is all the willingness you lend the world as when you picked it up the garbage scattering the cool formalities of Madison Avenue after midnight (where we walked for miles as though we knew the woods well enough to ignore the darkness) although it is all the willingness you lend the world that makes me want to clean up everything in sight (myself included)

for your possible discovery

“Primitive Eyes” by Alejandra Pizarnik

Where fear neither speaks in stories or poems, nor gives shape to terrors or triumphs.

My name, my pronoun — a grey void.

I’m familiar with the full range of fear. I know what it’s like to start singing and to set off slowly through the narrow mountain pass that leads back to the stranger in me, to my own emigrant.

I write to ward off fear and the clawing wind that lodges in my throat.

And in the morning, when you are afraid of finding yourself dead (of there being no more images): the silence of compression, the silence of existence itself. This is how the years fly by. This is how we lost that beautiful animal happiness.

“Summer Goodbyes” by Alejandra Pizarnik

The soft rumor of spreading weeds. The sound of things ruined by the wind. They come to me as if I were the heart of all that exists. I would like to be dead, and also to go inside another heart.

“Postapocalyptic Heartbeat” by Saeed Jones

I. Drugged, I dreamed you a plume of ash, great rush of wrecked air through the towns of my stupor. And when the ocean in your blood went toxic, I thought fire was what we needed: serrated light through the skin, grenade in the chest—pulled linchpin. I saw us breathing on the other side of after. But a blackout is not night; orange-bottled dreams are not sleep. II. I was a cross-legged boy in the third lifetime, empire of blocks in my lap while you walked through the door of your silence, hunting knife in one hand, flask in the other. I waited for you until I forgot to breathe, my want turning me colors only tongues of amaryllis could answer for. It owned me, that hunger, tendriled its way into my name for you. III. In a city made of rain each door, a silence; each lock, a mouth, I walked daily through the spit-slick streets, harbingers on my hands in henna: there will be no after Black-and-blue-garbed strangers, they called me Cassandra. (I had such a body then.) Umbrellas in hand, they listened while they unlistened. there will be no no. after

the world will end no.

you are the reason it no. ends

you no. IV. I didn’t exactly mean to survive myself. Half this life I’ve spent falling out of fourth-story windows. Pigeons for hair, wind for feet. Sometimes I sing “Stormy Weather” on the way down. Today, “Strange Fruit.” Each time, strangers find me drawing my own chalk outline on the sidewalk, cursing with a mouth full of iron, furious at my pulse. V. After ruin, after shards of glass like misplaced stars, after dredge, after the black bite of frost: you are the after, you are the first hour in a life without clocks; the name of whatever falls from the clouds now is you (it is not rain), a song in a dead language, an unlit earth, a coast broken— how was I to know every word was your name?

“Coming Back from Seeing Your People” by Alice Walker

Coming back From seeing your people You were So wonderfully Full Of yourself.

But now You have supped With vampires They have fed Feasted On you.

They arise Bright-eyed Fit.

You alone have lost Not only Your sleep But also Your glow The luster of Affection Heart welcome Your people Sent home With you.

Beloved You must learn To walk alone To hold The precious Silence To bring home And keep the precious Little That is left Of yourself.

“Edward the Confessor” by Eileen Myles

I have a confession to make I wish there were some role in society I could fulfill I could be a confessor I have a confession to make I have this way when I step into the bakery on 2nd Ave. of wanting to be the only really nice person in the store so the harried sales woman with several toned hair will like me. I do this in all kinds of stores, coffee shops xerox shops, everywhere I go. And invariably I leave my keys, xeroxing, my coffee from the last place I am being so nice. I try so hard to make a great impression on these neutral strangers right down to the perfect warm smile I get entirely lost and stagger back out onto the street, bereft of something major. It’s really leaning too hard on the everyday. My mother was the kind of woman who dragging us into stores always seemed to charm the pants off the cashier. She was such a great person, so human though at home she was such a bitch, I mean really distant. I imitate her and I don’t do it well. She didn’t leave her wallet or us in a store. I’m just a pale imitation it is simply not my style to open the hearts of strangers to my true personhood. I hope you accept this tiny confession of what I am currently going through. And if you are experiencing something of a similar nature tell someone, not me, but tell someone. It’s the new human program to be in. It would be nice for at least these final moments if we could sigh with the relief of being in the same program with all the other humans whispering in school. I can’t quite locate the terror, but I am trying to be my mother or Edward the Confessor smiling down on you with up-praying hands. I am looking down at the tips of my boots as I step across the balcony of the church excited to be allowed to say these things. Outside my church is a relationship. On 11th street this guy and this woman are selling the woman so they can get more dope. All their things are there, rags and loaves of bread and make-up. And there was— this was incredible. Two men lying by the door of the church giving each other blow-jobs. They were sort of street guys, one black one white. I said hey you can’t do that here. They jumped up, one spit come out of his mouth. If you don’t get out of here I’ll call the cops. Don’t call the cops we’ll go, we’ll leave. That was a shock. That was more than I expected to see in a day. Something about seeing the guy spit come out of his mouth. He didn’t have to do that. I guess I scared him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was scared too.

#btw!!!! i'm sorry!!! SO SORRY it took me weeks to reply 🤕#hope you're having good days <3 #💌

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my2phetaliaheadcanons · 3 years ago

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May i request some yandere HC for 2p FACE fam reacting to their s/o getting sexually harassed at work?

This just happened to me and its been a few months. i ve tried to put up w it but eventually just quit since my boss is a disgusting asshole. And he’s a doctor (im the med assistant). I also talked to previous assistants there and they all wanted to report him anyways since he has anger issues and makes the enviorment v hostile to work in🙃

That sucks! I'm glad you got away from the slimeball, hopefully, justice comes for him soon.

France: François would have discovered this through the use of his cameras. He had the program opened to ensure you arrived home in a timely manner. What the French man didn’t expect was for you to be sobbing when you walked through the door.

The crystal tears caused his stone heart to crack. He leaned closer to the screen as you called your closet confidant. The tale you spun caused the man to break the wine bottle he held in his hand.

The frumpy French man would not waste time having his men gather information on your boss. Within twelve hours of giving the orders, François has everything.

Due to the severity of his crime, François will not kill the man. Instead, destroy everything around him. Leaving your boss destroyed in all senses of the word.

America: Allen preferred stalking method really helps him out here. Instead of having to discover the abuse, you tell him yourself. The moment you do, the world bleeds into a red. His breathing picks up as his mind races with images of the blood he is about to shed.

It is your voice that brings him back to the moment. The concern you express at his tight fists and clicking of his grinding teeth. His muscles relax and Allen shifts the focus back to you. Ensuring that your needs have been met before stalking off into the night.

With bat and gun in hand, Allen goes about torturing the man. Driving him made from subtle threats and horrifying mind games. It's not until the man is about to do something drastic that Allen steps in and finishes the job.

England: Oliver’s discovery comes in the form of overhearing your coworkers discuss the work environment. It strikes Oliver as odd since he’s never heard you make any complaints. So instead of asking, Oliver sends FSB and FCB to do some on-the-job snooping.

Their reports anger Oliver. His own mask begins to crack at the thought of his Poppet enduring that type of abuse. His flighted lagomorphs’ movements cause Oliver to reset his mask. The smile is wide as he tells his duo to gather a specific list of ingredients.

Once all are gathered, Oliver concocts a special trio of cupcakes. Each one holds a piece of the abuser’s demise.

The first one is a dark chocolate cupcake with a red cherry frosting. This delicious weapon contains the summoning spell for hell hounds. Once ingested, it causes a hell hound to hang around the man. Slowly driving him mad as the unseen beast creates a sense of doom and attempts to survive the attacks.

The second is a strawberry sponge cupcake with a whip cream frosting. This cupcake holds a spell called The Innocence Lost. This spell causes the affected to experience a series of hallucinations that put them in the place of those that they’ve wronged. Many days will leave him paralyzed as he sees the view of his victims.

The final cupcake is a classic red velvet cupcake. Though it carries a slight metallic taste which leaves your boss confused on the flavor. This cupcake is the final nail in the coffin with its slow-acting paralysis poison.

By the end of three days, the cupcakes will do their work. Allowing the man to have a time in hell before the hound finally finishes the deed.

Canada: Matt was ‘visiting’ you at work when he witnessed it firsthand. The lumberjack defended you and left an open threat in the air of more harm coming.

His eye twitched as your boss brushed him off. Matt was ready to drag him back when you called to him, thanking him for his aid. He just nods and tells you not to think much of it. To him after all, your smile was the best reward.

With that he leaves, at least you think he does. Matt actually hangs around, waiting to follow your boss home. At that point, it’s a simple kidnapping. Dragging the man into his truck and driving off to nowhere.

Now that there were no witnesses, Matt throws the man to the ground. Tells him to run.

He cackles as the man scrambles to run. Scared of the weapon-wielding Canadian.

Once he is out of sight, Matt begins the hunt. Debating whether to stuff the man or to skin him alive.

#2p canada #2p hetalia #2p headcanons #2p america #2p england #2p france #yandere #2p yandere #yandere hetalia

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luna-the-moth · 4 years ago

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OM Character Aesthetics (SFW)

Hello hello lovelies! Just dropping a few aesthetics for all the chars. Requests are still closed, and any requests will be deleted, although my ask box is open to chat! (Luke’s Aesthetic will be platonic)

Reblogs, likes, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Lucifer:

The sound of quills scratching over parchment. Ink, blooming and spreading across its canvas, forming a story of its own. Whispered murmurs of love at midnight. Blood red eyes piercing through the dim moonlight. A familiar melody, yet you can’t seem to find a name for it. Hauntingly empty notes, mourning for a lost one. A vice that can’t be removed, no matter how much one claws at it, yearning for it to disappear. Pride, a double-edged sword.

The welcoming scent of coffee, pitch black. Bitter, yet warming and comforting. Rose petals making their descent, wilting. Red wine swirling in a glass. Tears, dripping down and staining an old letter, weathered by time. An ornate mask, perfected and polished over time. Yet a small crack makes its way to the surface.

Mammon:

Glittering coins, cascading onto the floor, sparkling in the dim light. Brash denial, shielding a tender, starved heart. A thinly veiled mask, waiting to be removed. Yearning and infatuation, unvoiced feelings. Reaching out a hand, but being restricted by chains of fearing for the unknown. Shining trinkets, a token of affection. The assurance of a protector.

Angelic eyes, a taste of ambrosia. The swipe of a credit card. The sound of tokens, sliding across a poker table. A subtle glance, hiding your hand. Experienced, calculating eyes, watching for the slightest giveaway. Practiced movements, revealing a complex strategy. But there’s a small opening, a chance to strike, unraveling a soft hesitance.

Leviathan:

The noise of a PC starting up. Winning a battle royal. Ocean waves, lapping against the shore. Diving into crystal clear waters, the water welcoming you. Nostalgic video game soundtracks, bringing memories of joyous accomplishments. Hesitant, tentative touches. Frustration at oneself for not taking enough chances.

Vivid coral structures, housing various marine life; a hidden kingdom. Feeling the water pull you in, beckoning for your company. Anime OSTs, bringing a sense of life, or death. Watching your favorite character earn their happy ending, a sense of redemption. A brief spark, fingers brushing against each other. A glimmer of hope, in the vast, dark sea.

Satan:

Old parchment, soft, weathered corners pliant in your touch. Crackling fires, the comforting scent of smoke enveloping you. Herbal tea, spreading warmth and healing, felt through your bones. Feline eyes, playful and charming, drawing you closer. The soft mewl of a kitten. Soft paws grasping your hand in their own. A wish to be free from one’s family, one’s heritage. Resentment.

Soft ambience in a forest, welcoming you. Innocent games of footsie under a table. Poetry written in the depths of the night, hidden away from prying eyes. The faintest hint of a fang, a reminder. A steeled mask, refined and elegant. The search for a sense of self. Layers of deception, hiding an unsure soul. A path to acceptance.

Asmodeus:

The sweet, light floral scent of roses. Fabrics rustling, being selected and judged. A steady hand, moving brushes with precision. Poised, sculpted appearances, invisible cracks of insecurity, hidden from harsh judgement. Flirtatious touches, yearning for something meaningful, perhaps even moreso, than romance. Friendship. Platonic affection, friendly hugs.

The clean scent of skincare, the cooling sensation of a cucumber mask across your skin. Shimmering jewels, delicate chains lacing around your neck. A chance encounter, meeting charming stranger, yet to be seen again. Acceptance, assurance that you’re enough. Loving someone as is.

Beelzebub:

Warmth, safety in another’s arms. Comfort food, memories of a happier, nostalgic past. Tasting the batter before it’s baked. The scent of fresh baked bread, permeating your senses, filling your home. Making double batches, yet still needing more. Indulgence in your deepest desires. The sizzling of a grill, promises of food.

Repressed grief, unresolved guilt. Mourning for a loved one. Reconciliation, finding healing. A silent promise of loyalty and protection. Warm encouragement, eyes devoid of judgement. Twilight eyes, filling with love and happiness. Loving wholeheartedly, devoted so long as you both shall live.

Belphegor:

Grief-fueled rage, blind hatred. Helplessness, being bound by your own kin. A flash of hope. Human. A skillful puppeteer, pulling strings to his will, letting a story of loss and anguish unravel. A cruel act of murder, dragged out for his own sick delight. Witnessing rebirth. Realization. Regret. Watching as you heal, afraid to approach you once more. Aching for forgiveness.

A final offer, an olive branch. Whether to take it or not, is your decision. The lull of sleep, pulling you deeper into a different reality altogether. Lazy mornings, the comforter and promise of sleep, tempts you. Comforting scents of lilac and chamomile, blanketing you in a drowsy embrace. A dreamweaver.

Diavolo:

Learning. Developing empathy. Emotional development, struggling to grasp emotions and relationships. Loneliness, yearning for company and friendship. A wish to be free, to embrace life without care. Diving in head first into life, treasuring the journey and experiences. The luxury of being free of responsibility, and having boundless energy to do so. Chained to responsibilities, a kingdom.

Childlike joy, curiosity in your surroundings. Rapturous laughter, echoing throughout a castle’s ancient foundation. Golden, piercing eyes, holding adoration and fascination. A chance at peace for all three realms, a treaty. Regal and powerful. Delight in the simple things. A boyish smile, followed by fleeting kisses.

Barbatos:

Shrouded with mystery. Never quite close enough to decipher. Being held at arms length, a protective measure. Burdened with visions of the future. Servitude, loyalty to one’s master, a butler. Practiced movements, wiping over surfaces, serving a meal. Hidden feelings, masked professionalism, perfected over centuries.

Lingering touches, gloved hands touching your bare ones a second longer. Steaming tea, easing your stance and providing welcoming warmth. Pressing a stamp into melted wax, marking a letter. Polished china. Ancient grimoires, holding power and secrets beyond measure. A charming smile, an offered hand, promising more than one could wish for.

Simeon:

Prophecies of the future, albeit limited. Elegant writing of a script, painting a story of the ages. Carefully orchestrating a plot, extreme irritation at a single mistake. Having one’s own will. Unknown loyalties. Standing alone, with no clear master. Boundless wisdom, freedom to choose one’s own fate.

Soft healing, guidance. Words of honey, soothing and ever so sweet. Doe-like eyes, welcoming and open. Heavenly ties, an angelic gaze, wishing for your well-being. Blindingly white wings, powerful and protective. An angel, bound by not even the heavens themselves, devoted to you.

Solomon:

Unknown intentions, a loyalty to one’s own kind. Unlabelled potions, bubbling and frothing, almost with their own wills. Strange concoctions, inedible to most, except for the being who made them. Mysterious alliances, a lust for power and control. Friendly and teasing, yet distant at the same time. Cautious, weary from time’s hold on humankind.

Teasing smirks, playful winks. The scent of incense, and something else you can’t quite identify. Whispers deep into the night, ancient tongues being revived once more. Ancient glyphs, glowing and encompassing the room in a protective spell. A kiss on the corner of your lips, a taste of what’s yet to come.

Luke

Child-like innocence. Biased views of light and dark, evil and good. Gradual understanding, smoke-tinted glasses clearing anew. Seeing life for what it is, being able to laugh freely. Black and white, swirling to paint the world in strokes of grey. Learning how to choose your own path, to grab destiny by the reigns.

Sunshine, reflecting on and drawing in sunflowers. Flour, dusting footprints. Sugary confections, on display for all to marvel at. Fresh-baked pastries, reminders of childhood. Sweet frosting, artfully spun and woven onto a cake. Pure white lilies, a vow of protection and future guidance.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me aesthetic #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me barbatos #obey me headcanons

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tigstripe · 3 years ago

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Olivarry Prompt:

The coms go down during a mission, and Oliver freaks out. He races to Barry’s last known location and sees something he doesn’t expect.

Oh. The places my mind went.

The sound of the thug's body slumping to the ground was heavy and dull as Oliver stooped to pick up his discarded bow. The mission had gone sideways, forcing Team Flash and Team Arrow to scramble. It had taken some time to dispatch all the hired muscle at the site, which made Oliver wonder why Barry hadn't just done a little clean-up himself.

"Everyone okay?" Spartan asked as he straightened his sleeves and corrected his helmet.

"Good here," Black Canary replied. She spit a bit of blood to the side and scraped it with her foot to disguise it among the various smudges on the concrete.

Even Frost had assisted with Team Arrow's small blitz on the operation, and stood with her arms crossed in front of her, not a hair out of place. "Looks like we're done here."

"We should check on Team Flash," Diggle suggested.

Oliver nodded and checked his comms. "Flash? Vibe?"

No response.

"Flash. You there?"

Still no response.

A cold shock hit Oliver's spine. "Barry?"

No response.

"Overwatch-"

Felicity "I just checked the logs. Their comms both went down right before you guys hit the ground. They've been silent since."

Oliver gestured to Diggle and the downed guards. He just nodded in reply as the Green Arrow turned on his heel and made a mad dash toward their friends' last known location. Despite just having taken on a baker's dozen armed men, adrenaline kept Oliver's feet moving as quickly as they ever have. The thumping in his chest was from a mixture of exertion and concern - even if Cisco was around, downed comms were a bad omen, especially when the rest of the group could still use theirs.

Please be okay.

This team up had been Oliver's idea. If, somehow, Barry had been ambushed on their side of the operation, he'd never forgive himself.

It didn't take long at Oliver's foot speed to reach the secondary location where they'd staked out earlier that evening, only a few minutes. With each minute that passed, however, Oliver's breathing became heavier and his chest tightened. He kept trying the comms, but no one answered, contributing to the building anxiety in the back of Oliver's mind.

Finally, he rounded a corner to find a gaggle of guards roped up together and unconscious, the arm of the operation completely dismantled, but no sign of Barry or Cisco. Now Oliver was near panicked. If they'd been able to round up the guards like this, what happened to them?

"Flash!" Oliver searched the area in earnest, to no avail. His heart wouldn't slow down. A cold heat rose up behind his ears as panic seeped in. "Vibe!"

No response.

"Flash!"

"Yo!"

Oliver turned toward the source of the voice to see Vibe and the Flash casually approaching the scene. Oliver held back a smile at the sight of Barry in his bright red suit, but the desire to smile evaporated when he saw the speedster carrying an armful of street vendor tacos while he munched on one in his free hand. Cisco had one in each hand, as well.

Oliver nearly threw his bow to the ground.

They.

Were.

Hungry?

"Hey, Arrow," Flash said as he swallowed a chunk of taco. "Something up?"

Oliver fought every urge to deck the man in front of him. "Your comms went down."

Vibe checked his earpiece. "Ah, yep. Vibrational disruption. Sorry. That one's on me. Sometimes my powers can dislodge electrical components."

"And the tacos?" Oliver asked, crossing his arms.

Barry gave a little shrug, his face akin to a deer in headlights. "I was hungry," he said, his voice small.

Cisco looked between Oliver's furrowed brow and Barry's wide eyes, cleared his throat, and excused himself. "I'll, uh, just go fix my earpiece."

When he was out of earshot, Oliver allowed himself to relax. His heart was still hammering pretty hard in his chest, but at least it had slowed. He was going to get a headache from the adrenaline, he could already tell. "Barry."

"Sorry, Ollie. I didn't know the comms were down. I would have said something."

It was hard to be mad at Barry as he stood there, wrapped up tacos filling the crook of his arm, innocent regret filling his eyes. Oliver smiled, probably a little too much. "I know." He wanted to hug him right there, but he settled for patting him on the shoulder. There were still thugs on the scene, after all.

"You were worried, weren't you?" Barry asked.

"More adrenaline from you not answering than taking down the bad guys," Oliver replied.

Barry grinned. There was something in that smile that Oliver didn't like. "You were worried," he said, his voice lifting a little in the middle.

Oh, no.

"No."

"You like me-"

"Stop."

"You love me, you wanna kiss me-"

"I will shoot you in the back again."

Barry cackled as the two of them made their way towards Cisco. "Oh, it's like that?"

Oliver lightly shoved his red-clad partner in the shoulder, smiles reaching across each of their faces as they returned to their regularly scheduled superheroing.

#Olivarry #fic prompt #flarrow #arrowverse #arrow #the flash

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

Text

Percy Jackson meets a Landlord, a Tax Accountant, and a Tree Growing in Brooklyn

“Golduck, use hydro pump!” Percy whispered. He moved Golduck so he hit Batman on the chest, and then hit Batman a few more times for good measure. “Die, landlord!”

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”

Percy almost fell out of his chair.

He twisted his torso around, looking behind him with wide eyes. But the only person there was a white girl, no older than him. She was wearing a really severe expression to match her tight little blonde ponytail, and she was carrying a clipboard in both hands. There was a piece of string tacked to the clipboard, with a pen tied around one end. She looked like she asked the school librarian if she could help shelve books.

Percy decided instantly that she hated him, so he decided to hate her back.

“Aren’t you a little young to be doing your taxes?” Percy sneered. “Buzz off.”

That made her mad. The girl’s angelic little chubby face twisted in rage, and her grip on the clipboard turned threatening. “I’m accounting the chores! And I could do taxes if I wanted!”

“Yeah?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Name one tax.”

“Sales tax,” the girl said instantly.

Damn. She got that one.

Short fic that I am considering extending into a much, much longer fic. Thank you Ami for the translation of the card (I would definitely translate it yourself, it’s important). The entire backstory and premise of the AU isn’t immediately apparent, but if I extend the fic it’ll be more explained (spoiler: Luke Castellan, age 14, said fuck Olympus and moved all of Camp Half-Blood into Brooklyn to live in a child-run utopia). I haven’t reread Percy Jackson since I was 10, I barely remember anything that happens or any of the characters, so don’t expect much - but aren’t the best children’s novels the children’s novels that live in our head, anyway?

Rest under the cut.

2005

180 Olive Apartments was a dump. Batman said so.

Batman felt very strongly about this, and as a result Percy did too. It was not Percy’s own, private, personal opinion. Batman informed Percy that the apartment complex was shabby, gross, not in Staten island, and smelled weird. Batman made a very convincing argument that they should live in Staten Island instead, which Percy had done his best to relay to Mom. Mom hadn’t been impressed.

“This is the best place for us, Percy,” Mom had said, with that pinched look on her face. It was the ‘Percy’s Making My Life Really Hard’ face. Percy had been seeing that face a lot lately. “Let’s just try to make this work, please?”

There was no ‘best place’ for them, and Percy and Batman knew that. But that was another thing Mom didn’t want to hear.

So Percy had suffered in stoic silence as Mom dragged him out of the motel, made him miss the new episode of Pokemon, and forced him to ride the subway forty minutes into smelly Brooklyn so he could sit in this smelly chair outside of some smelly office in a smelly apartment. From inside the office, Percy could hear the faint rise and fall of voices: Mom’s, light and lyrical and very polite to people who were not Percy; and some landlord guy. His voice was really light and high too, but he was probably a real jerk.

Percy was so bored he could die. He sat up on his knees, turning around so he could prop his elbows against the dusty windowsill with grimy frosted glass. He plopped Batman down on the dirty windowsill, smearing his chipped feet through the tracks of dust. Parkour. He unzipped his pocket and grabbed his slightly dusty Golduck rubber toy, putting it in front of Batman. Golduck was from McDonald’s, so it had a bad attitude.

Percy waggled Batman. You have a bad attitude, Golduck. You can’t live in my house anymore, because you get water all over the tile and you make the wood go bad.

Golduck jiggled when Percy shook him. It wasn’t Golduck’s fault that the water went everywhere! Water just goes places sometimes. Golduck was a water type, so water followed him around and got into wood and made the wood go bad and made other people mad at him. It’s not Golduck’s fault, so don’t make him move!

I don’t want to hear it, Batman said. I’m going to make you live in a crummy motel and make your Mom go on a lot of boring websites looking for new places to live. The motel’s bananas are going to taste weird. Mom’s going to cry a lot. And it’ll be all your fault because you’re a bad kid.

“Golduck, use hydro pump!” Percy whispered. He moved Golduck so he hit Batman on the chest, and then hit Batman a few more times for good measure. “Die, landlord!”

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”

Percy almost fell out of his chair.

Percy decided instantly that she hated him, so he decided to hate her back.

“Aren’t you a little young to be doing your taxes?” Percy sneered. “Buzz off.”

That made her mad. The girl’s angelic little chubby face twisted in rage, and her grip on the clipboard turned threatening. “I’m accounting the chores! And I could do taxes if I wanted!”

“Yeah?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Name one tax.”

“Sales tax,” the girl said instantly.

Damn. She got that one. Percy just rolled his eyes instead, sitting back down on his seat and stuffing his toys in his cargo pocket. He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed, even if he knew that he wasn’t too old to play with Batman and Golduck. What did tax accountants know, anyway.

The girl sniffed, and made a show of inspecting the grimy windowsill and carefully making a note on her clipboard. Her pen had a pom-pom at the end. Percy bet she made hearts over the top of her ‘i’s.

“Nick’s been slacking,” the girl muttered threateningly. “I’m surrounded by incompetents.”

“Why is it Nick’s job to clean the leasing office?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Don’t you have a janitor for that?” Was Nick the janitor? If this pinched-face little girl was harassing cleaning staff then Percy was going to file a complaint.

But the girl just looked surprised, as if the idea of having a janitor was foreign and strange. “No janitor would even make it through the doors.” But then her eyes narrowed, as if a thought just occurred to her. “Wait. How did you…”

However Percy did what, he would never know. The door to the leasing office cracked open, and Percy scrambled off his seat in excitement. The girl stood stiffly at attention, clipboard on her hip, as Mom stepped out of the office. She looked very tired, but weirdly relieved.

There was a man right behind her, just as white and blonde as the girl. Percy wasn’t surprised: he could pick out a real ‘daughter-of-the-manager’ type right away. The man didn’t look like every other landlord Percy had ever seen - no moustache, for one - and he didn’t look old enough for the part anyway. He wasn’t old, but he definitely wasn’t an elementary schooler. He had a broad, honest face, but he was too muscular and strong looking and landlordey to be trustworthy.

Percy decided the weird landlord, with a mop of yellow hair like golden thread and a scary eyebrow with one long scar cutting straight through, was twenty five years old. Clearly the result of nepotism in the landlord industry.

Mom smiled when she saw Percy, who quickly pasted on his most innocent expression. Her eyes caught on the girl, who was glaring daggers at him. The landlord’s eyes caught on Percy’s own wrinkled nose. “Percy, good! Are you making friends?”

It was not an innocent question. It was a ‘please don’t ruin this for me too, Percy’ question. It was a ‘I’m very tired and I need you not to make things hard’ question. Percy was well acquainted with them. But maybe the girl was too, because when the landlord looked at the girl she also abruptly quailed. “I hope you’re being a good host, Annabeth.”

The unfortunately named Annabeth and Percy glanced at each other in silent and instant understanding.

“Yeah, Annabeth’s really fun!” Percy said instantly. He was not going to ruin this for Mom again. Or, at least, he would try to hold off ruining it for her as long as possible. Even if this stupid apartment wasn’t in Staten island. “She was telling me about -”

“Taxes!” Annabeth said smoothly, a much better liar than Percy. “And Percy was telling me about Batman.”

They both looked very cute and very low matinence on command, the perfect picture of children who did not make their moms live in motels.

Percy was rewarded when Mom smiled in relief. She put a hand on Percy’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “I’m so glad. Percy, this is Mr. Castellan. Why don’t you say hi?”

“Hi Mr. Castellan,” Percy said obediently. “My name’s Percy Jackson, I’m in third grade.”

The landlord smiled at him with closed and tight lips, but it was Annabeth who spoke in interest. “Percy like Percival, King Arthur’s knight who searched for the Holy Grail?”

Uh, whatever? “Percy like the Greek hero Perseus,” Percy said shortly. “But I’m not Greek. My Grandma was from Guadalajara.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened. She glanced at the landlord, whose expression was impossible to read. “Are you sure?”

“I know where my own grandmother is from!”

“She didn’t say that you didn’t, sweetie,” Mom said, and Percy guiltily shut up. “Percy, why don’t you and Mr. Castellan talk in his office for a little while? I have to fill out some paperwork, and I think you two have a lot to talk about.”

Percy looked up at her with wide eyes. Mom never left him alone with strangers. And paperwork already? “Are we moving in today?”

“You two talk for a bit,” Mom said firmly. “I’ll be right back.”

When Percy was pushed into Mr. Castellan’s office it felt more like he was a Roman Christian being tossed into the lion’s den in punishment for heresy. And when Mom settled him into an uncomfortable and weird-smelling chair in front of the teetering desk and kissed him on the temple before leaving the office, he abruptly felt like he had jumped into Grandma’s book of Bible Stories.

Mr. Landlord’s office was as dirty and run-down as the rest of the complex. The big box AC rattled with clinks and whirrs as it shuddered against the sticky summer heat, and the landlord’s desk was covered in thick stacks of paper and chewed-up pencils. When he sat back down behind the stained wood, the chair seemed just a little too big for him. He sunk strangely in it, the vinyl flaking off and floating into the ground. There were a lot of crayon drawings taped to the wall, and there was a light dusting of crumpled post-it notes on the ground.

Mr. Landlord tried to smile at Percy. Tried being the operative word: when he smiled it was too thin and without teeth, more pained than reassuring. It didn’t reach his watery blue eyes.

Percy hunched on the rickety chair. This guy set off every alarm bell he had, which was plenty. And no, it wasn’t just because he was a guy, Ms. Brown. For added security and self defense, Percy casually slid a capped ballpoint pen on the old desk in front of him into his sleeve. Batman was always prepared, and Percy was too. He can hack up any creepy guy and protect Mom any day of the week.

The landlord smiled wider, even worse. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Luke Castellan, and I’m the supervisor here. Running into Annabeth first thing’s pretty bad luck, huh?” At Percy’s unimpressed eyebrow, he quickly added, “Annabeth keeps the whole place running, really. She’s...pretty convinced that this complex rests on her eight year old back, so she’s a little stressed out all the time. If she gets frustrated at you, don’t take it personally, okay?”

So she does help shelve books. Percy was a keen judge of character. “Why does she do it? You can’t make her be the superintendent. That’s child labor.”

Luke Castellan stared at Percy unblinkingly. He blinked about as often as a snake, but five times as quickly: as if he didn’t want to let you out of his sight for even a second. Finally, he said, “I’m fifteen.”

Percy gave Mr. Luke the stink-eye, clearly communicating that he did not trust even fifteen year olds (who were high schoolers, and even less trustworthy than adult-adults) as far as he could throw them. Especially fifteen year olds like Luke: who were too tall, with too-mature eyes and a particularly unhappy expression. Percy communicated perfectly that there was nothing trustworthy about this family of juvenile landlords, but he was just too polite to say so.

But that just made Mr. Luke sigh, as if he was tired instead of angry. “Annabeth’s my...ward, I guess. I just look after her. But she doesn’t like being looked after, so she makes up for it by looking after everyone else. I’m not saying I do a good job.”

He’s a landlord and he has a ward? Percy finally perked up. “So you’re like Batman?”

Mr. Luke stared at him unblinkingly, before finally saying, “Yes, except Batman doesn’t have superpowers.”

Percy had the sense he was being made fun of. “You don’t have super powers,” he accused, crossing his arms. “Nobody has super powers.”

Mr. Luke smiled, wan and weak. “Not even you, Percy?”

Percy froze.

Five seconds too late, Percy made himself laugh stupidly. People were quick to believe that Percy was stupid, and sometimes Percy helped them think that. It got him out of trouble sometimes - not always, but enough that it was useful. “If I had superpowers, I’d run super fast everywhere just like the Flash!”

But Mr. Luke just hummed, and flipped through some of the papers in a folder in front of him. Percy abruptly began sweating. Mom had given him those papers. They were records. This was like every time a principal had drawn up ‘proof’ against him in a court of law. “Your mom said that you both had to move out of your Queens apartment because it flooded.”

“I didn’t unscrew the taps,” Percy said reflexively. “They just came loose! I didn’t even touch them! I didn’t touch the boiler either!”

“The boiler?” Mr. Luke flipped back a few pages. “Oh, right. Your school.”

Percy slouched in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, stewing. He always sounded guiltiest when he denied it. He should go back to playing dumb. Pretend that he had no idea what water was. He had gotten away with it when he was six during that one birthday party at the aquarium, but something about being a third grader meant that people expected that you have basic observational skills.

It was stupid. There was no way to win. If he said that he didn’t do it then he sounded guilty. If he tried to point out how it was impossible for him to break the boiler and destroy the gym or whatever, using facts and logic and a rhetorical argument like the Youtube videos taught him, then they just told him he was making excuses. Sometimes Percy had the impression that everybody just wanted him to supervillain cackle like the Joker and brag about how terrible he was. Maybe he’d give that a shot once he entered middle school. It seemed like an evil teenage thing to do.

Percy Jackson was a liar, a thief, a cheat, a menace, and a bad kid. There was nothing more to be: not for someone like Percy.

But Mr. Luke didn’t threaten him, or give him ‘one last chance’ or anything. He just leaned forward, hands folded on the desk. His thumb was worrying at a small starburst scar on his hand, betraying a strange nervousness.

“Percy, can I talk to you man-to-man?”

Percy, who did not like men, squinted at Mr. Luke suspiciously. “Why.”

“Because this isn’t a topic for a kid. It’s a topic that...kills children, and turns them into little adults. I wish I didn’t have to broach it with you. But I think that you haven’t been a kid for a long time, Percy, and I don’t want to insult you by pretending otherwise.” Mr. Luke frowned, and Percy found himself involuntarily straightening. What was he talking about? “You were right. There was no way for you to have flooded your apartment, much less twice. There was no way for you to ruin your gym, or damage that aquarium. Much less...everything else in your file. No kid is that much of a miniature hurricane when he isn’t even trying. It sucks. It’s not your fault. And now your Mom’s credit score is so bad that she can’t afford another apartment. If it wasn’t for the fact that she saw our really generous listing in the paper, she would have had to move you two away from her home.”

She was thinking of moving them both to New Jersey. Percy’s lips tightened, and he knew that Mr. Luke saw it.

“This is an apartment building that provides shelter to a lot of special cases, just like you. It’s...full of kids who break things when they don’t mean to. Kids with a parent couldn’t handle them, or who couldn’t protect them. We have a lot of ways to keep families like yours safe, and to give you a home.”

Percy stared at Mr. Luke. He seemed deadly serious, as serious as anybody had ever been to Percy, despite the crazy stuff he was saying. Safe? Safe from what?

Safe from those weird, giant dogs that chased Percy and tore off half his jeans? Safe from that old lady in the deli with the slobbering bag and beady eyes? Safe from broken water pipes, from ruined floors and busted walls, from Percy himself?

Finally, all Percy could think to ask was, “How do you know that I’m a special case?”

“Because not just anyone could see that listing,” Mr. Luke said. “And - uh, no offense - but you are one of the most obviously inhuman children I’ve met in my life.”

Percy’s jaw dropped in complete, unadulterated rage, and without even stopping to think through his actions he withdrew the ballpoint pen from his pocket. He uncapped it, fully intending on doing something dramatically yet harmlessly violent with it, but he didn’t get the chance.

The ballpoint pen turned into a gleaming bronze and silver sword. Percy screamed. Percy fell out of his chair. Percy did not get the opportunity to look cool and dangerous at all.

****

And now Percy had Greek god stuff to worry about!

Didn’t Percy have enough problems? He couldn’t stay in a school, they couldn’t keep an apartment, their new landlord didn’t blink enough, and now he was the kid of a Greek god? Apparently he had been spending his entire life running from monsters and he just hadn’t noticed? That explained the stupid scary dog!

Percy knew much more about Greek gods than the average kid, since Mom was a huge fan. Yeah, Mom! Apparently you were a big fan! Jesus, Mom!

What’s this dumb stuff about Poseidon! That had freaked out Mr. Luke, and made him ask a lot of questions like ‘are you sure’ and ‘there’s a lot of minor gods who like to pass themself off as someone more impressive to mortals’. Then Annabeth, who had been listening at the door like a sneak and who ran in all heroically when he almost accidentally stabbed Mr. Luke, freaked out and called his mom a liar. His mom!

Then Percy tried to stab her with his new sword. Mom made Percy apologize for trying to stab Annabeth. Mr. Luke made Annabeth apologize for insulting Percy’s mother. Percy was beginning to worry that he and Annabeth may be mortal enemies.

Mr. Luke had tried explaining a bunch of stuff about monsters and ‘the Sight’ and why Percy’s life was terrible to him, but Percy already knew his life was terrible and he wasn’t interested. Percy ended up furiously swinging his new sword at a tree outside as Mom signed a bunch of forms and talked with Mr. Luke some more, but she hustled him home pretty quickly afterwards.

Percy didn’t give the sword back. Mr. Luke, wisely, did not ask for it back.

Mom kept on making a face on the subway back to the motel like she had been waiting her entire life for Percy to ask all of these questions, and she was preparing herself for it. She kept on glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, watching Percy kick his feet against the hard plastic seat. It was obvious. But Percy didn’t have anything to say to her. They spent the rest of the day in silence, just focusing on packing up and getting everything ready to move. Jacksons were practical, Mom said.

Jacksons were practical. Percy was practical, too. It was only in the deep pits of night, as Percy lay in bed holding up his sword and watching it reflect the soft lamplight above the creaky wooden table where Mom was doing work, that he asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The sword was really cool. It was pure bronze, with the middle gleaming pure silver. There was some Greek writing inscribed down the center that Percy had no idea how to read, although he had spent an hour scouring the internet looking for a translation. The handle was tough white cord, stiff and starchy but fraying a little at the edges.

Mr. Luke said it was named something, but Percy forgot what it was. He had been a bit busy almost impaling the guy.

Mom’s fingers froze over the keyboard. Her back was turned to him, so he couldn’t see her face, but her spine was stiff and rigid.

Finally, after a long silence, she said, “I didn’t want you to think that there was anything different about you.”

“So what?” Percy asked, his eyes pricking rebelliously. Stupid water. “You let me think that I was a bad person who ruined your life?”

“Percy, no!” Mom turned around, expression crumpled. The dim light showed the heavy bags under Mom’s eyes in sharp relief. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby. None of this is your fault, you understand? That’s what this business with your father means: that none of it was your fault. That’s all it means.”

If that was true, Percy thought, then why couldn’t she have told him before?

But Percy was afraid that if he said that, then he would start crying, and Percy was way too old to cry. Only weak little babies cried.

“I’m sorry my dad’s a loser who ruined your life, Mom,” Percy said.

“Percy…”

But Percy refused to answer her, putting his sword down next to him and pretending to go to sleep. He kept it next to him in bed all night, gripping its hilt tight, and the firm and cool pressure of the steel in his hand soothed him when the thought of a father didn’t.

***

They moved in the next day.

The next day! Percy was livid. He barely had any time to pack up his toys into his backpack, and Mom didn’t even have time to help him back up his blue Spider-man suitcase. He had to do it all by himself, and then Mom came in and told him he was folding everything up wrong and that he had to redo it. If she had so many problems with it, she should have helped him and gave him more than one day to move out of their dumb motel!

When people moved on TV there were always moving vans and buff dudes in baseball caps. But Percy was much better at moving then any of those idiots: all it took was a suitcase (of clothes and toiletries and stuff) and a backpack (of toys and school supplies and stuff).

Percy’s backpack had the Power Rangers on it, in glossy plastic. Its contents were always the same, through every move: Batman, Golduck, Bulbasaur, Blue Eyes White Dragon, Raphael, a stegosaurus with a missing tail named Hedward, and a little book full of pictures of him and his mom and some cards and stuff. There was a picture of him and Grandma in the apartment in Staten Island that he lived in until he was six, and a 5th birthday card she had given him six months before she died. Written inside, in her looping and faded script, was a sentence Percy had read over and over and over again. ‘Tu angel de la guarda trabaja horas extra por tí. Así que acuérdate de decirle gracias ¿Sí, mi niño?'’

Percy was inclined to agree with her. God should pay his guardian angel overtime. That, or pay one to go to Olympus and collect child support.

The image was funny to Percy - the idea of his angel with her wings and halos showing up at Poseidon’s door and tapping her watch as she held out her hat. It was so funny, it was the first thing he told Mr. Luke when they met him at the gates to the apartment complex. Mom was huffing behind him with her two suitcases, while Percy was busy juggling his own backpack, suitcase, and sword.

Mr. Luke looked alarmed to see the both of them, although Mom had called ahead and arranged to meet him here. Worse, Annabeth was next to him, still holding a clipboard. She didn’t look alarmed, just mad.

“Did you bring Riptide onto public transportation?” Annabeth squawked. “You have no sense of discretion!”

Was Riptide the name of the sword? Whatever. Percy would have named it Hurricane. “I know words you don’t know too, you don’t have to brag,” Percy said flatly.

“Yeah, the gods are filthy little child support evaders,” Mr. Luke said easily, instantly endearing himself to Percy. Mom rolled her eyes as she put her suitcases down, but she was clearly fighting a smile. “Don’t worry, I dragged them to court. Sued them for all they’re worth.”

“How on earth did you do that?” Mom asked, interested.

“Trickery and rhetoric,” Annabeth said proudly.

“Swords,” Mr. Luke said.

“What did you squeeze them for?” Percy asked, excited.

Mr. Luke winked. And he still didn’t ask for his sword back. Maybe he wasn’t all bad.

The apartment complex itself wasn’t nearly as big as a lot of Brooklyn complexes, looking more like the little apartment complexes in Queens that Percy was used to. It was three separate three-story buildings arranged in a square, with one side holding the small leasing office and a parking lot. It was open-air, with the apartment doors opening directly outside. There was a really big courtyard in the center, and despite himself Percy got a little excited.

It was awesome. There was a huge, sprawling tree right in the center of the courtyard. It was gigantic, bigger than any tree Percy had ever seen in his life. It seemed like it didn’t even belong in New York, like it was a transplant from the California Redwoods or Canada or something. Its leaves were waving in a nonexistent breeze, and something about it just seemed so magical and otherworldly to Percy.

But that was only half of the awesome things. The other awesome thing was that there were kids everywhere.

The tree provided shade to a couple scattered gangs of kids, sitting around and laughing. There was a rusty set of monkey bars, which some kids were playing on, and there was a big dirt rectangle where other kids were hitting each other on the head with wooden plastic swords. There were groups of girls eating lunch, and a gang of boys playing soccer in the corner that made Percy immediately want to jump in and play too. Percy dominated at soccer.

“The East and South buildings are where we all live,” Annabeth informed Mom. “The West building is where the training rooms and storage rooms and administrative rooms - that’s my office - and everything is. It also has guest units for the local spirits that like to visit. We just had ten Bacchae stay for a week. They were backpacking to Woodstock. We have very good inter-community relationships here.”

“That’s amazing,” Mom said faintly. Mr. Luke was smiling faintly, eyes fixed on the big tree. Percy found himself staring at Mr. Luke, watching with interest the soft but firm pride in his eyes. “Luke said that this property’s safe from…”

She glanced at Percy quickly, cutting herself off. But Annabeth just huffed.

“I almost got eaten by monsters twenty times when I was seven,” Annabeth informed Mom imperiously. “We’re not babies. Connor Stoll says if you’re old enough to get eaten by monsters then you’re old enough to know that they exist.”

Percy decided immediately that he liked Connor Stoll, and maybe even Annabeth too.

“The tree protects us,” Luke said. “Wherever the tree is, we’re safe. Not even the gods date step foot beyond the leasing office here.”

“Because of the tree?” Mom asked.

Luke smiled - sharp, piercing, and strange. “Sure, let’s say that.”

But Mom just frowned. She looked over the courtyard of kids - some of whom were already starting to whisper and stare. Annabeth waved at a gaggle of identically blonde children, and for the first time Percy wondered who she was the daughter of. Probably the bossiest god. Maybe Athena. Or, like, Hephaestus. Definitely Hephaestus.

“You said that there’s nobody over eighteen here,” Mom said to Luke. “Luke, there’s a six year old on those monkey bars.”

“If you’re under thirteen, you live with someone over thirteen,” Luke said to her. Annabeth was still frowning in disapproval at Percy’s sword. He stuck his tongue out at her. “Two people to a unit, we try to pair the oldest with the youngest. Lucy lives with Henrique, he’s seventeen. It’s the best we can do.”

“Surely there has to be someone…?”

“Adults have never helped us. They never will.” Luke looked away sharply. “We’ve been in Brooklyn a year. You’re the first adult who’s made her way here. Most other parents with a kid as powerful as Percy would have -”

He cut himself off sharply, glancing at Percy, and Percy scowled up at him. He thought that Luke was being honest. Maybe he was just another old guy afraid to say what everybody else knew.

“I’ll help Ms. Jackson settle in,” Annabeth said suddenly. She held out her hands to Percy, who reflexively hugged his luggage to his chest. “You guys are in unit 5. It’s on the bottom floor. If you flood it, then we can fix it okay. Give me your luggage, I’ll put it in your unit.”

Percy stared at her, overwhelmed with that simple signal of care. No threats about if he flooded it, no warnings or sickly sweet faux-concern. Just understanding, and acceptance.

He silently gave her his bags.

She seemed surprised when she felt how light they were. Percy shrugged awkwardly at her face, crossing his arms tightly around her chest. “Don’t touch my stuff, okay?”

“Sure,” Annabeth said, before pausing a beat. “We have a TV in our place. #1. Do you want to come over tonight and watch Winx Club?”

“Yeah,” Percy said, overwhelmed. “Sure.”

Mr. Luke put a hand on Percy’s back as Annabeth guided Mom to a corner unit. Percy couldn’t help but notice that the door to the unit was already propped open. Wait - there were people going in and out!

There was a tall, buff teenager, carrying two chairs underneath each arm. There was another group of three teenage girls, carrying a table between them. Two other younger kids were carrying boxes and laughing. They were bringing everything into the unit, and other younger kids were running in and out with cleaning supplies.

From a distance, Percy saw Mom stop in her tracks. Annabeth tugged at her shirt and got her to bend down, whispering something in her ear. A boy with sandy brown hair ran up, taking Mom’s suitcases from her and bringing them into the unit.

“Your Mom mentioned that you were missing some furniture,” Mr. Luke said. “The Hermes and Aphrodite kids all pitched in to get your home looking like a home. I hope you’ll like it.”

Percy clutched his sword to his chest, speechless.

Mr. Luke smiled down at him, that same wan and weak smile, and put a hand on his back. He gently pushed Percy forward, towards the tree. “Come with me for a minute?”

They silently approached the sprawling, ancient tree. As they came closer, Percy could see that its bark was gnarled and knotted, with perfect handholds for climbing and perfect boughs for resting in the summer sun. He could already see a few kids resting in high boughs, taking a nap in the humid and sticky sun.

“Percy, I’d like to introduce you to someone.” Mr. Luke’s voice was quiet, like he was in church. He looked up at the tree, peering far into the leaves as if he was trying to find something hidden within them. “This is Thalia. Thalia, this is Percy. He’s the newest member of the family. He’s also your cousin.”

Cousin? Percy looked up at Mr. Luke, eyes wide. “I’m related to a tree?”

Tilted up at the tree, Percy couldn’t see Mr. Luke’s expression. Maybe that was on purpose. “Thalia’s a kid, just like us. Daughter of Zeus. I used to think that she was the closest thing to an adult I knew, but...I’m as old as she is, now. I guess one day soon I’ll be older than she ever got to be.”

Oh. The tree was, like, from the ashes of some dead girl. Awkward. Percy stared at the thick and arching roots of the tree, feeling weird.

“Thalia, please protect Percy. I can already tell that he’s going to grow up to be very strong and brave. Please help us make sure that Percy never has to be strong. That he’s never brave. I can already tell he’s going to need a lot of your help.” He looked down at Percy for the first time, and for the first time Percy could see just a little warmth in those icy blue eyes. “You’re going to have to work overtime for him. So make sure to say thank you, Percy. Okay?”

“Thank you, Thalia,” Percy said obediently. He bowed awkwardly, uncertain what to do. The sword scraped awkwardly against his thigh. “Thanks for letting me into your home.”

“Welcome home, Percy,” Mr. Luke said, and for the first time Percy almost believed it.

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #luke castellan #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfic #I'm bouncing between a lot of different projects right now and trying to decide which one to dedicate time to #I promise I DID take a break and I will CONTINUE TO DO SO because work's been exhausting #but sometimes that means just writing low-effort self-indulgent stuff #anyway my friend had to sit down and explain the worldbuilding of pjo to me and I was like WOW THATS FUCKED so I wrote this #I also dislike some of the ways that pjo handled percy's backstory so that's being addressed #my writing #I FORGOT THE CUT LOL

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austarus · 3 years ago

Text

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader Ballistic Confrontations (2/3)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

Word Count: 4578

Part 1 Part 3

Oliver’s eyes narrowed at the doppelganger he had struck down. What a fool. Oliver-X nudged the body with his foot before giving the unconscious Thawne doppelganger a rough kick to the chest. The impact of the sound was drowned out by the alarm. The body had lurched to the side and the man’s glasses flew off his face, yet still no response. A cruel smirk crossed the Dark Arrow’s features, secretly feeling satisfied on taking out his pent-up rage towards Thawne against a weak mirror image. A damned fool to not be prepared for a secondary attack. He should have known better. Oliver hummed to his thoughts, his eyes showing nothing but utter coldness. Ruthlessness. This was his path after all. Weak, just like the rest of this world. It’s so-called ‘heroes’. Pathetic. Oliver looked on with no remorse as he walked through the halls, boots.

“Such a shame.”

This is what needs to be done. An image of his Kara drifted to his mind, the way her body convulsed. The blood that lingered. Her smile fading. But Oliver-X shook it away. She would be fine with their forces at the warehouse, there was enough action going on in order to legitimize the scope of their distraction while he infiltrated his doppelgangers base of operation. Thawne’s labs- or as Oliver thought of it, Thawne’s Castle of Cards. He is the only one among them that knows it tech and secrets inside-out. The Queen doppelganger cracked his neck, readjusting the bow in his hand as he braced himself to face-off with the lackeys that were left over in this forsaken excuse for a laboratory. Everything is going according to plan.

***

Mick and Frost had already left, planning to intercept the Earth-Xers in the Speed Lab. Meanwhile you were to stay with the ladies as backup. Electricity hummed through your veins as adrenaline pumped. Multiple camera feeds showed your friends either fighting or getting dragged to the Pipeline. Still radio silence from the others. You gritted your teeth as your eyes focused on the screen where the fiends threw Harry into a cell like ragdoll. Their first victim. One thing was for sure, Oliver-X was here directing the grunts while his cohorts were distracting the dispatched heroes. Felicity had her tablet handy in case she needed to work her tech magic, shutting down the Cortex mainframe from being accessed by Oliver-X and his cronies. Iris had quickly suggested the vents were the best place to hide until they can determine what necessary steps you three would need to take to get to the others. The three of you would not succumb to the position of sitting ducks. Unfortunately, Iris didn’t have enough time to grab a laser rifle from the closet.

You climbed into the vents first with quiet movements, Felicity following and Iris behind her to seal the vent. Closing your eyes for a moment, you focused- tuning out Iris and Felicity’s hushed words of worry for their men and your friends. You tuned out the dull thrum of electricity that emitted from the labs’ computer system, focusing on one type. Cellular electricity. Human generated electricity. Snapping your eyes open, you lead them down a few routes. The two women chalked it up to your knowledge of the ventilation system as you’d hid here multiple times to escape the tension in the Cortex, but really it had been the intensity of electricity that steered you. The multiple electrical signals that spiked made you keen on navigating away from those corridors and rooms. More Nazi’s would be on guard there. One little scuffle with the wrong group could alert Oliver-X. You breathed a sigh of relief as the neural electricity passed by, unaware of what lies just above.

Iris didn’t know, neither did Felicity. No, they would never know. No one would. No one would ever know that you could shatter a person’s nervous system with a flick of the wrist. Never know that you can put the one of the most vital organs into cardiac arrest. Cardiac arrest usually resulted from an electrical disturbance in the heart. It's not the same as a heart attack. Shutting down cells, yet overstimulating neurons. How would the human body fare? They were… morbid curiosities that haunted you. But rather giving into those conjectures you settled for a milder solution, immersing yourself into the field of electrical neurophysiology rather than contemplating how a person can expire by your will. Eobard had been intrigued with your desire to understand the physiological field that your powers can be derived from. He helped you, of course, entertaining the electricity that sparked in your eyes with understanding. You breezed through medical articles and journals, understanding the neural circuitry and it’s outlets. Yet, your intent wasn’t to kill (not to his surprise), just to render an adversary unconscious for a period of time. Or in a speedster’s case, the ability to jumpstart their heart and motor functions. Stimulating a failing organ, should the situation arise. Even in a way to hypothetically understand how a speedster’s body can siphon off your generated electricity without harming their natural laws of the Speedforce.

But like any meta, there were hypothetical limits and lines drawn, even to a possible conclusion of short-circuiting your own body without careful proctoring. You’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t wanted to push your abilities further than that, but you hesitated. The desire was strong, but the darkness was too powerful. Could you afford the hypothetical blood on your hands? Would you be able to sleep at night, knowing that you’d be just another monster? Questions like that swirled in your head, but it’s the remembrance of your friends that you didn’t give into that… dark instinct.

You’d done it before. Once. On accident of course, but you were overwhelmed with anger and terror and fear that night. Trudging on, that moment resurfaced to the front of your mind. Your skin prickled as you remembered the sensation. Feeling the meta’s heart stop and mind short-circuit with neural electricity. The body shut down. The electricity out as if you’d turn off the lights inside the intruder’s body. You didn’t mean to. You were just scared. There was just… so much blood. Blood on the ground. Blood on Harry. Harry’s blood. Your breath hitched for a moment, but the two ladies behind you were none-the-wiser. Swallowing harshly, you pushed the image of the dead meta and Harry’s half-terrified/half-surprised face. You both never talked about that incident, nor did he ever bring it up to the others. It wasn’t his right to, after all. Two years had past, but that incident remained with you. You’d sworn that a moment like that wouldn’t occur. The guilt was too great on your conscious even if it was for self-defense. But…

Looking down from the vent opening, you realized your electrical instincts had brought you close to the entrance of the Time Vault. It was the one place Felicity and Iris can at least hold off in. You just needed to buy them some time. Felicity is more than capable of utilizing Gideon into locking the Time Vault, especially without Eobard around. After a few minutes had passed, you deemed that it was safe enough to drop down. You found the panel entrance, unlocking the pebbled room with your handprint to the side of the panel. Felicity and Iris jumped down, your plan dawning on them. You eased them in with a push. The fake panel wall reintegrated shut. You didn’t have much time.

“Find a way to get in contact with the Legends,” You spoke as the door had shut. “Smalls and Tinman should be aboard with Amaya.”

“What are you going to do?” Iris frowned as Felicity got to work.

“Buy you some time,” you breathed, pulling out your gloves. “It’s all that we can work with at the moment before the Dark Archer decides to play Cat and Mouse with us. If anything goes south, don’t look for me.” You needed to make sure.

“But-”

“Iris, please.” Your eyes trained on her, reluctance present in her demeanor. “Trust me.” She nodded. You left.

Now, who would be the cat and who would be the mouse, I wonder? You mused, climbing into the nearest low vent.

***

“Excellent, I will rendezvous at the warehouse,” Oliver-X nodded, his hand on his comm system. The heroes have been detained, her doppelganger seized. His own doppelganger caught. No more tricks. The labs were secure, remnants of the Earth-1 fighters detained. All is going according to plan. His lips twitched up.

“Did you know that the human body can only generate between 10 and 100 millivolts?”

You jumped down from the vent, landing perfectly on stable footing. The Dark Archer had his arrow and bow drawn in an instant, readily aimed at you. He watched you with careful, stormy eyes. You both stood in silence. One move and he could off me, but so could I. Your gloved fingers fidgeted; a subtle flicker of electricity honed there. “Such a fickle thing, really, when there’s an electrical imbalance within the body. Various things can go wrong.”

The Dark Archer’s eyes narrowed, noting the underlying threat in your words. “You’d be smarter to run. Wouldn’t want to end up like the others.”

“I don’t run from danger.” You smiled wickedly.

“Such naïve words from a hero.”

The dead meta flashed through you mind again. The blood on your hands. Would you do it again? For your friends? Your family? “I’m no hero.” Yes.

You two had circled each other in the dimly light room, tension thick in the air. Dust collected here and there, white sheets covered table and monitors. Oliver-X was amused, to say the least, his eyes locked on you with every intent to-

“-To my knowledge you have a speedster in your arsenal.”

He didn’t blink. “What of it?”

You rolled your eyes. Really, such a man with little words. “Take me to him.” Your hand balled into a fist The bulb behind Oliver-X shattered instantly, yet he did not flinch or look back.

As fun as this could be, I’m not here to play games.

“You are in no place to make such demands.”

Neither is he.

“It’s not a demand, just an innocent request. Indulge me, breacher.” You held your head higher, “You’re not the only one with a love.” You sensed his hesitation as he understood. So, you pushed. “The radiation is killing her, isn’t it? Flew too close to the sun, like poor Icarus.” You couldn’t help but taunt him. Oh, it felt good. Felicity had given you the run down, reiterating Alex’s hypothesis in regarding what she found in Kara-X’s blood cells. It didn’t take a genius to understand why they came here. Why they’d come now. With Eobard in tow. “Too much is too much, in the end. But… that’s why you’re here, right? To fix your love before- well, before the radiation eats at her.” You huffed a laugh and paused. Another lightbulb burst. Each out releasing electrical energy. “Right?”

An arrow whizzed past your head, hitting the wall behind you. The Dark Archer’s patience was running thin. You swallowed thickly but didn’t cower. Fear tickled the back of your mind, but you pushed it away. You needed emotions to overwhelm him into slipping. It clouded rational thinking in even the most skilled assailants. Eobard had drilled that into you.

Breep, breep, breep.

The SS alarm rang against his person. You tilted your head at him, curiously watching what he’d do next. If he chose to fight, then so would you with every ounce of energy in your system and that surrounding you. That comm, you could use that. That’s assuming it didn’t self-destruct when out of his reach.

Oliver-X grunted. His time was running, he needed to get to the rendezvous point. “Fortunately for you, I’m in a good mood. However, one foot out of line and you’ll be joining your friends on this earth’s makeshift cells.” He grabbed you by the upper arm and dragged you to walk with him. “That or an arrow to the heart.” Blunt just like Ollie. Well, this is better than being dead. Yay for progress.

***

Yawning, you shifted a bit in your seat. Your hands were bound behind you and there were two Nazi soldier guards to each side. In a sense, you were absolutely bored. Neither soldier paid you any mind and your hands were getting kind of numb from how long it’s been held back there. Basically Oliver-X dumped you onto them and gave them permission to kill should you escape your babysitters. Great. How long has it been? An hour? Two hours? Where were the others?

“So,” You broke the set silence. “Does this job give you guys any benefits, or do you guys have to like�� find your own medical insurer? Does your Earth even do that?”

“Silence, we do not acknowledge such petty talk from someone of your caliber.” Soldier 1 had his finger on the trigger as he turned to you.

Someone’s crabby today. “Well, that was rude. I was just asking a question. Are you guys always this ill-mannered?”

“No, Ian just didn’t have his coffee today and he’s pulling some overtime.” Soldier 2 spoke up from polishing his weapon. Interesting, meaning that it’d be easier to take him out since he’s running on lack of sleep and is exhausted. This guy, though, seems more alert so I’ll maybe have to take his buddy hostage before whacking him.

“Devon! You’re not supposed to be fraternizing with the enemy?”

“How is it fraternizing if it has nothing to do with the General’s heart?”

I think he’s talking about Kara-X. “Devon does have a point,” you piped up. “Honestly, just-”

You blinked and Eobard had sped into the room, wind blowing as he had entered. Negative electricity deliciously licked in the air. Your heart skipped a bit as his red eyes met yours, but your mind anchored you. “Get out,” his distorted voice had hissed at the guards, both who had which shuffled out like ants. You weren’t going to miss them, though their bickering did entertain you. In an instant you were free from the power dampening cuffs and Eobard had drawn his cowl down from over his head along with his techy face shield-mask thing. Just seemed excessive. He took a step towards you with a hand outstretched, but you leaped from your chair and stepped back with a hardened look.

“Don’t touch me.”

A flicker of pain resonated in his eyes, something hollow hit your own heart, but this needed to be done. You needed answers from him, so you kept your distance. “This… isn’t the welcome back reunion I was expecting.”

“Screw whatever it was you were expecting,” You spat, eyeing the SS on his chest in lightning bolt form with disgust. It replaced his Reverse Flash insignia. “Nazi’s, Eobard? Really? What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re angry. Understandable.”

“Of course, I’m angry! You were gone. All of a sudden, three years ago. Erased from existence. And now you’re just… here. With Nazi’s no less. You hate them!”

He licked his lips, frustration present in his tone. He did hate them, every last one of them. “I was just trying to survive.”

“Really? Really? Like this?”

“I had no choice. I just needed some time. Time that-”

You shook your head at him, anger sparking within you. “-No, do not give me the whole ‘time’ bullshit. You can save that for Barry. You owe me an explanation before I decide to over-write every one of your friends’ brains here.”

“They are not my friends,” Eobard retaliated fiercely, he took a breath to calm down. “Did Barry not tell you?”

“Tell me what?” You questioned through gritted teeth.

“You want an explanation,” Eobard had spoken before he whisked you away to the top of one of the Central City towers. The air was crisp, drizzle cascading onto the city. You regained your footing; Eobard gripped your upper arms to steady you before letting go. Message received that you didn’t want him to touch you. “Fine, I’ll give you an explanation. When Barry saved his mother and changed the timeline, he had pulled me from that night and caged me. Like an animal. But,” The yellow speedster started chuckling to himself, doing the little pace he did when he did his monologues. Yes, he does it frequently. “He needed me. He needed me to fix his mistakes. He was losing his speed, his memories of the previous life he had. And oh, did I relish in making him say what he needed me to do the most.” You just rolled your eyes, arms crossing.

“Get to the point, Thawne.”

“One thing led to another and certain… things happened with the Legends and I ended up in the Speedforce after the Black Flash got me, after being erased again. Or so I thought. I… The Speedforce works in mysterious ways, you see. It punished me in for my deeds by sending me to the most miserable place in the multiverse.”

“Earth-X.”

“Precisely. You’ve seen just how ruthless they are, anyone with powers that had opposed them were decimated. I couldn’t die. Not again. I wouldn’t allow it to happen again. Not like that and certainly not at their hands.”

“But others can?”

That stung him. Eobard paused for a moment before his eyes reconnected with yours. “No matter what I could do, they would have found me out. To the expense of those lives, they were already targeted for death regardless of how they can plea or be helped. There’s a resistance group, it’s only a gamble of fate if they’re snuffed out or snuff out the Reich. I was confined to their labs because of my intellect and speed. My task was simple. Find a solution to Overgirl. Fast.”

“And that was to come here. To cut open Kara for her.”

“Here’s the tricky part that they don’t know,” Eobard grinned wickedly, giving you that little look that says he’s got a wildcard up his sleeve, “a heart that they’re so desperately chasing after won’t save Kara-X.”

Enlightenment flared up in your mind. Eobard took a step towards you, this time you didn’t back away. He recognized that look. “A heart won’t stop the cells in her body from replicating and contaminating the heart cells once more. You threw them a bone to get here.”

Eobard nodded, “I studied her anatomy, I’ve made the calculations. Even with a new heart she’d just revert back to her previous radioactive state. The heart would be a temporary fix, but her internal organs are all infected. Festering.” The man in the yellow suit rubbed his lips with two fingers, a move he does when his nerves were getting out of his control. When things were going south, and he needed to recalculate and try a different approach. “I manipulated the calculations in order to seem like the heart would be a reasonable solution along with pumping Kara-X with new blood. Didn’t take long, of course. But I made sure I was the only scientist working on this project. I couldn’t have a liability if others were involved, else they would have made sure I would never run again.” The speedster had marked those words grimly.

Your throat went dry. Death had been haunting Eobard since he had gotten stuck in your time, it even followed him to Earth-X, the place of his punishment. You could have lost him without knowing. You did. Back when he get involved with the Legends, apparently. The speedster stepped closer, the back of his gloved hand brushing against your cheek. You flinched back to reality at the situation, back to the reality of him. Eobard’s heart tugged at the idea that you were seeing him as the rest of those monsters. While he was one, he wasn’t like the ones from Earth-X.

“And Oliver-X is too blinded by his love for her that he’d go to any extent to get her back to 100%.” You summed up. Like how Eobard had done anything to come back here. You gingerly took his hand. What a mess.

“There wasn’t a moment when I hadn’t thought of you while there. But I needed a way back, I needed to get back here. Back to you. I wanted to come back, needed to or else I was going to go insane without you. I was going to lose my sanity and myself there. But the thought of you kept me together. And I would do anything. Even if it did mean ‘allying’ myself with them,” he had done air quotes around that word, “in order to get back here. To my Earth. To you.”

His words echoed in your mind. Anything could be anything. “That won’t excuse what you’ve done. What… what you’d been doing.” I can’t fathom the thought of him… carrying out those heinous crimes and missions. Yes, Eobard is no stranger to committing a felony or five. But to the degree of these Earth-Xers?

“No, it doesn’t.” He wanted to ask. Eobard so desperately wanted to ask for forgiveness, but he stopped himself. “But I hadn’t participated in anything regarding their goals. Just the Overgirl project. Oliver-X wouldn’t have allowed me to anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“You already understand the type of radioactive issue Kara-X is experiencing, provided by Oliver’s Kryptonite arrow.”

“Yeah, Felicity gave me the run down. Her cells have too much solar radiation. Cells subjected to such energy can be fatal to her system. The cells are essentially overwhelmed and overworked that they’re misfunctioning. There’s no regulation in her system or that regulation is waning.”

“The project was the cause… of her imminent downfall. She wanted to be stronger, fly higher, hit harder, so she ordered I subject her to solar rays.”

“Eo, did you-”

“Yes, I did.” He had said it without hesitation. The most logical thing he could have done. Oliver-X, he could handle in a fight. Only a bow and arrow with some fists being thrown, no problem. But Overgirl… “Solar radiation exposure in concentrated time increments were implicated to avoid suspicion on my part. And like I had predicted she demanded a higher dosage when given smaller amounts. Kara-X isn’t a patient person, when she demanded results, she demanded them now. I delivered. She is her own double-edged sword.”

“She was your death sentence,” You deadpanned, you squeezed his hand and he winced. She had broken his wrist earlier when he and Oliver-X were at it. She was not pleased with her threat. “Should you have slipped up.”

“When things don’t go her way she’d take it out on me,” Eobard mused, pulling his hand back to take off his gloves. Recovering bruises and dark spots were on his wrist. Your heart sunk further. “Blamed me for her sickness when even Queen understands it was her lust for power that drove her to this extent.” The genius saw hate flash in your eyes as he felt the electricity spark in the air. “It was either I take her out or the Flash and his friends given her remaining time.”

“Either one would have driven her to her death.”

“Quite frankly, it’d be better for the latter, but since Barry and his entourage were sent away.”

“What do you mean they were sent away?”

“…”

“I think it’s best if I don’t tell you, or else they’ll think something’s up if your reaction isn’t sincere.”

You pursed your lips and deeply frowned. You had gotten your answers, more than that, but then that led to ‘Where the hell did they get taken to?’ And then it hit you like how Weather Wizard hit Barry with an ice ball. Eobard raised an eyebrow at you, knowing you’d figure it out on your own.

“No.”

“I’m afraid so, t-” Breep, breep, breep. Eobard cursed, shutting off the alarm on his person. “We need to go back. Now.” Eobard swooped you up, your arms interlocked around his neck before he sped you back to the labs. Chit-chat over. Back to facing the real problem. Overgirl.

***

What awaited you was a scene you were not prepared for. Kara strapped down to a gurney under red light, one you can assume is dampening her Kryptonian strength to a mere human. She squirmed and grunted, but to no avail. She could not break free. Overgirl was smirking over her, such cruelty and intense demeanor a strange contrast to the kind and soft-hearted Kara you knew. Oliver-X watched with indifferent eyes as guards were stationed outside the med bay.

“I would stop squirming if I were you,” Kara-X mused. “Wouldn’t want your heart to give out already?”

“At least I have a heart.” Kara retorted.

Upon your entrance with Eobard, Oliver-X’s eyes narrowed slightly while Kara-X crinkled her nose. Kara’s eyes went wide but blinked her surprise away as she glared at the speedster beside you. She hadn’t forgotten how he said he’d carve her open from earlier.

“Kara,” you whispered, her eyes were brought back to you and you shook your head subtly.

“Well, well. I didn’t know you liked to play with the rats, Eobard.” Overgirl sneered at you and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her. Eobard gritted his teeth but remained silent. You’ve had worse scathing comments thrown your way since being with Eobard before the accelerator explosion. Being called a rat wasn’t anything. Kara-X frowned at your lack of response. “Now, who’s this little… rodent?”

“That’s none of your-“

“-His love.” Oliver-X cut Eobard off. Kara’s eyebrows went up from where she laid.

Kara-X drawled in morbid amusement with a clap of her hands, “How touching.” A twisted smile ran across her lips as her eyes scanned you and Eobard carefully. Eobard had placed restraints on you once more but had whispered to you that they were loose enough for you to slip out should hostilities arise. “Who knew that the bastard speedster had a heart. Such emotions. A person that actually ate up his lies and loved him. Just another monster. Interesting, interesting. Makes this all the easier to-”

“You lay one hand on her, and I’ll personally see to it that you never get your new heart and he dies an excruciating painful and slow death.” Eobard didn’t smirk at the Kryptonian-X. His words were slow and they were lethal. Rather his signature smirk appeared, “After all, I’m the only one fully equipped and to successfully perform your surgery before your time runs out.” He glanced at the wall clock, the second hand moving along with each tick. “Tick tock, time is ticking. For you.” Kara glanced between you and Eobard then to Oliver-X and her doppelganger.

“You insolent-”

“Kara,” The Dark Archer stopped her, a hand gripping her upper arm harshly. She looked him dead in the eye, so much hate, so much anger. Clouded emotions. Oliver-X’s own eyes challenged her in a silent match, “Enough. Let’s go.”

The pair left you and Eobard with Kara, but not before throwing disgusted looks your way. You turned back to Eobard, who had changed back into his normal choice of all-black clothing. You gave him a pointed look, which he understood perfectly.

Now what do we do?

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woopwritessometimes · 3 years ago

Text

Do it yourself

Dedicated to @queerbutstillhere-writes and inspired by their Alliance of Empires

TW: Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide

Find it on AO3 here: (X)

“You and your men have already taken my friends- my family- everything I have ever loved,” the archer said, his voice hoarse. “You’ve slaughtered Dinah. Thea. Emiko. Cissie. Artemis- people you once professed to care for. You’ve corrupted Roy and Lian.” He was in tears now. It was clear to him that there was no escape. Not this time.

“You should finish the job,” he spat, the muscles in his neck straining as he sent droplets of saliva and hatred in Damian’s direction.

In an instant, Jon had practically teleported from where he was standing at the foot of Damian’s palanquin and his fist was closed around Oliver’s neck. Even if General Ducard and Commander Branden were able to move at the speed which Jon could, they knew better than to intervene in a direct challenge to Emperor al Ghul. Not even General Todd would be so bold. Yet, the Kryptonian, despite being one of Damian’s generals, seemed unconcerned with formalities. His cape had yet to stop moving from when he dashed, but he began: “YOU DARE ADDRESS YOUR EMPEROR, THE DEMON-”

Damian raised his left hand, the metallic clink of his rings signalling Jon to stand down just before his fingers would have torn through Oliver’s throat. The man let out an ‘oomph’ when he fell to the hard ground, gasping for air as tears trickled down his face.

The Emperor rose from where he sat in his palanquin, his breath visible against the cold forest air. The frost-laden ground crunched when his boots made contact.

Oliver shut his eyes, listening for the whistle of Damian’s sword cutting through the air to let him know that his pain on this Earth was finally over. At least now he could be reunited with those he loved. But nothing came. Not the whistling of Damian’s sword, and certainly not his footsteps.

He opened his eyes to find Damian looming over him. When their eyes met, Damian seized his jaw and forced him upward to eye level. It was at this point that Mr. Queen decided he would not die a coward. He would remain stoic in these final moments, not giving Damian the satisfaction of seeing him quiver or beg despite how frail and vulnerable he felt following the Kryptonian’s booming voice that probably accounted for a bit of the blood trickling from his ears.

Damian pulled Oliver close so that he was only a head’s width away. Oliver now knew why the others in the Justice League had been so afraid of him. Sure, the kid’s natural talent for wasting his enemies was scary, but it was nothing compared to the eyes that threatened to strip Oliver’s soul from his body and envelop him in nothingness. If Damian’s eyes didn’t soften when they did, Oliver was sure Damian wouldn’t have to kill him- his heart would give out and do the job for him. This must be why we call him The Demon, Oliver thought.

The boy possessed a darkness when Oliver trained him briefly, but nothing like this. What could have happened that turned him into this?

Damian moved his face closer until the two were just inches apart. Jon’s breath hitched and he curled his fists in jealousy.

“Do it yourself,” Damian stated.

“What do you m-”

“Do it yourself.”

The message was clear now. He was to kill himself. It wasn’t said like an order, but Oliver knew better. This was not a request. He had been bested in battle. Not by the Emperor, no- but by one of his generals. He was worth nothing. Not the time that the Emperor would have spent chasing him down. Not even worth the trouble of being killed by Damian himself- or even by one of his generals, for that matter.

Damian turned towards General Ducard, who held the key to his bonds. “Let him go,” he said.

Maya complied.

That was the last anyone ever saw of Oliver Queen.

#dc comics #damijon #jondami #justice lords #dc

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bloededhoine · 4 years ago

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world building cause twn doesn't part 8: nonhumans

this is easily the geekiest part of the series. and it's a Very geeky series. because sapkowski's worldbuilding is waaay more extensive than i have the time, ability, or desire to convey, i'm sticking with races both sentient and important

colour code cause i fucking love colour codes - already happened/introduced, probably s2, important background info, stuff that might be in the prequel, extras

series masterpost

dopplers

dopplers, also known as vexlings, shifters, mimics, doubles, imitators, or pavrats, are a nonhuman race that can take on the appearance of nearly anyone they encounter

before mass migrations of humans, dopplers primarily inhabited the forests and plateaus around the city of novigrad, where they would transform into wolves and pack animals to hunt

their abilities are pretty impressive, dopplers can not only mimic appearance but also voice, personality, skills, behaviours, and knowledge. dopplers can even turn parts of their bodies into pieces of clothing or other objects

however, there are some limitations

dopplers can't transform into someone/thing with dramatically more mass than they have, are burned by silver, and can't drop anything they created (if they did it would kind of turn into a fleshy goop)

we've already met a doppler in twn, this sexy sexy man

BUT

it is important to note that this doppler is a huge deviation from sapkowski's lore. dopplers are pretty much always exceptionally kind and gentle. a lot of times they use their abilities to appear threatening (big teeth, sharp claws etc) because they really don't want to hurt anyone.

when dopplers aren't mimicking another form, they aren't exactly pretty. they're bald, short, have beady yellow eyes, and kinda look like they're made from soft clay

here's the hexer doppler

the most notable doppler is dudu biberveldt, who i mentioned as the halfling dainty biberveldt's fake cousin. dudu's actual name is tellico lunngrevink letorte, but dainty decided to help dudu live in novigrad by adopting him as his fake cousin.

dragons

dragons are fucking awesome. you know it, i know it, and zerrikanians know it. witcher dragons are especially awesome

they are the only being, other than cats, that can naturally harness and absorb the force of chaos

there are multiple subtypes, but most dragons fall into one of four: black dragons, green dragons, red dragons, and white dragons.

black dragons are the largest, and primarily live in swamps and wetlands where they bathe in mud. they have extremely hard scales and don't breathe fire, but an acid that causes burns similar to those from mustard gas.

green dragons (right there) are the most prominent yet smallest species of dragon, mainly living in forested areas and breathe highly flammable chlorine gas.

red dragons mainly live in hills and mountain caves and can breathe fire hot enough to melt metal

white dragons are one of the rarest species and live in the far north, and can breathe frost

however, if you watched the witcher netflix as i assume you did, you may remember golden dragons. these dragons are so rare and exceptional that they are not usually included with other species. they breathe steam and fire and can shapeshift into any living being

all dragons communicate through telepathy, although golden dragons can speak when they are in the form of a species that can speak

humans are pretty divided on the topic of dragons, with zerrikanians worshiping them and nordlings hating them.

because they are incredibly intelligent and emotional, witchers (generally) refuse to hunt them

borkh three jackdaws, also known as villentrenmerth, is the only golden dragon we know. there he is right there.

ASSASSINS OF KINGS SPOILERS NEXT TWO BULLET POINTS

the other dragon from twn was a green dragon named myrgtabrakke, borkh's mate. their daughter is named saesenthessis, also known as saskia the dragonslayer (an alias she took to explain her extensive knowledge of dragons) and the virgin of aedirn

because saskia is part golden dragon, she can shapeshift, although is much more limited than her father. she can basically only be a human looking woman with blonde hair or a huge dragon.

cut because this part is getting REALLY long

godlings

ah godlings. i love them so much. they're adorable and precious. they usually look somewhat like a human child, but with blue skin and large amber or green eyes. they don't wear much clothes, their focus is in accessories like jewelry, flowers, or tattoos

that's johnny, a holding in wild hunt.

godlings are incredibly rare, and are easily confused with young goblins. they primarily live in swamps near drowners, but aren't afraid of them.

they're quite mischievous but kind hearted, many have happy go lucky personalities and love just having fun. i adore godlings. i've said it once and i'll say it again.

higher vampires

definitely the most important group on this list, higher vampires are incredibly powerful and intelligent. they can shapeshift within certain limits, generally either looking like a human or a large terrifying bat. they also have some telepathic abilities - they can basically make you fall asleep and forget stuff

scary wooo

higher vampires do not need to drink blood to survive. some don't drink blood at all. when they do, it's like a human drinking alcohol. on full moons, groups of higher vampires go out partying and get white girl wasted

although all higher vampires have the same basic abilities, each individual has one skill they are exceptional in.

most find humans harmless but annoying, like mosquitos. they don't really like interacting with humans, which works out pretty well as higher vampires can blend in very well, even a witcher's medallion can't detect one

higher vampires also have three distinct cultures, the tdet in the far east, the ammurun across the great sea, and the gharasham in the northern realms

they are really really hard (or impossible, depending on canon) to kill. based on the books, you basically need to disintegrate them. based on the games, only higher vampires can kill other higher vampires, but humans can get close

we only meet one in the books, emiel regis rohellec terzieff-godefroy. he goes by regis for short. regis was an "alcoholic" in his youth, and has since abstained from blood or any other substance. he's incredibly old, by the end of twn season 1 he'd be 425 years old. as for regis' "special ability", he's just kind. he's an incredibly gentle and loving person. that's it. i love him.

merpeople

probably one you're already familiar with! merpeople are intelligent humanoids that inhabit the great sea. mermaids are notably gorgeous, having green hair and tails, and their scales are prized alchemy ingredients

sapkowski's mermaids can breathe above water, but the sun burns their skin so they don't stay at the surface for very long.

merpeople are incredibly powerful, they can summon krakens and the sea-dragon like race of vodyanoy respect their authority

they use their own language that's quite similar to hen llinge, but more lyrical sounding.

nymphs

nymphs are a humanoid race primarily based around nature. they have 5 subspecies, dryads (including hamadryads), leimoniad, naiad, nereid, and oread.

dryads, called eerie wives by humans and aen woedbeanna by elves, are the most prevalent, primarily living in the brokilon forest. some have human skin with olive undertones, but others are green. they usually have dark brown or green hair which is usually worn in dreadlocks (breaking my promise of not being overtly and annoyingly political in this series yet again - the dryads, especially in the netflix adaptation, are classic magical n*gress stereotypes. but more on that later.)

this is a lore-accurate one that i LOVE

dryads have incredibly strong connections with nature and magic, although it is really rare for a dryad to be a source. dryads are able to draw energy from trees, but rarely do because they don't want to hurt the trees. support dryads and take the bus.

all dryads are women. all of them. they make babies by basically luring men into the forest and doing the adult hokey pokey. also why dryads aren't really a fan of witchers, who don't make the baby butter (i am so sorry)

however, dryads can also turn a girl of another race into one of their own through the use of magic. the water of brokilon has some mutating quality that makes young girls forget their human past and physically turn into dryads, although it is less effective as the girls are older. the dryads tried to do this to ciri, but given that she's a source, nothing happened. generally, this process is done to girls who wander into brokilon, but some dryads will abduct peasants from outside the forest if they need more dryads.

here's twn dryads... yikes

this is where i think the whole racism thing becomes a bit too obvious. "uncivilized" women who live in the forest and have dreadlocks and abduct young girls from "civilized" areas?? in twn they leaned even further into this, having one of the two black women they cast be a dryad and replacing the usual bows and arrows with spears, a less sophisticated weapon. again, this series is about the lore, not the political implications of it, but it is important to keep in mind

dryads are excellent at archery, shooting anyone who comes within 80 metres of the forest. through their connection with nature, they have highly advanced medicine and use glowing fungi as a source of light.

hamadryads are a specific type of dryad that is incredibly connected with her tree. because of this connection they have exceptionally strong magical and healing capabilities, but will also go insane and die if their tree dies.

like merpeople, dryads use a more melodic dialect of hen llinge

leimoniads are a type of nymph that lived exclusively in meadows, but are practically extinct due to wars with humans

naiads, also called rusalki, are nymphs that live in lakes and rivers, although a few live with the dryads in brokilon. naiads are very similar to dryads, although they tend to have very light skin with very dark hair, webbed hands, and can dry out on land

naiads rarely speak common, live in small groups, and have highly developed telepathic abilities

nereids are nymphs that inhabit the great sea, often living closely with merpeople. they usually have blueish skin with either blue or white hair and have some telepathic abilities, though not to the extent of naiads.

oreads are nymphs of the mountains, which, like leimoniads, are nearly extinct due to human conquests.

succubi/incubi

succubi (female) and incubi (male) are creatures which look like incredibly attractive humans but with horns and goat legs. they seduce humans, first in dreams and then physically, using their prey's energy to sustain themselves, often to the point of the human's exhaustion or death

our man eskel has a soft spot for them...

sylvans

sylvans, another race we already met, are exceptionally rare. like, practically extinct. they live mainly in the woodlands of the northern realms and have goat-like faces with yellow eyes, horns, cloven hooves, and tails

my man torque is quite possibly one of the last sylvans on the continent

they are distantly related to elves, and the two races tend to coexist quite well

generally quite mischievous and merry, highly enjoying pranks and parties. they can use simple spells and are mainly herbivores

sylvans live around 100 years and are highly sought after by dryads for their... ahem... reproductive capabilities

unicorns

yep, we got unicorns! i fucking love unicorns and still kinda think they're real. camels are real and those lumpy fuckers are way weirder than a horse with a spike on its head.

anyways

unicorns are highly advanced beings, they can travel between worlds and use telepathy. they don't really like the "less advanced" races, mostly staying around to observe them. they have distinct societies led by a council of elders and tend to avoid evil

these unicorns are badasses

unicorns strongly despise the use of the force but encourage the power of destiny. in the context of pavetta's betrothal feast, a unicorn would not be happy with pavetta's little source hurricane thing, but would encourage geralt to follow the law of surprise

in of the witcher, unicorns are very important because of their world-hopping capabilities. the aen elle, unfortunately, realized this and began enslaving unicorns to help them plunder other worlds. this turned into a massive conflict between the unicorns and elves.

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years ago

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Sweet Temptations - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part-2

Read Part-1 here.

Warning - SMUT

Requested by - @girlwith-kalei-do-scope-eyes @peakyfooky @bubblegumflamingos @thomashelbyswhore

You looked at your reflection in the mirror; you were glowing. Your eyelashes curled perfectly over your eyes and the corner of your cherry painted lips puckered into a smile of your own. It had been a month since you had let that blue eyed Peaky Blinders gangster bend you over your desk and fuck you like there was no tomorrow. Since then, although you hadn't met him again, he made it a point to be a part of most of the important events that you and your husband happened to be a part of.

Lingering glances were shared, lips licked fervently and the man slowly undressed you with his piercing, blue eyes, fucking you with his eyes. The way he admired the olive green dress that hung over your ample arse at the Epsom Derby, you couldn't get the look off your mind. It was tantalizing, refreshing yet scandalizing if someone was to notice, but no one did.

You had tried hard to find yourself a minute alone with the man, your carnal desires clouding over your perfectly sane, sharp mind for a bit that day but much to your dismay, Michael was glued to your side all the time, although he paid you no heed.

You were laying in your massive king sized four postered bed, revelling in the fact that your husband was out on a business trip to London and wasn't coming back home for atleast a few days. Your newly shaved legs rubbed against the soft, silken sheets, the friction causing slight irritation and inflammation but you didn't seem to mind. A lit cigarette rested in your left hand and a half empty bottle of Irish Whiskey lay on your bedside table, the tip of the bottle imprinted with your lipstick.

A loud knock on your door caused you to sharply turn your neck towards it. There was an urgency in the knock, and the knocking wasn't dying down.

"For fuck's sake, stop trying to break the damn door, will ya? I'm coming."

You slid out of bed, wrapping your robe around your body as you made your way to the door and unlocked it. One of Michael's men was standing there, his eyes thrown open, his face and his clothes covered in dried up blood. At first, you were shocked. You threw the door wide open, letting the man get in, and followed him.

"Mrs. Button, we've fucking been cornered, those fucking Blinders, they attacked the pub in London—"

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the Blinders; the image of the handsome Blinder devil plastering itself to the back of your eyes like a still of a black and white movie. You wanted to smile as it felt like Tommy had after all, been true to his words. You knew he had done it for you.

Donning on a mask of sudden sadness, you blinked rapidly, hoping to get fake tears to provide a blanket of cloud to your eyes, you spoke, "Michael? What about him? Is he okay?"

"Mrs Button, the news is bad, he was shot at the back of the bloody skull."

You bit hard on your tongue; trying your best not to smile.

"And?"

"You tell us what to do, eh, you're the new boss, ain't it?" The man sluggishly replied, a tiny hint of a smile on his lips; it was ghostly, barely there, but yet you noticed it.

"Well, we plan a funeral, what else?"

He nodded, finally letting himself smirk freely around you and so did you.

These were your men now. You didn't have to be scared of a dead man anymore. He could do you no harm.

"Lad, wait."

Your voice rang out in the hallway, the moment he turned to leave. He turned towards you, blinking, waiting for your command.

"Remember the crate Michael kept hidden in the barn? That fine single malt Scotch Whiskey?"

"What of it, Mrs, er, Miss?"

"Pull out a bottle, and go celebrate with the men. And get a drink for me too, will ya?"

Your smirks matched each other's as you saw him nod briefly and leave.

Freedom felt amazing.

Thomas Shelby had not only freed you; he had also given you a chance to get everything Michael owned, down from his business to the mansion you lived in— it was all yours now.

The chill at the cemetery was biting, your long black overcoat did nothing to protect you from the frost that was causing your cheeks to wither and turn stony. You stood in a corner, a few of his men on either of your sides, heads burrowed slightly. You knew it was all an act, and the minute they stepped out of the cemetery, they would be out celebrating, for Michael was not a pleasant boss to work for. But you couldn't blame them, you felt the same.

You felt elation, you felt free and you wanted to celebrate. Worst of all, you wanted to see him.

Your Thomas Fucking Shelby—

As the coffin was lowered to the ground, and the short, bald headed priest mumbled verses from the Bible, you looked down at your feet, your mind distracted. You needed a smoke.

"Excuse me." You mumbled to the woman standing next to you, and lowering your head, you pushed your way away from the ceremony through his men, making your way up to the embalming area, to smoke. The minute you stepped into those close confines, you took off your overcoat and dumped it on a chair, straightening the crease on your black mourning dress.

The embalming area was sheeted with a blanket of quiet, a solitary confinement. This place had a lot of stories to tell perhaps, of death, of tears and of the human mortality.

Then how could a place such morose be a cause of a start of your new life? It wouldn't even have crossed your mind, but a part of you knew, death and life, there is a fine line between it. A death can pave way for a new life— the life of a newfound love, built on the extermination of your abusive husband.

You knew Tommy would come; so it wasn't a surprise to you when you whiffed his fragrance lingering in the air— of cigarettes, alcohol and a bit of mint.

"You're here, I can feel it." You whispered into the thin air, only to feel his arms creep up behind you, in a teasing manner, his fingertips trailing against the fabric of your black mourning dress. You were not this kind of woman, a woman that would rejoice in someone's death, but the countless years of torment you had seen, in the form of your now dead husband was enough to wipe off any traces of the respect you had for him in the dead form. You couldn't care less, if outside, his coffin was being lowered into the ground.

"Thank you," your whisper came out breathy, your eyes rolled back in the back of your head and slowly, you rolled yourself to face the Blinder devil, placing your hands on either of his shoulder while his hands held you tight by your hips, holding you in place.

"Hope you gave him a peaceful death." You mumbled, nuzzling your nose into the side of his cheek, his wafting fragrance seeping through your nostrils.

You heard him hum and nod, his plump lips moving along as he peppered soft kisses down the side of your neck, "As peaceful as that bastard deserved," he mumbled into your shoulder; in his thick brummie accent.

You stayed glued to the man like two trees rooted side by side, for a few minutes. Finally, after what felt like a short period of time, but would have probably been minutes; you reluctantly pulled away, bringing your palm to cup his cheek as you leaned in to kiss him; waiting for the minute the fireworks will erupt.

The kiss was warm, his lips plump and salty, a bit dry, owing the countless cigarettes the man smoked during the day but he knew how to make you weak in the knees but just a kiss, making you want more and more. "Oh Tommy.. Tommy.." His name slipped out of your tongue, your honey like voice repeating it as though it will fly away if you stopped saying it.

Tommy grunted in response to you dragging out his name from your lips, his arms grabbing you by your hips and lifting you up slightly. The moment your feet lifted off the ground, you locked your legs behind Tommy, who had by now seated you on the embalming slab, his hands raking over your sides, trying to feel your curves and inches.

You were panting in desire by the time you felt Tommy hoist your skirt up, running his cold fingers along your inner thigh, in a teasing manner. Your core was throbbing, your panties already soaked and waiting for him.

"Tommy please." You whined, need dripping off your lips like saliva.

"Oh the things you bloody do to me." Tommy murmured, letting his palm rub over your lips over the fabric of your panties, letting out an inaudible grunt when he felt his fingers start coating with your slick, even before he'd taken off your panties, "I haven't even done anything yet, and look at you, getting all wet for me already, yeah?"

"All you have to do is look at me like that, Mr. Shelby," You purred through pursed lips, fluttering your lashes.

"I want to do a lot more than to just look at you, love."

Tommy's hands came to rest over your shoulders, and you felt the strap of your dress slide off, letting your bare shoulders glisten under the semi lit light of the embalming room. Pressing his knee in the space between your legs, Tommy bent slightly, taking in your hard, erect nipple into his mouth, letting his tongue teasingly swipe over it before he started ravishing your nipples, one by one. Instinctively, your hands flew to his head, your fingers burrowing in his matted hair, tugging on it. You arched your needy core forward towards him, hoping that the friction and the heat from his body would provide a soothing pleasure to your aching core.

"Impatient, aren't we?" Tommy smirked, slowly letting himself drop on his knees, so your core was parallel to his face.

"Tommy, please," you pleaded, your voice heavy and coated with lust.

Your panties were tugged down, and Tommy's digits ran fervently over your entrance in a teasing manner, causing you to throw your head back and let out a whimper. His finger finally slid into you, causing you to squirm at the welcome visitor to your body.

"You like that, eh, you like being my whore?"

You bit your lip, letting your palms out of Tommy's hair as you started rubbing your own breasts in a teasing manner.

"It takes two to tango, Thomas, if I'm your whore, then what are you to me?"

Your question was buried without an answer, and you didn't ask again. But this was because you felt you had lost your capacity to think. The feeling of Tommy's lips, pressed to your core, his tongue sliding in and out of your entrance, circling around your sweet spot was too much to keep your wits. You fell backwards, spreading your legs as wide as you could, to provide the man an easy passage.

"Tommy, I'm going to —"

You felt fireworks in your body, a sudden feeling of ecstacy, of what you'd call nirvana. Your eyes clouded with pleasure as you came even before you could provide Tommy with the warning, squirting all over his face. Satisfied with himself, Tommy slowly pulled back, licking your juices off his lips; and all you could think was, how hot he looked, with your juices all over his mouth.

"I thought it will take a lot bloody more to get you to do that, love," he smirked, pulling himself back up on his feet as he unbuckled his trousers and slowly let it fall to the ground. You could already see the massive tent poking out like a mountain in his boxers so you reached out, grabbing his cock over the fabric of it, stroking it, feeling it get even harder under your touch.

"Fucking hell," he grunted, letting his eyes shut for a brief second before he tugged off his boxers and adjusted himself right at your entrance.

Your eyes met his; as though he was asking your permission. You didn't know why you did it, or why he let you do it but you leaned forward, letting your lips meet his, the exact same moment he slid his erect cock into you, slowly filling you up. It wasn't just sex, it was something much more, he was making love to you.

"Am I still your whore?" You murmured, your panting heavy and bothered.

"You'll always be my whore in bed, look at you, driving me nuts with that tight little cunt." He murmured back.

When you both finally came undone, panting and moaning and covered in sweat and each other's bodily fluids, Tommy slowly fell on you, exhausted, his eyes shut, his head buried between the crevice of your breasts. You wrapped your hand gently around his neck, holding him close. It felt strangely intimate, and strangely, you felt your heartstrings being tugged at. This was an all new feeling for you; you had never experienced anything remotely close to this.

Were you falling for him?

Or was it just lust?

What if he just left you after today?

What if you were his means of getting his stress out?

These questions that you asked yourself were enough to give you an answer for your first one.

You were falling for him. And you were scared he'll leave you. And you were scared that your heart will be ripped apart, and there will be no one to mend it.

Instinctively, you winced and pushed him off you. He was startled, confused and he followed you with his eyes. You pulled up your panties and tugged the skirt of your dress back in place and pulled the straps back up, adjusting your dress again.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"They must be looking for me, yeah?" You mumbled, absentmindedly. You couldn't, for some reason, look at him.

He didn't reply. From the corner of your ears, you heard the sound of the fabric of his trousers, that he had finally pulled back up and buttoned. He then slid on his wrinkled shirt and started shuffling through the contents of his trousers pocket to look for his packet of cigarettes.

You sighed, grabbing your box of cigarettes that was laying abandoned on the embalming table, and tossed it to him. He caught it mid air, pulling out a stick and sticking it into his mouth.

"This was just sex to you, wasn't it?" He was blunt, his voice cold, unlike what you had seen him the two times you had met him. Up close. Up front. He was now what he showed the rest of the world that he was. But his question was raw, bringing out the broken man inside him, a man who'd been trampled on, left, rejected.

"That's the funny thing, Mr. Shelby." You whispered, your voice soft, broken as you looked down at your hands, nervously fumbling with the hem of your dress, so you didn't have to meet his cold icy stare. "I wish it was just sex to me. But unfortunately, it's not. And I'm not ready to get my heart broken even before its fucking started beating again, you know?"

The man let out a soft sigh, smoke coiling around him as he exhaled and he slowly walked up to where you were standing, hesitantly.

"This has been lovely, Thomas and you have saved my life, saved me from a monster. If I can ever repay ─" Your palm mechanically flew up to his chin, slowly cupping his cheek, your thumb stroking against the side of his face. You had half expected him to move away from this affectionate embrace, but he didn't. Infact, he seemed to melt into it.

"You can repay me."

Your hand fell to your side, clenching at the fabric of your dress.

There he was, finally revealing the truth, of course he wanted something from you.

"What?" You almost snapped.

As if thinking, the man in front of you blinked , before you saw him slide his palm into his pocket and pull something out. You couldn't see it, whatever it was, was too tiny and was masked securely inside his palm, sheilded from your eyes.

"I know this is not the most appropriate places to ask, but will you marry me?"

You took a step away, or rather, your body suddenly went limp with elation. You couldn't feel your legs, it was as if your knees had turned to jelly. You'd heard it right, didn't you?

"Say that again, will ya?" You croak.

Tommy shook his head, almost faintly, with a tiny of annoyance in his eyes, but somehow he did it again. But this time, even more creatively. Your eyes widened as you saw him go down on his knees, and this time it was different. It wasn't sexual and he wasn't going to ravage your pussy with his mouth. He opened the box and in rested a beautiful diamond ring, the diamond massive enough for your heart to leap in joy. It was beautiful.

"You, Miss (Y/N) (L/N), will you finally accept my offer to marry you, yeah?"

You couldn't help but laugh. He really didn't know how to do this.

"Is this a business deal?" You chuckled, throwing your palm out that he caught with his free hand.

"A business deal for a fucking lifetime." He slowly slid the ring over your ring finger and you swear you saw a warm smile on his face, as he looked up at you, with love.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader smut

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spritewrites · 4 years ago

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inhibitions (or, high five)

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Characters: Vanya & Five

Word Count: 2062

Warnings: drug use, mentions of alcohol abuse

“Ahem.”

Slam. “Ow.”

“What are you doing?” Vanya asked, peering around the cabinet door to where Five was cursing and rubbing his head.

“Nothing.”

Vanya raised her eyebrows. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s nothing, okay?” Five snapped, sticking his sore head back in the cabinet.

Well, that’s bullshit. “You sure?”

Five huffed. “Let me assure you, I am one hundred percent certain that I am doing absolutely nothing of interest to you right now.”

He briefly pulled his head out (carefully avoiding the top) to see Vanya giving him one of her soft smiles. “Rooting around in the back of a cabinet is pretty interesting to me.”

A long, low exhale. He was eyeing her carefully, the same way he did the first day he came home. Like he didn’t know who to trust. “Fine. Do you happen to know where dear old Dad kept the alcohol?”

The crease between Vanya’s eyes deepened. “We have a whole bar, Five.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but we’re… uh, out. Did the old man have any backup storage?”

“I think he got rid of it all when Klaus started drinking.” She put a gentle hand on Five’s shoulder, startling him. Instantly, the hand was back at her side. Right. The touch thing. “Are you okay?”

He sighed, running his small hand through his hair. “Yep. Fine. Great. Just… need to take the edge off.”

Everything went still.

“Five.”

“What,” he snapped. “Are you going to lecture me about the long-term effects of alcohol on my goddamn pre-teen body like everyone else? Because trust me, I’ve calculated exactly the blood alcohol content that –”

“No, I – no. I was just going to say…” She swallowed hard, then met his gaze, her kind eyes and his blazing ones. The corner of her lip tugged upward. “I’ve got something that might help.”

Honestly, Vanya never thought that her birthday gift from Klaus would ever be anything more than a joke. “So you don’t blow up the moon again,” he’d said with a wink, “now that you’re off your pills and everything.” But now, sitting on the floor of her childhood bedroom ripping open a package of laced gummies with her 58-year-old brother, she was so, so glad she had it.

The circles under Five’s eyes had gotten worse over the past few weeks, and even though she knew he’d never say anything, it was clear that putting down the staggering weight of the apocalypse after forty-five years of carrying it was proving difficult for her brother. She saw the way he startled at his reflection, the way his fingers flexed absent-mindedly toward his hip, right where a holster might be, the way he counted the people in the room, the way he would talk too quietly or too loudly, or left out details in stories, as if he couldn’t gauge how much of a given conversation was supposed to happen in his head.

He’d taken to drinking, of course – he’d been drinking since he got back. But now he seemed to rarely be without a glass in his hand. And Vanya saw the way his shoulders relaxed when he took a sip, the way his tapping foot and twitching eyelid settled.

Vanya was used to watching. She knew how to see things.

She’d been saving the candy especially for him, for when he needed it. Tomorrow she’d go to the liquor store for him; she knew better than to recommend he go cold-turkey. Five was smart. With the right support, he’d slow down on his own, when he was ready. That was her job, being the right support.

Therapy would probably be good too.

“I don’t like sweets,” he reminded her, and for a second her heart lurched for the thirteen-year-old boy who was once caught with a half-empty can of cake frosting under his bed.

“These’ll help. Just trust me?” It was a request, an olive branch. Slowly, he nodded.

“Okay.”

“—It wasn’t even the most dangerous situation I’d been in that week! Dolores was furious at me for days, of course, but at least I got some wine out of it,” Five said, tipping his head back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. Vanya was giggling at his story, watching the faint smile dance over her brother’s face at the memory.

“I thought the apocalypse would be, just like… shitty forever.”

Five sighed. “It was. But you know. You can’t be unhappy for 45 years straight, your body doesn’t work that way. There were good times.”

Vanya giggled again. She couldn’t seem to stop doing that. “I can’t do anything straight.”

For a beat, Five studied her, his expression unreadable. Then he broke into a surprisingly bright smile.

“That was a joke.” It wasn’t a question.

Vanya gave her brother a light shove. The way a sister might to a brother. “Of course it was, idiot.”

He shoved her back, smiling wider than Vanya had seen in a long time. “Don’t call me an idiot. Idiot.” The twitch in his eyebrow was gone. Vanya suddenly went quiet, the light feeling in her core spreading throughout her chest at this realization.

“Five?”

“Hm?”

“I love you a lot.”

Five was quiet too, then, but not unusually so; Five was always quiet, when he wasn’t yelling. His eyes traced patterns in the ridges and dips of the ceiling plaster.

“I love you too.” He turned to look at her. “I missed you.”

“I know, Five,” she replied, because she did. “I missed you too.” Because she does. Did. Does.

His face split again, into that same bright, open smile. “You know what I would think about? Out in the apocalypse?”

“What?”

“When we would stay up all night sometimes talking. Remember that? Jesus, we must’ve been… ten? Eleven? And we’d be up for hours… I don’t even remember what we talked about. Math, probably.” Five shrugged. “I had conversations like that with Dolores, after. Or sometimes you.”

“Me?”

He smoothed out the fabric of his shorts. “Yeah, you were there in the apocalypse with me. I had your book, remember? Closest I could get to someone talking to me.”

Vanya tried to meet his eyes, but he was gone somewhere. A gentle hand found his arm. He flinched a little, but didn’t pull away. “I’m here now.”

He nodded, and when he spoke, it sounded strangled somehow. “Thanks.”

A passing truck honked its horn. Vanya thunked her head back on a bedpost, sinking into the floaty feeling that had settled right around her sternum. She got why Klaus did this. It felt like she could say anything, or do anything, and everything would be okay.

Five made a kind of whining noise in the back of his throat. “I want donuts.”

Vanya closed her eyes, smiling. “Shit, donuts sound great right now.”

“The jelly-filled ones from Griddy’s.”

“Yeah, when you get there at like eight p.m. and they’ve just finished the last batch of the day so they’re, like, fresh and shit.”

“Fuck,” Five sighed, pulling the back of his blazer over his head and slouching. “I want donuts.”

Despite herself, Vanya started giggling again. “You look ridiculous.”

“Excuse you,” Five replied, wrinkling his nose. “I am a trained assassin of the Commission, licensed to travel space and time with an assault rifle. I never look ridiculous.”

“You look like a Founding Father.”

The look that Five shot Vanya sent chills running down her spine. But like, in a fun way.

“Take that back.”

“No.”

“You asshole, take it –”

“No, you look like Benjamin goddamn Frank – hey!” Before she could so much as blink, Five had pounced, swatting at her arms when she laughingly brought them up to protect herself. “Go away, you know I’m right!”

Five was grinning too, slipping his fingers past her weak defenses to mess up her hair and poke at her cheeks until she had to hold her stomach in laughter. “Take it back, I said!” he crowed, sounding like he was on the edge of laughter himself. He managed a lucky strike when blunt fingernails skated over the crease of her neck, and she scrunched her shoulder with a squeal.

“No – no, fuck, Five –”

Vanya’s flailing hands struggled to gain any sort of advantage against Five’s skilled assassin reflexes, to no avail. She was horribly ticklish at the best of times, but now the ruthless pokes that were attacking her nerves overwhelmed her, and she curled up into a ball of giggles on the floor.

Through wet lashes she could see Five’s grin as he methodically took her apart, relentlessly tickling all the places he knew were torture – ears down to collarbone, and then jumping down to squeeze at her sides, making her shriek. His skinny teenage fingers were unfortunately perfect for tickling at her ribs and sneaking their way into the crease of her neck.

Vanya was laughing the hardest she’d laughed in a long time, maybe ever. Nobody in recent memory had known her like this, known her well enough to completely eviscerate her the way that Five always, always could. Damn him. This was definitely cheating.

Her laughter hit a fever pitch when Five got a hold of one of her kicking feet. Shit.

“Please, I – fuck! Okay, okay, I take it back, mercy!”

Five stopped, smirking. “Assassins don’t show mercy, except to ticklish sisters.”

A few residual giggles escaped through Vanya’s nose. “Shut up.”

“Me, shut up? Me? Excuse you, you called me a fucking Founding Father –”

“I didn’t say you were a Founding Father, I said you looked –”

“Vanya, I don’t think you understand that I am still holding on to your ankle, and strategically – hey!”

Swiftly, Vanya scooped up his own ankle and held it in her lap, a mischievous smirk on her face. She had completely forgotten about Five’s thing with unanticipated touch, but his eyes were just as bright as hers. “Oh yeah?”

Five’s smirk didn’t waver. “Nice try, I’m not ticklish.”

“Is that so?” She tugged on his leg, tucking it under her arm and hovering her fingertips over his knee. Five nearly choked.

“Wait –”

A squeeze was all it took for Five to collapse into hysterical laughter, squirming and flailing, but more squeezes couldn’t hurt. Vanya was grinning, digging in mercilessly. Served him right for attacking her, he wasn’t not the only one who remembers ticklish spots. It occurred to her that she was maybe being a little cruel, going right for his weakness immediately, but the loud, bright cackles pouring out of her brother’s mouth were worth every kick that he landed.

Five pounded a fist on the floor, mouthing something resembling words, but he couldn’t manage anything coherent through his helpless laughter. All right then, mercy it is. She graciously released his leg, which shot up into his body as he curled in on himself.

“F-fuck you,” he panted.

Vanya chuckled. “Oh come on, surely assassins are familiar with the concept of revenge?”

He said nothing, but his smile, weak from tickles, widened. She wrinkled her brow. “What’s that for?”

“S’nothing. Hic.”

“Are you… are those hiccups?”

“No.” Hic. “…Fuck off.”

Vanya burst into another fit of laughter, earning her a light shove. Five tried to school his face into an angry expression, but he was laughing too.

“I take back everything I said, I didn’t miss you, I don’t love you, you’re an asshole –”

She giggled and shoved him back. “You’re an asshole, but we love you anyway.”

The faux-anger melted away. “I know.”

For a long moment, a comfortable silence fell over the siblings, the kind that they used to fall into around four in the morning when they had both squeezed onto Five’s bed for the night to talk about training and music and math and family.

Five yawned despite himself. “M’fuckin’ sleepy,” he grumbled.

Vanya smiled. “You sound like a kid.”

“I look like one, too,” he said, and at first Vanya thought he might be angry. He usually was when he talked about his body. But then he smiled again. He kept doing that. His eyes were shining. “I’m sorry it took me so long. The calculation took years.”

Vanya shifted to face him. “Talk to me about it.”

Five’s smile grew, and Vanya knew, somewhere in her chest, that they would be okay.

#tickling #tua #umbrella academy #tickle fic #my fics #ticklish!vanya #ticklish!five #five hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #i wrote this for the pun and then it got out of hand

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