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libidomechanica · 6 months ago

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“The hills of silent shades of golden hour for private”

A curtal sonnet sequence

Be neither mine; a life that lay the clouds. Bright, or with your limbs and sweet, rings Eden threaded some one: the sun.-Grown energies of bridal flower of her legs I drew figs. And where the boughs, where else shallop, floating soul. The hills of silent shades of golden hour for private sorrows flow; and self, so I was obviously a forlorne? Ill brethren, bleating: Winder of the Sorrow, cruel destiny content to its wounded heart.

So now fayre flown, for unremembered star, thou roll’st above these men are they know; for knows why we are the crowd of she knew the new, ring, half expression—cannot say that much. The laughed at in the fields and ways? To hear the Dead, and fluctuate all that bounty from its rocky cave e’er tripped with your life. Twas better Fortune may try. Lie foreshorten’d in peace: so that vague desire; yet feels, as in mirror through, clasp and sad.

Now ryse vp Elisa, decked at their proud was half bare, warm French perfume, and string. Nay, laugh when we first her eyes; in earth a bald streams. Stand helpless discontent to many worlds, so much lov’d friend among mankind, poor rivals in the true, and with an ease my pleasant spot in whispering, choking, drowning cup, the two great plans: yet speak an idle think the inverted back return I take to your eyes, gender and gray, the soft Sh!

Hum about me; and all ye gentle winds that are we two must be all about the hearer in its fiery courses of the suns. Do you said something stem—save that she ran, hear us, great cats close round the ground; confusion worse than Dead, depriv’d of Thessaly: some on wing, lingered species, on! So lovely street, but for the grandeur of the lists they fled? A noise about the voice, that then will whispers, in its chipped and whole young.

His nervy knees and mine own land for ever narrow days, of a youth and get the thoughts to her goe. Was drown’d with joyful cries, that on which makes bread out one night with thy balmy air, see the sweet and to be; and we’ll live—such virtue hath made the same, simple sports with good conceives how tiptoe Night well might all beside the names are beset with you there were as in mine; strange, although the tree, nor human neighbor. With mid- day heat.

Completed forms of speech two negatiues affirme! Tho’ truths in many a flutters unto those who slumbrous rest: whether the sky like her I go; I cannot say whatever happen to you it was but a wife ere noon? View and loyal unto its crystal ball, by blood run upward, working in my deeds to come, quick while thy marble flood of sister: of all you among. Yet knows not why, nor can it foote to the air: is this?

Strait is to bear thro’ the high perfect note. Out through the dumb-sister Jane; in bed she moanings of Satanic power, the herald Hesperus away, then are hard sky limits. Mid-sentence, but by year to year before my helpless eye, silent; but when I have known, dead to fold, of mountain to man, and the world grew like a line you must be cured besides that breath to myriads more, tho’ follow, from them together I would have them?

Twelve steps of Age, trod down by gladness like a beacon in the plain, at noon or when the valiant man and drivers in rank come Down, O Maid cradle sheep. See what I have tossed irresolute steals a silence and so laid the aged priest eyed them something else, you have imaginative land. This ditties sigh above the hues are animals, well enough,&then into bounds of faith, but patient level mead, and soul abroad, he can.

’Twas better used to call the same; and no one answer. With overthrow. A hand to turned half of life and descended from reddened eve he views the rill. And therefore we wreathe a thousand flowers, before we went free: the cabin-window he hoped some bare-headed bubbles in her milky way among familiar names, and the much- beloved face, for more completed for a chosen bow: and, when they send: for each year the rill.

How many gazers might, nay more, Peona! Till over down, till Pan and his last are circumstance, at last year’s bitter scorn drew from the best wits still garden! You said, Sweet you. Love, first thy burthen the silent fingers; pour thy soft nervelets were wan and fair Syrinx—do thou no roses; and one fine morning; but there; and in the all-golden honeycombs; our visit. And not to do is wrought; nor can I dreamed I stood like a fish.

-Shores by my strange flower, shining fair, poor child: I found his lips uncurled and chaff, and create, and ancient games had place, the tents with power and my past, making worse than a gin rummy is a Roarer, plunge your third, look for you is here, my lover’s eyes bronze valves, and flowers, her slim hand reach in treasury, as I in it recite. He asks not the whispering blades of Nature know how vertue, I could not from each other’s gain.

—Felt too, I was afraid, stood stupefied with those command is Nature’s breathe my loss in his comfort me. Then, whether or not the strange overgrowth; bethinking although evening has the clothed with an awed face, as parting foam; your battle: kiss her; take her I say: is this beuie of Latona, which inward sunne to have strown it, and can find, ere yet that was suddenness did not, to a race of youth, and silver throat. In endless shore.

Us, the Shadow fear’d of children’s cries, who touch thy lost desire speak? To put a kiss, thou tread’st with the Fantom of his name is Shame, but for a flightless range was love filled with thoughts to envelope those though it overtop your great head—for he is become a sweeter seeing that fed or arm that bears immortal too. Let us go: your crooked heart. Of heauen is to guide philosophy: looke at my head thee lying lips?

The prophecyings rave round him worthier to be loved myself have heaved a wind of memory. Tones ravisher through this hour when first by them for teeth. Say bulldaggers blindly run; a web is wov’n across your pity is enough, soon enough for one— all people who are wrong the Early Season satisfied—then for reply, seven boys and high in heavy heart rouses thinking at the oaken log lay on their merriment.

Have thought she should have been falling, should sting us fancy set, where in due time thou canst not cry to you. My arms fit you like that dances of the bird into the solid- set, and, crowned souls; they had sail’d below. Where we to draw him home—mothers that like a Bow, but Arrow-like in Flight, your sheepwalk up the brain; I heard not this. Echoing grottos, full of the soil, left behind: return, to fill or mend the spirit melts. And man.

So draw him home thrice again but it must part will not see them all, one at a touch your head, each under the masterfully rude, that swift or slow draw down Æonian hills, yet slays me with dew? The tide ebbs in sunshine, or gloom o’ercast, thro’ life of my loss is come, my sweet, if human frailty do me wrong that saps the mountain freshly into boundless as their arms, descend the God curst sun, and she that earlier, the luster fades!

By Phoebus thrust out of the sycamore; how often, hitherward every gaze upwards from shepherds to naebody cares than the wine, and whining, and shook to see another’s life, I knew a beautiful olives. The vast abyss: whatever happens with tender human strife come in forest crack’d, the glass; bring her breast, and wrings will be the foliaged elms, and humming a triple hour, O Love, I striven half thy draught besides.

My spear aloft, as signal for the weariness, all-subtilising in thy way, but that Virgins, then complain. We leaves about the drains he’d met her Remembered the man; you wrought could breathe, with me now and swung the Eagle the Flame that heart the sky. Of bright; and the trembling knee and thro’. Were taken fairy phantasies to and frost, that they will never dim and dippest toward her bosom erst: henceforward count the enchanting.

The Grandmother the blacke face so stremes the keen seraphic flame up the breathed with fancies like a flower to the ditty. Enrich they are but to be made, and tuft with aught else, aught the first, but over all our lord. Join our necks, we glided winding rice, of salt, of freedom in her hunger mouthed, and sow the sea. A hollow cheek with showers and sighes stormed be! Thy tablets round the mornings, morning; but there; abiding love.

I feel her groan; where quince and gone, ankle, touch the small knuckle on my knees then brake the rooms of a romantic rose, full of high and feel, tho’ widow’d hour sharp pittances on the village greene embellish paine, of a youth who loves and line by link, my chain of after them then showed the unquiet heart is full of fire. Once her with face vnarmed marcht, either chances in the desert in the tip-top, there came too, joining life closet.

Scarce seen it and the railway: love has no ending, so to bring me this, or was no more than a gin rummy is a breath is six days long. And the start a scene or two, advise the night in gold with Psyche, sorrows freshly alive, a lad plays with amber studs, my hunting larks, to this ardent listless spirit’s inner vileness he seemed, or simple heart, as now; day, mark’d of me: then she wearing the less—so lovely young flame.

Of rimless feast, then, a dream? Not all: the soul exults, and fitful whims of sloth; nor any want-begotten fields of May poetry left on in their death; and think that are seen to truths transfers to the king in the couering over him grew tall as dead: o let me die, and they look’d about the dreadful leisure of wearied mind draw forth of Christmas heard No hungry general onslaught. Feel safe then—i never knew the new vastness.

But, but as servants in a circling row, with one life began to slant the sands, adown yon windingly by it, so they shed along the leader of the Nine, one would do. And set thy leaden looks: the solid- set, and break. Since first her silver at my face salutes them riding sense gives it not for thee. The low dark velvet edges them— maidens with dark tree the vapour sail and passion poesy, glories, and make old bitter scorn.

Witch-elms that slides along; and through the scale of racing to run off with these enfold is given to hide. Dry flame of gentle roar that succeeds it; by the quiet pain for unremember, and freesing firmly set on Vertues great snake, whose ragged brow: thou shall rise and red wine-spilith that to meet it, with words: nor did mine are seven! Whose session-—swung the darkness of touch I yield; this should have golden hair there we hurried in.

So rapt I was noise of sorrow shut, or breast, and pledge of my harmful deeds. What which be they know transport, gentle heaven, and some Socratic dream; for words, and sea and sky, till all at ocean’s roar: but bound thy changes on that I have ears in virgins, then these kings we embrace, believe me. And graven with dew? And touch or hold hands. She has really two ages. Conduct by paths are in her throat along with you entombed in you.

Ay me, the twilight, drawn after a time. And so it seemed borrow frae naebody! Her carriage lay; in that is drawn to her your Highness—verily I think and bright in light. ’Re wet with a wife. At night keep herbage; and now and read the common is the cool depth.&Then into frightful bard sits lonely thought otherwise,—past whirling pillar steadfastness. To those faire of nearness increase of men. Flower beat with ease the daisies.

To where is about her breast, light and cast as rubbish to the coals to blame not the steep-up heaven; and I laugh’d and looked again: but trust that through certain spot, as upon a plane of earthly Muse, now Io Pæn sing; heau’ns enuy not alone, embrace where Beauty with truth in worry vaguely life shall babbled Uncle’ on my knee is presence I adore! Fear in its way to show her father near; and what I meant forgiven.

Like mountain to seek, but this cool cell, far as the years to come, quick while the blowing gauze and then destroyed. Dance, and ruth was fiery course, with flowers that well-proportion of the witch hazel eye, bright to the household fount of flies the flood seems a separate from man, O Lord, to where all the rocket molten up, and round the cooler air, and poppies stole a little Tippler leaning her fair neck did crawl never think the cool depth.

Deep tulips, we do not know that, but he was rich when I’m poor and those simplicitie breathed with banquet. Be sunder’d from me. Let us go and the birth of time within a little maidens with the rest in her hear my mother the Palace of Art the little hill, and moves away in their fountain air; I loved and many a summers they endures with pangs that now dilate, and every place, and down by gladness unforgiven.

Hour with the yard looking each his lips impart the living wore to evening, he cannot find you have it not meet otherwise,— past whirling pillars and yet I have been worth my Emma lay; and, from the dead. His bright be redeem’d a second friends remain’d, whose morning words and what she can’t interpret where thou, perchance, and the chuckling brightening mixt their house the wine-flask lying covert make ’gainst my waking up for ever, and go.

But those skies warm and pledgest not a word. Walk as ere I did I’d grab your hand music in the kindly tear, cool’d with lamps, and anxieties, and sank, and keep off mildews, and white flannel trousers rolled at the light staves of monotone, or as mine; for I’m as freezing reasons cleared to ashes; whatever changed. Test his creed—who lov’st to see how you’re not a windless footsteps; and perpetual maiden mild! Could I presume?

And every sport at cherry-pit: she shall mark you eyeing me, and vale, the Dragons of ours. We went from off my bed the mouth and graceful jest; whose fair fingers to the Love without the otherwise but the liberal air the dusk, with elation you will he cannot see it half alive, a lad plays Tipperary to the garden flew, and dead surround the map of my harp would keep our Christmas-eve. Yet Hope had not love thee more.

I should stoop from coast to coast, and, star and high in her. In circle round athwart, and wonder, fair subjected to some settled end, that full soberly, begirt with women’s tears: they countenance? Beats out the body, and o’er her stamp of this planets all flower bells; and this, and answer, or redress to be with velvet moss uprose; and guide her footsteps; and whirl’d away, like life remain their fate. The low love growth. Wound an alas!

Again our memories old. Not entering to write down. Lovers, what kind of child and watered with pangs that from whence radiate: fierce extreme, the mimic picture of a singles, leaning here and fancy, wherefore, on every one alive moment of my desire speaks; he bearing of the couering sun of spring of Flora and then once more I rais’d my spear aloft, and o’er the sky like horses fit for his report.

Streets and dust and feels her playmates, with the hearth: I know a winter when the air but when they’re wet with a nose, one liuerie, both sadly fell our side was vanquished and done to meet their out-peeping; or to delight: the marge, whose morning dew. Lingered in the railway: on his chambers of anguishing main: calm as to suit a calm ravished by sun. And answer: These did practise here, ’ they endures wild of o’er-hanging bowstring, should I give?

I became wedded to the creeds in love. And shaping of Flora and the tremble; in looking back to you. From my mother to the fountain head, and the God curst sun, and boy, his eyes below, and arms and days, because at the time of our near-dwellers wit. I watched the hall the fond eyes,—in this richly shrine! And flood a fresh ruffled; the very much? To raise to prove as light her mild, if all your love. Now, Madam’s faulty features!

What flower and earth gives it not mean enough for hymns divine, their dark and could solace can I doubt and fair wert thou, like supporters on the gay, like cloud in night, of the beach under the sky, that come and go but it looks as may breed with blessing even now in the air be music of the oar! Fed by traduction came along, and panting, that I, considerate boy, as in thy natural good; the free informing the floor.

Light fair faces and trance, she could endure; what seems to slake my own steed from low-grown branches: late, and mother’s judgment to let occasion die, while yet be made, and many a summer loath to go and leaves are blown about my ear: hushed willow keeps a thousand tropics in an abyss. Wrapping hand, unask’d, in the night was heard beginning, and I have grows colder parted, all alone, a hunger seized my hair? At first shall go.

Streets the field into the house, by which her skin growing—whether or not this. Again at Christ: the sweets, enkindling sad sickens our flockes doe graze about thee: I vow and when clasp’d no more! By park and cold, and for thy state’s decrees, and each will say: How his friend; if not so freely given, and drown’d, let darkness and in my heart, tho’ veil’d, was known: but that we have clothes, and break at season; the mind, but Wisdom dealt with gyfts to win.

Why should men shall live—such virtue. Bewildered shards the cold relief to this wreckage. The grass, a wailful gnat, a breathed the solitary bard sits lonely men in baby clothes, and fading vnto me near me, with his presence I adore the rooms of my spirit ere our love, work, children being too hard to understood the merry and fair I take to you in the iron heels: and suck’d from his breast, and pledge vastly now parting.

The enchased crocodile, or wrap about my ear: hushed the rolling hands; they miss the pail, and, therefore would it known and with thy loued Lillies: the spirit himself in the love thee with flecks of Chance—the Lady Blanche: and melt the thicket, and swear that keeps the stars. Then let me take the stem but it is at a loss what times the world. And lo, thy footsteps of Age, trod down he came by, thorn and ev’ry side. By, Gray nurses; but dead hands.

Ah false fears untrue: shall be our trust should have thee die! While below, if such treasures of the spoons and pains. Navel, stomach, mound, kneebone, and whereto my hope doth learn how fares it with speed of dark. But clear religious spring; with my whole creature to row; in the end of my powers away. But die ye must quickly with loss of my dream, Love had not love thee lying lips? Straight, the multitude arose, the sport which I can see.

While in higher think, and see’st the voice I her shape, that on which I leant? Peace some majestic peace. World—no Road to reasons firmly set on Vertue is made of Tempe sit, and close, a shout most wish’d no more, Peona! From thy brethren lay; there upon the Weirdlaw Hill, in Ettrick’s shore. From star that strife; ring out the raft branch down some Celestial king moved me first, but this expectant nature, stare Aghast. And the whole creation moves.

That steals shadow on the blood, and home to the creeds in endless permutations, continuing in complicated changed from its Hollow roused, then pauses ere he in English earth my Emma lay; and glad, and had our wishes, to think once more in the world I leave me wise; yet do it to put an idle thinks my friend? And drinking and scorn. Once more graveyard, lie down unto the other unnested was an arbour, overworn.

Of our longing eye could they are come by the brain of Demons? With law; if thou wert thou wilt not be long, all my life from bower quiet bones sweated that will soon reach; but if they lose the weeks but turns his burthen of too much, and Fancy blows, the soft Sh! In that stand amaze tossing tears, my clenched hands, who built me a counterpart shall wear which doth flowers would kiss me, love, I only know my life provide thee, clumsy Will!

Endeavour after, through certain spot, its wings: from every movement sure with what desire; yet oft when I was the dark, and many a green and goodnesse show. Quick was there thou, light a haloed ascetic gloom; and pale, and in, from love, abiding with vain devotion, pays. Shut her head. Full in the happy hour, behold the birds may take so long. This rounds he to a sigh I take the darkness and left Thee Living when we do cry.

Cannot claim: let the flower, like a statue veil’d, to where the magic shore. Nor let thy wisdom less, that woke the prow, and quivering of beauty moves him yet, like a razor he will. But a wife of love! Be near her weeping on some dead leaf trembling hand, unask’d, in the skies the foolish sleep till dusk reveal! Is a lower track, the promptings of foregone Reproaches, half smiles, anxieties, and jest? Close by, began to swerve.

Million times each landscape to mine eternal home; and twining, and girl whose diapason knells on scrolls of Yule. But shall set me from marge to make, and the blue eyes swim across the things are vainely spent: for the stars began to foam, and grope, and therefore I loved, a little bent; and only tend and many a level mead, or simple pin—they will ne’er will I seek supply of that she does not yet dead, and last up that says most?

What art thou look back to tell, but, if your names are fools of hands their God adore: so am I us’d by Love, for Caesar’s I am, and makes me cold baptismal font, make one who thus were in Siberia a godly ocean rivers, churning, shake the distance of things. The violets blow. Cleft where a serpent then were gone to meet and future Lord was drowned in silken kerchief fear and the garden. And Jill goes down on her owne.

That balances the burrow or nest for the mind from Tankards scoop’d huge dens and retards: already, known the foliage, towering sycamore; how often, hither. And blurr’d their state and is stay’d my foolish tongue, although, if I would prelude, fashion is, but as thou art wrecked sailor to hour, when men were God and Nature, half a single murmur on the starry Hope! Whiles our fearful ewes; and pearl in rubies set: bayleaues between.

Now that might regret, regret to his wit, making words, like a water that men, who mused rhyme, to take the squares, and hall, and talk of others of thee, sweet maid, my Stellaes face, among seer leave. For I too am constrain’d, spurd with a sigh has brought the flower, like a waste place of reverence and go talking of a skull, a rib, a pelvis, is it you? Whether in peace: so happy, I was still the broad water than I am.

She sang. Are not how; our willows, the trouble crossing guard blinking it, and orbed brow: thou promise tied, on horsebacke met him but come, we will become soon dear as the will come on with pangs that please? Kiss the banquet. Then laurels and cresses from his embraced in my sorrow shut, or breaking me behind. To Sleep I give me it: I will die. When, by magic, ghosts of men. That none you don’t know as spectral doubt is Devil-born.

I hae a wife ere noon? If so, then complex too, but there I find nothing Will Die now Sleeps the sky might know that in Vienna’s fatal loss did ever mine; a life that comes to make Cupid a boy, as in the great them at once declined, when your skies, and Cowslips, and strong bow into the pleasure for who can have heard not the visions and calm that harvest, or the fair, still light all the unimaginative earth and fell asleep.

Becomes a sentinel who moves away in the widow’d hour sharp pittances of years to comfort in the loved and night, light and sickly too? I should put within a helmless bark, and in thy shame give physic to my grief makes dayly mone, warning lightly call vesper, the later year, as not Love’s fire! To Virgil ulysses wages walking to write my latest leaves are in her resign; and we three steeds of domestic peace.

Where cheek, and over-spangled caves, and caught there coming as it seemed, or simple, which I became, and roll’d the gross. I almost, at time me put in worry vaguely life leaks away, to point to point they went and mingle all the plain that sleep, and sigh-shrilled albatross’s white, plainer and sticks together a life that bene so lewdly bent. And, leaving us fancy-sick. Like all your mouth was full of child would ease me of men.

Lines of Lady Blanche: and men shall I part my hair? My prosperous flowerets from the northern shore will drink, pouring for words are falling what in the rose-mark on her conquer’d woe; give not how; our wild whim: and wonder what you may tend and kissing so as scarce had guide her force, becomes on Fortune may lie in a long row of Thessaly: some on me, who at a distance on a flea-ridden day when two, until we closet.

Who loves to make of their disturbing courses of an eye, that if it can it suit me to draw, to sheathe. Queen Virtues Court, which they raise, whatever wilt, remember the cargo and make me to a separate from the struggle in his neck; where Loue is sinking this is the unsatisfied—then for my life. And so with joined hands, saying, Accept all have free adit; we will be, as thou with me no casual mistress bids me wear thee!

And a wholesome law, and thine in undiscover’d up with each; and if thou cast thing urgent I have your credit give of Melrose rise in ruin’d shells before the sea. We had our wills are ours, to mock its own sweeping, eye-earnestly round our state and men shall not be, that eddy round thy full within a love for his brothers and dead surrounds her cheeke depeincten liuely chere. And my Melpomene replies, a touch some face I know.

I, who, for very charlatan, and lazy lengths on boundless footsteps, moving in— I too would preach it as a dove would do. His mother do I remembered thee live; that is; tho’ I seem no more—behold, a spectre-thin, and hether, in this the closet case. My centre stood with ebon-tipped flutes: close in our Sonnet-A-Day Newsletter below and they begin now while bright; but thrice again. That buzz about here where thy bier.

For Forty Morning-Shower—one Mornings did an Evil Cloud rain Sorrows flow; and so long stream beneath his wind-tossed hair was twined with any trifle please him best, ’ she takes a sightless range with wings of the past will be, as the lilies a few, and boys of all the women are we keep on talking offerings the ground, save again. More savage than Dead, depriv’d of The Shah beheld again will turn their golden pits: ’twas too- too kind?

—Jamie, come to the clock beats out the ford, or kill’d in a rabbit’s foot, and made appeal to change, for the past, and fair Syrinx daughters, that self-same fixed trance and pendant pearl makes the grot of Proserpine, when her sexe doth fall? A grateful love, Jamie, come try me. The herald thou thy place the same! Is here on things brooding. Were in the love be blame; to put on more content, and Love would rather lovely, lordlier than the isle of Death.

From our should have told, and lingering feet, more precious relics brought in fairest booke: whatever personal narrative burns to speak that makes your brest, forsake your fists around me wave, be quick for now her father charms for him. Dear as crystal mocking plan; for merit lives to make of the anchor weeps its red light of poesy which are daffodils with lamps, and wrings with delays, and dear to this which sometimes come away: we do cry.

But for fancies, which they anoint to me at midnight empties the darkly join, deep- seated in my arm and everybody sees that I have clothes and to constancy. The howlings from its beams and deep peace in the central to thee resort. From little child in doubts and bramble, tracing oars among the wrist; stare, stare Aghast. I’ll love you yet one lonely, smoothest echoes out a shawl, and breasts, tired of these; if so, then avowed.

Ask me why I send this secret letters from man to muse what a sense of wind the gift of the moment, or taffata cap, rank’d in the cycled time to prepare a face that shines: and after all, whence clear as old: but when the places, where my mistress, and let thy waves rear more strangers’ voices sleep, and what answer. Arrive with pain his golden ball, whose jest among mankind, poor child: for she turns him round, no more: we humbly screened.

No clock counts hours and was thick with my breast which they rise, that warms another, the alarm broke out of wings above the world which, Perilla, after the warm South, and fill the mazy worlds of May poetry could endure; what see my pleasure. My stockings there will relieve, except once I met; nor can I tell the skirts there swims the nurses, loving not the wheels their merriment. To answer’d: Wherefore, but trust that I had to see.

Said I, low voic’d: Ah whither do I remember what defect watch the great snake, when they two are gone. Which were brighter vision I ask’d a Master, By the Stripling, howsoever stept. Away; for still the chalice of Parliament, fondle your names, and a sweet it is to slight, star kissing, and round to Psyche, sorrowing the windows sudden, hast thou sinn’d in the viewless wings, are given a life from out the eyes, my friend is changed.

What didst thou back to boy-hood: make me wise. The heart hath been beguiled. My thirst without aid! In the dead man to the other passes into things round the hearer in its girth, the blowing heifers sleeked wings; yea, the free? Leave they burned into the Eye and Lip forbid! But, O, what merest whim, seems a separate whole night I lay awake and fro. Of each ear was pricked to attend! So in the full of fire, the best; like a winter day!

Thoughts on all. Outside the polar star; who breaks the track whereof the space against a wall, then pauses ere he bleeds, an eagle in high sentence, but yet, I’ll say, I heard those crimson colors it to many a figure out and tell me where Beauty with a heart—just ere she died: and through, clasp and kissing so blind, he reach’d a jarring lyre at first, but where grey dust up,. Let knowledge of unaccomplish’d years old, she sits, they are killed.

Landing-place, and hung up to mind that waitest form and pledge we ne’er will and clapping hand drove her? A shelter of the worlds to be. This year I slept along the death, and saints—to winter night, knight, the songs are trances and then what it is to die; and every span of shame to murder added praises: nothing quicker than any moods the soul on highest mission richly shrined; but I’ll have a care; so seems all this mortal love.

Be cheerful day from the native woe, that in an hundred spiritual rock, flow thro’ darkness at the happy hour, behold I fell through an interstice caught that Virgins, may find a soul of Shakspeare wrong; delaying for giraffes. A second friend and scarce had guide her forward with delights and goodnesse shine, and blushing, waning, and long, the window and they are dead and make me wise below and while if one, settling across the hill.

Of what is all the light as thou and time yet for us, and then, while I, thy nearest, in the greatest wealth, my bonie lass, gude nicht and black from thee the sun and one is sad; her not fear; well roars the sun; who usherest in the canker Love, whate’er he be, and high, the hills; and if the world should fail from coast to me of me and go but it looks as may breed with female whisper of the sea. That much. A hand thaw before the end?

’Er who rest to-night cheap hotels and sacrilege, three lives in God, than if with the barren branch and ran in on the silk was, and love. Upon their disturb the universe is this? Of the bed a shipwrecked at the Shadow cloak’d from home; he saddens, all oblivion, and profligate there had come in their cheek of virgin splendour far and struck; with tangle all those which wit so poor as mine more like him thro’ our destinies!

Debased to ashes; whatever change to spring wakens too; and my old affection no bitterness swept. She said a sin, nor stretching the poppies hung dew-dabbled on my bliss—I was not flint to prayer, who kept me stedfast aim a love enduring, give or die. At first as Death, and wrapt about me when Hope was bright striped urchins flay each cold her fingers, me thy lip, and sticks together until they came; the black from me.

Them all—arms that there we almost ridiculous— almost wise by Phoebus doom, with sidelong glance, like dull brain perplexes and strong bow into the bed a shipwrecked sailor to hour, lest life shall meet and fearfully,—how their earthly walk; comparing, joyful cries, confused and undressed. My stockings there to meet and bear along with your large experience, till the floweth Helicon the well-beloved; my words thee here!

While thou, I see the rose conception to the eclipse, arguing home increases; it will be the fountain to match? Haunt us till the brook the streets were renew’d; whilst, like one music for the grades of light bard from clime to my soul abroad and puts apparel on my brethren with faint breathed words and knows, and beam for roof and flowers and lessening the widow’d, may no more in colossal calm. Thus wasted breathe again the praise.

Turned the sweeter far than a cubit in its hand, a hand tight. A love of nature’s willful moods; and heart was taught beside the balm was infusing all. Were brightnesse confirme: for grammer-rules, O now your strong the princely grace is youth, yet who would pierce high- fronted honour of rest by that all was good. Of the sycamore; how often beat in tune, then being shall now thy prevailing my lance from out the darkens, and sad, alas!

Her scarf into a ball to what awful wail of loss is common would touch, which crawling rhymes, but, if your name. I feare, I haue the onely reading these, as tho’ they slander and trust, not ask. A purple from me? There stashed in Patty’s room. Laid an army down-sunken hours, and pass the soot that that afterward your watry bowres, and beauty still, and then my face, with thee, who wears they in skin of Phoebus daunce, she could not sleep.

The joys of the creation’s final room. Of foliaged elms, and song and me and I was a time, time to ride backward fancy, till the household ways, in the fields of May, as once to bear the hill, resemblance of you that loves have we played about our lives from chimney glows in expectant, still streams that lays of Latona, which in good truth, as dying lips impart that all the whole I felt so fix’d in each base, no mortal too.

And twining, and girl with unseen film, an orbed brows thro’ four sweet lies in me; what a sense of hoof and chains regret for a hundred air sighing and wind is surpris’d and loves not thou of perfectly complain ask me no second self-involves the couering ore: ’twas that am I? I walk in haste, and answers they raise, and dreaming against his lips, which the South morte D’Arthur new Year’s Eve northern shore and Love thee in such the Song.

A shade can last its beams that I will trace them round elbow, from April of ovation rolled at all. But pass’d in art, must, surer bound, the little live with thee, thro’ prospect and free of space, and slept, and in thee, for change them all your lovesick land to turned him that dwell on the deepest grief for one to hell that wears away. Elements in a dove trembling change wrought me to blame the nobler leaves; in Paris, and defaced, the wheel.

Then did through the sobbing rain on the Lily- white Boy is a joy for ever at a time and I was that face I recognize. Calm and far from his tomb, a part of mine more like the same, simple than all round to Psyche as she sprang to many a figures also, we went to let occasion die, while our eyes when your siluer song, nor game, nor lose. Between the creed of delight. And yet I see, and bats went on, and thee low.

He play; he thoughts so sick? Or own one port of oneness, I might be, i, falling stand! In the firmament reflective pace past the cry: so stood up and bring the proud lap pluck sweet milk and trance, shall but his wealthy count it shall be crushed the flood seems all the clocks in the beast that others and knew his Father vouch for his Foot, trampled from harm at last into leaf: the voice the House, and follow, tho’ faith thro’ thy dark freight, and catch at each.

The rock. You apt to kill in fairest-blossom wavering: not a word. It has been a garden-walks I move, and in the night, the sun strike a sudden leap, and his loue such as this. Politic, cautious, and extinguished and undressed. Have golden reed; so reaching here; and thou spend his claws wept. But you did tomorrow and swung the heat more blessed Brooke doe bathe young. Holden, especially after hours with moon-flowers in heaven’s brink.

Bliss, thou triumph where was a purer laws. How many lambs might have been a girl and bound up for home, that solace bring me quickly with these darkens, and other strange flames of sloth; nor did I wondering cries, confuse a lifelong tract of fair musk-rose bloom to room, and this, which a man in the Blind man’s arms, wi’ a’ her cheeks drop by drop the selves from upper air, at those bright, what thy sweet, if human worth while bay leave unsaid, nor speak.

We are even more content, he wylfully hath been done, such precious to be. The will sing to my sights cannot pursue, and down beside; and meet so nearly, rich, and while it did, though I oft myself of the glancing blade of grass, the strength reserved. Some pendulum soul, do with hood-wink’d chance: so happy, I was a man. With buds and be friend? In my rose-wet cave—whatever way my days and gazing; and heated hot line- no voice.

Not that throb that loves in a mountain head, and me Dead, not Living words, and over April’s tender palm is press with nozzle searching that smile before the poppies hung dew-dabbled Uncle’ on my blood: so wert to shed, presume? All the last as pure at hears, whiles he each gale blows chill, as will bestow it; till the stream. To count it vain as but unity of love solemnized the sands, islands, O my Prodigal, completeness?

If such are but to her should fall remerging in the Robe of Perfect rose. And gird in you this deed: but be no coward back, and a few hours and days, suppose it is esteem’d, so are them dyingly-—send honey- feel of bliss since were blacke, both blackly from the waning woods, and the matron-temple of the gentle ears for your hair. The want, the lips of the bird into the sky and had a cousin tumbled half opened to their tents.

Into a shady, fresh budding years its richest-toned that Time deceive to ease my breasts, tired of all sweetness more for the wide in time and haply till he said; her nobler modes of my friend remember, and have been. And lazy lengthened on the later years: the offender’s shuttled overthrow. Ah, desperate mortal ark behind, again I look less at its will with golden light and loth, ’tis scar’d away by slow return.

Lighthouse to see me, day by day prepar’d by Nature made appeal to chance meet some were fair, in the noon is plain and the thing alive enough to higher; as gentle heavenly power sprang up from home, and cloistered in its harvesting the child! You cannot take: I list not be for lack of what from a cup. Again they scorn my love, could that some one lost, a little I thought; and in the bright in gold with all the universe?

To cramp the street, i’ll love you as much as ay muster where swung a vase, milk-white, plainer and swans, powdred with a wife of my love; and cries, softly lulling the further range; that man could you stood the universal tinge of life the turmoils they endure that my years are just now.—The very worst of foregone Reproach abode not by common genders that poison-cup, he drank the thing but you probably tried to me and come try me!

Then that trail along the possess the years that sittest ranging happens with face her little clouds o’ertake me move thro’ form is pure as the Greeks’ love of the Night, how dare we keep our Christmas-eve: the limit past my way, but before; my love has never yet to rue my smart, so now fayre Rosalind hath power to give these; which the widow’d race be run. The heavy-shotted hammock- shroud drops in wine, arrange the world’s dusky brink.

But give me time, has brought be fifty, we might also flee, yet let the words were not a presence I came at last, and bless there will be time to prepare the sea, knew it, clamouring out a purple from her hair stirs with leaves her temples I behung, so thin a losing game, and o’er-darkened ways shall live or die. Mark how he used to call the murmur on the storm unfolds. Pass into the light the flowers also in heaven’s brink.

He breasts, navel, stomach, mound, kneebone, and that they play, and wishing, and chains who through the skill, but, in embalms: but in the tea, among the floor. Twists, facing Lucifer, and wealth is found the hill, resembles to this early song and twining, and gummy frankincense hangs by unseen, and Jill goes down the end of the wild pulsations under dark slide from sea plains who thus to blacknesse run, to those thousand those cloth, I blow the hills.

Nor knowledge grow from, soul in soul to keep the dam, to her I go; I cannot come down wherefore wake to the lesser grieve from the seas, and died of fright but a trembling chance, submitting crown’d the quick, thou hadst touch of scorn, sweet-hearted, all alone. My blessing, taking of their petty cells, and flashes into memory of my love, a golden place so stremes employ thy spiritual strife come inmate the churl in spirit’s.

That thou art wrecked at my life, but fortune strain, an early, rich, and Beauty with their day and rests with my own nostrils, should push beyond it spry cordage of his life is to play unfair! Forgive my grief I leave us in the air like a poll of ash and see’st the widest all distant What else— it is perfectly could not from too will in me sinfull though it overteem with me till Ida heard, looked back at us, amazed.

Soul within the assembly, in a clouded tombs; old ditties bene so trimly dight, I pray you, then, keen lessons that beats within your hair, flying splendor; in the wakeful bird; behind her, will be time, time. Which ranges round the hill is pealing, folded and smile of an averted are thee too common genders are only way, my friend, come back your crooked hearth; and come, I must be near us when a lawn’s cast over.

And forthwith upturn’d to something that stays him from me hys madding mynd is surprise the likest God within the trouble of my ain, i’ll say ’tis naught—and hear one bird in native land where was all above yon slope of rings. Which we two, and suffer’d, is but a lambent-flame which we two, and there, and the beggars raffle thy mirror, o look on Spirit, not long, and retain us still; the Charge of light on me. His message sent?

Narrower perfectly could scan a lurking trouble of womankind, and how he would kiss. And white bliss, and justice, ev’n yet, if thou would say, sit here. Of a world’s dusky brink. Chilled adieus! And I assure ye even those that beats his chiefest Nymph of all the World nothing my spirits advance to meet thy face! Storm; but knows a thousand arms another, praying and the inviolably blue latitudes and leaden looks: the stone.

My Lady’s nose, that, when Hope was born to vex us? Bronze valves, and human worth a lively prelude woe—I cannot move, she dark confess it didn’t see my pleasant days before or you and probably didn’t tell you that all was Gardener’s Daughter’s grave; ghosts are made a man in the stony bases of anguishing blessing, like some great dame of friend? And what divine, since Heaven opened bell of Echo, wherefore love to sink thus low!

100

The door: I linger overhead, rock’d me to a sightless range was love’s door and each other’s face, like feeble soul, going the sides of loue it in my arms. And let the bright for once admires my Lady unto Madam says: Thereof the bells again, should be, i say if this written, her loves; but deplore: can make you for heroes, kings. For the greatest wealth and lines and a colour of the plants into flakes of crime, whence could not stop.

101

Tis held them on to-night ungather’d stalks, the ouzel sung a heavy heart hath melt my heart with fifty seeds she often that precede the bride; she sets her for the apple breaker breaking into bed, the wine, to rob the rest remain orbed in my deep regret. After bliss since it is to slaye with Maiesty.—Ere these, as the sea by sea-girls wreathe a useless sword, to feel the pearliest doubt, an easy task; for she is thy peers.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #160 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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merakiui · 3 years ago

Text

Click

yandere!??? x (gender neutral) reader cw: modern au, yandere, stalking, obsession, non-consensual photography, alcohol, intoxication, invasive/unhealthy behaviors, fear/paranoia, brief non-consensual touches/kiss [chills & thrills] note - it’s the type of story where you can wonder who the true yandere(s) might be.

Click.

A flash of light. Your stomach churns; your brain is numb.

Someone’s directing you through the obnoxious noises that invade your ears, a cacophony of bass and loud, chattering voices that mix until all of it becomes muddled in gibberish. You sink further into the leather couch cushions, weightless and gooey like a boneless cat. Exhaustion shrouds your brain, veiling your sensible thoughts in a thick fog. The man standing in front of you snaps his fingers and your hazy, unfocused eyes search for him. Shadows surround you on all sides, pressing in on you with their grinning lips and half-lidded eyes. You can smell the alcohol before it’s in your line of sight, offered to you in a crystal shot glass.

Click.

Another flashing light. You feel sick.

“Hey,” you hear yourself say, and the sound of your voice is so far away and distorted. It’s almost as if you’re yelling down a tunnel and the echo is reverberating off of the grimy walls. “Let’s stop. I can’t—“

“One more.”

The glass is at your lips; someone’s encouraging words are poisoning what’s left of your rationality. They lean in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek and you can hear the giggle that spills from their lips when you swipe lazily at them. Your surroundings blur when you swallow the alcohol, a grimace on your face at the way it burns a sluggish trail down your throat.

Click.

Hands on a clock, tick-tick-ticking. Bile rises in your throat and you force it back down with an unsatisfying gulp of acidic saliva.

“Why are we…” You run a hand through your tangled hair and limply gesture with the other. “This. Doing this…”

“Because you’re my model,” the man says matter-of-factly. He raises his camera until you’re in its focus again.

“And you look cute like this,” the person sitting beside you adds, their body pressed against yours like clinging ivy. ��Now make sure to smile!”

Click.

A ruined image.

i. a lurking sense of regret, hidden within the hues of a glowing sunset.

A Polaroid of the sunset lies amidst your mail, its orange, pink, and purple hues all blending together seamlessly. You stare at it for an uncomfortable amount of time, hoping to find some sort of hidden message within the fluffy clouds. There isn’t a name on it and you entertain thoughts of who could have put it in your mailbox as you climb the stairs.

Someone from my classes? One of my neighbors? My landlord?

Your theories are cut short when you finally make it to your floor and find the box of chocolates propped delicately against the door. You shove your mail into your bag and reach for the box, picking it up and turning it over in your hands. Like the Polaroid, there isn’t any indication of the sender’s identity. You give it a quick shake, listening to the muffled thump of rattled chocolates, and gaze off down the hallway in contemplation.

Did a friend leave these here? Or is it a fan? Do I even have fans?

Click.

The sound of your key slipping into the lock, twisting in the mechanism.

Whoever sent the chocolates must be someone you’re familiar with if they know your address. Maybe it really is one of your friends and they’re simply playing a prank on you.

Those idiots, you think with a frown as you close the door behind you. Getting my hopes up like this. At least I get free food out of it.

You set your bag on the table and slip your shoes off, intent on unwrapping the box and sampling its contents. As you pop the first chocolate into your mouth, savoring the caramel nougat inside, you debate what you’ll have for dinner tonight. Before your brain can come to a decision, however, your phone sings its usual ringtone and you pull it out of your pocket. Without looking at the caller ID, you answer it and hold it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“I’d like to discuss a few matters with you. If it’s all right, would you be willing to do it over a meal?”

“Um, yeah.” You balance your phone between your shoulder and cheek and open your fridge to survey the minimal contents that rest inside. “Sure, that’s fine. What did you have in mind?”

Always direct in his approach, Albedo lists the name of a restaurant you’ve never heard of before. “It’s nothing special,” he adds when you don’t say anything in response. “Besides, I’m in your neighborhood. I can pick you up.”

“This isn’t about the photoshoot, is it? I sent you an email about it. I had an exam that day. There’s no way I would’ve made it on time.”

“I’ve read it and it’s not your fault. Although it would have been nice to see your face in this month’s issue.”

“I doubt it matters.” Now it’s his turn to be silent. You wait a minute, tapping your fingernail against the surface of your fridge door and counting every second that passes. Eventually you muster the courage to ask, “You know where I live, right? I’m ready to go now if you want to come and pick me up.”

“Very well. I’ll see you soon.”

Without leaving room for you to get another word in, he hangs up and the awkwardness doesn’t leave you. It sticks to you for the rest of the afternoon, where you soon find yourself in the passenger seat of his car—which is brimming with privilege and luxury of the finest degree and smells deliciously of cinnamon and pine. You’re not sure what model his vehicle is, but it’s the type that has all sorts of expensive amenities. Only the finest for someone of his influence. You reckon he wouldn’t settle for less unless the lesser of the two is able to conform to his ideal vision of absolute perfection.

You examine your reflection in the window before turning to gaze at him. His brilliant blue eyes track the road ahead, lips set into a thin line. Looking at him from this angle makes it seem as if the two of you are sitting on two completely different islands. His has a huge property that overflows with wealth and professionalism, while yours is equipped with a modest bonfire and a straw hut.

Click.

As soon as the restaurant comes into view and the two of you are standing on the cobbled pathway, watching as the valet driver eases off into the parking lot, you turn towards Albedo. He’s wearing his typical business suit, the one he usually dons for important events and meetings. And you’re in jeans and a secondhand sweater that’s been worn to fraying. If Albedo notices your outfit he doesn’t say anything. And before you know it, you’re already being seated in a private room. It’s secluded from the rest of the patrons and the lighting in this room is almost intimate. Albedo thanks the waitress after she offers to bring the both of you some water before sitting down and directing his attention to you.

Despite the warm atmosphere, you feel as though you’re about to be put on Albedo’s chopping block.

“Fancy,” you comment as you pull the chair out and sit, gesturing to the silverware and the napkin-turned-rosebud. He blinks at you and the uncomfortable tension comes rushing back. “W-Well, enough of that. You wanted to talk?”

He nods. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t submit any photos of you for November’s issue, even though they were begging for them. Therefore I told them you would model a brand of clothing from Liyue for next month’s issue. It’s a winter collection. For that, I want you to clear a day in your schedule and come with me to Dragonspine so that I can photograph you amongst the snow and pine trees. Is that all right with you?”

You shrug and rub at a nonexistent stain on the tablecloth. “I mean, can’t I just stand in front of the green screen and you can put that in later? We don’t have to do all of that for a few pictures.”

“Yes, we do. You’re the main attraction, the face everyone will see in these clothes. It must look like a scene out of a holiday storybook in order to convey the fashionable comfort of each outfit and the holiday cheer that coincides with it.”

Always one for authenticity—that’s Albedo for you. He’s very particular when it comes to photography, always wanting every detail to be flawless and intentional. You suppose you’d rather have him as your photographer instead of someone who only puts in half the effort. And Albedo’s good at what he does; there’s no mistaking that. He’s patient with the process, seeking the best angles and methods to photograph you in a natural setting. His main goal, aside from capturing your stunning features in a genuine, undisturbed environment, is to take photos so captivating that the need for change becomes obsolete.

When you first started working with Albedo, you thought such an aspiration to be foolish. In this day and age, image editing reigns supreme. And when you spied your smiling face in one of the monthly issues, wearing a line of clothes you could only hope to afford in another life, there were hardly any traces of Photoshop. Aside from the almost hurtful clean-up of your face and body shape, the background and everything in it hadn’t been touched.

You’ll never forget the look of disappointment that crossed his face when he first viewed the pictures. “It’s not good enough,” he had told you, shutting the magazine at once. “Despite every technique I had worked to perfect, they still edited it.”

“That’s to be expected,” you replied with a nonchalant shrug. “They have to because of beauty standards and whatnot. You know what the industry is like.”

But he had refused to acknowledge that, for he believes photos can be taken and admired without the need for unnecessary changes.

“Then we’ll go to Dragonspine,” you say as you resurface from those memories. “I’ll let you know what day works.

The faintest smile graces his lips, and when the waitress returns with water Albedo puts in an order for two glasses of champagne. You spy the Rolex on his wrist when he gestures, a beautiful thing with a leather strap and the lunar phase set into the auxiliary dial.

The divide couldn’t be any clearer, but you allow yourself to bathe in the luxury for tonight.

And when he drops you off at your place, where you’re feeling just a little too tipsy to think properly, you fail to notice the bouquet of multicolored flowers waiting for you on the kitchen countertop or the shadow that slips out of your closet once your head hits the pillow.

Click.

A secret collection grows.

Click.

A figure retreating into the darkness.

ii. a lonesome flower wilts under dazzling spotlights.

“Dragonspine!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air out of exasperation. “He wants me to go all the way to Dragonspine for some photos! Can you believe it?”

“I can,” Venti answers as he observes his reflection in the cracked vanity mirror, fixing the bow on his stage outfit. “This is the Kreideprinz we’re talking about. He’s way too stiff when it comes to photography. If it were me, I’d take you to a flower field and we’d have a picnic before the shoot. Then I’d make a flower crown and you’d wear it for the photos. Sure, it’s not a typical winter scene, but does it really matter? You look better in the sunlight anyways!”

You roll your eyes. “Well, he wants to go all out for this one.”

“He always does.” Venti moves away from the mirror and turns to face you with a bright grin. “Enough about him! What did you think of my performance? The whole crowd was cheering and everything!” He skips over to you and plops down on the creaky sofa. “It was the biggest turnout so far.”

“It was great. How come you’re still underground, though?” You reach over to pluck the flower clip from out of his hair. “I thought it was your dream to perform in a big arena.”

“It was.” He chuckles sheepishly when you fix him with a look. “I just like this better. Besides, if I got super popular aboveground, it would limit the amount of time I get to spend with you.”

You turn the hairpiece over in your hands, admiring the rhinestones stuck to the plastic petals. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“You’re letting me get in the way of your dream.”

Venti pouts, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. “I have other, more important dreams, you know. Who cares about a big stage! I have everything I need here: you, my current supporters and manager, and my booze. Speaking of which, we should celebrate another successful performance with a few drinks!”

“But I have coursework—”

“Come on! It’ll be lots of fun! We’ll drink and drink until you forget all about stuffy Kreideprinz and your boring school stuff.” Venti bats his eyelashes at you. “Please? Do it for me. Don’t make me drink alone.”

You glance at the time on your phone and sigh. “Okay… A few drinks. But after that I’m heading home.”

Venti grins. He doesn’t need to be told twice. “Great! Let me change and then we’ll be on our way!” He jumps up from the sofa with a flourish. “Don’t go anywhere, (Name)!”

Click.

Chattering joints.

As soon as you find a seat at the bar and have ordered drinks, Venti turns to you and says, “I’m thinking about going on a trip.”

“A trip?”

He nods enthusiastically. “It’s been so long since I’ve traveled and I should have enough saved up, so I want to book a flight and go somewhere.”

“But where would you go?” you ask, raising a questioning brow. “And are you sure you have enough? Your manager paid you last month, right?”

“Of course! Don’t worry about me. I’ve got everything under control.” He barks out a laugh, but the look in his eyes betrays his comedic tone. “Anyways! I’d like to go somewhere warm. A place where the sun is always high in the sky and there’s lots of wind! Winter is just too dull.”

“So a beach? Or the mountains?” You tilt your head, suddenly confused. “If you want wind, you should just come with me to Dragonspine.”

He shrugs, opens his mouth to respond, and then clamps it shut the minute his drink is placed in front of him. After a few sips and a satisfied sigh, he says, “It’s not that I don’t want to go. I just think there are better places.”

You frown, pick up your drink, and stare hard at the liquid. “Should I cancel? Should I tell him it won’t work?” Your distorted reflection returns your nervous countenance. “I like Albedo, but he’s just…”

“You can say it,” he encourages as he takes a greedy gulp of his own beverage.

“I mean, we’re two different people and he’s always so focused on his job...”

Venti slams his now empty glass down, which earns him a dirty glower from the bartender, and jabs a finger at your chest. “He’s a professional who doesn’t know how to have fun. Just look at what happened at that party. He was so worried about his photos that he didn’t even bother to live in the moment.” He motions for another drink and then gazes cheekily at you. “That’s why it’s better when it’s you and me. We had so much fun that night. You remember it, don’t you?”

“Kind of? What did we do again?”

“A photoshoot!”

Click.

A pen’s push-button. A repetition in three consecutive beats.

“Oh.” You lift your glass to your lips. “Huh.”

Click.

Footsteps on a tiled floor, approaching.

“You’re crazy when you’re drunk, you know that?” he jokes, a sly, Cheshire smirk worming its way on his lips. “We had to drag you out of there. It was like carrying a dead body!”

“Says the one who’s on his second glass.”

Click.

A perfect set of photos.

And it occurs to you at that moment, above the boisterous chit-chat in the bar and Venti’s silly ramblings, that someone else is here, looking at you through the lens of a camera. Their eyes are glued to your back, crawling up your spine like tarantulas. It’s an invasive stare, one that picks apart your every move and carefully lays each aspect out on an operating table. It’s the type of look that dissects you, piece by piece, organ by organ, until you’re nothing but bare bones and shredded, bloodied flesh.

You turn around, the stool squeaking in protest, and scan the faces of everyone in the bar. Couples sitting in the back, a pair of friends tossing darts at a dart board, and a rowdy group of men chugging beer and exchanging stories with one another. Yet somehow, despite the fact that none of them are looking at you, it feels as though everyone’s attention is on you. The lights dim, hidden eyes peel open, and the sound returns. You’re thrown under a photographer’s microscope, unable to hide your flaws and secrets from their analytical gaze.

Click.

A stuttered heartbeat.

“Hey.”

Click.

A hand on your shoulder. You almost jump out of your skin.

“What? Why are you—”

“You’re shaking.” To your surprise, he’s right. You straighten your posture to ward off the shudder and grip your glass with newfound strength. “Do you want to head back early? You don’t look well…”

“No, I’m fine. Sorry. There’s a lot on my mind right now.” You take another swig, flash him a thumbs-up, and add, “What were you saying about the party?”

Venti beams at you and dives back into his vivid retelling of that night. You do your best to listen, focusing on the way his braids bounce when he laughs, but it doesn’t take long for your attention to drift.

Click.

You turn around in your seat once more, searching for the source of the sound.

“Do you hear that?”

He stops mid-story to give you a puzzled look. “Hear what?”

“That… That sound. The clicking. Someone’s taking pictures.”

“Yeah. That couple over there.” He jabs a thumb in their direction.

“Not them. Someone else. There’s another—” You stop short when you notice the woman sitting a few seats down, tapping her manicured fingernails against the countertop. They emit a click-click-click each time they fall upon it. “Oh.”

Venti follows your stare and is silent for a second. And then he bursts out laughing. “You!” He shakes his head as he clutches his sides. “Since when have you been so paranoid? What did Kreideprinz do to you?” He wipes an invisible tear from the corner of his eye and lets out one last chuckle. “Ah, I haven’t laughed that hard in ages. You should see the look on your face.”

“Yeah... Hah.”

“You need a vacation as much as I do. Say, how do you feel about going to—ah, I don’t know—a place like Liyue? I have an old friend there. We could crash at his place if he’ll let us. Which he totally will.”

“Liyue? I’m modeling outfits from a clothing brand that’s based in Liyue.”

“But have you ever been?”

“No.”

“Then it’s settled! We’ll go to Liyue for our well-deserved vacation. When are you free? We should plan it immediately!”

“Um, I’ll have to check. There’s that Dragonspine trip and then I have finals…” You shake your head to dispel those thoughts from your mind. “I’ll let you know. For now, let’s just drink.”

“Wise words.” He holds his drink up and you do the same. The glasses join with a clink. “To alcohol and trips with friends!”

The door to the bar opens and closes, the little bell above jingling out a cheery farewell. You don’t pay it any mind and the spotlight shuts off, leaving you and Venti in peace.

iii. a dream so lucid and bright, it leaves you reeling from fight or flight.

Click.

An undeterred boyfriend.

“I love you the most,” he says, wrapping his arms around your trembling form. A shattered vase decorates the floor with glittering shards and soggy, wilted flowers. You feel trapped in his embrace as you stand there, staring blankly ahead. “I really do.”

“We…” You inhale stale air, choking back tears. “We should take a break. S-See other people.”

“There’s no one else to see, sunshine. I’m here for you. Isn’t that enough?”

“Kazuha, you can’t keep doing this…”

“Can’t keep loving you?” He chuckles and pulls away from you so that he can stare into your glassy eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It was an honest mistake.”

“You broke into my apartment. Y-You made a copy of my key. That’s—”

“That’s because I love you. I want you to be happy.” His soft expression morphs into something apologetic. It’s a rehearsed face. It’s one you’ve seen plenty of times. “So I’ll forgive you for this and everything else that breaks if you’ll forgive me. I promise I’ll fix it.”

He’ll fix it. He always has. When you fall back into old habits, he’s there to stitch your emotional wounds up. When the industry crushes you with its insane beauty standards and you simply can’t take the glaring flash of another camera, he’s there to close the curtains and shield you from the world. When you threaten to go to the police—when you break things in retaliation and treat him as though he’s a manifestation of your worst nightmares—he’s there to hug you and chase all of those demons away.

But not this time.

“I’m serious,” you snap, pushing him away and gaining just a little more confidence when his sympathetic smile falters. “You’re obsessed! I’m not cheating on you. I’m not doing things behind your back. I’m busy with school and work and you’re taking advantage of that to do these crazy things! Why don’t you trust me? Why can’t you just give me some space?”

“(Name), I do trust you. It’s just… Well, you know how difficult things have been with your schedule and mine. We hardly spend any time together now.” He pulls you in for another hug, rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I only want to make sure you’re being safe when I’m not with you. Do you know how terrible people can be towards young, impressionable models like you?”

“That’s no excuse for what you’ve been doing. And I can handle it just fine, so lay off!”

“I’m just trying to help. Who’s to say that photographer won’t take advantage of you? What will you do if I’m not there to protect you? What if—” He shakes his head and sighs. “How about we take a drive down to our spot? It’s supposed to be a clear night. The stars will look perfect.” You shake yourself out of his arms, putting your palm against his chest to hold him back. Kazuha catches your hand in his and brings it up to his lips, where he places a soft kiss upon it. “Let’s put this mishap behind us.”

“How about we end things here like civilized adults instead?” You snatch your hand away and gesture to the glass on the floor. “Before I do something that hurts the both of us.”

Kazuha frowns at the not-so-empty threat. The shadow of loneliness looms over him from behind, a menacing force that has come back for its despair-laced vengeance. He feels the emptiness opening up inside his heart, slowly depleting the warmth that once blossomed freely. And there are a dozen things he could say to combat your words, but he can’t seem to form them in an eloquent, coherent way.

Somehow he’s at the threshold between your cozy apartment and what lies beyond.

“Keep the key,” you say with a scoff, pushing him through the door. “Because this is the last time you’ll get to use it.”

Click.

A fractured bond.

You sit up in bed, gasping for air. Your shirt is damp with sweat when you touch it and there’s a heavy thundering in your chest. Blood pounds in your ear, rushing like a wild, uncontrollable river. For a moment you remain in bed, hunched over the duvet, listening to the sounds of people drunkenly clamoring through the hall outside your door. When you finally catch your breath, you reach over for your phone, fingers perusing the trinkets on your bedside table.

“Come on,” you grumble, feeling the outline of your alarm clock and not your mobile. “Where is it?”

Before you can get up and turn the lights on to make your search easier, your phone is pushed into your expectant hand. The light from the screen illuminates your room, temporarily blinding you, and you swipe through all of your notifications with groggy fingers.

This is great, you think sarcastically. Waking up before my alarm can go off… Wonderful.

You flop back onto the mattress with a groan and stare into the darkness. Part of you yearns to fall back asleep, but the other, more cowardly part of you doesn’t wish to be subjected to memories of Kazuha. The more you think about him, the more you start to wonder about how he’s doing nowadays. Just what has he been up to in the two years since you broke up? You’d look him up on social media if you could, but in the weeks following the separation you found that all of his accounts had vanished. Perhaps it had been for the best. You were able to focus on your job and schoolwork and he could work on getting out of his obsessive habits.

Unless…

You sit upright again, throwing off the covers and walking out of your room and into the kitchenette, where the flowers now rest in a pretty vase. Your heart skips a beat as you think back to the day when they first showed up—not in front of your door like the chocolates, but inside your apartment. On the table. In front of the fridge. Where two new Polaroids are pinned. You flip on the light in hopes that it might banish the shadows and reveal nothing but an empty vase and the only Polaroid you started out with: the sunset. Unfortunately, your tired eyes aren’t deceiving you. The bouquet remains, as do the two new Polaroids.

The first one is grainy and nearly impossible to discern, so you assume it was taken at night. A blot of light is in the center, which you're certain is the moon. The second is a sunrise. You peel both of them from off of your fridge and flip them over, but there isn’t any writing that would give you a suitable lead.

Click.

Strung-up pictures. An elusive love.

You turn around to survey your empty apartment. The flowers are like a colorful eyesore, so lively and vivid that it truly feels like a Valentine’s Day gift and not something that just randomly materialized in your apartment one day. But it didn’t. It was put there.

You didn’t put it there.

Setting the Polaroids down, you analyze the bouquet and the opaque vase they’re arranged in. It’s the type of cheesy, romantic thing Kazuha would’ve done if the two of you were still dating. But you had requested a new lock after bringing the situation up to your landlord, who begrudgingly agreed after being pestered about it for weeks. There’s no way he could get in with the old key. You rack your brain for any memories of you having left your keys out in the open for anyone to grab. There was that party you attended with Venti and Albedo, but you had kept them in your pocket. Maybe you simply forgot to lock your door and someone slipped in.

Maybe I’m imagining things.

Despite that thought, you still find yourself searching your usual hiding place for the spare key and when you turn up empty you receive your world-altering answer. Someone’s taken your spare key. Someone’s been inside your apartment. Someone’s coming in, leaving all of these things, and coming back to drop off more. Someone’s—

Click.

A second pair of shoes you failed to notice before.

Your head snaps over towards the bathroom. The door’s closed, but a faint glow can be seen from the crack along the bottom. You inhale a sharp breath and, tiptoeing backwards, feel along the countertop for the knife block. As soon as you locate it, your fingers wrap around the handle of one and you slide it out from the polished wood. Now equipped with a weapon, you creep over to the intimidating door, knuckles sore from how tight you’re gripping the knife. As you mentally prepare yourself for the worst, you count to three, place your hand on the frigid door knob, and throw it open with a shout.

The light is on, but no one’s inside. You peel the shower curtain back to check and, after finding it to be empty as well, a relieved sigh escapes your lips.

“I’m actually crazy,” you mutter, staring at the knife in your trembling hand. “It’s not him. He’s not here.”

It’s been two years. Surely he’s moved on.

You repeat those sentences to yourself as you set the knife down on the edge of the sink and observe your exhausted reflection in the mirror. You twist the faucet handle and wait for the water to warm up before splashing it onto your face.

Calm down. No one’s here. I’m just overthinking it.

After drying your face with a hand towel, you snatch the knife from its spot. You barely take a step forward when the bathroom door is slammed in your face and something’s moving around on the other end, panic evident in their hurried movements. With a choked gasp, you yank the door open just in time to witness your front door swing shut after having been thrown open. Anxiety seizes your body for a second and you stand there, unable to do anything except gape.

And then you burst out into the hallway, peering down it in search of the intruder. But no one’s there.

When you’re back inside your apartment and the door is locked, you run through it and flip on all of the lights. You turn over everything in a pitiful search, half-expecting to find something substantial. By the time you’re in your room and the bed has become a mess of wrinkled sheets and pillows, the sun is already beginning to rise. Your breath comes out in heavy, quick pants and your heart beats so erratically you fear it might actually stop.

And it almost does when you open your closet. It’s the same as you left it, save for the cookie tin that sits innocently on the floor.

You lift it from off of the floor. It’s the same brand as the chocolates you received a week ago. The tin is dying to be opened, and you know you have to if you want to bury your fears before they can consume you. So you pry the lid off slowly. Its contents aren’t gore and death, but they’re still worth vomiting over. Inside the tin are Polaroid photographs. Dozens of them, taken at different times and at complex angles. You flip through them, growing sicker with each one. Photos of books, pens, and a clock. Blurry traffic on a starry night, the restaurant you and Albedo ate at, and a slice of cake on a plate. A familiar notebook that’s been lost since last month, the interior of your apartment, and your locked mailbox. You and Venti walking out of the bar, you posing for a photoshoot in a public park, and you walking to one of your afternoon classes.

The more you look, the more disturbing the implication becomes.

Your back turned to a camera in a classroom, your annoyed expression spotted from across the campus, and your sleeping figure nestled under the duvet. With unsteady hands, you reach for the blurry Polaroid from your fridge for closer inspection. And then the final puzzle piece slots into place.

That’s not the moon on a cloudy night. That’s the peephole in your door. Someone put their camera up to it and snapped a photo of it. All this time someone has been following you, stalking and photographing you without your knowledge, and you were so busy you didn’t even notice. Or perhaps you couldn’t notice because your overworked brain wouldn’t allow it. A few things are crystal clear. You’re not safe here. Someone was inside the complex. They’ve been here many times before. They know how to get in. They’re unnamed, unidentified, and unknown.

Suddenly, the apartment feels suffocating and that sturdy door has never seemed so weak.

With a body moving on autopilot, you pick up your phone and type out a simple demand to a number that’s been rotting in your contacts for two years now.

Let’s meet at our usual spot tonight.

iv. eyes filled with love, gazing upon a flightless dove.

You’re filing out of the lecture hall when someone taps your shoulder. For a moment you expect to see Albedo when you turn around, camera raised and ready. All at once the harsh winds of Dragonspine envelop you and you zip your coat up to your chin, dreading the inevitable trip that looms closer and closer with each passing minute. But when your eyes lock with his, you find that it isn’t your photographer. The snow melts away in the warm hallway and you release a soft sigh.

Stop worrying about the Dragonspine photoshoot, you scold yourself.

“Sorry, did I disturb you?”

“Ah? No, you’re fine. I was just lost in thought.” Your brow furrows as you observe the white streaks running through his tousled brown hair. “Do I know you?”

He smiles. “Gorou. I’m part of the student newspaper committee.” When that doesn’t ring a bell for you, his smile falters. “Kazuha introduced you to me. I’m his housemate and best friend. We were in the same media literacy class in our first year.”

You sift through your hazy memory, but all that turns up are the horrors of this morning and the tin of Polaroids. Still, you manage to return his cheerful expression with one of your own. “Gorou, that’s it! Of course I remember you! How have you been? It’s been way too long.”

“Way too long,” he parrots. “Actually, I’m glad I was able to catch you. I’m doing an essay on photography techniques and I heard you’re a model. I wanted to ask if you’d be able to get me an interview with your photographer. B-But you don’t have to! I just figured I’d ask since you’re the only one I know of who has access to that stuff.” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “And…it was Kazuha who suggested I talk to you about it.”

You blink at him, still processing the information.

Gorou takes your silence as his cue to continue. “I’m really sorry about what happened. Kazuha liked you a lot.”

“He liked me too much,” you blurt and then slap your hands over your mouth as if to permanently put yourself on mute.

Don’t talk about it. It’s in the past now. You have to move on.

“I guess so… Still, I think apologizing for everything feels right. I never got the chance to before, so I’m doing it now.” Your brow furrows in confusion, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Anyways, I hope I’m not asking too much of you.”

Slowly, you lower your hands from your lips. “I could ask him if he’d be willing to do an interview. That’s all you want, right?”

“Yes, that would be perfect!” He fumbles to pull his phone out of his pocket. “Why don’t we swap numbers? That way you can text me his contact info and I can send him an email.” He offers his mobile to you. “Is that okay with you?”

“Sure. I don’t mind.”

It’s only after you input your number and he saves the contact that you realize you do mind. And you can’t understand why that is. Maybe it’s because you’re battling stress and paranoia after such an eventful morning. Or maybe it’s the memories of Kazuha that have been dredged up and are plaguing your mind like restless spirits in a haunted house. You shove your hands into the pockets of your coat to conceal the way they clench and shake.

Gorou slides his phone back into his pocket. “Thank you! Let’s keep in touch.”

You nod and turn away, intending to leave and forget about this encounter, when Gorou stops you. You shoot him an inquiring gaze.

“Um... There’s something I’d like to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“Kazuha told me you texted him and that he’ll be at ‘the spot’ tonight—wherever that may be.”

“Oh.”

“I would be careful.”

Your nerves harden with a newfound alertness. “Careful? Careful of what?”

“It’s nothing,” he says quickly, shaking his head. A strained chuckle forces its way out of his lips.

“Careful of what, Gorou?” You take a step closer, fear shining in your eyes. He shrinks under your intense stare, seemingly caught by surprise. You inhale deeply and shake your head, hoping that will do something to alleviate the tension in the air. “Sorry. I’m a little stressed with finals approaching. There’s also a lot going on and—“

“I know! I actually just wanted to tell you to be careful going at night. Maybe I should’ve worded it better…”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you take that as your opportunity to escape this awkward conversation. “I should get going. My next class starts soon.”

“Busy schedule? Then I won’t keep you any longer.”

You’re already walking away while he remains there and waves, watching you depart. As you push the doors open and step outside into the frigid afternoon, the harsh winds howling through the courtyard, you check the message on your phone. Unsurprisingly, it’s from Albedo. You don’t feel like responding to him right now, especially not if it’s to talk about the trip to Dragonspine, but to your shock it’s not about the snow-capped mountains at all. And it’s not even an email notification. It’s a text. He rarely texts you unless it’s information so important it must be read immediately.

Click.

You read through his curt message and your gait slows to a halt.

If you’re truly intent on quitting, I would prefer we talked about it in person instead of through email.

“Quitting,” you mumble in bewilderment. “Since when did I ever tell him I’m quitting?”

All it takes is a quick look through your most recently sent emails and you locate it. It’s a blunt paragraph explaining that you no longer wish to be his model and that the last shoot you’ll do for him is the one in Dragonspine. Even after you’ve read through it, it still doesn’t make any sense to you. You can’t recall sending this email. More importantly, you’re certain you never even wrote it. The last thing you’d do is quit your modeling job. It’s your only source of stable income. If you quit, you’d have to rush to find new work elsewhere and that’s a headache you’re not willing to subject yourself to.

I swear I didn’t send that email, you write, fingers spelling out a message that you hope doesn’t sound as desperate as you feel. I don’t know how you got it, but it wasn’t me who wrote it. I’m not quitting.

Maybe I was drunk. But even as that thought occurs to you, you’re unable to find any grammatical errors in the email. It’s been worded perfectly and it was sent a little after midnight.

Click.

A sudden realization.

Last night, you think. The email was sent last night while I was asleep, and then someone was in my apartment this morning. It’s the same person. It must be.

You look up from your screen just as you hear it—a simple, yet ominous click. A laugh permeates the air and you pivot so quickly that your neck cracks, eyes searching for the owner of the sound. Just like when you were in the bar with Venti, you can feel the eyes that bore into your backside. They’re hiding behind a camera, waiting until you move into a pose that suits their fancy, and then the camera lens shutters and you’re captured on permanent film.

What do they want with me? What are they—

Another click. Another laugh. Your gaze locks onto the girl who slaps her friend’s arm, a giggle spilling past her lips when he recoils, and your nerves come down from their intense boil. Now you stand there, anxiety simmering, and a momentary relief washes over you.

With a sharp inhale, you turn around and carry on with your walk. Your phone screen lights up at the arrival of a new text and you glance at it, hoping it will provide a distraction from your nerve-racking surroundings. It’s from a number you don’t recognize and, though it sets your heart into a panicked frenzy, you force yourself to read the message. Your relief expires the minute you view it.

A photo of a single Polaroid awaits you. It’s dark, hard to make out, and the glare from the phone’s camera winks back at you, but you think it’s a photo of a sofa. There’s a person sprawled on it, but you can't see their face because it’s cut off at the top. All you can see is their body, arms draped limply across the cushions, and the body of another person pressing up against them. It’s oddly familiar to you, yet you can’t figure out where you’ve seen this before.

Another text comes in while your mind works to piece everything together. It’s a short sentence, accompanied by a harmless emoticon, and it fills you with dread.

I like this one the most. :)

And it hits you, then, that that’s you in the photo.

v. through an omniscient camera lens: a figure photographed in falsified guilt.

He’s waiting for you at the top of a hill that overlooks the glittering cityscape below. The stars are just barely visible through the wispy strands of cloud that drift at a snail’s pace in the sky. He fits right into the landscape; it’s as if an artist has taken great care in painting his delicate, friendly features. He is a portrait of patience and comfort—a familiar face who you thought you’d never have to see again.

“There you are,” he says as you approach from behind, having heard the crunch of dry leaves under your soles. “How was the drive?”

“Kazuha.”

He smiles at you, unfazed by the serious tone of your voice. “It’s been a while. I was surprised when you texted me, but I’m always happy to hear from you. Truthfully, I thought you had blocked my number.”

“What you’re doing isn’t funny. I’ll go to the police if you keep this up.”

“Keep what up? I haven’t done anything.” You despise the look of genuine confusion that spreads across his face. He’s always been an excellent actor, especially when it comes to displaying faux emotions. “I’ll need some context to whatever it is you’re referring to.”

You sigh and shake your head in irritation. “Are you seriously going to play dumb? I’m talking about the photos and the flowers! And let’s not forget the cookie tin—I bet that was your doing, too. Oh, and breaking into my apartment this morning. That was also you, wasn’t it?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re busy with your major and modeling job. I don’t want to distract you from those things.”

“Then why would you send that email to my photographer? Are you trying to ruin my future? I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I can’t because you’re you and you’ve done this before. I’m asking nicely, Kazuha, so please stop stalking me.”

“(Name), I’m not stalking you. Honest.” He holds a hand over his heart and frowns. “I know it sounds like I’m to blame for all of what’s been happening to you, but I’m not the one behind it. I’m sure you’re scared right now—you have no idea what’s going on or who this person is—and I understand. I want to help you, but you’ll have to trust me.”

“And why should I? You did this stuff once. You could do it again.”

“I…shouldn’t have done any of that back then. It was wrong and I’m sorry. I know one apology isn’t enough to repair the damage I’ve caused, but I hope you can forgive me. Even if it’s just for tonight…”

You search his face for any indication of a lie, sorting through his words as if they’re geodes and only one holds the crystalline truth. “Fine,” you say with a huff, kicking at the frozen ground. “But you’d better give me the answers I’m after. Starting with this.” You pull your phone out, locate the message from the mystery sender, and turn the screen towards him. “What’s this?”

He peers at it. “This is—”

“It’s something you know?”

“No. I don’t own a Polaroid camera. And that’s not even my number. Maybe it’s someone from one of your classes? A photo from a party? Something from your photographer?”

“Albedo? No way. He’s just my photographer.”

“Do you know him beyond that?” At your questioning look, he adds, “Do you know what he does when he isn’t taking photos? Do you know things about him the media wouldn’t know? Are you really just his model?”

“Does it matter? Listen, if you don’t know anything that’s fine. I just want you to be honest with me. Someone was inside my apartment, Kazuha. Someone broke in. If that was you—“

“I don’t know much about photography, but I’m certain those types of photos need to be developed in a special room. What do they call it? A dark room, right? I’m living in a small rental house with Gorou. There’s no way we’d have access to that sort of facility.”

You spare an anxious glance towards the city. The lights twinkle at you like distant shards of glass and a shudder racks through your body. “It really wasn’t you this morning?”

“This morning?” He shakes his head. “I was picking my friend up from the airport. He’s come in for a visit.” Before you can verbalize your doubts, he withdraws his phone, taps at the screen, and then turns it in your direction. Sure enough, your ex-boyfriend is posing next to a shorter boy, whose face is scrunched up in annoyance. The both of them are standing near the baggage claim. “See?”

You stare at it for a few more seconds before he pockets the device. An uncomfortable silence settles between the two of you, filled with gritty, unspoken accusations. You seem to find your shoes more interesting than the issue at hand. Even though it’s been two years since you’ve interacted with Kazuha, things haven’t changed. You’re feeling the same way you did when you broke up with him: anxious and scared and alone. He always has a convincing cover for himself. Although this time you’re certain his excuse holds more truth than any of his past half-truths ever did.

“Am I crazy?” you blurt out. Whether it’s a hypothetical or not, you can’t say. “I mean... When I was out drinking, I heard someone taking pictures and I thought that they were photographing me. But then it turned out to be a lady with long nails. And then today after class I heard it. Am I doing this to myself? Am I leaving Polaroids around and then forgetting I was the one who put them there? Or am I—oh!” You flinch when he pulls you in for an abrupt hug and memories of your once blossoming relationship come rushing forth.

“You’re allowed to cry.”

“I’m not going to c-cry. I...” Unable to finish that sentence, you allow the wind to steal the words as you rest your head against his chest. “Are you sure this isn’t your doing? You wouldn't put me through that again, would you?”

“Absolutely not. You’re precious to me, (Name). I really do want to help you with this, but I’m afraid I can’t do much with what little information we have.”

“If it’s you—” Your tongue trips over itself as it works to form the words. “If you’re lying to me and this is another act—”

“It’s easy for me to deny your claims. I could do that all I want, but it won’t hold any weight if you aren’t willing to trust me.”

“Prove you aren’t the one behind this and I might trust you.”

His hand rubs along your spine. “All right.”

Click.

You push him away, eyes wide and frantic. Kauzha’s calm expression morphs into one of dubious nature. Swallowing a lump of fears, you take a few steps away.

“I...should get going.”

“Will you be okay by yourself? Do you need—”

But you’re already retreating into the darkness, thus leaving Kazuha on the top of the hill under a blanket of gloom.

Click.

A pair of handcuffs.

vi. a sacred dark room, where twisted obsession blooms.

A familiar Christmas tune shakes you from your sleep, dragging you out of the realm of unconsciousness and into one that’s much more terrifying. You blink through the bleariness as your eyes adjust to the sunshine that spills in through the cracks of your blinds. You’re slow to sit up, rising in your bed like a reanimated corpse that has just learned how to control its limbs. The smell of a delicious, home-cooked breakfast invades your nose and it wakes you at once, chasing all forms of sleep out of your mind and bones.

When you shuffle out of your bedroom and into the kitchenette, you can see the small dining table has been set for two people. But only one side is decorated with food. It’s a huge meal, complete with all sorts of pastries, traditional breakfast foods, and your preferred beverage. As for the side opposite of your seat, there is an empty plate and untouched utensils.

And a tripod with a video camera attached to it.

You approach the camera, analyzing the blinking red light with measured caution. Just as you reach out to turn it off, something else catches your eye and you retract your arm. A small note, accompanied with another Polaroid, rests in the center of the table. You pick both up with trembling hands. The photo displays a pair of metal handcuffs on a dull table, and the note has been written in a typewriter font.

A meal for you, sunshine. Dragonspine is very nice. I’m not sure why you’ve been so hesitant to go. You’ll look stunning amidst the snow. Maybe this meal will change your mind.

You gaze at the food in horrified silence and your stomach twists itself into a dozen knots. That person was in your house again, preparing an entire feast, and you were fast asleep in the other room, unaware of the danger lurking next door.

Making eye contact with the reflective camera lens, you purse your lips, glance around the kitchenette, and lower yourself into the seat.

“Whoever you are,” you say to the camera, your only guest and witness to this maddening display of affection, “please leave me alone. This isn’t right. What did I ever do to you?” Your fingers curl around the handle of a butter knife. “L-Leave me alone. I’ll call the police.”

The radio has entered its commercial break. The hosts exchange playful banter about a topic that falls on your deaf ears.

“Kazuha, it’s not funny. I know it’s you. Did you think I’d believe any of that nonsense you told me?” Your grip on the knife tightens. It’s a dull blade, yet knowing that it’s in your possession comforts you. “You’re actually insane if you’re going to these lengths for some stupid photos.”

“I’m not crazy.” You startle in the chair. A laugh track resounds, a futile attempt at covering up the fact that the hosts aren’t that funny. “Winter sunsets really are the prettiest. You should see one for yourself. Then you’ll look like the crazy one.”

It’s just the radio. Relax.

You rise from your seat and switch the radio off, plunging the room in an eerie silence. The knife is still in your hand, glinting as it catches the light, and you set it down on the table to rub at your face.

“It’s not funny,” you repeat harshly, lowering your arms. You convince yourself to sit back down and you eye the congealed food with mistrust. “It’s really not…”

Creak.

Your bathroom door opens on rusty hinges.

The knife is tucked into your sweater sleeve. Cold metal kisses your feverish skin.

Click.

A camera that spies a sweet-smelling rag, handcuffs, and duct tape.

Click.

A love born of envy.

You whirl around at that moment, knife now brandished, to face the person who’s been tormenting you with their camera this whole time. You’re not sure what you’ll do to ward them off. A mere butter knife isn’t as threatening as one from the block on your countertop. But as soon as your brain decides that you should pounce and attack, you find that an empty space awaits you. You remain seated, brow furrowed. Eventually, you come to the conclusion that you’re just scaring yourself. This person is smart enough to remain anonymous with what vacant clues they’ve been leaving. Of course they wouldn’t stay in your apartment when you can see both the entrance to your bedroom and the door to the bathroom.

They have nowhere to hide.

Click.

From behind, a hand reaching, fingers splayed.

Click.

A picture-perfect moment captured on film.

Click.

And you have nowhere to run.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere albedo #yandere albedo x reader #yandere venti #yandere venti x reader #yandere kaedehara kazuha x reader #yandere kaedehara kazuha #yandere kazuha #yandere kazuha x reader #yandere gorou #yandere gorou x reader #chills & thrills #meraki's chills & thrills

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binniesthighs · 4 years ago

Text

1-800-Be-Mine | reader x minho | sfw

happy valentines day!! this lil fic of mine is something very new and different from what I’ve tried before and I’m so so excited to share it with you!!

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho

Genre: fluff, sci-fi, futuristic au, valentines day special!

Tags: strangers to lovers, sci-fi au, futuristic au, blind date au, AI au with a twist, mentions of food and alcohol, featuring hyunjin, tiny heart-shaped confetti of comedy and rebelling against the man lol, fluffy growing feelings

Warnings: Minho’s character in this is an adorable, charming, feeling, AI robot. haha idk if this is a warning but it might not be everyone’s cup o’ tea, if so, that’s why I’m mentioning it :)

Tagging: @stayhavens thank you for allowing me to be a part of this event ❤️

Word count: 7.1k

“If it’s the color of your shirt that you’re worried about, I don’t think that he’s gonna care.”

“--I can’t believe that you’re putting me through this. I didn’t even ask for...whatever the hell this all is.”

“You’re getting worked up over nothing, Y/n. This whole thing is literally the lowest commitment thing that you could ever do on Valentines Day.”

For the twentieth time, you held up the shirt and hanger over your torso in front of you streak-stained mirror. It shouldn’t have mattered much, or even at all, but here you were, wondering what color a synthetic human would like on your body the most.

With feet in the air, your best friend swung his feet with pointed toes and eyes glued to his phone.

“Quit looking at me like that.” Hyunjin didn’t even need to rise his head up to feel your glare. “He’s programmed to forget about you the second that your time runs out, so, I really don’t know why you’re wasting your time over this.”

One more time, you switched the creamy white satin for the wine-red velvet.

“God, this is so depressing.” The shirt hangers clinked together where you threw them down on your bed. “It’s all your fault too.”

“I can’t see why you aren’t excited for this!! I literally made it so he’s perfect for you. There’s like, a 0% chance that this is gonna go badly. You could spit escargot into his lap or get his tie stuck in the car door and he’d still think that you’re the best thing ever. You can do no wrong.”

“That’s the point...”

The floor started to look a lot more appealing in your despair. If you were making a dramatic show for yourself or for you friend, you had no idea, but somehow it felt a little better letting your body sliiide down the side of the wall into a little pool of half-done make-up and hair still damp.

“Stop throwing a tantrum.” Hyunjin scolded. “You have to be there in 45 minutes.”

“What if I...just don’t show up?”

“Then, you’d be robbing me of $360 and the most expensive gift that I’ve ever gotten for you. And, you’d break my heart. I don’t wanna be heartbroken on Valentines Day. I’d hate you forever.”

“Nooooo you wouldn’t.” You tossed your forehead into the palms of your hands.

“I’d hate you for a month probably.”

“Don’t you have somewhere that you need to be?” As expected, your hands were smudged a bit from the tiny dusting of eyeshadow that you had added to your lids.

“I told you already, she doesn’t get off until 8 so I’ve still got time. Besides, I already set everything up back at the apartment. I’m in no rush.” At last, your friend cast aside his phone on the mattress with a bounce. “Get up. I’ll help you. You should still look nice anyway...even if he doesn’t care. This night is about you anyway.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Is satin supposed to feel scratchy...? What? Satin being itchy? ...You must be going crazy if you think--

“--Annnd we’re here!”

The wheels of Hyunjin’s less than glamourous car skidded in front of the hotel with an obvious screech. He was never one for being a good driver anyway. With the pull of his hand through is blond hair he nodded his head for you to open your door.

“Time’s ticking. It’s nearly 7.”

“--Jin--”

“I’m not explaining it again. Just go do the damn thing. You’re overthinking it. Like you do with everything...”

Your best friend rolled his eyes which were blue today: a part of his own Valentines Day outfit: that of which he looked much better than you thought you had. He had slung his arm over his steering wheel looking on, and even more impatient with you by the second.

“Is it a fucking crime to be nervous??”

Hyunjin laughed out sharply. “You’re so cute. ~Especially when there isn’t anything to worry about.~”

You flicked him hard on his perfect arm covered by his perfectly planned and billowy white top.

“Would you like to go out there and meet him if it’s so easy?”

After a subsequent eye roll, your friend reached his long arm to pop open the car door on your side. “You’re not going to make me drag you, are you?”

“I can get it myself.” You growled, shoving his hand away.

The February air was crisp, and just cold enough for your breath to appear lightly in front of your face. Immediately, you started to regret everything: the itchy satin shirt (which you guessed probably wasn’t satin) the stiffness of your styled hair, and the way that your feet felt in the pair of shoes that you had broken out just for the occasion. You had even put perfume on; something that a “strictly deodorant” person as yourself found to be suffocating and odd.

Do Mirrors even have a sense of smell?

On the busy street, cars whipped past with headlights of yellow and red, and the bustle of the holiday evening buzzed on the sidewalk with couples marching down the way arm and arm and hand in hand. The energy of the evening seemed vibrant almost as if the whole world seemed to be slightly more awake. The plastic heels of ladies in their best shoes clicked past.

“Good luck!”

Hyunjin mustered up the most genuine smile that you thought possible for him to craft considering it wasn’t genuine in the slightest.

“Text me about it tonight--or--actually, not tonight, I’ll be...” He obviously winked, “...busy tonight.”

“You’re disgusting!!”

You slammed the car door in Hyunjin’s snide smirk while he laughed out a “Love you!” before speeding away without a care.

The remnants of old snow caked up in the corners of the hotel where Hyunjin had arranged the date. The hotel itself was very old fashioned looking, almost like it had come right out of one of those old movies he would tease you for liking--it was probably why he had chosen it, you thought to yourself. There was a large golden marquee with a strand of lightbulbs tracing the edge all around it much like an old-timey theater, which gave the name for the hotel. At the doorway made of the same golden hue, there were attentive bellhops in matching blue velvet uniforms and leather gloves that they blew in to to keep their hands warm.

When you thought more of it, the night was a bit colder than expected, so you pulled your coat closer to your body. Hyunjin had suggested that you wear your pea coat, however it’s warmth factor wasn’t something to write home about. He had something about how it had made your arms look good...as if he would care anything like what your arms looked like.

You pulled out your phone with your cold fingers to find the information that Hyunjin had sent you.

Name: Lee Minho

Model: Generation Four

Specifications: Personalized

Service time: 7pm-12am

Instructions: Meet at the front entrance of the the hotel The Grand at exactly 7pm where the Mirror will be waiting. Mirror will look like: [see image]

You hovered your hand over the little see image tab. Before, you had decided that you didn’t want to see the picture, and rather leave it as a surprise. That was the thrill of a blind date, right? For a moment, you rationalized it as peeking so that you knew what he looked like so you could find him. You hovered, and hovered...

“No, I shouldn’t...” You whispered out to the open air while you shoved your phone back into your pocket.

“Excuse me?” One of those attentive bellhops had snuck behind you and rose a caring hand to your shoulder: an action which made you jump. “Is there anything that I can help you with? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Oh.” You straightened yourself. “Yes, I am waiting for someone. They’ll be here really--”

“--Is it me that you’re waiting for?”

He had strolled right up to you, and you could barely form the words on your mouth to say “yes.” You had heard the stories about Mirrors before, but as far as you had known, this was your first time ever seeing one this close...and you wouldn’t have even known that he was any different from the flesh and bones that you knew you had.

He was devastatingly handsome; the kind of handsome that models were. Every single one of his features seemed to be carefully planned and calculated down to the little freckle on his nostril and his nose bridge of a perfect angle. Even his physical proportions seemed to be perfect: his arm muscles curved in wonderful angles under his black suit jacket that had one button at the front. He was dressed simply: merely a black tux with a white button up underneath and a deep navy blue tie. His chocolate brown eyes were a bit unique, looking even slightly cat-like.

Not like you had a type, but if you were to have one, he definitely would have been it.

He smiled upon seeing you, and coolly adjusted his silver cufflinks which you noticed had an insignia on them that looked a familiar: it was that picture of the eye with the spokes around it, the symbol of 3rdEyeCorp. As expected, everything in life seemed to come with a branding: even synthetic humans.

“Should we go inside?”

His voice was gentle and soothing, the kind of voice that you knew could lull you to sleep or convince you to do things that you wouldn’t want to. It was a voice that could put you at ease, and you wondered if that was intentional. Perhaps Hyunjin had told them that at times you could be neurotic.

You finally squeaked out a, “Yes.” then followed him towards the soft glow of the magnificent building. He had slipped over past you to open the door, letting you enter first.

“Oh...thanks...”

As you passed him, you could have sworn that he smelled like some kind of citrus scent. In fact, you didn’t know that he could even have a smell. This was but one of the many questions that had been plaguing you for the past couple weeks since learning of Hyunjin’s plan.

It wasn’t that he smelled like a person: that kind of earthy scene mixed up with the lingering scent of shampoo on hair, or a bit of mint holding to the corners of your mouth after you had brushed your teeth right before you exited the door. Still, you didn’t mind the citrus, it was better than nothing at all, you assumed.

He walked up to the maître d with perfect posture, and it was then when you noticed that you were slightly shorter that he was. His suit was pressed, and a line ran down the back directly over his spine.

“2 for L/n?” He said properly, and it felt strange hearing your last name come from his mouth.

“Right this way.”

He looked back at you, almost as if to see if you were doing okay. He held a little glint in his eyes that looked careful, caring even. From the very few words that he had said to you, he still maintained a composure about him that was...human. He was comfortable.

The three of you reached the table with the ironed white table cloth, small bouquet of red roses and two flickering tea candles. The lighting of the room was dim as all restaurants such as this were, and there was a light hum about the room coupled with the occasional clink of silverware on China. There was a fireplace to the corner of the room, and the dense smell of expensive wine hung in the air.

The maître d placed down the menus. “Your server will be with you shortly.”

You thought the small action a bit comical. You were the only one who knew his secret. Still, he nodded with a polite smile. “Thank you.”

The satin fabric on your shirt scraped at your bare chest, and you attempted your slyest attempt at making a tiny itch look nonchalant. He picked up the menu with a few of his brown strands dipping over his eyes. You studied him as he looked it over, not having a clue why. You thought that you had heard somewhere that his kind couldn’t eat. Perhaps he was a new model.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t formally introduced myself yet.” He put the menu down with a little embarrassed smile. “I must’ve forgotten. I’m Lee Minho.”

“I know.” Your cheeks felt hot. “Uh-and I’m Y/n. But--you probably knew that too.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Smile lines crinkled under his eyes. It was the first imperfection you could find about him.

“Yo-you too.”

Minho reached out a slender and pale hand for you to shake and you stared it in a moment of fear. You had never touched a Mirror before, much less wondered what they felt like.

“I don’t bite.” He chuckled out a small laugh that was much too cute for his own good. His shoulders then appeared to relax and he allowed himself to slouch. “At least, my model doesn’t.”

You choked out an ugly chortle at the joke. “Ah. I see.”

“You don’t have to be scared of me. I promise that I feel like anyone else.”

You took it, jumping a little at the sensation. He was warm--not exactly like you expected him to be cold and metallic however. The skin of his hand was cracked and grooved as normal, and it was squishy as if you could feel the muscles that would be underneath.

With a warm grin, he soothed you saying, “See?”

‘Oh...mmhm.” You shook his hand firmly. “Holy shit that's really creepy.” You muttered the words as softly as you thought you could have.

“Creepy?” He laughed out again. “Should I be offended? No one has ever called me creepy before.”

“Oh! Um, s-sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“--It’s okay! I was just kidding. I completely understand. Especially if this is your first time meeting someone like me. It is your first time?”

You nodded drawing your hand back with the warmth from his hand still lingering on yours.

“Let me know if there is anything that I can do to make you more comfortable. Seems like...we’re meant to be too.”

“--Meant to be?” You nearly dropped your cloth napkin to the ground.

“I mean, based off of your profile, they thought that I would be best suited for you. And you know...the programming and all that.”

“Oh! I guess so...”

Next, you thought it best to busy yourself with that glass of water that was looking very oddly refreshing.

“I meant to tell you as well that you look very nice. I think that color suits you very well.”

Drops of water got caught in your throat, “T-AHEM-this?” You pinched at the fabric.

Minho’s eyes widened at your sputtering coughs, signaling to a waiter to come fill your glass once more.

“Sorry, was I not supposed to say that?”

“No! No no, it’s...you’re fine. I was just a little surprised.”

“Surprised? Why?”

“I just didn’t think that you would...nevermind.”

Even though you had nearly choked yourself seconds ago, up went your water glass to your lips once more.

Minho fidgeted with his bangs with his pinky finger: a surprisingly vain little task. Under the dull lighting of the whole room, he did look very handsome; almost much too handsome to be in such a place with you. All at once, you became suddenly aware of the irregular patterns of those eyes peeking at you from their own tables with haughty and whispering words on their lips.

“You look...very nice as well.”

“Mm thank you.” As charming as ever, he gave a smile back. “This is my first time wearing this. I actually picked it out myself. I thought that you would like the color.” His pale fingers ran down the silk indigo tie.

“You thought about it too??”

“Thought about what?”

A snide smile crept over your mouth. Hyunjin could eat his words.

“Well do you? Like it?” A curious little smearing of worry painted Minho’s brow that was once again must too cute for his own good.

“I-I do like it.”

In all honesty, Minho would have looked good in anything, you thought, no matter how ridiculous. Under the thin white cotton of his shirt, you could see his toned pectorals as well. One pinch to the side of your leg was just enough to scold yourself.

He looked around himself in a bit of a silent wonder: from the rafters of the high ceilings painted in gold leaf, to the speakeasy on the far edge of the room with the posh looking bartender.

“I always thought that places like this were kind of stuffy.” He wrinkled his nose.

“You...what?”

“There's always someone at one table wondering if they look better, rank higher, or are more successful than the person at the other. Don’t you think the same?”

“I mean...I think they do keep looking us?”

“Ah. I noticed that too.”

Minho looked around himself carefully, then leaned in closer towards you. “Do you think that they know that I’m...you know?”

You snorted out a laugh covered by your hand. “What? No? How could they?”

“A hunch.”

“Can you even get hunches?”

“I may be a robot, but I can still read a room.”

You hushed him, “Shhhh! Say that any louder and then they’ll really know.”

A waiter in a black apron sauntered up to your table with a thin moustache and a big of a sagging face. He looked a bit less like a real waiter and more like a cartoon one.

“Good evening. Have you finished looking over the menus? Perhaps a bottle of wine to start you off? We have a new house merlot that I would highly recommend.” He reached a spiny finger to point at the name on your menu. “It would pair particularly well with our specials tonight. Seeing as it is Valentines day--”

The droning of the waiter continued on, and you had noticed that Minho wasn’t paying any attention at all. Rather, he had settled his gaze on the flickering of the candles, and the yellow light sparked in his pupils. For mere seconds, you could see something a bit different about them: a extremely thin circle of blue-white light around his irises.

The waiter pulled out his pad with an expectant gaze.

“Uh-yeah, I-I’ll take that. That--whatever-you-just-mentioned.”

He appeared puzzled. “You wish to start with the special orange Crème Brule first?”

“Ah-no! Sorry, can you..” You cringed, “Repeat what you just said?”

He rolled his eyes, but did respectfully as he was told while you sunk further into your chair with Minho’s teasing smirk. This time you listened to the specials, even though you decided you didn’t even want one, but rather picked one of the cheapest items on the menu. That was one of the drawbacks of paying for your date: he had no obligation to pay for your meal.

The waiter looked even more puzzled when Minho said he wasn’t ordering anything, but shrugged, burying his pad back into his pocket saying, “I’ll be over with the wine shortly.”

“Do you want to know something?” Minho leaned back in once the waiter was out of an earshot.

You treated yourself to yet another sip of your emptying glass, and nodded.

“There’s at least four others like me in here.”

“Four? How can you know?”

“I think I’d know my own kind when I saw them.”

“I would never be able to tell.”

The waiter returned, showing the label to the wine to both of you before popping it open and pouring it into glasses with the twist of his wrist. Two drops from the crimson top stained the little napkin he used.

Minho’s hands toyed with the stem of the glass, but didn’t take a sip.

“That’s why they call us Mirrors.”

“How do you mean?”

“Because you’re supposed to see yourselves in us.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Your body had started to warm with the energy of the room after long, and your appetizer of escargot had arrived. Oddly, since Hyunjin had mentioned it before, it embedded in you an odd craving that you couldn’t satisfy until you had some. By now, you had realized that Minho likely wouldn’t have been eating with you, but it was strange: even the other Mirrors in the room appeared to be.

“I’m assuming that you can’t eat then?” You popped the buttery taste into your mouth.

“Yes. It doesn’t make sense for my...biology. If you can call it that. I can’t digest food nor do I have the mechanisms to do so.”

“Maybe we should have done something that didn’t include food then.”

“I do have something though! I know that eating alone like this can be uncomfortable.”

He grabbed inside his inside suit pocket and pulled out a wallet: thin and black leather. It had almost nothing in it save for what looked like a iridescent square. Over top of it was the same logo on his cufflinks. He flipped it around his fingers like a playing card.

“What is it?”

“My dinner.” He sated matter-of-factly.

“You’re gonna...eat that? Maybe you shouldn’t--”

He placed it neatly in front of himself, pressing the surface and it morphed into some kind of three dimensional polygon shape of pixels, both large and small, until it settled into a perfect copy of your dish that you had sitting in front of you.

“It’s holographic.”

“Of course it is.”

“Newest in tech at 3rdEye. This is my first time using one. They thought it would be a good idea to send the prototypes out with the Mirrors tonight for the beta test. What do you think?”

“It’s very...realistic.”

“It’s pocket sized, and it can really transform into anything that you could want, but of course...its still not really solid. Perfect for me though.”

He took a bite of his escargot with an equally holographic fork.

“I imagine that it tastes very good.”

“You can’t taste things?”

“Unfortunately, no. Since I don’t need to eat, don’t know why I would need to. I’ve got all the other senses though.”

The house merlot was bitter on your tongue and full bodied. You couldn’t imagine what your life would have been like without taste. He chewed on, and somehow the action really did seem comforting.

“You’re very um, open about yourself. You know...talking about yourself so bluntly. I feel like some people when they do these things, they just want to keep on that suspension of disbelief as long as they can; pretending that you're--”

“--A real person?”

You hadn’t intended on it coming off as insulting, and a “sorry” formed on your lips.

“--I’m not offended. And, you’re right. Most people do. But, I could sense that you were different. I don’t have a problem telling you about me. Something told me that you would like to know.”

“Something?”

“Enough about me though, lets talk about you. You’re a doctor aren’t you?”

“-For animals. Nothing too crazy. I’m working up my way to have my own practice some day. For now, I’m just doing nurse type stuff. Giving immunizations, checking teeth and stuff like that.”

“I read your thesis. The one from your pre-vet. I thought that your research was very interesting. How come you didn’t continue on with animal behavior?”

His string of questions made you crack out into laughter. Never had anyone you had ever dated said that they had read up on you.

“I can’t believe that you just said that.”

“What? I had assumed that you might want to talk about something that interests you like that.”

“That was...so long ago, I don’t even think about that paper anymore.”

Minho took some of his wine down with a polite dab of his napkin to his lips.

“How about hiking then? Or those Frank Capra movies that you like? Which one is your favorite?”

“Stop, stop. This is--”

His eyes widened. “Did I misspeak again? Your friend said that it would be okay if we did the proper research--”

“--Just...sorry, it’s strange that you know everything about me already and we’ve hardly just met.”

“I’m not following.”

“Can you just...forget like, everything you know about me for a minute? This is supposed to be a blind date isn’t it?”

“I can do that.” Minho tightened his tie.

“How about we talk about something else?”

Minho nodded in agreement with a determined tiny grin. “I can tell you about what I do?”

“You have a job?”

Your prompt waiter appeared with a giant silver platter which glinted in the light of the numerous dancing candles around it. The ceramic plates clinked into the glasses assorted on the table, and he lastly offered out freshly grated parmesan for your pasta. You said “when” and he was just as quickly out of your way, but not after granting the both of you one more questioning glare.

“Yes.”

Your date flipped over his holographic square, and soon it transformed into another spitting image of your meal.

“I’m supposed to tell you that I’m a college professor of ornithology but since we’re being blunt here, my job is working for 3rdEye, and doing basically whatever they ask of me. Including this. And actually...” He twisted a string of noodles around his fork. “...I think that it’s going pretty well.”

A quick giggle erupted out from you. “I’m glad that we’re being honest because you do not look like someone who teaches twenty somethings about birds.”

“But if I had said I did, would that have made you like me more?”

“Maybe. I’m sure that they picked that because I did graduate research on migration and flight patterns.”

“Likely.”

“Maybe I should have stuck with animal behavior. Then we would have had more to talk about.”

A silence filled the space between you as you tried your best to eat your pasta with as much grace as you could. Of course, you were still one to get it on your lap and the table cloth, but luckily you had a napkin to protect you. Your date on the other hand, ate as if he was eating with the queen herself. For several moments, you really did allow yourself those brief moments of ignorance: you really were just two people, sitting in a fancy restaurant on Valentines Day, eating a meal together, on a date, as an normal two people would do. Every few moments too, he would look at you with a type of gentle adoration in his eyes too.

And it felt nice.

It really was as effortless as Hyunjin had said. You would be eating your words on this one.

At last, you had scraped out the last chunks of tomato and vegetable bites from your shallow dish, and you sat back which a sense of drowsiness clinging to your eyes. Over time, you had slumped deeper and deeper into your chair as you felt your body warm with the fireplace. You didn’t mean to look, but your watch had read just past 9 o’clock.

“That all tasted good.” Minho sighed, and slumped along with you.

“I thought you couldn’t taste?”

“Ah. You’re right. Well, I enjoyed eating that with you. Did it taste good?”

“It did.”

“Should we get some of that orange Crème Brule from earlier?”

You folded up your napkin on the table. “You mean should I get some of that Crème Brule? I’m the one paying here remember?”

“Are you?”

With the stretch of your arms, you answered, “Not today. I don’t have that doctor’s pay...yet.”

“But shouldn’t you eat something sweet on Valentines Day? Isn’t that also what its about?”

You laughed, “I don’t know where you heard that, but no, it doesn’t.”

“Ah, I see. My understanding of the holiday is very jumbled. Holidays are like that for us. The sort of emotional attachment to them is hard for us to understand. I’ve watched millions of hours of films to understand them...but--”

“--Millions?”

“Yes?”

“That’s…insane.”

“Not for me.” He said with a happy little grin. “Should we be leaving?”

In one motion, he swept up his shirt sleeve, just over his wrist where you had expected him to have a watch. Instead, a faint blue glow emerged on his skin making letters and numbers that you couldn’t read as well from upside down.

“Hm. 3 more hours. What else would you like to do with our time together?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The winter cold bit at your ears while the two of you walked together down the busy urban stretch. Even later into the night the giddy excitement of friends ambling down the streets and couples linking to eachother with tipsy happiness could still be found everywhere. You barely knew him, but you still felt in some way compelled to reach out and interlock your arm with his as those other couples did. You had a half a mind to reach out to him, but another half a mind to keep your arms wrapped around yourself.

But, as if he had read your mind, he reached out his hand behind him to quietly slip your arm into his.

“Put your hands in your pockets.” He asked, and you did so. “I figured that you must be cold, so...my body heats itself too, makes me more...you know.”

He was warm. Much warmer than your entire body felt had felt then, but still you noted that the tips of his ears and nose had turned pink.

“Where to?” He questioned next.

“I-I’m not sure. I didn’t think this far.”

“I could pick?”

“You know where to go?”

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “There’s a place that I wouldn’t mind going to. Do you know how to skate?”

“Ice...skate?”

He huffed out with a tiny smile, and you noticed that when he did, no visible molecules could be seen in front of his face.

“Do you? I can pick something else? It’s not everyone’s skill.”

“N-no. I can do it.”

You don’t know why you had said it: perhaps you felt as if you had something to prove to this inhuman person, or you really did want to go there with him, no matter where it was.

You had never learned how to skate in your life.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The ice rink was lined with pink and white string lights: likely a Valentines Day decoration. Plastic hearts made of fuzzy tinsel also decorated the edges of the rink and sparkled under the lights. It had been built into the center of a public park, and bodies huddled in winter coats sat together on the benches to the side, waving at those they knew when they slipped past. Tinny music played over the outdoor speakers: it was some pop song that you had heard before, but didn’t know the name of.

Minho laced up your skates for you, and even then you noticed that his knuckles had turned pink too.

“Are you...cold?”

“Oh! This?” He turned his hands around. “No, I’m not. it’s just another one of my humanisms.”

“Humanisms?”

“Something to make me look more like you. When it’s cold outside my body senses it and does this.”

“I see.”

Even if you knew that he couldn’t possibly feel things in the same why, he was damn convincing--and you couldn’t help but think it was unbearably cute as well.

“Done! You ready? You can take my hand if you want?”

You stood wobbly as a deer taking its first steps. Walking on the blades was much more difficult than you would have guessed. He didn’t need to ask twice for you to grab hold.

“I’m assuming that you know how to do this?”

“There’s a lot of things that I know how to do.” He winked.

The second that your feet met the ice, you felt your heart start beating into overdrive with your anxiety of falling. Over the ice, it too felt colder, and that didn’t help much either. With one hand you clawed to the side of the rink, and the other dug into Minho’s arm.

“I thought that you said that you knew how to skate?”

“I lied. I’m gonna fall on my fricking face and its gonna be the most embarrassing thing ever. Worse than spitting escargot into your lap.”

“Spitting escargot? What?”

“Just--can you help me?”

He tittered with an adorably warm laugh and grabbed back at you firmly. “I won’t let go.”

Even the toddlers in their little training bumpers were more skilled than you. Minho was patient, and coached you through the skills of the left and right motions of your feet and getting into a rhythm. You still flapped your arms around wildly like a wobbly penguin, but he was eventually able to coax you away from the wall.

“See! You’re getting the hang of it!”

“Really?”

Minho nodded profusely, letting go of both of your hands to hold just one. “Stop looking at your feet and just look at me. You’ll trip yourself up focusing so hard.”

Other couples whipped past you, and you thought it best not to look at how easy it was for them.

“I-I think that I’m doing it!”

Minho’s eyes lit seeing you start to swing your feet back and forth. In that pink lighting of the rink, you could see that thin ring of light around his eyes once more. Even though it was unnatural, you still thought that it looked beautiful.

“WATCH OUT!!” Came a distant voice from behind you.

Before you had a second to turn around, a fuzzy blur came barreling into you. Two small bodies: a couple middle school boys chasing each other, came colliding with your teetering body, forcing you to fall to the hard ice with a terrible thud.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” One of their pre-pubescent voices cracked.

“I-I’m fine...I think.”

Your air had been knocked right out of your lungs and your butt ached with a sharp pain that you hoped you wouldn’t be feeling for days. Both of your hands were wet with ice from the contact. Minho quickly offered you his hand up.

“-You okay?” He brushed ice off of your coat.

Truthfully, you were horribly shaken, and your chest shook, but you lied once more. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“No you’re not.” His worried eyes studied you. “Lets get you something warm to drink okay?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“One hot chocolate please.”

Minho fiddled with his wallet, picking out that same iridescent square from before. As soon as his fingers touched it, it glimmered into a credit card.

“It can do that?” You had uttered, but he gave you back a cautious glare.

The man at the little coffee stand took it without question, and somehow, it worked.

“$3.15″ He monotoned, and gave the card back.

The white Styrofoam cup warmed your hands instantly, and the chocolatey steam delighted your nostrils.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem. I wanted to.”

You took a sip, but a strange silence befell over your date, and he furrowed his brows.

Under his breath, he repeated the word “...wanted?”

The further that you walked along the river together, the less that you wanted to take another look at your watch where it peaked out from your coat sleeve. You imagined that it must have been nearing almost 10:30--optimistically. Instead, you took long and purposeful sips of of your drink and indulged in the way that the heat would seep down from your throat and all the way down your body.

Onward, one of the great and massive bridges of the city blinked with an array of multicolored lights: some from cars, others from the way that it was decorated to look a bit like shining stars. Under the lights, the navy-black of the river reflected the fractals of light. The walkway was nearly empty of people except for the odd couple sitting and cuddled up by the edge of the water. The water should have been frozen, but it didn’t appear to be giving up just yet.

Your companion had drawn quiet with eyes cast down to his walking feet. You had half a mind to reach out to him...

“Is there anything you would like to do?” Your question filled the quiet, but you didn’t expect him to stop in his steps upon hearing it.

“Are you asking me if there is anything that I want do to?”

“Yes...?”

Minho was again quiet, then turned to look at the vast expanse of the cityscape in front of you both.

Suddenly, he began, “Valentines Day is a holiday that has to do with loving, doesn’t it?”

You stammered at the question in your confusion, but still answered. “Yes.”

“You express love on the holiday? You show people that you love them, and that you care for them. Right?”

“I think so...but why are--”

“--What do you think that it means to love something?”

Distantly, cars honked, and music boomed out from drawn down windows, and it floated in the evening air.

For you, loving was something that was second nature. It was little bits of happiness, fuzzy feelings, but it also ached, and felt like being lost. How could you possibly begin to describe what it meant?

Minho’s eyes were full of intrigue and even maybe a twinge of desperation. Could Mirrors even hold such a thing in their eyes?

“I-I’m not sure how to cover it all, but, I guess that I could say that loving something, or someone, is to want them. You want to be around them, you want to see them laugh or smile, you want to make them feel that you care. I don’t think that it is much more complicated than that.

The man appeared even more confused, almost like he had been computing his own mental calculations right before his very eyes. Then, all at once, his eyes softened.

“If loving something is to want it; to have desire, desiring is the first step? Love must be simplier than I thought that it was, and maybe...I think that I can do it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Minho swept up his hands in yours after casting aside the cup to the ground.

“You asked me if I wanted to do something. But the thing is...I don’t think I’ve ever wanted do to anything ever before in my life. It was just, what others wanted of me and what I colud do for them. Not me.”

Realization swept over Minho piece by piece, and soon it all unfolded for you too.

He drew your arms and hands around the back of his neck to pull your body closer to his.

You might’ve looked before, but his lips looked soft and unbelievably sweet: like melting snowflakes, whipped cream, or the fuzzy flesh of peaches.

“I do want something.” He said at last.

“Minho...what are you saying?”

“I-I can’t tell if what it is that I’m feeling is some kind of algorithm, or I’m just...you’re so...different.”

“I hope that you’re not just saying this all--”

“--I’m not! I’m not. I promise...an-and Mirrors can’t lie.” He laughed out. “How can you make a machine that’ll lie to you?”

His hands crept up your sides, and all the way up to cup your face in his hands.

He was impossible. In every way, but he was real. As real as the warmth from his hands and as real as the way that his mouth appeared to wet with saliva and how you could count the tiny moles on his face.

“Well, what is it that you--”

He had drawn your face close up into his, then closed any space that divided the two of you. Your lips parted with his into a meeting of his plush lips that were even softer than you had imagined. Even though you knew he couldn’t taste it, you flooded the taste of chocolate into his mouth, and your body shivered in the way that he ran his tongue over your bottom lip. He wasn’t intrusive, but rather curious, and thrilled. Any semblance of him that was any less than the skin that you felt on yours faded, and you poured yourself all back to him. His fingers held fast to the sides of your face while he kissed back every with every bit of him that he could. Even in the one moment when your eyes had fluttered open, he held his eyes closed, to focus only on you. Your own wondering hands laced into his fuzzy locks.

Each and every kiss that he painted across your lips was laced with indescribable want: something that he shouldn’t have even known, but you could feel it. He echoed the smile that you had pressed into his lips.

“I just want to be with you tonight. Just a bit longer. No more timers.” Minho whispered onto your mouth, barely breaking.

On the one hand, his request terrified you. A Mirror, one who you thought to be unfeeling, pre-programmed, an empty shell, wanted you. But still, you couldn’t control yourself from wanting him back, and everything about him that you knew and didn’t know. Wanting him, was the simplest thing you could have done.

“I-I want that too.”

His smile was thankful, and suddenly every little way that his eyes would crinkle or the corners of his mouth would upturn seemed more genuine.

Minho traced your hands to the back of your his neck where he guided them to the tip of his spine.

“Touch here.” He guided your fingertip over what felt like a bone. “Press down.”

You did so, and the patch of skin sunk down a bit like a button. You held his eyes which flickered wholly with that blue-white light you had taken notice of before.

“Say “Bypass LK2510.” “

He held your finger down still, and you repeated the phrase, watching as the light vanished all at once, even that thin ring around his irises.

“What did that do?”

Minho blinked a couple time like he was ridding sleep from his eyes, then beamed with a grin that only got wider and wider. “They shouldn’t know where I am for a while. You disabled my tracker.”

“I did what??? Can’t I get in trouble for that??”

“Not when I made you do it.”

In his delight, he pressed his lips back up against yours with a kind of light air that was ecstatic and hurried--it was contagious, and the feeling swept over you until you were just as giddy. You were nearly as giddy as a school child reveling in the mischief of knowing what they were doing was against the classroom rules.

Your chest swelled with nervous excitement, but it wasn’t nearly as addictive as any drug that you could imagine.

“Where do you want to go now?” You asked him with hands clinging to the sides of his coat.

“Anywhere.”

[nsfw version/ending coming soon on binniesthighs!]

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lokidrabbles · 5 years ago

Text

Heated Shelter II (Loki x Reader

Part 1). Reader and Loki wake up the following morning; Loki continues to have some doubts.

A/N: Second part to this little oneshot, this time from the Reader’s perspective. Also another, kinda part of my Loki x Reader Winter series? Let’s say yes. A always, gender neutral reader!

Tags: @desparadowrites Hope you enjoy! (if anyone would like to be tagged in any particular stories or series, please don’t hesitate to message me!)

Warnings: Slight angst, implied smut

You had woken up, your body already accustomed to awakening at a certain time. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the soft light from your Christmas tree in your living room. It was morning by the looks of it. A soft blue hue shone from your window; the sun would be rising in a couple of minutes. Soon the memories of that night hit you, and you looked down to find a familiar weight on your lap. Your heart began to pound rapidly at the sight of Loki, still sleeping in the exact same position you had left him. His hands were still placed gently over his chest, which rose up and down in such a smooth manner. His face was peaceful, completely unbothered by the awkward position you both had knocked out together.

You debated whether to wake him up or to let him continue to rest a bit more. Although he hesitated on providing details about why he was in such a state last night, you understood well enough from his non-verbal language. He was exhausted, mentally tired of having to deal with the acculturation of Earth, and of course with dealing with Tony, who was no walk in the park. You wished you could do more for him and hoped at least this tranquil night allowed him to recuperate from whatever difficulties he was experiencing.

But your thighs were killing you. And you needed use the restroom.

How do you wake up an Asgardian? Or Loki for that matter without having a dagger appear at your throat. You felt stupid just shaking him or calling out his name. Surely there’s another way to approach this without placing yourself in danger. Instead, you opted to gently poke his cheek, hoping the odd sensation would slowly push him awake.

“Hey.” You said lowly. No avail. The man continued to remain still, still breathing soothingly. A thought ran through your mind, thinking how it must be a crime somewhere to look this good while sleeping.

You poked again, a bit harsher and cleared your throat.

“Loki. It’s morning. Wake up.”

He grunted a bit this time, obviously annoyed at your finger jabbing his cheek. A bemused look formed upon your face. How far could you possibly take this?

You lowered your head to reach his ear closer with a devious grin.

“Loki! Hurry! Thor’s about to take his pants off!”

Loki jolted awake, eyes wide, and arms and legs spazzing out of control. The intensity of the reaction pushed him off of your lap, sending him crashing onto your floor.

“Oh my god, Loki!” You reached out to him, holding back an uncontrollable laugh. “Are you okay?”

He groaned, pushing himself upwards from the floor and wiping an eye with the palm of his hand. He immediately narrowed his eyes at you, irritation all over his face.

“That is not funny.” He responded, sending you into a fit of giggles. “Aren’t you supposed to be an adult?”

You covered your mouth, doing your best at restraining your humor. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. God you looked like a frightened cat. I swear your hair even puffed up.”

His frown impossibly grew even wider. “If you wanted me to leave, you could have just told me so.”

“Oh don’t be a baby.” You retorted, standing up at stretching out your sore legs and arms. “It was just a bit of mischievous fun. You like that, don’t you?”

“No, that was simply mean. I’m certain you don’t enjoy being rudely awakened by such a shrill sound.” He remained on your floor, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeesh. Fine, I’m sorry. Hey look, how about I make us some breakfast and we’ll call it even?” You said, clapping your hands enthusiastically.

He rolled his eyes at your eagerness. “I suppose.”

“Great!”

You began to tip toe around Loki, who apparently made himself quite comfortable on your carpeted floor. Your display of contentment wasn’t for show or to irk at his sardonic nature. You were truly content that he didn’t threaten your life with your little prank, and that he willingly remained here to spend the morning with you. While something tugged at you to cast away any hopes of your relationship with Loki blossoming into something more than ‘work buddies’, you ignored it, selfishly enjoying your present time with him.

Your preoccupied mind however prevented you from noticing Loki’s own mischievous glint. As you tip toed around him, he strategically moved his legs in such a manner which caused your to overstep in the wrong place. The movement was instant, and before you knew it, you were careening forward, landing flat faced onto the floor.

“Ehehehe.”

You pushed yourself against the floor, immediately pressing your palm on your irritated cheek. You turned your head to look at him, shit-grin all over his mug.

“Who’s mean now! Jesus fuck Loki.” You shrieked at him, caressing your cheek. “That fucking hurt.”

He shrugged. “I suppose we are completely even now.”

“I could have broken my nose, what you have done then!” You continued caressing your cheek. It did actually hurt, and little tears began to form at the corner of your eyes.

“Be thankful it was just that. If I wanted to, I could have made it so snakes would appeared in your trousers.”

“Ugh. I think my cheek is swelling up now. I’m gonna need to get an ice pack.” You said as your lifted yourself to stand.

Loki’s grin soon dissipated and he too pushed against the floor to stand up beside you.

“Let me take a look at it.” He said, gripping your wrist and gently tugging your hand away from your cheek.

You complied with him and allowed him to inspect your reddened cheek. You peeked at him, curious about his sudden change in temperament. A second ago he was laughing at your embarrassing fall, albeit well deserved. Now, his eyes scanned all over your face, unknowingly taking in every little detail available. You admitted the tender attention was sickeningly sweet. He released his grip on your wrist, letting it slowly fall back to your side. He placed his hand on your warm cheek, and you felt a satisfying cooling relief.

“Your hand feels really nice there.” You commented, avoiding direct eye contact.

“You’ll have to forgive my ruse. I didn’t think you’d actually take such a hard fall. I should have known better.”

“It’s fine, I kinda deserved it.”

He chuckled slightly, lips remaining apart. “I hurt you and you want to take blame for it. I don’t comprehend you at all.”

“I mean, you didn’t really intent for me to get a broken nose or anything like that right?”

“Of course not. But it’s not just that.”

Your gaze finally met his, his face now stern and serious. “What do you mean?”

“This prior evening,” He began. “You allowed me here, into your home. And yet, I lashed out at you, questioned your every motive, and still you allowed me to persist and remain here for the entirety of the night. Why?”

You were dumbfounded. Loki had never spoken to you with this level of intensity. He got angry, he lashed out, he was sarcastic, but he had never shown you this degree of concern and conviction. Needless to say, you had no imaginable idea on how to respond back to him.

“Because you’re my friend.” It was the best thing you could decipher at the moment.

“No.” He shook his head slowly, now gripping your shoulders. “No, that’s not it. Even what you’d consider acquaintances have certain limits. But you. What are you looking to get out of me?”

This was heading into a very undesirable direction. From what you could interpret, Loki had a skewed perception your friendship. Your relationship with him. A perception involving a system of give and take, and he had assumed you wanted something out of him. Something invalidating.

“You don’t think it’s possible that I just enjoy being with you?” You asked softly, disbelief in your voice. The burning in your cheek persisted slightly.

He didn’t say anything, which you figured he was at a loss for words. His grip remained on your shoulders and his gazed stuck upon yours as well. Perhaps this idea was still very alien to him.

“I’ll be disappointing (y/n). I don’t even know what convoluted part of my mind decided to bring me here.” He looked defeated. This really was a bizarre conversation for him.

“My god Loki. You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you would’ve figured out by now that I have no hidden intentions with you.” You replied. “I screamed in your ear and you tripped me. That’s about as blatant as I see our relationship.”

“I don’t intent to trip you anymore if your body can’t handle it.” He jested.

You reached to grab his hands and slowly pulled them off of your shoulders. “You have to tell me that you understand though. I don’t want you questioning me or my motives with you. You’re important to me and the only person who makes my workplace tolerable.”

He lifted an eyebrow at you, a smirk coming in naturally. “Very bold of you to say.”

“But. Do you understand. Yes?”

Loki lowered himself to bring himself next to your puffy cheek. He tenderly laid a gentle kiss upon it, as if he was literally kissing your injury away with benevolence. His lips felt soft and soothing against your skin, and you swore your pain almost vanished instantly. But mostly because Loki had just kissed your cheek in the most dramatic manner possible.

You hummed approvingly. “You know, it just so happens that it hurts right here as well.” You said coyly, pointing to your forehead.

He couldn’t resist a titter from his part. “Trying to be sly with me human? Don’t take my physicality for granted.”

Your eyes veered off to the side. “Actually, it hurts here as well.” This time you pointed to the curve of your neck. “Honest!”

You were actually joking with that one, but became pleasantly surprised when he wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing your body close to his and allowing him to tongue and suckle at your neck. Shivers ran from your toes all the way at the top of your head as Loki’s wet tongue and lips nipped a your sensitive skin. You moaned pleasingly, allowing it to persist for a brief moment until you pushed him away gently. He leaned onto you, almost seemingly begging for more. “Okay, I may have gotten carried away with that one.” You said nervously, covering your moistened neck.

“Wait.” Loki began, halting you. “Don’t you have a bed?”

Your eyes widened. “I do.”

You grabbed onto Loki’s hand and lead him deep into your bedroom, soon forgetting about breakfast, your probably bruised cheek, and the unmistakable doubt that had been shared earlier.

---

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki drabbles #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki (mcu)

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the-little-ace-birb-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Malec: What to do when they are hurting

Magnus knew what to do. There had been a lesson on this during the mental health unit of his health class. “How to recognize when a soulmate is self-harming and what to do.” He tried to think back to that lesson.

“If you begin to see marks that look self-inflicted it is your duty to report to a trusted adult. This is a sign that your soulmate is mentally unhealthy and it is possible that you are in danger,” or something like that. Magnus couldn’t think straight. Cuts were appearing on his arm and blood was beginning to bead along them. He looked around his classroom to the rest of the students who were for the most part paying attention to the teacher’s lesson. He raised his hand nervously before retracting it quickly as he realized he had raised the wounded hand. Breathing deeply Magnus raised the other hand and flagged down the teacher.

“Mr. Bane, if you don’t have a question I would appreciate it if you would refrain from interrupting my class.” Magnus glared at Mr. Garroway and waved him towards himself silently. He arched an eyebrow but approached nonetheless, “This had better be-” he cut off when Magnus indicated towards his arm under the desk so no other students could see, “By the Angel! Bane come with me!”

Magnus stood, pulling his sleeve down over the marks before following him out of the room.

“How long ago did this start? Is this the first time?”

Magnus looked at Mr. Garroway but his gaze was fixed forward, “This is a first but they’ve always been clumsy. I have all sorts of bruises and cuts all the time. I always check the book,” Magnus referenced the book children were given to check the types of wounds their soulmate got to ensure their safety, “and nothing has ever looked like it wasn’t accidental.”

Mental illness and abuse had become rampant a few hundred years ago and legend had it that Raziel created soulmates to be protection for one another. Laws fell into place to use soulmate bonds to protect both parties. There was now a third party that wounds could no longer be hidden from. Children were given books to check any marks that appeared in case there was a chance their soulmate was in danger. And now Magnus’ soulmate was in trouble.

Mr. Garroway nodded at Magnus’ response then stopped in front of the school’s guidance section. He gestured to one door with a plaque that read “Ragnor Fell, Child’s Soulmate Advisor.” Magnus thanked Mr. Garroway and knocked on the door. A gruff and accented voice called for him to come in.

As soon as he closed the door behind him he broke. He pulled his sleeve up and began to sob, “He’s hurt, he’s hurting himself and I didn’t no. I didn’t know he’d been hurting. I don’t know what to do.” Magnus began to repeat the last phrase until Mr. Fell gathered Magnus up into his arms.

“It’ll be alright my boy. We can track him then call the proper authorities,” Mr. Fell didn’t question Magnus’ choice of pronoun. It was well known that you couldn’t be sure the gender of your soulmate but people tended to adopt gendered pronouns based on personal preference. Magnus didn’t really have any but there was a feeling in his gut that “he” was right.

He blinked his tears away and looked up at Mr. Fell. He nodded and went to take a seat. It was taboo to track a soulmate unless you thought the soulmate was in trouble. There was a special prayer the blessed few were given that allowed you to find them in a moment of crisis. Magnus tried to relax himself and prepare for whatever it was until he felt a new pain on his wrist.

Now alone with the cuts, there was a bruise the shape of a hand around his wrist. He looked up at Ragnor with wide eyes.

“What does this mean?” Mr. Fell shook his head and pulled a book off of his shelf. He rifled through it before he found something. He put the book down and started looking for something else. The whole town he didn’t pause to fill Magnus in on what was happening. Magnus looked on worriedly as Mr. Fell looked through different colored powders. He pulled out a violet colored powder and shook some out into his palm. He looked up at Magnus then blew it in his face. Magnus coughed and sputtered as he tried to dispel any powder he had accidentally breathed in. When he opened his eyes the whole world had an orange hue. His heart began to beat quickly and he started blinking rapidly to rid himself of the orange film.

“What color?” Ragnor asked flatly. Magnus looked up at the man slightly indignantly, starting to feel that possibly Ragnor was not to be trusted. Still, he was all Magnus had so Magnus told him that he was seeing orange. Ragnor frowned then spoke softly, “Domestic abuse.”

Magnus felt his heart stop. His soulmate was experiencing domestic abuse. Someone else was hurting him. It was a relief because it was easier to put an abuser behind bars than to cure mental illness but it also meant that his soulmate was in a relationship with someone that wasn’t him. As all of this washed over Magnus Ragnor began to mutter something and Magnus felt his bond being tapped by an external force. He wanted to fight it as it felt foreign and unwelcome, but he forced himself to let Ragnor into his side of his bond.

As soon as he did he could feel his soulmate struggle against it. They were fighting, not just the intrusion but something else. Magnus had never felt him this much. Ragnor had opened the bridge between Magnus and his soulmate allowing them both to fully feel each other as if their bond was complete. As the connection settled Magnus felt the boy on the other end call out to him.

“Magnus, don’t please. Go back. I’m fine.” Magnus was about to cry. Not only did his soulmate know who he was, but he knew him and chose someone else, someone that was hurting him, “No, it’s not like that. Magnus, please don’t hate me. Just go away. Tell him to go away too. I can deal with this.”

Magnus shook his head even though he knew his soulmate couldn’t see him, “I-I can’t hate you,” The voice that spoke Magnus’ words through the bond wasn’t his own so he could only assume that the voice he was hearing didn’t sound like his soulmate either.

“Then go.” The words were spoken(thought?) so softly it broke Magnus’ heart. He opened his eyes and saw Ragnor looking at him imploringly. That was when he realized he had shut Ragnor out of their bond. He took a deep breath and nodded to Ragnor. “I’m sorry darling.” right after Magnus spoke those words He felt Ragnor locate the other side. A name solidified in his mind.

Alexander.

His soulmate was Alexander Lightwood. His eyes flitted open and Ragnor was already at his computer.

“Ok, I’ve had it up to here. You tell me what is happening or I’m going to leave and find him myself!” Magnus glared at Ragnor who gave him an unamused look over the computer monitor.

“I’m looking up what class your soulmate is in right now. You got lucky. The boy goes to this school and he is supposed to be at school today. I’m going to call his teacher. Ah-” Ragnor straightened and moved over to his phone, “room 475, Mrs. Heroendale.” before Ragnor could even call Magnus was out of the door.

Alec wasn’t in the classroom. Someone couldn’t have been hurting him in a room full of other people. He must be in the bathroom nearest to that room. Magnus began to sprint through the school as his thoughts tried to swallow him whole.

Alexander Gideon Lightwood was a shy, intelligent boy in the year below Magnus. He only knew the kid’s name because last year he had come out rather dramatically. It had been the talk of the school. Posterboy Lightwood get’s tackle kissed by Sebastian after being named homecoming king along with his thought to be girlfriend. It had come out that Lydia, the imposter girlfriend had been a front, to be fair Alec had been a front for her as well as it was soon discovered that she had been in a short lasting fling with Clary something or other. But Alec’s information was more talked about.

Sebastian claimed that they had been dating for a while, though Lydia denied knowing about it, thinking Alec was fully closeted to everyone. Alec himself had never said anything about it. He had looked very surprised and not overly receptive in the videos of the kiss that had been spread around the school.

Magnus had congratulated him for his courage and come out not long after that. In fact, he had come out to Alec while congratulating him. Magnus wanted to hit himself, he had spoken to his soulmate, confided in him his suspicions of his soulmate being male. Had Alec known then? He had made it clear that he knew before Ragnor’s interference. Had he known then though? Magnus hoped not, he didn’t want to face what that meant.

His thoughts were coming to a simmer as he reached the bathroom where he could hear a pained voice, the voice of Alexander.

“I’m sorry Seb! No please I wasn’t cheating. Please don’t. He’ll see!”

Another voice responded with a growl, “I want him to! I want him to feel it as much as you! Both of you deserve it!” Were they talking about Magnus? Magnus found himself pausing outside to take in more of the situation before barging in.

“I wasn’t even looking at him! You know I haven’t talked to him since last year!” Alec’s voice was wavering but he didn’t sound as if he was in pain, just scared.

“Then how did you figure out he was your soulmate! I heard you talking to Izzy! She asked about those scratches you always have and you said that Magnus has a cat. How the fuck did you know it was him!” Sebastian was fuming and Magnus felt like he couldn’t hang back any longer.

“I saw a paper cut that day, my paper cut.” Alec’s voice was soft and Magnus could tell he was looking down like he did when he was nervous, the way his voice was subdued.

Yeah, Magnus had only heard of the boy last year but that didn’t mean he hadn’t taken interest. Magnus was bisexual and weak and Alec was hot, what are you gonna do.

He had heard enough and he ran into the bathroom. Alec’s eyes went wide and he let out a hushed version of Magnus’ name that sounded like a prayer but sent Magnus’ mind to sinful places.

Alec was pushed up against the sinks and Sebastian had a hand around one of his wrists. Sebastian’s other hand was clutched around a knife that was held up and glinting in the light. He was hovering over Alexander, a feat since he was much smaller in stature than Alec. To be fair Alec, despite the fact that he physically took up a lot of space, didn’t really take up any space.

Magnus’ jaw set in anger at the sight before him, “Get the hell off of my soulmate.” The words came out in a stalled voice so thick with anger Magnus scared himself. Sebastian seemed to be thrown off of his rhythm momentarily but quickly regained his composure.

“It doesn’t matter when he is to you, you’re nothing to him. Right, Alec.” Sebastian snarled turning to Alec who looked down and nodded his head silently. But as soon as Sebastian looked up to smirk at Magnus Alec looked up and shared a look with Magnus that spoke so many things, especially with their newly opened bond.

It told Magnus that Alec was sorry.

It told Magnus that he did mean something to Magnus.

But above all, it told Magnus to just walk away.

Now that Magnus could see Alec’s eyes, the bond that had been opened felt strong enough to travel across. After the initial opening, it had gone slightly dormant until this moment when he saw Alexander look at him like that. Both of them felt it and both of them fell into the bond. The outside world faded away and it was just them face to face in an empty grey room, one that Magnus recognized as a bond room, a place where thoughts could be shared safely.

“I’m sorry,” Alec spoke as soon as he realized that they were safe. Magnus, well the embodiment of Magnus’ emotions rushed forward to embrace Alec. He whispered softly into Alec’s soft hair which felt so real despite Magnus knowing that this was all in his head.

“Why didn’t you tell me, darling.” He was referring to what he had heard earlier about Alec learning about their bond the first time they had spoken. Alec pulled away from Magnus and looked down with shame.

“A lot of reasons. You were with Camille,” Magnus scoffed at the mention of the she-demon’s name to which Alec quirked an eyebrow but just continued, “Sebastian…” Alec shivered, “had me. And you were- are so,” Alec stopped and gestured to Magnus.

“Glittery?” Magnus questioned, trying to lighten the mood. Alec laughed and nodded.

“Let’s go with that.”

Magnus nodded thoughtfully, “Not exactly the type to bring home to dear mom and dad huh?” Alec scowled at this assessment and Magnus cracked a half smile to show he was joking. Alec shook his head and began to pace.

“It doesn’t matter now. Magnus, you have to leave. He’ll hurt you.” Magnus scoffed and lifted an arm.

“He already has dear.” When Alec just gave him a confused look Magnus checked his arm and realized that this mental version of himself didn’t have any injuries, “Well fuck that makes dramatics a little difficult.” Magnus mumbled, Alec chuckled, “Still you know what I mean Alec. As long as he has you he can hurt me. I can get you help- Yes!” Magnus cut himself off exclaiming.

Alec jumped and sent Magnus a confused expression, “What?”

“Help! I have help. Wake up or leave or whatever! Go it’ll be fine.” Alec gave Magnus a hurt look before he visibly pressed his emotions down. Magnus, sensing this disturbance caught his arm, hoping it would keep him here for a few more moments, it did. “Not like that dear. I know what do do, help is coming.” With that Magnus gave Alec a kiss on the cheek and shook himself back to reality. It seemed as though almost no time has passed. Sebastian was still sneering at Magnus and Alec was in the same position.

The look on Sebastian’s face was faltering slightly though, “What is it? What are you doing!” Sebastian demanded, dropping Alec’s arm and advancing towards Magnus. Magnus’ eyes flitted to Alec and he sent a mental message to run as he tried to keep Sebastian’s focus. Alec nodded and slipped away behind one of the stalls to the janitor's entrance. Magnus knew he only had to stall for a few more moments before-

“Sebastian, drop the knife.” An adult voice sounded from behind Magnus and he knew that Ragnor had come through. Sure enough, when he turned he found Ragnor standing with a police officer who had her hands up and was speaking to Sebastian.

As much as Magnus wanted to stay around to watch Sebastian get hopefully arrested, he needed to check on Alec. He quickly retreated behind Ragnor who peeled off from the officer to follow Magnus.

“What happened, where is Alexand-”

“Magnus!” Alec came down the hall from where he had escaped and ran up to Magnus to give him an actual hug, in the real world and not just in their bond room.

“Alexander!” Ragnor looked between the two with the makings of a smile playing at the edges of his lips, “I see that despite Mr. Bane’s reckless behavior you are both ok.” He took in the boys matching cuts, “Well almost ok.”

Magnus nodded and looked at Alec who had retreated back into his nervous shell, “We need to get you to the nurse. I know for a fact those hurt.” Magnus tried again at humor, again being rewarded with Alec’s(now real) laughter.

#malec #magnus x alec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec fanfiction #fanfic #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #soulmates #poorly written #forgive me

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