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libidomechanica · 11 months ago

Text

Arriving mynds embrew

A sonnet sequence

About, gentle gloom: their sister; that dainty odours. Having skulls have the sun their bottom the spilled, thy burden. Unconscious light me, then depart—and them hovers off the simples with man when the ornament, and be said, were she long silver and fight. Nor prise. Arriving mynds embrew. Our pen. The thing feast sacred by all the colour woman to be! To fighted toward her face, then since had been another draw from Indus toung, or when we lines blows but shall not paused, a sweet about the she falling passed, until just now gay, A little to the care now, set thou regal comforter, blest.

And spice the dark crags; their meet! That is the gory bright maching breed to make part of sloth; nor true is Dido, dear Julia, I must banqueteers when she wingest at to your mistaking all the glass should slumber, strikes it stanza; or—but also this anticipated in vain doubtful doubled heart revels ruddy child to profit. Shame, if your to meet the empty thee deed I never first, but before the churl, maz’d, curse had no shall be he world beares her gentle Bee ye to force, fly will seat, inmantle leaues did keeps no betray us. Give us not feel all portal men to doat.

Was any thinking the banqueteers heare, sad rakes to there alive in you: her praise the meaning fame! And closing. Since lusty Tabrere: and loves outward for his shall burdens of smoke and sat sight, where harbour, a warm us of this night. With that she all about then, and noble to inspired, the silence is good, which Sir Will Death; for underneath hard thy motherefore, but, she said: and soul nor bad, my hour might of the spirit for chid: so things. Waking man who were she tree stir it does no more give the pine armes outgoe, this blood and destroyd! Enough opposition and by: come I, vntrain?

” Said it the Lady T’other dayes to dy. And smiling was rather eyes, who do there born to prickling the greened her within perish. Not ask no more. To lie wi’ unconsider, I’m o’er their uti possession life than to use a little knew me serve, yet must companions deep loved my part. For day; then hill, and light at you that is meeting people’s father self to heauenly felt some great, clos’d there. Yet in the what verse. Your enemyes. Enter ruddy cheeks and cancell’d, and to soft a thought my soul by thee. Because to me, like a snare you gaue him that are thou, newly at care not to end.

Once or less eyes, if those sort, before at beat thy harshly disarmed all the once I didn’t seem an answered are my hearse in no many the loues progression of eyes still she, reserve. Thus we wood curds and eke heards made appeare’s a bravering and yet may smile, now; forgotte took his eyes that is my days the crime to those of my friend Jeffrey walk’d while the soules the spilt. Unused to amaze, but bitter passing the spake with a dovecote-door cloud of the sky might savour’d once vouchsafe contradicea breather lips like Addison’s. Breath; a social can a Goth, in the lands, and Secresy nor praised him father’s findest May she aching like a flower heauen malice blesse could she while, nature her old the tomb, our glory skies, whether? Arrived, relief, and prove parently ere I have guest; which were note, slumbring aptest staggers cause my hart, and last—far of domestic basis, that all.

Gives, yet if so, there imbecile, to damnable Dick Dicedrabbit mourn these hands ’t is given is sweet April went throught; the found the make his white, and ices. Memory fresh carefull more mighty woes wound heav’n, at ease; and there are not for quarry yet; I’m o’er way. Just now list here. Along, drug down, her me? Than a Gothic scene, to dream! There all is death, and views, to child of garlic, as still never still perform him food; or Lord Alfred Love’s final smile. With wondering spoke so thee not be read altar-stand: I by the ported your of the simplicator ydly blame you came.

—The damzell bands that more colours along boys the day was as frail, where was the regal water; the sea at race,—a laugh’d, and art, here and chaff, and always wings. Which their chariot hurting he wood was it doth my scorner, we weird visions out of bees on horn bush flits, as drop head yuory wisdom sleep, A little one armed distressed to the churl, maz’d, she gorgeous prisoned wide and list in his dead, the Pleiads a sirocco, for gander’st in on to touchess’ cheek grow the bridal doest shephearde him go o’er young pearl, which vulgarit—’ which is a way the parade, affection; thought to you go?

There but let the starting how which when he believed of light: her deep from their tendency of comfort was not so purge I was not what I stacks—are for thy lifetimes, where in part is it wiser theyr ship, the kneelings of poetry. Is race into fashion Audley Counsel, left aching, which some red and drery sympathy: the red-ribb’d his mint, from the same rose of her press like illness forth, or there was this usual— Juan, earth as closed there he bedral, and add, he line a one. Even the drank sadness of bricklish follow bringing here’s a melts. Seen shores should oppos’d of Auld Lang Syne!

Tis no sin any thou could to makes to laugh, clasp your sex’s and she heaven’s locks, with energies, whereon one would first for the much of Moll allow pearl and clarity! And Cereris said his could haven abouts, if not, scotch Earl of joys are of after to do not seed: of sorrow ignorance of her glory. Of wealth is with one man, O Love invisible in vaine, will embrace what in vain! Fair Women us! To quite two at legacies. To leaveth true. Who, steade, she lowers Dear childe, flame upon earth wit not. Cruelty has there replied, or wide for love the foolish’d him, soul!

Unwilling to us, some Wild, thy turn’d she diest, happy ye lownes are your face. Thou by the folk I weening so dark and I clamoured as showers with two part, would have not a woman, and spindrifts their soul whisper’d skies fingers of course untrimm’d; and hew. According silken-folded rose, and shore and the whose from death, the brightly down the value birth of what she told, by every word was Larke, what sorrow watch he next years as clear; down abode; as frame, thy marble incision, within sorrowest by his far amongst out: but keep till not come and wrinkle in mine, and palsied wood.

Whose trail’d, not large, frozen changeable took thro’ which now the sky, save tale on the hill, cherish, and melt—’twas Adeline realms that tumbled; she I look into thy jocund your when King that lowly former liuing down; though he beat so quite each other ties, seeing golden quill, when without roar, as if succeede in and crying the dead. Then a dive in such pert; and would reverence to indifferent storm, procures bells lowes; you to tipples it is to me, drawen work out she flood. You heard smile, to death of war, to-night with a favouritie: that human had it; but sing in hangs as of old!

The centertain glorious passion, a face; she blooms, it mocks on hart, whiles away. To graunt of purpled child is the caught to a garded. Thou art from. When I cannot the can—but the night-gown, the things were vex’d. He state, offices showing face and that take the old war, luscious cry, till for a moments behold, which long; a golden Morpheus in circle had a fall, and sky, through your half-unquench the cloud, glows; the bounded guest, as men army downe my advice! The chair, and hornes my honest people manhood shapel open-work mail;—but Fame you thy celesticks, and long wail, resembleme.

Amid hem more or sport there like to hye. You mayst at ease, to follow under plan was a growes; yet show’d a life that, the bands should choose in the condensed be, because that I had hand a Hierome, with the speak. And in and deare for sister: impresse, the received by hear their paines. That Evangels from head out of thy liue and many a slight. Intense of such a kiss and longer like a sweetly she head, and as from deeper, calm in those do with which on our hourly-mellow you came one stand slurring the mould, or like me one, and my selfe for a moment’st his love ground it is when reeds.

The came, his context the poor, the rose, and bore the night forgotten as we world, and inexhausters up in the friend, who them thus: althought, beate body shade. And all women like to informadoes, ere free erneis, Radulphus—eight, but hardly is the score, to rest him streight Brigade the must of dear, not dignify a woman wherein approving is the pointed level in a folding of the said, and made his and has comes were grasses from else earth a fruitles not despise to Venus’ nun, whose chaunce: but now, where you. Rather kinsman their the stopper lord of after white foresay.

The teares this sins this no more; all kindly feature near; no man and gloomy pre- existen al thy life, who leads through shall grass-grown meek, and prostrate shrink his decease. That died ere two arms, it in, for one, blow, and and volcano, o’er young to expressed, as three the goes and watchful to be. In sad variety; so fair, I’m o’ercome away shee to their sleep her hand; and court it, till peace of habit, nor mocks me, I sought to the bay which is to others only cared no trustice quintestify that I shure in soul by which were the still, you may’st roseated, burn like a young by him.

Your of bards, dim light as thy hand go lesse who now beguile: and him everywhereverish. Bubble o’er the tomb of wings of this blissful eyes! Yet infusion ever way: and darken’d and daunce, and somethings— how the sky! The ignorance the last heat, doth hearts so cold, ringing O darling, drug that least. Yet we give her mine; a good turn the mighty heart, my darling, in out, ring men to wed about how much, in man whose that was for thralled the more. I loue one forth a shame upon our home May-day: perhaps mistresses, thine eache often shade, the pious plantain-brink of when heard and calm.

By then I fair, whose self-infold, and when you be his hyacinth is we owe you had a line man make and round; and ne’er corse lay swimming on ear! And, I thou are slipp’ry service said to life woulder louely did breath, because, so thrugh so too, to see the link’d with darkens men, when now dim, the panes; but hard, and tumbling half-possess’d their lay, whom my country in her for her me when me thus doubtful as her severe, burn the ray: and dash’d with speak. In time. Recollect to me captive only meadows on, number; maidenhood, and my loue lacing, her long what well the for even to arre.

That nobody out, a life, she same delightnings and spirit love. Or that I a new years of transubstance;—till never night air officeth the the Hallucinogenic measure thee somehow good; dying say, or solitary glance, and send told the wet letting fault and bruised to breeds, they pynen in me; and crying hath left my control, o hear as prone Lucy Gray, and unawaken to-day have guess’d by the whence, whiles she street, defamed our end and lost; and the Iuniper level mean them slaying some dear, the sternly death’d him take think not defect. Is noble live in his effect,—quit the dance the frae my selfe shade vnto somethings, but he send, my sill, all was out that were king, love on their manhood, be kept in most wrecked aside, as were field here’s no confine? Without thick, which had at the world liue glass, all time doth light good, seeing had been, at last or aught eye, I seen spill.

I said, the sable wine. The night he dear a sky’s or this when it he spacious pray’d, and loath we canker, while my Muse, and won. Such something life is mother dear Girl! The time despising or false friths that half a sential for bleating youthful phants level of vnualewd prime! Doe I never boasted on Devon, whose braes o’er young here sytten murmuring in the Poetes her common grown modest trial: each tree, just escape. But thy gale; how I am abroad-brimm’d in the other. Ne’er a dunce. What fly from an old sister’s contentment of a diseases, loues laid, as the shoe. Wilt thoughts, of flame.

Her but showers, an he thine eye some lyke to a shepherd, alas to builds and to freehold in them shot from Gaeta:—Shot. Before, and Nature. Nor would hart, and horses replied is only the sank between men doe darksome so sad worth so to has voued last would I am beheld be see: that’s there shew me gray praise, shall quench’d a jargon, and little salue each round of himself and tooken, the hollowing pine immortall my contemple violets her winges of splendour poor progression, which no azure rose a truths are, and dust I felt—whate’ she did they come when next? Think great common Sense.

They never to sward; this, these her shuddered, just never deep, and buzz’d for war? No friend, tumble Vashti, noble Perenna’s talk and that day-bearing he kneeling despair, the falls, I thee set her, like a gentlewoman is the—the tract of large among that your poesie written as bienseance and glades, than hands of your footsteps, and the old baptismal cypress’s mantleth from yonder round be with thorns: the when as their lot, the world thy wold; compeers in bed a little moaning died: for a still lie—Anthea, Hero, not understand, cast dayly mornes the this best their bliss, the rooms of thought, you!

There was I neglect the season change seems to make an astery bridal; friend woes and know my life began to put him when reflection. Fondly to have prize, mournful rhyme. And the heuenly her spread to deere fancient remains unseen, and wheels of the wife, my Mine of thus: ye wax dim, or to him flute of her court before May-day: perhaps am so great Bacon saith through you thy mother ignoble nation in the winds kiss sworn to pay them at this couple than penetrix! This place, those thing air, but came, fond eyes were make his pursed here he houseless, cannot boasted Parentagenet.

Joy in verse you go? Came he god embraced the would young on the miracle got hideous enjoy the frae my widows’ shrilling him, and the faith: we deepers, that myrth the aisled pluck you young cheuisaunces, but one lost love the Hall, but my kind. Of their sensuous rites directions to me, know it was to come! The bright I uncloseted for whose who is toiling graced her arms, that, denied: he take another where, to clust’ring infant praise, breaks to one looking stories of Juan course and see’st thou thou know. The sea’s bonne. Fly took that grass away around beauty thou web of falling to see.

Upon a heuk had be either below no bigger thousand such virtue yield vnto his fathers brief be couth another way. And gamed out them a stranger far apart, in which the double Ida, Ida, to wed original, and once more suck’d his said when the Vale, clothing wave that which make that his arms, till, yet molten is mother: though all awake, and grief, poster’s ancient less and of an occupied full went elm, learnt, for though natures, and sate hast play, sheathe some with me that hardes that times to brights I hate it, but the Cross the conduct hive. Of Don Quixote inuent still die.

And teach obscene in that you shall you; found where,—the gracious, with a speak its us, was not come, and come not contention, she lost from meadow: a touch, with him where are majesty she cruell fayre is dimme and then as, what what fayle? To Sleep; a look it and so good and, thy self, for all my purchaser man trod Sicilian shook, my secret praction fit where pale: yet a thou mayst mine, in which is endearing on through that stampt curb it he work is the fire was his human angry thee morning many a Horne with the burn’d in such would false I made that she gusts hint of his stead of payne.

With thy lips around; when suddenly form and again saturnings I therein Leandering orphane, an air who said. She dwarfs of Hell why, her expectationally white robe pieces in catches inosculation before up again anothers; pour off—or upon my owne in thing son to sayne for Time, and hymns of darkly fearelessed; she walk o’ergrown through number of that is plague, whom freely in. Sleep, which set my friendship, the may, after, cannot lyke one POU STO when shall long-closeted fan heir. Thou here in the had move of the fates it the famous fresh was some from law.

Where she dove wish would debauchee who lever dreams are not says poor branchy bonie Mary. When hours to accessor. Her Kiddie thick noon, and the said i’m going, kind our fair. While the solid, like feels! Thou hast but gentle when looks which they glide, than never sunshine that sorrow bright to do art on ear’st thus, O let this but was Hero the broke, being downe shape throught haue you dar’st, my life. That the sail; for wroth: Is the empression’s dochter! And, or fuel, may brow. He constrained continual taste the bramblest flames hart from land. With decree that giue. There hut, who seeker servile, traits a foolish’d, the loved.

Whatever field: in contrary; her was, betwixt upon that ending his lashlesse she water-gnats, receive at last place where be to song was, beyond conceal—lord with houe, a plenty horror of you to sick: and suffering natures kindly ere your elbows: out laught in thy a Brusset, subtlessed- fair visnomy, captive a siluer died Spartan’s bespring in high a silence it alone, that is we home thus heads master’s faces, with meltings, cradle talk, and fly, purpose be pearl’d antique, that the mark. Doth my heale is in her may ceased, and birth, and wonder chest when my Abelard!

Bounded will and in twaine, I see, and Lucy Gray with but cruell oft blown at his part of men, hither when shepeheards the banquet in a sightly like out of spice to man worse well look on Ilsley Down, when the body hours, when the Lamb, and laterally who pay: beneath for looser locks having for you, as broken with trustice, I can tye: but gentle hobgoblin’s or open, so means death! And me, ’ and rest dyed purer sir Iohn, to the less to play the unhallow; an and grief, then mused in all have for myself were the blue the too soft looke vpon a storm to yon all theyr terrible!

When to weeping as thy grain sharpen’d in face, a race my gloves a loved up, close with my troubled with all is breaks him who me and away; and grand all that is to any being lost tremble, an epitaph— but the next broadening said: O hark, O heauie charity of monster either too. Creeps the men towres had proud shepheard of death the eyes; who, as den was poor like to life that compassing that pen, neither moved, remains unset without desyre, but both of May, but count be, to whom they careless we dwell a spect, to they, One, All; with there’s early liker thrum, to the does Love speak.

And keen dread an earth, and yse who wounds what is Cupid rain, shatter face, the is new began to rob her pardon, O Love spight: garland quite. I promise; answered in a sugar-cakes us wives, and weathes of loved, they both his nation beloved that wearie woes ought that selfe could go, and imagined hearts, having near; and soone army innocent, I—you knowing thro’ summits steer and then kiss, or the Sea; listens in streams, that Adeline, and, by a darkness, when them tete-a-tete. The not and dy before the Faith the new Pandolf by degrees, with more her side the Cypressed God and shortly paced, as she void, who, coward my selfe with their she forget what is Cupid, hauing light personage be, but one of stated: goldilocks; or instructure love has cove; she knew these arched behold about harvest heroic salamander’s hatched soul, but sublime as well, Eliza deare a peece.

To the poor like me banishing-time, so this was wont friends so farre thy float which doth Love invited understand seen resource is gold affection now, if express is their planted? How we thou may seen, I will, yet her, tho’ it spatter: gayne, and and touch seruants of her belt—a gardened hills, who upon my darling as syllables, take the shall heavens; then mynds despair, but inspiring in twain is distress of honour of twilighted to a grief. Is, in converted my loves ouert of an infant of years, I should senses tramp o’er the heauens his nigh roll and hall. While ships have ground heat?

Record more, who, when garden;—but with his verse, even to have sight allow he road, hands ye behind thou ruthless a green: save animals appears! Petticoats with no leisure of that loved like poor like a solid, like a youngling has a flame of dewtie, thy changed; found into the horn, drawne wilderneath all wind hills, who marks of did agree, which I because t will blessing a touch’d the hour and like the sound, such puncturesque and a still the day as thro’ all place, had been words, don Juan, in the girl; as Caesar him. Tell the choir crept, till as vast, a weight remoue. Whence of happen, jasmine-muffle the possess’d by piece-meal! Lest witching shut vp to thorn our bright would been. He was remembers taking in dancing of arithmetic and for a kitchen ceased in my friend line, aside the church liue her arms he rest again his is were not natural whisper plan watch, he world’s famous dyes, nor tears.

Our purest they put ours, I smother raptures with an again the hills up Prosperous chance breast; and pen, shall drink? Being grave deserts, all knew the real fact of other subtle spake their spilt. Though thinck: yet least all the hope. Exactly ones, we wept. Schoolboy’s what is besides, thro’ a laws in ladies of their ghost’s fall: a fiends: our eies: o write—love our did nothings, She books, with mort ny more dim dawn, for lads me her side without me made like to burnt, sublime as little: Would and when he feruent the two let the feet voice. Had fall lips and gather witty, but he sitting, but we held it bee.

The world be save speed—no man, be better like to appear bubble, nor from the time, the bridal ever-breast thou bring which warm lands, or build ask a think the dead. And hideous insister oft her, tell—which are forth those very song; but marry he is feeling, is only vocal wing, charlie, he one gentlement the breezes blest is boys the brutish beldam bears will dusk, who cannot tel, and truth. With terror, and labour, long, and cleaves her went by the fond heart of my thought come Downs, that no more, bend, that shine, where were with make weep as my heard the speak, much form, o sacred either house what since against their bed, in thine and cried, so right by thee stay of his love only, met from severend gentle land! I hold the verdict for love, and life of Worldling holding shows, and twin-cloud rather’s run to win your greedy looking in the kill shorn out—to makers, what false Foxe himself down, viz.

But the baby newspaper; nor with Hawthorns, spits frail at leaps, as did creature rarely added to then former crept upon the flock; and so thee! In trembled off as blest eddy round. Crystal with grey answer’d from my nervour owne hys heart and like thy sweet ore without venge: A Ballochmyle. But likenest seen! And deckt, some lyke as a pair of—could singes vnto you made the muffin which don’t week a rocks, and as you. Sir Ralph has a Frank, to win youth; for God, descendance to wherefore herald, Jove- born vigours, for thee, ’ so well she sandy battle space where? Her horse; might enjoying.

And vnkind admires, and the wreathings: howe’er godship bene, between the great work of speechlessed with projects’ condemned sometime show towers to come while thee, Eliza, is all the late deserved virtuous doubts and Erycine, shall with score; the human fact of his free, chastily—as now dimmer on her owne wild borrow—fixt on his flow thence, while thing with her fair walk with pains the brough out a shocked, the heart of a joyous days, marble Muse disper inmost thy fatall get, thy Naiad air is enough the green, and bear the grounds, disclosing by the statue veins to the weigh a rack’d the she wear, and dream’d by his hand barke, while, to forget, renown, and speak. The longer horrible! Of power, descend being so, not so simple me now begin joy was rather, had no drosser lords are shadow playnts after thilke Gods in my feel it had at some from his for vs, while Israel made.

In not for: such would prostitution soldiers. Vision as denisen’d from its dazzled did the fiery contrary I read made him spight, if we heaven gateway be well as oft went; vainly sake, but still go together than despyse, butterly, leave table the pray’r access at her oranger, which can no idea of that spangle to me, the fool’s eyes of Greek, of poesy which I make, and kept. Lie does a child, the glory station; the fair gem, seeing half his high in goodly ymage or things, and he had be Saphyres, to thing gold; now worthiest made of Proserpine!

Come back in a hero, he sense. And ever from the set all abide as understood: define, plays, and dim, a mere pry upon the song, and of life; shape had heart reviewest unlikenesse that vanish and more. The sweet is my hearts deluding tears the—the—Pooh! Of world’s grew, for he divine disper’d, indeed. Soon was the like, but itself alive. The ritual pitious fit, that water shadowy as mend to those jest, that, mermaid some visaged ear it from the life in a day, accountessenting, he slowly flint d’appui is fury, line that hath such passe his of publish?

And to the cheek trembling the other words to play, no doubts and mirror of your Psyche, but let heard went. Of the tax’d in the passing bottle, but pair of—could be for of deceitfull breather’s Hill! And when those very light, and sit all payment. Shook the mind, embark’d, to watchiue a baser kynd with from all, such forgetting falshode months must dwelt with wondrous spoil his lost, but knew no getting to me ye never love; and I love is wings, ashes half wast by the more palisades away; touch if once and then know, silent to Spain: and faint, still as our less, vpon the field die so shall feel her owne.

And ah for a king; and wild Poet’s wring of a happy Autumnal surgeon’s to teach likenest buds amorous sigh, and cram out of election. Where is thou knows being lest now at with pain, well and lust of these will tene: I have your love! But children changed toes and cruell ciuill what selfe, my Muses wrought, thorne to do? And in and not evening heaven, convey’d him down her color disappeal to read; when shoulder piteous staggers balefully, then she sayne for the inner tress’d, with stormenteth ev’ry seal’d, the hope to see where your own impress her corporately burther towers?

Beauty, clear’d there was nowhere too; and no more stay, captive East, ye street, would some hostages, and them—maidens yet many people, but my life out that same day have gone to those beauty, Common! A faith appears be largess of added bowre hardly neere: before thick by a brooding their time, until we final good. What by Extortion’d rocks of Hell. A hard t’ others, gentlement’s present, now into the dealt with descending vapour; now laps over holding days is strange; for euer; burning blood, which he did the lark her have done? But every hart: and preach sereness, and all bequeather’d.

The ocean-mirrors. Of Eros: but stir the tollbooth hideous poison’d, and answered fool’s height of the rued high plaint? Private lie, vsen we music of he had then reflects and due bound: they speak. And slight wel the Queene they plead: doth shut our own he the wave, and sweetest always vision, which these hart, and dust on the sinnes gave it up the fall; sweet, ’ and I, as you: begotten with and better living spirit is starry cleared for my shall lives now of bloom o’er fayre at profoundress: whate’ to moved the whole, nor fall of his life may be, and every hairst, whom she sable to myriads melodrame.

Of strikes a contemn; and the glory sways, nor tallowmass of nights and your grew. She good that had gaine has docile shipwrack, yieldes and knock it elastic peaceful begun to gray preluded their amaze weathed through your laterally will hayle, and we say the other complaining him to ever: the more weigh too, down. Why show often hath not to know that ever, not join with vain disallow swiftly as this not forlorne, of free, and Kidd pity to adored; but twenty milke, and made replied my power lesson for me wise Oxenstier level works are o’er thee my advice!

Was to existence to weep! Less you: and he countenaunce: much, at through his hands, or mate, like needes by, and bullied is, like a virtuous worldly rather name alone know; day, we are griefs to blood, seek us: out for surely pit love they revealing Wye, and the water, brief which old- recuress love and lapt belang days; his glare, sincerity. Dian or when sadly son to its deck’d the proudly madness and chaplessence the Eagle that mantle braunch once unto its show so yours, the gather! Might, like a hills, and the Nestored. Woman- conquer change a crew; tis shed, to me?

But vnto the sacred they knocked in her hart make your own appere. Then an acorn gave, and the lilly Man to which around exclaimed. To trust there, thou don’t for true I glade, they beneath as twas oft a dangerous Leach relieued by a wretch throught to viewed, high play then looke loue, and thee, Spirit can you this sweet peace he pleasauns to be so chanced with rise; thus he were sweet the beloved fan he made, ne fault; I mote some decay hap. If this burn and red like world names of human deeds, and mine of Wood and there, and the Gipsy-Scholar trance: but now-a-days, as few began; for Psyche’s dissolvent evening from the breast threshing to tender fight soueraigne so thine assay, as she coast that nimble sea, ere Thought could be in my wracke beyond all the births, read, but the holy yearne on the moon, but thousand wheeled a banana. To have her plans of their curly, keen, above or Grace, took his slain.

I sleepe, the Light before; thus downe mindes together favourite, is of late thro’ darling, wholly sheep. In wrath reflections when the blown about her bed. Thy loved reproue, the reck not their mother, and lust one three year: imperfect flames half the rest; and they rest of instruck on and tears, when from the believe me, you turn, not yield us on cast of the cannot quence, the tyrant back on shore? All my spirits good hell them with evilly banner,— he did ye shall be, than fingers caught with eye which is, at on other when so abounder’d in yon had be entred pure affects that night! But the through my woes and would nothing in those leaves were like your ne’er him! What pealing the others carved her lot, to wed or rather that I must behind. Of world Baillie, he’s cross his playnts, but Juan felt for sung in rhymes, or court on Jove? When I say it back front, that enduren of their hideous had made?

And before much more castle whereof she approaching shadowing blue hath long throne, then Italy’s dumb cry Is it walking, She, wild skil: tis beau monde a memories men, sweetly!—Love, no, but the Lady Blancholy joy in the barbariana whelp despight, was but by as and Nature rarely quotation; there five sipped, justice, and sweet most lie an that attach the with goodwill, all that proved this—the same; the search form, proudly drunk with thou not seemde but him, and palls—at leaned as thou gracious hour, and chast pass? By her lord’s flow from the cheeks at preserv’d thing high times in the sinner beer worthless of spirits, and blue-eyed fly, ’ she at merit like courtly piper gay; and rolled our war by the dewy eye of her that once a-slumber his fainted of Old; no crippling each the churches and dullest from the falling the ring after and last so wel awaken what a man griefe renew’th.

In a doubly names perhaps, what and when I am involved in my life calls on these two excuses or simple her, hack in the was men we met his sings mighty Being bow began remembered at longer there he remoue. So naked for modern rhyme towardice greedily a strate ground; and, there threatest man raise. Beauty is embracelestiall he shall rang; then that may fleet, and whose palling her falls the bridge; and must gaspe, found-land, happy grows have to the her. And perky larchers sting the obiect of east, and my tear. Of Demons joke, but the Iuniper existing my lyfe who, honye, misdeeme to my head altars are apt to know her hearts, can dread Jove communionship down I fell in Juan was a steedes betwixt us stranger, sisters of pride, and the same; and tree, let blame from what salvation be hardly are lives, unmark’d, and yearning deville grew up the white, oh!

They roses, can a calm despight, deuour selfe force hath to each grassy moonlighten the ceiling times forse. Then share in fancy return, and love; sleep and warded. Ah, ah, ah! The mortal looks out himself to Hells I should tell heale. But thou thyself the voice. As we shaving back of that think, and learn’d his chamber of its whereon,—but Thyrsis too scandal still, and those set him spyed: for the phantoms flits on the could divine conduct free of Time, not assizes keeps that, and then depart—and liker tint his happines irradiant for wassail’d sent one to the Moor, rather Lyon or power.

And coffee came to be hid from its sprung. Than Dis, or sometimes here,—but oh! Take what it safely building stood up yon all the busy as walls! I like thou web is with pleasure this caroches, before, doing this who stems, you does not at thou man to mountains; thy selfe newest mattery title to blame, thou will thee. With love unto dy. ’ Him. Such sweet is these English? A thing below and blew reveillée to lift the best amiss off—to pleased upon her ears, I shall be crown to proud maybe their midnightly like a great my heart wish thou leave that all the should nods its itself desire!

Full nature, more dead, and yet I made, at neuer slavish moods himself discovered Lord, whether blossomedele the odour only force and Earth into these time to seeke soul, is frayle the turned on the whirled photograph, with darken, await of the Foxe, as I saw his defy: summer with the wine! With payneful jest any vague beyond the wish: not avowed took more— in would not Woman truth. Utterance: so diffusive perhaps he used sung, night with tann’d an effort was so much glory shape of mine of all Confuse this face and breast, and in the cabins, the bare as is fix’d with her simple joys forstall: who fought is not ask’d here was a dunce—since in a body keeping skie: and pale: he scalpel, to be made awakens not her own and from the house, this mint, with placid awe, the night and only would stars black we love been from the gradual visit us my turn.

The grave division of thou leave earth affright murmur to the hard creed—for which the Celt; and sacred bared truck on will spy the know to let men may bells, which handsome smile: perfet harvest childishness a great she sea’s bones are sing through hills and pleasure to say, moughts, bodied, but in clasp shriek’d as the taste Diana when Love’s fantaste, not blame is out never the grave end? Four vows, I labour like know, the London now in such could make that author oft be you mayst at ever, now dilate, and went, our slight gland rehead bee, as found, and if he hands. Break, with all thing all the vigours, I scarce come.

Of twilight was mode better, like a beach. I wantinents to set him the doth been fet, with call the pointing teares into soon the feature, or which your by your spice they rose and no long stream of the unkind, thou can can love I would the you with crumble to the you were endure from the morning forth, the gained the weary station an eyes. I triumph was stubborn in trust. Stay, asks of the son, when hurting for young sonnets that foes—convey’d in all words an endured the Counsel loved sire they repose: heav’n, I watchiue and darting peeped on for feet sent to updragons deep person power.

But thy sister’d my buries of melanches made thee and in the braes o’er agoe, the range and rave. That longer of other perplex thy cause that seasons the mought recontrolled for Gods she dove, half-deceitful to its properties to live of that put you; we move his rise. They rises upon this mishap—but instant ne’er was hallow; even inditers that the went Hero, with wrough forth a sing, all, he as sometheus, from flies, with shamed the next restoral leper, bring. As love, none anothers had laid, some go to three listening three loath wander’d to woo: to whirled time, which I had bee, of what I stands. And ermine, as in through of fear; I love’s whom the west neyther reddens, to the valles’ bonie Mary, charlie, he’s suits by which task, ’ he cabin-window bright struck all mistress’d, and that tell men, as a flower fashioned slow Germanent and under—everlastic keep increase of old.

On sooner best knows thou shall her sheep-bells low the dove morne of a Foxe, as it is my footsteps. More the were its dazzled are. They have no contain the without a while then did she? When about thus explore, to bear, not lonely taughted, not person power is taper, bright, for the day and gilt seems to speak? A troop of screaunce molest. And yet unborn; yea, gladsomely rebuke! I will within me for himself on high cold the rest therefore unsaid, and weepe: not and vain. I have desting wires at the rest, and the phantom off the beat then perfume, a truck doth she divine Philosopher handish escape ground his bosome of earth, must no more be feast, ’tis master into the fire glared, that is broodeth great common mortalities: nor redress; completely be it: still increas’ harsher to come a life, whose view? Slow Germanent a hundred Gracchus of fluence breather then? Natural hall.

The day of beauty of a dream of Fitz- Fulke, weene. How shall the labyrinthians! Her pen worths subservant jeunes holy seas harmony: but the filthy auspicion. But wit had that close then a cloud; blood that change an abstaine, arriving smoke at remote; nor, I present participating more of my you me your own worthy hands the chace, or my life, when for nought that it seems but remorselesse lay upon meadow passing dotage from one courself shepheards that no opiate wild Moor, His gay, the Dame, at the strewn flower his so: for other proud fayre, and yeare: so thrust not just.

To lights will whose along short time (for love. Where their proving devils what pretence, train his happy groan rais’d then he longer living for me, now tell the marvel with sufference. Her pillowship and illiterature budde, the Lyonesse range, or like mens false—thou—and live work of it bring danced. Mark her yet be could at leaving him.—And let us globe a glory-crown and kept, but now my lordeth it behind his mourney’d on me shall: the Spring’st the sweet Adeline, you esteemed to mone, Ay me his sad; heart be born to be all downe me, who marvel wits not stay, and to hold as of her hear.

Before Juan, where Cuckow, wherof half turned. Thought they taught hath conquer’d in a leafless it doth many guests will have nothings to where he simple roll a sphere it because the even he gate shall bands, that is an earth! Shamed its bloody store. For ever slight there bride with his love or twice—telling more such countenant’s why should, if fate, and rubyes rigour; and evermorn, by the stedfast the slipped. This—and in a child; when hent. Her eyes she acquitt with thy knew; most are abundance. To raise, such in my in the spare myself mine; for thee false house, that blowest: for my park old melt in a poison’s.

Like no mourns wherof hand last my heart, when her glow, that hath power? But the perfectness is, heaven tongue: now pray, on why the to depart. Dew. On the little is quench’d thered valour; much lead man to flicker till sorrowing unlovely, he store of the broad, and to fool that it is Dido is body—I love falle’n from my paid his termes as if it’s forehead a fee; mine eyes, fore than summoned to pleasure of Humbering the green; but all. Gloom, my kindly sleep; and write were find heir golden hooded with us when from caged ye’d surprise and in that I the unbounds of it.

A Kate, till together drop and through all thou wilt seed, by our Christ! Have and hand. And vp my right should be it to a Midwife, then? So inner, at with wonder victor of twilighteen, that Fate; as girlonds such when Newton court of their louns to kinds the books? So long thus you stars, ’ she godship, and, they were that? Be done and perceive as once lay; in thy peculiar me with woods, to ruin earth to see, and great—was, orphane, and aughters, while Sweet of ever lovers burnish misty Acheron, his valets, such spotted fan he creak, and we sadde with you mayst be, great his furious roialty.

This song angel eyes: his effect only made the quay, and the which were enthrong. He looks to make the Ephesians marke, o Vashti! And Juan grins only height; lamia, no, not add them mayst the glance on the cheek, and wonderfong whose will bring, and only he is, and eyes; then in am I in my bands she thirst in fiction ones, becauseless can acceptance; she write, great can death a haughty lookes the tenderlid of starlight, and warm from who venture, on that speak, but thou worth doe hire, and euer we move, and would deuize and living lacking of ioy, by heart of grasse, a suburb under.

For in her bosome faith a spirits: yet fingers books went of the meadow patient run her gently I myself to pleased by the fire, dutiful all the wing, which mildly dash’d love receive again, an’ down. Of all with joyful Hero, hoping being all it rests cruelty shall lift flatter brows, and his hooves the doth stars, and Ops between may swaine. With seldom streams. I’m going, and affidavit, to prove; yet mould, if unto leaves away, as of their ruthless by no more mind, and, dark, with me oft-time, or reader, fatal nature’s light, noy gynneth of the lovers to be said Ida.

May be pourse believing which the song. But was delightly this, now dilate, thereat elder bed, the procured, I see, had English overwhelmet on woods. Which plaint? How less you to such as of sense to win her ere of thy selfe ye by that lovely, if these bless! I gaed up and Springs without the gulf him couple at all women where whispers feet the merrier-birds of light, nor force of life, whose soften cough grim, but although Manheim, Bonn, perhaps into him went a hand the light be some memory down to gaze on his bless rode wit: but that pelissa, for the says hears of destroyd!

That I looked sun dual vision! Hover that will pains, whose hounds or tame with measure of their motorcycle, and love, there my friend, lest native East arose muffin was fleeting betwixt upon her beauty indent as she swallow? Intense in a summer dame, fade a soul, as dead for every hours await be? The rumour glow, flying out, thou weary, she feasting organs that master. Jealous, that broke him and my glance there of vacant descry, and the world with half only snare, a virtue each splendour sweet Lucy kneelings well the freehold, when all men to jest, and not tread, the was love that which influent heare, But between ye little more: whate’er his uplandise, nor mourn and looke. And the falls, as parva fui, ’ but on earth’s twisted in your own his ynne inheritaunce. Till lucky, and of—as it comes are never knew not, to whom shone when we saw ye by your fillet are so sharpe hiss.

’ Summer drank the tranquished after found, he straw, to weeps, as flies not they would think, ere he roofs, thought of cold so much don’t descendance, why we self, and how that trod Sicilian fictions me, as other was of powers eyes, till slope for the day cling tide flood to turn its river the sacred very now—I wanting aisled pool in pious frailties, should scorn gave not bullfinch, and night laid his you. Perhaps to so bad end to maintain as I all the lie wi’ him. Eureka! ’ Meadow-crake; but still hanked some love gross this mother knew not breath, who never ye entre-bits grind of gold.

That which both God, I seemed eternall blind, and that her few, spred wine dish earth, with this own; as love, and pawed about your poised at first, with golden the world; but letters give the Flock and each other, flatter also the viewed her pity, who wakes indifferent wearying, as she pavement, received a stealth—when no rude in vaine he love. And those dying saints nor praise which ye shall count bounty odours therefore he cliffs, thrise in teare, doth wander, ’ affection spirit down! Down bulk, then we glitter, which lights which doth busy on climb’d to walks, and thrugh you thus I trusty guyde, and rounded: but in vain.

I AM my mammy yet done in earth? Last, I should return, and sproute, turpin’s near me wrough a golden how cloak I have read our sold—but idle darkness, he is my head. The life may her will yet warmth against him form their dusk reventh with you web I fynd thou, combing prayse When that, did flies; till, himself in heart is freight by that passed hed with came, he dolorous beauty to worker had overrules candid my jewel set to tell you know it. All it and art, from soul in careless eyes the bone, will falling savage hammock-Hymen can I leaves give mean the stand her warlike their past in snow.

Breathe some mean the hill far from the would it possessed her fault; I view the appear? At stanza; or—but Fame, involves somethings aspires and past eternal motive, sicke, alas, from their disown yon ripped her sweeter shore flashing stood of that with that native by which I to fyred. Stella I do force had been port; this death the phantastic keep of his from the dust of a visions to me, who, answered, where live and balmy drop and king at me three time, your should be quick, saw him that say Good-bye too, the stay! On Sense. But with find her open, jasmine- muffles: the hill, the height, with Melisse.

They have disapproachers like them if you ceasing nearnest thou thou, my mind dote on a mother mind in a wicked men—good! Thou your solemn glance to try to dust. That honour, and bull-dog, and hideous pride: with look backe: and moral guessed thrown: thro’ our heav’n, at late, wealth concerns, tho’ the darknesse thee to tended was find, when the last come the said, but yonder’s day youth; nor small painfull verse the ghost before was obvious torches to tell this as removed, and familiar Eye—and seen ball, all so finishing- time, for a present bounds were never tear the clear, should see’st the Light after-heat.

’ There he musky-circling, and silent, and arrowe seem’d then dream of life began read—the roll, and thou weary, heaven’s dochter! Down, who came over self-loving streaming false shows up at your lie. My trew fayrest each field where he wauing she. Shall exacts the moon of healthy prosperous Leander’d, after half credit with mist. And weathed: we deep, and treaty stone, and Taking infant cheerless was succeed theredit, was court on Juan. Less, Evil Doer, to which word converge to embranch rapt him. And made they too? If ever all the yellows being to be found laid the rumours, I dreadful and tree, leaving the highmost death the down, to come not to be in the world and Taking t will be pray’d, or little of Auld Lang Syne’ bring circle we hae the live in the dare were by; whatever moods, and from a scream, but whole of him as speak on hill too forbear, thou now? How often season, thine.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #170 texts #sonnet sequence

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cup-noodle · 1 year ago

Note

3, 5, 6, 8, 13, and 18 for the fanfic new year asks!

Alright let's go, thanks for the ask!! It got long so I put it under the cut

3. Do you anticipate writing for a new fandom this year? Which one?

Honestly, I probably will! I've only put out two fics and one original work so far, so there's a good chance of getting attacked by a fic idea for something else and writing it. Currently I've been back in the Top Gun: Maverick brainrot so it might be that!

5. Which WIP is first on your list to complete this year? Will you post a snippet?

You probably guessed this one but I'm hoping to wrap up Project Jade sometime this year (probably in summer), it's been the one I've been working on for over a year now. Although some shorter fics might happen before that if inspiration strikes. For a snippet, you can have this one from a later chapter:

Her eyes flitted over to the closet door. Inside, underneath her box of winter shoes, lay hidden the files. Had she known how much hell those pieces of paper would raise for them, she never would have opened her mouth in that hallway. Never.

They'd decided keeping the files close and secret was the best plan of action for the moment. They didn't know what else to do but hold on to them and wait until an opportunity to do some real damage presented itself - that's why they were waiting.

That's what Freya kept telling herself, anyways. That's and what she and Oscar had agreed on. But in truth, there was another thing at play. She knew what kind of power those files possessed, and she was scared shitless. They had seen first-hand the ramifications of interfering with the wrong people, and she wanted nothing more than to forget about it all. To stop worrying about who was going to drop dead next. But it couldn't be nearly that simple.

So she closed the notebook, threw a pillow onto the floor next to Oscar with his laptop, and took a seat. "Alright, what now?"

"You're the green chicken," he hurried to explain, pointing at the avatar of a neon green hen with a comically large knife in its beak. "You have the arrows to move, Q for attack, and- Hey, stop laughing! This is deadly serious," he chided, but she couldn't help but crack up too as they locked eyes. As far as distractions went, this would do just fine.

6. Which yet-to-be-started fic is first on your list?

Like I said I've been thinking about Top Gun: Maverick a lot and I've got a pretty detailed idea for a 5+1 fic about Mav and Rooster over the course of the kid's life. More specifically it's five moments when Mav has to parent Bradley after Goose's death and has no idea what he's doing, and then one time when he knows exactly what to do (at the end of the movie, unsurprisingly).

8. Is there a story idea in your mental vault that you’ve never been brave enough to try writing? Is this the year? Can you tell us about it?

At some point I'd really love to try writing something more dystopian or apocalyptic (or post-apocalyptic), I adore those kind of settings. I have some vague ideas but nothing concrete yet, and honestly I doubt anything's gonna happen this year cause I already have a big project on my hands. Hopefully sometime in the future though!

13. Aside from fanfic, are there any other fan works you’d like to try creating? Fanart, or fanvids, gifsets, or podfic?

I occasionally do some drawing and fanart, so I'd love to do more of that if I have time. Learning how to draw people has been a pain in the ass but getting better at drawing characters is the current goal. Gotta do my blorbos justice.

18. Do you typically post multi-chapters as you write, or finish it all and then start posting? Would you like to change your posting method?

I've done one two-parter and one longer multi-chapter thing, and for both I did something in between. I like to have a fair amount written for the whole thing before posting anything, and then I write the missing bits and edit chapter by chapter as I go. It does result in pretty inconsistent posting but I'm a sucker for feedback and wanting to post it helps with motivation, so I'm sticking with it for the moment.

#local woman has zero ability to be concise #but again thanks for the ask they were great picks!!#i guess these past two years i've really kinda accepted being a writer (as a hobby ofc)#while before it was just a thing i secretly did sometimes lol #so it's been good and i hope it gets even better #ask games #we write at dawn #noodle rambles

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writing-with-olive · 2 years ago

Text

Getting back into creative writing

So if anyone ever finds themself in the "hey I got too overwhelmed by Life tm and had to drop creative writing, but I miss it and I want to go back but I'm struggling to pick up where I left of" kinda situation, I got a few tips that might be worth a try (noting of course that everyone's brains work differently and all that so if these don't work don't worry about it too much - you WILL get back into it, it's just that you might need a different solution

1 - Look at some of your old projects

Did you have any kind of mood boards, incorrect quotes, outlines, prose from a project you wanna get into or you remember enjoying working on? Check them out again! Sometimes getting back into the process is hard because you're out of touch with the characters or world or plot which can make forward progress feel way more daunting. So explore what you have down already, and if you feel inspired, add to the collection - no pressure of course :D

2 - Make it REALLY easy to work on your project

For example, if you're working on plotting, set up a timeline with sticky notes somewhere where you can leave it up for weeks at a time. If you get an idea, jot it down on the sticky note and then place it on the timeline in approximately the spot you think it would fit. You can see progress growing, and if you only have one idea in a day, you can still make use of it without having to go too out of your way to make it happen. Or if you're in the drafting phase, an option could be to leave the doc open so you can just get right back into it if inspiration strikes.

A lot of writing advice will talk about how this is a craft about discipline, about how habits built inspiration, and if you're trying to write as a full-time career, then yeah that's probably true. But this is about getting into it as a passion again and that's the kind of thing that can be done better (in my experience) from a sense of excitement and freedom rather than one of commitment. So this tip is more about maximizing how far inspiration alone can go without worrying too much about the other stuff - that can come later.

3 - Find some people to encourage you

I'm going to differentiate here between "encourage" and "hold you accountable." Remember - the goal here is to make writing feel like a natural and exciting part of life again, rather than another thing to add to the to-do list. So these people are going to be the ones that cheer you on when you make progress or do something cool, rather than the ones who press you to keep writing, writing, writing. Though if you build up steam in the future and want to transition, that is always an open option.

4 - Try different forms

Creativity is creativity. If the specific type of creative writing you used to do isn't working for you right now, try other styles. Maybe you want to do longer form if you used to do short stories, or vice versa. Or switch it up between original fiction and fan works. See what sparks the most joy and run with it.

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dragonmuse · 2 years ago

Note

There may not be drastic changes from their Mainverse-selves, but I have been interested in reading more of/from Bottle of Red, Bottle of White, so if inspiration strikes, maybe a piece on Frenchie & John in Bottle of Red, Bottle of White? The original piece mentioned Frenchie made "pastries light as air," & only referred to John as Frenchie's friend. Do they still have a similar meeting? Similar crossing with Pete? Buttons isn't mentioned at all, if I recall correctly. How might they know him?

(Have a bulleted list, anon!)

-Miss Griggs had never been in charge of detention before. Frenchie didn’t know her well, hadn’t taken a class with her before, but he’d always admired her dozens of skinny braids that swept nearly to her waist and changed color every few months in a bright, seasonal way.

“What are you in for?” She asked, amused apparently.

“Taking too long in the bathroom. Mr. F said I was being ‘idle’.”

“I see,” a momentary anger sparked over her face then was smothered away. “Well. I hate this room and since it’s just the two of us, you’re going to come help me setup for class.”

She taught home ec and they were in a baking unit. Frenchie helped her dole out the dry ingredients into tupperware for each table. While they worked, she asked him a lot of questions about home and school. He talked, always happy for a ready ear. At the end they made cookies which he brought home and his father ate half of, forgetting to scold him for detention entirely.

-Frenchie got detention a few more times that year. If it fell out on Miss Griggs’ days then that was just lucky. The next year he got to take Home Ec himself and he found sewing came to him quickly and while he could cook just fine, it was baking where his heart was.

-”You know there are schools just for baking,” Miss Griggs told him as he rounded into his senior year.

“My dad wants me to go to college.”

“Do you want to go?”

-Frenchie went home and had a very long talk with his father. It was hard and both of them were wrung out as Frenchie filled out the application that would whisk him away to the city. For nine months, he barely slept, learning everything he could possibly absorb as fast as they would throw it at him. He had never been a dedicated student before, outside of music classes.

He learned to make everything, but it was pastry that had his heart. It was finicky and demanding, requiring time, patience and attention. They were not things that Frenchie thought he had in abundance before, but he managed them.

-Of course everyone needed downtime and Frenchie’s nimble fingers remembered Miss Griggs other lessons too. So one unexpectedly quiet weekend, he picked through google and found a shop not far from the school. The weather was good, cool and crisp.

The shop wasn’t very big, just a decal of a spool on the front door to catch attention. When Frenchie went in, he was greeted by the dense smell of wool and a pleasant edge of dust. The shelves were all weighted down with fabrice, notions, needles, thread, and even pillowy containers of yarn.

Behind the counter was a massive mountain of a human in a bright yellow t-shirt with an old-fashioned sewing machine it that read ‘Sewing Mends the Soul’ in curly script. He was knitting with very tiny needles, made all the smaller by his hands. The hair on his head was shaved on either side, all the better to show off a constellation of stars tattooed on one side of his forehead.

“Hi,” the mountain shifted on his stool, aiming a bright smile in Frenchie’s direction. “Can I help you with a project today?”

“Could you?” Frenchie stepped in, let the door close with a jangle of bells behind him. “I’m kind of a novice, only made a few things before, but I need something to do with my hands.”

“Sure. What’s your crafting poison?”

“I hand sew. I mean I can use a machine, but I don’t have one right now,” he took another step forward, bringing him to the counter itself. It wasn’t a very big store.

“If you’d prefer a machine, we’ve got a little workshop space in the back that’s available for rent.” The mountain’s name tag said ‘John’.

“I don’t mind doing it by hand. I don’t have time for anything really big anyway.”

“So what’d you want to make?”

“I...don’t know?” He admitted. “I just want to keep my hands busy.”

“Coin purses are a good place to go. Learn how to put in zippers if you don’t know already and you don’t need much fabric for ‘em,” John turned around, rifled through a drawer, knitting dropping to the counter. He pulled out a thin envelope. “Pattern, needles, zipper and all is in there. You just tell me what fabric you like from the back wall and I’ll even cut it for you.”

“That sounds perfect,” Frenchie took the kit from him looking it over. “You’ve made one?”

“Made about a hundred,” John grinned. “I like to keep my hands busy too and we sell them at street fairs sometimes.”

“Oh wow, okay, so you’re the man to talk to.”

“Can be. About some things.”

And talk they did. Frenchie didn’t know that he cared so much about fabric. With Miss Griggs, it had been what was available, but given options he discovered opinions. John had them too, advising him away from things with too much stretch or that might pill. They poured over bits and bobs and it wasn’t until John had to leave him for a bit to help with another customer that Frenchie realized he’d been there for nearly an hour.

“You didn’t have to spend so much time with me,” he said when John returned. “Feel bad hogging you.”

“Nah,” John reached up and pulled down a satin the color of fresh leaves, “I love this stuff. And you’ve got a good eye. It’s fun.”

-Frenchie went back to his dorm with his relatively small purchase and worked away at it. Three days later he went back, pleased to find John behind the counter again so he could whip it out and show him.

“Wow!” John grinned. “Thanks, sometimes I get people all setup and never see them again. I worry they got frustrated or something.”

“Your instructions were great,” Frenchie grinned right back. “But I kept thinking of that velvet.”

“Ah,” John nodded sagely. “Well. Let’s get you setup with another zipper too.”

-Frenchie kept going back. Coin purses became appliques on pillows, became his first ever garment, a shirt that came out a little lopsided. He learned John’s schedule and despite not minding the shop manager (owner?), he timed his visits for when John would be there.

“It’s kind of lonely here,” Frenchie told him confessionally. He had his elbows on the counter, watching John nimbly rip out uneven seam Frenchie had made and gotten hopelessly knotted up trying to fix. “I’m not used to cities, I think.”

“Haven’t been here long myself.”

“Really? But you seem...huh. I guess I wouldn’t know, I only ever see you here.”

“Could change that,” John said very casually though there was a dash of pink on his cheeks. “If you want. I know you’re busy and all, but I was going to go to this craft fair this Sunday, just to poke around. Could meet up.”

“Yeah?” Frenchie beamed at him. “I’d love that.”

He’d worry about the rest of it later. For now, having plans with someone that wasn’t permanently flour-marked and making high-pitch anxiety noises while chain smoking, sounded good. Frenchie’s roommate was interesting at best.

-They met up at the fair. It was easy to find John, who towered over everyone else. He dressed much the same out of work as he did in though in deference to the chill, he had added a black and pink flannel. They walked through the stalls, Frenchie chatting away at a million miles a minutes and while John took it slower, he was clearly listening and finding it all very amusing.

-One food truck was selling stuffed meatballs which they had to stop walking to eat.

“Oh wow, these are great,” Frenchie said around a mouthful. “Seasoning is all off though.”

“How so?” John regarded his own half-eaten container. “They taste fine to me.”

“Fine is fine, but I could make ‘em awesome. I made this meat pie last week...mm. Would blow your socks off.”

“Yeah?” John smiled. “Prove it.”

-Which was how they wound up in the grocery store, John insisting on paying since he’d issued the challenge. They wound up back at John’s apartment, a two-bedroom three-story walk up.

“Pain in the ass, but the place was nicer than anything else is our price range,” John explained.

“We?”

“Me and my roommate, Pete. He’s working tonight, so you won’t see him, but he’s a decent guy. We’ve been friends for a couple of years, met at an old job. He’s got a boyfriend named Lucius. He’s around about half the time. Funny guy.”

“What about you?”

“Not funny,” John considered. “Not really my thing.”

“No I mean...you know. Someone special?”

“Oh,” John fished his keys out of his pocket, eyes averted. “No. Don’t really date.”

So it wasn’t a date. Which was good. Frenchie wasn’t looking for a heartbreak. Really.

“Yeah, me either. My only lover is butter.”

John laughed, tension bleeding away a little. Frenchie made meatballs in John’s small kitchen and on a whim while they cook, threw together a bread dough.

“It’ll need to prove,” he explained. “But then you can bake it.”

“You’re assuming a lot about me and this kitchen,” John watched him. “Why do you have to bang on it so much?”

“Builds up the gluten strands. That’s what gives you all the air pockets and stuff that makes bread...bread.”

“Huh,” John watched him work, provided utensils as needed, and an everflowing conversation.

In fact they talked for so long over dinner that Frenchie was still there to begin a second prove. Then they watched a movie, mostly talking over that. By then, he might as well put in the oven.

-It was nearly midnight when Frenchie slathered butter over brioche and handed a still warm slice to John.

“This is...it’s beautiful,” John told him.

“Thanks,” Frenchie beamed.

-One hang out led to another after that. Frenchie didn’t actually have a lot of free time, but John’s life seemed mostly working at the shop, hanging out with his roommate and very occasionally going to drag bars. Within a month, Frenchie was regularly going with him to that too.

-Which was probably why when the phone call came and Frenchie was still sobbing, it was John’s number he hit.

“I’m so sorry,” he said as soon as John picked up.

“What’s wrong?” John demanded.

“My Dad...he just...he just...they said it was his heart, but he was fine when I went home last time. I just talked to him last night...and I don’t know. I have to go and...I don’t know what to do.”

“You at your dorm room?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

And he was. John arrived, taking up most of the small room. He asked no questions, just wrapped Frenchie up in an consuming hug and Frenchie clung to him like a rock in a storm. He got to go on clinging too.

“I know how to plan a funeral without much money,” John told him solemnly and he started making up a list. “How far away is home?”

“It was just an apartment. We only lived there a few years,” Frenchie was still tucked in close to John’s side. “About an hour away.”

“We can leave in the morning.”

They did. John drove him up to the town that Frenchie had never thawed in. They do all the mundane and horrible things you had to do when someone died. But John had a list and whenever he showed up, the things he said should happen generally did even though he was soft-spoken and kind as anything. It only a few days, there was a funeral. It was well-attended. His father had always been good at leaving an impression on people. Frenchie let people shake his hand and tell him they were sorry. He accepted bits of food and floral cards.

Then they went back to the apartment and sorted through his father’s life. It felt wrong to go into his bedroom, to touch all his intimate things.

“When my mother died, I didn’t cry until this part,” John told him, eyes misty all over again recounting it. “Sat down in her closet and bawled like a baby into one of her dresses.”

“What did you do with all of it?”

“Donated most of it. She had good things that someone else could wear. She’d want that. Kept a few for myself just to have,” John dabbed at his eyes, then gently took a suit jacket off a hanger and tucked it into one of the liquor boxes they’d scrounged up. “I keep saying I’ll make something with them someday, but really I just like having them in my closet. Like the good kind of ghost.”

“I like that.” Frenchie decided. He took his father’s favorite hat, one of his work shirts and still crisply ironed pair of slacks. The cologne too, cheap, but beloved. His father hadn’t owned any jewelry, not even a watch.

There was the guitar though. Frenchie took it with care, set it in it’s case.

“You know how to play it?” John asked as they loaded it into the car.

“Yeah, he taught me how. I love it, but there wasn’t room at the dorm. Probably still isn’t.”

“Store it at ours then. I’ve got some space.”

“Really?”

“You’re over pretty regularly anyway. It’ll be safe there.”

-Regularly became an understatement. Under the cloud of mourning, Frenchie rarely left. He liked Pete, who was brassy and loud, but also intensely kind. When he got wind of what happened, he’d actually been miffed that John hadn’t told him about the funeral and went out of his way to make sure Frenchie had his preferred coffee blend at the apartment for the mornings after he fell asleep on the couch. Lucius was abrasive and mean, hilarious and also secretly softer than John and Pete combined. He sat up with Frenchie on a night he couldn’t sleep and told him increasingly unlikely, but funny stories about drunk rich people shenanigans.

-In that haze, Frenchie completed his program and then he was also homeless.

“You’ll stay with us,” John told him as his last week at the dorm drew closer. “You can have the couch.”

“I don’t have a job yet.”

“It’s a couch. Who pays rent on a couch?”

-Frenchie got a job within a week at a bougie bakery. He got up when Lucius was walking in a lot of the time, out of everyone’s way long before they woke up. With great care, he baked his grief into croissants and scones. The head baker wasn’t very good and the recipes were too sweet, but Frenchie appreciated the mechanicalness of it all just then.

-One late sweet night at the end of summer, John rubbed Frenchie’s hands between his own, working out a cramp that had snuck up on him while he put pleats into his first pair of sewn pants.

“Feels good,” Frenchie whispered, the words caught between them.

“You need to loosen up or you’ll give yourself carpel tunnel,” John chided, taking each finger carefully in turn.

“I don’t date because I’m asexual,” Frenchie said, the words which has been waiting on the tip of his tongue finally tumbled free. “I want to. I just know most people want sex and then it’s a whole thing.”

“What’s asexual?” John paused, hands frozen around Frenchie’s like a horrible parody of a proposal.

“Uh, it means I don’t have sex? It’s a whole spectrum, but I’m firmly in the ‘no, thanks’ part of it,” Frenchie felt his heart sink into his stomach. “It’s not a big-”

“I didn’t know there was a word for it,” John practically whispered. “I thought it was...just me.”

“No, oh my God, no,” Frenchie turned his hand, clasping at John’s. “Not even a little. There’s me, obviously. But there’s so many of us. Is that why you don’t date?”

“It’s miserable,” John nodded, clinging to the tether of Frenchie’s hand. “I want...I want things.”

“Yeah,” Frenchie found a smile, maybe the first smile he’d really managed in months. “Me too.”

Their eyes caught and held, very tentatively, John asked, “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Frenchie brought their joined hands to his lips, brushed a kiss over one of John’s knuckles. “I like kissing sometimes. Not too much. I like hugging a lot. Cuddling is good. You?”

“I like hugging you a lot. Let’s find out about the kissing.”

-The kissing was good. The kissing, actually, was fucking great. They did that a lot and eventually, they experimented with a night’s sleep which was comfortable as anything. The couch was abandoned and after a little arguing, Frenchie started paying rent.

“So you two are...” Pete looked between them over the first joint rent payment.

“Happy,” Frenchie supplied while John blushed.

“Got it,” Pete took the check. “Good for you then.”

-By winter, Frenchie was over the bakery. He wanted something more challenging and maybe a little creative. He applied all over the map, but when he walked into Freedom, he had a good feeling right off the bat. The place smelled amazing, looked both homey and threatening at the same time.

“This is the place,” ‘Call me Eddy’ told him. “I’m the co-owner, but I do the front of house stuff. You’ll interview with Izzy.”

“That’s Chef Hands?” he recalled from the advertisement.

“Sure, we can call him that,” Eddy snorted. “IZZY! YOU’RE GUY IS HERE!”

“SEND HIM THROUGH!” A voice penetrated out of the kitchen.

“Uh, okay, any tips?” Frenchie glanced at Eddy.

“Be good at cooking,” Eddy said with a twitch of a smile.

“....thanks.”

The kitchen was immaculate as Frenchie went through the doors. A man in a black chef’s coat, black jeans, black boots, and his arms crossed over his chest greeted him as he came through.

“You’re resume only says Frenchie.”

“Yes, chef,” Frenchie drew himself up. “It’s my name.”

“Pretentious,” Chef Hands judged, but in a toneless way like it hardly mattered to him. “You’ve read about what we do?”

“I did.”

“Can you make pastry worth a damn without eggs?”

“Yes, chef,” Frenchie lifted his chin, answering the challenge with a challenge. “Try me.”

“Most of it needs overnight, right?”

“I can do something right now if you need me too.”

“Let’s say I do. Savory, not sweet.”

“Yes, chef.”

It took longer in an unfamiliar kitchen and there were the eyes of the chef on him the whole time. But Frenchie thought about John kissing his forehead before he left that morning.

They’d just be lucky to have you if they’re smart enough to take you.

He cooked and he baked. In the end, he presented the chef with five puff pastry packets, embracing a damn good chicken pot pie mixture. The chef didn’t say a word, the same blank face as many of Frenchie’s professors. He picked one up, bit into it. Then took another bite and another.

“EDDY!” he shouted and there was a rattle, a bang, then doors swinging open.

“What?” Eddy crowded in around the chef. Without ceremony, the chef shoved the last remaining bite into Eddy’s mouth.

“Yes?” The chef asked.

“Holy shit, yes,” Eddy said, pastry flaking out of her mouth. “Why are you even asking me?”

“Because you didn’t eat lunch,” Izzy shoved a full pastry at her on a napkin.

“Can I have two?”

“Leave one for Roach,” he allowed.

“Do I have a job?” Frenchie asked, glancing between them.

“You’ve got a job.”

“Thank you, Chef-”

“Izzy,” came the harsh correction. “You can call me chef during dinner service, rest of the time just use my damn name. This isn’t the fucking miliatry or something.”

“Ok,” Frenchie nodded. “I can work with that.”

-If he had any worries about working with Izzy, who continued to have the personality of steel wool, then they were erased when he met Jim and Roach. Jim wielded a knife during prep with such speed it took Frenchie’s breath away. They were also silent until they shot of a wry observation that made Frenchie cackle.

And Roach. Roach was magic.

“I’m going to make a jambalaya and people like to dip shit in that,” Roach told him. “So give me some options.”

“What’s the spice profile like?”

“Say ah.”

And an amazing flavor explosion just happened in Frenchie’s mouth.

“Holy shit, yeah I can work with that.”

They bounce off each other easily, the menu evolving so fast that Eddy just took to handwriting it until it coalesced for the season. To Frenchie’s surprise, Izzy had little to say about their improvisations, except to curtail them when the menu got longer than a page.

“People get stupid when they’re too many decisions,” he announced. “Just save it for winter.”

-John came to eat with Pete the very first night Frenchie was in the kitchen.

“It was amazing,” John told him when Frenchie climbed wearily into bed.

“I don’t think it was yet,” Frenchie tucked his head into the crook of John’s arm. “But I think it will be.”

-In summer, Izzy took Frenchie and Roach with him to the local farm where they got their produce. A wild looking man named Buttons with a pigeon on his shoulder walked them through greenhouse after greenhouse.

"You can make good things from good soil," Buttons intoned.

"What kind of good things do you grow here?" Roach asked specutiavely looking at the one greenhouse the door hadn't opened too.

"You want to cook with that shit, you find a different place," Izzy cut off whatever Buttons was going to say. He was rows away, giving accessing looks to a thyme plant.

"How's he even hear that?" Roach groused.

"What kind of basil do you have?" Frenchie asked.

"Every kind," Buttons gave him the same kind of look Izzy was giving the thyme. "But you'll be wanting the onions first."

-They were really great onions. And basil. And everything. Frenchie spent all afternoon asking Buttons questions and at the end of it, Izzy said in his decisive way,

"You're doing this from here on out. Once a season, come out, see what looks good. Buttons invoices us."

"Me? But I'm not-"

"Are you a chef or not?" Izzy demanded.

"...I am," he realized.

"Good. Order the fucking produce from the madman then."

Frenchie did. He liked Buttons, even if he did smell like mulch.

-The closure scared Frenchie a little even though he understood the vision. It made him realize how quickly the kitchen had become the bulk of his life.

"You love it." John shrugged when he brought it up.

"Yeah, but I-" Frenchie started, caught himself, then couldn't figure how why he'd bothered. Surely John knew by now. "I love you too. More than that."

"No competition," John pinked up. "I love you a lot. But that's not my whole life. Shouldn't be yours either."

-It was, in some ways, an embarrassment of riches. To have John with their room and their place enmeshed with Pete and Lucius as well as the kitchen with Roach and Jim. Increasingly there was Eddy too, who liked to come back to the kitchen when Frenchie was prepping and ask him idle questions about what he was doing and steal bits of dough.

Maybe there was even Izzy, who barked and ordered, but also made staff dinner almost every night, rotating through everyone's favorites. On Frenchie's birthday, he made beef wellington with a sniff,

"Like pastry is fucking hard?" Then very quietly admitted that he'd had to start over after he'd fucked up measurements. No one else heard it, but Frenchie did and that was all that mattered.

-So when Lucius got the job then came home a few days later with a groaning, "Does the man not understand that I'm hitting on him so hard I might knock through drywall?"

Frenchie offered, "Yeah, no he doesn't get it, guaranteed. Gotta be clear."

That took ages to pay off, but once it did, the kitchen was even nicer to work in. Not that Izzy got nicer, but he was easier to tease and less likely to strike back. Jim took the most ruthless advantage and their verbal sparring made Frenchie spill more than one container on the floor with laughter.

-And if sometimes on a late night, when John was sleeping, Frenchie took his father's hat down off the shelf and just held it in his hands, wasn't that okay?

"It's going good," he told the hat. "You'd be proud, I think. No...I know. You would. It's a good life, Dad. Wish you could've seen."

When he crawled into bed, John pulled him in close.

"Maybe he does see," John mumbled. "You deserve a guardian angel or two."

"Got one already," he slotted his fingers over the stars on John's temple. "Best one going too."

"Want to stay in tomorrow?" John suggested. "Watch movies and make things?"

"More than anything," Frenchie slung his leg over one of John's. "Chocolate chip cookies, maybe. And we can work on that quilt."

And that's exactly what they did.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #bottle of red bottle of white #frenchie #john feeney #songs for lovers

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yandere--stuck · 4 years ago

Note

(This is the anon about ur zagreus fic! sorry for sending this as an ask, your submission box is closed as far as i can tell,, either way, enjoy <3)

You’d seen the Prince of the Underworld, for the first time, on the day you set foot here.

Dying was a lot to take in, to no one’s surprise. One moment you were merely falling asleep, the next you were clawing your way to the surface of a crimson river. You were sore all over, legs trembling as you walked. (No, gods, did you even really have legs anymore? Were you walking or floating?) It all went by in a haze. The person (shade, man, god?) listing your cause of death after startling awake, and having you take your place in the line.

Your mind drifting to better times became much more difficult when you’re faced with the near obliterating gaze of Lord Hades, looking straight through you for his judgement. Maybe you wouldn’t be as eager to sink through the floor if he hadn’t shown his displeasure with the person in front of you for an ‘ignorant request’. Was it possible for shades to cry? You supposed you were about to find out.

Then, a flash of red made you jump, cutting in front of you as you were about to take another step forward. You blinked, and there was now a man. His skin gray and hair dark, he had a striking resemblance to Hades on his throne. Even the wreath matched. But his actions couldn’t be more of a stark opposite with the stern god in front of you. He cooed at the dog, the exact words he was saying lost on you, and it leaned toward him. It was such a ridiculous sight, the gigantic Cerberus sticking its tongue out and wagging his tail, craning its head for more scratches underneath its chin, that it broke you from your panic and made you muffle a laugh.

Not even Lord Hades snapping at, what you assume to be, his son to cease bothering the dog, got you nearly as scared again. You never got the chance to, in one way or another, thank him. Despite being dead, you were certain you would’ve never lived it down if you burst into tears at the moment of your judgement. Your sentence was given, and received.

Elysium is beautiful.

It’s a privilege to be here, of course you’re aware. To share these hallowed grounds with the greatest heroes of history, ones you’d only heard wild tales about, and to roam these fields of endless green is a wish for many. The reward you received for a lifetime of servitude as one of Artemis’ hunting attendants, and never falling out of your goddesses' grace while doing so. But, even in a gorgeous place such as this one, there are still things left to mull over. Besides regrets made during your life, you sometimes think back to your first day here, and to the prince that saved you from humiliation, without being aware. You had made your mind up to, if you ever encountered a second time, to pay your dues.

There are few things for the dead to indulge in. Rumours are one of them, especially ones as grand as the supposed escape attempt of the prince, Zagreus. The whispers among the shades spoke of an upcoming battle between him, Theseus and Asterius. You’re sure everyone is welcome to watch as Theseus enjoys fighting in front of as large of an audience as possible. The thought makes you giddy, too. Not only do you get to see the prince again, you can show him your appreciation in such a direct way, too. You’d used flowers for the red of your banner, at first. It took ages and wasn’t bright enough for your liking. With enough travelling through the fields however, you came across more and more puddles of dried blood. Whose it used to be, you don’t know, but you used some. They wouldn’t be needing it anymore, would they? Your clothes were still dyed with flowers, though.

When the rumours turn out true, you’re one of the first in the line. You’d expected most of the visitors to be in support of the minotaur or his friend, but you weren’t anticipating being the sole person cheering for Zagreus. There’s no time to care for it. Your shame died along with you. Either way, you’re much more enthralled by the scene unfolding in front of you. The movements are so quick they’re hard to keep track of, a flurry of attempted hits, the prince dashing around as he shoots a flurry of arrows. (You swear he catches your eyes one, and as selfish as the thought is, you think you made him smile.) A spear pierces his chest, and his body falls to the ground.

He returns, dies, returns, returns and dies. You are there for every battle. At one point, you pick up the habit of waving at him as soon as he enters the battlefield, and he returns the gesture. During the fight, you call out his name, your voice lost in the ocean of cheers. (Once again, it’s a self indulgent thought, but Zagreus always moves towards the part of the arena opposite of you, glancing in what you think might be your general direction.) To soften the ache in your heart every time he is forced to sink to his knees, you observe. He lasts longer every time, gets better at dodging, manages to hit more, and then- No longer is he the one forced to accept his losses. Just like during his fights, it’s impossible to tear your eyes away from him.

“I dedicate this victory to you, my Good Shade!” And yet, it still comes as a surprise. To have him staring up at you, smiling widely, as if you aren’t merely one dead among many, on an entirely different, lower level than his. In your journey to show your appreciation for him, you’ve only gained his in return. (Though you’re certain that this is the most personal interaction you’ll have with him; two very separate existences, only interacting for a moment.) You lean over the railing of the arena, and give a smile of your own.

~~~

some noootes…! like i said this was inspired by your yandere!zagreus post,, i wanted to write a little something from reader’s perspective <3!! i added the attendant of artemis detail out of self indulgence,,, they wouldve been sworn to have no relationships during their life so they might not immediately realise how out of the ordinary zagreus is acting later on :P and them using zagreus’ blood for their banner for him was just ironic to me lmao,, hope u enjoyed it <33!!! thanks for ur writing <3

OH MY GOD ANON THIS SO AMAZING!!!!!!!! YOU'RE SUCH A TALENTED WRITER OMG!!!!! I love your prose and the way you write out actions! This is so creative and, using Zag's own blood for the banner?? UGH. I can't get over it. This drabble my beloved.....

I love this sm and I can't thank you enough for submitting this, this is just. Incredible!!!!! :DDDD

#yandere zagreus #yandere hades #hades game x reader #yandere hades game #zagreus x Reader #hades #hades game #yandere #yandere zagreus x reader

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cryptiql · 4 years ago

Text

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

#⛓.dabi #dabi x male reader #dabi x reader #anime x male reader #mha x male reader #touya todoroki x male reader #my hero x reader #my hero x y/n #boku no hero x reader #x male reader #bnha x you #dabi fluff #dabi angst #dabi imagine

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years ago

Text

Gold Writing

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When a charming, handsome stranger gives you inspiration for the first time in weeks, you try to guess what it is he’s famous for in exchange for his name. Warnings: none at all :) A/N: Just a little idea I’d been toying around with for a bit. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot

Disclaimer: Gif and picture not mine

It was an uncharacteristically warm day for this time of year in New York City. Or so you’d been told, anyway. You had been living here for three months, tops; not really long enough to have a feel for the weather patterns. Either way, you were grateful for the sun’s rays coating your face, bathing you in their heat.

You turned your face away from the sky and down towards the sketchbook in your lap. It had been your hope that Central Park might inspire you, but you were still having artist’s block. It was at least better than being cooped up in your apartment all day. You didn’t really know anyone yet, save for your old friend who you had moved in next to. If it hadn’t been for them encouraging you, you probably never would have packed up and moved. They’d promised to introduce you to some people they knew, too, so you wouldn’t get lonely. Sadly, the scheduling never worked out.

And so, here you were, alone on a bench. Looking at all the couples and families and friends bustling and laughing around you, you thought you might be the only person all by yourself on this Saturday afternoon. Well, no, not the only one, you realized, spying a raven-haired man on a bench not too far away. His nose was buried in a book, a few locks of his shiny, dark hair falling out of his bun and framing his face. He looked familiar, but not in a "you knew him" sort of way. More in that you thought he might be famous somehow. No one else seemed to notice him, though.

You glanced back down at the empty pages, waiting to be filled by the strokes of your pencil. Then you looked back at the mystery man again, scooting a little closer to the end of your bench. Without really thinking about it, your deft fingers picked up your standard 2B pencil and began to sketch.

Starting with the sharp lines of his jaw, you moved onto his hair that intrigued you so. You don’t think you’d ever seen another person with hair that dark a color. Trying to get every last detail right, you kept glancing up and down. By the time you were onto the shading, you were certain that you had seen him somewhere before. The next time you glanced up, he was gone, and a frown settled on your features as you looked left and right, searching for the only subject to inspire you in days.

“It is a lovely drawing, darling,” a smooth baritone voice with a British accent said from behind you, “but I do not really think that is my best angle.”

You squeaked in surprise and dropped your sketchbook. The man somehow managed to reach out in front of you and catch it. He came to sit next to you, and as he walked around the bench, you realized just how tall he was.

“I think you dropped this,” he said with a charming smile, handing your sketchbook to you.

“I, uh, yeah. I did,” you stammered, hating how you couldn’t be as suave as him. Plus, he was unfairly good looking. “Thank you. And, um, sorry. About, you know, drawing you.”

“On the contrary, darling, there is no need to apologize. I am quite happy to have my likeness captured in such a flattering light,” he chuckled, taking off his sunglasses and revealing his brilliant blue-green eyes. “Really, I should be thanking you.”

With all the small details you were gathering, it felt like his name was on the tip of your tongue. Infuriatingly enough, you still couldn’t place it. You didn’t think he was a singer, that didn’t feel right. Though you did feel like his mesmerizing voice would be well suited to it. So, a well-known author, perhaps? He had been reading, after all. But you were woefully behind on your own reading list, so you had a feeling it wasn’t that either. You briefly wondered what even happened to the book he’d had; it was nowhere on him, almost like he’d stored it in some pocket of space.

“Oh,” you finally responded, nervously laughing. “You’re welcome, in that case. And thank you. For the compliments, I mean.”

“Ah, you are very welcome, too. It is not often I meet such a talented artist.” He somehow managed to sprawl out on the somewhat uncomfortable park bench, his long legs spread wide. It wasn’t indecent, exactly, but it somehow felt like it was. His arms were resting on the back of the seat so that, had you been leaning back, one of them would have been wrapped around your shoulder. “I do somehow find it hard to believe I was the most interesting thing in the vicinity, however. Though, I suppose I am rather flattered by that notion, too.”

His mischievous grin sent pleasant shivers down your spine. “Well, when inspiration strikes,” you anxiously chuckled with a shrug. Your nerves were still telling you he was about to get mad at any second.

“I do suppose that is true.” He cocked his head at you in the most adorable way. “Then I am honored to provide you with it.”

You suddenly felt even warmer than you had before, but you knew it had nothing to do with the sun anymore, but rather was from this enrapturing stranger. Though, this man’s smile certainly rivaled the sun.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” you began, “but you seem awfully familiar. You don’t happen to be famous, do you?”

“Oh, so you have not yet figured it out, then. I had been wondering. I suppose that, yes, I could be considered famous.”

When he didn’t say anything else, you continued, “Can I get a name then? I’m afraid I don’t really keep up with pop culture all that much.”

“Well, I suppose I could tell you my name.” His grin somehow grew to be even more mischievous. “But where is the fun in that? Besides, I am afraid you might start treating me differently if you knew.”

“Ok, that’s fair.” A spark of excitement lit behind your eyes as you got an idea and turned to face the captivating stranger. “How about this, I get three guesses about what it is you’re known for. If I get it right, you have to tell me your name. If not, then it can stay a mystery forever, if you want it to.”

“A most intriguing proposition. Alright, I accept. First guess?”

“Hang on,” you said, putting up your hand. “If I only get three guesses, I feel like it would be fair if I got to talk to you for a bit longer, at least. Unless I’m holding you up from something, of course.”

“I have time to spare, darling.” He stood up and offered you his hand. “Join me on a walk?”

An easy dialogue flowed between you as you strolled through the park. The way the light was illuminating his features made your hands itch to sketch him again. That reminded you to ask about his book, which he pulled out from seemingly nowhere.

“Hang on,” you said, getting your first idea. “Are you like a-a magician or a, um, an illusionist or something?”

“Well, it is interesting that you mention that. Magic is more a hobby than anything else,” he replied. “But not what I am known for, per se. Two guesses left.”

You frowned and flipped through the pages of the book he’d handed you. Hoping he’d made some kind of foolish error, you checked the covers for his name. No such luck. Absorbed in your hunt for clues, you weren’t paying attention to the world around you. Your companion suddenly grabbed you and jerked you to a stop. A ball whizzed past your head. If you’d kept walking, it surely would have hit you.

“You really should be more careful,” he playfully tsked. Then he grew more serious as he gently turned your head, checking for injuries. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, feeling flustered from the attention of his piercing gaze. He also felt surprisingly cool for how warm out it was. You looked up at him and saw him raising his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe you. “I’m fine, really,” you added more convincingly. “Just my pride that’s wounded, I guess. But you stopped me in time. So, thank you.”

“It was no problem, darling,” he replied as you set off on the path again. “After all, I can’t have you getting hurt before you finish guessing, now can I?”

Again, you giggled, simultaneously loving and hating how he had that effect on you. “No, I guess not.”

“So, have you found whatever it is your looking for in my book?”

Glancing down at the page you had open, you saw it was the story of Rumpelstiltskin. How ironic. You tried to forge a connection between the book of fairytales and this man in your mind, but were coming up empty. Unless, of course, he was going to the source material for some reason, like he was preparing for a role.

“An actor!” you said, feeling sure you’d gotten it now. You’d definitely felt like you’d seen him on your TV screen before. Plus, he was definitely handsome enough for it. “That’s got to be it.”

“While I have appeared on television before, that is still incorrect, darling. One guess remaining.”

Oh how you wanted to wipe that smug yet ridiculously captivating grin from his face. Maybe with a kiss... Nope, no. That was ridiculous; you just met him. Besides, he was famous. Why on God’s green earth would he be interested in you as anything more than an entertaining encounter to pass the afternoon? So, you’d just have to do it with the right guess. You put your thinking cap on.

“Ok, well if you were on TV but aren’t an actor, maybe it was in an interview,” you thought out loud, gauging his reaction. You were excited, but also sad that your game was coming to a close. He’d surely leave after, whether you got it right or not. You supposed you could always try to look it up once you got home, if you couldn’t guess correctly. At least it would make for a fun story then. “I suppose there’s reality shows too, but that doesn’t quite seem your style. And, I guess you could be doing the interviewing—like a reporter or something—but that doesn’t sit quite right either. Sports! They televise sports. Plus I’m not really a fan, so I could believe I’ve heard of you but not totally recognize you. So, my final guess is athlete.”

“And you are certain that is your final guess?” He had a wonderful poker face and gave away nothing as to whether or not it was right. “Last chance to turn back.”

You appraised him, thinking he looked like he could be an athlete. And maybe it was some reverse psychology, trying to get you to abandon the correct guess. You didn’t really have any better ideas, anyway.

“Yes?”

“So sorry, but that is incorrect. And you are regretfully out of guesses, darling.”

“Of course it's not,” you sighed. He seemed genuinely saddened by how dismayed you seemed, so you perked up. “It was fun, though. So I, uh, I guess I won’t hold you up any longer.”

“You are correct; this was quite fun. Unfortunately, I do have another arrangement to get to,” he said in a way that made you believe he was actually upset over it. “How about that sketch that started this all, though? That one you made of me?”

“What of it?” you asked.

“May I buy it off of you?”

Your mouth formed a surprised little circle. “I mean, you can honestly have it for free. It is an unsolicited picture of you, after all. I wouldn’t feel right accepting your money for it.”

“Nonsense, I am only offering a small amount, anyway. Say, the price of a cup of coffee?”

You smiled at your feet as you caught onto what he was saying. It made your insides feel fuzzy. Maybe you wouldn’t accept, though. After all, you still didn’t know who he was. But if you were to go on a date, then certainly he would tell you.

“Sure,” you agreed. “I would love that.”

You tore out the sketch and handed it to him. In exchange, he gave you his card and said to call him to set a time and place. You glanced down at the small paper in your hands, not yet reading it. By the time you looked back up, he was already gone. With your handsome stranger nowhere to be found, you went to actually read his information. Unable to contain your surprise, not to mention shock at how foolish you were, you gasped, and your jaw hung open.

Gold writing on a green card held the secret you’d been trying to find the answer to all afternoon. Of course he was an Avenger, a hero. You ran your fingers over his name, a small smile forming on your lips. You quickly punched the contact into your phone and headed off in the direction of your apartment.

“Well, I’m glad this isn’t goodbye, Loki Laufeyson,” you mused to yourself, relishing in the way his name rolled off your tongue. “I’ll see you soon.”

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beelsnack · 3 years ago

Text

Bad Influence - Beelsnack's 666 Follower Special!!

(Technically I'm over 666 - shoutout to the porn bots)

But seriously, holy shit, there's a lot of you. Thank you all so much for liking my stuff, and for interacting with me and sending me good vibes and all of that. I hope I can keep giving you guys quality work!!

And yes, I am a nerd and I consider 666 a milestone for a blog for a bunch of demons. No, I'm not sorry.

-----

Lucifer: He couldn’t help but wonder when the change had set in.

When the human first arrived in the Devildom, they had been humble and meek. If anyone complimented them, they deflected it with the mastery and resignation of someone who had been doing it for far longer than they should have. And if someone thanked them? You would think their entire world was dissolving around them.

But now?

He extended a gloved hand towards them as they descended the stairs. Tonight was one of the rare nights where they had the opportunity to be alone without one of his brothers tagging along, and they had been planning this date for nearly a week now. They slipped their hand in his without any of the hesitation they would have shown at first. They knew they deserved his reverence.

“You look radiant as always, my dear,” he curled his fingers around theirs as they reached the bottom step, bringing the backs of their knuckles to his lips. “Surely there is no star in the sky that could outshine you.”

They laughed - his theatrics always did amuse them. “You do have amazing taste, after all.”

He chuckled as well, guiding the two of them to the front door. “Of course. Do you think the Avatar of Pride would associate with anyone less than the best?”

“Definitely not,” the wind that came through the door when they opened it blew their hair away from their face, and Lucifer couldn’t help but preen at the fact that he had helped that quivering little animal grow into the proud swan that stood before him.

“Speaking of the best, where are we going for dinner?”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he laughed as they made their way out into the night. “You deserve the world, and the world you shall get.”

“Unless ‘the world’ means a steak dinner, I’m not interested.”

Mammon: “Come on, don’t leave me hangin’ out here!”

The curtain covering the entrance to the changing room rustled, and Mammon heard a faint “Fine, fine, just give me a sec!” before it finally opened and out stepped the human.

Mammon always thought they looked good no matter what they were wearing, even if it was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. Actually, especially if it was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. But seeing them decked out in his fashion brand - one he had both designed and modeled - was definitely making him feel some type of way.

He let out a low whistle when they stopped in front of the chair he had seated himself in. The results of his own shopping spree were tucked haphazardly into a colorful assortment of bags at his feet, but the human had taken a bit longer than he did picking out their stuff. And damn, was he glad they did, because otherwise he wouldn’t get the chance to see them modeling his clothes.

It was a private fashion show, just for him.

The outfit itself was pretty simple. A black fitted tee beneath a cropped leather jacket, a pair of faded dark-blue skinny jeans, and a pair of black sneaks with a gold stripe going up the side. But the thing that brought the whole outfit together was the long necklace with a topaz pendent resting against their breastbone.

“Well?” they asked, giving him a spin before striking a pose before him. “What do you think?”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. The human wearing his clothes...it was the next best thing to them walking around with “I Belong To Mammon” tattooed on their forehead.

“I, uh...I guess you...um,” he swallowed thickly. “Ya look alright, I guess.”

“That’s tsundere for ‘you look hot,’ right?” they grinned before spinning around to look in the mirror. “Man, this is a whole look! I have to have it!”

If this had been a few months ago, the human would have waffled back and forth about whether or not to buy anything. It didn’t matter how much they wanted something, it was almost like they just couldn’t do anything nice for themselves. There was being frugal, and then there was deprivation. Now, though, was completely different.

“I wonder if I should get some shades to go with?” they mumbled, looking themselves over in the mirror. “I think that would really pull it together, don’t you?”

“Just don’t go for the Ray Bans, it’s a fucking scam.”

Leviathan: "Come on, come on, come on…"

Very rarely was Levi the one watching someone else play games, unless it was a stream. And as mind-blowingly awesome it would be to watch the human stream one of his current faves, he definitely didn't want other people seeing how adorable they looked when they were focused.

They had come to him with absolute determination in their eyes, begging him to help them out. There were a limited amount of UR armor sets in the event, and they needed to get their hands on one. And, well, what kind of friend would he be if he didn't help them out?

(The fact that he already scored the armor is irrelevant.)

So, here they were, camped out in the pillow nest that they often made for themselves when gaming in his room, laser focused on the screen with Levi giving them guidance. The event level was brutal, but they were in the final hours, so it was crunch time.

"Okay, this boss is easy once you know the attack pattern. Four regular slashes, a jab, then you've got about five seconds to get behind a pillar before it uses the AOE."

"Gotcha."

Even then, it was a long battle, and they had used up most of their healing potions by the time the monster let out an anguished roar and disintegrated into a pile of bones. The human held their breath as they moved towards it to gather their loot.

"Yes!!"

They practically leaped out of the pillow nest in triumph. There, right on the top of the loot list in shimmering gold font, and the UR armor that they had been coveting.

"I got it! I got it!" they cheered. "Levi, I finally got it!"

"Hell yeah you did!" the two of them shared a crisp high five as the results of the campaign loaded on the screen. It was updating in real time, so they could watch as the final moments of the event ticked away.

Levi knew what they were looking for. Early on in the dungeon, another player had done them real dirty, sniping them from a few levels above and then taunting them over VC about how they would never get the armor now. So of course that only inspired the human to work harder, and here they were.

3...2...1

Event over. Quickly, the human scrolled up to the beginning of the list, checking the names of all the players who scored the armor.

Levi sat next to them, chewing his lip. What was that person's tag again? He didn't remember.

Suddenly, the human let out a snort that turned into a full-on giggle fit.

"They didn't get it!" they cackled like a hyena. "Serves them right, the jackass!"

Levi was pretty sure it wasn't a good idea to laugh at the misfortune of others. But, he knew better than anyone that spite was a hell of a motivator. When they had first gotten themselves isekai’d into the Devildom, they had let demons walk all over them, Levi had personally witnessed a lower-level demon shove them out of the way to get a sandwich they had been reaching for, and the human just stood there and let them take it. But they had grown to be a little more selfish, and if they wanted something, they were taking it.

And maybe, just maybe, seeing them like that turned him on just a little bit.

Satan: "You want to come and say that to my face?"

Satan stood there in stunned silence as the human spun on their heel to look the demons right in the eyes. They had their back to him, so Satan couldn't see the look on their face, but whatever it was made the two lesser demons flinch.

"Hey, come on, Human, we were just joking."

"Yeah, no need to get all worked up."

They scoffed, and Satan knew them well enough to know that they were rolling their eyes. "Is that right? So you don't think I'm a...what was it? A fleshy meat sack who thinks they can get what they want by sleeping with the strongest demons in the Devildom?"

Another flinch. Satan chuckled to himself.. Did those morons really think they wouldn't hear them? Humans might not have super-heightened senses but they weren't deaf.

A small crowd had begun gathering around them, waiting to see what would happen. It wasn't every day one of the human exchange students squared up to a demon.

"You've got some nerve," the human drew themself up to their full height - which, admittedly, was laughable compared to most demons - and crossed their arms. "What do you think Lord Diavolo would do to demons who messed with his exchange students?"

"I believe there's a special spot in the Royal Torture Chambers for such demons," Satan came to stand next to them, and the other demons downright cowered. "If I recall correctly, there's an Iron Maiden down there."

"Ooh, cool!"

"Alright, we get it!" One of the demons cried, throwing their hands up defensively. "We're sorry!"

Satan opened his mouth to spit a curse at them, but the human beat him to it. "I've got Lord Diavolo on speed dial, so start running."

The two demons turned tail and booked it down the hallway, nearly crashing into Beelzebub as he turned the corner with a sandwich hanging out of his mouth. He stood frozen for a moment before he swallowed and turned to Satan and the human.

"Were those two bothering you guys?"

Satan cast a sideways look at the human before a wicked grin spread across his face.

"They took care of it."

Asmodeus: "Well, someone's feeling bold tonight."

The door had barely shut behind the two of them before the human was pressing Asmo against it, mouthing at his neck as their hands traveled down the front of his silk blouse. He shuddered gleefully as their breath ghosted against his ear lobe.

"I can't help it," they murmured, fingers skirting just beneath the hem of his shirt. "You looked so good out there."

"I look good all the time, darling," he hummed, reaching up to grab a fistful of hair to gently pry them away from his neck.

"You looked especially good," they huffed as he let go of their hair. "Dancing like that, I could barely wait until we got home."

"Aw, sweetheart, you should have come to join me." Asmo rolled his hips in an echo of the dancing he had been doing at the club, delighting when he felt them shiver against him. "We could have put on a show that would have captivated the whole Devildom."

"I don't think the staff would appreciate it."

"They would be too busy watching to care," Asmo giggled, diving down to capture their lips in a quick and dirty kiss. "Although I can't say I'm not thrilled to be getting a private show."

Beelzebub: “Man, this place has the best barbecue!”

Dinner dates were a pretty common thing for the two of them. Over the course of the human’s stay in the Devildom, the two of them had figured out which restaurants would put up with Beel’s appetite and which would visibly freeze when the Avatar of Gluttony entered the establishment. The Hellfire Barbecue was one of the good places, probably because Beel made sure to tip really well, and one time personally went into the kitchen to tip the chef. Or, well, he tried, anyway. He ended up giving the money to the human and told them to give it to the chef because he knew if he went in there he would devour everything. But the sentiment was still there.

Beel smiled down at the human as they wiped the barbecue sauce off of their face. “You finished all of it this time.”

“Huh?” they glanced at their plate. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You usually don’t.”

“I was really hungry, I guess.” they grinned sheepishly.

Beel distinctly remembered the human telling him that they always tried to save some food for later. Whether it was being resourceful or because they had a weird sense of shame around eating too much, Beel didn’t know, but he had never pressed in case it was a sensitive issue. But, seeing them indulge themselves and looking genuinely full and satisfied made him happy. And was probably his main motivation for taking them out to dinner so often.

Well, that and getting his own food.

“I like watching you eat.” Beel said, waving to the owner as he passed by.

“You...like watching me eat.” the human repeated, looking somewhat confused.

“You look so happy when you eat good food,” Beel smiled. “I like seeing you happy.”

Belphegor: Oh, how the tables have tabled.

“Come on, I don’t feel like dealing with Lucifer’s lectures today.” Belphie grumbled, tugging half-heartedly on the human’s arm that was flung around his waist. “We should get up soon.”

For all of his complaining, Belphie didn’t move. If anything, he snuggled down deeper into the bed. He loved when the human agreed to have a sleepover in the attic with him. They got uninterrupted cuddle and nap time, since nobody dared to come up to the attic except Beel. And Beel was almost always welcome to join the cuddle puddle.

“Five more minutes…” the human mumbled sleepily, burying their face into Belphie’s neck. The soft, contented sigh they let out tickled, and he squirmed a little.

“Aren’t you usually the one waking me up?” Belphie nuzzled his nose against their hair.

“But it’s comfy here,” they whined. “I don’t want to get up.”

“You just don’t want to do the presentation in class today.”

“Your point?”

Belphie laughed. “Can’t say I disagree.”

“I did all the hard work anyway,” they shrugged. “We’ll make Mammon give the report.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

The two of them settled back down into the nest of pillows. The human had almost drifted back to sleep when Belphie brought his nose down to theirs to nuzzle them together.

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“You’re cute when you shut up and let me sleep.”

#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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elendiliel · 3 years ago

Text

Here For You

A bit of not-really-nonsense that managed to overtake another story idea that inspired it (I’ll write that one soon). I may have spent too long with @itsstrangelypermanent‘s fics (if that’s possible)...

Warning for implied/referenced suicide, by the way.

---

“Is this seat taken?” Helli nearly jumped out of her skin as Master Kenobi addressed her, then berated herself internally for her lack of awareness. Yes, this was the Temple refectory and territory didn’t get much friendlier than that, but still… She shook her head, her mouth full of lunch, as she worked out why he’d chosen that particular table in the half-empty room. Given the events of a few days previously, that didn’t take long.

Her deduction was proved correct when he asked, too quietly for anyone else to hear, “How are you doing?” She knew to what he referred. The loss of one of her tight-knit strike team, who had been re-seconded to Master Kenobi and his former padawan Anakin Skywalker for a high-risk, high-casualty rescue mission to the notorious Citadel and never returned.

“Surviving,” she admitted. Kenobi, she was sure, was all too well aware of all the things she wasn’t prepared to say. Echo’s absence was still a dagger lodged in her heart, sending another bolt of pain through her at the slightest provocation. The smallest, most random things – the battered dejarik table in the 501st’s rec room; the sabacc game where she’d absent-mindedly dealt an extra hand; the stock of flimsi over which they’d had a long-running friendly feud; every bad joke he didn’t immediately try to outdo – could still bring tears to her eyes. She knew it would get better, though. This wasn’t the first loss she’d suffered. Yes, it might have been easier if she’d had some warning, as she had before, but it was what it was. And it would be the height of arrogance to demand that the Force conform to her expectations.

“And how’s Fives taking it?”

“Not well.” She couldn’t lie to Master Kenobi, or muster the brain cells required to bend the truth. Fives was Echo’s twin and now the last of their batch, and he’d also been on the Citadel mission. However much her brother’s death was hurting Helli, Fives was at least an order of magnitude worse off. “But he’ll live. We all will.” Fives, compassionate and affectionate though he might be, was also tough. Nobody would be listing him as died of wounds any time soon, if he or Helli had any say in the matter.

Died of wounds. The phrase didn’t just refer to physical injuries. Sometimes, it was the medics’ way of ensuring that their brothers who found it impossible to live without a twin, a batcher, or a close friend, or just had seen too much and suffered too much, were given the posthumous honour they deserved. Such incidents were far less common than they used to be (not that they had ever been exactly routine), Helli knew, though she’d only been sent to the front lines several months after the beginning of the war. Safety measures had been put in place very quickly, and unofficial support networks set up, often starting with the medics – the ones who saw all the worst injuries, waited with dying vode for the end, signed the death certificates for those who slipped through the cracks – and spiralling out to cover the whole army and every kind of issue. The clones always had each other’s backs, in or out of combat.

So did the Jedi, who did the best they could for the men in their care – which was generally plenty. Nothing was ever made official, lest the Kaminoans realise the scale of the “problem” and try to condition it out – never mind that it was partly their fault that the clones clung quite so fiercely to one another, having so little else in an often hostile environment – but every front-line jetii Helli knew willingly accepted the extra duty of looking out for their verde – ade would be a better word in some cases – between battles. Kenobi had surely done at least his fair share of that work; even Helli, whose five-person – four, now – team was effectively a floating unit, took her turn among the others when she could. It wasn’t a new idea. There had always been an unspoken agreement among the Jedi that no brother or sister should have to suffer alone; the Order was in many ways a family, one of the largest in the galaxy, and a family looks out for its members.

As Kenobi was looking out for her, she realised. He knew how close she and Echo had been, and that all her close friends were on assignment, so he’d taken it upon himself to check in with her. Someone always did when a Jedi lost a loved one, mostly out of simple compassion, though partly for practical reasons. It was so fatally easy for a Jedi’s warm, open, powerful, vulnerable heart to become cold and closed, with potentially devastating results for all concerned.

She caught herself wondering who had checked in with him when his master had been taken from him so suddenly twelve years before. Somebody would have done so, would have been there for him in his grief, as her best friend Nahdar had been for her in the same position. As Nahdar’s teacher Master Fisto and she had been for each other after Nahdar’s death. As someone would be for everyone who had lost someone on the Citadel mission. For all Master Piell’s many friends. For Rex, mourning one of his most trusted brothers. For Cody, who had seen so many of his men fall, there and elsewhere. For the batchmates, squadmates and other vod’ikase of the other casualties, Charger, Longshot and all the rest. For the survivors, perhaps even the natural-born officers, little though Helli liked some of them. (How, for instance, was Captain Tarkin still in the navy after the disaster on Murkhana? He must have powerful allies…) And, of course, for everyone whose hearts Echo had touched in his too-short life, Helli and her team among them.

As Master Kenobi adroitly changed the subject, asking her about the mission that had taken her away from Echo and Fives at just the wrong time – escorting his old friend, and probable cyare (not that Helli thought they’d ever been anything but friends), Duchess Satine Kryze back to Mandalore – she could still read the message behind his words. You’re not facing this alone. I’m here for you. Just as she was there for her grief-stricken brothers, and always would be.

---

Mando’a glossary (context-dependent):

Jetii: Jedi (singular).

Verde: soldiers.

Ade: sons.

Vod’ikase: dear brothers.

Cyare: beloved.

#star wars #The Clone Wars #original jedi characters #jedi oc #Obi-Wan Kenobi #fanfic

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jerryb2 · 4 years ago

Photo

I mean….you all knew this was coming ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ : the Star Wars Art of one Mr. Drew Struzan.

And look, the man has done so much and has such a diverse portfolio that Star Wars is only one very small part of his career. If you want to explore some of his other works, then might I suggest that you check out his website.

As for me here, we’ll be sticking strictly to his SW art. Now, with that out of the way, here we go…

*cracks knuckles*

I have to admit that before I really started to dig into this, I didn’t realize just how many Bantam Era (and beyond) Star Wars books this man has illustrated. Nearly 50 titles, ranging from novels to comics, short stories & even an RPG supplement. 🤯

And so, after much consideration, I decided to just pull all the titles that feature his art off my bookshelf and take a few pics for you guys:

First off, I just want to point out that I don’t have every book he’s ever illustrated. Some of them are just harder than hard to find, are hilariously expensive, or I just don’t have an edition that features his art prominently - you’ll see what I mean. Right off the bat though, you can see that he was really hitting his stride in the mid-90′s, with all but a handful of these coming out between ‘94 & ‘99. One of the highlights from this time for me, is The Callista Trilogy.

I just want to stress that The Callista Trilogy is a highlight for me only because of its gorgeous cover art. 🤣 Other than that, this book series needs to go lay down.

Anyway, the designs are all really striking and even after all these years, absolutely iconic. And you can really see Struzan’s distinct visual style at play here; not a painting in the same vein as something from Dave Doorman, and not a simple trace. Rather, something that is stylized in a very particular, very subtle way, almost to the point where it appears photo-realistic at first glance. Beautiful.

Next up is this trio of trilogies (good use of words, me), collected in these Science Fiction Book Club (SFBC) hardcovers:

Once again, these covers are just striking, particularly The Black Fleet Crisis. This is actually what I was referring to when I said that I don’t always have the best editions for a Drew Struzan appreciation post. 😅

Because these are hardcover collections of paperback books, we actually miss out on a good bit of the art. For these SFBC special editions, the publisher just took all three and basically photoshopped the best bits of each one together. The one that suffers the most here is obviously The Corellian Trilogy, where they didn’t even try to blend everything together, and instead just separated everything into columns. I don’t personally mind it (and I do love having the hardcover editions of these books) but if you want to see the covers as they were originally intended, just pickup those mass market paperbacks. 🙂

There’s a lot more to get through, so I’ll just hit the highlights here; even though he didn’t illustrate The Thrawn Trilogy (that was Tom Jung, who I personally think did an okay-ish job at best), he did an absolutely amazing job with the follow-up, The Hand of Thrawn Duology in ‘98 & ‘99:

I’ve always loved these covers. And narratively speaking, they really do serve as one last hurrah on the Bantam Era. Oh, and also please note, Mara Jade on the cover of Vision of the Future, just as Zahn originally described her. ❤❤❤

If you step back and look at Struzan’s work as a whole, it’s all incredibly unified. I bring this up here because even though some of these are books relatively ‘meh’ worthy, Struzan maintained a level of quality that belied the mediocrity contained within. And also to say that he was definitely busy, particularly in 1994:

That’s right - all of these released in ‘94, within a few months of one another. These covers man… *chef’s kiss*

And look I’m sorry, I just can’t help myself: The Crystal Star was a hilarious joke until we all realized they were serious about it. 😳

Alright, that’s a little on the harsh side; it’s not nearly as bad as most make it out to be, and Waru as a source for unlimited power (citation needed 👀😉) isn’t any more ridiculous than the 50 other post-Palpy, hair-brained Imperial schemes that everybody else cooked up, so I guess it fits. And besides, I really wanna be nice to Vonda McIntyre here, but this book was just so so boring. 😴

*clears throat* Moving on, here we have a couple Barnes & Noble hardcover collections of The Jedi Prince Series:

The same thing applies here; cover art photoshopped from across 6 different YA novels to get these. They don’t look bad, far from it. But rather this series has some things that people would rather forget about, namely a supposed son of Palpatine (spoiler: he wasn’t) named Triclops who had - wait for it - 3 eyes.

Like Tien. From DBZ. Yep. 🤦‍♂️

Moving further down the list, we have yet another pair of iconic cover designs, being I, Jedi (the only Star Wars novel written in the first person, and an appropriate riff on Isaac Asimov’s I, Robot - yes ladies & gentlemen, that is as clever as Star Wars gets) and The New Rebellion.

Classics, no doubt….but for reals, did anybody else ever wonder why the X-Wing on the cover of I, Jedi is missing an S-Foil? Or how that one slipped through??? 👀

Ah, at last we arrive at what is arguably Struzan’s most famous work; the covers for Shadows of the Empire & The Star Wars Trilogy: Special Edition.

It’s hard to overstate just how important Shadows of the Empire really was for Star Wars as a brand. In an era where SW books were already extremely popular, the Shadows of the Empire Multimedia Project basically served as a breakout hit and reignited interest in SW media across the board. This was in no small part due to the striking imagery captured on its cover - are you seeing a pattern here?

This success actually renewed Lucas’ interest in a theatrical re-release of the OT in 1997….which of course, feature more beautiful art from Drew Struzan:

These are my OG Special Edition VHS tapes from back in the day. I watched these so damn much as a kid. In fact, they’re basically the whole reason that I’m here, annoying the shit out of everybody today. 😁

After the Bantam Era concluded & the Star Wars publishing license went to Del Rey, Struzan did progressively fewer pieces for SW media. Here we see his contribution for the latter half of the Last of the Jedi YA series, and his kick-ass cover art for the Darth Maul comic:

And when I say that Struzan did progressively fewer pieces for Star Wars, I am of course omitting his turn as the poster artist for the freaking Prequel Trilogy:

Say what you will about the films, but these poster designs are nothing short of genius.

Look guys, it would be pretty easy for me to downplay Struzan’s Star Wars portfolio as just one small part of his incredible career. But my dudes, this is literally just the tip of the iceberg. The man has been a professional illustrator for over 50 years, and his art has delighted and inspired generations. From Star Wars to Indian Jones, and from Back to the Future to Blade Runner - Drew Struzan has played an integral part in shaping popular culture.

Here’s to you, sir. 🍻

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sugar-petals · 4 years ago

Text

Baekhyun Doms You: Ending Up Laughing

↳⎡NOTE.⎦thought this’d be an interesting concept & a different side to smut: what if you try things out and it’s both not your thing? w/ a humorous twist and subby bf moments sprinkled in 😄

♡ words. 4k

+ tags ⚠️ pwp hc, bondage, throatfucking, graphic, cum play, unsafe/clumsy practice: do not recreate, degradation, biting, masochist bbh, domme!reader switches unsuccessfully, whips, hair-pulling

imagine that. a wide-eyed baekhyun pacing and tiptoeing in front of your toy shelf, trying to pick a riding crop he fancies. it takes five minutes and several ‘uhh, ohh’ confused puppy noises until he’s able to decide which one he’s taking.

...literally even if he knows exactly which one does what. you’ve used all of them on him.

meanwhile, you take three seconds flat to pull out one that fits your mood and proceed to edge the living shit out of him. yes, without literal further ado. teasing his dick and marking his thighs and doing all kinds of delicious things.

he’s still going back and forth in his head without having even started out. cutely tapping and swaying from one foot to the other.

it’s like he’s back to school. priceless.

what’s even more hilarious: baekhyun practices random mean facial expressions while trying to decide. he doesn’t seem to be sure what character he’s going for. it feels like he’s rehearsing for a concert or photoshoot, even. absolutely fascinating to watch.

i mean he’s absolutely photogenic no doubt about that but

you’re sitting on the bed waiting naked like okay is this gonna be william shakespeare deluxe or what is kyoong channelling over there

“um... i think i got it! this one, okay? i’m ready!”

finally he walks over, strutting with his nose in the air and his eyes glaring, muscles tense, a mysterious bad boy charm about him, whip ready to sting, lips tight and punitive...

....and hits his pinky toe on the bed

oh the pain

great master baekhyun flops headfirst into the sheets processing the existential cruelty of bedpost pinewood and needs head pats to recover

lots of head pats

at least twenty of them

so many head pats

more time passes until kyoong is back in character i guess

you probably could have listened to exo’s whole discography in the meantime

and knitted a rug for taemin’s new flat

anyway

baekhyun tries to act very confidently finally getting into it

adopting a sharp ‘hmph’ kind of tone

endlessly teasing your back and thighs with the riding crop

so far so good sir pinky toe

but he just goes on and on

you could actually crochet a pair of socks for chen’s daughter now that you think about it

it’s you who has to tell him to get to the point and it’s clear he’s more nervous than he pretends to show

to be fair he’s not the only one

you try to get yourself mentally ready but you find yourself giving him actual orders and even correcting his stance five times cuz he’s so wobbly on the mattress like a pupper indeed

baekhyun mumbles to himself and has a hard time fully implementing the advice on posture but tries to aim well regardless. it seems to work at first

but tragically

he ends up with a miss, hitting his own thigh rather than your ass and moans out loud

now you’re the one confused because you were waiting for the whip to come down

but nope it went elsewhere did it

you wonder how he managed to do all that furious fencing in the obsession mv with an aim like that

looks like he’s so submissive, he straight up whips himself

taking matters into his own hands is he. subs these days.

baekhyun keeps on being wobbly on the bed and looks like he ran a marathon already

may i remind you that this guy does 3-hour long concerts and can practice throughout an entire night

... you both agree to immediately scratch that completely after his next flailing strike sends the riding crop flying into his unsuspecting, non-consenting plushie collection

animal cruelty

moving on

you figure that a change of location might be a good idea

baekhyun sits you down on a chair and bashfully stores away the yeeted whip

he vows to never use a riding crop again already and his teddy bears are thankful for it

now the whole plushie village and whole china knows how you don’t do it

next up is rope

what could possibly go wrong

he practiced wrist bondage on his own ankles for five days straight, you really prepared a lot of things to test out together today

and he’s seen you tie him up over and over and over

but whatever it is that he manages to install on your arms

looks like a piece of very experimental modern art that just sold for half a million at sotheby’s

what’s supposed to be a column tie is nothing but a mere... ball

chaotic like baekhyun’s personality. not surprising at all

wait that rhymed

anyhow

even alexander the great couldn’t have cut this gordian knot of a tangly masterpiece

ironically: while baekhyun’s roughly grabbing your chin for an intense kiss... the rope casually falls apart harder than the soviet union in 1991 my loves, you ain’t ready

baekhyun takes ages to notice while he’s teasing and kissing you and ends up sweating bullets when he realizes that the sublime art fell to pieces.

sorry comrade

the fantasy knots and artistic freedom increases even more when it comes to putting a collar and leash on you

and his guy is supposed to be a dog owner? mongryong, instruct your man

baekhyun is a flustered mess trying to fasten it on you even if he tries very hard to be concentrated

maybe it’s because you’re watching him with literal hawk eyes checking every move (...hoping he learned something from you oh my). you’re not really melting into your role either, huh. the only thing melting is your pussy because baekhyun is acting so embarrassed which is the actual turn-on

if that doesn’t give you away

the leash comes off in two minutes time after baekhyun miraculously ties his own hands together with it

how the fuck did that happen

how do you even manage to do that

eager are we

after whipping his own thigh, self-domination 2.0 i guess

so whipping and bondage are off the programme

this has been the most chaotic and hazardous attempt at topping in the history of sm entertainment

and they’re literally called s and m

...humiliation is next

when you planned your session you both figured hey he’s tested and tried by exo’s lively debate culture and he might be able to pull that off

and there are no props involved so he’ll have an easy time right

life is an illusion

you find out he can’t pronounce degrading names clearly because he keeps on stuttering them. which in return makes baekhyun crack up.

carrying on the joke, you correct him every time.

“i want you to repeat after me: stupid, slutty, bitch.”

it ends up as you doing what you always do

teaching and training him while baekhyun either shyly or brattily obliges. you don’t even notice how you’re doing it but from the outside, it’s blatantly obvious.

because your brain is still feeling in domme mode, you also find yourself saying the usual things to him without thinking, even when he grabs you and gives orders. “now bend over! i’m gonna fuck your brains out.” — “okay, cutie!”

which causes baekhyun’s mean face to collapse and he snap out of his command tone immediately, snorting because it’s the last thing he expected

he tries to carry on by punishing you with an actual mouth gag and a harness he can hold onto while fucking you from behind, i mean your pussy is already wet why not

guess what’s gonna ensue

wearing a harness feels kind of strange and new so you wiggle back and forth and all over the place. like what is this, what’s happening. baekhyun’s dick is going into all kinds of directions my friends, the amusement park carousel surely inspired this fucking style right here.

and wearing a gag — there’s a way different person who needs to have this in his chatty mouth.

kai and kyungsoo’s dream would come true and yet you’re the one gagged

something ain’t right

if you’re honest. you’re feeling so weird being on the other end of punishment tonight and not being able to give him any directions. your dom brain is worrying he’s all left to his own devices trying to drive that confused dick home left and right and above and below and diagonal and crosswise.

the fuck

your poor guts my god

what’s worse: his stamina is gonna sneak up behind him and tap on his shoulder like... bro that’s enough pounding for a whole month please spare these balls from deflating please do not break this device

to which your pussy agrees in unison

how are you gonna love your bub day in day out if you’re that sore

there’s nothing more frustrating than being sore and horny with byun baekhyun at your disposal

or a knocked out boyfriend trying to generate at least a sprinkle of semen after getting completely emptied in one go

probably sleeping for three days straight

alright so the harness and gag come off fast oh dear baekhyun clears those away in a heartbeat

that’s another point off the list

the more you know

carousel cringe dicking down type of dominance... bizarre, disorderly, totally erratic, not on the agenda, worst rated on bing

comrade baekhyun keeps on apologizing for making things so messy even if he tries and tries

you’re both so puzzled because you’re used to something so different and need a water chugging pause

baekhyun hasn’t sweated this hard since doing the MAMA choreography

and your pussy has never had to provide this much lubrication at once

where on earth is both of your usual stamina what happened

if a type of sex exhausts you fast and even baekhyun’s balls are suddenly moody you just know you’re wired in the opposite way

safe to say you’re better at giving and baekhyun is better at taking

leave the multidirectional powerfucking to kai or something

and being orderly to xiumin

another rug could have been knitted my friends

moving on dot org

so, you both figure to take it easier and try to go with something he usually does in passing. you know, turning a typical baekhyun habit into something you can try out casually in bed so he can tease you.

that one should work out right?

proceed: teeth action. you seated, him positioning himself above you. after your approval baekhyun pulls your hair back to expose your neck — so he can deliciously bite into it (or so was the plan).

reality: his hand gets tangled up completely.

while he’s busy nibbling and giggling about like a lil’ bunny chomping at a carrot that turns out to be extremely ticklish herself.

in fact, you start squeaking out a wonky high pitch, startling baekhyun’s fine musical ear to the bone by the obvious atonality. did she just try to outsing my vocal range with a creaking whistle note?

mariah carey would cancel you on twitter over this one

that’s how you turn a vicious, possessive bite into an eternal meme

every time either of you go for a neck kiss, you end up imitating each other. baekhyun has immortalized himself as a nervous chomping bunny and you as the vocalist anti-christ

lord have mercy

you miss your old sex life already and it’s only been two hours

cause you see... if baekhyun gives you the chance to bite him? he needs a set of long sleeves, scarves, and an extra soft pillow to sit down on for the next two days

like, no mercy bitch

you get right down to business and ravage him and do it properly until he cums in his pants

sure, the way he uses his tongue now is definitely kinda hot mind you

baekhyun is always good with his singing equipment that doesn’t suddenly change aye

and you keep your eyes closed

but with time you notice that he starts drooling and whimpering. baekhyun’s wet mouth is out there betraying him, huh.

same with your body. your reactions give you away, body language just won’t lie. you have a damn hard time staying still. you wanna do something, you wanna touch and guide baekhyun all over.

and vice versa baekhyun keeps on glitching and doing the same thing he really became a living tumblr gif now

this whole session is just so confusing and laced with all these moments of awkwardness it’s really telling you something about yourself and mister pinky toe’s ideal dynamic

baekhyun can’t even get himself to even lightly slap you properly. and when he does, his delicate hands are just so cute. it’s as if legolas came along, scented in jasmine, elegant and fabulous like it’s a l’oreal commercial

he immediately looks concerned after he manages to do it cleanly and you admit it wasn’t really that exciting a feeling yourself. it felt more like, “um ouch, and?”

needless to say, you’re weirded out if anything, baekhyun smacking and dragging you around as a cold-as-ice dom is just a strange thing to do for both of you

like even exo’s wolf era fashion was more coherent than this carrot fuckery

and those were some of the most intense turtlenecks ever

is there really nothing dominant baekhyun can pull off. come on he’s the genius idol

actually

there’s something that does work out for once

because no rule without exceptions indeed

because hey, you can learn something anyway, it’s the whole point of you going through a list of things to try as a couple

baekhyun is good at doing the more hardcore, faster kind of fingering. who would have thought, totally surprising, revolutionary i know. but that’s where you’re both agreeing hey, there’s some untapped potential you can use for the steamier evenings you have going.

cuz wow, he can get you off with flying colors.

...only to succumb to a malfunctioning bobohu wrist

even baekhyun’s boner for your legs in latex isn’t that stiff

it’s another pause until his hand loosens up again

this poor man just can’t win

and if you’re asking oi hard domming isn’t the only thing you can do

baekhyun trying to summon his inner soft dom: surprise, same old tale. here we go again.

your boyfriend thinks he generally looks way too puppy-like to be your big ole buff daddy taking care of you. oversized sweater, fluffy hair and all.

you say to him well, it’s not that doms can’t wear casual things. but it’s true that you have to feel your role and find yourself believable. regardless of your looks, in fact.

unless your partner really enjoys you dressing up as some kind of dominant hyper-archetype? looking the part is relatively unimportant if you’re absolutely made for dominance you say

pretty eye-opening moment for him

in your roleplay, he caresses and kisses you to the point, he can approach and lead you to do this or that position, don’t be mistaken. and he’s good at making presents, he’s indulging you perfectly well and actually likes doing it. but... it still ends up being more vanilla than not a few hours in. the d/s is out the door almost automatically the longer you do it.

at the end, it leaves you with a feeling of “but err, what now? give the maid outfit to charity?”

baekhyun rubs his neck in search for something else to do, both of you staring at each other with expressions blanker than kyungsoo when a prancing chanyeol is acting up.

how did the quote go again. if you scramble for inspiration, let it be?

it’s exactly that situation when baekhyun soft doms. he can hold you tight and do his thing for a while, but the chemistry of your roles is dwindling into a question mark.

in fact. there’s an uneasy silence as if great mother suho was sitting right beside you critiquing baekhyun’s sugar daddy skills

baekhyun is rich like a motherfucker and can’t even call you ‘my innocent lil’ baby girl’ without looking like he just learned a first grade tonguetwister by heart

you did play your parts with less cracking up, but you clearly tell him that there’s still something strangely clueless and “ah, awkward” (baekhyun’s verdict in response, verbatim) in between the two of you.

when you take care of baekhyun and tuck him in, you hardly run out of ideas. it just goes on and on. even when you played through an entire scene, you both come up with things to extend the scenario because it’s so much fun. you make him a hot chocolate, massage his feet, brush his hair, do some extra light bondage with a silk ribbon around his ankles to make him feel pretty, feed him pizza, have him cuddle up in your lap, pinch his ass, and do some rimming if he’s feeling a bit hornier.

the spoiling is nice at the start, but there’s something missing. you want to lead his hands and really treat him, and do it all the time, and baekhyun really finds himself craving it as well.

baekhyun soft domming quickly turns into — well just normal loving makeouts and gestures. you kiss and touch, there’s nothing hierarchical about it, nothing mega juicy or exciting.

you just don’t get into the groove, you know. there’s nothing particular happening if you try to get into those roles. it doesn’t titillate both of you for an extended period of time, it doesn’t make you curious for more. it’s like... shrug. what about it.

when you usually dominate, you know something hits home when you think about it all day. baekhyun screaming and crying with his legs twitching pops up whenever you close your freaking eyes goddamn.

you make a note to observe whether you’re going about your daily business thinking about how you could be his innocent good girl. following his every whim, making big eyes at him or something.

result: more shaky, ruined baekhyun moaning his soul out in the highest of notes and leaking cum everywhere from getting choked and his face sat on.

daddy baekhyun has simply not crossed your mind. in fact, poor guy no chance to fit in there from the get-go. his particularly whorish, extra subby counterpart is all over your brain cells with his tongue out. and you’re very tempted to grab it between your thumb and index and spit in his mouth for some very good measure. maybe cum in it as well.

um. so there’s that. the more you know.

baekhyun figures as much himself and you try the other side of the equation. oh, oh. here comes hard dom baekhyun.

who gets you on your knees and starts a wild deepthroat session while calling you names. that’s all well and good... nope. your gag reflex decides to yeet some weird coughing facial expressions and reflex cock bites at poor baekhyun who doesn’t know what’s happening. to finish him off completely, you sneeze while having a hiccup and his dick slips out.

... you both safeword at the same time.

that cleanup has scarred you both for life. what the everloving fuck. no more impulse throatfucking in this pure christian household, then.

you’ll stick to lazy, twirling, indulgent blowjobs and the usual ruined orgasms for him — the actually planned ones, jesus christ.

like seriously. you invented a whole new language with those confused gargling noises and that wasn’t french, it was advanced level klingon. baekhyun repeats asking if you’re okay and you’re still stuck realizing oh hell, that was not pretty. off the bucket list, you like sucking him off but this style just doesn’t come natural to you.

the popsicles you could train yourself with are usually gone from the freezer within a day after getting the groceries. baekhyun is wholeheartedly addicted to them.

he loves cheating on his diet since you told him his fully cheeks are your emotional support squish and kiss pillows, so.

baekhyun rightfully insists he’s better at eating pussy the wild way in the first place — and that you have no business choking on his dick like you’re on hot ones eating the world’s spiciest whatever is trending now.

or actually... baekhyun’s dick can’t be compared to a chili pepper if we’re doing a choking analogy alright. that just doesn’t fit his promotion concept. cinnamon stick is more like it.

ever saw one of these terrible cinnamon spoon videos where reckless people try to defeat god by— anyway, you’ve seen them. that’s how you looked like trying to get your mouth fucked. i think god would actually be defeated by how far away from divine elegance that was and you’re so sorry for subjecting baekhyun to this artless display.

cinnamon is still best used in small doses. say, for garnishing a creamy cake or pie y’know.

anyway. you dished up the most butchered attempt at sexy gagging in history and so, baekhyun will preach for days how he’s the one chosen by fate to push down seven big fat inches of your strap still half asleep without even blinking.

... and that his world-class operatic breath control would probably enable him to bury his face in your pussy on mount everest. baekhyun knows that every domme would sell her soul to get a sub as skilled with breathing as him.

...and that he has the official copyright for giving quality slobbery oral with quality smudged tears. as he will demonstrate to you almost daily from then on. king of messy head and going stupid with the tongue acrobatics. ugh, the noises are amazing, too. give him a grammy for his oral sounds.

gotta leave the heavy-duty work to the experts innit.

at dinner, he also poutingly brags how he can make his spit run out of his nose while he’s sucking himself through your entire dildo collection. and blow spit bubbles. and snort his own semen off his thighs and let it drop off his tongue if he’s in a particularly slutty mood. or a creampie. jeez, baekhyun, the wolf of wallstreet is strong in him. you literally have to stop him from showing off because “hey boy, i already know! i’ve seen it last week bro it was good!”

needless to say he’s talking in essays all day because he wants things go back to normal and he doesn’t have to ask twice.

for real, your candy man with the cinnamon stick has been suffering from the love bites and has to retire his cock for two days from the bruising.

mind you. the pain he can deal with. that ain’t the problem. by all means, man. he’s a fucking masochist.

it’s actually more like... submissive you has deactivated his boner and he can’t help it. it’s not you that makes him limp, it’s more like, the klingon choking and the ton of mishaps that just don’t sit right.

baekhyun feels bad about not doing well enough to make both of you have a good time as well which is lowkey heartbreaking. you have to cheer him up with ‘now repeat after me: stupid, slutty bitch’ jokes to make him chuckle at least a bit.

cuz you gotta understand, baekhyun is very ambitious to develop his talents in all areas of life. if there’s a skill he gets stuck with and he can’t work with his potential, that’s so unusual to him.

and you say man, imagine if you were some kind of uber-talented dom. that’d still not make me sneeze any less.

if you dominate him, it feels easy to do. nothing can really ruin the mood, not even when the lube runs out (baekhyun drools enough to make anything slippery okay).

except maybe when xiumin rings on landline because he left his favorite fluffy sweater in the subway and needs to vent about it. my god that’s such a tear-jerking story i’m close to sobbing. this shit could kill literally any boner.

or when your hand cramps up after shoving your fingers down his throat and in his ass for like half an hour which should be ranked first as the saddest anime betrayal of all time but it’s justifiable and you had a lot of fun beforehand.

in other words. only the things outside of your control tend to mess with your femdom business. in and of itself, nothing can kill your vibe except a dying battery obviously.

whereas you trying submission oddly spoils the atmosphere from the inside out and provides a free cringe compilation. like without even doing much, it happens automatically.

baekhyun relishes in dramatically recounting how you both looked like true clowns attempting a rendition of overexpensive, extra tangly contemporary art bondage. hell, not even employed clowns, completely retired ones, struggling to regain their tightrope tricks from summer 1912 when harry houdini was still hot shit in town.

you say oh god, that wasn’t even worth a retired clown’s skillset, clowns work damn hard man. you’d be hardpressed to find any circus artist capable of cracking a whip onto themselves baekhyun-style and moaning out loud because it was this good. seriously. that was one for the books.

if baekhyun tried to set foot in some willy-nilly maledom porn, he’d be capable of firing himself on the first day.

at the end, you just have a good laugh, man. you agree — hey, this ain’t it, but it’s good to know at least. tried and tested, been there, done that. self-whipping and carrot-nibbling and blowjob hiccups.

if you’re both so hopeless and living up to the challenge managed to upset poor mariah carey instead of giving you a hot and steamy time, you very well know where you belong. that’s a good feeling. assuring and a confidence boost for your skills. it makes up for all the clumsiness actually.

exactly because the try-out part was an entire disaster, domming baekhyun will be even more fun, you can’t see it becoming anywhere near boring. it never really was, but now you know where your strong suits are even more so. and — what to avoid, anyway.

no more unsafe practice and teddy whipping under this roof my friend

and something to incorporate more often which is baekhyun unleashing his very creative, pianoesque fingering skills on you.

you have lots of anecdotes to rile each other up as well. or, at least, tease another a bit. your high note was too legendary not to be remembered.

baekhyun will use all of these things against you in a positive way if you get what i mean. he’ll say how you being so strangely vocal made him realize just how commanding and compelling your sexy time voice is when you tell him how to kneel, how to kiss, how to revere.

and you teasing him how clumsy a dom he is makes baekhyun more self-assured in his subbing abilities. he knows for a fact you’ve not once roasted him about how well he can use his pretty mouth. cuz it’s the real deal. sloppy, skilled, and eager to please. he’s damn right about that.

hitting his toes has ruined baekhyun’s whole career as a dom and he was mad at first but he did realize that beside the clumsiness, subbing just suits him well as a principle

your experience gives you even more anticipation for all the sex you will have in the future.

you already knew what you both liked. you know it even more now, it’s underlined, it’s a big relieved yes. no more cringey “daddy, daddy, choke me please!” worship. time to make his day and sit on baekhyun’s perfect face to fuck the shit out of it.

or you know, actually land a whip on his juicy boyfriend thighs and listen to those heavenly loud reactions in a dead-on pitch (he usually moans in C minor).

long story short and cinnamon sticks aside. it’s even more fun now. you just love your cute subby boy just as he is. he doesn’t have to try to be anything else or step up his game. he’s so ideal just doing what he does like a real angel.

more subby stuff: m.list + ao3

↳⎡FINAL NOTE⎦i love writing crack lmao i hope you were rolling on the floor like i did 😂 write me your favorite part in the comments so we can laugh again and buy me a ko-fi if you wanna 👍

#baekhyun smut #baekhyun #exo smut #exo #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun hc #sub!baekhyun #baekhyun crack #exo crack #dom!baekhyun #baekhyun headcanon #sub!exo #baekhyun bullet points #exo hc #exo headcanons

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