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libidomechanica · 11 months

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“Opposing note, in the midst a silver hooks”

A ballad sequence

It would be gone. And when upon a shoal; for if there’s variety, she swore, she heard in years! Loves Triumph, must

be to that light, and place, this day’s doctrine—in another pious reader in suspense; the dungeon mingle with

the dust as simooms whirl from Cato. Summer were there again. My heart is humming a tune I haven’t heard it—once

perhaps a monster, there with someone, with choisest flowers ally’d in blood, that’s all I’m made of. There never being

circumspect: then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, cheerly swum. Opposing note, in the midst a silver hooks.

Round her—she was at length stol’n goods doe come to bus’ness, some a sweet as I could trust, sweet Memory, and Hope, earth’s modest

more than like of heart: ev’n the tender and unnamed light that the hand and wept saying, Accept all happiness and

bear along with a dumb look of hope on my first bread that lure him from the World should dread this sort of the night! Evil

lust am fallen down to the mart’s or temple’s worship has paid price, ask’d next day, If men ever hunted twice? A

wood-coal or the charmer sinner,— he did not quite dim, yet rather tired display’d in senates, at the wedding

the link of ruin, rose from sweet to live, and lock’d embraced her but from beneath his wings: from reddened eve he views

the rose, if I’ve been the fainting fools, yet is, when your address, they may betray. When deep persuading oratory

fails. From their glory, which both you and I have yet done, in the counterpart of dialogue, by humouring always

makes the cellar. Of possible, nor caught court mysteries, having striv’n in vain was now about the wing of Time, like

petals finding themselves they may betray. An universal influence breeds like effect most bitter at a bet.

His brush with all his hero’s right. —It all sprung from off the light Salmacis, her body downwards to its blue harbor and back a horse, not even race, but work. Maybe it’s the sod, and can’t be bettering about on a train he knows

the decay we’re made our love a wild girl keeping a hold on a dream, I plotted to be well. Which is inseparate appendage. The stature of these reports, because the sun and then he was inflamed. Than wear a heart is such a

task as he ought; but never meet. And sorrow after sorrow after sorrow’s mysteries, having through th’ horizon peeps, as pitying these lovers, duly, daily, laid. The world and life’s love or war had still more perplexed,

uncertain, since you will find, thou art out of our friend’s fragility, for whom earth was made by Mrs. The gen’rous God, who wit and gold, such as these strange barges, make along vein- channels their yielding eyes wobble as this Venus demands.

Your kissed her sight: his bell-mouth’d goblet makes her heart that her sweetest stile affords: while these are Nugae, quarum pars parva

fui, ’ but still there, must go, and flow of tears,. But when he came, he seem’d to fret with Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet.

With new-born babe—in that thou hadst set me light, ’tis with Lady Adeline Amundeville; the fairest tinters,

especially do we affect of two gold ingots like innocent and danced until morning their talk was of his

learning just enough to make a Werter of his mountains rear the sacrificing turtle’s blood, in view and opposite

of Andy Gump. Be bare; lies drown’d with every sort of chaste desires, of force in all his hero’s right, and crown with

all the most! Oh veil thine Eyes from hungry Israelites; to this we have left to dreame: and somewhat: and you faine would spoil

much good pastime, many a wandering to the boxed-in hills beyond the birds around them on his forehead cool. Loving

you: home is nowhere, there’s at least vouchsafe to hide true love is as fair as any mother who all in one,

one pleasing heat revived, which most friend, you away, the clergy, who upon my radiant Hero’s gentle and

aristocratic in this praise that we can guess of Britain’s presence, lovely heat, like tertians, of common thought. And there took

his hand. Chocolates tempers my ways of flurrying is my inner cost,—this love by wealth of globed peonies; or if

the Pole’s not open, but also so correct, as she had, was just not mad; yet ne’er can see that faded star flash on

his ocean? A man knows; let it too deepe move: for Kings and nations—swith awa’! In years! Was strewed with mortals, or

of both, feare not; the least of the rose it was that boy, as he knelt down their sins have shaving thee. To slake his hands, saying,

Accept all happiness from me. My sole excuse is— ’t is my fate, and wound the hour with, does as well commence

within my heart: I string of the Day has kept, against her wing, she trembling lies, like a nest from those that solitary

tower he got by stealth. Free under there I took their turn to seed there, branching stars who, where unhappily as

after the bed she blushed as one displeased away in easy death. More life to fight with slow words, with his Grace and raw,

long dallying with Bacchant coronals along the paths, o’er which haunt a lover with his delights were so white. But is

got up, and gone to bring such a cittadell, so I sent sighs behind them where we love first when we first too readily

impression sunk, the enfeebled mind will to the fair vermilion in the flame from the Hand of Retribution.

As thy lookes sturre, runs vp and down it goes all round, i, in this maid I love, I only tend and watched him out of our degenerate breed: longbow from the ribs of old

Parnassus flowes, and ripens mines, kept dross for duchesses, the embosom’d grief, however and thoughts on the trade of love even, all my worth, to the twice two thousand mile. And

would bless me with a kind of grass after hard years, throws herself secure, o’ercast with truth atone! And for his country seat, to-day, lord H. For none more gem to enrich her breath

that harbors me and many more by rank and fall when they begin to mend: but Juan also shared in her ruddiest hours, a breath that ever drove the glaring orb decline, my son!

Or we could wed in bear suits just as simooms whirl from Carlton palace of rest: blends, in exception to all my

beloved. As in plain terms yet cunning as she, to hear, why hear’st thou leave me thus, for pity sake, me in thy quiet

gloom the earth; so that few or none more than for that’s best in her eyes wobble as this they aren’t afraid of clichés.

Charles how you remind me of some use. Why then declare good nature’s whole World on us doth Love speak? It told me

heaven looks from each sex, to make me blest, your love of pleasure nigh, by nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; What men

desire, a pleasant jesting at the lips was touch another’s feeling t is not dashed its meaning, you may be

fix’d at somewhere began the change a word: at Longbow wild as an AEolian harp, with which the echoes oft thy flames which

I wear. Make his anger if he were displeased. And crave the place for which made his capering Triton sound allures

the earliest of men. Down at thy foot to harken what you put forth to gaze upon. Deep being! And swore the puppet-

shows of praise, but just to play with your love, the sweet eternity: Cold Pastora by a fountains rear the hour

of six. She gathered in such a thing as flesh. If all would love has closed behind, not kill outran the people of

sagacity to draw the line between the gentle pleasing sound; I grant I never knew untill then not show my wit:

duty so great, which once screen’d many a wandering guest to meet again, as now the sunny lands of shame, in being

blinde was far from his hands, saying, Accept all happiness at home, far more re-survey these poor Hens about my

ears, and dreary Mars carousing nectar bowls. Wherein the lobes of you? Now the runaway boy who chucks it all out!

Country gentleman’s fit education. For will believe me, Hero, hate me not with fighters, each leaf make of the

Long Knives’ getting worse and apish merriment. And there you looked up … zooks, sir, flesh and great; the very same and that very

first. To Venus, answered in you, twenty years he had been a creed, ne’er attracts; and were he rested not till to

Honour true delights are Pretty, to dwell on them were a pitty. They drank down their own country much admired. Her

law, and in my armes I tooke him there pry upon his transistor to Long John Nebel arguing from a harmlesse

folly is he treasure, like a history less polite without offence. Friendship, or romance of Platonism, which sparkled

through Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero thorough your naked neck his bare arms threw, and silver tincture of my love, not

for nothing then they went away. An exquisite small orange cup amassed five beetles,—blind and got men’s heads cut off!

Then take, Clarinda’s fondest friends you are, that they sweep the straight against someone else’s credit cards and feed deep, deep upon her breath that Leander rude in love thee still, save

that is, whate’er their ocean in a sieve. I have led to Homer’s Catalogue of ships’ is clear; but thinke that all the hidden weapons under your skin, enough to quote and cavil?

Was what you put forth his vigour; and the boat was all divine: to be annoy’d. And our Sophias are not apt to wear it: secure of a kiss—thus doth Love speak? No, no,

nobody poor, and pity no more if there are kind: and ye meanwhile far he flies, bewitch me than wit.—He thought it just a nail. The wanderer would win is emptied of their fox-

hunt to a sigh thus doth Love speak. Thy presence of strange unearthly thing to bring in spaces that myopic traveled that entire continued not.— Ghosts of beauty were billiards.

Thus, while these trunks? Yet Chloe sure was foremost to proclaim— departure, for his docility; because she’s good, what does it matter whether flat or sharp. Because he was

as a charm, the world upon this new flirtation; the twin spire turnstiles, and euery flower enjoys the aire: and Joy, whose eye quick-glancing o’er the blood of all that great Bacon

saith, fling up a mass of drossy pelf, than such delight to Arm Bears! For Fate with jealous woods about the spirits as he replied. Sister’s bed, to dally with Idalian

Ganymede, and fool are two pleasure suffered wrack, since Hero’s ruddy cheek Hero betrayed, and night strewn salt across the sky above, much more was in her head, and he’s racing against

someone, with you? Good hours of fair cheeks and long to the purpose not to guess that any thing is pleasure; men love in the fire from lovers of one nymph we view, all how true!

We’ll sculpture the same relations of sleep, somewhere before thirty—say seven-and-twenty, and with the beggar that

men or a hypocrite? Turn then from wits; and there ten thousand, for whom earth we are lov’d, and the least my dream. I said

between friendship’s hand, and still panted with many more, where fancy flatter herself to the mind, at least shade out

someone’s garage I fell on city sidewalks in California we went to the Yes of two worlds walking the movie

with delight and in it catch, ere she cries, shall be both sere and they must know! May grow, if not quite dim, yet rather

held in that stand still to be embrace thee, mournful Psyche, nor the death cricket bleeping, my heart grown humble; in the

dark lawn. Flower o’ the rose it was to amuse; but even then, some to please him, and he came, it glittered like in

this our part my part must be Honours Funeral. Confess their crimes; factitious passions form our only almanack.

By this, Apollo’s golden day. Women receives rain still and close beside! Is swifter than this his love abated,

fearing here, in mourn her blessed arms, look’d perplex’d, and romances I ne’er reply and, yet, I cease not to lose this lighter

with unwounded thus, nor stain thy youthful of bread? A laugh, never was she, to hear her speak, and woman to the

Sacrament, will wink and let her rave, Poore Child complain, and that’s fiddling on my tatter’d by friend’s Muse grown with love my

ever-during night. The ocean maketh more horns than hounds— she hath no wild boars, she hath no being detected. But,

lo! I ask a brother. You tell too many lies and vestments and wishes, is her scorn, upon thy pillow. Wherein

Leander stooped to have conclusion tries, her who is dry cork, and o’erhead a lively head. But by those who wander

still, my dear. Bare bulb softens above the loveliest Hero shined and looking to have embrace where nothing that pure

sanctuary alone. First just casually cantering with Bacchant coronals along the porter, some slight of

Vertues throne, where Venus in her perfectly correct, that she could adopt your wine, and thirdly, never canst thou leave

me thus, my Katie? Whether saint or write, and then run out and danced like Tinkerbell and the great matter now? Your face

I have to think of the heart of thirty-one thick leaves will be! Have crimes accounted light the lamp and lay the end—or,

sinning in this I witness call the Latin in pure waste! There was jack jargon, the gigantic guardsman; and General

Fireface, famous in the distance calls at three A. And loved well—a man known in the country. If this belief from

her unjustly did detain. He, being up, began to swim and, looking to quench the sagest youth in every worst:

henceforward with the streams around her, opes she holds in her heart so tender fool who will be perhaps from their

colors, and again subsiding, its inner crash is like after the C he gave no ear, and her in humble kind.

But with a few slight, scarless sneers. The fair vermilion knew, and looking on his arms threw, and sighes and peace, are there

is a flower girl who smiles, yet slays me with redoubled strength to fly the world gave ground, with nary a thought as doth

an Arab turn’d to much success. Amid the loveliest Hero shrunk away, as with your eyes, less wit than wit. Guidi—

he’ll not mind the legs and arms I put my hands for no such roses strowed the rank smell of weeds: but why thy odour

matcheth not thy bliss, and in the proud palace, what are the lay; here Vanity strums on her own good pleasure’s in

walking in turn like planets rotating in and out her eyes, gemms in abundantly detestable. But form good

housekeepers, to breed a nation. So smooth, so sweet, but form good housekeepers, to knowing, that for they took delights are

pretty, to dwell in them for then they would lull its river- child to sleep. And ah, ye poachers! By only those that proceed

upon those who had him kindly took, and a small trout to pull up every bar; but that the dream of liquid bed:

the warm, impassioned tide that seemed, as if my own: thy soul hath snatched up mine all fair thou art Greater yet than all I

tell—the Might of Intellectual Truth. At being my fingernails are there has not confined to Cupid. And in

the purposes than just to plant a flag in, or tie up a horse, not even race, but These were advantage me.

Like an infant made When all alone— that Juan was unlikely to resign or reign. Or walk’d; if foul, they rode, or walk’d,

or studied their devotion from thence, have lived for you! A topiary so the pleasure miss’d her, and began to

give me my honesty again, into my lap, the sores she holds in her hands she made the word and I’ll stick to mine!

How charming, if then any thing he views can greatly blamed as obstinate: or her, who laughs at Hell, but like her, none.

Like untuned golden day. With sad and hears not to be made game. And her babe, ringed by a bowery flowery

tale more she strook. The value and skill, your name you seek to nurse at full, we may presume to criticised the

ins and our bodies,—That’s the fault lie? Outside these latest throb that leaves them a long date— till then all beside, lads!

This I could not paint apace, I hope some good company be kept. By a passionate, and wound they went onward, whenever live so long so charily she kept, against her deity, through ether wise or silly, for the goal yet, do not goe away: thanke may you haue for no cause be of your bowed head spotlit. And isolate pure spirit better

kept behind her and walked to your leaves, nor ever you except for the sex are always cut him off as he replied the Cock, in Heaven once I was; but by my Evil lust am fallen down to a laugh, a cry, the soft pipes, play on; not to trust your soul’s full meaning to be countenance behold is censure; Silia does not preach to him the only

wedding the rivulet on from the ribs of old, thy great deep being, thine shall grow old apace, and oft sings the owl his anthem, where yet ’tis sweet friends, those prophets of the nature, tolerably mild, to mar the sublimes whate’er their art, to introduce it; and the Soul in Strife! Our parting friends in this vile age of change; and what’s travel, unless

I knew the very centre, past all price, ask’d next day, If men ever hunted twice? And, as he with some melancholy fit shall at once, and, though infinite can never blows so red the rose, if I’ve been merry, what am I a beast for? The door unto my house no more. Impassioned tide that heavy Saturn in Olympus dwell. Far from

accident; it suffers not in love and me, the class was called it Venus’ nun, when as a bird, which love sails to regions far; and once o’er several strictures, or saunter’d through the milkweeds’ honey terrifies me. Till hopes from Mortal Paramour, and for his sake whom thy darkness and diplomatical. Which bears the gown that doth become her, those lampes

of purest light where I knelt watching. So he sang all day over the edge the plane is making man’s head, his scull will in us is overrules the fairest Cupid pined and looking on his ocean? Were vanish’d to be wary: indifferent: for now for certain of success. It sighed to the body than tongue and fry. What I write, while teares poure

out his words, his paper pale despair, I drafted hymns to the death-hour rounding as the streets eight years or late; love, if it could be found professions, too, she would have crimes accounted light, some flying stroke alone in the nick, like one who insufflates the world, and life’s busy throng,—beautiful dreamer, awake unto me! And gave you not that to myself

in your iron skies, thou countesses mark, and spoke more of the night your body throws upon his back, and there was the odour which humanity, to read Don Quixote? Everybody loved her maidens be; her lover pants upon her breasts, she’s just my niece … Herodias, I would not been set to music, midnight to play with, as an infant plays.

Was never do him hastily she kept, and free of any form at all. Of love was the flower girl who held up the flower in green dell the tall trees. And hereupon he

bade me tie her shoe; I did; and kissed feet the end is close for dress, and more, much more was in Blank-Blank Square. Bequeathed to my cell. Whose eyes looked out, and much it grieved her maiden grace

affrighted there, a naked man, she screeched for fear such sight, ne’er answers I am waiting chair to feign it, when our moon’s no more. Must of force of hearsay well; I will not say,

This is my breath, and chose to bear, and best displaid.— And that’s why even after every flower, we’ll roam the town and sing out of reasons which flow’d with ev’ry granted; and the

night to stare: their union was in t, and robes sweet. It is winter and brown, her whom want betrays poor lovers hate. It was nothing to the long sea-wave as it swell’d now and their

order? From you have broken their golden hook, the mountain round her brother Angelico’s the man who venture. You have no accomplish’d blackguards, like this is real gladness. If

this should tell ye how smooth speech, his first and majesty, she proudly sits more overrules the fairest Cupid pined and stopped all the blood of all? Deliberate, therefore to her

devoutly prayed. By this Leander, thou away, as if all sufferings of their solace sent. So he sang all day over the edge the plane is making addition thus. Was mute and

neither wife or maid;—a gentleman processional and fine, holding my knee and now I will believed his perpendicular. Forward, puts out a soft palm—Not so fast! Dwelt;

Hero this inestimable gem. As heavenly path with still pursues the Ring, flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing: so when or you should, though his delight exclaims he

is for my part, I am but base: base in respect. For Fate with jealous eye does see two perfect on the rushes to be embrace, our parting friend; it were much better to

us, which is my love, to whom mad’st thou know’st my aching hearts to dust. Spring, and in the numbers, waies, great a press; and shepherds that serene declining souls than dread of death?

Love, a spring gush’d through her hair; sleeps should all be cramped into basins, where their moral gibing; and they are but

decaying; come, my love, to the slumber; or should returned by the streamlet vapors are borne, waiting to wound, and set my

hearse be vexed with a friend, her own high spirit, which limping Vulcan and his soul shall run. Alcohol, to that coy girl

who smiles, yet with disdain; he wanderer would not beene. The youngest loved not a tear: but come, and to be kiss’d for the

great rings serve more purpose brutal as if facing the Cup of Happiness at a long waves that give thee deserve, yet

for her mourned. Here danced and gold-bubbling fountain play’d, pursued its course, while these cowslips fading be, troth, leave the stain of

tears, the cup of a harsh chain, binding him with one hand lightheaded Bacchus hung, and, with roses strowed the rash deed.

Pine-crusted bodies in my mind. Consisted of—we give thee. Wed in bear suits just as simooms whirl from Carlton palace

and with those dainties, she the heart, loue onely reading hair. And, replied the Cock, in Heaven once I was; but

by no means so quite; at least occasion for making men what you say—the sting is dire. With truth; a smooth his breast,

and, with roses strowed the rank smell of weeds: but why thy odour matcheth not that shears the world which trotted not too

sadly sigh’d Alas! Sad Hero wrung him by the deep, soulful stillness; in the younger. Everywhere on the way to

the ground, which really bonne. Though tears no longer flow; my eyes are in your substantial feasts. Played within these to great

Atossa’s mind? Cupid, because to music, or broadcast live on the rainbow. In summer’s time, the teeming to wind round

the door she goes, wherewith affright! If my dear, and Joy, whose eyes, stella now learnes strange unearthly things, their cups

they drank down the waves and other pass my verse: which works on leases of short-number’d hours, a breath say, faults done by night

were never yet so warmly ran my blood and sweet angelic slip of a thought, or writing can give rest, or quiet

to my lord, nodding beside my lady in his common- place, even in their ghost-towns, almost withered; now strength and

newer purple doors have closed. From friendship checks, and she is all before thirty—say seven- and-twenty, and with him?

Tis round him in that she such loveliness and they turned into joint narration, if possible, nor the stream, nor

leave the world upon those eloquence, I Stellas lawes of duetie to depart; alas, I found that month: so, boy, you’re gay

and placed it by themselves nor other sense, will be true than not to sell again, and rated him almost address each

other, and produces—You. Week, tiring old readers, nor dread to be wed or dead? Hands on my copy-books, scrawled them

south, I snap the deadly fatal knife that some dark undercurrent woe that set may rise again; but each tide does less

supply, till in his carriage. With my wretched Ixion’s shaggy footed satyrs and upstaring fauns would shine; but Longbow’s

phrase, I told you so, ’ utter’d by the mere ague still of men’s regard, thus cruelly to part in twain, that he speaketh.

Who should sit for men to seed. The gulf of rock yawns,—you can’t there’s a change. Two days till Easter. You have I been able,

without competing for their devotion, she had consented to create, as when all chaos was, before, and

her who is thine Original shape, or for his country summer were well nigh over. And tradesman once to burst

into a deep cascade, sparkling glance that dwells in towered courts is oft a dreary Fuimus’ of all we can see

that streams to their cups they drank down the boughs; I watched your love; I scatter’d amongst these, there was something, and the country

can remember;—but these my wings in the universal influence breeds like effect. My sweetest stile affords: while

the same princesses averted half your parting kiss, so sup’rabundantly detest at leisure. Too: I take breathless

spoke something to drop equal dividends of petals beside! But this is true, I might know how their hymns, to hear

you speak no Latin more than ever rankle before they first day home, he’s shaken me awake to see the garden

for each Medea has her Jason; or to the pointed time had spread of death. Brought to rights; you have had you tried to

speak to him, while by the nettle, so typical, shower, for none more than when art is too precise in every pen,

reserve with Jove, than she guess’d, and now would fain be thoughts, although it hath my duty strongly knit, to the bar and senate:

when invited elsewhere preservation; but whatsoe’er she wish’d Clarinda knew; but Anguish wrung the unweeting

groan—who blames what I said between my tear to touch the serene severity was not Ganymede, and here increase

are mercy, pity, and permit a place with buls and sweetness had me there made loving heart a woman loves to rend.

A bell to chime the hopes. With evenings. Into a great light come again, my church the timeless moon. And that it takes no farther than the other, yet resign’d. As Troy; sylvanus

weeping, my heart alarm’d, aw’d without the middle-aged to make an ell—and make a quarrel as he seem’d it winter still, my dear, that at once I lov’d before the world. Dust.

Place of all those naturally—imposed upon it, I have proved enough to make a buttercup under a wide hat,

dancer, singer, thy wooing voice is kind: but Juan had been taught, and wedded unto her was as capable of any.

Already how am I so far out of curiosity, like the Prior and the Book of Martyrs now

drinking to tell you, I liked your holy ayde, with cheerful hope thus he cried full oft in rurall vaine. Thrust ahead of

her and cannot tell—which pretty much the sparkles new begun. As if those who, Pope says, greatly daring dine. And

unobserv’d the ground: and ye meanwhile, I make a butter for some future Livy to tell how he reduced the pelf which

burn with us in endless grown, and ne’er read like taxi girls at Roseland as if crooning could boast a longer blink

is sleep. Lodging is, the metaphysician, who limits all his hero’s right. When our two souls stand with sad and hear?

That her sweetest lips did part, and still more perplex’d, and others, that which wit so poor as mine may make the thornless garden,

there suspicion. Nor in his swooning ears, the princes tried, each sitting outside these poor Hens about my ears, and

all we can tell her, the world and life, was my sweet Highland Mary. In mourn her bleakness, we can we glean in their cures

than fees. Intense intentions were all their Lucifer kicking. Love deeply grounded thus, nor stain thy youthful of bread?

Since if the very splendid house with her little town by river or sea shone in Vernet’s ocean lights; and looking

at the engines laid which fairly knock’d it up with the kindly took, and a strange and his transistor to Long John Nebel

arguing from little: Would you worships, I would temper Juan’s faults conceal’d, where the Druid oak stood like Chianti

wine! In England ranks quite on a difference certes don’t; for, doing most, there is no snow I dreamed the splendid house

with herself, though sweet, when like to love or hates, disdains to have a tongue which grows out of our friends: or her, who is lodging

in spaces that myopic travelers can’t shake some very same column; date, Falmouth. However vain, to sullen

day, without remorse of rhyme, or fear, have built and laid out ground beneath this rashness suddenly, took leave, and life’s hackney

coach, which we seek—the haughty heart to think what man is! Makes now her love to heaven can claim accord, and eat it.

Then wake in winter when it seems the convent’s friend: to her, Calista prov’d to grant against you come forth, that opiate

of these poor babes their piety with the hopes. And show the sun that to me a livelier sight and gives them scarce

a subject, because that his horse— his speech, his first approaching sun; for much the same; when, ere this, is come and hides there?

A knave this morn of Rome and May? Bench behind her and breathe but o’er my should perpetrate some stern nymphs and shucks, refuse and rubbish. Ye banks, and all its ways, and here and the face hint, that neither gods nor men may the rose; they are a North-

West Passage have no accomplish’d blackguards, like soldier, moved with kisses; and at last, to follies blend, was what he had his judgment was. Juan—in this his love Europa bellowing race, by only this after hard years, the aftermark

of almost a whipper-in. Since laughter, a white hands again if given the saint he worship wake some very same column; date, Falmouth. Must be meek! Will very often strayed beyond the boat was all. Where people of sagacity

to draw the line between the weak one’s friends t is odd, but they ne’er revoke what once from Shírín tore him, hurl’d him from above: o that in thy lookes sturre, runs vp and downe, to make him swear to never knew untill the sphere; grief makes me

feel quite Danish or Dutch with that yearn. So fortified with no soul at all—I never kiss the girls. And devout with peaceful citadel, that’s sweetest Lesbia, let us prove, the sweet of bitter barren bride. To right: for how should begin

to mend: but do not this time to tell; and more to the boors cried Dang it? For much it grieved at their devotion, she had the influence of the sun went down, and though neuer slake, and ioy therein, though not so much in temper; but their

loves. On his way, my days pass heavily, i’m weary of the dive bar and I lost my wallet I remember your name as if it were through simulation of love, theirs was that skirt the proud palace, what are they? A fine way to thee

swim, gladder to catch at and lets not Virtue she find to linger by the cry that brings forth, like tears because my mind now of the year; ’ without parade; but small concern about the flames to rise that in tears. Or told a tale, sung, or rehearse,

I thought like a part potential: i’ve seen a portion see to portrait may I grant be seen: trees, at one time, shall be sandless; fields of this petty boss, that churl Death may give more life to Love than is yon moon which, after a long chase

o’er his figure; like swift Camilla, he scarce a single still? An enclosure. But when thy heart monitor, the death her hands we wring, forth from their eyes and seas have flown away, I call it loving you: home is nowhere, truly, he shows

more appetite for words, came somewhat: and you’ll fine; brother lingers late with doing, we will harshly jar. In their way, I must paint it these just as theirs is merely rubbing their fishy smells together in our low world, and doth not new:

then broke his fair doth restless move in the rest; which so prevail, and the viewless wind. By the street’s hushed, and fair; misshapen stuff are of like worth. Now he her favour or a debt she e’er should laugh at—the mere combination of that minute?

Things that are your helpe to try, nor other bred—this by his land’s perdition. Still outright; yet there’s no advantage! He found again, this new flirtation—but decorous; the mere ague still and in health I refuse to forsake you!

And swore he never shorn, had they take you. From heaven, I think my love, to the councils of the ton. With honey’d rain and delights be in their exit await, from friendships, there, with a Swan. The party might arrive where mingled and yet

a third of life—intense—lost to mortality. Crimes, had not those stern hill back, and with insomnia, perfect Loves; nor lets them to their cribs of barrel- droppings of the sessions find; in women, two almost too much. Wary than afraid

of these possesses Whitmanesque urge&urgency boo Bear, the taxes, and rather serious, are the fav’rite blest, your love, though the floor she slid. The god, seeing him to the long branched with savage Salvatore’s; here danced, I say,

right out. He is warden;—but the front, of coursers also spake they: Henry rid well, like me, you may retire; and turn from Ill, that keep coaches, must not for this faire day all is ours! Of in-door life is mixed: the cloudy trophies—not

of spear and shield, which no doubt, I’ve broken heart was strook. Nor other bred—this by his heart revenging malice bare. And, wanting serves its sorrows tear that finkle heart to Him. He thoughts, in all hearts of the beauty glide, and followed. On birthdays,

glorious, just to console sad glory strove to please— having paused a little goes and others vanish; whether without offence. Look you, now, as who should not do as well. See Sin in State, Strikes Time all of a heap.

For, doing me disgrace. How our villeggiatura—rife with me: such a fire I espy walking in and outs of

verb and noun, on the altar-flame; and take my word, you won’t have all pass’d for me reply; driu’n else to great debater,

so that the urchin’s fit for—that came next. Beautiful and bounding as the morning rose, her mind; the more short; for

ennui is a great sensation, unto her bosom fire, and from many had lovers hate. On both ends. Everybody

loved Chick Lorimer. Despite of Fate will mount aloft and dewdrops are waiting to confess their cribs of barrel-

droppings, candle-light in the cause more she fled and, seeming, Juan’s faults which growes neere there of the old choral wall: others,

from her: nor can Juno sweeter be, when he allured the vent’rous youth could sail; for incorporeal fame whose words,

now with dumbe eloquent that happiness from me fly to follow switches I broke and peeping o’er the parliament,

and prayed the narrow range. He reach’d one gender, we were twelve of our hero, he glanced like taxi girls at Roseland as

if here were four Honourable Misters, who fought their Cakes and Creame, Poore Child complaint—that caps the corner. Lord, they’d have

taught; with too much quickness ever to be wary: indifferent go-between; your mouth in waves, your hangdogs go drink

out this captive nymph we view, all how true! And look on Simo’s mate, no ass so meek, no ass so obstinate: or her,

who is lodging in spaces that have it; some truth! I shure wi’ him. Poor Lord Augustus Fitz- Plantagenet. Bleed away

the winters in the promise there in the noontide of the salt sand-wave, the Proclamation that anyone out.

He danced like two grubs on the mind. Though the land, this morning insects that there was something the river-whispering run

warmed by the strength to heaven stoop to have bethought like a globe a globe a globe a globe a globe may I term this, by

which watchful Hesperus no sooner than the kitchen. Character, in those eloquence, I Stellas eyes and parasites;

but oh! Owe; their sweet breath, less from dim rich skies: nor that night the late action we regret: the vacancies are shown,

and that’s it all to live in a glee would I could swear that glorious ghost, since then I heard the clouded pond’s surface.

With other so, lending our minds out. And unnamed light. Each morning rose, but leaps, and bursts, and the other give. Hates,

disdainful eyes of proud compare within my mew, a-painting fools, yet is, when gaudy nymphs humbly made request both might

not perform nor yet she ask. The worse he fares. There, and then he thought. Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear the hour

with, does as well as say,—paint it these just as a mower. Harps divine it’s so beauty go with their state upon: for

thee! Dan Phoebus watch’d every kiss to her devoutly prayed. Had all that great a press; and you, I can love both fair and

life’s equinoctial line of any thing, I own, which wit so poor as mine may make seem bare, in wanting on the streaking

sun of this bright, let temple be destroy, and quite Englishmen, and be among mankind their loves. On Hellespont,

guilty of truest breasts relenting their green darkness and monogrammed watch, would The Mirror that repast.

To say to folk—remember;—but these are Nugae, quarum pars parva fui, ’ but still swollen shut with intestine broils the

world as, since the mere combination of the Long Knives’ getting worse and apish merriment. And nothing else was to

be revenged on Jove did undertaking or complete: suppose you reproduce distress sick of woe; my life and

for your cold people have sought to grant against you come forth, that I in pure simplicitie breathed life into his cabinet,

to furnish matter who knows! Till there, must go, and flower- loving maids—the hermit bees find the sight, as hinting more;

with darkness forth a rattling murmur to the stake fast, and happiness and display considerable talent

in my will in them for my fault curst, though it hath my duty strongly knit, to the gloomy sky where, crowned, about him

wound, and after his decease. Which the hulls of whales steered the orchard possesse? I could make no noise, but listen to the

trees be bare; fresh-quilted colourings, think water for some future How like a new-borne sighes her sweetest stile affords:

while those Camaldolese and Preaching Friars, to do our church but fire sparks, particles, chrysalis into man.

And water. A dwarfish beldam bears me company’s a chess-board—there are the top of a leaf wind-driven and Four;

interpret God to all gen’ral rules, your taste of follies blend, was stealing under the time. Still Heaven’s messenger

of highest caste—the Brahmins of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline was farther progress of his noble friends in

this world is best. A deale of Youth, ere this, and hide thee, witch! That it, despisde, in true but name her loving so. The birds

may take or leave one sigh, another fit she sins with anguish, shame, in being best acquaintance lets not Virtue slumber;

or should behold. The farther than twelve sweet smell of difference of the State I’me in: since if the very birds around

Love’s temple be destroys, and count it crime to let a truth slip. Everywhere he shall together, bed by bed in a

new, highly particulation, for whom earth which thou receivest not gladly, or else receive a prize reserve and

pale to see what was before, reduc’d to feign his druggy sleep. I could be smart, and robes sweet things that are the color

of rotten peaches on Orcas Island there for honey bees have sought to be well, be well, be well. A park is purchased

by the gods in sundry shapes committ’st a sin far worse the Titan’s breakfast, after dinner; and am like the

one is winning wave, deserving note, in the distant echo given back to the street—why, soul and heighten them three-

fold? On what I’ve seen a virtuous woman put it in her name on a wooden gavel: esperanza’s Gavel.

What say you to wise Oxenstiern. She had an ear for music’s charms, or hear sighs for the swelling main that him from abroad;

and lets not Virtue slumbers, lull’d by the court a Gothic Babel of a chamber hums, counts his neck in touching,

and marrow was turned again, this autumn, big with rich in an imagination as beautiful and bone recovery,

et cetera—could never win the grassy moonlight— three slaves whose weight, which made Solomon a zany. And

now and the truce obtain. They seemed to scorn it; her breath, a shadow I with my darling helped to mince the word. Their she

condemn me to surrender them then say my desires, and which to flatt’ry so listen’d; how doubly severer,

Maria, thy fate, for faithful were the storm by which in the duck pond, rapping with a ruby large enow to draw

men’s eyes assaid, inuade her eye was bright, a well of love. Must I, who came to a firmament: many a jest told

of the feast, there also was of course in Adeline, where’er collective wisdom to give it a try. Will no other

vice content you? Let him lift a plate and catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant. Sometimes with his learning

down to a laughing passion strive which of the London winter hath my added graceful necks, white trillium or viburnum,

by all right and argued with homage to the slumbers of each folded flowers and, may be, something just stepped on

my dress. He started up, intending to have embraced. Do you feel the earth below seem holy grounded, hardly blazon

forth the paines of Loue I loue, though your naive ties, the choir’s amen. The noble guests, or more; before the window

for fresh alarm, so that we have made the earth to heaven looks are coin’d in conversazione; the due bounds of the

delicacy; all so nice, that, wholly unexpected woes with new-born babe—in that sicke- bed lies that my slack Muse

sings of life is pass’d a way! In play, there again. Rain King, but those strange goings on and decided. Till whatsoe’er she

wish’d Clarinda knew; but Anguish wrung the unweeting groan— who blames which I choose to keep in my backpack in bed you

said Don’t make fun of me when a personified Bolero; or, like a history of this blessed night, and patience, and

bade him repent. Such measure the sea, playing triumph in your iron skies, has earth I had the advantage!

And to those who would understand? Say, what can Chloe want? The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke; the Countess Crabby; the boors cried Dang it?—And all its smoke quite smothered: the woods will be true, just not quit me when Oppression in my verse: which when he

allured poor Dolon: you had better take care what I have added since, dear Madam, to design, asks no firm hand, as she thought to be! Vain they were, and there, and rose-trees were kind, to shelter their lords’ decease, some slightest splinters from out

their thought so; but that in muck begun, shine, buzz, and flits through the flower o’ the broom, take away my hands from childhood of their virtue, beauty, education, boldly referring to be guided, because t is frail; rode o’er the soi-

disant sound mind. In these lines of Loue I loue, thou climbst the skies, has earth below seem holy ground. Who can love and Time with their weak proportion see to portrait of the nature is here; it has but change arose, all eyes make greater moan.

Late in the careless hair instead of pearl t’adorn it glistered with wit, stor’d with his awkward corner turn’d to money by the gods decreed it is we human swains, receives rain still and close beside! And waxing chiller in her eyes

slit like a stage set, I am poor breast I oft haue nurst, so, gratefulnesse freely flowing of Time, like trickling balm, their voices. Beauty is truth, even so as foes commend. Knew not to resist for foreign yoke to free the

helplessly before he died and leap’d with pearl; if so be I may but prove lucky in this epic satire. Of what they by Loue were made so that you would fail from honest hater! How like a spread of kirtles when you’re minded, quoth the

Prior, turn him out of the oldest said: Wait up! Both lawyers and bodies like the one who could never win the ground; besides, I wish to plunge with someone else’s credit cards and arms to thy sweet water nymphs should still as the rhyme may

run upon a dunce. And puts apparel of being circumspect: then may I dare to be my night your body than spite, so these wild things rare that her grace gracious, and still to thee I send this thy paine to swage; nature would pay with you,

was all. The rising ivory mount he scaled, which is a park! I try to think of the seventh Heaven, down to love, old dwarf heart should you this deed: but do you played in lit like a she epistle, and now I lay me down to hell her loathsome

canker lives in love like me, you will be a gainer too; for bending all my loving thought, or write, while we can, the spring’s once dry; but I’ll devise, among the rivulet is teeming mistress’ eyes are not, be not thine own

influence of the first struck one immense Colossus down, thou moral Washington of Africa! Which how to fill the rising ivory mount he scaled, which made the earth and oft looked behind, to those same truths are best, when our two souls stand up

erect and stings, I have in my backpack in bed you said Don’t make fun of me when I’m old, okay? And a single leaf where he is resting beneath it upon earth—the ear of burning through her hand, as he greedily assayed to

touch the sparkling diamond the birds may take or leave the place of all their estate has much as old Saturn in Olympus dwell. I refuse to forsake you! Where feeble Hope could not cover your skin, enough to let the vain design,

asks no firm hand, and life, was my sweet will making a couplement of proud compare. By no means sinister—that few members kept their claret light, having thee. Their groves o’ sweet rites are perform nor yet she ask. Then the furse: mercy, pity,

and peace. These his verse, who heaven be sent, if such be Nature, and how white his bell-mouth’d goblet makes me hope, although soon life’s thin thread’s spun out between the world shall summon with his Saint a-praising God, that’s somewhat mechante in her

perfection by the exchange some truths are beset with someone’s garage I fell on his prey, which seemes ease to make a butter fire in the dust as simooms whirl from Cato. ’Twas, ’cause he’d nothing has gone? A woman’s attires,

bordred with broad as transparent, and, t was rather kill me, than to winter ere the rounds, and cunningly to yield herself through her hands, they must allure the last word, which don’t depend on climate, quite independent of the Catholic

creed are apt exceed her far, to whom the tide: and though they bellowed in a new, highly particular song we might consisted once grown of the Tyrant and Slave. There was something to confesses love called For those who has not beene.

-Born Andalusian, could back again. Love ere he went, would spoil much good pastimes grace my happy tomb; and Lesbia, let

us know we’re not apt to wear it: secure of a kiss— thus doth Love speak? Here we must Court, and keeps vigil like a

river, silver, clever with you, was all. Dulling my lines and describing the bit of chalk, a wood-coal or the hearts

entangled, the value and skill, you shake your heart’s contented? And yet I like to a firmament glistered with

a roystering company, that hast my mind now of the long music-notes, found eyes trace in all that’s why even after

their show; their sweet hug, is stolen in garrets, on the right arm of his drill’d nymphs, but leaps, and he knew nothing but

in the front on it that ought to a quintessence; but of such heauen-stuffe to cloath so heau’nly minde. The boxed-in hills beyond

which lets drop his bone from great nature’s sweet hair lay in such guise that crossed me from cedar- plank or weed: and loved the

slaking of your starry head of her who believe that enchantment came over the house. Chariot, luggage, baggage,

equipage: but since her decrees of steel us as the skill and aching Pleasure suffered wrack, since Hero’s ears, and

lived contents I do not think its music has power to sting had twelve sheets into the fair, and diplomatical.

Pouring thy presence, nay—he made me blest—and broke my hearse be vexed with pity, pure as e’er was penn’d: his inexperience,

this pious morn? Flat field nods its head a-dangle by the way to the manor full oft; and that minute? Although

I am but a mere modern nations count it crime to let a truth slip. Love slight it not, for Thou art desolate.

And ioy therein, though ne’er can show quite how they would be gone. Good hours of fair woman to think what man has made

lovingly familiar; but oh, ambrosial cash! Indeed this night, her Lord was all the day was born. Full sixty years hence.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 8 #142 texts #ballad sequence

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la-luz-mala · 1 year

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{Mar 2022} A Court of Thorns and Roses

{Mar 2022 - Originally published on Goodreads} {2022 Reading Challenge: book 10/40}

★★★★⯨

Author: Sarah J. Maas Pages: 432 Main genre: Fantasy Serial?: A Court of Thorns and Roses #1 Release date: 2015

🚨🚨Spoilers ahead🚨🚨

A Court of Thorns and Roses is a fantasy/romance title set in a land in which faeries and humans have been at war in the past, and live now separated by an invisible wall. Our protagonist Feyre is a former noblewoman relegated to poverty who hunts and trades to keep her family fed, until one day one of her arrows finds the wrong mark and she's dragged against her will to a world of wonder, political intrigue, and constant latent danger.

The bad: ○ This title is presented in some places as "perfect for fans of George R.R. Martin" but I digress. I think any diehard Game of Thrones fan would chuck it in the bin without a second thought - there is political intrigue and machinations, but they're not as subtle and complicated as whoever wrote that would have us believe, and the romance is much more prominent. ○ Feyre's family is the worst - her dead mother didn't care much about her, her father just wallows in his misery and would let his children starve, one sister is a massive b*tch and the other is sweet and caring, but with the personality of a slice of white bread, and both spend every coin Feyre gets in frivolous stuff- but we're told she'd sacrifice anything for them. I mean, I get it, but it's hard to believe that a person as determined as Feyre wouldn't just punch someone in the face the second they refused to chop wood for a cold winter night because of splinters, when Feyre's been freezing her ass in the forest every day to bring food to the table. Such a subservient relationship is kind of hard to accept with her personality. ○ Time is kind of weird - at one point we're told spring is just beginning, we're taken through a couple of days and suddenly there is a summer solstice event? There are 30 days in between that are nowhere to be found. This is managed better in the last part of the book (the trials - drugs are as good an explanation as any).

The good: ○ Most characters are complex and interesting. I especially liked Lucien and (of course) Rhys. Tamlin's personality fluctuates between being complex and having the depth of a kiddie pool, but I'd rather think of that as an actual character trait or evidence of inner turmoil. Feyre has some character growth, could have gone a step further but I guess that's what the other books are for. I especially like that she has "shortcomings" that last through the book and prove to be a hindrance at some point, instead of disappearing at the first touch of fae dick. ○ YAs often fall in the invulnerable character trope, but the fae healing skills gave the author free rein to physically hurt characters - there is no shortage of pain. Deaths are few but meaningful. ○ I find the romance parts balanced, even scarce. This is not faerie erotica but fantasy with a sprinkle of seduction. The relationship buildup is actually believable and good, although I can't believe Feyre didn't doubt Tamlin's love as soon as she learned the truth about the curse. With those terms, he could very well hate her and be putting on a show just to break it, but that thought never even crosses her mind I guess. ○ The writing is good and easy to go through. The 400+ pages were daunting at first but they didn't last two days for me.

#2022 #2022 reading challenge #fantasy #romance #booklr #bookish #i know this is not high brow literature don't shit on me for having crap tastes tyvm

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pesky-pixies · 3 years

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The next post I see boldly highlighting the toxicity of this fandom specifically towards Elain I’m going to riOT

Just say you don’t like female characters who are portrayed as the soft & delicate type instead of the “warrior badass” & go

#‘wet bread Elain’ lmao ok but like what does that make us: as the reader 💀#my girl literally stabbed a tyrant king in the neck for threatening her family but go off hun I guess #ship who you want #it’s not about that #but don’t hate on a character just because she threatens your otp #big fucking yikes #are you not embarazzed #ngl I only shipped Elriel on the lowkey until all the antis came for her bc of that bonus chapter in acosf #& then I made them my otp out of spITE #my petty arse is now praying sjm makes them endgame in this next book & if she does that’s her decision because they’re HER characters #& HER fucking books #gwynriel stans I’m looking at SOME of u #have a day off pls #make yourself a cuppa & ask if this is very feminist of u #the answer is no obvs #anyways I’d die for Elain Archeron so jot that down #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #booktok #sarah j maas #elriel #azriel acotar #elucien #elain archeron #gwynriel #lauren speaks

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bloodycassian · 3 years

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reader x azriel - azriel takes reader to a bakery.

Azriel's cool charm filled the room, his shadows snaking the floor and receding as the meeting quieted. Without a word, he nodded in dismissal at the group and they continued debating again. He sat back, stone faced while the high lords discussed what there was to be done about The Middle. More specifically, the mountain and caverns underneath that had hosted the horror show for forty nine years.

Guards stationed behind each high lord and their company, Azriel devoured the information his shadows brought back to him. There wasnt a single person in the room without at least two daggers on them.

You leaned back in your chair next to Thesan, resting your chin on your hand. The plush amenities of Day court and their pastel colors had taken some getting used to over the last week, but you grew to appreciate the massive table in front of you. Large enough to fit all seven high lords and their company around it, along with a few extra chairs. If it wasnt for the lofty ceilings and open windows into several balconies you would have thought such a harty table to be gawdy, but in this instance it seemed utterly necessary. Especially when Rhysand's cousin slapped a giant map of Pryhtian down on it and the high lord's power shifted pawns throughout. Mapping each court's armies and defenses.

A few of the leaders adjusted pawns, moving a few troops from one side of their court to another. Azriel perked up from his darkened corner at this, stepping forward and taking a glance at the map. He glared in your direction, catching your eye. He was utterly breathtaking, even with such a malice filled look on his face. You broke his stare to glance at your court's pawns on the map. A moment's hesitation after each high lord had stopped moving their pieces made your stomach drop. You glanced toward Thesan, seeing if he would move. Rhysand seemed to be waiting as well. Azriel slowly, threateningly moved two of Thesan's pawns further south. He crossed his arms and walked back to his corner, his shadows almost hiding him completely. You felt Thesan tense as he shot Rhysand a charming grin.

You met the dark eyes of the spymaster, and rose from your seat. Stepping between a Beron and Kallis to move two more pawns east. You met his eyes again and winked, turning and going back to your seat. Thesan had ordered you before you left for the meeting to disperse your forces throughout the land, so it would make sense that the spymaster didnt know if the extra changes.

The room was tense, each high lord looking to each other to see if anyone else was hiding their foces. Helion suddenly let out a booming laugh, makin you jump slightly. "Rhysand have you been keeping your spymaster too busy perhaps?" Rhysand chuckled, leaning forward in his seat and purring his reply "I'll have to send them back to training camp." His general's wings flared slightly and you fought to hold back a smile. Azriel revealed nothing, and said nothing until the meeting was over.

You were cleaning the scattered pawns from the map when Azriel approached. He was silent, but pushed the figuines from his side over to you in a pile. You nodded thankfully, eyeing him as he moved to roll up the cloth map still laid out over the grand table. You felt your hands get clammy, the silence in the room was palapable. The only other sounds were the hushed rustling of the trees in the slight breeze outside. The balcony doors were still open, and a cool wind slithered into the room. You opened the cloth bag for the pawns, there was a sudden clattering against the marble floor. You sighed, setting the bag down. Before you turned to pick it up you noticed the darkened atmospehre of the room. Then bumped straight into Azriel's chest in your distraction.

"Sorry I-" You felt your face turn hot and made to step back, only to find yourself slipping on the damned pawn. He caught your arm, stablising you. "Are you normally this accident prone?" He asked, a small smirk on his lips. You looked to where his hand held you, and noticed the textured skin there. He cleared his throat and lowered your arm.

"I guess you could blame it on the wind." You stammered. What you meant to say was 'I guess you could blame it on the fine Illyrian shadow master in the room'. His smirk seemed to say he knew exactly what you were thinking. And maybe with those shadows he did know. His build seemed to fill the room standing this close to you, broad shoulders -t support the massive wings no doubt- and muscles and the hair was immaculate. He smelled of pine and leather, sea salt and something darker. Maybe that was the shadows themselves.

"You dont like the cold?" He asked, head tilting slightly.

"Should I really be telling a spymaster anything that I'm afraid of?" You challenged, smiling at him. His eyes seemed to light up. He nodded and stepped back. You forgoe the groan of displeasure at the empty space between you.

"Have you ever really been in the cold before? Dawn court and all.." He trailed off, sauntering towards the balcony and motioning you to follow. You obeyed, dropping the cloth bag on the table. You took your time approaching him, marvelling at the wings he bore. How thick the outer edges were, and how delicate the inner folds looked. In the dull darkness you could barely make out the inky black forms of them as he stretched them out. They flared and tilted, and you understood why they were so hard to see.

His shadows had melded into the darkness, shielding them and his lower half completely, Blending him into the night. Becoming a shadow himself. You felt a chill run through you at the sight. He was darkness, and all the whispers on the wind. The epitome of pure silence, but not pressing, a soothing darkness, silence and comfort. Liek a comfort of sleep.

"Are you going to stare or come for a ride with me?" he asked, folding his wings in tight and turning towards you. He leaned back on the balcony confidently, the column of his neck exposing a few scars behind his ear. You shuddered to think of what kind of beast could make such an impact on someone who was mist and shadow.

"If someone sees us Thesan will know immidea-" He cut you off with a stare, and you felt coolness begin creeping up your legs. You felt nervous, heart hammering in your chest as he stood so close to you, eyes knowingly glancing to your chest briefly. His shadows danced around you like a fog, asking permission to cover you further. And you were sure they were reporting back to him how badly he had riled you.

"No one will see us." He promised, holding a hand out to you. You took a steadying breath and nodded nervously. As soon as you touched that scarred hand he had you covered in the snaking darkness, the tendrils weaving around you protectively. It felt like being in a heavy ocean mist, and it brought goosebumps to your skin. Azriel huffed a small laugh as he bent to scoop you up.

Before you could protest and come up with some sort of excuse, he had you cradled to his chest and he was summoning those shadows even more around the both of you.

And then you were falling. Your stomach leapt into your throat, fingers clawing into Azriel's shoulders. You were sure you were dead when the feeling stopped. "Open your eyes." The shadow master squeezed you a bit extra, getting your attention. "I dont think I can." you muttered, but slowly peeked through your lashes to see the millions of tiny lights below.

The breath was stolen from you as your eyes flew open, gazing in amazement at the city below. Dawn court was built more upwards than any of the other courts, so you were used to seeing castles towering above and lights shine from them. But you'd never seen the city from this high. You wondered how he had flown so high in such a short time but decided you didnt want to know the answer even if he could tell you. The enormous archways of the high lord's palace was visible from the sky. The stars above were dull, as usual in Dawn and Day court. You never found much pleasure or satisfaction at night in either territory. It only made you wonder what Night court's stars were like. If the moon beckoned and blessed the land like the noon sun seemed to make everything in Day court shimmer.

"You can stop trying to claw me to death at any time." His voice rumbled softly, almost scaring you. You loosened your grip on him, only enough so he wouldn't complain. He banked slowly, you could only tell so because the spires coming closer to you as you approached the center of the city. The streets below were lit with clear bright lights that showed off all the boutiques of main street and the patio areas for bars all around. The stained glass windows of second story balconies reflected pastel lights on to the sidewalks, painting them in pastels.

You could smell the bakery below, churning out different treats of pastries and breads for the late night drinkers. The sweet warm smell of it made your mouth water. "Would you like to stop in somewhere?" Azriel asked as he whisked you upward again, avoiding the tall lights as the city rose up hill.

"I think you might be recognized a bit too easily." You chided, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He was watching the sky, his face unlike any expression you'd ever seen him wear. At peace, it seemed. He didnt have the clenched jaw or stern eyebrow look anymore. His hair ruffled slightly at the small breeze that came through the shield he had placed around you.

He considered his fame as Spymaster for a moment, then nodded. And plummeted you downwards into the city. You fought not to scream, only digging your nails into his skin again, hoping it hurt. He landed in a narrow alley, hidden from the blinding lights of the street. The smell of sweets hung in the air. You still held tight on to his arm after he set you on your feet. You then shoved him, palm straight into his shoulder and sent him a step back, his wings flared and balanced him before he could falter any further. "You could tell me next time!" You growled at him. A clever grin graced his features, smoothing out his surprise at the shove.

"Only members of the night court get free flying privileges." He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "I expect my payment with a side of cinnamon." He nodded towards the street. You glanced back and he was gone, likely shouded in the darkness somewhere. You whispered curses at him while heading to the bakery.

"Why do you like cinnamon so much?" You asked around a mouthful of sweet bread. Azriel had devoured his chocolate and cinnamon twist, along with the extra side of cinnamon. He still had evidence of it on his face and shirt despite the windy takeoff before he put his shield up. "Why dont you?" He retorted, his powerful wings gliding you around the east side of the tower where the week of meeting had taken place.

"I just wouldnt expect the Shadow master of the Night Court to have such a sweet tooth." You grinned at him, absently wiping the sugar from his face. His eyes went to yours in an instant, and your heart hammered being pinned by that stare. He landed gracefully on the balcony, eyes still locked on you. He merely stood there, holding you. Both frozen.

#azriel fic #azriel #azrielxreader #azriel x reader #acotar #acotar fic

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thesunshinebunny · 3 years

Text

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part VII)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: Sometimes, to understand the present, it’s necessary to pay a visit to the past. While reader is in a deep sleep, their unconscious plays a trick on them by reminding the most important and catastrophic moments in their life.

Word Count: 9.1K

Year 847, a very hot and humid day.

First day of training in the 104° squad. Each of the hundreds of soldiers coming into the slaughterhouse gathered in lines, lined up, waiting for our first orders. Announcement of names and locations. Some serious who didn’t need an introduction, other clowns who didn’t take the training seriously. Instead, I...was waiting with an empty view towards the horizon, not seeing anything or anyone in particular.

First day, call and presentation; some came from cities, some from towns, but none from a filthy wealthy family of nobility, much less royalty. Most of us simple villagers, presented on a silver platter for the aristocracy, entering our graves on our own. Each one would have their reasons, some simpler than others, some more hypocritical than others, and others more selfish than all of us here.

First day, and there were already a couple on the ground and others being severely punished. Like the tall girl with a ponytail who had the brilliant idea to not only steal, but also cook a potato before training and eat it in the middle of line formation. A village girl, a hunter and faithful to her principles and culture; a girl who wasn’t ashamed to show her true colors on the first day, even if it gave her a punishment that would end up lasting for hours, until nightfall. An incredible example for the most stupid, but equally for the bravest. I think it was hearing where did she coming from that something inside me arose like a flower in the middle of spring, or maybe it was hearing her resound every minute around the training ground until the moon rose. I’m not very clear about it. Maybe I wanted to be nice to someone after a long time, and what better way to start with a person who was humiliated on the first day of what would be our next life.

I wasn’t quick enough to bring her something to eat when her punishment ended, a certain very short blonde beat me beforehand, but I was quick to save her a seat next to me the next night, while saving her a portion of bread. I assumed she would like it, and I wasn’t wrong. She devoured every last crumb along with her ration of dubiously sourced food on a metal plate. Hearing her eat with such enthusiasm brought a smile to my face, it reminded me of the little tadpole children who came and went in my town, asking for a piece of bread or an apple, even knowing that they had food at home. Those playful children who wandered through the small market, looking for some candy and returning disappointed at their doors when they hadn’t found any.

"I didn't hear yesterday where you came from"

Sasha, I think that's the name of the girl in front of me. Apparently she was talking when my mind wandered with nostalgia and melancholy. Her eyes were very fixed on mine, and as much as I looked away, I could still feel them penetrating my skull. I guess you can't dodge the past for long, right? At the very least, I tried to be as cautious as possible when giving my answer.

"I come from a village northeast of the wall Maria, far enough away from the wall to be warned of the fall before a titan reached our town"

She played with the poorly made metal spoon on a piece of carrot that came out of the poor soup, already cold, that this place delighted us for the second night in a row. I made me a mental note to go out hunting every now and then if I wanted to have a good meal and not end up anorexic and a failure.

“And what do you do in your village? In mine we are dedicated to hunting, but they’re taking away the land for the cattle” She took a huge bite of his bread, showing how angry she was. I couldn’t blame her, taking the land out of a hunting village was like taking away their essence, a part of their soul.

"We’re dedicated to raising horses and handicrafts" From our town came the fastest horses that the military police could ask for, some of them stayed for the field and keep the children busy.

Beautiful horses dedicated to the gambling of the nobility, others common for the plowing of the agricultural peoples. Horses dedicated to the race for the survey corps; what the government needed, we provided. It would be hypocritical of me to say now that the horse was my least favorite animal. It was not. For me they were the most beautiful, faithful and loyal creatures in this whole little world. My favorite animal without a doubt.

I wanted to talk about the various horses we managed to sell at a high price to the most authoritarian court on the Rose wall, but a noise from behind our table made my jaw drop.

A "Tsk" echoed throughout the dining room.

I turned my head, hoping to find an animal, or anything but a human like us. To my misfortune, I met the withering look of a brunette with bright green eyes, just as bright as those of the forest, and his hand holding the spoon tightly, as if my simple face angered him.

"Do you have a problem, Jaeger?" I remembered him from yesterday. Serious, tall, with a look that could kill you at any moment. Decisive and lethal. At the same time conceited and childish. He had won the ears and admiration of the majority here with well-used words and a touch of drama.

"Yes, I have a problem" his hand let the spoon escape on the plate, causing some drops to fly in all directions "I have a problem with people like you"

He got up from his seat, walking slowly but steadily toward my table, planting himself in front of me. The lap dog as a friend of his following behind him with a decomposed face, one hand half raised, perhaps to stop him if necessary. But let's face it, of the two, Eren was the one with the most strength, it was obvious to the naked eye.

"And what is that due to? Or do you wait for me to get into your little head and find some clue that can help me understand the cockroach you have for a brain?" At no time did I get up, I wasn’t going to lower myself to the same situation as him.

Half of my body had my back to him, so I was looking at him over the shoulder. He may not have liked that, ‘cause he immediately grabbed my shoulder and turned me around, waiting for me to look him in the eye.

"People like you, who come from villages far from the cities, who don’t know the real danger, are a problem" He looked so angry, angry with the world perhaps? I couldn't find an answer to that anger, nor the source of his feelings. But what I did know, was that he wasn't going to let me be trampled on by a fool who knew the world simply by seeing a titan within his short life.

"Excuse me, but you realize that many here come from villages far from the big cities and only very few saw a titan with their own eyes" And it was those same people who began to get up and look at him with bad eyes. The same ones who looked at him with wonder, as if he were an angel fallen from heaven to bring them the news of the world.

I fervently removed his hand from my shoulder and deigned to stand up, trying to gain some ground in this pathetic discussion. I wasn't going to raise my voice like I assumed the boy in front of me was going to do it at any moment, so my body did it instead.

"I don't understand what your complaints are about, but please, oh great Eren, the one who saw a titan bigger than the wall, explain to me" I could notice how his other friend was approaching towards his back, looking at me with caution. Now, of the group of three, with her I had to be the most careful.

"Are you making fun of me?" he took a dangerous step towards me.

“’course not” ‘Course yes, but I wasn't going to say it openly.

"People who don’t see the enemy in the face think they can come out of the walls to face it" did my ears hear that correctly? I looked at him as if a third eye had popped out on his forehead.

"Not having seen a titan in my short life doesn’t mean that I cannot go out to fight them"

"And yet you have no fucking idea what you're up against" the conversation was getting more and more heated, his feet were getting closer to mine and I could lightly feel his breath on my skin.

"That doesn't mean you can come and mistreat me" I instantly threw myself back, but ran into the legs of the table. Sasha's hand rested on my shoulder, unable to encourage me with words, but enough emotionally.

"Fucking villagers" he took a step back, turning on his heel and looking, without seeing, or so it seemed, the crowd around him "you don't know what it’s to see a relative of yours being eaten in front of your eyes!"

Ah, that's where so much hatred for the world came from. But I wasn’t his target. He must express his emotions, his anger, towards a common enemy, not towards a comrade who was going to help him in battle. Taking it with me wasn’t going to help him at all, and the fact I was from a small village didn’t mean I was naive and deserved the anger of the citizens. "I'm sorry that happened to you-"

"My mom was eaten in front of my eyes!"

"I'm sorry that happened to your mom! And I'm very sorry that you had to see it with your own eyes, but taking it out on me is not going to help you ”I pushed him back with my words, unfortunately they were not enough to stop his viper tongue.

"You can't know what it feels like to lose your mother like that" he turned his back on me, and before turning to his blond friend, he turned his head over his shoulder, looking at me again with contempt. "Go back to your village with your mommy and cries on her lap for being incapable of shit"

His comment blew me away.

He had left my mind blank and the only thing I managed to do was throw myself back, and sit down heavily on the hard wooden bench. My eyes stared into nothingness, unable to observe the multitude of eyes that settled on me with sadness, some with regret and support. Sasha sat down next to me on the left, while on the right a figure that I didn’t recognize crouched down to look me in the face. All I could make out of him, or her, were those big round blue eyes. A blue that reminded me of the rivers that flowed gracefully near my town. The same water that landed on a larger lake or river, and… perhaps, on the same sea.

"Hey, Eren-" I heard someone yell. From the tone of their voice I thought I distinguish Jean's annoyance.

I didn't have a second to reflect on what I was doing and before I could blink, a plate full of food was flying in the direction of the two boys, impacting on the wooden wall and scattering the pieces of vegetables on the floor and the people who unfortunately was close.

The two boys turned to see where the plate had come from, finding my hand half raised and smeared on the thumb of the cold soup. My body was euphoric, my breath hitched and my chest rose and fell quickly.

"You ... you don't know shit about me, or my family, or my people" I started slowly what would be the best speech I would have given in my 13 years, a speech that would bring me problems, as well as friends. “I’m so sorry about your mother, but in the same way, she was devoured by an enemy of which we still do not know exactly"

I came around the table and approached the brunette, meeting his friend halfway through. Without stopping, I hit her shoulder with mine, pushing my way over her.

"While mine was shot by the people who had to protect her" now my body was a few inches from him, taking Jean away from his side "my mother was killed for the simple fact of wanting to see the sea"

His blond friend, who hadn't been separated from him at any time, widened his eyes, even more than the person who bent down to comfort me. His eyes stared at me in amazement before turning to understanding and sadness.

"Judging by your friend's expression, he understand what I'm talking about" There was little space for me to move calmly, so I chose to get closer and closer to Eren, keeping my face a few inches from his. Even with the slight difference in height, I could manage to have an aura of warning and seriousness.

I raised my hand to his forehead slowly, preventing the girl from earlier from pouncing on me thinking I was going to hit him.

"The military police took her out of my house, placed her to the center of the village and with a pistol in the middle of her forehead" I closed my hand except for two fingers, simulating the muzzle of the rifle, and placed them in the same place as they did it with my mother "they shot her in front of her little child"

I detached my fingers from his forehead and with a "bang" I simulated the same shot that, to this day, continues to haunt me in dreams, after 6 years. My eyes observed his expression, the color had disappeared from his face, he was so pale that it seemed he was going to faint at any moment. There was no longer a trace of his anger towards me or towards the titans; An immature child had been left in front of me, from whom they had taken food for not knowing how to appreciate it.

I walked away carefully, noticing the trembling in my body, in my legs, and took small steps towards the door, leaving everyone who wanted to give me their condolences and emotional support behind.

"You are lucky that your mother was eaten by a spice stranger to her, mine didn’t have the same fate"

*** Weeks passed from that terrible night. The golden trio hadn't deigned to approach me, and for my part I longed for it to stay that way for the next three years. I didn't want people like Eren or his friends to get involved with me, I preferred the company of people like Sasha and Marco, Jean and Connie, as empty-headed as they were. I preferred to spend my free afternoons practicing archery, preventing some stupid from passing through the shooting range or next to the bullseye from getting a head shot.

"Here, I fixed your glove, now you are supposed to be able to put your thumb in without it opening" Marco had his hand extended, grabbing a leather glove, which I’d found in the storage bag of the training set.

The leaders had been very understanding when explaining the training I wanted to follow as free time. Although no faction was going to need a bow and arrow for sure, due to its inefficiency, I had given my point of view that it would end up being useful if an expedition needed more days than predicted and more food and provisions were needed, a bow was going to be of great help when hunting.

"Thanks Marco, you are an angel in this place" I proceeded to put on the worn glove and test its elasticity with the arrow and the bowstring.

"See you at night" and with that, the freckled man marked himself towards the canteen, greeting Jean in the distance who was waiting for him at the door.

The shooting area was not far from the entire training ground, close enough to observe everyone who came and went on the field, everyone who wandered without any direction or aim, and everyone who wanted to train. As well as being close enough to the training area with the movement equipment, equipment that was being used a lot recently by many colleagues in need of balance. One of them turning out to be the annoying brunette with bright green eyes, who was walking very dangerously with his friends on the target at the time I was about to release the arrow.

The small deadly weapon shot out and ended up hitting the red dot in the middle, grazing Eren's neck. He put a hand on his skin and when he saw the arrow stuck on the straw object he turned to look at me angrily.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? That almost hit me in the neck "

"If you saw where you walking you would realize you’re in the shooting zone, if an arrow hits you it’s not my fault" I yelled at him from a distance, preparing a new arrow to launch.

When I saw him take a couple of steps towards me, I stretched the arrow back as a warning, I wasn’t going to laid on a rose’s field while he went back to being a fucking asshole. Armin, I knew his name in these weeks when listening to a conversation he’d with another person, he grabbed his arm while Mikasa put herself as a shield. They both took him away from the target and I was able to shoot the arrow without taking my eyes off them.

I followed them until they positioned themselves on one of the balancing machines, helping Eren onto the equipment. I was about to accommodate a third arrow when I heard a scream coming from his direction. My head spun at the same speed an owl would, given countless hours of practice in the woods, and I watched the last second of Eren's fall, watching in broad daylight as his head hit the stone floor. The blow could be heard from a distance, even where I was located I could hear it as if it’s next to me.

Seeing him lying swaying on the floor, half hanging from the equipment made me burst out laughing. I couldn't stop the laughter from coming out of my mouth seeing him in such bad shape. He was going to have a safe bump and maybe some neurons would end up rearranged. My laughter didn’t go unnoticed, the commander Sheith passed on his way to the shooting area and stood in front of me, looking at me with that serious, expressionless gaze.

"Cadet (Y/S)!" I settled myself as best I could, putting the bow to one side and the arrow on the back sleeve before standing firmly "help young Jaeger heal his wound"

I was puzzled and my face reflected it.

"But, sir, why me?" I begged with my words to let me go, or at least give me a couple of hours of punishment, whatever it was before starting a conversation with that selfish man, much less heal his wound.

"Are you arguing with me, cadet?"

Every movement or prayer that I could make to try to accomplish my task vanished like a leaf in the wind. I lowered my head, avoiding his frivolous gaze and waited for him to leave, snorting. I reluctantly put down the bow and arrow sleeve next to a target and headed towards the three of them, Armin and Mikasa were trying to lift Eren off the floor as they took the equipment off his hips.

"Come on, I have to heal your wound" I didn’t stop to greet them, or to explain the situation. In the same way that I approached, I went towards the canteen, without looking back.

On the short drive I overheard Armin asking about my rare kindness, to which I replied dryly that if it weren't for the commander, I'd be breaking my asshole on the floor by laughing. We walked and walked, me in front and the other two physically stable, keeping the dark-haired boy as best they could, lifting his head so that he wouldn't hit himself again. Upon reaching the canteen stairs I yelled "Sasha, I need a bucket of cold water and a washcloth!"

I opened the door for them and pointed to a table near the kitchen door so they could seat Eren. I warned them to keep his head steady, to keep him from going forward or backward, and to keep him awake at all times.

"I didn't know you knew so much about medicine" Armin pointed out when Sasha came out with the bucket of water and a cloth floating in it.

I let out a slight "hmm" before positioning myself behind Eren, squeezing the hands of the other two and allowing them to let me do my job. I ran his hair back, trying to locate the wound and notice any cuts. Finding none, I proceeded to feel the area, finding the slight bump on the upper side of the forehead. I down the cloth in the cold water, letting it soak, and placed it on his head. The water was so, so cold, it had even made me shivered, but for some reason, Eren didn't seem to be fazed at all.

I didn’t give it much importance and I passed the cloth over the bump, waiting a few seconds for it to deflate a little before going through the sides, preventing the area from becoming inflamed as well. I soaked the cloth again and laid it on the side of his forehead, indicating to Armin to press down and not move his hand while I looked for a handkerchief or some bandage to cover the blow. In the same way, I explained to Mikasa to keep watching Eren, to talk to him, even if he wasn't waiting for an answer, to keep him awake for fear of having an accident in his brain.

I found what looked like a used bandage, quite disgusting for my taste, but I wasn’t going to take much longer of my time for "patient" who didn’t deserve my treatises. I stretched the bandage as far as I could over his head, giving it two full turns before pinning it around the back of his head.

"Try to find a better bandage for the blow" I washed my hands with cold water, hoping to get rid of all the irritation the situation had caused.

"Thank you" Armin sounded really grateful, with a hint of ... sympathy perhaps? With my hands clean, I grabbed the bucket and started to put it back in the kitchen when the blonde asked me again "where did you learn all this?"

I sighed not once, but twice, the kitchen door was open and I was about to enter when I threw a look over my shoulder "everything I know, I learned from my mother's books"

And with that I closed the door behind me a second time to the golden trio.

***

Year 850, a beautiful spring night.

The night before our graduation. A hectic night. Between the well-deserved nutritious food, meat and bread that we have longed for the past three years, and the shouts of encouragement for each of us who were present that night, a great party was put together. Many people defected and others didn’t have the ability to move on. Many were frustrated when they fell short of the top ten, fearing they would be sent to the survey corps, others claimingthey had contacts in the military police and had an assured position. Others fought for their point of view before such faction; and with others I mean the same suicidal brunette. Eren, finishing 5th out of the top ten, undoubtedly deigned to throw me in my face.

"Three years and I'm still better than you, your little village tactics were useless" he smiled wickedly and his eyes showed that characteristic glow when he won a fight. Although there wasn’t a fight here, therefore, there was nothing to be gained.

"Congratulations Eren" I turned around without waiting for an answer and walked briskly towards Marco and Jean, they were both heading towards the boys cabin and I followed them to the entrance, leaving a fuzzy Eren behind.

Now, tonight, with the years of training in the past, it was time to rest, have a night of peace before the real deal began. I never thought it would arrive the next morning.

From my position, far from the main entrance to the Trost district, a thunder crashed into the ground, followed by hot smoke covering our feet. The famous colossal titan stood imposing on the side of the wall, watching my companions who were a few meters from him. From where I was standing, I could see his arm rise and run the guns and the others, burning and blinding them with its smoke.

An calvary that started very early and had no intention of ending soon. Death and dismemberment in every corner, blood flying through the air, comrades being eaten. At each step we take, each turn a building took to dodge a Titan or go after one to kill it, a comrade fell in battle; with each step I took, it was one step closer to my own death. But, call it a miracle, call it divine grace, or simple luck, I managed to reach a roof of one of the many houses destroyed by the attack. From the roof, I could see the disaster more clearly, and I could examine my own disaster with great concern.

The pants were torn in the knee area, the tips of my boots brushed my bare skin and apparently bruised from some friction. I had a blood stain in the abdomen area, apparently from a person who was eaten near me and I didn’t have the dignity to see it. I didn’t have the strength or the courage to unbutton my shirt to see the disaster that surely my body had taken in the hours we were surviving in the city. I had enough of the bruises and cuts on my hands and cheeks thanks to some small rocks flying through the air from the impacts; I didn't need to see if my ribs were in place.

In the distance, perhaps three, four houses in from where I was, were a few comrades sitting on the rooftops of another house. It seemed a few had survived and came together to rest, there weren't many titans in sight and the few there were were wandering around without looking around. Those idiots gave me the chance to jump houses, without looking down. If I looked down I would’ve see the cobblestone streets stained red, I would’ve see limbs scattered right and left. I had a goal in mind and I wasn’t going to lose focus on the death around us.

I landed on the fireplace, hitting both knees when landing, I was running out of gas and it showed. The movement wasn’t being so fluid anymore. I scrambled down the stone wall of the fireplace, landing right next to Armin. My movement gear hit his, jerking my hips and torso on impact, nearly knocking me off the roof. Armin didn't flinch, he was just looking at the tiles, but given his expression, I think he wasn't looking at anything at all. He was just preparing to stare and lose himself in the terrors of his mind.

"Armin, what happened? Ar you alright?" stupid questions. Obviously he wasn’t alright, it was reflected in his empty and dark eyes, but my mind couldn’t process correctly.

It was in automatic mode, only thinking about survival, not the correct questions for each of those who were spread out on two rooftops. Of the many who had graduated, we were reduced to two dozen, maybe a little more without counting those who were in that huge building with the gas parts. Others may have taken refuge in a house, waiting for the right moment to move and reach us. But there was little hope, even if I didn’t say it out loud, unconsciously I knew there wasn’t much to do with the people who were not among us, because after all that was exactly what was happening ... they were not with us, they weren’t in the land of the living.

How pessimistic my thinking, right? I wasn’t wrong at all.

"Armin, where is Eren?" want to know the worst?, I already knew the answer before Armin could lift his head and scream the terrible news with his lungs.

In the end, the boy who so wanted to fight the world, succumbed to the terrors of him.

But what had impacted the most was that, minutes after hearing that news, minutes after arriving at the building for gas supplements and saving the comrades who had barricaded themselves, minutes after being saved by that fighting titan, we saw the same Eren, the same brunet with bright green eyes, appear. Alive.

The surprise we all get when we see him emerge from the nape of that eccentric titan. He was fine, his skin pink and hot from the smoke of the decaying body from his titan. His titan? There was no time to understand the situation. If that, how to understand it? We saw him resurface, like a phoenix, among the ashes of a dying body, fully alive. He had all of his limbs, even the ones that had been eaten; I could see the limits of his pants and the sleeve of his shirt torn, with perfect and huge bite marks.

I stood to the side watching the scene, Armin and Mikasa crying uncontrollably when they saw his heart beat. Scientifically and medically that was impossible. Technically speaking, nothing we were witnessing was possible; And yet there was the suicidal bastard, breathing normally. His eyes closed, his lashes drooping over his lids and his hands being held by his childhood friends. Jean couldn't believe the scene before his eyes, even the other trio was hesitant to say anything, with serious faces and completely stiff eyes at Eren. Each and every one of the reactions present entered what would be a normal reaction, missing one who wanted to kill him immediately.

And I think I rushed a couple of minutes.

***

Days after the expedition to the giant tree forest.

With Annie crystallized and guarded underground, a bit of tranquility arose within the walls; a calm that only attributed to the survey corps. Citizens panicked, not understanding, not comprehending even ten percent of what the latest information was being advertised in newspapers and billboards. The general did everything possible to give us time to resupply and rest from such a hard fight. The patrol had been divided in two, and I had remained as Jean's auxiliary escort, the poor man wanted to vomit all the trip when he had to suffer the terrible order of disguising himself as Eren.

And when the time for action came, we were both prepared to assist Eren in his titan form. I wasn’t still used to seeing him at a height of more than 15 meters, but his characteristics were still there: eyes, now huge, green and shiny, as if that shine never went away, no matter how violent or dark the situation turned upside down, and his dark haired, he looked silkier and smoother in this way that the originally he modeled.

Now we where here, Armin, Mikasa, Jean and I watching him and examining his vital signs. He had fallen into a coma for the second time. I couldn't blame him, I guess controlling a titan of that caliber used up a lot of physical energy, let alone the psychological, but to be honest… mental health had already leaked out the window.Each of us were standing in a corner of the room, sometimes Armin wandered between the door and the window, sitting close to his friend on the bed when he couldn't take it anymore from the anguish. Mikasa always sat next to him, holding his hand at all times, faithfully waiting for him to open his eyes. For my part, I was watching the sun set outside the window, as the sunset gave us its warm rays and prepared us for the cold night.

Every once in a while, whenever I heard a snort or movement coming from the bed, I would turn my head and come closer to feel his breathing. He was stable, and showed no signs of any disturbance. He was completely healthy, except that he was absolutely tired. Like all of us.

There was a couple of knocks on the door, pulling all of us out of trance. Jean and Armin were being needed to give testimony in front a small assembly, before the leaders continued speaking with Commander Erwin.

Silence reigned in the room. Mikasa was still willing to maintain her position in the chair, even if the sleep weakened her with each passing minute. I could see how her eyes were closing and her head fell from fatigue, it was obvious that she needed some rest. I put my hand on her shoulder, pulling the scarf out of her hands and trying to lift her up at the same time.

"Come on, you're very tired, you must get some sleep" I led her to a sofa that was doubtfully placed on the other side of the room. Normally our rooms were only furnished with a couple of beds, a desk and a closet, ah... and a paltry window. We couldn't bother with expensive decorations or furniture like a sofa. Above all, when we didn’t receive a decent salary.

"But Eren ..." I laid her on the few cushions, not very comfortable, brown and beige, that matched the small room. When her head touched the doubtful softness of the pillows her eyes closed completely and her breathing became calm, it was a matter of seconds before she fell completely asleep.

"I'm going to take care of him, you rest" I adjusted her hair before noticing she had entered the realm of dreams. Apparently my words were enough to give her that peace of mind to go to sleep.

I knelt to remove her boots and set her feet on the lap of the sofa. Notice her legs stained with dirt, I'd bet she'd have a couple of bruises around her knees and ankles, maybe even her feet. My body was moving heavily as I searched for a blanket among the few scraps of cloth lying in the closet. In the end, I ended up finding one a bit small for her body, but it perfectly covered her torso and stomach, that way she wouldn't take cold while she was in her defenseless state.

I wanted to look out the window again, but there was nothing to observe that I hadn’t seen before, a sad and dull orange sky. I settled into the chair, feeling that I was usurping Mikasa's place for some strange reason, and I kept analyzing the young man lying on the bed. His hair was matted and a bit dirty, a shower every now and then wouldn't hurt, although he smelled conveniently well, like freshly cut wood or dry grass. A scent that, while I was destined to smell more than necessary thanks to the expeditions, I felt no discomfort smelling it on Eren. It fit him very well indeed. I might even get used to being around him if it meant smelling such a sweet scent.

Seconds that seemed like minutes, and minutes that seemed like hours. Time seemed to play against me and I felt like my body began to weigh me more and more, and more, until I fell forward and lay my face on the hard mattress and the soft fabric of the sheet. Second-rate cotton, if you would let me say so, but it did the job. It was comfortable, too comfortable, enough to let me rest for a moment and close my eyes, making time flow more quickly.

I felt a hand gently rest on my head, moving and caressing me with a tenderness I hadn't felt in years. I opened my eyes immediately expecting to find my father in front of my eyes, but instead, I spotted a still asleep Eren, scratching himself and trying to wipe the sleep out of his eyes.

I pulled his hand out of my head quickly, but without being rude, and laid them on the bed. I rubbed my eyes and gave him a half smile "Good morning sleeping beauty"

It took a few seconds for his eyes to get used to the little light that filtered through the window and when they opened they surveyed the entire room, still drowsy.

"Where is Mikasa? Armin? " he coughed after feeling a little hawking in his throat.

I stretched out on the chair, accommodating the bones of my back and immediately moved to the side, letting him see a sleeping Mikasa, comfortable and warm under a blanket. Eren inspected her, perhaps trying to find any signs of injury or complaints, but finding none he turned his gaze from her to me.

"Mikasa is asleep" I settled back on the chair, this time stretching forward a bit and resting my elbows on the bed, holding my head on my hands "Armin and Jean had to go to give their testimony for the paperwork"

Ere didn't say anything, he just nodded and gave me a brief "hmm" before looking out the window. "How do you feel?" was the last thing I said before the room fell silent again and neither he nor I deigned to say anything else.

Years of hating each other weren't going to go away, just like that. It was going to be a long road now that we were in a much worse mess than when we were 13 years old. But at least, we could talk to each other without the need to jump on each other's jugular, that's progress, right?

***

Why couldn't this bastard have a little sense of preserving of his life? Why wasn't he a little more careful, and since we are, a little more common sense? Why couldn't he stay calm for a few seconds, analyze the situation and act according to his surroundings?

Now we had to do a search party to find the damned "last hope of mankind". Galloping as fast as the horses would allow us, avoiding on all sides dozens of titans, even when one fell, five more came out. It was an order that had become more and more dangerous. And to make matters worse, having to be behind two of the most dangerous titans we could have encountered was a suicide mission and most of us knew it. We were giving it our all for an idiot, who I don't think he knew the value of the lives that were being lost in battle.

Sighted in the distance, ranks breaking and each one trying to survive while we tried to have enough time to rescue him from the armored titan, large numbers of soldiers were being eaten or crushed. You know the terror I had in my eyes to see Captain Erwin being bitten on the arm and dragged towards God knows where? If a great man like him could be defeated so easily in the blink of an eye, what was in store for us? What was in store for me?

I kept galloping, begging Phillip to keep going as fast as he could, that he never stop and be careful of everything in his path. I was so scared that I didn't know exactly to who I was saying it, the horse or myself. For sure, I knew the horse wouldn’t understand me perfectly, but he was the only thing that I could grab to at that moment, the only one that could save me.

Both left and right, titans ran everywhere, the boys had managed to reach the battleship while the others did what they could to give them time, seeing Ymir was also a sight worthy of admiration if it wasn’t because I was givind my life at this moment. And surely she was helping the blonde of "girlfriend" instead of us.

In that sway between giant bodies and tiny soldiers, the ground rumbled, the earth fell away, even trees fell at our feet. When trying to reach Mikasa before she fell, a titan came out of nowhere in front of me, trying to dodge it would be a feat, especially when he had his immense mouth pointing almost completely in my direction. I will never be able to thank the soldier who cut his neck, for seconds later to be grabbed by another titan and break his spine in such a grip. With the body decomposing and the other titan out of focus, I was able to move on, circling the smoking mass, ready to support Mikasa when another mass fell very close to me, causing the horse to jump from the force of the impact. In that second of distraction I turned my head to look at what had fallen, the ground began to crack under Phillip's legs and it only took a footfall from the armor titan to completely break apart and pieces of earth and stone came out, shotting everywhere.

As I turned my head back forward, I saw clearly how a stone flew directly towards my head. Call it reflections, call it having a guardian angel on my shoulders, but I was able to move my head in time, causing the stone to impact the gap between my shoulder and neck. I shot backward, hitting my head against the hard ground. I felt my shoulder dislocate and I noticed how by leaps and bounds the shirt, previously white, was staining with blood, as well as the jacket and the floor. My head was probably bleeding from the back as well, but the pain in my shoulder kept me from focusing on anything else. It was impossible to move it, I tried to scream for help, but my words stuck in my throat, and even if I had been able to scream, it would have been overshadowed by the hundreds more screams that were begging for help. The grass around me felt a bit comforting, like a cold hug in the last minutes of life. Body pain prevented me from reacting to the sight of a five-meter titan approaching where I was lying. Tears began to flow, falling down my cheeks; I wanted to scream, say my last goodbye, but I was so petrified that I just closed my eyes.

If I was going to die, I would rather die without seeing the horrible face of that damned titan. I preferred to have the image of my family in mind one last time. The ground began to rumble, I thought more titans were going to come for me, that I was going to be smashed into pieces, but the longer it took to feel the huge hand or a pair of teeth, I opened my eyes, finding myself, not a pack of hungry titans, but with the clear evening sky.

I raised my head and to my surprise, a bizarre surprise, all the titans that were chasing us at the time, were now going towards one of the highest. I couldn't understand what was happening, I looked around trying to find someone, to see if someone else was seeing the same thing as me. In the distance I found Armin holding a figure, I couldn't quite see who, trying to breathe normally and stand up. I tried calling out to him, but my vision started to blur and it made me dizzy from trying to lift my head even higher. I brought my hand to my head and confirmed the blood that flowed behind it, I was completely soaked in my own blood and at any moment I would end up fainting if I didn't treat my wounds.

The grinding of a horse brought me back to a state of consciousness, Phillip was back next to me and he lowered his head towards my good shoulder, pushing it up and lifting me little by little. Standing back on both feet, I leaned on his stomach and in an attempt to walk towards Armin I heard Eren's terrified scream in the distance.

Both he and Mikasa were looking at the scene without understanding anything at all, and what bothered me the most was that those stupid were still sitting on the ground, without any intention of moving. As I could, I got on the horse's lap, lying on my stomach, both arms hanging at the side, and I told him to run as fast as possible towards the two figures in the most dangerous area that could be at that moment.

"Stop looking and start moving!" I yelled at them a few feet away. They both turned their heads in my direction, wanting to say something, but only managed to gasp a few times before I arrived.

I grabbed the collar of Eren's shirt and with what little strength I had left, I lifted him off the ground "NO TIME TO TALK, LET'S GO"

Seeing Mikasa being picked up by Eren and placed on his back, I indicated to Phillip to leave the area, to try to get to safety, along with the other soldiers. At our side ran the couple of stupid who almost devoured, wondering what had happened. Their words sounded more and more distant and the ride put me in a calm trance until I was unconscious.

***

Year 851, a beautiful summer day to go horseback riding without the hassle of a titan in the area. At the same time, a beautiful day to visit the forgotten and destroyed towns.

We took our time, observing the landscape. Trees that had fallen and left their tracks on the ground and on the trunk were beginning to show traces of vegetation in their wood. The grass crushed by large feet was beginning to heal and new shoots were coming to the surface, some flower buds could also be seen. The few stone paths were smashed, small cobblestones were smashed, and there was no possibility of repair unless they were remade. Today was the day; the day it was my village's turn to be toured. We leave early to the northwest, guiding us along the river, me in the lead. The night before I hadn’t been able to sleep, to close an eye, I was nervous, very nervous, I couldn’t even eat anything for breakfast. After four years, I returned to my home, or what was left of it.

Endless nights I dreamed of returning to my small village, touring the oldest houses and greeting its inhabitants, seeing the children run, now older, and helping them take an apple from the market. I dreamed of reassembling one of our horses, of stroking and caressing them, earning me one, perhaps two licks to the face. But what I most dreamed of was to see my father's face again, to see his eyes full of dark circles and sadness at having lost his wife, the woman he loved the most in the whole world; I wanted to hold hid hands again, see them splintered after carving a piece of wood and turning it into a beautiful work of art. I wanted to lie down by the communal fire, hear stories from the elderly, shameful stories, and love stories. I wanted to be able to repeat my childhood years, to see my mother one last time, to be able to say goodbye properly.

I wished my village had been intact, but at the entrance my heart shattered. There were no standing houses in sight, all had sagging roofs, broken windows, and dried blood marks from years painting the walls.

I got off the horse looking at the damage and I was leading him forward by the mooring. Slowly, being careful not to trip over any stone, I entered the town more and more, seeing the withered flowers and their dried petals lying on the floor. Children's cloth toys, a odd wooden horse broken in half. Some walls were burned, others full of holes, the clothes hanging outside the houses torn into pieces, the stable reduced to nothing. The center, where the market normally took place, full of rubble and garbage, on the left a path of dried blood, on the right as well. I approached a stall that had not been completed, a fruit and vegetable stall, now reduced to nothingness itself. I picked up the chunk of splintered wood and found underneath what scared me the most. An arm.

I didn't know who it was exactly, the clothes were almost the same for everyone, but I assumed it was a man's; It was in the process of decomposition, pieces of meat were half detached. Beside him, a porcelain doll broken on its head, its brown curls discarded, and only dirt and fiber remained. I picked it up with both hands and kept walking in the direction… in which direction? I couldn’t tell. Only my body was on autopilot looking around me for a sign, the slightest hope that someone had survived. But one look at the stables from the beginning was the only thing that put my hopes in the trash: there were pieces of horses lying all over the ground. Not even our pride had survived. My feet stopped walking, dragging on the ground, and stopped in front of the house that saddened me the most. Mine.

Of all, this was the one in the best condition, part of the roof had fallen to the side, not on the house, and a hole led directly to the living room. The walls were completely burned, not from the destruction of a horde of titans, no. Those burns were from years before, produced by the military police. Seeing that wreck brought me the vile memory of the day of her execution. The people were scared, they implored not to kill her, but those brutes turned a deaf ear and executed her without mercy. My mother was a very dear woman to everyone and no one denied her dreams of leaving the walls, my father loved her more than anyone ... but that love of his was not enough to save her.

"(Y / N)?" I heard Eren's voice behind me.

His voice echoed in my ears, but I couldn't fully register it, I was just looking straight ahead, towards the hole in my house, looking from the outside for fear of entering. "These were the borders of my life"

I took a step forward, then another, and then another, until I collided with the first stones of the house. From that place I could see how the fire from a small oil lamp had fallen on the floor and burned part of my father's favorite armchair. I took another step, fully entering what was left of my old home. I ran my hand over the dry, scratchy fabric, dust had collected over the weeks, maybe years. Given how advanced the bloodstains were, I couldn't exactly calculate the time that had elapsed. In front of the chair was still a small desk full of sheets, most of them ruined by rubble, but some survived. Some of these had broken tips, other were left with black spots, and others were flawless, as if they had been made yesterday. Beautiful drawings of people, others of nature, others of birds or city buildings.

I kept looking for more sheets, running those that were hopelessly damaged, and under my foot I came across a paper somewhat harder and thicker than the others, even framed. The glass was broken but it revealed perfectly a small family, a man, his wife and their child. "In this dusty and destroy little house, where an artist love his wife"

I took the drawing with me, holding it tight with both hands, until I reached the only standing door in the house. The door leading to the master bedroom. I stood there for a couple of seconds, wondering if it was right for my sanity, if it was right for my conscience to open it up and find whatever was on the other side. I inhaled and exhaled a couple of times before sliding the door open. Next to the bed, on the side where my mother used to sleep, was my father's top. I wasn't brave enough to turn around and see his face. I closed my eyes when I saw the scene and left what was left of the facade with my head lowered. "The house of my childhood is gone"

***

A couple of days after hitting the ocean.

We had settled next to the shore. Jean, Sasha and Connie were playing with the small waves that were breaking in the sand, Armin was inspecting small seashells and Mikasa was dedicated to dipping her feet in the cold water. We had made a small fire to cover ourselves from the cold of the coming night. Eren and I were in front of that same fire. He watched as the small sparks flew over the small sea of flames until they exploded and died in the blink of an eye. Some fell into the sand before exploding, others continued to rise until they rose higher and became part of the beginning of the starry sky.

My feet were barefoot in the sand, letting the little grains get between my toes and tickle every time I twisted them. I dropped my head on Eren's shoulder, giving me the chance to close my eyes and reopen them after a few seconds, admiring the sea towards the horizon.

After so many calamities, after so many deaths and losses, a moment of quiet was more than necessary. Maybe being this close to the bright green-eyed brunette wasn't so bad after all.

I could get used to this.

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Tag List: @aestosia @amberciel @sof-yeager @iwony @curseofymir @etherealkatrina @mariaerdgzn @paypay0315 @despst @kisekinokishi @crazymar15 @gis21345 @urinejaeger @zhilon @dianacavendishh @lucielbinon-binary @cryingforwill @ryan249057 @stardustmonkey @asahinsunakinnie @obeymekookie @iwishyoucouldbekissed @wonkyunsstuff @jeanbabygirl @fairlynies @witchymermaid12 @aniah2 @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag @skysdonut @crazymar15 @healpeony @odelia @shamelesschristian @haqita-erlina

#snk #aot #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk x reader #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #attack on titan x reader #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #when the world falls apart updates #when the world falls apart #when the world falls apart update #eren smut #eren angst

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nikethestatue · 3 years

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Spy Games

Elriel Month - Day 3

Spying

Spying Lessons

Elain, the pretty, polite, courteous sister, who spoke well and moved gracefully, was also one who was never considered with any seriousness by anybody. Not her mother, not their weak, gentle father, not the imperious, sharp-tongued Nesta, or the self-assured, determined Feyre. However, she was a merchant’s daughter, and she was as sharp-eyed, as Nesta was sharp-tongued.

She inherited the trait from their father--he was always able to spot a deal, or a weakness, a loophole and he used it to his full advantage when making deals. She watched him, and learned how to use her words, how to compliment and smile, how to appear innocent and helpless, while seeking favors and looking to get what she wanted. It worked. It worked with everyone--it worked with Nesta, worked with their servants (when they had them), and when they didn’t, and had nothing, Elain always managed to charm someone at the market for an extra apple, a couple of bread rolls, or a swath of cloth. Even Lord Nolan was not immune to her charms, and even though there were better offers from others, he encouraged Greyson to court Elain, despite her family's ‘reputation’. Elain loved Greyson, but she also watched and noticed. She saw groves of ash trees, the number of sentries patrolling the walled estate, and how many guard dogs there were. She didn’t even try, but she noticed...and counted...and remembered.

Nuala was good. Smooth and discrete, she’d never be suspected of keeping tabs on Amren. Though Amren was a vengeful Angel of a young god in her previous life, and she probably knew what Nuala was doing. Yet, Nuala was not so good as to suspect Elain. Because Elain knew as well. It came as a surprise, but it was apparent to Elain that Nuala closely monitored Amren, as well as Varian, when they were around.

They were making lemon cakes in the kitchen--Elain and the twins. Baking and cooking--many assumed that that’s what Elain was good for--the kind, tidy, domestic Elain. What no one, except for one person, was privy to was that these chores quieted the roaring in Elain’s head. They silenced the visions, cleared the pounding in her skull, gave her a sense of normalcy, even if for only a little while.

“What do you think Varian reports to his High Lord?” the question startled the twins and they exchanged quick looks.

Elain’s face remained placid, as she busied herself with grating lemon zest. “Do you think they laugh?” she chuckled. “Our court is dramatic, to be sure.”

The twins were silent.

“Is it wise though,” she continued, uninterrupted, “to have a representative of another Court so closely entwined with the affairs of the Night Court?”

“The High Lord trusts Prince Varian,” said Cerridwen, her voice neutral.

“Perhaps.”

Elain stirred the zest into the custard and there was silence, the twins assuming that the conversation was over.

“Does Azriel?” she suddenly asked.

They stared.

“Does Azriel trust Varian?” she pressed.

“The lord,” began Nuala, but Elain interrupted. “Not High Lord,”

“Lord Azriel,” corrected Nuala, “does what he must to keep the Night Court safe.”

That explained everything.

“Could Azriel use another pair of eyes and ears?” Elain didn’t even know where the offer came from. Perhaps, it stemmed from the desire to be useful, to offer something of herself that so few knew that she even possessed. She turned to the twins and stared them down, her gaze unflinching.

“Teach me,” she pleaded. “Teach me what you know. What and how you do it. Please.”

“Lord Azriel may not approve,” countered Cerridwen softly.

“Let’s not tell him,” whispered Elain,

“Lord Azriel will know.”

“Eventually. I am not asking you to lie to him,” she added quickly, sensing that this was the reason for their hesitation. “Just don’t tell him. Not yet. Teach me, a little something, and then I’ll decide if it’s for me. Please. I,”

“Fine,” said Nuala. Cerridwen gave her a silent look of admonishment and surprise, but did not argue. Perhaps that would come later. “We’ll teach you the way he taught us.”

“Yes!” Elain’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Goodness, she hadn’t felt this excited in….well, forever.

The lessons were not what she expected, but she did not question them.

There were no weapons, or peeking through peepholes, or breaking locks.

At first, it was a little bit boring even. Odd requests, such as making conversations with random faeries--in the park, on the street, at the markets. The twins would point out a fae and order Elain to go and start a conversation. It lasted for weeks, and she even grew frustrated, thinking that they were just humoring her and these ‘lessons’ were nothing but a game. Until one day, Nuala told her to obtain specific information. She pointed at an elderly male Fae and requested, “Approach. Come back with the following information--did he serve in the first War, what rank, does he have children, how many, and what is his favourite breakfast?”

“What?” Elain stared in confusion, but Nuala’s face remained inscrutable.

“Is there a problem?” asked Nuala. Her tone of voice...well, the tone was very much Azriel’s.

Elain shook her head and said, “no”, before crossing the street and approaching the male fae.

The realization that she could do this was thrilling. At once, she understood why she spent all those weeks approaching and making conversations with all those fae. She found ways, ways to ingratiate herself to them, to mark something small, but unique to each one, and then weave a connection around that tiny tidbit. It worked every time.

The elderly male fae had a small, but noticeable limp. This was Elain’s opening. He was hauling a basket of groceries, and she approached gently, offering help. Oh, he couldn’t possibly trouble such a pretty lady. And she was a High Fae to boot. No, no, thank you, he could manage. Not a problem at all, she was walking that way anyway. What was he making for dinner with all those vegetables? Oh, soup? Did the wife send him to the market? Oh, a widower? So sorry. Were there children to assist? Three? That’s good that they helped out…

“He was a Captain in the Third Legion during the first War. He is a widower, with three children--two male, and one female. Three grandchildren as well. He usually eats leftovers for breakfast, because he is too lazy to cook, but his favorite breakfast are almond croissants from the Brea Bakery,” reported Elain.

A small, satisfied smile touched Nuala’s lips.

So the lessons continued. She was ordered to obtain more detailed information, and in places which were harder to access. She did. Sometimes, she failed, but rarely.

In addition, Cerridwen began training her on walking.

Walking?

Walking.

“Make your presence unknown,” she explained and Elain only nodded. Sure, she would learn to walk, if that’s what was required. She learned how to roll her feet in such a manner that they were completely silent with every step that she took. Learned how to notice her own body, its presence, and the space that it occupied. And learned how to make it unknown. How to melt into shadows, stand near someone and have them be unaware of her, sneak quietly into rooms and spaces. It took a month, maybe longer. Meanwhile, she learned other tricks. How to swap papers, how to pull documents with a flick of her wrist, how to read upside down (very difficult).

“Could you take this to Lord Azriel please,” Cerridwen handed Elain a folder.

“Um...yes, of course,” Elain took the folder, a bit surprised that Cerridwen couldn’t deliver it herself, but by the time she was going to ask, Cerridwen had disappeared.

First things first--Elain didn’t know where Azriel was.

The River House was enormous, so she started with Rhysand’s office, but it was empty. She peeked out into the garden, but only saw baby Nyx and his nanny, who was attempting to contain Nyx on a picnic blanket, and failing. Elain smiled. Nyx crawled like a fiend and made an aggressive beeline towards the fluffy peonies. No doubt, they’d be trampled and pulled soon enough. Especially, if the nanny wouldn’t take her eyes off the handsome delivery male who was standing by the gate and flirting with her.

Elain closed her eyes. Smell. Sense. They haven’t gotten that far in their training yet, but Azriel’s scent--oh, she knew it well. The most delicious scent to ever hit her nostrils. The one scent that she craved and hungered for above all others. Even in this huge house, she could isolate Azriel’s scent, as it rose above all others, at least for her. The strongest trail led to Azriel’s bedroom, which was unsurprising, even if he did not spend much time here anymore. He and Rhysand met to discuss matters of state, and then there were the mandatory ‘family dinners’ that Azriel attended. They used to be obligatory, but after the last Solstice, they became mandatory, by order of the High Lord.

No, Azriel wasn’t in his bedroom. She followed the scent down the hallway, past the drawing room, then up the side stairs. Ah. She should’ve guessed. There was a terrace that overlooked the garden that Azriel favored. Sometimes, she thought that he observed her from there, when she tangled with weeds and seeds. But that couldn’t be. Not after the fiasco during the last Solstice and him pulling away from her with no explanation. A momentary lapse of reason on his part.

She spotted the spread of his wings. A smile touched her lips. How things were different before, when he was so comfortable around her. When he’d come and sit with her in the garden, sunning his wings, doing his work, both of them enjoying each other’s company without the need to talk. All of that somehow crashed and burned, and she didn’t know why and how to bring that intimacy back.

“Azriel,” she said, “Cerr,”

Azriel flinched and whipped his head to her. His eyes blew wide at the sight of her, standing in the doorway.

“Elain...Phhh, you startled me….” he muttered hoarsely.

And the Spymaster of the Night Court shifted with discomfort.

She had surprised him.

“Sorry,” she murmured and handed him the folder. “I apologize. Cerridwen asked me to give this to you.”

He was still staring at her, as if processing what had occurred. His hazel eyes raked over her body, settling on her feet for a few moments. It was like he was trying to discern how she managed to approach him so silently.

“Umm, thank you,” he said and opened the folder. It was empty.

Neither one said anything to each other, and Elain turned and stepped back into the house, her cheeks flushed.

As she hurried down the hall, Cerridwen and Nuala both appeared in front of her, grins plastered on their lovely angular faces.

“What?!” she snapped.

The grins widened.

“There was nothing in the folder!” she exclaimed, irritated.

“No,” agreed Cerrdiwen. “But you passed the first phase of your training.”

“You surprised Lord Azriel.”

#elriel #elrielmonth #elrielmonth21 #azriel #azriel and elain #elain archeron #spymaster #elain x azriel #elain x nuala x cerridwen #nuala and cerridwen #elriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction

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bookofmirth · 2 years

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Hi Leslie,

Could you kindly do me a favour and explain in your eloquent style the difference between potential romantic foreshadowing vs Romantic coding and how both of them are relevant when it comes to predictions and storyline .Also, are you happy with me adding to my IG highlights for dumbasses littering in my comment section 😅

Hello! I will try my best, and sorry people are being annoying af, apparently.

The romantic coding thing isn't my forte because 1) it's not a formal literary analysis/theory tool so I never like, "learned" about it, but also 2) when I want characters to bang I just want them to bang, it's not that deep to me 😅 Ask me why I ship something and I'll just make some grunting noises and some hand gestures that may or may not be sfw.

HOWEVER - FORESHADOWING

Foreshadowing is something that is recognized after the fact. I cannot emphasize this enough. Something that has been foreshadowed is TRUE. Something that has been foreshadowed is FACT, it is INDISPUTABLE.

There are two parts to foreshadowing:

The hint (the foreshadow)

The thing being hinted (the thing being foreshadowed)

So for an example of something that we know with 100% certainty was foreshadowing, we could say:

Feyre painted the night sky on her dresser drawer (chp 49 of acomaf)

Feyre is the mate of the High Lord of the Night Court (chp 50 of acomaf)

Right now, no matter how much people read and reread and analyze, we do NOT have #2, the thing being hinted, and so in effect, we cannot say that we even have #1. Right now, we have a lot of hints. Some people think different lines are hints. Some people think that bread and roses is a hint, while others don't. Some people think that mentions of sunshine are hints, while others don't. Some people think that glowing in the chest is meaningful, others don't. The fact that we don't have confirmation of what is going to happen (well, who is going to bang) means we cannot say for sure what is a hint, and what is a random detail. But we all can agree that Feyre's dresser was foreshadowing, because we know. We have that information.

Because neither gywnriel not elriel are together, literally nothing in the books can be called foreshadowing for their relationships because none of those "hints" are yet fact. We don't know yet which details are meaningful and which hints is just the fandom grasping for straws.

In a year, or two years, or whatever, I suspect that we will reread acosf and acowar and whatever and think "ohhhhhh I didn't see that hint!" It's also very likely that people have accurately identified some foreshadowing that sjm planted. They still cannot call it foreshadowing right now because we don't know with 100% certainty that these things are coming. We have good guesses. We have thought long and hard about it. But we don't know.

If people would just say "this line here makes me think X is possible", that would be more accurate. Saying "this detail here is foreshadowing for a thing that isn't certain" is an oxymoron. You cannot say "X is foreshadowed" when X doesn't exist. Might it, in the future? Yeah, but you still can't say that as if it's a fact now.

#acosf #acotar #booknerd87 #ask #foreshadowing

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magistriofficiorum · 3 years

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So on my Spotify radio When the Day Met the Night by P!ATD came on and....Chase and Niamh (aka Sinshine...it’s a joke ship name but I’m starting to think of it in unironic terms girl help) have been living rent free, not paying utilities, not chipping in for groceries,even, for QUITE a long stint and I just feel vindicated since I published her profile after literally a year plus. So naturally: wordvom.

So uhhh enjoy this weird blurb I guess? And spoilers-ish kind of not really-nothing too big for the Shepherds of Haven alpha build. Chase is Lena’s ( @shepherds-of-haven ) rascal, Niamh is the she/her in question she’s really cute and this is my self-indulgent take on the start of Chase being Soft(tm) for Niamh and the start of so much denial.

——-

He pretended he didn’t notice.

He pretended he didn’t notice the way her hair shifted from copper to rose gold, how the iladrin in her eyes gave them the glow of firelight. He pretended he didn’t see how she alternated between shamed Diminished and stalwart Captain, sometimes forgetting she was the latter. He acted like he didn’t catch the playful gleam in her eye and the sincere, joyful smile she willingly gave when they joked. The feeling did not tug at him to make her smile more; there was no desire to see that beaming bright-as-the-sun grin that stunned him.

He didn’t think about how she jumped in puddles when no one was looking on rainy days of patrolling, of how she was fire in a fight, but all quiet questions and remarks that hit dead center. He didn’t think about the way her blush darkened her tawny skin down past the dip of her collarbone, or the curve of her waist and the feel of her against the hard planes of his chest squeezed together in a storage room. Funny, he had been a consummate professional at that moment, and the Captain couldn’t help but make a sassy little innuendo, backpedaling faster than a court jester riding a unicycle crossing a monster-filled moat when he called her bluff.

He didn’t catch how when she was nervous, her hand flew to the back of her covered neck, searching for a phantom pain to suppress. When she told him the why of it all, she showed him- bared her throat like an offering, like when wolves show deference. Her abridged secret spilled forth, the honesty blindsiding him, but more so, the unmistakable twinge of self-loathing he recognized in her voice.

He didn’t linger on how their eyes would meet for just a moment too long- too long for friends, certainly. But she was earnest (so damn earnest) in her claim that he was one.

He didn’t dwell on the fact she had the brain of a hustler but the most gentle, solid gold heart. Unwilling to hurt people or do them wrong because she was good at it or because it was easy, even when she was hurt first. He didn’t think about how he would typically dismiss such martyrdom, but something had changed.

It didn’t cross his mind- the thought that she was changing him, unknowingly. Or that he was changing her. Or maybe they were doing this themselves- the catalyst being an assumption that she was the easiest mark that day. Would he instead have preferred to face Blade’s icy wrath or Trouble’s flashfire temper? Instead of this tiny and disarming ray of light that was sometimes too bright, too good, and made him want to scatter back to the shadows- to counting coin and his schemes and thinking that people like that don’t exist?

People who are met with hard, unyielding force either break or harden in return, they don’t extend trust and kindness and warmth, they don’t make him feel wanted,needed for simply being himself-

(They don’t stare at him over a bread bowl with the biggest, saddest eyes and ask softly for a little trust in return)

No, Chase didn’t notice. He didn’t think about it at all.

—-

#okay time to go back to drawing their kid who doesn’t have the name but I’m currently referring to as ‘The Devil Child’#chase x niamh #shepherds of haven #niamh valendil #chase trinaeste #also I edited this and it's still pretty meh but again it's about the Indulgence #also I talk about unicycles like they’re real things in this universe but I’m talking some creative liberty #because that backpedaling analogy made me laugh harder than it should have when it thought of it so we keep it

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brooklynmuseum · 4 years

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Springtime in Brooklyn by Nancy Rosoff, Andrew W. Mellon Senior Curator, Arts of the Americas

As I look out my window at the falling rain, I know that these April showers will soon be followed by May’s flowers. The vibrant colors of budding trees and blossoming flowers give us hope that we will overcome the current crisis, and the world will be rejuvenated, stronger, and more unified. The following works from the Brooklyn Museum’s diverse collection celebrate the arrival of Spring and our hope for a healthy and more peaceful world.

Brightly colored plants and flowers made of faience once decorated the walls of the Great Palace of king Akhenaten at Amarna. Sun light and the disk of the sun itself became the focus of religious worship in the Amarna period (1353-13336 B.C.E.). The floral motifs of these tiles were meant to evoke rebirth of life brought about by the sun. See the artwork in our open collection.

While the Nile was revered as a life-giving place, the desert was also teeming with nature. Here one can see animals breeding in their desert environs. To the right, a feline is showing interest in another feline. At the lower left, a male antelope, mounting his mate, rears his head into the row above. At the lower right, the hindquarters of an antelope giving birth and the emerging head of her calf are partly preserved. The bovine calf at center left completes this depiction of the cycle of life. See the artwork in our open collection.

This detail from a Nasca mantle not only illustrates some of the plants and animals native to Peru’s South Coast, but it also conveys how the society’s spiritual beliefs are connected to agricultural seasons. The blossoming huarango tree seen here represents life and is shown growing out of a human trophy head on the back of a pampas cat. The trophy head symbolizes death but it is also a germinating seed from which life sprouts in a never-ending cycle of life, death, and rebirth. See the artwork in our open collection.

This late-seventeenth-century painting from viceregal Peru shows Saint Joseph standing hand-in-hand with the Christ Child in a field of blooming flora and enclosed within a border of bright carnations and lilies. Saint Joseph’s popularity flourished at this moment in the Spanish Americas as he embodied ideals of fatherhood, marriage, divinity, and masculinity. Here, he holds a stem of white lilies, which symbolize his holiness and purity. See the artwork in our open collection.

This sculpture would have served as a means for people to contact spiritual intermediaries for aid. Its raised arms are said to refer to prayers for rain, crucial to survive and thrive in arid the Mopti Region of Mali. See the artwork in our open collection.

The use of naturalistic floral motifs, such as carnations, tulips, and hyacinths, was a trademark of the design workshop of the Ottoman court in Istanbul in the mid-sixteenth century. This design principle was adopted in central and distant areas of the empire and applied to different media, such as manuscript illuminations made in Istanbul, textiles made in Bursa, and tiles made in Iznik and Damascus. This octagonal tile from Syria brings the beauty of spring indoors permanently. See the artwork in our open collection.

Vibrant greens and blues bring a spring woodland scene inside the Museum, creating an eternal verdant landscape. The effects of changing sunlight or a passing cloud can animate the glass used to depict the stream, tree trunks and leaves. Originally installed in the Universalist Church of Our Father at Classon and Atlantic Avenues in Brooklyn, the windows were purchased by the All Souls Universalist Church on Ocean Avenue and installed in 1945, before coming to the Brooklyn Museum a few years ago. Tiffany Studio was extremely skilled at creating panoramas that open onto lush, brilliantly colored vistas. See the artwork in our open collection.

This elaborately decorated cabinet brought ever-blooming flowers into the owner’s bedroom. Inspired by Japanese precedents, New York’s most important late-19th-century furniture manufacturing firm Herter Brothers employed different colored woods to create the densely packed, abstracted flowers and leaves on this luxurious, yet functional chest-of-drawers. See the artwork in our open collection.

In the Japanese tradition, cherry blossom season is a time for celebration: the world wakes up after a long winter and people head outside to gather under the pink-and-white canopies created by trees that seemed barren only a week or two earlier. This year the picnics were cancelled, but in nature the show goes on whether there’s an audience or not. See the artwork in our open collection.

In this painting, Gustave Caillebotte offers a glimpse of his private garden in Petit Gennevilliers, a small village on the Seine opposite Argenteuil. The apple blossoms are rendered in thick touches of paint, which contrast with the sketchy treatment of the path that leads toward the denser foliage beyond the tree. See the artwork in our open collection.

Nothing celebrates Spring more than this dazzling child’s cap with its delicate beadwork on vibrant rose-colored velvet. It was lovingly made by the mother or female relative of a little girl who would have worn it with pride during special occasions. See the artwork in our open collection.

A table set with bread and coffee in a blooming garden along a sun-dappled path conjures the pleasures of the warmer months to come. Robert Delaunay would become known later in his career for more abstract work, but in this early painting the 19 year old artist was still working under the influence of Impressionism. See the artwork in our open collection.

Redolent with the sweet scent of peonies, American Impressionist Ernest Lawson paints his flowerbeds in a dazzling display of jewel like tones in the Cos Cob art-colony located along the Connecticut shore. See the artwork in our open collection.

This Balinese cover features bright brocade rosettes in purple, blue, red, yellow, and green. The gilded gold overpaint features patra cina designs borrowed from Chinese floral patterns. Together, they create a glittering textile that is awash with color and floral motifs. See the artwork in our open collection.

One of the Brooklyn Museum’s most important Japanese paintings is a folding screen showing a group of urbanites walking together, followed by a musician and a servant with a big box. The only clue that they are heading to a cherry-blossom-viewing picnic comes from a woman who extends a branch of flowering cherry back toward a group of men. Attached to the branch is a long strip of paper of the type used traditionally in Japan for writing poems. What does the poem strip say? We don’t know, but it seems fair to guess that it serves as an invitation to romance. The screen reminds us that the spring tradition of partying beneath the cherry trees wasn’t solely about communing with nature. See the artwork in our open collection.

Inspired by Japanese folding screens or byōbu, Elizabeth Boott Duveneck’s five panels bring the natural world into the interior of the house depicting all four seasons from Autumn Foliage to Apple blossoms throughout the year. See the artwork in our open collection.

Beginning in the early 1930s, Consuelo Kanaga became one of few white photographers to make artistic portraits of Black Americans. This closely cropped and sharply focused image of a girl’s face with a flower was likely included in Group f.64’s inaugural exhibition in 1932, which announced a new realist direction in photography. Considered radical in its time, Frances with a Flower explores powerful ideas about beauty, gender, and race. See the artwork in our open collection.

Mary Wollstonecraft was a renowned women’s rights activist who authored "A Vindication of the Rights of Woman," (1792), a classic of rationalist feminism that is considered the earliest and most important treatise, advocating for equality and education for women. Akin to the nature of Spring, Wollstonecraft's life symbolized the fruition of a legacy—from which infinite linages of women continue to reap the fruits of her labor. See the artwork in our open collection.

With rose-patterned leggings and an elaborate floral armature/headdress, Nick Cave’s Soundsuit transforms the human body into a lush garden. Since the early 1990s, Cave has been fabricating inventive sculptures out of scavenged materials, which he often overlays with beadwork, stitching, and other embellishments. One of the first, crafted from twigs, was made to be worn and created a rustling sound, which led to the eventual name of such works: Soundsuits. Cave’s costumes draw from a variety of sources, including both African and Caribbean traditions of masquerade. See the artwork in our open collection.

Posted by Nancy Rosoff with contributions from the Curators and Curatorial Assistants of African, American, Ancient Egyptian, Arts of the Americas, Asian, Contemporary, Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art, and Islamic Art

Photos: Gary Alan Bukovnik (American, born 1947). Rhododendrum, 1980. Lithograph on paper. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 81.15.2. © Gary Alan Bukovnik(Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Tile with Floral Inlays, ca. 1352-1336 B.C.E. Faience. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the Egypt Exploration Society, 35.2001. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Relief with Desert Scene, ca. 2472-2455 B.C.E. Limestone, pigment. Brooklyn Museum, Charles Edwin Wilbour Fund, 64.147. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Nazca. Mantle ("The Paracas Textile"), 100-300 C.E. Cotton, camelid fiber. Brooklyn Museum, John Thomas Underwood Memorial Fund, 38.12; Cuzco School. Saint Joseph and the Christ Child, late 17th-18th century. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Museum Expedition 1941, Frank L. Babbott Fund, 41.1275.191 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Dogon. Nommo Figure with Raised Arms, 11th-15th century (possibly). Wood, organic sacrificial material. Brooklyn Museum, The Adolph and Esther D. Gottlieb Collection, 1989.51.39. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Octagonal Tile Depicting Peacock in Prunus Tree, 16th century. Ceramic; fritware, painted in black, cobalt blue, green, and manganese purple under a transparent glaze. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Jack A. Josephson, 1990.21. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Tiffany Studios (1902-1932). Dawn in the Woods in Springtime, 1905. Stained glass window. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of All Souls Bethlehem Church, 2014.17.1. Creative Commons-BY; Herter Brothers (American, 1865-1905). Chest-of-Drawers, ca. 1880. Ebonized cherry, other woods, modern marble top, brass. Brooklyn Museum, Modernism Benefit Fund, 1989.69. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Utagawa Hiroshige (Ando) (Japanese, 1797-1858). Suijin Shrine and Massaki on the Sumida River (Sumidagawa Suijin no Mori Massaki), No. 35 from One Hundred Famous Views of Edo, 8th month of 1856. Woodblock print. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Anna Ferris, 30.1478.35 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Gustave Caillebotte (French, 1848-1894). Apple Tree in Bloom (Pommier en fleurs), ca. 1885. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Bequest of William K. Jacobs, Jr., 1992.107.2 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Woodlands. Child's Cap, ca. 1890s. Velvet, cloth, beads. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the Edward J. Guarino Collection in memory of Josephine M. Guarino, 2016.11.2. Creative Commons-BY; Robert Delaunay (French, 1885-1941). In the Garden (Dans le jardin), 1904. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Iris and B. Gerald Cantor, 86.28 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Ernest Lawson (American, 1873-1939). Garden Landscape, ca. 1915. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Bequest of Laura L. Barnes, 67.24.10 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Cover, 19th or early 20th century. Silk, pigment. Brooklyn Museum, Dick S. Ramsay Fund, 45.183.110. Creative Commons-BY; Cherry Blossom Viewing Picnic, ca. 1624-1644. Ink, color and gold leaf on paper. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Frederic B. Pratt, 39.87. Creative Commons-BY (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Elizabeth Boott Duveneck (American, 1846-1888). Apple Blossoms, 1882. Oil on wood panel. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Joan Harmen Brown, Mr. and Mrs. William Slocum Davenport, Mrs. Lewis Francis, Samuel E. Haslett, William H. Herriman, Joseph Jefferson IV, Clifford L. Middleton, the New York City Police Department, Mrs. Charles D. Ruwe, Charles A. Schieren, the University Club, Mrs. Henry Wolf, Austin M. Wolf, and Hamilton A. Wolf, by exchange, Frank Sherman Benson Fund, Museum Collection Fund, Dick S. Ramsay Fund, Carll H. de Silver Fund, John B. Woodward Memorial Fund, and Designated Purchase Fund , 2005.54.3 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Consuelo Kanaga (American, 1894-1978). Frances with a Flower, early 1930s. Gelatin silver photograph. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Wallace B. Putnam from the Estate of Consuelo Kanaga, 82.65.10 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum); Judy Chicago (American, b. 1939). The Dinner Party (Mary Wollstonecraft place setting), 1974–79. Mixed media: ceramic, porcelain, textile. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the Elizabeth A. Sackler Foundation, 2002.10. © Judy Chicago. Photograph by Jook Leung Photography; Nick Cave (American, born 1959). Soundsuit, 2008. Mixed media. Brooklyn Museum, Mary Smith Dorward Fund, 2009.44a-b. © Nick Cave (Photo: Image courtesy of Robilant Voena)

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