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bookstantrash · 3 years

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A/N: Huge shoutout to the lovely @perseusannabeth who obsess over Pride & Prejudice as much as me. After very politely threatening asking me to write more of Nessian as P&P (I’m so glad Sarah made it canon that Nessian’s relationship is Darcy and Lizzie’s) she told me about THE lake scene in the BBC version. I watched all six episodes and fell in love, so I highly suggest you all watch it too.

Also, huge shoutout to @firebirdofscythia (I stole your Azriel line lmao) and the rest of the gc for being so supportive!! Enjoy

Pemberley’s Lake

Cassian was so tired it was a wonder he had not fallen from his horse, which made him realise that Azriel may have been partially right in telling him to take a break and go back to his state to rest.

Although he suspected that Azriel kicking him out of his office and practically throwing him in a carriage to Pemberley had more to do with the fact that Azriel had gotten sick of his mopey mood more than anything else.

“I shall never show my face in society again” Cassian had told a bored looking Azriel one afternoon, laying on his office’s floor as if it was the end of the world “I shall work until my eyes grow tired and my beard and hair are so long they reach the ground.”

“Stop with the theatrics brother. It is not becoming of you.” Azriel had answered as he shuffled a deck of cards.

“Theatrics!! Azriel for Cauldron’ sake I have no idea how I can keep on living after that refusal” he sighed from his place on the carpeted floor “There is not another woman alive who could hold my heart. It's lost forever. And now I shall live in regret and shame of not being enough for her.”

Azriel rolled his eyes so hard at his brother’s words it was a wonder they did not stay permanently like that.

“I shall grow old and drown my sorrows in the finest beers and wines, turning fat and bald. And after I have passed, my cursed ghost shall roam our country crying in despair over my terrible life”

That had been enough to make Azriel pack Cassian’s belongings and get his brother the fastest horse available.

“If it were not for the laws of this land” Azriel had mumbled after he had bid his brother farewell, wishing a good trip and forbidding him to appear in his office again until he had fixed that mood of his.

Breathing in the clear and fresh air of his home, Cassian was able to momentarily forget his troubled heart. But one look at the blue sky and he was reminded of the gray-blue eyes belonging to the lady who had made him, General Commander of the British Army, who had enough condecorations to fill his whole coat and who had made enemies tremble in fear when faced against him, wallow in self pity and misery.

Lady Nesta Archeron.

Her name alone was enough to make his chest tighten in longing.

Feyre’s oldest and most notorious sister, if not by her breathtaking beauty and intellect but by her ruthless and dismissive regard to the oposite sex. Whereas Feyre had surprised society by marrying before her older sisters — and securing herself the best of matches of the season at that with his brother Rhysand, which was nothing but a Duke — and Elain had enough suitors to fill a ballroom, the oldest Archeron did not seem inclined to marry at all. Oh she did catch the eyes of more than one gentleman — Cassian could vaguely reckon that she had had a long courting with Sir Thomas Mandray, although it had ended rather abruptly — but no one had been able to snare her heart.

That had been what had initially peaked his interest. He had briefly seen her at Rhysand’s wedding, attempting some small talk that was easily and diplomatically dismissed by her. He had then relentlessly engaged in conversation with her in any opportunity he could find, being it from the few occasions in which she frequented Feyre’ small reunions over tea or when he coincidentally met her during her daily walks around town to visit Lady Emerie, a modice whose popularity was raising tremendously after Feyre’s bridal trousseau and wedding dress were all designed by her.

It was not until Feyre’s first official gathering as Duchess that Cassian realised the depths of his feelings for the sharp eyed lady.

He had been watching the ballroom from the sidelines, trying to escape the mob of scary mamas who wanted to throw their daughters at him, a glass of champagne in his hand.

Rhysand and Feyre had already danced the opening song, so the floor was now free to hold more partners. Both Cassian and Azriel had danced once with Morrigan — Rhysand’s cousin and a dear friend of theirs — and Elain had enough names on her card that they’d have to wait a fortnight to dance with her. Nesta on the other hand…. she had refused all invitations, although one could not help but wonder why by the way she seemed to glow whenever a new song was played.

“Lady Archeron” Cassian had greeted, bowing deeply and throwing at her his best smile, one that usually had young ladies fainting and old ones blushing.

But not Nesta Archeron. No, she had only deigned to make a polite bow and look ahead.

“I could not help but take notice of how entranced by the music you appear to be, my Lady” he had offered her his hand “Would you do me the honour of allowing one dance?”

That had caught Nesta’s attention, and she turned towards him, her gray-blue eyes finally meeting his hazel ones.

“I do not think why I should. I am perfectly satisfied to watch from the sidelines” she raised a perfect manicured eyebrow, glancing in the corner where the mamas and their daughters were “I am sure many other young ladies would rather have my place”

Cassian knew she was lying. Knew she desperately wanted to dance, but something was holding her back.

“It is said that dancing is the best way to encourage affection. Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable” he had nonchalantly said

“I beg your pardon” Nesta had exclaimed

“The lady has nothing to fear. I will not let you suffer ridicule because of your poor dancing” he had said in a patronizing tone, if only to see that fire in her eyes ignite.

And to see her accepting his offer with a murderous intent.

They had moved to the center of the ballroom, shocked faces all around them, both from the fact that Nesta was joining the dance floor and her partner being him of all gentlemen.

Cassian had never been proved more wrong once the first string from the violin was drawn and Nesta moved. He had been sure she knew how to dance, had only said those words to get a rise from her. But to see Nesta Archeron actually dancing… it was something straight out of a dream.

Cassian knew the waltz. His mother had insisted that all three sons have the same education, even though only Rhysand was set to inherit the duchy.

However, when paired with Nesta Archeron one could not be called nothing but a simple object to display her talents. Even the most notorious dancer would pale in comparison to her.

And Cauldron, she knew that. Nesta knew she was Terpsikhore, greek Muse of music, song and dance.

What a fool he had been, what a complete and utter fool he had made of himself. His only consolation was that some good had come out of his childish behaviour.

Nesta Archeron was dancing, and when she danced she threatened to bring empires to their knees, for her beauty got inhumanly enhanced, her delighted smile sending an arrow straight to his chest.

Cassian realised he had fallen hopelessly in love with Nesta Archeron. If he was to be true with himself, he had been for quite some time, since their first exchange of words when she had all but dismissed him as a pesky bug.

And as the last note was drawn, as the whole ballroom breathlessly took in Nesta, in complete awe of her, Cassian decided he was going to marry her.

Was going to propose to Nesta Archeron right at that moment.

Using the excuse of getting some fresh air after the tiring dance, he walked them to Rhysand’s extensive and well lit garden, quiet enough that they would not be interrupted but not so isolated as to risk her reputation.

They had walked only a few minutes in the garden when Cassian declared his feelings. He all but tripped with his words, hoping Nesta could see past his fool’s act.

She had not.

She had refused his hand in the most brutal way, her words so articulately poisoned that Cassian felt himself a young boy again, desperately trying to achieve perfection so his father would dare to spare him more than a passing glance. Would not regret having adopted him into his household and given him a home.

He had uttered an apology, saying how sorry he was that his feelings had caused her such pain and disgust, reigning his temper enough to walk her back to the ballroom.

Cassian left town the same night, and had stayed in his office and headquarters training the new milicia since then, burying himself with work until Azriel grew tired of his awful mood.

Sighing, Cassian brushed his horse’s neck, eyeing the lake.

Maybe a dive in the cold waters of Pemperley would help clear his mind.

~•~

Pemberley was, in Nesta’s opinion, the most beautiful state she had ever seen. Even more than her newly married sister’s dukedom.

“However this house’s lady is, she sure is happy” Emerie commented as the head maid showed them to the music room.

“As if someone could be unhappy with this much money” Gwyn whispered back, eyeing the grand piano.

Nesta was inclined to agree, even more after having seen the library. She could not help but envy the lady. Her husband must be a very cultured gentleman.

“May I show you the external grounds? I am sure the gentleman will find it quite delightful” the head maid said, looking at Balthazar, the only men among their group of four.

“I am most grateful for your hospitality” he answered, and they promptly moved outdoors.

Their party of four had been travelling through the countryside for almost two weeks. It was as much as a vacation for Emerie and Balthazar — with Emerie’s shop the season’s current sensation and Balthazar being her current business partner — as a time out from the ton, which Gwyn — the most required opera singer of the season — had announced to be in desperately need of a vacation from.

As for Nesta, she had always wanted to travel, but as a single woman of marriageable age without a male relative to escort her, it would have been a nearly impossible feat to accomplish.

When Balthazar had offered to escort both her and her friends Nesta had wanted to shout in delight.

Secretly, she also wished to avoid a certain gentleman, one whose heart she had mercilessly and regretfully broken.

Nesta shook her head as she walked through the garden, distancing herself from her party to think and remember.

Remember how she had enjoyed dancing with Lord Cassian.

How her body had sung and heated where his skin touched hers.

How she had found herself smiling and agreeing to take a stroll with him, using the excuse of feeling overwhelmed in the crowded ballroom.

How his smile had faded once she tore at him, throwing every hateful word his way to refuse his proposal.

Nesta had not seen Cassian since her sister’s ball, but she did not want to risk an encounter.

That trip could not have been more well timed.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice her hair getting caught in a low tree branch, ruining her intricate updo.

“No one is around” she muttered to herself as she took off the pins holding it in place “A few minutes with my hair down will not hurt”

So Nesta took each pin off, massaging her scalp as she walked in the direction of the state’s lake, the sun shining over its clear waters.

And that is when she spotted him.

Cassian.

Cassian was at the lake.

Cassian was shirtless, dripping wet by the lake’ shore.

Nesta knew she should turn around and forget what she was currently seeing.

But she could not take her eyes off of him.

Seeing a shirtless man in person was indeed a far cry from what her imagination conjured when reading romance novels.

Especially the way the water was running down Cassian’s tanned and hard torso, all the way down his pecs and stomach — was that a six pack or were her eyes playing tricks on her? — until it collided with his pants, which were hanging so low on his hips that Nesta could not help but feel a weird sensation low in her stomach.

Her legs stopped obeying her, and she swore her knees got weak when Cassian noticed he had company.

“Lady Archeron?” he exclaimed, as if he could not believe his eyes.

“Sir!” was all she could say, feeling her cheeks warming.

Cauldron what was wrong with her? It was just a body. A very nice, very wet muscled body and—

“What may you be doing here?” Nesta quickly inquired, cutting her errand thoughts.

“I am the owner” he simply answered

“Of the lake?”

She wanted to smack herself. How could have she blurted such a stupid and rude question?

“Yes, of the lake. And of Pemberley” he answered, amusement lacing his words.

“I didn’t know. The head maid said all the family was not home— we should not have presumed—”

“I returned without prior notice”

“Excuse me, are you and your sisters in good health?” Cassian added, and Nesta dared to think that he sounded a bit nervous.

“Yes. Yes they are. Thank you, sir” she managed to answer, her eyes firmly placed upon his face and not anywhere else.

“I am glad to hear that” he licked his lips and Nesta could not help but wonder if they would be cold due to the lake’s water or if Cassian’s unbothered face meant he was not cold at all.

Was she really inquiring of how his lips would feel against hers? Against her skin? If kissing Cassian would feel as dreamily as her novel's kiss appeared to be?

Nesta hated him.

Did she not?

“I had never seen you with your hair down”

Cassian’s words took her out of her reverie, and Nesta suddenly felt self conscious.

“Do excuse me for showing myself in front of you with such an unsightly appearance” she felt mortified. To have Cassian of all people seeing her like that, hair in complete disarray….

Nesta quickly turned around, fumbling with the hair pins in a vain and desperately attempt of redoing her hair.

“It’s beautiful” she heard Cassian saying in a breathless voice, and thanked the Cauldron her back was turned so he would not see how her face warmed considerably, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Let me help you” he quietly added, and she gasped at the proximity of wet, shirtless Cassian, who touched her hair softly.

“How come a gentleman such as you knows how to hairstyle a lady’s hair?” Nesta asked, feeling his warmth on her back, a tingly sensation between her legs when his fingers brushed her neck.

“I frequently helped my younger sister, Georgiana, fix her own hair in the occasions she played a little too far from what would be deemed proper for a young lady” she felt his hot breath against her neck as Cassian laughed “She favours outdoors activities such as horseback riding, although she’s quite accomplished in arts and music.”

“Your sister sounds lovely” Nesta said, turning to face him once she felt he was done fixing her hair.

“She is my brothers’ and mine whole world. There’s nothing we would not do for Georgiana”

Nesta felt her heart warming at his words, at his devotion and love towards his family. She wondered if he would do the same with his wife.

If he would have acted the same way towards her had she accepted his proposal.

Unbeknown to her, Cassian was imagining the same thing.

He was picturing how he could have helped her every morning with her hair if she had agreed to marry him. Instead, he would have to live with this one memory forever.

He was lost in her eyes, their bodies so close they were sharing breaths and Cassian was holding back by a sliver thread of self control to not hold her against him.

If it were not for the appearance of three people — Cassian supposed them to be Nesta’s companions — he very well could have done that.

“Excuse me” Cassian abruptly said, bowing deeply and leaving Nesta alone.

Although soon her friends joined her, Gywn and Emerie bombarding her with questions seeing her ruffled state.

Their party was getting ready to depart when Cassian appeared again, having ran inside to get changed and appropriate.

“Lady Nesta!” he called before she could get inside the carriage “Please allow me to apologise for not receiving you properly just now. You are not leaving?”

“We were, sir. We have already imposed too much” she said, spine straight and looking every bit the regal queen she was.

What he did not know was that was her way of maintaining a cool exterior and not blush remembering his naked figure.

“You are not displeased with Pemberley, are you?” Cassian asked, anxiously brushing his hair back.

“No. Not at all”

“And you approve of it?”

“Very much” Nesta said softly, a dreamy smile on her face as she remembered the library “A few would not approve”

“But your good opinion is rarely bestowed and therefore more worth earning” he said, and his smile was enough to make Nesta’s heart skip a beat.

Why was she feeling in such a way, she wondered. Why did her body feel hot and strange all over whenever Cassian was involved?

“Thank you. That is very kind of you”

“I shall not hold you back any longer” he said, helping her in the carriage, his calloused hand a stark contrast against her soft one “I will call on you and I hope you can introduce me to your companions. Perhaps we may go fishing tomorrow? My property is blessed with an abundance of them”

“We would be delighted to. Thank you, sir’

After the farewells were bid and Nesta’s carriage was only a distant dot in the horizon, Cassian got inside, smiling broadly at his head maid and butler.

“You are very chipper, sir'' the old woman said with a knowing smile, the butler agreeing with her. Their lord had been mopey for quite some time now, so it brought joy to their hearts to see his mood so high.

“I had a very good evening Mrs.Pots” he declared, thinking about how he should swim more frequently in the lake.

A few miles from Pemberley, Nesta stared at the scenery lost in thought, Cassian’s touch lingering in her hand all the way back to the inn.

•

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#nessian #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #pride and prejudice AU #BBC version lake scene #sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #sjm fanfic

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bikerjongho · 3 years

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stradivarius in flames | kim hongjoong

genre: supernatural, action

character: violin demon hunter!hongjoong

description: Hongjoong is a demon hunter that specifically fights and kills demons trapped inside violins, and now he’s tasked with destroying a multi-million dollar Stradivarius violin.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: mentions of a gun, fire, demons

author’s note: inspired by this post. and hold onto your horses @scriptura-delirus >:)

The train that was taking Hongjoong to the orchestra concert was late. And dressed to the nine's in a black suit, buzzed hair flat and elegant, and gun tucked neatly in his coat pocket, Hongjoong couldn't have been angrier. He had a violin to steal and burn.

Hongjoong was slated to have arrived at the concert venue an hour before the concert. Now, with twenty minutes past the beginning of the concert and still a few more miles to go due to an accident on the tracks, it was an understatement to say that he felt robbed by the train's service. Never in his life had he had a more important job to do.

Had this been a normal violin, had this been a normal demon, Hongjoong would have dropped the gig as he sat. But this was no ordinary violin, and this was no ordinary demon. A Stradivarius violin, one of only hundreds made and made by what connoisseurs say was the greatest violin maker of all time, Antonio Stradivari, was Hongjoong's target for this night. Worth millions, any violin made by Stradivari was heavily coveted and admired. Hongjoong had to make sure this one burned in flame.

And the demon that had implanted itself into this violin, while not much different than other demons that inhabited violins, was worrisome on its own purely by its ability to get its demon hands on a Stradivarius. He had a theory that demons favored violins because Satan's instrument was violin.

Hongjoong didn't know how these demons managed to inhabit violins and cause trouble. But the simple fact was that they did, and Hongjoong was there to stop them.

He had been in the business of banishing demons from violins for years. The actual banishment of the demon was easy enough - he just had to throw the violin into a fire. The hard part was actually obtaining the violin.

And sometimes, even that part was easy. Over his years at this job, Hongjoong found that demons preferred to inhabit smaller violins. Thus, he would appear at elementary schools to steal and destroy tiny and monstrous violins from orchestra rooms. Sometimes he stole violas. Less often he stole cellos and basses because they were too large and bulky for a demon to ever inhabit. Hongjoong was grateful for their preference, their liking to Satan. It would be nearly impossible to steal a bass at any time of the day or night.

But most of the time, stealing violins was a painful and difficult job. He no longer felt regret as he stole stringed instruments from homes, from venues, from schools, because of the damage the demon worried him more than a sad violinist ever could. Nonetheless, it was still painful to watch students sob over their stolen violin. Many times, he stole them at night when the demons were most active, silently breaking in and swiping the violin before anyone could notice. But all the same, he had his fair share of chases, fights, and prices placed on his head.

If demons were left in the violins, their energies and mischief would disrupt the living world. Hongjoong knew of people that had lost family members from these violin demons, which motivated him to keep burning violins on days he hated his job. And although he himself had never lost any family members from these demons, every day he walked on a tightrope, afraid he was one step away from slipping and losing someone he loved.

Hongjoong had his balance, at least for tonight. But as the train slowly moved closer to the Stradivarius, he couldn't ignore the knot that was forming in the center of his chest.

In the meantime, Hongjoong mapped out a plan in his brain for nabbing the violin. Even if it was a Stradivarius, it would have been infinitely easier to steal while it sat unused in its case before the performance. The fact that it was now being played and security guards made sure no one else could get into the theater to see the performance was yet another hurdle for Hongjoong to jump over. He silently cursed the accident that had prolonged his ride.

Alongside the security guards, the demons tended to act up the most when the violin was being played. What mischief it did exactly varied from demon to demon, but black mist and objects moving on their own accord were a staple of violin demons. Hongjoong tried not to think about how impossible this task would be, even if the violin wasn't a Stradivarius. Though, he did have a few tricks up his sleeve - it came with being rather practiced at magic and the police of all things supernatural.

Hongjoong had a few sets of magic marbles lined in his coat pockets. To the unobservant eye, they looked like regular marbles, but upon closer inspection they shimmered with magic. If Hongjoong threw one onto the floor, the magic inside it opened. Some created roaring flames, while some were able to transport him a couple hundred feet from where he stood. Others created smoke, and others slowed time. He didn't have any time ones, those were harder to come by, but the other three he had in full stock and was fairly certain he'd use them for this case.

Hongjoong mulled more in his seat about the marbles and his plan on getting the Stradivarius while the rest of the passengers on the train chatted merrily to each other, their thoughts free of demonic violins and magic marbles.

His thoughts were just pulling together into a ridiculous, yet perhaps doable plan, as the train slowed and stopped before honking its loud whistle as an arrival. Hongjoong stood up immediately and felt around for the concert ticket in his pocket. It was still there, and that was his way in. He hoped they'd let him into the performance even if he was late, but he was also capable of breaking glass and violating a few security rules. He hoped it wouldn't have to come to that.

At last, Hongjoong was inside the concert venue, sweaty and tired after running continuously to reach it. He had considered using one of the magic balls to transport him to the venue faster while he lost his lungs running, but since the concert had started already, it didn't matter. He had already lost enough time.

His sweating and panting came in handy when he reached one of the workers that collected tickets. "I'm so sorry, my train was late," he gasped and handed over his ticket. "Pray that I can still watch the remainder of the concert?"

"It's no problem," said the worker, not unkindly, and led him to the entrance to the audience. Hongjoong adjusted the gun in his coat. He doubted he would need to use it, but he had it for protection. He was smirking, but gave a kind smile to the worker as she turned to let him into the auditorium.

As soon as he was let into the auditorium, he was hit with the repulsive and pungent scent of demon that he had grown so accustomed to. The black demon mist hung over the auditorium like a terrible omen. He was relieved to see that nothing else seemed disturbed, and no one else could smell hell itself or see the mist in the air. Everyone was too focused on the violinist that was playing her heart out on her awful violin.

Hongjoong had selected a seat directly above the violinist, just in case he had to watch the performance. The violinist's golden dress shimmered while she played, and to Hongjoong's horror, the demon was quite visible from the violin's f-holes. He had to get down to the stage immediately, even if it was going to cause a ruckus, even if it was going to scar everyone in the theater, even if the violinist was playing beautifully on a legendary violin.

One moment, he was sitting as a relaxed patron, watching the violinist perform. The next, he had swung himself over the safety railing and landed on the stage, smoke magic ball coming just before him and coating everything near with smoke and hiding Hongjoong.

"I'm sorry," Hongjoong whispered to the soloist underneath the screaming and gasps that had ensued from the crowd before kicking her feet out from under her and yanking the violin out of her hands. The bow clattered to the floor as the violinist screamed as she fell, but Hongjoong didn't need it.

And then he ran. He ran, carrying the violin that was worth more than his life and could pay off all of his debts tenfold. He ran off of the stage and into the backstage, where he quickly found an exit door after zooming by workers that were too startled to try and stop him. The screaming and thundering of multiple people close behind him made his heart jolt and his hands work faster. He thrusted open the door, and then the demon began hissing and screeching.

It would not stop hissing and growling, so Hongjoong held the violin close to his chest and pressed hard. He felt the wood crack and the bridge fall off, which quieted the demon. A shot rang out from behind him, making him run even faster into the night. He struggled in his pockets for the marble he needed, then threw it to the ground.

The transport marble - Hongjoong slipped away from the crowd of security guards without a trace, walking through the wavy air it created before it threw him a couple hundred feet forward. He could still hear and see the guards if he looked closely from where he had moved, but they'd never find him from here. Humans couldn't move that fast. And while Hongjoong was human, he had danced and gambled the line of supernatural for years. The screaming demon inside the Stradivarius he was holding was proof of that.

Even if Hongjoong was out of sight from the security officers, there was still a lot of running to be done. After all, the fire he was to create couldn't give away his location.

So Hongjoong ran. He ran through the forest, letting brambles and sticks scratch himself and the violin and his coat and his shoes and his pants while he ripped off the tuning pegs of the violin. Something about tearing apart the violin, breaking it and making it unplayable helped silence and weaken the demon. He pitched the pegs onto the ground as he ran and kept running, his legs burning like he had dropped a fire magic marble inside of them.

At last, Hongjoong couldn't hear the security guards anymore. He squeezed the violin against his body to crack it a bit more one last time to silence the demon's useless whining before pulling out a fire magic marble and throwing it onto the ground.

An inferno erupted from where the ball was, and Hongjoong was quick to toss the Stradivarius into the fire. Upon contact with it, the demon screamed turned to black steam steaming from the violin, and the violin's golden body turned black as the fire ate. The fire danced in Hongjoong's expressionless eyes as he watched the flames lick up the priceless wood and the demon that had tried to make a home in it. He had seen this exact scenario more times than he could count, but this one was different. The Stradivarius was an artifact, a treasure to the musical world, and he had destroyed it.

But the demon was a treasure from hell, sent to destroy and cause havoc on Earth. The orchestral snobs would simply have to get over their million dollar loss. As the flames licked up the last of the violin, Hongjoong gave a small smile. He was good at his job, he knew it, and the power that came with destroying demons was addicting. To know that he had the power of destroying otherworldly creatures in the blink of an eye made some deep and innate hunger blossom in the core of his stomach. The fire licked at the fiery strings in the flames and casted hellish figures on his skin. He savored this moment, for it would go away soon.

At the sudden noise of shouts, Hongjoong took one last look at the flames and took off, once again running but free from his task. It was evil, it felt evil, to ruin such a priceless artifact and to be a felon and menace, even if it was to destroy a demon.

But the feeling it gave Hongjoong ate at him like flames to kerosene. He'd never stop.

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daraanna · 3 years

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Plica Borusaranica

As long as he could remember his life was limited to this tower. Every day was the same: cleaning, cooking, combing your hair, reading, painting, combing your hair, sewing, combing your hair ... His only companion in misery was a fox. A fox who wasn't very good at playing hide and seek. It wasn't even 5 minutes before he found it’s red fluffy tail sticking out between his white hair.

“It is 20 to zero for me. What do you think about another round, Kurama?“ Animal just snorted in response. “Then what would you like to do?”

His pet hurriedly ran to the window and began to scratch its frame.

“ Oh no, my dear, I stay here and you too.” he replied, taking his little friend in his arms.

"Boruto, let your hair down here!" He heard his father's voice.

"Come on, hide," he whispered to Kurama, putting him beside the curtain, and then he threw his twenty-meter long hair out the window. Soon after, the white-eyed man was in the room with him.

"Darling, How you manage to drag me here like this day after day, it must be terribly tiring!" Pale and slender fingers embraced his face.

“Ah, Daddy is so whining today …”

“Whining or not, you could do it faster!”laughed Momoshiki as he approached the mirror to comb his long, white hair. ”Oh, I'm only teasing you!

The smile faded from his lips when he noticed the wrinkles on his face.

“Dad, I'd like to talk to you about an important topic …” Boruto started, but his father quickly interrupted him.

"My sweet flower I'm falling off my feet ... could you sing for me?" Before he finished his question, his son had already prepared the chair and brush.

“FlowergleamandglowLetyourpowersshineMaketheclockreverseBringbackwhatoncewas mineHealwhathasbeenhurtChangethefatesdesignSavewhathasbeenlostbringbackwhatonce wasmineWhatoncewasmine…”pale eyes widened in shock as the power of his son’s hair burst into his face, rejuvenating it for a decade of life.

“Boruto !!!”

“Tomorrow is my birthday!”The boy shouted, hugging his shoulder ”And the most in the world I would like to see flying lights …”

"Flying lights?" Momoshiki repeated in confusion.

“The ones that will appear in the sky tomorrow,” the blue-eyed excited, revealed a ugly drawing on one of the walls.

“You mean the stars …”

“Well.. no. The stars don't move, and these lights appear every year on my birthday and I'd love to see them, but not looking out the window. I want to be there…”

“So you want to go outside? Oh honey, you know why that's not possible.” His voice sounded calm, but there was an ominous tone in it “ The world is dangerous and cruel place…”

“But it's only one day ”boy asked, but his father only silenced him by putting a finger to his mouth.

“Oh no dear daddy knows best ~ “he stroked his head and ran his fingers through his long hair.

“Why do you think I wouldn't survive outside?”

“I know you can't survive outside!”

“Don’t be like this!”

“ENOUGH! YOU WILL NEVER EVER LEAVE THIS TOWER !!!” Momoshiki shouted so loud that Boruto jumped scared ”So I'm the bad guy again …”

The blue-eyed immediately felt guilty. His father worked hard to keep them safe. However, this time he couldn't let go, but there was no way Momo would agree to go with him. He had to ... run away from home ...

“Maybe hot sauce,” he croaked. Pale eyes pierced him with an irritated look “Maybe I could get the hot sauce from Jalapeno peppers for my birthday…”

“I can get them only at the market in the port, it is a 5-day journey one way!”

"I know, but I thought it was a better idea than these ... stars ..."

Otsutsuki sighed, getting up from the chair to hug his son. ”Daddy loves you very much…”

"And I love him more..." he replied, cuddling up to him.

“But he loves you the most ~”

................................................

It was supposed to be an easy job. Stealing the crown went surprisingly smoothly. Outsmarting two idiots, Delta and Code, was a nice addition. After all, she knew better than them how to use the money from selling this crown. Everything worked out perfectly... So how on earth was she running away from the mad horse through the woods now ?! The red-haired beast belonging to the captain of the castle guard proved to be smarter than any soldier. In addition, the horse was terrifying, its mane was almost red and it's right eye was scratched. Despite this, he maneuvered through the trees without any problem. Her desperate escape ended in tall bushes growing around a huge mountain. But she was still able to hear the distant neigh of the horse chasing her.

Accidently she found a hole in the rock covered with moss and lianas. Without thinking, she moved to the cave which led her to a small clearing. In its center was a tall snow-white tower. No matter how strange such a structure in the middle of the forest would look, it was a perfect shelter from an angry horse. Taking two kunai out of her bag, she started to climb to the top. When she reached the chamber, she could for the first time look at the crown she got.

"Finally" she sighed with relief, but at that moment she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head and she saw darkness in front of her eyes.

......................................

Boruto, shocked, pressed the pan to his chest. The last thing he expected today was that someone would break into his tower. He looked at the body of the man he had knocked down. He defeated the thief ...

“I defeated the villain!”He exclaimed happily”And what do you think now, dad !? Ha!”

Kurama on the other hand, sniffed the robber.. The fox joyfully waved his tail.

“Kurama! Watch out he can have fangs or claws!” However, the animal just shook its head. Long-haired man approached the unconscious person. Despite his short hair and masculine attire, his face was girlish.

"He's a girl?" He asked, surprised. "Girls are not dangerous, aren't they?"

The fox shrugged his paws.

“What if she's a witch? Or a siren? What am I supposed to do? I can't leave her here! What about the lights !? Aaaaaaa! “ The boy started pacing around the room panicking until he tripped over the bag on the floor. A golden crown with glistening jewels fell out of it. The curious boy picked up the item. For the first time in his life he had seen something like this. He tried to put it on his hand, but it fell of, which Kurama commented with a laugh. Then he put it on his head. He studied his reflection in the mirror. He had the impression of a strange deja vu ... Whatever the purpose of this item was, it was beautiful and undoubtedly very valuable ...

................................................

She woke up with a terrible headache and a feeling of something wet on cheek. When she opened her eyes, she saw a fox head too close to her face. Frightened, she screamed and flinched, almost losing her balance. Only then did she realize she was tied to the chair. Her arms and legs were bound with white ... hair?

"Struggling is pointless!" She heard a rather squeaky but undoubtedly male voice.

In the shadowed corner of the room was a person, who pointed the pan towards her, slowly getting closer into light.

“Who are you? And how did you find me?” He was a boy about her age, with ridiculously long hair.

“Eeeeeeee Scarlet… Scarlet Spring” she started not very intelligently, but the situation in which she found herself was too crazy”

“What did you want to do with my hair? To cut it? To sell it!?” the stranger suddenly became more aggressive, dancing with the pan around her head. So this is how she will die, stabbed with a frying pan by some weirdo with a hair fetish ...

“I don’t care about your hair! Listen, the only thing that I want to do is to get out of it. Literally!” She replied irritated.

"Wait, you didn't come here for my hair?" He asked, surprised.

“What do I need your hair for !? Understand they were chasing me, I saw a tower so I climbed it. End of story ... Hey! Where's my satchel!?”

“Hidden. And there’s no way you're gonna find it on your own “ the boy smirked. He was so… annoying!

"What do you want from me?" She sighed.

"Do you know what these lights are?" He asked, pointing at really bad doodles on the wall with the pan. There was a drawing of a stick man with long hair, and above it was a navy blue stain with yellow dots. The brunette blinked in confusion.

“Uuuuhhhh, these lights appear once a year! It will be tomorrow!

"Are you talking about the lanterns thing they do for the prince?" She asked, turning her head towards him so abruptly that her bangs fell over her eyes.

“These are lanterns, not stars!”he sighed excitedly, completely ignoring his prisoner's desperate attempts to brush her hair away.

“Let's make a deal, you will lead me to where they release these lanterns, and I will give you your satchel back!”

“No can do… Unfortunately kingdom and I aren’t exactly sympatico at this moment, so I won’t be taking you anywhere…” she finally managed to reveal her eyes with a loud snort.

“Something brought you here Miss Scarlet. Call it what you will Fate? Destiny?

“A stupid horse …”

“But I decided to trust you …” he continued as he got closer to her chair.

“Horrible decision if you asked me”

"But you can trust me in one thing!" The white-haired boy pulled his hair, knocking over the chair, so that only his arm supporting the backrest protected her from falling down. Their faces were much too close to each other then she found comfortable. “You can tear this tower apart, stone by stone, but without my help, you won't ever find your precious satchel!”

“Let me just get it straight, I will take you to see the lanterns and bring you back home. Will you give me back what you stole?

“I promise”the brunette looked at him without conviction.”And when I promise something I never, ever break that promise’dattebasa!”

Two of them looked at each other for a long time, before the girl sighed resignedly “Okay, I'll go with you on this date…”

“Really!?” The boy squealed happily, clapping his hands and at the same time letting go of the chair, which immediately fell down.

"But please be gentle," groaned the young thief after her too-close encounter with the ground.

..............................................................................

#borusara #boruto uzumaki #uchiha sarada #tangled #tangled au #momoshiki

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

Text

...& Steel for Humans (Geralt x fem!Witchress, Part 2.)

Series description: The Butcher of Blaviken has a long and famous past, thanks to his friend Jaskier. Yet, neither of those dies easily and it still lurks behind Geralt like a shadow after all those years. History, neither unfriendly relationships, doesn't die easily.

Part summary: After a talk with your old friend, there is one thing - a contract which is supposed to keep you rich for at least other ten years. But there are things you are not going to like about is.

A/N: Honestly, Dijsktra is one of my favourite in-game characters and I sincerely hope that he will make an appearence in the Netflix series. That mf is so fun honestly.

Tagging: (tell me and I will add you :)) @osgon-azure @davnwillcome

Word count: 2.1 K

Master list: H E R E

To your good luck, Dijkstra was very clear with the place of his staying - that fat rat was hiding at the Novigradian Bathhouse. You never held anything against Dijkstra - he was being a dick? You told him. That man knew famous non-humans like Geralt and even legends upon men, like Vernon Roche or the Redenian King Radovid. And he didn't hesitate to shove those connections into other people's faces. And you were one of them at that point.

So naturally, it didn't mean anything good when Dijkstra not only contacted you but knew where you were staying at the time. Novigrad was just three days of a slow ride on your horse and you didn't have anywhere to rush. Dijkstra only informed you, very kindly you must've said, that he would like to speak to you once you reach the city walls. It was for an important matter of saving lives or what.

Yeah, you weren't over your heels because of his demand. But you stopped in front of the famous bathhouse two days after the whole werewolf situation with a cape in your face. It wouldn't be exactly clever to walk around one of the biggest cities of the Northern Kingdoms just showing your face to everyone around you. Novigrad was looking just as you remembered it - it was dirty, it stank, beggars were on every corner and elf prostitutes only. That was the thing you didn't like on Novigrad. You had to be either a demon of a shapeshifter to cover that you're a non-human or you had to be a prostitute to be a non-human living in this city.

The cult of Eternal Flame was going nuts there. One of the priests even noticed that cats were hissing at you and that dogs ran away when your warhorse was driving through the streets and tried to verbally insult you and on top of that, he was calling you a heretic and a sinner. Instead of pinning him to a wall with your sword as a warning, you scoffed at his words and continued to Passiflora where you turned left. Not too long after that, you were standing in front of the bathhouse.

A bald man took your house, saying his name is Happen, and lead it to the nearby stable so the people there would take care of the poor animal. It needed some proper rest and some clear water, you couldn't deny that you weren't able to give your horse this kind of comfort on your travels.

To be honest, from the first moment you stepped in, you knew that the bathhouse stank. You hated those lingering, sweet smells that usually settled on the tip of your nose. Bathhouses usually used these scents because the humans found it more relaxing. Yet it was like a catalyzer for your damn nose - that was maybe for the first time in the last years when you sneezed. And it was damn uncomfortable.

Finding Sigismund wasn't exactly challenging - that man couldn't be ignored with the bright colors he tended to wear and with the size of his body. One of his legs also wasn't exactly in the best shape, so the limbing was quite easy to recognize when he was on the moe. At least to witchress's ears, it was unique.

Once you entered his office, you could see him sitting behind a table, going through some papers. You were quiet, so it took him a while to notice a caped person standing in the corner of the room. His face lit up with a smile that wasn't soothing nor comforting; he looked like a dick if you had to be honest.

"It is always a pleasure to see old friends. Have a seat with me, come on." - He said when you took the hood off and your face and white hair could be finally seen. You snorted when you sat down, taking a few grapes without even asking Dijkstra a word. He was quickly pouring you some of the sweet wine he had on the table but both of you knew that your lips won't even touch the drink.

"We aren't friends, Dijkstra. And also, it is never a good sign when you can find me without too much of trying." - A short answer to his greeting could be heard while your eyes scanned the books in his bookcases. Law things, political archives, some of the Novigrad's biggest family chronicles, nothing too extraordinary or interesting. Yet the Gwent packs caught your eye, so you took the Northern Kingdoms deck and started to go through it, looking at the cards with interest.

"Well, it didn't take too much of an effort to figure out that a witcher is in the Mire West currently. People talk and news spread quickly, don't forget about that. Especially quickly when you know who to ask for details." - The man slowly leaned into the chair behind his back while you turned your attention back to him, eating the grapes slowly.

"You torture people, you don't ask for details, Sigismund, don't you try to make me laugh because I am not in the mood for jests. You're just as much of a bitch as I am." - You smiled ironically, being tired of his little welcoming games. - "What is it that you need? Don't tell me that I came all the fucking way to Novigrad from Mire West just to see your fucking handsome face. And lemme tell you, you are fucking ugly."

At that, Sigismund laughed and shook his head. You two couldn't be exactly considered friends since everybody knew that you don't like Sigismund one bit. That wasn't too hard to understand - Sigismund was a spy who couldn't be trusted. But you two couldn't be even called enemies, since most of the time, you both stood at one side of a case - if you ever decided to take a stand in anything political.

"I have a friend in need and I told her that I will try to ask you for a helping hand." - He looked you in the eyes. Sigismund had a job... For a witchress? With that, you rose your eyebrows and furrowed. - "She offers you a ridiculous amount of coin - for searching and killing the source. And also invites you for a damn dance and pays for your stay Novigrad, no matter which inn you'd name." - He told very seriously so you could understand that Dijkstra isn't in a mood for games either.

"Damn. That must be a real matter of life and death if they're putting so much coin into it. What is going on?" - You asked and stole another grape from the small silver plate, putting the deck back on its place. You liked the grapes, they were sweet. Dijkstra surely had to offer them in Passiflora, the whorehouse just a while from Saint Gregory's bridge.

"No-one knows. We only know that whatever the fuck it is, it breaks trees and rocks like small wooden sticks and that it cooks humans for dinner. We dunno much more than what I've told ya." - Dijkstra told you and your face got even sourer than before. This wasn't just some ordinary Vampire, nor a Fiend. - "It lives in the mountains east from Novigrad and the Vegelbuds are rather concerned with it. No matter what in the horse's ass it is, it already massacred two villages."

Again, you pushed yourself more into the plushy chair Dijkstra had offered you. This wasn't a matter you could laugh at. Whether you liked it or not, it was more than fucking serious. Women and children were killed, men could be eaten or stomped to death.

"Bullshit. There ain't no monster who can destroy a whole damn village just because it wants to in Redenia. There ain't one like that on the whole Continent. Before you jump in with Fiends, they are too lazy for any that." - You started slowly and put a strand of your hair behind your ears.

"Dijkstra, honestly, I ain't a dumb bitch. You're the mediator between me and the Veganbrods or what the fuck is their name and I know that you'll have a lot of money from this. But no witcher, squirrel, or human will take this fucking job. This ain't a job. This is suicide." - You said, looking him in the eyes.

"Oh, Y/N, I just love how honest you can be with me. This ain't a one-man job, of course. We already have some... Takers who are gladly willing to accompany you." - Dijkstra said in a solid-sure tone.

"If it's Letho of the Viper school, tell him to fuck off right away. I hope it's not a sorceress either, I can't stand these bitches either. Lambert would be a nice company, tho and I wouldn't mind me an Eskel either." - You said honestly with a small smile. Yeah. You knew how did your witcher brothers work on their contracts, you knew you would get along with them and if there would be anything that would go bad, they would have your back.

You liked Lambert the most of all the witchers you knew - it didn't matter if they were from your school or the Griffin school or the Vipers, you just liked Lambert the most. There were rumors that you and he had some kind of a relationship - whether it had ended up or was going on. And any of that wasn't confirmed either denied by any of you. When people asked you, you both just smiled and changed the subject.

"It's not Lambert, unfortunately, but it is someone you know, which is some good fucking news. And it is someone you don't like, I have to say - one of them sings all the fucking time and the other one is a grumpy moron who had fucked up my leg. But don't think about that. Business is business, darling, it's not about liking someone. It's about money and surviving the fucking trip to the mountains." - Dijkstra looked you right in the eyes. You sat there in silence, watching the man with a dead serious face.

Of course. Of fucking course. Your partner for the trip, who you had to believe with all your will power, the partner who was supposed to be someone you should be able to trust with whole life, that man was supposed to be the white-haired moron. And his possibly gay friend. You looked at Dijkstra, having that daring look on your face.

"I can still say no, you ugly bastard." - You said honestly. At that, the idiot sitting opposite of you started laughing.

"No-one denies your right to deny - only your financial state and the reputation you have around Novigrad and other big cities now. Tell me, Y/N, you and the other witchers have some kind of a competition which should determine who is the worst person of you all?" - Dijkstra asked, having you speechless for a moment. - "Because according to my people, you have the leading position now. The incident with Stjepan got pretty known here over the last few days. And I know you like to keep your honor clean."

"I had never hurt a woman or a child. And that's it." - Was the sentence you said coldly as ice.

"People heard otherwise. Almost dragging the children out of the bed, abducting them so you can bring them to your witcher school as payment and all of that came with your promise of the next generation of witchresses... Oh Y/N, you know that one small rumor can completely ruin your business, huh?" - He leaned in, closer to you, watching your reactions. You hated Sigismund but there was one thing that needed to be said - he was a damn good businessman.

Why did that hiding rat want you to take the contract? You had no idea. But even though you didn't want it for some reason, he knew how to make you take it.

So it was said and done - you were supposed to travel to the mountain alongside Geralt of Rivia and his small musician puppy Julian. But not before a grand ball held at the Vegelbud family residence three hours away from Novigrad. Which, on the other side, you were excited about.

#the witcher #andrzej sapkowski #the world of the witcher #geralt of rivia #witcher lambert #witcher eskel #witcher leo #sigismund dijkstra #sigi reuven #jaskier #geralt of rivia x reader #Geralt of rivia x female! Witchress

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theholident-blog · 4 years

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THE IMPORTANCE OF INDIAN FESTIVALS

It's the whole question of the world --the moons, the values and myths," says Malvika Singh, editor of India magazine, a cultural publication in New Delhi." They are the life of the people. It's not so much a festival as living and prayer." In India, the abundance of festivals originates from the nation's religious diversity. For many, festivals are personal family affairs. However, there probably are several countries where rituals are performed with such public zest and uninhibited gaiety. These include the smaller melas or classic state fairs, and they frequently are as colorful as the bigger spectacles. Significant temples have their own calendar of events, honoring favorite deities in the town. The feast is devoted to the thousand-headed hydra, Ananta, whose coils form the couch of Vishnu and represent eternity. On this day, live cobras or their graphics are worshipped, and snake charmers do a lively business. Bengal and Kerala are facilities for snake worship. Some festivals celebrate a specific god's birthday such as Ram navami for arrival of lord Ram, Ganesh chaturthi or Ganesh utsav for arrival of lord Ganesha, Christmas celebrated for arrival of lord Jesus Christ. Sivaratri (March 8) is a feast in honour of Shiva and parties center from the sacred city of Varanasi at north-central India. The loyal hold processions into the temples and all-night vigils, which are supposed to guarantee material prosperity and heaven after death. The folks chant mantras to remain alert and alert the lingam, a stone phallus that symbolizes Shiva. The bamboo and paper figures tower against the fading evening light. Celebrated in late October or early November, households spend the weeks before Diwali sprucing up their homes, buying gifts and stocking up on festive foods and sweets. It's reminiscent of Christmas in Western countries. So many reasons and lots of seasons for many festivals. Not everybody follows every festival. Fundamentally we Indians long ago obtained it that festival is a motive for entire family to meet and catch up, be together, relax and feast together and live happily. Festivals also give us a much needed break from our everyday occasionally monotonous life. Here's a sampling of important festivals, their date this season and the best places to watch them. (A comprehensive calendar of Indian festivals can be obtained through government tourist offices in big Indian cities.) Holi (March 26) is an extravagant Icelandic feast marking the coming of spring. It's a time for playing tricks on others and making them seem ridiculous, even people who are your social superiors. Bonfires are lighted and the roads are packed with people throwing colored powder or water. The god Krishna, an incarnation of Vishnu, is often honored at this moment, so the very best to go through the festival is in Mathura, his birthplace, south of Delhi. Kumbha Mela (the second week in April) is held just once every 12 years, and will occur this year in Hardwar, a north India mountain town.

This festival is India best periodic honest. Millions will flock to the town to bathe in the Ganges, which plunges through a mountain gorge now and starts its slow motion to the Bay of Bengal in the east. One myth states that a god in the shape of a bird uttered a coveted kumbha or jar of ambrosia and stopped at Hardwar on the way to heaven. Another suggests the sacred nectar spilled in this place. (really Krishna), probably is the most famous Hindu shrine. An enormous decorated chariot, 45 ft high with wheels seven feet in diameter, bearing a picture of the god, is pulled through the streets by pilgrims.

It's most spectacular in Delhi, which stages a vibrant military extravaganza. Pushkar Cattle Fair (Nov. 16) is among India's most vibrant events. Over 200,000 people flock into the city, bringing with them thousands of camels, cows and horses. It's an important tourist event with a massive tent city set up to accommodate 3,000 visitors. Advance reservations are advised. Ugadi / gudi padwa is brand new year for Kannada Telugu Tulu and Marathi speaking people that is a festival of new year after the language that these individuals are speaking specifically Kannada Telugu Tulu Marathi. On the night of Diwali, which is known as the Festival of Lights, buildings and houses are summarized with countless oil candles and lamps.

Festivals like karva chauth, bakri identification and ramzaan come on a specific phase of the moon. "It's the tiny festivals," says Singh,"which are really the mind of the country." To get a visitor to India, a festival is an opportunity to glimpse the heart and soul of the nation. Significant parties are open to tourists, but others are mostly family vacations. Ganesh Chaturthi (Sept. 7) is enthusiastically celebrated in Bombay. The feast honors the favorite elephant-headed god whose odd appearance has a lot of explanations. The most prominent is his jealous father, Shiva, found him guarding his mother's home, failed to recognize him and lopped his head off. To placate his wife, Shiva promised to get the boy a new mind. The first one that could be procured was the elephant. In Bombay, pictures of Ganesh, the god of wealth, are transported through the streets to the waterfront and immersed in the sea. Some festivals such as vata savitri, varalakshmi vratam, karva chauth etc are distinguished by girls by keeping fast for extended life of the husbands. Karadaya nombu is a festival one of tamilians observed by woman child to married women, where they tie a sacred yellow thread around their necks and pray for good husband (unmarried women ) and long life of the spouse (married women) and this same man ought to be their husband to get next every birth. Understanding and appreciating a festival, it is helpful to have a basic outline of the Hindu pantheon. Brahma is rarely worshipped today. Vishnu and his wife Lakshmi still are widely admired. He and his wife, Devi, may take tens of thousands of forms and are known by several names. In the coming months, there could be chances to see many more. For India is a nation imbued with the joyous spirit. Religion is a living force , and festivals are its saying. India is a land of individuals who follow many religions and lots of gods. The reason we have numerous festivals is since some are based one's faith, some to celebrate god's birthday, some derive from harvest seasons, some are based on new years of different religions or languages, some are based on solar calender and a few are based on the phases of the moon and moon calender. The middle for the feast is Mathura, where dances are held to honor the god of dance and song. Young men form human pyramids and try to break yogurt pots hanging over the roads. This is in honor of the child Krishna who stole yogurt with the support of his friends. Many significant holidays are observed throughout the country, but how they're celebrated varies from area to area.

In New Delhi, Dussehra focuses on the exploits of Rama, the Traditional Hindu hero. Pictures of the goddess are carried through the streets and immersed in the sea or river. Dances, drama and other cultural displays are often held. Some festivals also occur by year like vasant panchami which celebrates spring. There are a few festivals celebrated solely to celebrate the brother bond and family bonds like kanupadi the day after Pongal, Raksha Bandhan, Bhaubeej. The event is Dussehra, the culmination of a 10-day Hindu festival. It commemorates a scene from the Indian epic,"The Ramayana," where the hero king Rama defeats his evil rival Ravanna and his allies. Festival of the Automobiles (July 9) is a colossal event held in Puri in the eastern state of Norissa. The Temple of Jagannath, lord of the world

Festivals like makar Sankranthi, pongal, baisakhi, Tamil new year, vishu arrive annually on a date which changes only by one either back or forth. These are harvest festivals dependent on sunlight. Baisakhi Tamil new year and vishu are new years for Punjabi, Tamil and Malayalam speaking persons that is according to Hindu calender. Nowadays, traditional Buddhism is confined mainly to the temperate areas. The Dalai Lama and his followers fled to the city following the Chinese invasion of Tibet, and it is now a centre for Buddhism and Tibetan culture. Onam Harvest Festival (Sept. 15) honors a fanatic, Mahabali. The devil was exiled into the nether world by Vamana, an incarnation of Vishnu, but each year he's permitted to return to go to his former kingdom. It's the most significant festival in Kerala and comes at the end of the monsoon. These sleek canoes with cobra-shaped sterns are paddled into the rhythmic strains of south Indian ship songs.

#indian #festivals #diwali #dussehra #celebration

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movienotesbyzawmer · 3 years

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August 21: Mission: Impossible II

(previous notes: Mission: Impossible)

Not gonna lie, this is without question the Mission: Impossible movie that is remembered most unfavorably by me and, I'm pretty sure, everyone else. My recollection is that they tried SO SO SO SO HARD to make an action movie for Today's Kids; I'm typing this with the title screen of the 4K Blu-ray blasting its turn-of-the-millennium neo-metal version of the classic theme with Tom Cruise running in front of a wall of flame and it's just like come on. Is there even must fun spycraft in this? The first one promised lots of gravely furtive glancing, world-class makeup disguises, and dazzling gadgetry. Did this movie's director John Woo replace those with just way way way too much shooting and chasing and sexy vehicles? That's how I remember it but it's been a couple of decades.

I should probably address this series' exciting approach to director selection. The first one was directed by the legendary Brian De Palma, who brought us Carrie, The Untouchables, and Carlito's Way. Whether or not this one worked out, the trend here seemed to be to choose a respected director with a certain cred that could be imported into the franchise. More on that as this series unfolds. I am now to press play.

Opening scene is about a scientist who injects himself with something while a voiceover teases us with I-already-forget-what.

Oh, he's pals with Ethan; they're on a plane together out of Sydney when some bad-guy shenanigans totally thwart the whole fly-to-the-destination-safely thing. But! It wasn't even Ethan! It was good-ol' makeup fake-outery! It was a heist to take the warn leather pouch that the scientist had.

This I remember - during the opening credits, the REAL Ethan Hunt is climbing somewhere impressive, all freestyle like. All the related supplemental marketing materials never fail to talk up Tom Cruise's penchant for doing his own stunts, but these don't look real.

He then receives a fancy techno-message in a very, very dramatic and action-movie-ish fashion, which is that someone flies a helicopter by his climbing mountain and fires a rocket near him containing message-glasses tech! The voice in the message glasses sounds like Anthony Hopkins. Is it Anthony Hopkins?

Anyway now he has to go to Spain to recruit Thandie Newton and here is where it's already starting to get way too the-style-of-John-Woo. There is a flamenco show and Ethan and TN spot each other across the room. There is SLO MOTION and SPANISH STOMPING and ACOUSTIC GUITAR, and THOSE TWO GAZING AT EACH OTHER. I tell you I do not care for it.

What happens next is TN proceeds to use fancy technology and lockpicking skills to steal a well-concealed necklace. Ethan tags along flirtatiously. She still tries to steal the necklace even though this Lothario, this smarmy but irresistible cad, is trying to distract her with his testosterone.

Ugh, I was very right to remember not liking stuff about this movie. Ethan fails to recruit her at the jewel heist, so he car-chases at her the next day! He calls her during the car chase to irritate/seduce her, and she's all "you'll have to catch me ha ha", and it ends in a nearly fatal crash and then they KISS. The director worked very hard to ensure the kissing was HAWT, and Ethan has now successfully recruited TN for both spy work and boinkage.

Anthony Hopkins! He is in the next scene! That really was him! How did I forget that he is in this movie. This scene where he meets with Ethan and fills him in on everything is effectively expository. But then after he knows what he's gotta do, he walks with INTENSITY and it is in SLOW MOTION next to a BURNING EFFIGY THING with ELECTRIC GUITAR MUSIC GOING ON.

0:33:40 - Oh now it's a little more what I like, with a montage about using spy tech to get Ambrose, the bad guy who was pretending to be Ethan on the plane in the beginning, to track TN. And to further assure us that there is techie-fun to be had, Ving Rhames returns to be that guy for Ethan's team. But there is also time in this sequence for shots of TN walking slowly and looking super pretty. You know, so she can seduce Ambrose. A flowing scarf figures prominently in this imagery. A John Woo Film.

I like that they tricked Ambrose into thinking he is so damn smart for tracking her down. I also like Ambrose's compound on Sydney Harbour, it is a bitchin property.

Scene just happened where Ambrose seriously menaces his friend and uses a cigar-clipper on his finger. Ambrose is a bad friend.

But then they're all at the horse race game, even Ambrose's injured friend, who we learn is named Stemp and who is spying on TN, and Ethan and VR are spying on them all. There are shots of TN doing sleight of hand to steal a tape from Ambrose's pocket and it's pretty good spy-shot stuff.

I guess I should mention that there's one more guy on Ethan's team of four, an Australian guy. I haven't caught his name, so he is Australian Guy now, and he is pretending to be an employee of the horse race game venue. He gets bullied by Stemp! We don't like Stemp!

The tape she stole, they watch it right away and it shows footage of what the virus (there's a virus problem at the center of this) does. It is effective, and a little shocking.

But then, this is surprisingly actually kind of well-conveyed - they made it VERY clear that the tape was originally in Ambrose's left jacket pocket, and they showed very clearly that TN returned it to the wrong jacket pocket, AND it's obvious a moment later that Ambrose knows it has been replaced in the wrong jacket pocket. Don't know why, but at least it's keeping us on top of this situation.

Also not-too-shabby is how they're doing the consequences of Ethan and TN fancying each other, except then she has to go and seduce Ambrose and that's uncomfortable and drama-making. In Ethan's defense, as well as Ambrose's, I am also in love with TN right now.

1:02:12 - Ethan disguised himself as Scientist, the dead one from the beginning, and I'm just saying I'm glad this movie is embracing the disguise-craft theme that was established in the first movie. Ooh, is the show like that too?

And then just as I've typed that, it turns out that Ambrose did an Ethan disguise (it was established by Anthony Hopkins that Ambrose was an IMF agent so he can do that stuff too) to trick TN into outing her intentions. They make it very clear that there is voice-fake tech with their disguises that involves a wire mesh thing stuck to the throat.

Next up is a heist scheme to break into a skyscraper where they're growing stuff about the virus, and it's a little bit of that style I liked so much in the last movie, with the added twist that Ambrose is somewhere else anticipating what Ethan's planning, and, I think, plotting a separate, way-better heist. They're still talking about it and the heist is happening and it is suspenseful! I totally like this more than I remember.

1:13:30 - Ethan is at the part of the heist where he's at fancy lab facilities with robot arms and AI voices and oddly no people. VR and Australian Guy are observing everything that's happening using technology and Australian Guy's helicopter, making it more suspenseful, but I also don't know exactly what's going on? We appear to be where Scientist originally injected himself, and Ethan is I think killing the virus while also somehow visualizing Scientist injecting himself.

But then that all goes away because a platoon of thugs in black burst in and are shooting at Ethan. It all quickly became an action movie with blazing guns and VR's tech van getting bombed.

In the fracas it's clear that one of the injector guns contains the last of the virus, and also gunplay might shatter it and make them all infected, so that's decent suspense. But also, the lighting in this bio-lab is like a nightclub, with inexplicably roving spotlights and neon accents that pop in 4K.

TN is in the mix, and she decides to inject the last of the virus into herself, and there's a dumb moment where it's like ETHAN YOU HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO SHOOT ME WITH YOUR GUN and Ethan, Man of Ethics, does not do that. Instead there is more gunplay and Ethan jumps out a hole he made in the wall.

1:28:45 - We've moved to new location, a new compound, and it's on a guard-patrolled island and Ethan sneaks up on a guard and does a totally unnecessary body-flip martial arts move to take him out. I think he needs to steal the antidote from this compound so that he can save TN, who is somewhere else. He is visually passionate about this mission.

Ethan got caught sneaking in to this new compound by Stemp, and he did a whole grenade blowup thing but he still got caught. It's a trick, right? Yup, he put an Ethan mask on Stemp and a Stemp mask on himself and got Ambrose to kill Stemp. He realizes he just killed Stemp because of the finger injury, good job with that.

I am reminded that this movie is from the director of Face/Off, so I needn't have feared that the mask/disguise conceit would be forsaken.

But did he get the antidote? He must have. Sometimes when I'm typing notes I miss stuff, but he's now motorcycling away while VR and Australian Guy are providing support from their chopper.

This is now the vehicle-chase opera that I remember ending the movie so terribly extendedly. Much gunplay. Vehicles pirouette with violent elegance. Ethan can do such exquisite dances with his motorcycle and firearm. This climaxes in the ridiculous feat of Ethan and Ambrose riding their cycles at each other and jumping at off them at each other to finish the job sans vehicle. It ends as a tussle on the beach, and Ambrose has a knife that almost gets in Ethan's eye. The visual on that is striking. But it's no good, Ethan is too Tom Cruise for him. He gets the knife from him and DISCARDS THE KNIFE, and punch-kick-fights him a lot instead. Ethics.

Turns out Ambrose has a gun after all oh no. But then it turns out Ethan is standing by a sand-obscured gun somehow also oh good. He does a thoroughly storyboarded sand-kick-body-twirl gun recovery that ends like you'd guess.

So although there are some dumb things about this movie, I think it's better than I remembered. And having just watched the first one, I think it actually did a good job of having a story where you don't have to ignore a lot of stupidness. It's not like it's an especially good plot, but it didn't try to make you forget its holes like the first one. I still like the first one better, though.

(next: Mission: Impossible III)

#Mission: Impossible II #MI:2

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aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

Will the Real WandaVision Villain Please Stand Up?

https://ift.tt/2NdA7zB

This article contains WandaVision spoilers.

WandaVision is in its home stretch, with one big “villain” reveal hitting at the end of episode 7, and more expected any episode now. Agatha Harkness’ basement gave off some real strong bad gal vibes, but historically in the comics she’s never been the mastermind behind Wanda’s troubles, so much of the world is expecting another.

And while all the speculation so far has centered on Mephisto – justifiably so, considering his history with Wanda, Billy, Tommy, and Master Pandemonium’s arms – we think there’s one dark horse contender that not enough people have been talking about. With his history with Wanda and his future with the Avengers (and very likely in the MCU, if the tea leaves we’re reading are correct), there’s a better than decent chance that this guy will be popping up in WandaVision’s final episodes.

But first, let’s get one thing straight…

Agatha Harkness…is a red herring?

The end of episode 7 of WandaVision plays up the sinister aspects of Agatha Harkness. Her basement looks like it could have been ripped from the set of Sabrina the Teenage Witch. But that doesn’t mean she’s actually evil.

In fact, through the entirety of Wanda’s story in the pages of Marvel Comics, Agatha has been one of the few people actually interested in Wanda’s well being. Sure, she was often very matriarchal about it, but she actually seemed to care that Wanda was messing with her own children’s existence. And in a Scarlet Witch solo miniseries from the mid ‘90s, she was the only one actually concerned with trying to give Wanda agency. It would be a big swerve for the show to adapt her into an outright villain.

However, she was also prominently involved in Wanda’s “nexus being” storyline as the one trying to snap Wanda out of Immortus’ trance (more on that in a minute). I am willing to bet a small amount of money that Agnes is not the main villain of WandaVision, just acting shady about how she’s trying to break Wanda free of someone else’s control.

That you, Mephisto?

We’ve been inundated with Mephisto references to this point – between all the “Demon Spawn”s and Coronet Theaters and devils in details. And to be completely fair, Mephisto makes a lot of sense as the big bad of WandaVision.

Billy and Tommy’s birth in the comics was a bit of a mystery when it happened. As in, how could a woman and a synthezoid possibly have offspring? Also the fact that they were twins was a surprise, but I don’t know that that’s especially relevant. Anyway, turns out Doctor Strange is a crappy OB and also, the way a woman and a synthezoid could have children was if the woman loved the synthezoid very much, she could capture wild magical energy loose because of damage caused to the lord of Hell’s soul by a battle with Franklin Richards, channel that energy into her womb, and create life and souls with it. Mephisto was not powerful enough to escape battle with the Fantastic Four’s firstborn, and Wanda unwittingly used shards of his soul to create Billy and Tommy.

Later on, a movie exec who cut a deal with Mephisto, one Master Pandemonium, tried to capture the twins, as he believed that the kids were actually fragments of his lost soul. Alas, instead they were just his arms, and when he went to reabsorb them into his body, Mephisto hopped in and took his complete soul back from the sleazeball with babyhands.

So Mephisto is deeply entwined with the origins of Billy and Tommy, and with Wanda’s story in the comics. But what if he’s not in the show? What if, while everyone else is focused on Mephisto, WandaVision actually gives us…

Immortus

Immortus is, among other things, the Scarlet Centurion, Iron Lad, Victor Timely, Pharaoh Rama Tut, and a Pope. He is a continuity black hole, but the simplest explanation is that he’s the oldest version of the being who, at varying points in his history, was/is/would become Kang the Conqueror.

Here’s a…profoundly condensed version.

The being who would become Immortus was born in the 30th century, to a post-scarcity world of peace, prosperity, and plenty. He was bored as shit by this. So he stole a time machine, traveled back to ancient Egypt, ruled as Pharaoh Rama Tut for a bit, got a taste for conquering, and eventually became Kang, who would come to rule tens of centuries as the undisputed lord of time. Eventually he got so good at conquering that he ended up just…ruling…instead of conquering anymore, and that was where his downfall began.

After a series of paradoxes he got his own damn self into, he eventually hooked up with the Time Keepers, a trio of beings from the end of all time trying to do a bunch of stuff that ultimately would end up ensuring their own creation. As a brief aside, the Marvel time travel characters are like if you kept introducing new invasive species to a pond to wipe out the last invasive species you put in the pond. It’s grandfather paradoxes all the way down.

Anyway, the Time Keepers put Immortus in charge of cleaning up his own timeline as well as monitoring the Avengers segment of the timestream. Along with his mastery of time, Immortus also had the ability to dance around the multiverse. He could peer between timelines, prune the bad ones, trap Kang and Songbird and Yellowjacket in the wild west, etc. etc.

Also his name is Nathaniel Richards.

The Fantastic Four Connection

Wait, does this mean Immortus is the father of Mister Fantastic, Reed Richards?

Technically no. But he may be a descendant of Reed Richards. Or Dr. Doom. That’s where he gets the time portal from. Apparently.

WandaVision: The Mystery of the Aerospace Engineer

By Mike Cecchini

WandaVision: Is SWORD Hiding MCU Fantastic Four Clues?

By Mike Cecchini

This is probably not how they’re introducing the Fantastic Four to the MCU. It would be very weird to, say, flash back to Howard Stark and Nathaniel Richards going on a SHIELD mission in the ‘50s that had them cross paths with the Time Stone, have Howard believe Nathaniel was lost in action when Richards merely created an offshoot timeline that included the Fantastic Four and mutants, only to have an immortal Nathaniel, embittered by countless lifetimes of loss and hollow conquering, travel back to find a way to remerge the timelines so his past self could have a happy life.

It would be particularly ridiculous for that to happen in a future Marvel show like Loki. Anyway, let’s get back on subject.

What Does Nexus Mean?

The commercial in episode 7 featured an anti-depressant called Nexus, a pointed reference to one of Wanda’s roles in the greater Marvel Comics cosmogony. Wanda is a Nexus Being, an entity with tremendous power over the path of reality, who can alter futures even after they’ve set, create branching timelines, and possibly prevent powerful, important beings in the future from being born. And they typically have exceedingly powerful children – kids who, when fully mature, can rival universal constants like Eternity, the Living Tribunal, Chaos, Order, or Death.

In the comics, Wanda was a threat both to the Time Keepers, who wanted nothing more than to ensure their own existence would come to pass, and Immortus, who wanted to also ensure his own timeline would come to pass and ALSO screw those fish faced Time Keepers out of their jobs. To do this, he decided the best path would be to be a real dick to Wanda.

First, he tricked Wanda and Vision into falling in love, thinking nobody could make a baby with a synthezoid. Then he screwed around with Vision’s body and timeline, making him inhabit the body of the original Human Torch, then not inhabit that body, then do both at the same time. Then he just up and drove Wanda insane, infusing her with additional power to amp her nexus abilities, letting her manipulate the timestream at a whim.

Which leads us to…

MCU Phase 5: Avengers Forever

Here is a sampling of things we know or can reasonably ascertain about the future of the MCU.

Time travel is probably going to be the thrust of Loki. We see the Time Variance Authority in the trailer, along with a brief flash of statues that look like the Time Keepers.

A lot of the MCU TV shows seem to be pointing towards Young Avengers. Kate Bishop is in Hawkeye, Billy and Tommy are in WandaVision, and while it’s not a TV show, Cassie is in Ant-Man 3.

Also in Ant-Man 3 is Kang the Conqueror himself. He fits the Young Avengers theory – the youngest version of Rama Tut/Kang/Scarlet Centurion/Immortus was Iron Lad, the mysterious Iron Man analogue from the teen hero group.

Chris Evans is rumored to be coming back one more time for an Avengers role.

The Young Avengers theory feels like a slam dunk. It would be the least surprising thing in the world to have Patriot (Eli Bradley, the grandson of Isaiah Bradley, a recipient of an experimental super soldier serum in a dark, Tuskegee Experiment-style follow up to the original super soldier program) show up in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier, and there’s no way Marvel would spend that much energy laying the groundwork for a new generation of Avengers and not have it pay off. However, if you squint hard enough, you can see a second path being cut by these shows.

Avengers Forever.

Avengers Forever is a 1998 miniseries by Kurt Busiek and Carlos Pacheco that is widely beloved for its distillation of decades of Marvel continuity into one epic story. It has Kang and the Kree Supreme Intelligence gathering a team of Avengers from disparate points in the timeline – Yellowjacket from the early days of the Avengers; Hawkeye from just after the Kree-Skrull War; a disillusioned Captain America from a low point in the medium past; present day Wasp and Giant Man; and Songbird and Captain Marvel from a future Avengers team – to battle Immortus and the Time Keepers for the life of Rick Jones.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

All the elements are there, from the time travel nonsense to the easy opportunity to get the whole gang back together. The key is Immortus, and he could be revealed soon in WandaVision.

The post Will the Real WandaVision Villain Please Stand Up? appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3biWZpm

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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reader-imagines-blog · 7 years

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Vows [Part 5] (Jaime Lannister x Stark!Reader)

a/n: aaahhh! hi! im back! im sosososo sorry that i was gone for so long oh my gosh! school hit me like a ton of bricks and i needed some time to get in the swing of things! take this and enjoy and guess what? i'll have part 6 up tomorrow along with a filled request! enjoy, loves, and thank you for being so patient and understanding!

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8 PART 9

TAG LIST: @queen-of-the-north-amina @avistella @chippychipmunks @buckybarnesisalittleshit @chloehamiltonn @millie67 @doctorwhoandrory

WORD COUNT: 2,093

*************************************

"Choices, choices. Take the bridge and risk being seen by anyone or cross the water and,"

Brienne tugged on Jaime's chain, the not-so-golden-anymore Lion stumbling. Although he had almost fallen flat on his front, Jaime's smirk held strong.

"Silence, Kingslayer."

His smirk fell.

Out of habit, Y/N corrected her. Y/N corrected anyone who called Jaime by that title, no matter who they were. After Jaime had confessed to her that he hated it, she began hating it too.

"His name is Jaime."

Both knights looked at Y/N curiously, but she paid no mind. Jaime's eyes lingered but Y/N was determined not to look his way.

After discovering that she was with child, Y/N had taken to avoiding her husband. Her time in her brother's camp, two months to be exact, was filled with sneers and taunts thrown her way each time she ventured from her tent. 'The Lannister Bitch' they called her. These men, pledged to her house and sworn to be loyal. Calling her child a bastard because of her marriage to the enemy. A marriage she had no say in. To a man she had grown to care about despite the devastating heartbreak he had put her through.

Y/N felt that she deserved every taunt thrown her way.

Y/N felt like a coil, wound so tight that she may never straighten again. She had been forbidden to relieve her stress in the tilt-yard as she had throughout her childhood. The second that she had picked up her sword, Catelyn was there to scold her for endangering her heir. Her sword was confiscated and Y/N felt defenseless. Left to sit and watch her twin plan and do the fighting, Y/N was constantly on edge and ready to argue. Hormone imbalances due to pregnancy didn't do her any favors, either.

Robb had finally snapped and confined her to her tent when she questioned his betrayal of the Frey's in front of his counsel. Her twin had accused her of siding with the Lannisters, all but calling her a common whore, before banishing her from the tent. Y/N felt like a prisoner among her own family.

When Catelyn approached her that night, telling her that she needed to get Sansa and Arya back, Y/N had been immediately on board. Anything to feel free again, even if only for a short time.

Catelyn knew that traveling while with child was especially treacherous, but she also knew that where Jaime went, Y/N would have to follow. She was a Lannister now, pregnant with a Lannister cub. It broke Lady Stark's heart to send her daughter back into the lion's den, but Y/N knew she had no choice. It was expected, and would lead to less conflict. 'From this day until my last day' they had said.

So, in the dead of night as Robb and the camp slept, Catelyn watched as Brienne's horse led Jaime's out of the camp by a chain, Y/N following on her own. In the pit of her stomach, Catelyn knew that she would never see her eldest daughter again. It was a mother's intuition, and it was painful. Her family was being torn apart before her very eyes, and she was all but feeding Y/N to lions.

A week into their journey, Y/N knew that Jaime was purposefully being a pain in the arse to inconvenience Brienne. This irritated Y/N to no end.

Constantly plagued by nausea and forced to sleep on the forest floor, only three dresses in her pack and hardly any chances to bathe, Y/N absolutely loathed Jaime's attitude. She wanted her husband's support and maybe some gratitude for helping him escape. Instead, Y/N got snark and constant sarcasm. Putting Jaime in his place became a common pastime for Y/N. Jaime would never say it aloud, but he absolutely loved it when Y/N would bite back at him.

Currently, Y/N stared at the rushing river in front of them with hungry eyes, feeling the weeks worth of grime on her skin all the more now that the prospect of a bath dangled in front of her. She knew there was no time, and it took physical restraint not to rush into the cool water.

Jaime continued to talk, his usual condescending tone light on his words. The tone brought Y/N back to the situation at hand, causing her heart to ache as she thought back to the early days of their marriage, before their world went to shit.

"Cross the bridge and risk being seen by anyone passing by, but cross by water and risk being taken by the current or my escaping down stream."

Y/N scoffed, "Good luck with that, dear husband. You'd drown and I'm not jumping in to save you. Neither is Brienne."

Jaime shrugged, smirking. "It's wonderful to watch you struggle with these dilemmas, darling. You're jaw clenches and it's really very endearing."

Y/N didn't acknowledge Jaime's term of endearment. "The bridge is safer. In the water we risk being overturned with a boat of that size and three people. Again. The water is cold and the current is too strong. It's too dangerous. We'll cross casually and hopefully raise no suspicions."

Jaime rose an eyebrow, still smirking. "Well, well. The new Lady Lannister, a gambler. The country will have an absolute fit."

=========================

Stepping onto the bridge, Brienne took the rear with Y/N at the head.

The threesome walked briskly before Jaime decided to sit, complaining that he needed to rest.

Y/N knew exactly what he was playing at and she hoped she could keep him moving. "Jaime, sweet, please. Now is not the time for thi-"

"I've been on my feet far too long, darling. Corns. I never used to get corns. Of course, I used to ride everywhere."

Brienne pulled on Jaime's chain, looking around in paranoia. "Get up, now!"

Y/N was about to speak when Jaime reached and stole Brienne's sword from it's sheath, cutting his weak chain and standing at the defense.

Brienne was down a sword, but still prepared to fight. She was completely prepared to defeat the Lion of Lannister, but Y/N held a hand up, stopping her.

Brienne paused, hoping that Y/N had not hoped to side with her husband. She wouldn’t be able to hold them both off, unwilling to harm Y/N. Brienne’s eyes widened in shock as she was proven wrong.

"Brienne, your sword if you would?"

Brienne hesitated, as did Jaime. But the knight conceded nervously and Jaime stood his ground.

Y/N tested the sword in her hands, the hilt feeling at home as it pressed into her palm. Y/N had missed swordplay. Desperately.

"Stand down, Jaime."

Y/N's voice was steel, cold and hard. Jaime had never heard her speak that way. Upset? Yes. Broken? More times than he'd like to think about. But the steeled and passive way she spoke now was something Jaime had never heard.

"Now, now, Y/N. Gambling and threatening your Lord Husband? I thought Starks were honorable?"

Brienne went to step forward, but Y/N again stopped her.

"Let me handle this, Brienne. You swore a vow to my mother not to harm him. I swore nothing. Keep watch."

Y/N could see that Jaime faltered slightly, fighting to keep his cocky facade.

"You wouldn't kill me. Our wedding was nothing but vows. You did swear."

Husband and wife danced circles around each other, both staying on the defense but neither quite willing to make the first lunge.

Y/N smirked, Jaime noting just how intimidating the facial expression made her appear.

"I swore to be yours. I don't remember anything about me swearing to protect you. However, you swore to protect me, did you not? The only one breaking vows here is you, darling."

Using Jaime's slight hesitation at the mention of their vows, Y/N lunged and attempted to disarm him. Jaime blocked her quickly, eyes hard as he began lunging.

Now on the defense, Y/N blocked three blows before yet again moving to disarm Jaime.

Still finding ways to shock her husband, Y/N's expression gave nothing away as they fought. Jaime was pushing his sword down hard onto Y/N's, the steel clashing right in front of her face.

"Jaime, enough! This is ridiculous!"

Y/N pushed up with surprising strength and Jaime staggered back.

Jaime stabbed at Y/N again, his wife stepping back and blocking. "You're right, my love. It's ridiculous that I never knew my wife could fight this well."

As the pair fought, Brienne stood back, worried about the attention that the fight would draw to them and terrified that the pair would hurt each other. As the fight progressed, the couple grew more and more intense, swinging harder and aiming to injure.

Stepping back to breathe, Jaime and Y/N stood poised in defence should the other one attack.

"You're graceful, Y/N. I'll give you that."

Y/N's eyes narrowed.

"You'll give your life soon if you don't stop acting like a fool, father of my child or not."

Jaime lunged at her, angry that she would threaten him with their babe, hearing a hiss of pain before he was forced back with a kick to the stomach.

Y/N was breathing heavily and Jaime's heart dropped painfully when he noticed a shallow cut on her collar bone. He had hurt her. Another vow broken because of his pride.

"You're a fool."

Before Jaime could respond to his wife's harsh whisper or even think, Y/N had stepped forward and kicked his legs out from under him, using his distraction to her advantage.

Jaime landed on his back, the breath stolen from his lungs as he made impact with the ground. Y/N caught his sword before it fell and tossed it over the bridge, her other hand holding the tip of her blade to Jaime's throat. Her grey eyes were ablaze and Jaime knew that he had only experienced true, unadulterated fear of this nature one other time, ten-and-seven years ago when he murdered the Mad King.

"Do you concede?"

Before Jaime could even attempt to force words out of his throat, slow clapping came from behind Brienne, and the two women turned quickly. Jaime's eyes remained on his wife. Sword in hand, hair mussed, the sun casting a glow over her lithe form. Had she always looked like such a goddess? Jaime was so enthralled with Y/N that he didn't hear the man address him.

"Well, looks like your woman has gotten the best of ya."

Y/N looked to the flayed man of House Bolton flying on their banners and tensed. She remained composed, years of lessons coming back to her as she held herself as a lady should. At least, as regal as one could look while holding a sword to their husband's throat.

"Yes, well, passion and anger make for weak swordplay." She didn't lower her sword and Brienne felt defenseless without her own weapon.

The man at the head smirked, appraising Y/N, eyes raking over her body. Jaime's jaw ticked angrily.

"What's your name, love?"

Y/N, quick and calm as a Stark should always be, responded smoothly.

"Alessandra Snow. I was a handmaiden at the Stark camp."

The man laughed heartily, his men laughing with him. "Don't take me for a fool, Lady Y/N. I'd recognize The Flower of House Stark anywhere. Little Lyanna. Your brother's been lookin' for ya."

Y/N ground her teeth at the nickname, not bothering to cover for her lie or even apologize. Her gaze remained level with his until his eyes shifted.

Tilting his head to look at the man behind her, the man’s smirk grew. "And that makes you Jaime Lannister. Just the man we need."

Jaime stood, stepping in front of Y/N. She didn't continue to point her sword at him.

"Let us be. My father will give you whatever you want."

Y/N rolled her eyes, looking to Brienne to find a similar, painfully annoyed expression on the knight's face. Her jaw clenched as she looked to Jaime, knowing that he was completely serious. Almost four-and-ten and still calling on his father's money to get him out of tight situations.

The Bolton man scoffed, "Enough for a new head? If the King in the North hears that I had the Kingslayer and his sister and then let them go, he'd cut it right off."

Y/N's eyes hardened and she raised her sword, but she didn't remain on the defensive for long as they were all seized. Jaime had grabbed her wrist, stopping her from fighting, his eyes focused on her stomach. Y/N's eyes were still ablaze with fury when she looked at her husband, on her knees in front of the Bolton bannermen.

"I'd rather he takes yours."

#game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister imagine #jaime lannister #imagine #desi writes #vows

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taylorvibes · 7 years

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We are Written in the Stars: Ch. 1 - Your Eyes so Green

Big thanks to @kaylormakesmecrazier and @gayforboyfriendkarlie for being the first people to show interest in this

The Kaylor Reincarnation AU that no-one asked for.

AO3 Wattpad

Taylor had spent most of her life wondering if it was real. Wondering if all the energy she had poured into researching, documenting, writing, was worth it.

In hindsight, she never was one to believe in destiny, in “true love.” Yet to her, that feeling always felt like the most natural thing in the world, as familiar as breathing.

She was five when she first saw her. It was her first trip to New York, and her mom had taken her to Central Park. The small girl was staring with wide-eyed wonder at the sheer amount of flowers that surrounded her. Small hands drifted over soft petals, marvelling at their feel and vibrant colours standing out against the cool earth.

Her mom knelt next to her, pointing to each and telling her their Latin names, big things that Taylor’s mouth struggled to form. She preferred their more common names, pretty words that felt sweet as she parroted them back to her mom.

But when she arrived at a certain plant, she halted, tilting her head. The plant in question was quite unassuming, more of a bush than anything, with small, delicate white flowers.

But it was the leaves that caught Taylor’s eye. Something about that particular shade of green, the way the sunlight and shadows played on the leaves’ surface made Taylor stop.

“That’s Pycnanthemum,” her mom had said, reading its sign. “Mountain mint.”

“Mountain mint,” Taylor murmured. Slowly reaching up her hand, she delicately brushed the pale leaves, as if they might break upon touch.

And as she did, a pair of piercing green eyes flashed in her head. A face with blonde hair, freckly cheeks, and eyes the same shimmery pale green as the leaves in her hand.

It was foreign and familiar all at once. Taylor knew that in all her five years, she had never seen that girl. She couldn’t even tell how old she was.

And yet, something about that image radiated peace, felt like home in a way her young mind couldn’t hope to articulate. Like moving a limb that had remained dormant your whole life, unable to be forgotten once discovered.

The image seemed to last forever and an instant, vanishing before she could fully process it.

Taylor stumbled back a few steps into her mom’s legs. Andrea looked down at her daughter, who was staring open-mouthed at the plant in front of her. She watched as Taylor stepped forward again, feeling the leaves eagerly and pouting in disappointment when whatever she was expecting didn’t happen.

“Taylor?” she asked when her daughter started stroking the leaf more insistently with both hands. “If you’d like, we can go to the plant nursery after this and find one to take back home with us? You can plant it and watch it grow in our yard.”

“It has to be mountain mint, Mom. Please?” Taylor begged, eyes wide.

“Of course sweetie,” Andrea smiled, holding out her hand. “Come on. It’s getting late and we’d best head off now if you want to find that plant of yours.”

Taylor took her mom’s hand, as Andrea gently led them out of the park. Taylor turned and stole one final glance at the green, as if the girl from her head might materialise if only she stared hard enough.

“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered. “See you real soon.”

The first dream came that night.

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

She walked in a sea of gold, bathed in the light of the sun. Heads of wheat bobbed by her sides, her hands skimming lightly over the tops of the golden stalks as she drifted across the field. The sun was just beginning to meet the horizon, gilding the world in a soft warmth that bathed her face and lit her hair until it was the same colour as the field around her.

The days were getting shorter. The warm seasons were coming to an end, and with it her time on Earth with her mother and father. She smiled at the thought.

Demeter of course mourned the approaching absence of her daughter, wailing in sorrow at the thought of existing another six months with the knowledge that her only daughter, her precious child, was living with the ruler of the dead.

It seemed the Earth itself was also preparing for her departure. Leaves were browning, the grass losing its vibrancy with each passing day. Each year it happened; the life would slowly, but surely fade from the Earth as she left, as if it too was bereaving her loss.

And she could not wait to go.

She heard the whispers of course, felt the judgemental stares of the other gods that followed her as she walked the cramped halls of Mount Olympus.

“The daughter of Demeter,” they would gossip in barely-concealed tones, “the innocent maiden, stolen from her pure lands by the god of the Underworld.” Many pitied her, thinking her perpetual biannual movement to be a cruel curse, inflicted by the equally cruel monster that held her captive.

“If only they knew the truth,” she thought.

Their scrutiny was always what drove her down here, to the woods and fields of her mother’s creation and her care. Leaves crunching under her bare feet, she walked until she could no longer hear the hush of the wind in the long grasses, the sound muted as she entered the copse of trees at the end of the field.

The lands behind her were bountiful, a paradise radiating out from the foot of Mount Olympus, shaping a landscape teeming with life. She had reached the end of that paradise, the plenty of the fields behind her giving way to ancient shadowy trees and dark earth.

This here, right at the edge of her mother’s domain, was where she first entered the Underworld, where she first met the feared lord of the dead.

She was never taken, contrary to belief; she asked to go, practically begged to be given sanctuary. Far better to remain underground, away from the light, than from the lusting eyes of her father, of Zeus.

It was in the weeks after Demeter first introduced her to the god of thunder that Zeus grew increasingly lecherous when it came to his daughter. What once passed as fatherly touches began to linger, unyielding fingers drifting places that made her want to scrub her skin raw.

She of course had heard the stories. She knew what Zeus did when he desired something, he took and stole and ravaged once he set his sights on something. On someone.

And it terrified her. She felt what was coming, knew it was only a matter of time before Zeus’ violent lust finally found her. So she ran. Her feet took her to the very edge of her mother’s domain, not a single thought in her head except to flee, to escape, to run.

It was then that she blindly stumbled into the copse of trees where she now stood. It was there that in a great chariot pulled by two magnificent horses, the lord of the dead nearly ran her over.

Zeus would later begin the rumour that the evil god took her then and there, as she lay weak and defenceless on the ground. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. True, the close encounter knocked her to the ground, had winded her. But the hands that stilled the spooked horses above her, that cradled her face checking for any signs of injury were as gentle as a breeze.

For the first time, she found herself looking into the eyes of someone who listened, as though she was the single most important being in the cosmos. The lord of the dead heard her story, and upon its conclusion, wordlessly stood and helped her into the chariot, a simple “stay with me” on their lips.

She learned quickly that all the sardonic whispers of the god of the Underworld could not be further from the truth. Those rumours of his hideous face and corruption? They were all lies perpetuated by Zeus out of spite and ridicule. The true Hades, she found, was beautiful, existing only in the darkness below because of the bad hand they had been dealt. While Zeus was gifted all of Earth to rule, they were given the Underworld, and all its blood-soaked responsibilities.

It surprised her, how similar they were. She cultivated and nurtured life, yes, but the lord of the dead was nurturing in a different way, guiding lost souls and helping them find peace before they went to their final sleep or next life. Not cruel and bloodthirsty at all, but gentle and patient, listening to the story of each soul that entered the Underworld.

They were not as opposing as she was taught. Different as night and day, but still fulfilling the same role, orbiting around the same creation of life as the moon dances with the ocean.

Though she sought only a place of solace when she arrived, mutual curiosity ultimately bloomed into something more, something beautiful, and gentle, and as familiar as the ground beneath her feet. She found she was happy. She was away from her mother, her fields, everything she had ever known, but she was the happiest that she had ever been before.

It was not to last.

They spent a blissful year together until her mother found her, sending Hermes with a message raging that she return home. And she found for all of her initial longing, that she did not want to. Yes, she missed the richness of the earth, the brightness of her mother’s fields. But that was no longer her home.

The lord of the dead had woken that morning to an empty bed. Panicked and fleeing their palace, nothing could have prepared them for the feeling of frozen dread at the sight of Demeter’s daughter crumpled along the banks of the Styx, a half-eaten pomegranate clutched in her outstretched hand.

An inhuman cry found its way to Taylor’s ears as she was gathered up in warm safe arms. Soft utterances of “why” fell from trembling lips as her love comprehended what she had done.

To consume the food of the Underworld was an act of suicide in the eyes of the gods residing at Mount Olympus. To take a bite of the fruit that grew there was to remain trapped in the world below.

As much as her deed had bound them together, doing so had forever tied her to the Underworld, severing her right to call Olympus her home.

She had simply smiled. They lay together for hours, her love gently rocking her as she recovered from the sudden feeling of disconnection the fruit had elicited.

And together they wept for her loss, their future, and her new home beside the lord of the dead.

Her mother was furious. Devastated at her daughter’s choice of partner, she crossed the world above, killing crops, rendering the ground too salty to grow anything worth eating. Famine spread across her land, she had no choice but to return to the world of gods and splendour that was feeling less and less like home with each passing day.

Eventually a deal was struck. She would spend half the year on Earth and the rest of the year in the Underworld.

And the time was fast approaching when she could return at last. But that was not why she had made her way to this copse of trees today. No, she had a job to do here, something that she recently added to her routine of growth and bloom in her mother’s lands.

Entering the ring of trees, she revelled in the way the dark earth felt on her feet, approaching the centre of the clearing. There was a small divot in the middle of the ground there, only the size of her fist and barely noticeable in the rich dirt. It was before this small impression that she knelt, the fine white of her dress pooling around folded legs.

Gently, she ran her fingertips across the earth in front of her, gliding her hands into the ground. Where it looked as solid as a rock, she knew there to be a small deposit of rich soil. It was the most fertile she could find, carried it all the way from her mother’s fields to this place, the entrance to the Underworld.

Closing her eyes, she felt the energy gather in her fingers, building from within herself and the air around her. A sprout began to emerge from the ground, winding its way around her fingers and perching on her knuckles. Slowly removing her hands from the earth, she stared down with fondness at the little life curling itself around her arm.

Raising her arm, she gently stroked stem with her other hand, encouraging it to grow. That was the difference between her and her father, her love had insisted. Zeus consumed power, manipulated and pushed it to his own will. She merely redirected, using the energy around her to create not wreak havoc.

As the stem continued to wind upwards, she took a steadying breath, closing her eyes once again and redirecting the flow of energy to not only grow, but bloom. And as she opened her eyes, she saw before her a soft purple flower, petals edged with flecks of crimson and silver, a design she had only perfected in the past week.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she gently unwound the tangle from her arm and reshaped it to form a single stem. Finding the divot in the ground, she placed the flower upright in the fresh earth. And finally, she reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a tiny scrap of parchment, painstakingly tucking it into the folds of the petals. Placing a final kiss on the petals, she wordlessly rose and retreated back to the edge of the copse.

Bracing a hand on one of the ancient trees, she turned in time to see the small divot roar into a gaping hole in the ground, her flower swallowed up beneath the earth that poured into the opened depths. Within seconds, the hole had shrunk and filled, leaving no trace but the fresh earth that marked the centre of the clearing.

She smiled to herself before facing the lands she would be leaving behind in just a few short weeks.

“Only one more moon, my love.”

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

Far beneath the ground, where the air was still and cool, a black-robed woman strode through the cavernous space she called home. A far cry from the stifling, compressed labyrinth that most assumed her domain to be, this was a vaulting cavern, the space illumined not by the sun, but by the veins of luminous rock that wove its way up its walls like veins.

The chamber was enormous, large enough to fit every castle on Earth, and more. At one end of the vast area, a palace seemingly carved out of the rock rose proudly, its spires neither opulent nor humble. The rest of the cavern was divided by the river Styx that ran its way in a ring around the outskirts of the structure, leaving a vast inner ring and a more widespread outer ring. Passageways ran out from the edges of the cavern, each leading to a separate antechamber, not as vast as the main, but just as beautiful.

The glow of the rock walls webbed up the sides of the central expanse, giving way to an enormous marble ceiling, enchanted to change hue with the turn of the sun. Daylight on the surface was indicated by a pale blue stone, woven through with streaks of white, the night sky reflected as a dark almost black rock, studded with thousands of diamonds and precious stones that formed a blanket of twinkling lights just as mesmerising as the stars so far above.

She had only enchanted that ceiling a few years ago. Where stalactites once hung down like fangs, the rock had been smoothed back to create the illusion of an endless sky; a present for her love once she shyly confessed her yearning for the open air above her. How long they spent, tangled up together, staring at that ceiling, her love softly weeping tears of gratitude and quietly describing the constellations of her home world, the same configuration of stars appearing in the rock far far above them with a simple wave of the other woman’s hand.

Yes, for all the horrid tales of Hades, the brutal, bloodthirsty lord of the dead, she was a woman. As tall and as proud as the tales told, but without any of the repulsive ugliness that those stories implied. This was a woman with hair and skin as golden as the sun, eyes as green as the grass so far out of reach.

Those tales were only spread by Zeus as a mockery and retaliation for the goddess who was shouldered with the responsibility of caring for the dead. The goddess who should have ended up as twisted and jaded as the souls she worked with, but who took pride in her job, who saw its importance and valued her ability to help others find peace.

The woman in question was busy making her way back from the outer ring of the cavern. As she crossed the river Styx, a splash of colour, too iridescent for her world, caught her eye. Turning to the large plinth that rose from the middle of the river, her serene face broke out into a grin as bright as the glow of the surrounding rocks.

There on the low platform, the entrance point to the Underworld, stood a proud, purple flower, its colour a vibrant buzz against the muted, cool hues of the cavern.

One of Persephone’s gifts.

Rushing up the stone steps, she fell to her knees, taking the flower it into her hands and marvelling at its softness and life. It was beautiful. Each of Persephone’s gifts were, but this one held a sparkle, a gild she had not seen before that caused her smile to widen even more. It would seem her love had been practicing.

But she knew it wouldn’t last for long. Nothing from the world above did. But it could be preserved.

Drinking in one last sight of the rich colours, she closed her eyes and slowly slid her hands up the stem of the flower. As she did, a vein of gold crept up the surface of the plant, soon encasing the entire thing in a solid layer. The details remained intact, each curve and rise of the precious treasure kept fresh within the gold.

It was only when she opened her eyes that she noticed the tiny square of parchment wedged between two of the inner petals. Carefully prying it free, she eagerly unfolded it, heart racing. Messages were rare between the two women while they were apart.

Smoothing out the parchment, her eyes scanned the looping handwriting.

“I miss you more than words can say, my love. I am counting the days.”

Shaky hands brought the note to her lips as she kissed it gently. Refolding and securely tucking it into her robes, she rose with the golden flower now in her hand.

Walking along the central trail to the palace, she crouched at a bare patch of stone to the side of the path. With a wave of her hand, the stone melted and parted, as fluid as water, eagerly accepting the stem of the flower as she carefully positioned it in the newly formed indent.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she looked over the sea of gold that radiated from the foot of the castle, its newest addition swallowed up in an ocean of flowers sent down from the world above.

She looked out over her home; golden sea their love had made, over the luminous rock and marbled palace, over the enchanted sky, now turning from gold to muted pinks and purples as the sun set. Soon it would be full of joy again. She would be home.

“I will see you soon love,” she whispered, staring at the ceiling overhead. “I will see you very soon.”

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

That night, Taylor woke with a start, the scent of flowers still in her mind and a horrid feeling of absence in her heart.

#kaylor #kaylor fanfiction #kaylor fanfic #my writing #kaylor au #taylor swift #karlie kloss

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changingbirdpoems · 7 years

Text

poems about Julian going forward in time

aimed for what i hoped i wanted

but fell short and your shadows and your shellshocked morals drew me a picture of new Wanting impossible to escape.

first kiss

I don’t feel weird

I don’t know how I feel about it

All I know is I can still feel your tongue on my tongue

you taste so sweet

I want last night back

it’s difficult to say what is mine

your breath your words your heartbeat

your thoughts your smile in the moment?

I take what I don’t know and make it mean so much.

you have not been mine

and contrary to popular opinion

I understand and accept that

you will not be mine

and contrary to popular opinion

I know and expect that.

but

in the moment?

I swear you were mine and I was yours

and our breath our words our heartbeats

our thoughts our smiles were for each other

so fucking fly far away

because you’ve not going to leave here

after that night I’m more unsure

close the window I just want to feel your breath soft softly softer

there is too much fear of you caring a little of you never having been but not as much as with him and Different because you have a touch and a smile

Oh so different

I hold myself back from intimacy when it’s possible

Wistful is an understatement when I think of how much more that could have been, But I didn’t know, I was too unsure I lost myself but not to the moment. This is what you have left me with.

unexpected

After something that should change me I find myself cynical Where is my afterglow?

Well, it’s here only when I’m not.

mating rituals isolate species

There is so much we could make of this as the leaves are dripping with a ruined night my mouth has begun to taste like his the flavor in the transparent black is a discovery of bright.

There is so much we could take from there his hands are rougher than your words I didn’t know what to touch but his hair was mussed like my mind—we are not free, we are not birds.

There is so much we could remember car doors are wings but we are rooted in the moment clipped wings, in a sense, or frosted by December and unable to fly, but we can be wistful and we can lament.

I am here in America and I am in my room

pens a notebook a bed a door four walls

(not you)

I am missing something

it is very apparent as I feel alone and as if

it has been whole country since you touched me

I am here in our state and I am in my bed

sheets a comforter a frame a me two pillows

(not you)

something is missing

it is very apparent as I do not feel this empty

when you are here and you touch me

I am here in my town and I am in my mind

personalities confusion images words and imagination

I am thinking something

it is very apparent as I exist and your name is constant

and memories swirl like your breath when I touched you

I am here in my home and I am in my heart

arteries a muscle a strength and a life

there is so much here that changes

(like you)

oh god

the end

is in sight

where are my safety goggles

welcome back

A month passed much more quickly than expected How to measure? inches of rain, dying conversations, wasted time but not in minutes, this isn’t a fucking season of love and time is relative anyway.

mutually noncommital and more

no promises at all, but I am already looking forward. it feels like a memory, I have imagined it so many times. There’s an empty parking spot and it’s waiting for you. Silent, I am tremblingly careful to make no noise, and then your presence. parks at night, secret, dark, our habitat.

it is unclear now what is real and what is hope

I could make you fall

The harder I try to push you down, the safer I feel, the more I am enclosed by your arms: a feeling I long for of late. My laugh is strange in your mouth, but you are perfect on me.

let’s get lost

there is a taste to this spiderwebs, pinecones, trees, and wire fences? spiderwebs are reflections of what is always being created and how you cannot control something fragile. pinecones are just artsy observations, it’s all a laugh like the leaves against the sky that look like pools of water. trees are the only walls here in this forest of five roads collapsed in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel all. wire fences are filled with the curls of ivy and your fingers as you support this connection, so close that I rise with your breath.

texting is silly

it is funny how waiting for the vibration makes me insecure

see (the quiet in everything before summer is over and you are again too young for this empty quality of freedom we dance to and call escapism) you (who are here only to water your plants and kiss girls and wax philosophical and other such chores) later (a promise one learns to not trust).

early on

me, with my papers and you, with your high laugh and magnetic mischief

Desire rises and falls

behind classic novels and tiring worksheets, I emerge

our bodies know

For a few days, you are near, and for a few hours, you are close against plastic and barely hidden. My breath is so much more nervous, shaking with every freedom. Resounding against my palms, your heartbeat’s slower and instinct’s faster. This is me holding back. Daylight and deadlines hinder the progression of this that we want, but I realize that our bodies know it’s still summer.

third wheel

when kissing becomes a necessity

(almost a commodity)

there's little that can be stolen.

on a night when everything's contagious

and distance is in short supply,

words can become a solo effort.

if you aren't careful

you'll begin to care

and then when it's stopped being easy

your incompetencies will come out of hiding

and comparisons are inescapable

sick of hearing about, sick of seeing the face of who I hunted once this is nauseating while everyone else flutters around longing has passed but sadly I admit it will return as it did before, inexplicable

an apron dusted with flour, the dough is condensed and sticky air, chemistry really, molded by your hands. a flick of a tail and the whole building of ice has shattered, there is no time to melt. And if you ask me how I’m feeling, don’t tell me you’re too blind to see. Never gonna climb these stairs of appreciation when there is nothing at the top. I should have said something other than “happy,” although it did elicit a smile. The box of cracked wood is eroded by hands, the oils and pressures of years of being opened wearing down its engravings. There is a sound outside my window, like bells in the dead of summer. Shakespeare said it best when he said “Now, away!” Sometimes what looks like a spider is a hole on the wall that has been there for years. A mark in my house I should know, but still makes me look twice. Are you that spidery mark? Please do not come back in the snow and tell me that it is nice to see me. Grass survives everywhere, it is the most versatile and durable organism. an accented voice makes me think this, on my television with Never Before Seen footage that everyone has seen now. A slow day for the newsroom when my heart is spilling open. I thought about you on the way home today and how I am a fast learner. I thought about you and I thought about the work I had to do, and I thought about how I learned you faster than I did this equation. Learned you in a way that doesn’t matter. there’s a reason pretension is made up of “pre” and “tension.” Tension always follows when people are pretentious. sometimes the pretty ones do not win, and sometimes it is unclear who anyone is. Goodbye, my lover, goodbye my friend, James Blunt sounds like a horse all shaky and ridiculous like your breath Rolling to lie by your side, mask me, last chances. I have given you what you wanted from me. is that it.

Crawl in with me. I remember when that locker with pellet-like streams of light fit only me, and you kept me contained with musical instruments.

Upon Belatedly Reading Your Valediction

“Meaningless and used” is shatteringly accurate; those words a prophecy read too late. On the couple of cold days that you are here, instead of dialing your number I’ll remember how you think I’m too young to love but old enough to get you off. My silence will be the close. But it won’t and you’ll pull the door open every time because I’m weak and the way you want me is a drug. Sometimes there is nothing but the truth of how much I want you. A night spent sleepless and quiet thoughts of rhymes that bruise and separate you from caring. That’s it. I hope I leave you feeling meaningless and used.

A Sprout In Your Wake

What I hate the most is that you stole from my willing hands, And what clamors the loudest is that I do not regret,

after thought, the highs and lows of your enabled theft, because there are no treasures I have lost— they have simply been replaced;

As you ran, a seed fell out of your pocket, a creeping vine that I watered, enriched with my exhales and lost days within, enfolded.

With the progression of time the leaves will mold to my shape, stealing my breath in a way that is reminiscent of a past someone, with eyes quick to break and arms that swallow up.

some haiku in an absence

at least now I am aware that there is nothing that could feel like you in body and thoughts you will be the only one to have held me first and my hands will keep you imprinted in their grooves like my empty mouth calls out noiselessly as though there were ever a person who listened.

analyzing

unsure if I have been used or not define used; a simple concept but when attempting to pinpoint spins the grid, beep beep beep this alarm falls dangerously into the background of everyday sounds not perpetual, occasional pulling back into place, I once knew how this would go and prepared myself for both of our restlessness, approaching dauntingly like the law, which we aren’t exactly abiding by, although it’s a faded line that separates us - this is not something planned upon, it just breaks out claws reaching hungrily, maybe gentle if I stepped into this I have not been used, I suppose but still my mind switches to body heat

my first semblance of a poem in a while

i find myself to be the strangest colors raw brilliant curving under my fingernails, fending off contracts, handshakes, and other ways to bind one person to another. even the oldest books were written for eyes and hands, but my throat, will it see what lies just beneath veils of colorless, irredeemable noise? noise, which is only really air expressed it is in love with somebody it wants to change; that is where aches arise.

Half of what I say is meaningless But I say it just to reach you, Julian

I see the sidewalks lined with him, and I

place my foot as though a monster's in each crack, leaping like a child; I am a child, and so is his name Julian the child I envisioned as a child There are ferris wheels passing, and in each one Julian sits in the topmost car He is smoking and wearing that expression that disturbs me—the one that is almost loving and kind, the one I hate for him to make, the one he wears when he thinks he is being romantic.

Julian, Julian, oceanchild, calls me So I sing a song of love, Julian

And I jump back to how he is done, how he hopes he has left this place, how he has had the same Chemical Brothers album in his car for months and months Julian, in cadence with a Beatles song I sing a song of love to Julian, Julian does not blink because he thinks he's been around so long. He does not have the answers, he is still a child working things out. Oh, he is a man Julian, seashell eyes, windy smile, calls me So I sing a song of love, Julian

Asymmetrical eyes and the smallest spot on his shoulder where he can't feel my touch, or anyone's there was once a day where he said he just discovered he was not going to die, and I had so many questions but instead I only gave him a drawing I had made for his eighteenth birthday. Julian, windy smile, he calls me, and so I sing a song of love that he hears but is done giving energy. Julian, Julian, morning moon, touch me So I sing a song of love, Julian

His name hurts to hear and see When I cannot sing my heart I can only speak my mind, Julian

I have gone on standing, his thoughts vibrating into nothingness, as each time I decide that he can't break what isn't his half of what I say is meaningless and used, like what lies in his wake, as he hoped I remember how whenever we were out at night he had to pee in the woods, and how I always laughed, Julian! but I was speechless when he stopped kissing and hung suspended over me, asking How do you feel? Julian happy? When he came back from Europe and caught me unawares, in a store, with his little message, I smiled a loaded smile loaded with the friend I kissed when he was gone getting high, telling his friends the things that we did, and how he was my first, isn't that rich that's good, I wouldn't want you to not be happy. Julian, sleeping sand, silent cloud, touch me So I sing a song of love, Julian

he met me at the door and held me gently in my living room, with his arm in a blue sling and the construction worker in my kitchen How he made me want to touch until my hands fell apart I think I do not really hate that expression, it's just that it strikes me as a little insincere, and I wonder if it is the one he made for the girl he loved He did not go past my boundaries, I did, and I did not ask permission so I sing a song of love to Julian, who never called me but to say he was on his way or that he needed a place to park. He used to think of me, that's the thing calls me So I sing a song of love for Julian, Julian, Julian

and those eyes on me and those conversations turning night into morning He had his own taste—I was wrong to think everybody tastes the same. It is something I used to taste on command, but now it's gone Half-meaningless, I write this just to reach you, Julian still my cravingly remembering mouth must be satisfied with not his own, but his name

Julian

My mouth does not miss you. I am sorry, but My lips twist in remembrance and they know who you are, and when I am cold sometimes a flicker of something alights them, and your wandering, unsure smile is still there in my mind, but no, My mouth does not miss you.

Inherent

It would be a lie to say I no longer think of your skin-

subtly sticky on humid nights

Your chin rough, a few day’s growth sweetly jarring in contrast with soft shoulders

and soft mouth.

It is a memory- I decidedly make you a memory

of skin that was never close enough.

I will never touch you again- I cared, against you, with more than my hands.

I don’t want you here. Not in this garden. These plants weren’t grown for you, rather grown away from you– like sunflowers grow away from the dark. I don’t want to hear your voice, despite how the plants love the carbon dioxide of your exhale. It is a fading exhale.

3:23 in the afternoon and I am caught unawares, watering can in hand, warding off what could be called your thorns.

You are a human being, not a plant, and I no longer want to be touched. Save your poison. I am not on your side.

June 21

It is only a moment into the moment

but still I have this tremor, this

knowledge of the night unfolding

although all I am going to do is sleep and wake

and sleep and wake again

as though you weren’t pulsating through me

as though I didn’t shake in every moment this is the process to all things

you wouldn’t know you never close your eyes you never really open them, either.

It’s okay. We all find our way alone.

June 25

kept alert, I speak to you and you speak to me and I write this poem lineless because I don’t feel like putting any effort into shaping you

June 26

As if people were machines that could be oiled

Who do you think you are? We all waste What does it say about human nature that the beautiful ones are the loneliest? It says that we need more

than empty validation, a point you seem to never have gotten I can only hope that my hands don’t fall apart

July 1

Maybe I don’t want to operate within your metaphor. Not the page that you were afraid of, but a different page than yours.

Yes, that sounds right.

You were all there too. “Adorable.”

A string of thoughts, like the world

then set aside.

July 2

our heads can float forward as though underwater, when really they have just been resting on a car seat, music the only tide pulling us apart the sudden memories that you can’t shake the feeling of, and that keep you up past tiredness finding the right melody to sing the right song for the moment finding the Right in general

July 5

it was really my thoughts that were messy right then

so strange-

give me some air

July 6

defragment me the key is hidden in my properties give me blue space I don’t care how long it takes; I can run all night if I need to

but I am tired of being spread so thin because you can’t remember to press a button

July 8

raised skin blurred sky lights and human instruments we lie as far back as the chairs will go and try to become fluid fighting with headrests, you take my hand but there's this inconquerable ingrained wariness and a floating lack of trust above the music lighting matches with empty fire you blow mechanical cigarette vapor into my mouth the earth is expanding beneath us, you say, so slowly- the only way ancient gravity makes sense

your explanations are truthful, yet still disingenuous

July 16

this is really getting

frustrating

I don’t need you, I just need to know the reason for the radio silence.

July 24

even if we light all of the torches, i want you to keep your clothes on.

if this is made to decay, it’s all right;

i will compost with you

Someday, maybe, you will treat me fine

but for now, I feel comfortable having nothing.

July 27

if indeed there is a god whose attention determines activity then I am in his peripheral clinging to the flurries of life, dreaming of book jacket biographies dreadlocks and cages of birds. you have these theories, which I enjoy, and pocketed eyes that once (but no longer) rested on my skin, but now there’s a net below the trapeze. I am what I love and not what loves me, nicholas cage whispers unabashedly. there’s a sequence to each sparrow.

August 8

stereotypes aside, you really are very gentle.

August 9/10

You’re scary.

I find it all the more calming, this unsurety of yours in the face of my serenity. You want to know my thought process? I am doing what feels right, and I am releasing from need.

August 11

I must confess I’m glad I returned to this. The softness of stomach on stomach. I’m glad I don’t need to touch you, but I can.

August 15

nighttime rebellion, the boston tea party of sensation, leaves dropped one after another by indians into the unsuspecting harbor, laughing around the foreign substance as water tends to do your fingers unstoppable and determined to claim. a post-coital cigarette perches out the window, matching the moon with its fire as I nestle into your body with fingertips like graveyards, inhaling

I will let you treat me like this because I like to be pulled around by my hair and held gently, if uncaringly, vagabond hands pressed close. broken breath at my touch as I set sail for new zealand, your skin in storage and your moans tossed overboard.

Your Name is the Only Word That I Can Say

Your skin should have been named Laika, making love to the Arcade Fire like this, tucked away in a neighborhood, silently screaming your touch through my veins, the gentlest brush of tongue, painting the songs all over my body.

Addressed

I’m buying your music - building off your ruins. You burned down what never existed, I construct without materials.

Loveless and striding forward

Past

Why is it YOU who makes me want to quilt words? It’s like my fingertips were lying in motionless wait to be let down by you again. Not that you let me down; I wasn’t trying to change you. It was you It was you, just how you were. It was your disregard, it was the way everything was thoughts. There were fewer questions than I imagined, and a quieter ache. And when you lit And when you lit, I was tumbled over down the mountainside. The log sliced my leg but I went on. You don’t have time for Hallelujah but you have a lovely peace. We had this connection

We had this connection that wasn’t what you needed. Just like every one before. Just like every one before. But this one

But this one touched your back. I will never be sorry for how important you were to me. You released something. And even then I knew there wouldn’t be wildflowers.

words without thinking

quiet this is a place where promise is rain and nothing is ready for what it craves it begs for quiet for nothing for what I want from you as if the song I smiled to never settled my soul as if that rainy ride wasn’t a promise of peace as if there is ever a promise. you are candy apples and succulent flowers, ephemeral and sticky and not pure but dirty with meaning to me dirty with what I see in your asymmetrical eyes. you are rain spattering on a wooden deck, you are wooden popsicle sticks I bite on purpose you are wooden you are metal you are earth you are nothing that is good for me. helicopter pollen and my throat hurts but I sit outside in the yellow dust because I can reject the earth but it can’t reject me.

sleepy orange peel eyes cat fur lilacs the stench of a flower the ache of the grass. chocolate with lemon and ginger and black pepper you are the ache in my arms and legs, you are not you, you are everyone I ever wanted; I don’t want you I want to be wanted in return for all the desire I stockpiled and stored away but fills a room that could be open windows and air and sunlight.

if you could listen to music like I do you would collapse with the sorrow of it all–if you could love like I do you would be a blade of grass or a beetle crawling on its belly through the rain. you wouldn’t know anything, you would be denim and canvas and quiet.

inside me is a pear, too ripe and breaking apart with fluid too sweet to swallow too much syrup for what you can want for what you can be a plum apricot any fruit a burst of sweet in the back of the mouth and if berries the seeds in your teeth that want to be in your throat and planted inside you. rain-swollen leaves heavy above and dripping like my eyes are frozen like they need to melt like your hand can break the branches like your fingernails are tree bark.

why is it when I think of your hand on me I think of swollen raspberries in thickets of thorns and sticky sweetness that I could break through and run through with blood marks across my skin why do I think of blood oranges in my palm and want to clench and let the juice run through my fingers into the grass why are you the heavy haze in my heart when I don’t admire or trust you why do your eyes and crooked smile break my back and fill my spine with need and hunger why are you such dark honey that never washes off why are you a strawberry that stains why have I always wanted you

now that my mind is less fire I can see the quiet in you and the kindness that is peach honeysuckle music volume car seats essential oils and cotton. I can be the soft glory of my longing without it being you, without you pulsing through my veins–now you are a soft glow warming my mind towards sublime glory of feel, apart from you. you are a wicker bookshelf, a music box, a paper crane, a poem on a wall, not a punishing ache. you are, that’s all and nothing more– you are you are you are

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