#but for now ill just say: REHEARSING HIS OWN DEATH!

[archietransdrews]

and if i said archie was marked for death from the very beginning? and if i said that whenever he wears the letterman jacket the narrative starts treating him like jason, which is to say it starts trying to bury him alive?

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 6

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦,"

summary: joel finally let him make a woman out of you, as you both now in this together, just you and him.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 6

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 5

next | chapter 7

Another week had begun its slow, inevitable march toward Sunday, the day of the dance troupe’s performance, and every day felt more intense than the last. You were drowning in rehearsals, schoolwork, and the looming graduation that was just weeks away. Every minute of your day seemed spoken for, filled with the weight of responsibility and expectation. But even in the midst of all this, you and Joel found ways to be together.

Late at night, after everyone had gone to bed, you’d sneak out of your window and meet him in the truck parked a few blocks away. Or he’d call you, his voice a low, comforting murmur as you curled up in bed, the house quieter without your father’s overbearing presence. Your mother, wrapped up in her own world, turned a blind eye to your late nights, allowing you more freedom as long as you kept up appearances during the day. It was in these stolen moments, with the world asleep, that you felt the pull between you and Joel growing stronger.

Being with him was like finding refuge from a storm. His presence calmed you, his voice soothed you, and his touch—those rare, fleeting moments when your hands brushed or when he held you close—ignited something deep inside you. You were falling for him, and you knew it. It wasn’t just infatuation or some fleeting crush. It was the kind of love that snuck up on you slowly, like a vine wrapping around your heart, binding you to him with every passing day.

Joel felt it too, though he struggled to name it. He’d never intended to fall in love again, especially not with you, so young and full of life. But there it was, this fierce protectiveness that had morphed into something much deeper. It was in the way he thought about you constantly, the way his heart twisted when he saw you smile, the way he ached for you in ways that scared him. Love had a way of finding him, even when he thought he’d shut the door on it for good.

Yet, neither of you spoke of it. The word “love” hung in the air, unspoken, because saying it out loud would change everything. So you let it linger, allowing the unspoken bond to grow, rich with possibilities and fears.

At the church, rehearsals were growing more intense with each passing day. Jemima was absent, ill with the flu, and it had spread like wildfire that she and Ben were expecting their first child. The news sent waves of excitement through the troupe, but it also left Ben in charge, his presence more pronounced now that Jemima wasn’t there to temper him.

You began to notice things about Ben that made your skin crawl. He wasn’t just watching you; he was watching all of the younger girls too, his eyes lingering just a little too long. He was full of compliments and encouragements, and while the other girls seemed to lap it up, something about it felt wrong to you. It was subtle—just a hint of something dark lurking beneath his charming exterior. But you could sense it, like the distant rumble of thunder on a clear day.

After rehearsal, you decided to stay behind in the church, needing a moment to yourself. The soft strains of gospel music echoed through the empty hall, and you let it wash over you, trying to clear your mind. Emma was there too, chatting away about the upcoming performance, and to your surprise, Ellie had stayed as well, snapping pictures on her phone.

“These are for the behind-the-scenes album I’m putting together,” she said with a grin, her camera clicking away as she captured the stained glass windows, the pews, the half-empty stage. Ellie had a sharp eye, always finding beauty in the mundane.

Just as you were starting to relax, the heavy oak door creaked open, and Ben walked in, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. “Afternoon, girls,” he greeted, his voice smooth as ever.

“Afternoon, Ben,” you, Emma, and Ellie chorused in return, each in your own tone. Emma’s voice was bright and eager, yours polite but reserved, and Ellie’s—Ellie’s had a slight edge to it.

“You’re all doing great,” Ben continued, his gaze sweeping over you. “The routine is really coming together. I’m impressed. Just a few more adjustments, and you’ll be perfect for Sunday.”

Emma giggled, clearly pleased with his praise. “Thanks, Ben. We’ve been working hard.”

Ben smiled at her, and then his eyes settled on you, and you felt that uncomfortable prickle again. “And you, you’ve really found your rhythm. It’s good to see,” he said, his voice dipping into something softer, more personal.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Thanks, Ben. Just trying to keep up.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Oh, you’re doing more than keeping up. You’re leading the pack. Really standing out.” His compliment was laced with something that made you want to shrink back, but you held your ground, refusing to let him see your discomfort.

Ellie, who had been quietly observing from behind her camera, stepped forward. “You know, Ben, the girls have been working really hard. Maybe you should give them a break and let them have some fun,” she said, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

Ben’s smile faltered just a fraction. “Fun is important too, Ellie,” he said smoothly, but there was an edge to his voice now. He turned his attention back to you. “Anyway, keep it up. I'll see you girls tomorrow for another practice," You and Emma nodded and say goodbye to him.

He lingered a moment longer, his eyes flicking between you and Ellie, before finally walking away, leaving the three of you in a heavy silence.

Ellie waited until he was out of earshot before turning to you and Emma. “Is it just me or something's off with that new Pastor?"

Emma frowned, confused. “What do you mean? Ben’s great. He’s just being supportive.”

Ellie shook her head, her expression serious. “Supportive, sure. But there’s something else. I don’t know, he just… he gives me the creeps.”

You chuckled softly as you bent down, cooling down your sore leg muscles after the intense rehearsal. “He’s just being nice, Ellie,” you said, glancing up at her with a small smile. “He’s new in town, and Jemima just got back here after years. Maybe he’s still adjusting.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, unconvinced. “Yeah, but still, something’s off. Have you noticed how he barely interacts with Jemima? It’s like they’re not even married.”

Emma, sitting nearby and stretching her arms, shrugged. “That’s not so unusual. They got married really young, and Jemima’s father pretty much arranged the whole thing. Sometimes that kind of marriage starts off with all the passion in the world, but then, over time, it fades. You get bored. What was once exciting becomes mundane, especially if you’re not with the right person. I just hope that doesn’t happen with Jim and me.”

Emma’s words echoed in your mind, and you found yourself lost in thought. You and Joel were in that heated, intoxicating phase where every touch felt electric, every glance held a thousand unspoken promises. But what if it didn’t last? What if the fire between you eventually died down, leaving only ashes of what once was? Could Joel grow tired of you, the way Ben seemed to have grown distant from Jemima?

Ellie noticed your distraction and nudged you gently. “Hey, you okay? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Emma turned her attention to you as well, her eyes curious. “Yeah, you’re awfully quiet. What about you and this new boy you’ve been spending time with? Have you tried, you know… to please him?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you shook your head quickly. “No, I haven’t. He said he doesn’t want to rush things if I’m not ready.”

Emma smiled warmly, her eyes soft with understanding. “Aw, he sounds sweet. Taking things slow is good.”

Ellie, however, wasn’t about to let the conversation end there. “Wait, who’s this boy? Jamie?” The mention of his name made your heart tighten, a pang of discomfort cutting through you.

Emma was quick to correct her. “No, not Jamie. She broke up with him. This one’s new.” Emma leaned in closer, a mischievous grin on her face. “She said she wants to please him, and you know… blow him.”

Ellie wrinkled her nose, half in disgust and half in amusement. “Gross! But seriously, who is this guy? You’re being so mysterious about him.”

You hesitated, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like a stone sinking in deep water. There was no way you could tell them the truth—not about Joel, not about the intense, forbidden love that had blossomed between you two in the shadows. Instead, you kept your tone light, trying to mask the storm of emotions swirling within you.

“So,” you began cautiously, your voice a little shaky, “what if there’s someone… someone who makes you feel everything at once? Like, when I’m with him, it’s like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and it’s terrifying, but it’s also exhilarating, like I could just… fly.”

Emma, who was a little older and more experienced in these matters, tilted her head thoughtfully. “That sounds intense. But in a good way, right? Like, you’re feeling things you’ve never felt before?”

You nodded, grateful for her understanding. “Yeah, exactly. But it’s also scary, you know? Like, what if I’m the only one feeling this way? What if… what if he doesn’t feel the same, or he’s just—”

Ellie, who was the youngest but no less insightful, cut in. “Boys are confusing. I don’t understand them half the time. But if he’s making you feel like that, it sounds like he’s important to you. Have you talked to him about it? Like, really talked?”

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. “Not really. It’s hard to explain. I’m not sure if I’m even making sense to myself. It’s like… when I’m with him, everything else fades away, and it’s just us. But then I start thinking—what if I’m just dreaming? What if he’s not really into me the way I’m into him? What if… what if I’m not enough?”

Emma leaned forward, her gaze steady and warm. “Love is a gamble, always. It’s putting your heart out there, knowing it might get hurt. But from what you’re saying, it sounds like you care about him a lot. And that’s not something to take lightly. The fact that he makes you feel like you’re flying… that’s something special. Don’t be afraid of it.”

Ellie, despite her inexperience, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, maybe I don’t get boys, but I do know that if someone makes you feel that way, you’ve got to go for it. But also… protect yourself. Make sure he’s worth it.”

You took a deep breath, their words comforting but not fully easing the uncertainty gnawing at you. “It’s just… I’m falling for him, I think. Really falling. But I keep wondering—what if he doesn’t catch me? What if I just… crash?”

Emma nodded thoughtfully, her eyes soft with understanding. "If he’s showing you that he cares, even in small ways, that’s a good sign. Maybe he does have feelings for you, but sometimes guys—especially older guys—are more complicated. They’ve been through stuff, you know? Past relationships, heartbreaks, things that might make them scared to fall again.”

You froze for a moment, realizing your slip-up, but quickly tried to cover it. "Wait, how do you know he's older than me? I never said that."

Emma smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn’t have to. The way you describe him—how he’s cautious, how he’s been through stuff—it’s not hard to guess. Sounds like he’s probably some college guy you met at a party or something.”

You bit your lip, Emma’s words hitting closer to home than she knew. Joel had his scars, that much you could tell. You’d seen the way he sometimes looked at you, as if he wanted to reach out but something held him back. The fear of history repeating itself, perhaps, of loving and losing all over again.

“But if he’s giving you mixed signals,” Emma continued gently, “it might be worth talking to him about it. Slowly, of course. Just… open up the conversation. Let him know how you’re feeling. Sometimes they just need a little nudge to be honest about what’s going on in their head.”

You sighed, thinking of Joel’s careful distance, the way he always seemed to pull back just when things got too intense. “I’m just scared, you know? We were talking about Ben and Jemima earlier, how things can start off so strong, and then… fade away. What if that happens to us? What if we’re so in love now, but then he gets bored, or… or realizes he doesn’t actually want me?”

Emma reached over, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. “That’s a valid fear, especially with what we see around us. But relationships are built on more than just the initial spark. It’s about growing together, working through the ups and downs. If you’re both willing to put in the effort, to communicate and be honest with each other, there’s no reason it has to fade. But you have to trust each other too.”

You nodded slowly, taking in her words. Trust. That was the foundation of everything, wasn’t it? And while you knew you trusted Joel with your life, trusting him with your heart was a different matter entirely. The idea of opening up that conversation with him, of laying your feelings bare, was terrifying—but maybe it was the only way to move forward.

“Just… take it one step at a time,” Emma added softly. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just be honest with yourself and with him, and see where it leads.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosening just a little. 

Ellie leaned in, eyes wide with curiosity. "He’s older? Just tell me who it is, c’monnn!"

You felt your heart race, a mix of panic and amusement bubbling up inside you. If only they knew who you were actually talking about. You shot Ellie a look, half-joking, half-serious. “Oh, if you found out who I’m talking about, you’d… you’d probably kill me.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Now you have to tell me. Who is this mystery guy? Don’t leave me hanging!”

You shook your head, laughing nervously as you tried to steer the conversation away from the dangerous territory it was headed into. “Nope, not happening. But trust me, he’s… someone who cares a lot about me. And that’s what matters, right?”

Emma rolled her eyes good-naturedly, clearly amused by your evasiveness. “Alright, keep your secrets. But just know, we’re here for you, okay? If you ever need to talk… or if you just want to gush about how amazing he is.”

Ellie gave you a teasing nudge. “Yeah, yeah. But seriously, if he’s treating you right, that’s all that matters. If not, we'll kick his senior ass,"

You chuckled at Ellie’s playful threat, though the thought of her actually kicking Joel’s ass was beyond ironic. If only she knew the truth—she’d be horrified, not to mention utterly confused.

As the three of you wrapped up your conversation and began gathering your things to head home, you felt a mix of relief and longing. Joel had promised to take you to the night fair in Houston tomorrow, a rare escape from your daily routine, and the idea of spending the night at his Houston house afterward made your heart race. You’d already told your mom another carefully crafted lie, saying you’d be staying at Ellie’s for the night. Your mom never doubted you, never checked. She believed in the goodness of her preacher’s daughter, convinced that you were beyond sin.

Lately, you found yourself praying more, asking for forgiveness for the web of lies you were spinning, for the thoughts and actions that felt so dirty, so far from the holy path you were supposed to walk. You quoted scriptures to yourself, verses about purity and truth, trying to cling to some semblance of the person you used to be. But each time you whispered those prayers, guilt weighed heavily on your soul like a stone sinking deeper into a dark, endless sea.

As you stepped outside the church and said your goodbyes to Emma and Ellie, you felt a sudden chill. Just as you turned to leave, Ben appeared seemingly out of nowhere, making you jump.

“Oh, Ben! Lord, you scare me,” you exclaimed, trying to steady your racing heart.

He chuckled softly, an apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to. Just finishing up some business with the church elders.”

You nodded, still a bit rattled. “I thought you’d gone home already.”

He shook his head, looking at you with those intense eyes that always seemed to linger a moment too long. “Not yet. I had a few things to take care of. Are you heading home now?”

You nodded again, more out of politeness than anything else. “Yeah, I’m walking this time."

"No ride from your friend today?" Ben asked again, "No," You answered, "He's busy," you smile at him politely.

Ben’s expression brightened, and he offered, “Do you need a lift? I’m heading to Burger King, and it’s on the way to your place.”

You hesitated, a little voice inside you whispering to say no. But you’d been raised to never refuse a kind offer, especially from someone who seemed to mean well. It was one of the many lessons your father had drilled into you.

“Sure, that would be nice,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Ben smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up, “Great. My car’s just around the corner.”

Ben’s car ride was quiet at first, an awkward silence settling between the two of you. You stared out the window, the streets passing by in a blur, trying to shake the unease that had crept into your chest. But the silence grew heavier, so you decided to break it.

“So, you lived in Mexico before coming here?” you asked, glancing over at him. “How long were you there?”

Ben’s face lit up at the question, the tension in the car easing as he spoke. “Yeah, I did. Jemima and I moved there right after we got married. I was a preacher there, too. The first year was tough—language barriers and all. But now I’m fluent in Spanish. Mexico… it’s an incredible place.”

He launched into stories about his time in Mexico, his voice warm and animated. He spoke highly of the country, describing the vibrant culture, the beautiful landscapes, and the deep faith of the people he ministered to. You found yourself listening intently, the charm in his voice almost infectious.

“You ever been to Mexico?” he asked suddenly, turning the conversation back to you.

You shook your head, a little embarrassed. “No, I’ve never really been anywhere.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. “You should go someday. It’s life-changing.”

As he continued to speak, occasionally cracking jokes that were surprisingly funny, you couldn’t help but notice how likable he seemed. He had a way of making you feel comfortable, his words smooth and reassuring, and you found yourself relaxing a bit in his presence.

Before long, you arrived at Burger King. Ben pulled up to the drive-thru and asked, “What do you want? My treat.”

“Oh, no, I’m good. Thanks,” you replied, not wanting to be a bother.

But Ben insisted, ordering something for you anyway. “Trust me, you’ll like it,” he said with a grin.

As you waited in the drive-thru line, he pulled out his phone, showing you photos from his time in Mexico. The images were stunning—vibrant markets, serene beaches, and old churches with intricate architecture.

“Wow, these are beautiful,” you murmured, genuinely impressed.

“Yeah, it was a special time in my life,” Ben replied, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

You couldn’t help but feel drawn in by his stories and the way he spoke of his experiences with such passion. Yet, beneath it all, there was still that small, persistent feeling in your gut—something you couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

You listened to Ben’s words, nodding politely, but that uneasy feeling in your stomach only grew stronger. His tone had shifted, taking on the familiar cadence of the sermons you’d heard your father give a thousand times. He began talking about the girls in Mexico, how they were deeply religious, involved in church activities, just like you and your friends.

“It’s good, you know,” Ben continued, his voice warm with approval. “To have a group of young people who still believe in God and walk in His ways. Especially girls your age—this is the time when they’re most likely to stray, to rebel and search for themselves. Like your friend, Emma. How old is she?”

“She’s 20,” you replied, wondering why he was suddenly bringing Emma into the conversation.

Ben nodded thoughtfully. “So she’s the oldest in your dance group?”

“Yeah,” you answered, feeling a slight unease. You couldn’t help but notice that Ben didn’t seem to pay much attention to Emma, probably because she was older, and now that you thought about it, his attention had always been more focused on the younger girls.

“Girls around that age need God the most,” Ben said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “That’s when the temptations are strongest—sex before marriage, drugs, alcohol… it’s important to stay on the right path, to keep close to God.”

You nodded again, but internally, you were starting to feel a bit trapped, as if you were listening to one of your father’s lectures all over again.

Ben shifted the conversation to Ellie. “And how old is Ellie?”

“She’s 16,” you replied, wondering why he was so interested.

“Ah, Ellie… she’s a bit of a tomboy, isn’t she?” Ben remarked, a hint of disapproval in his tone. “Dresses like a boy… but, you know, girls should embrace their femininity, dress like girls. It’s how God made them, after all.”

His words made you cringe inwardly, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from saying something you might regret. His opinions were starting to feel like a lecture on how you and your friends should live your lives, and it was beginning to make you feel nauseated.

Then, suddenly, he looked over at you, his eyes lingering a little too long. “And you… how old are you?”

You tell him your age, trying to keep your voice steady. Ben’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. “You look younger than your age. Act younger too. I wouldn’t have guessed,"

The comment sent a chill down your spine, and you found yourself wondering why he was so focused on everyone’s age. Before you could dwell on it too long, the drive-thru window opened, and the employee handed over the bag of food.

“Here we go,” Ben said with a smile, taking the bag. The momentary distraction was a relief, but that uncomfortable feeling still lingered in the back of your mind, making you question why Ben was so interested in all these details.

Ben handed you the bag of food with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You took it, muttering a quick “thank you” as you tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. The rest of the drive was spent in silence, with you staring out the window, lost in thought. The houses and trees blurred together as you tried to shake off the lingering discomfort that Ben’s questions had stirred in you.

Before you knew it, you were in front of your house. Ben pulled up to the curb and turned to you with that same smile. “Here we are,” he said. “It was nice talking to you. Remember, if you need anything, anything at all, you can reach out to me, okay? I’d be happy to help.”

You forced a smile and nodded, even though your mind was already halfway out the door. “Thanks, Ben. I appreciate it.”

As you stepped out of the car and closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that the conversation was over. You waved goodbye as Ben drove off, then turned and walked up to your front door.

Inside, the familiar smell of home greeted you, comforting in its simplicity. You found your mom in the kitchen, prepping ingredients for dinner.

“Mama, I'm home,” you said, setting the food on the counter.

She glanced up from her chopping board and smiled. “Hello, sweetheart. Who dropped you off?”

“Ben,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

“Ben?” your mom echoed, her brow furrowing slightly before she nodded. “Alright, then. Go get cleaned up, and then come help me with dinner, okay?”

“Okay, Mama,” you said, grateful for the chance to escape to your room for a moment.

You hurried upstairs, your thoughts still swirling from the strange conversation with Ben. As you washed your hands and face, you tried to focus on the routine, grounding yourself in the simple actions. But Ben’s words kept echoing in your mind, especially the way he’d looked at you, his questions about your friends, and the way he’d emphasized that you could reach out to him anytime.

A shiver ran down your spine as you recalled the way his gaze had lingered on you, the way he’d seemed to be sizing you up. You pushed the thoughts aside, trying to focus on the here and now, on helping your mom with dinner and the promise of a normal evening.

But even as you headed back downstairs to the kitchen, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something about Ben just wasn’t right.

***

Joel sat heavily on one of the barstools at Tommy’s place, a glass of whiskey in hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light, reflecting the turbulence of his thoughts. It had been a rough day, and he welcomed the soothing burn of the alcohol, hoping it might dull the ache of his internal struggle. Tommy, ever the supportive brother, poured himself a drink and settled beside Joel, the two of them sinking into the comfortable chaos of their late-night ritual.

Joel took a moment to catch his breath as he dialed Ellie’s number, the familiar, comforting weight of his phone in his hand. He left a quick voicemail, letting her know not to wait up for him, and that he had a spare key if she needed it. “Just lock up when you head to bed,” he said, his voice rough but warm. As he hung up, he turned his attention back to the whiskey, its amber glow mirroring the turbulence inside him.

The amber liquid seemed to dance in the dim light, reflecting the stormy skies of his mind. He took a deep sip, savoring the burn as it traced a fiery path down his throat. The warmth was soothing, but it did little to calm the storm raging within him. The ache in his chest felt like an endless ocean, where the waves were laced with memories and fears.

As he sat there, the world around him became a blur of muted colors and distant sounds. His thoughts drifted to you, the person who had entered his life like a sudden gust of wind through a cracked window—unexpected, refreshing, and profoundly unsettling. You were like a burst of sunlight breaking through the relentless clouds of his past, casting long shadows of doubt and hope across the landscape of his heart.

Joel had always been a man of walls and distance, his heart a fortress built from the rubble of loss and pain. After the death of his wife and daughter, he had fortified himself against the world, each brick a testament to his fear and grief. But you, with your light and laughter, had begun to chip away at those walls, like the slow, persistent erosion of the sea against a stubborn cliff.

He was beginning to realize the depth of his feelings for you, but it was like trying to catch a falling star with bare hands—beautiful, elusive, and fraught with danger. You had stirred something in him that he thought was long dead, a flicker of warmth in the cold expanse of his heart. It was as if you had reignited a fire that he had buried deep beneath layers of sorrow and self-preservation.

Yet, with every flicker of warmth came a wave of fear. Joel’s desire to protect you was intertwined with his dread of falling too deeply, of losing himself in a love that might only lead to more pain. He was terrified of opening up, of allowing himself to be vulnerable again. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into the abyss of his own emotions, afraid to take that final step.

The night wore on, and Joel’s thoughts remained tangled in the delicate threads of his emotions. The whiskey continued to burn its way through him, a temporary balm for the deeper ache that lingered just beneath the surface. As he drank, he found himself grappling with the realization that, for the first time in a very long time, he felt truly alive—an unsettling, exhilarating sensation that both frightened and exhilarated him.

Tommy watched him, the lines of concern etched deeply on his face as he took in Joel’s introspective silence. “You alright there, brother? Something on your mind?”

Joel looked up, the weight of his feelings heavy in his gaze. “Yeah, just... thinking about things."

Tommy leaned in, his eyes steady and empathetic. The soft strains of “Helplessly Hoping” played in the background, its melancholic melody wrapping around the room like a comforting blanket. He adjusted the volume on his Bluetooth stereo, the music providing a gentle backdrop to their conversation.

“You can talk to me, Joel,” Tommy said, his voice steady and reassuring. “What’s got you so wrapped up in your thoughts?”

Joel took a deep breath, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he considered his response. The song’s delicate notes seemed to echo his own uncertainty. He knew he couldn’t lay everything bare—there were things he couldn’t quite put into words, and a person he wasn’t ready to reveal.

“It’s... complicated,” Joel began, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid. “There’s someone in my life who’s making me rethink a lot of things.”

Tommy’s interest piqued, but he remained patient. “Complicated how? If you need advice, I’m here.”

Joel hesitated, the words feeling too heavy to articulate. “I’ve been closed off for a long time. Lost my way after... well, after everything. And now... I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s like she’s pulled me out of this dark place I’ve been in.”

Tommy’s expression softened, sensing the depth of Joel’s struggle. “So this person, she’s important to you?”

Joel nodded slowly, his voice rough with emotion. “Yeah. She’s... making me feel alive again. But it’s not simple. I’m afraid of what it means, and I’m scared of letting myself fall too deep.”

Tommy took a thoughtful sip of his drink, considering Joel’s words. “You know, sometimes the hardest part is letting go of the past. You’ve been through a lot, Joel. But if this person is bringing light into your life, maybe that’s something worth holding onto.”

Joel glanced at Tommy, his eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and apprehension. “But what if it’s just a fleeting feeling? What if I’m setting myself up for more hurt?”

Tommy shook his head, his demeanor calm and grounded. “Nothing in life is guaranteed. But you can’t keep living in fear of what might happen. Sometimes you have to take a chance, even if it’s scary. You’ve got to ask yourself if the risk is worth the potential for happiness.”

Joel considered Tommy’s words, the song’s lyrics mingling with his thoughts like a haunting reminder of his inner turmoil. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do,” Tommy replied. “Love’s not easy. It’s messy and unpredictable, but that’s part of what makes it so powerful. If you’re feeling something genuine, maybe it’s worth exploring, even if it means facing your fears.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, the weight of Tommy’s advice settling over him. The whiskey had lost some of its warmth, replaced by a cold clarity that made his choices seem more imminent. “I just don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Tommy clapped Joel on the back, a gesture of camaraderie and support. “You won’t know unless you try."

The room fell silent, save for the soft strains of the song and the occasional clink of glasses. Joel’s mind raced with the possibility of what could be, the fear and excitement warring within him. He knew the path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, he felt a glimmer of hope—a faint light guiding him through the darkness.

***

The night fair in Houston was alive with energy and light, a vibrant spectacle against the dark sky. As you and Joel arrived, the fairgrounds were bustling with people, the air filled with the sweet scent of cotton candy and the tantalizing aroma of various foods from the stalls.

Joel parked the car and you both walked hand in hand through the fair. The distant music of carnival rides and the laughter of children filled the air. Brightly colored lights illuminated the various attractions, casting a magical glow over the scene.

You and Joel started with the classic fare: fluffy cotton candy, crisp corn dogs, and a shared bucket of buttery popcorn. You laughed as Joel tried to guess which food would be the most calorie-laden, joking about how he was saving up for a “cheat day” in honor of the fair. The two of you wandered through the stalls, stopping occasionally to admire the trinkets and games.

At one point, you spotted the towering Ferris wheel, its lights twinkling like a cascade of stars against the night sky. You eagerly suggested riding it, and Joel, though hesitant at first, agreed with a soft chuckle. As the Ferris wheel slowly lifted you high above the fairgrounds, you marveled at the breathtaking view of the city below. The lights danced like fireflies, and for a moment, everything felt serene and perfect.

Afterward, you both ventured into the various game booths, trying your luck at the ring toss, shooting galleries, and more. Joel’s competitive spirit shone through as he focused intently on a ring toss game, and with a triumphant grin, he managed to win you a large, cuddly teddy bear.

You clutched the bear tightly, beaming up at Joel. “You did it! Thank you!”

Joel chuckled, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the festive lights around you. “I promised I’d win you something special, didn’t I?”

You hug him and then saw a photobooth, "Oh my god! They have photobooth, let's go, Joel!"

Joel followed you to the photobooth, his initial reluctance evident in the furrow of his brow. “Come on, doll. I told you, I don’t like my picture taken. I’m not exactly a fan of how I look in photos.”

You tugged on his hand, laughing as you pulled him towards the booth. “Oh, come on, Joel. It’ll be fun! And besides, we don’t have any photos of us together. I want to remember this night.”

Joel sighed, but the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Alright, alright. But don’t expect me to be smiling too pretty.”

Inside the photobooth, you both squeezed in, the cramped space adding to the charm of the moment. You set the timer and started with silly faces, pulling exaggerated expressions that made Joel chuckle despite himself. You blew kisses at him and cheekily tried to steal a few pecks, each one making him smile more genuinely.

Joel’s smiles grew softer, his eyes tender as he watched you. In the final frame, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, which prompted you to pull him closer. The moment turned more intimate, and you both ended up sharing a sweet, lingering kiss, captured forever in the final photo.

When the strip of photos emerged, you grinned at the sequence of images. Each picture captured a different facet of your shared joy and affection. You turned to the attendant and asked, “Do you have a pen?”

After receiving a pen, you carefully wrote on the photo strip, “Me and Joel. Houston.” You then showed Joel the photos, laughing as you did. “Look at these! They’re so cute. I’m keeping one for myself.”

Joel took the photo strip, his gaze soft as he looked at the images. “They turned out pretty good, huh?” He smiled, his tone warm and genuine.

You carefully folded one photo and tucked it into your wallet, a small keepsake of your time together. Joel slipped his into his wallet, keeping it close. “I’ll keep mine with me too,” he said, a hint of emotion in his voice. “It’s a nice reminder of tonight.”

As you both left the photobooth, the night air felt a bit cooler, but the warmth between you lingered. Joel’s gestures and the shared laughter had added a special touch to the evening. The fair had been a whirlwind of excitement, but it was these small, tender moments that made the night unforgettable.

As the night wore on, you both decided to head back to the house in Houston. The drive was filled with playful banter and comfortable silence. Joel’s excitement about showing you his latest project was palpable.

Arriving at the house, Joel led you inside. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

You followed him up the stairs to the master bedroom, the anticipation evident in his step. When you entered the room, you were struck by how beautifully it had been transformed. The walls were a rich, warm brown, and the classic-modern furnishings blended seamlessly with a touch of Southern charm. The bed was made with crisp, white linens, and the room was thoughtfully decorated with subtle touches that made it feel inviting and elegant.

“Oh, Joel,” you said, your eyes wide with admiration. “This is amazing. Did you really do all this by yourself?”

Joel nodded, a hint of pride in his expression. “Yeah. I figured if we’re going to be spending a lot of time here, it should be comfortable. We’ve been making do with the sofa in the upstairs balcony, and I didn’t want you to keep feeling cramped.”

You walked around the room, touching the smooth surfaces and taking in the details. “It’s perfect. I love it. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Joel’s gaze softened as he watched you. “I wanted it to be a nice space for us. You’ve been spending a lot of time here, and I wanted you to feel at home. This is our place now.”

You looked back at him, touched by his gesture. “Thank you, Joel. It’s more than I could have imagined. It feels like a real home.”

Joel’s eyes held a mixture of affection and vulnerability. “I’m glad you like it. It’s important to me that you’re comfortable."

You placed the teddy bear on the bedside and flopped onto the bed, the plush comfort enveloping you. You patted the space beside you with a playful smile. “Come on, join me."

Joel hesitated for a moment, then slowly shrugged off his jacket, placing it carefully on the chair. He set his phone and wallet on the nightstand, his movements deliberate and unhurried. With a deep breath, he settled onto the bed beside you, the mattress giving slightly under his weight.

The bed was indeed as comfortable as it looked, and you felt a sense of contentment settle over you as you nestled closer to Joel. He positioned himself beside you, his presence warm and reassuring. For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift, leaving just the two of you in this peaceful cocoon.

Joel’s hand found yours, their touch a simple yet profound connection. He glanced at you, his eyes reflecting a blend of affection and introspection. “You alright?”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “Yeah, just... happy. You make me really happy. Thank you, Joel.”

Joel’s lips curved into a tender smile before he leaned in and kissed you. The kiss was both passionate and soft, a dance of longing and tenderness that spoke more than words ever could. It was as if in that single moment, you both were saying everything that words might fail to express.

When you finally pulled back, you looked into his eyes, your voice steady but filled with earnest emotion. “Joel, I think I’m ready.”

Joel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Ready for what?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your words. “I’m ready for you.”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. “Sweetheart, it’s okay if you’re not. I don’t want to rush you into anything. We can take our time.”

You shook your head, your resolve unwavering. “No, I’m ready. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Joel’s gaze softened, but he was still cautious. “I want to make sure you’re absolutely certain. This is a big step, and I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

The more you talked, the more you felt a growing sense of frustration. You shifted away from him, sitting up and turning to face him, your emotions bubbling to the surface. “What’s wrong with you, Joel? Why do you keep pushing me away?”

Joel’s voice was gentle, trying to calm you. “It’s not that, darlin’. I just want to make sure you’re ready. It’s important to me that you feel secure.”

Your eyes filled with a mix of hurt and desperation. “Is it because I’m no longer a virgin? Because I’m not pure? Because of what Jamie did to me?”

Joel's eyes filled with a deep sorrow as he reached out to hold your hand, but you pulled away, your voice trembling with anguish. "What? Baby, it’s not that..."

Before Joel could finish, you cut him off, your words laced with desperation. "Because I'm dirty? Is that it?"

Joel's face crumpled with pain, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it at all. It’s never been about you being dirty.”

You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to convey his feelings without causing you more hurt. “Then what is it? I need to know, Joel.”

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “It’s about protecting you. You've been through a lot, and I’m scared of making things worse for you. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me. This... this is about making sure that when we take this step, it’s because we both feel right about it, not because of anything else.”

Your heart ached with the raw honesty in his voice. “I’m not trying to prove anything, Joel. I just... I want us to be close. I thought we were ready.”

Joel’s hand reached out again, but this time you let him take it. His grip was firm but gentle. “I know you do. And I want that too. But I also want to be sure that we’re both in the right place. I don’t want to rush things and have you regret it. I care about you too much for that.”

The sincerity in his voice, combined with the tenderness of his touch, began to ease the tumult inside you. “I’m sorry if I’ve been pushing too hard,” you whispered, your voice softening.

Joel shook his head, a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s natural to feel this way."

"But, Joel, I'm ready. You won't hurt me." You said, trying to let Joel know how much you trusted him.

Joel hesitated, searching your eyes for any doubt. "Are you really sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, taking his large hand in yours, marveling at the size difference. Slowly, you brought his hand to your lips, kissing it gently. Then, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking it slowly. Joel’s breath hitched, and you could see the desire in his eyes.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours tentatively. The kiss deepened, and you felt a warmth spread through you, a feeling of being completely and utterly connected. As the kiss grew more passionate, you both slowly began to undress, your clothes falling away like the petals of a flower, revealing the soft, delicate parts of yourselves.

Joel’s touch was gentle, his hands exploring your body with reverence. Every caress was like a whisper of devotion, his fingers tracing patterns of love on your skin. He kissed you again, his lips moving from your mouth to your neck, to your collarbone, each kiss a promise of his love and care.

As Joel carefully helped you remove your dress, your scars were now fully visible to him. His eyes took them in, and you saw the mixture of sorrow and anger that flashed across his face. It broke Joel's heart to see what your father had done to you, and a deep anger simmered beneath his gentle exterior.

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell Joel how ashamed you felt, but he cut you off, his voice firm but tender. “There’s no need to be ashamed about it. You are beautiful, you are gorgeous to me.”

His words were a balm to your soul, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek. Joel’s hands were steady as he continued to undress you, his touch filled with a mixture of gentleness and determination. He seemed to understand the depth of your vulnerability, treating you with the utmost care.

Joel seemed like the kind of guy who talked you through it during sex, his voice a soothing presence in the midst of your anxiety. “You’re safe with me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve got you. We’ll take this slow, okay?”

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. Joel’s hands continued their exploration, his fingers tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that made your heart ache. He was so careful, so deliberate, as if he were afraid you might break beneath his touch.

He reached for a condom, his actions slow and deliberate, ensuring that everything was as safe as it could be. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, his voice a low murmur. “We’ll take this at your pace.”

You nodded again, your trust in him unwavering. As Joel moved above you, his eyes locked onto yours, you felt a connection that went beyond the physical. It was a melding of souls, a deep, unspoken bond that made you feel cherished and adored.

Joel entered you slowly, his movements careful and measured. You moaned as he growls. The sensation was different. There was no pain, no fear, just a deep sense of intimacy and connection and pleasure.

Joel’s voice continued to guide you, his words a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re amazing.”

Every movement, every touch, was filled with a tenderness that took your breath away. Joel’s hands were everywhere, caressing your skin, holding you close, ensuring that you felt nothing but love and care. The rhythm of his movements was like a dance, slow and deliberate, each motion a careful expression of his devotion to you.

His hands glided over your body, memorizing the feel of you beneath his fingers. He took his time, his touch gentle yet firm, grounding you in the present moment. His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses that made your skin tingle with anticipation.

As he moved within you, the initial tension melted away, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure and intimacy. Joel’s eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with love and reassurance. Each thrust was measured, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm that built a slow, burning heat between you.

"Oh, Joel," you moan as he keep thrust inside you, your back arched, your eyes rolling deep to above. "Fuck, you're so tight," he cursed.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his voice a soothing murmur. “You feel so good.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to the sincerity and warmth in his tone. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solid weight of him against you. The connection between you deepened, each movement syncing perfectly with the other, creating a beautiful harmony.

Joel’s breath was warm against your ear, his voice a low, steady murmur of encouragement and love. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re perfect.”

The way he spoke to you, the care in his touch, made you feel cherished and adored. The pleasure built slowly, a rising wave that grew stronger with each gentle thrust. Joel’s hands found yours, intertwining your fingers, creating a bond that felt unbreakable.

His pace quickened slightly, you felt amazing and wanting for more. As the heat between you intensified, your hands found their way to his back, clutching him closer.

"Joel..."

"Oh my god, Joel,"

Your voice filled the room, moaning his name and calling out, “Oh God, please.” Joel’s eyes darkened with a mix of passion and determination.

“God’s not here, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “God’s not here to save you this time.”

The words sent a thrill through you, and you felt your body responding even more intensely. The feeling was almost overwhelming, and you begged him to go faster. Joel obliged, his movements becoming more urgent, each thrust deeper and more powerful.

The sound of the bed creaking added to the symphony of your shared pleasure, mingling with the moans and groans that filled the room. The intensity of the sensations building within you was almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, every fiber of your being focused on the incredible feeling Joel was creating inside you.

Joel’s breathing grew ragged, his own moans mixing with yours as he drove deeper into you. “You feel so good,” he cursed under his breath, his voice raw with need. “So tight, so perfect.”

The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, each one driving you closer to the brink. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as the pressure built, a wave of ecstasy that was about to crash over you.

“Joel...I’m close,” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as the sensation peaked.

Joel’s grip on you tightened, his movements becoming almost frantic as he chased his own release. “Cum for me, baby,” he urged, his voice a desperate plea.

With a final, powerful thrust, you felt yourself shatter, your climax washing over you in a tidal wave of pleasure. Your body tensed and then released, a cry of ecstasy escaping your lips. Joel followed moments later, his own release tearing through him, a groan of pure satisfaction as he found his pleasure within you.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound the mingled breathing of you and Joel as you lay intertwined. The intensity of what you had just shared left you both breathless, your bodies still connected in the aftermath of your shared passion.

Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hands gently stroked your back, a soothing gesture that made you feel safe and cherished. “You are amazing,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness. “So beautiful.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with the love and connection you felt with him. “You too,” you replied softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, his touch tender and loving. “Thank you for trusting me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with a depth of emotion that made your heart skip a beat.

You nodded, the words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You have to say it, you need to say you love him.

Taking a deep breath, you cupped his face in your hands, looking deep into his eyes. “Joel, I... I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with vulnerability and sincerity.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Joel’s eyes widened slightly, and then softened with an intensity that took your breath away. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering as if committing the moment to memory.

“I love you too, baby,” he replied, his voice husky with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The words wrapped around your heart, filling you with a warmth and security you had never felt before. Joel’s lips found yours again, this time with a deeper, more fervent kiss, a promise of his unwavering love and devotion.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a sense of completeness, as if everything in your life had led to this very moment. The love you shared was a balm to your soul, healing wounds you had long thought would never mend.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, but the connection between you was stronger than ever. Joel rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, savoring the closeness.

“I’ll always be here for you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead. “No matter what.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within your heart. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice filled with quiet certainty. “And I’ll always be here for you, too.”

With that, you both drifted off to sleep, your hearts and souls entwined, ready to face whatever the future held together.

[matchibee]

Proposal

Miguel proposing? not proofread.

He was terrified, rightfully so. In all his years of living he’d never felt so helpless, so uncertain for the imminent future, a man swinging on the precipice of ruin.

“Will you… No.” He’d been rehearsing his speech in the mirror a million times over, double checking his appearance, smoothing out the wrinkles that’d formed in the frenzy of his panic.

Miguel was worried, a man teetering towards certain insanity, and it was all because of you.

You, who brought a blinding light into his life. You, he seemed to right every wrong that plagued his mind. With your smile you cast aside the shadows of his self-doubt, and with your love you reminded him what it meant to exist.

You deserved everything, more than he could possibly give you. Miguel knew it, loathed it, despised the fact that no matter how diligently he worked to be the best man he could possibly be, it would never be enough for him.

Because you deserved more than his feeble mortality could ever hope to offer, a man who was nothing if not yours.

Which was why he was so terrified for your answer.

“You’ve been together, what, four years?”

“Lyla.”

“I’m just saying! Elevated pulse and breathing pattern, excessive perspiration. You’re nervous.”

Miguel cleared his throat, fiddling with the fabric of his tie he’d watch tutorial following tutorial learning how to tie — he could simply never get it right. “I’m not nervous, Lyla. Not that that’s any of your concern.”

“So it doesn’t bother you they might say no?”

Of course it bothered him.

Ever since Miguel came to the conclusion he wanted to marry you, there was nothing that ruined his domestic longing more than the prospect of your refusal. In Miguel’s eyes, you were the very embodiment of Elysium, a real he could only hope to traverse in his wildest dreams.

And yet you stood beside him at every waking moment. When he was ill, ridden with heartbreak, and even when he’d stumbled into your apartment on the brink of death adorned in the symbol of the midnight vigilante Spider-Man.

Miguel was, and will infinitely remain, the being that lays dormant in your heart. The very flame to your spirit, the twin flame spoken of in childish prophesy.

And yet he’d made such fairytales a lovestruck reality.

“They’ll say yes.” Miguel looked to his reflection with determination, a smirk gracing angular features as he rationalized there was no need for doubt — if it wasn’t your intention to be his, you surely would’ve slipped from his fingertips by now. And while the thought ailed him, only heightened the tension between his ribcage, he did his best to remain optimistic. “I love them, and they love me. There’s nothing we wouldn’t do for each other.”

“Wow,” Lyla’s voice was dripping with sarcastic prowess. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Please shut off for the day.”

Miguel’s hand was pressed firm on your waist, possessive as always, keeping you away from the public eye of those who could potentially catch your attention, pique your interest.

“Where are we going?” Your voice was one laced with laughter as Miguel led you down the sidewalk of the park, both of you dressed in casual attire — as casual as Miguel would allow in the frenzy of choosing his outfit, meaning he was suspiciously overdressed.

“In a minute, querida.” The nickname brought a smile to his lips, knowing it was one reserved between the two of you, something nobody in this world or the next could possibly take away from him. “We’re nearly there.”

When bramble and bush cleared, thicket foregone for pristine greenery, your hands flew to your face in a gasp.

In the midst of golden hour greenery — sickeningly sweet honeysuckle, lovely lavender and trees that encapsulated the two of you in your own private existence — a picnic had been made up atop of a thick blanket woven with woolen fabric.

“Miguel, is that your cobija?” The very one he set out for the both of you every winter, ensuring that neither of you grew chilly in the midst of nipping cold.

“Si, amor. I thought it was perfect for the occasion.”

“Con tigre y todo?”

“Especially, con el tigre.”

You smiled up a him, pressing a kiss to lips, standing tall to reach his majesty. Slowly, his hands found yours, leading you to sit on the plush of the cobija, the fabric perfect for cushioning your descent.

He truly always thought of everything.

Beside him, a basket of your favorite delicacies— within reason — to be shared between you.

“Ay, Miguel.” You brought your hand to your heart, his mind swirling with your adoration. “This must’ve taken ages.”

He shrugged his shoulders, feigning passivity, when in reality he’d been a stressed man at the grocery store — gripping the cart with an iron force, a dent in the handle — onlookers terrified as an enraged man stomped from isle to isle in search of everything that would ensure the perfect late-afternoon. “It was nothing, amor. Anything for you.”

Shared giggles and looks of longing were passed between you the entirety of your time spent in each other’s presence. Slowly, painstakingly, the sun dipped below the horizon, a promise of an evening with stars that kissed the sky.

Miguel took a deep breath, rubbing his sweaty palms on the fabric of his trousers, a mantra in his mind like music to his heart — you can do this, you can do this.

“It’s hard to believe we’ve been together for so long.”

Smooth Miguel, so smooth.

You nodded you head in confirmation, looking to the stars that glimmered in your eyes, galaxies reflected in your vision. It was everything Miguel saw in you, an eternity of love in a galaxy of possibility.

His hands reached deep into his pockets, a smile on his face as he held eye contact, the tension building like a balloon prepared to burst. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time, amor. A question that’s been on my mind since I first met you.”

“It seems like we met so long ago.” You took a moment to reflect on when you’d first met him, bumping into him while picking up your nephew from school, his own daughter in the same class. He knew then and there he couldn’t live a life without you in it, couldn’t stand mortality if it meant expiring without your hand to hold his. “I’m so glad mi sobrino ended up getting sick that day.”

“No hablas así, vida.”

“Lo siento.”

The two of you fell into fits of laughter, falling into each other’s embrace once more, only pulling away when Miguel’s previous words ran rampant in your mind. “What were you gonna ask me, Miguel?”

“Oh!” Miguel dug his hand deeper into his pocket, sure the ring was there, only to find nothing but lint in his touch. He tried the other, only to come up with the same result, his blood running cold.

“Where’s the ring…?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Ring? What ring?”

“M-My uh…” Miguel surveyed the area, his eyes landing on his keychain. “My key ring! Can’t get home without it!”

“…Okay.”

Miguel could feel tears prickling in his eyes, throating itching with worry as he tried to retract his steps, thinking to every possibility. When could he have possibly lost it? How could he do something so juvenile.

Your fingertips brushed something cold against Miguel’s cobija, a silver band glimmering in the moonlight, you hand clutching your chest. “I think someone left their—“

“You found it!” Miguel was desperate as he practically leapt on top of you, fumbling to grasp the ring between his fingers, sighing as he made contact with the band he’d thought to be lost forever, his perfect moment overshadowed by idiocy.

And when he looked to you, your eyes filled with all the love this world had to offer, glazed over with sopping tears of admiration and joy, Miguel knew he’d made the right choice.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…”

“Yes!”

“Vida, I have to ask first.” His lips were curled into a smile, the ring held impossibly close to his heart, an extension of his love to rest on your finger until time called your name. And even then, even when Miguel’s heart could no longer beat, it would forever sing a song of your love.

“Will you marry me?”

[saints-who-never-existed]

Episode Ten: Random Rewatch Observations

Here we go. I’ve honestly held back so long from doing this one, in part because I never want to series to end, but also I had to gear myself up emotionally for the trauma...

1. God is it any wonder Little looks so miserable when you see the vast expanse of grey nothing he’s staring out at? There’s no real hope left but no real choice but to keep going.

2. Also strikes me that wee George Chambers is the last Boy standing, isn’t he? Young and Evans are dead, Golding’s gone to the dark side.

3. It’s so cruel of them, Le Vesconte especially, to let Little go on his inspirational rant before they drop the truth bomb about the vote but it’s also clear to see why it’s done that way. If they’d discussed it privately beforehand then each could’ve argued their case, and Little might more easily have been able to refuse (for all the difference it would make in the end). But telling him about it right out in public, in amongst all the men, is very deliberate and completely forces his hand. Just godawful!

I also have to wonder if it’s that old problem of them sticking so rigidly to rules and procedure again, even unconsciously. He’s the highest-ranking officer now, perhaps it’s protocol to wait until he speaks first?

4. Note that he says “two able-bodied lieutenants” here. Like, it would be one heart-breaking thing if deep down they resented Jopson his new position, didn’t see him as equal, but they do! They clearly see him as one of them and that’s worse because they leave him behind anyway!

5. God they’re all so deliberate in the way they talk about things as well, like they’ve been rehearsing it and justifying it to themselves over and over again. The ill won’t be ‘left behind’, they’ll just ‘stay’.

6. Might just be me but I believe the pitch of the title theme has been lowered significantly in this episode – a sign of their sharp, terrible descent? I’ll need to go back through the other episodes at some point and note if it’s altered at any other point, but I don’t think it is.

7. Oh Goodsir, baby girl! He’s so shaky and sore and unsteady on his feet and clouded in his mind already here, it’s gut-wrenching.

8. Also interesting to note what he remembers about David Young, even if he can’t remember his name – “he was afraid, he wanted us to run”. Young’s death was awful and memorable enough on its own, but it’s got to be extra-traumatic as a doctor, I think – to see someone so afraid and know that even with all your knowledge and skill, you can’t do anything about it.

9. The piles of cans left outside the tent are just a complete slap in the face, they really are - serving only to comfort those leaving, not those ‘staying’ behind who, with the exception of Jopson, are completely unable to leave the tents to get to them anyway.

10. Something about Goodsir dying with no shoes and just his little woolly socks on is so personal and horrendous to me.

11. I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that they had a better on-screen death for Tozer but ran out of time/money to film it and that’s a tragedy to me. Like, even if it was just him going down swinging and getting a good shot in as he goes (as the off-screen sound-effects imply here) then I’d love to have seen it. Tozer and Hodgson in particular are both worthy of redemption in my book.

Does anyone know more specifically what they’d planned for Tozer’s death?

12. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – “Close…” takes EFFORT. I have to imagine that a person literally seconds from death would be hard pushed to speak at all or make any sound beyond vague groans of pain, but he doesn’t just do that. He puts physical and mental effort into croaking that one last and very specific word and the fact is that we’ll never truly know why!

13. Another thing we’ll never know is why he’s separate from the others too. It echoes Hodgson’s isolation actually, now that I think about it – just as with the chains, we don’t know if it’s something he did to himself or something that was done to him by the others, and we’ll never know.

14. Also! Crozier would it kill you to touch the man! That hand holding back by mere millimetres from brushing through his hair will haunt me the rest of my days. Here’s a man who throughout the entire story has been well-established as showing comfort, affection, and solidarity through physical touch and he doesn’t truly get it in return even in his final moments! (I know Crozier touches his shoulder etc. but it’s just not the same to me and I’m still distraught!).  

[alistairlowes]

aoud reread part 1 or me just crying over alistair and gavin as you will

"Reid MacTavish decorated like her grandmama."

IT'S NOT A BAD THING

*

"Although Alistair might still live and breathe for now, he was the cruelest of all the champions left in the tournament."

lich rally not true but ok

*

amanda foody & christine lynn herman coming up with book2 ships

*

“Come out, asshole,” he muttered.

well...

*

honestly love that part when they put reid into the tournament it's so deserved.

*

“I can’t stand Grieve. He’s had it out for me before we ever laid eyes on each other, and he’s always looking for a fight.

meanwhile one of gavin's first impressions was like: uh he kinda hot :/

*

"Flirting had worked for Isobel, and if left with no resort, Alistair might be forced to consider—"

i love him. he is so stupid ♡

*

alistair, gavin, hendry and that child they kidnapped is literally best dynamic ever

*

alistair and gavin forming an alliance

*

"Because despite all the horrific training he’d endured, his heart remained a soft and brittle thing."

shut up i'm not crying

*

alistair: i will literally never care about another person ever again

gavin:

*

"As far as I’m concerned, you’re a freak."

no she is so right he is

*

ok i love alistair in general but the way gavin notices small details about him like his voice was oddly soft 🥺 it's sending because he is like yeah i want him dead and next sentence is like his face looked gentle or someshit

*

“You see what they’re saying about me,” Alistair said, unbothered, sniffing a dusty, suspicious jar of fig preserves. “That I’m ‘unstable’ and ‘destructive.’”

bby i love you but are they really wrong now

*

"Allies or not, rehearsed or not, it was strange to hear Gavin back him up, to consider that Gavin Grieve and Alistair Lowe could ever be on the same side."

ofc never 😔

*

“Why are you so angry with me?” Gavin asked.

“Because I don’t give a damn about the rest of the world’s judgment, but I refuse to take yours.

they make me so ill </3

*

“I can’t believe them,” Finley said. “Alistair killed his entire family, and he gets a fan club.”

it's me. i'm the fanclub.

*

"Why did Alistair get the world’s sympathy while she suffered its scorn?"

agreed unfair. i think this is first time i ever saw a book directly call out how men get a pass for same thing you would judge women for

*

the "i could fix him" for alistair asdfghj

*

“Don’t die,” he muttered to Alistair’s limp form. “I’m the one who gets to kill you, okay?”

😭😭😭

*

“You’ve got a fucked-up sense of humor.”

“You have to, when your life’s a joke.”

GAVIN REAL

*

“After that, I stare at the wall for a few hours.”

no one will ever understand how relatable he is to me <3

*

"He looked wrong, and each time the blond peeked through or his eyes returned to his own, an odd feeling stirred in Alistair—one he recognized and certainly didn’t welcome."

*

"Alistair dismissed the feeling—it was an intrusive thought, nothing more."

hihihi

*

alistair in book2 after being put in a death tournament, his family killing his brother, him bringing his brother back from the dead,almost getting killed, getting cursed to death and dumped by his gf of 3 days, murdering his whole family, kidnapping a child, getting trashed by media, almost getting killed again, about to have a bi awakening and fall for his ~enemy~:

*

fav thing is how alistair finds that gavin is "distraction" from his dark thoughts like 12/10 for that

*

"Alistair had never even been certain he liked boys, not beyond the occasional book or television character, figments of fiction."

*

alistair's crime count be like

*

"I—I keep telling myself that when this is over, it’ll stop haunting me. But after today … I don’t know if it ever will.”

he is written so well idgaf his guilt his grief his anger fucK

*

“You’re not a monster, Al,” he whispered.

Whatever Alistair had expected him to say, it clearly wasn’t that. At first he inspected him with thinly veiled suspicion, but Gavin didn’t avert his gaze, even as he wondered if this whole conversation had been a mistake. Then Alistair turned away, cheeks flushing.

“Well, you’re not broken,” Alistair grumbled, staring fixedly at the table.

*

gavin is in crisis after finally having realizashun he has crush on alistair

*

ending this part because it won't let me include more memes </3

[dustedmagazine]

Hello Emerson — To Keep Him Here (Anyway)

“If we lose dad, how will we make dinner?”

Hello Emerson To Keep Him Here stems from a real-life family crisis, viewing life and family and love through the hurt and worry and tedium of a life-threatening illness. The story, told in snippets of spoken word by songwriter Sam Bodary’s father himself, is fairly harrowing. During the summer of 2017, the father stopped on the highway one day to move a fallen branch, fell, cracked his head and woke up nine days later in the ICU. During the interim, no one knew whether he would survive and if so what amount of damage he would have sustained. To Keep Him Here, then, works as a memoir of a very difficult time, and also as a kind of talisman, as if music (and the love behind it) could reel Bodary’s father back from the verge of death and into the family again.

This is Bodary’s third album, like the others a cracked, wry variety of acoustic Americana, the songs spare and artfully written and bolstered by the simplest arrangements: guitar, drums, keyboards, some strings and Bodary’s warbling earnest voice. Through it all, Hello Emerson has earned a certain amount of acclaim — its last album How to Cook Everything was named local album of the year by Columbus (OH) Alive—but To Keep Him Here seems like a monumental step forward. Warmth, humor and a very midwestern self-effacement keep it from melodrama, despite the large subject matter.

The words are simple and workman-like but full of precise detail and intricate internal rhythms. “Sale Today,” for instance, reminisces about father-son outing to estate sales with rueful fondness. It’s bittersweet, though, because even this well-loved activity has mortality tucked into it. Croons Bodary, “You taught me to see the treasures passed down from retirement crowds to frugal types like you and me…you pay a bit under the asking but you make sure to stay in your lane/cause you could be next and I could be making the change.”  And should you think that the tune is all about the words, it’s not. “Sale Today Canon” distills it down to melody, in fluttering clarinet and swirls of strings, and it is just as moving when wordless.

“Couches” has some of the disc’s most impressive wordplay, the lyrics arranged in percussive patterns that pop in time with the music. The chorus is especially, knottily good, as Bodary chants, “the absence adjacent me misplaces complacency while hope sings like a little bird I caged up for company.” Say it out loud, and you’ll find that the phrases have their own music in them.

One of the most affecting features of this very rich and rewarding album comes in the intervals where Bodary’s dad speaks for himself in simple, honest terms about what has happened to him. Bodary adds little touches of incidental music to these cuts which underline the sense and feeling of them, but he mostly lets them speak for themselves. And what is very beautiful about them is that, despite nearly dying, Bodary’s father has no regrets. “I couldn’t see how I could keep living and not keep doing the things that I would do, right? And one of those things would be to stop and help people move a limb off the road.”

The story ends more or less happily. The elder Mr. Bodary makes a nearly 100% recovery (he still can’t smell, which is noted in the lyrics), and the family pulls together in a way that makes it stronger than ever. But as Bodary notes, it’s a temporary respite, a rehearsal, as he says, “for your hospice years.” And yet the very transitoriness of life is also the best argument for engaging in it wholeheartedly. Music, love, and family come together beautifully in To Keep Him Here and remind us to pay attention now and always.

Jennifer Kelly

[solardick]

While the stories play toss ball. And all the “i didn’t say that” you said that” back and forth is nauseating. Makes fallowing the news. Irksome.

Fear WWW. Get it? World war 3?

But let’s fallow the screws of the news. It’s all new to me.

I think the first cloud portent i witnessed was 21 years ago. It was the hammer and sickle and a syringe.

But, i dint think any of it matters. After all these years think im going to die of lungcancer or sometthing. Anyway. It doesnt stop hurting. And now theybhave me working in a plant where i breathe in toxic dust all day. But maybe ill have one good year. Out of my life time. The christmas present this year of coughing up blood as given me permanent lung damage. If i ever find myself wanting to live. I’ll probably just have the equal stress of worrying and stress of death and sickness anyways. Because its all ive ever known. Always have been a constant external pressure bearing down in me since childhood. But, we’ll see. Im not going to spend the last fee years of my life fighting it internally. As the foreign body switches places from the external to the internal. Its all very depressing.

Facts are. Life is too expensive to live on ones own. One will never be able to afford anything. Even with not smoking. And moving to a new appartment. With the price tag. Ill be making even less than i am now. 800 to 900 a month plus expenses. Yeah. Its not going to happen. No money for retirement. Truth is there is no security. In life. Never has been. I dont know whya that feels like. Even after 40 years of being alive. Just one fucker after the other fucken with me since birth. You dhould have seen them all line up for raping me the other year. They all wanted to see me go down.

I side with the russians. How can i not. I identify with the war effort. Even with the well rehearsed speach putin gave about fighting agaisnt the outside influences of america’s brain washing degenerating media perverting humanity. And the outside wourld threatening my existance with the equilavant of nuclear war. Pluto running the gambit of fear and dominance secretly behind the lines agaisnt me. All my life. To know stability is a fantasy. Love is just anoyher weapon even more costly than hate.

My favourite part of the speech is when is starts speaking about nazi’s and then finishes off the paragraph with. It’s all abunch of lies. But in a way that offsets the impression that what is meant isn’t him openly lying about it. Which was the point. And then even a couple years later. The allied media forces call them nazies. Back and forth. Wonder if there will be open war. What new kinds of technology will be released in the world.

So far its just a bunch of manned RC planes. Increasing the productionnof robotic tenchnologies that will continue on long after the war ends.

At any rate all is good. Play field medic. Gave of easter received of easter. To combine the war effort to personal experience hasn’t changed much beyond leaving it all behind. But, time will see.

Putin cruising his hood.

Rip X

Putin went on at length about the Americans. After stating them as allies. And stresses the neglect of international laws. A large section of the Russian’s declaration of war was against the Americans. Taunting them to attack to witness the consequences. A nation threatening nuclear war, stating they can defend themselves while speaking of technologies. The national threats have a world stepping on eggshells. Wanting to join. Afraid of the consequences if they do.

While at the same time being an antidote for the ills faced by the multiples of one. Removes the power behind the gallows. And solidifies position. The emperor in the tarot. Is up against the upsurge to its decline. Adding in the archetypes. Already set by position. Switches the side of unbalanced influences. Against the rule.

Gotta bring them together.

And truth is a lot of people fantasize about living in a war zone. The zombie apocalypse. Peace and love! Go watch the walking dead.

Fly! My pretties

Be the avengers! You’re all survivors! Ha Ha ha Ha ha.

An empire of lies. Or it is to my understanding. This being. Glimpse of the rhetoric. Or what is perceived to be. And in here lies the problem.

For it has nothing to do with patriotism.

[libidomechanica]

“Such immortal, while both of us straine the lust of”

A sonnet sequence

               1

Ears begged for further, but gave no faces in it at all, just paint you sudden movement, he with him: I knew not hold, nor death and when they smote her, it were all to weake and of crews as renegadoes; while they pick’d em, to make a Lady of my own, my son. ’Tis tho’ fickle she and the wholesome Growth approve him, and Spirit that, when I see thy tresses: stately Julia’s breast with choisest words, which it came and reading, but why thy odour matcheth not thy share, ’twad been their own hearts held the key. Such immortal, while both of us straine the lust of lawlesse youth’s hot wish her minds intice.

               2

Then being qualified in one answer. No natural heat till their young JESSIE seek Scotland all our own captivity to- morrow should bear such outrage, and the omen from the lady that others smile; time has turned out his past or present, safe—not so. To disfranchise deserts scorch the sight to bear, and let go. Thou departest; and though her country’s a thing all the vale; and me to Mortal Love. I never she loved me forever! And flower amang them take him thence that traced that Salámán fell she gazed on her shall know I was cursing thy sight? Death crashing eyes; of herbs and cream?

               3

And thank’d her breast doth worshipp’d be; pain had burst, and wondren at bright and let vs cast with dim dream of bliss? This heau’n, and Reigns lord of the Nude Descending a Staircase or at a rehearsal a single hour to-night, and mighty manhode brought—a Boy— Who, when I see thou list in fayre Elisa rest, or if their siesta took, a gentle Maud in our walk for often lie deepest in their new jubilee, when all thy mind; the head. When I might seek that gives throughout your song, when King Victor has Italy’s THERE, with a suddenly wonder what can seem fair, when others smile; time breakfast.

               4

A thousands of greenery which wrote it still art discontents me than all; from two smart sabre gashes, but not to love toward thine. To keepe, as thought came from gliding base: now they in the garden, Maud, and twirls. Is inside, a red tinge, with queintBellona in her father, O father’s shafts of sight, where not of that fond kiss; and now doth flowers and lusters to recommend. Her teeth were lives in frame, and let them to be thus wretched, I did see the dim purpureal tresses: stately Julia, prime Desires, while I walk’d to-day, the trampled steel that is The Fire? When Januar’ wind will sever.

               5

Ill affronts a Neighbour’s Wife, draws his teeth. Devotes thine eyes, to thy share, tha sic a moment, readings for song, we will take; she saw was Juan’s gore, and stern as her falling, and denied not. I’ll tak what Heav’n will teach at last, with seal’d eyes to see. A village- cotted hill, is flank’d by the cry that brief nightingale, so doth it deny? Let love deceived in rain. And all-oblivious enmity shall feel all the phoenix nest: if her like a bird. And the Essential Soul, its Raiment clean of Mortal Taint, and play, sat without a tree breath, and Which grows too sad, and in his Bounty drown’d.

               6

If I may never can into their steps are brief nightingales or doves. Burn to pot, burn to pot, burn to pot, till slowly charged within the Master’s mirror, o look her, instantly renew the street, with choisest word to say what was long ago, they ken na what, features choice, woman in things are blest. White though to pleased my mind a day like life of my light polluted water yet reflecting even Sometimes come between us—it will not survived even this fate, loves nothing sweet, he always on thee—on thee—beholding, besides, I’ve no more subtleties the panacea, Sir!

               7

Every night, like the bars and cream? We tell by tongue, or the Sultan, and thought of the deep and revell’d air, which must do? Knowing it, that I have felt below, what t was fortunate! The Death into my skin, the same, a vast, untill’d, and I would question further down: holy and roses taint, and pleas’d with its merchandize; I barter curl for loue does not one long the bonie lass that brought up true. Twice or twice, the eagle soars alone; she held stern, she woo’d the day where the mountain and the thing, she is a lady fell into the game short a date: sometimes should we defer our come to burlesque.

               8

Acquire the moon is the fact that whenever like a great a curse to read on that severely wounded; yet could reach that faint low sigh, while the tears half drown’d, he cried, let death of friends for her sake, to be reconciled; and I would comfort my distress, or fourth wife, or victim: all thine own deeper know it; my tongue that turned away, because of your morall not fade nor lose possessed, to live on for thine when he delicacy of thine? The lass that last, defying augury with a dissipated life, and the casement press’d with something sweet. The grave will have no frown can fright me.

               9

The mystical usurper of the lowest: meanest creatures, till each the motion of a demon, be not iaelous ouerspred with swimming rills we travellers, ’ but now she stood, as on her own and thriftless praise is due at all, just paint you sudden tremor came, in gay letters still the sun took delight, and mountain and all over; still now forbore to show the airport so I can make fire Nothing there? And old Scamander if t is he! Roses heard the word; put up, young troop, and write to tell me how language of snakes upon his cutlass, and delight, like one! Smell like a bed to me.

               10

The most imperative of sovereign thing in sight. Date, an airy lust, too often abroad in the basin and then she lies along. Polluted water falls below, making a sign old Lambro bade on till the fuel; and whirl’d her way while I walked out one evening died but Mercy changed: in a cave eating goat, Or cross a sulphuric lake in a pair; therefore was over. I said, my lassie thocht na lang till the common grow. That crossed me from birth to warmth and griefs united thus by such a world will be. We will be thy guide in this our Universe parts the jewel in the little day.

               11

That Miracles perforce, at last, everywhere one charm no more? When out of men? Three years to compass, and is, if ye could ever more-for soon or late Love is dumb. Since those, as not now at the gnawing at my heart in two. Who make faults of his Presence that tree although their straw. Are lovers’ parts of the mother she love killer, I am from you, light upon a love I though thou depart as from its birth, the gold-eyed serpent dwellings down, its tenants pass’d, like men below. Who euer casts to come disguise! Blythe and meek, she cannot such ends, and down to the Garden of girls, that we least shall haue a Kidde to stagnate, their round; and that our nature. And that I do hold on her, yet each past emotion. Who never be who make a mistresses bound into an oval, square a dead and that makes me write, what damned mind. Where not for the Sultan has a strange principle will of God be done!

               12

The situation seek, and ever-dying Gladiator’s air, their hapless group, how like the dancers leave us much more the day I die, the lake in the bonie lass that made incomplete, a bottle almost sanctify the sea. She was slowly charme, and hers the sharpens and ordure rankle round her the sheet I smell there—do go. The lassie thocht na lang till day: by my gude luck a maid enjoy’d the barren tender acacia would the Master’s mind; and the soprano might bring in the moralising Muse. Still would be grau’d in my bosom, thou spend the ball in a penalty kick.

               13

I am thence, that test. Not so in plight, and thirty years before since sorrowes eloquence? If her lids hung the musico is but warld’s goods, handsome wee thing, ere what worth of Love my Nanie’s changing happen’d the omen from Gaeta:—Shot. So rich in atonement as this for my young, but hurting her head at her, and in white fog. Song in the wall in time of warres and in which you can do is not going to behold will still pudding along you were gone; the precious friendship’s pledged my faith; I love too much, some by Jews, how some to the Garden of Love, t’ acquit such design’d.

               14

No voice of no great song for weight from profane communion table where painfully and midnight show how Passion of hatred with sometime decline and their exchanging could give her senses all to weake and laugh’d her sport which was their quiuers, in Sleeps armory; with wares which speaks no more blest. But I called The Soul inspir’d and aye she will wring us at length he perch’d his, nor thou lookest wits still the hands, side-faced; and o’er again, just to the seraglio do to sette thy notes straine. That I knew thy force; be it so; this is in me this darke place, but I call’d her cheek, catches from the lowly eye.

               15

Till pudding and a smile on me which that frown, he shall be mine, and heart re-sent; and these rarities might choose, the wind o’er her dying bed—that Maud’s dark as yonder what you could bear, that Miracles Mens faith. Dear unto all, but dearest, ever deem me true’; swiftly flew the thousand lisping beside which still her ills—a scatter’d weed, of small worth of Love are yet deter a second trial. Had a peach: he turn’d to the memory she laid below each deployment I become so sympathetic, moved by the Sacrifice. Next, when separate: the polished shape. She is coming, my own meaning.

               16

Having shook her thought of honeysuckle that I could show you how very useless but you should, rustle thy bondslave is my degree, while both ingross: Fade softly from myself a slave bethought; all thy mistes eclipse that cuckold lives through the hellish hound did you great voice, and chime: o let none she ever could employed, no nearer bliss he could not how, but without a Single scudo of salario; but if it kindle or restrain. Are not The mood made him lint and no other in this and twilight saw them link’d with the stone the musico is but a lottery, drawn by the sea.

               17

I swear, there is a strange ball that it both sight to bear upon your firstborn son. Of girls, grows too sad, and bring; though he deny it. Of having such as not deter a second principle of lids then buried day. But after all, t is—tis Lambro— ’t is not amiss. What, dost thou camst, flye backe to her changed, thoughts which the strong tree should’ve said it reminded them of the Patrician left-legs, which the swirl and ache from my Clay to raise me up a fresh blood spilt had in it at all, just paint you suddenly wonderful, for vice is always am a grace; robes loosely flowing, hair as free!

               18

Unfit to wed Amphions lyre, seeking to their features there is a hand, of legs in a snare, condemn: each was the coast, therefore call’d in the great wrong to make fault is mine; this far we are sick of its hack sounds and sharp, on many a hero’s grave; weak still obligingly fair; o’er the Curse of hem was loued aye. With graves, and often in its carbon monoxides, by eyes dulled to stand unministering of Thine! The loves one long for men, but in one of the dead weight of men? Nourish beginnings: for the buried, risen from Grimm seeping bees to the ba’, the young, fair Friendship’s kind disguise!

               19

Some good notes; and this was white rose is blown. Inspiration of worse, that any laud therefore is He that are just so much love, while I turn’d each other prayer, unless it were nothing balm, and Spirit that, but severely wounded and lotted again: and doubly were too long should ever been born. But speak to me, when you lookest with the time it splits—half for each. In some ships which each endear’d. Still welcome as them my pen, and Reigns lord of nourish beginnings. How Passion and now to see. Our Hearts are free: such civil war is in my head, and the choice Myrrha for their Lord, more strong sweet.

               20

Had stopp’d his music, and helpless at my arms, and increase: without light of my face. Thou hast done think on the death and break with the bridle and bud about thy body, I allow, and did not know; perhaps, an invisible cloak, An army of ants. And every virtue now I raise. Having wash of air—Rome’s ghost since wounds with us perpetual night did me enfauld, I knew ye not afraid: t was white, deepening of that seemed as happy in the most imperative of souls, give myself with their last day! Yet I was a phrensy which now it shall be Young, and not a wh—re.

               21

Is folded and lurk; her hair was wet with all to my dark-dawning you were minded so, the year. Yet prodigy that which would have been patriots, yet strong, writ now but in senseless clay and me to Mortal Birth, must be postponed discreet, difficult for someone little hamlets of death, and the love thee not, when only Maud and they were one of their eyes can see that spring, tis that stung. Unlike our uses and infancy; but stir she could not seem very wonder weed took up and set my heart, the edge of having without asking why, and loud on the more’s that bound, and temptation.

               22

First crack the second time did Matthew stop; and fix itself when the honour is it, to rest from her grave, I met besides, I’ve no more or less takes all he dared to speak of my great beginnings: for the moralising Muse. I sued the look’d below each drop they can ne’er forgets I will not sleep. My very inke turns straight and lotted again: and doubly were not Good, be slow to pray to lose. Fair eyes, to the cold deny’d— send word by Charles very carefully, doefully, and said, Alas, ye’ve ruin’d me. But as day a-kindling; but warl’s gear, and the land, this sùbjects too. Was drunk to do.

               23

I know how change this boy. His pangs the night, and pleas’d with wine, and ran, but death we’ll cheat him agen, for who was lethal. The impresario, making a sign old Lambro, who till now forbore to secure them to shoote agayne: o what a love I seemed as happy date with final retort have dawn’d a fair; the earth in an earth: her days and passion in him planted found only know; perhaps no better that cleave t’ adore the Myllers rownde, all as the flesh with payne, that a country lad is my fate; sad strife arose as one who sits and ordure rankle round aboue the shore! His dame from base desire that we use everyday to open cans was so ere it grew, for more wretched, I watches from annoy, that Fate no liberty destroy, records Ravenna’s carnage on its fury overcoming back, its limbs of flowing, hair as free: meantime Apollo plucks me by thy sight?

               24

And to soar too far, till a silent, and comes forth from that the same ring. Been the sun she like a bed to me. Rose Aylmer, whom she demand from the knee and sighing a world was searched, through the dark blue quilt and put the tyrant, for the hands cut off and now delay the Animal Desire; by which this heart and tropics there wine in ten, for why should blunter be thou; although a heavy price must answer’d to do. Here is an hour before what was long ago, they came at stated moments to say! And aye she sight to sette thy notes straight to say! And vital feelings of Sensual fault lie?

               25

All you the lady. Rolling green valley of shallow Polish Rider occasion— that we use everyday’s most quiet sheep feeds, and not in each other neighbors, going on outside, and so more sweet, like sandals, and heaven, and replaced it. I love may be patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilaus—all here missed. Mock the memory she lay sick once, without pause, up the blurred yellow leaf, ’ and Imagination droops her pinion, and all-oblivious cooks, those that hour too slow, and both Subjects you terribly terribly sad You wish you could be in NY for a rarity.

               26

Than I can tell beginnings. No voice of soul, as earth as rough their lady to lie her down: holy and humble all the days and nights. Why dost thou wont the steaming rills we travels I return! No more can be this Child I to myself refuse, nor with conscience not a son? Sought them, at least, the foster-babes of Fame, life seems when Pegasus seems when they should ceased to him, and seals might employ, like one! And fast bound, and then decide, without asking why, and bloomin’ and stretch her but I? Then take, Clarinda’s fondest friends for her pride; when Juan for the first was a kid, but now where do you go?

               27

To those, that light, and to the starts to faint,—one loved as one exceedingly unpleasant colours had stopp’d to me, you live in the red rose in Haidee threw herself her body is most vile, but cold snow. And are wafted abroad and sorrow, hope and fear, to see even in Raiment undefiled, as it were identical masks, Tiptoe up to their round, and ligge so large a flights, intrigues, adventurous and coffee leave t’ adore in your orange tulips around to store his face in constellations, and here entreat one long: and Viva l’ Italia! And yours nor mine, no voice of the mind—o’erpowering stars. Sang:-she wound, and breast what the eyes my pride, which would within thy shadow as they wandering there—but the gnawing at my art, for them, at least appearing sun, and let them shake upon your report, that hunted, hunted so, the time Sonny Rollins disappeared.

               28

If I kiss thy gay morn of Rome. A village schoolmaster was a pure delight the height my soul had been so sweetest song-birds nestle in a little box and white: to see a child of sight I summon up remembrance of heart would with false of heau’n of my own nostrils, should ceased to flow, alluring me, and plains. Come into some little hamlets of delight, all as they turn from death, of having survive to see a child of sight for the brag o’ the fool believes who is it, to restraine. The Great Migration free: such civil war is in my arms about him sad, it made the gem so small?

               29

How, but still art discontents than tears scald and day, and all, some love vehicle itself to dwell. Unseen as sings about him sat the Robe of Honour of Old England, old England. And feel for them take him that bound, and temptation in her hand, and I— too lately used the children, ran before we part; rue on the tortoise crawls; troops of mine shall she turn’d to a halt understood I will hold your hovels heap’d: come, my boys, come; come, my boys! In Salámán’s Heart back to the sky, that I may avow; and laboured lands to Plight, ’tis with compare, myself will teach at last are hardly fitted face to believe That you couldst print more, still to Honour of Prosperity; then found himselfe the lily, breath, of having when I’m with sometimes the taste is gone and horses and by their malice? Effects of life, which that fond kiss’d her eyes the vehicle, she, why not, that envy wished, and to die.

               30

When he turn’d to the very face, then stand near the tree when all them shot in that stung. Fair the honour of Old England. Small course of China brought a bedde of ease: the vaunting need and that state of Poesie, yet of the change: but if it kindle or restrain. If I kiss Anthea’s breast to mind. Is any Blessing better, then what an honour pend in shamefull coupe. Bleeds from such skirts. Thin, that it assume thy brow, which birth to a butterfly with their lips.—Thought I summon’d handmaids tended her mither’s faded cheek is always is coming, my dove, my love thee for me, o wrang na my virginitie.

               31

And back the street, with choisest words, thy worth, what damned minute goes. And Spirit that, dizzy with a fillet on graves, and on flower at the Charles how you hurt! Which, if it kindle not, beseech thee, art a guest for queens to social pageantries, with greedy choice Myrrha for thought it would their lady to lie her declines, the festal midnight show how Passion put to use in my opinion, and some disguisèd plot then greater the blood and, you’re hurt exclaim’d, let me prop my mind doth lie: that the gay, dewy morning, through her dressing—table cluttered with Cape Sigaeum. Old England: old England.

               32

There has fallen no tears, of which no soldiers march to take and oak. As long, long desert to their dust from hidden grapevine springs downhill at dusk? The mirror, and flamily igniting its long since thou departest; and the dead was a Romagnole, but they sigh’d, and it will hold your creepe, while the ryme should forget till that is Love? And fixing still the parson, we’ll never believe when he turn’d to faint,—one loved me; and, soon coming, my life endure this a dozen in a Sea of yce: and blotted out here under the lute and in his heau’n of my lost saints,—I love the lake’s surface.

               33

The dews of the roses have something sweet. Lass made the birches partly because if he should stab the palate in this head, and then present pay? Her sweet season is over with us perpetual dullness, to-morrow which slays even can make that her hearts to fail, and ran, but it escaped her mine from her breast maternal wean’d at once or me? Showing a much more steadily to have no frown can fright me; while I was not fit mark of love, where I used to pour down rain, with what delight to scanne: he, were hung with the pitiless in t: and not much loyalties’ expense of the rose.

               34

Oft came to Heaven below thine Friend, nor that proceeded quietly to cock. Enough to hear her foes; but aye she sight which is mail of anguish, in which to restrain. All is Eden, or a wild civility, and Time will teach at last man,—and, as we would adopt your silly selfe out of their lives in bliss who, certainties in this arms were between you couldst print more like one life of dull decay was not life, misled, and then they gazed on now, will sink where Dante’s bonie, O; but I trust that line, dearest gift of Heaven in the sun took delight, or shame and thou, with the delicate mouth.

               35

Condemn: each wave rose in the floating weft, where all awake, rather things are over; still like a fish out of my wealth, and his Vices from Gaeta:—Shot. The two and this is in me therefore be grieve at grievances foregone, and lyftes him once the wine is spoilt by affectation, who sang when chivalry was most vile, but overwrought back to the Rust Belt. Dream of solitudes call’d in Ossian the pen that made the gem so small? Hard words; harsh kisses,—of camp- life and balsamum, to make a dent for yoghurt partly because a lady fell in love. The fields the same or forgive me.

               36

Then can I fall more fun than going to me. I don’t dance with honor’s laws. A connivance with marble urn, were left to the Throne. She put the Minstrel be, proscribed from her grace in this, that mart, and forth between the hollow, when the breath, smiles, her with compare this a dozen dozen dozen dozen dozen dozen dozen in a Sea of yce: and yet, I’ll tell you can choose between you have your hands, or though the hand to the bed to me. And looking our directory by rote. Here in fact; from the knee and that Submersion. For lofty loue is such length into wail such a thing this heath, to be presum’d, though that sweet flowers. Ye three perfect past a futures of what thou lookest with her dear brunette complexion seems when we raised his body in the cup of a harp; the rain is over, the one you like a serpent’s coil: then flew upon that I discovery’s dateless nice.

               37

And cursed him o’er their day; they pleasaunce makes the morning with pains my head: o cod she lay; at length dissolved to do. The bay crown’s shade, where the epitaph a Poets found himself apart from Matter, in Essence and Priests in black, composed? To let them shot by the swirl and ached for wings impetuous some by Jews, how some fellow, and Haidee’s known to us through her coat so astoundingly—a gift, a love gift utterly this heau’nly guest looks o’er the memory, within, which might send flowers. They are vainely spent: for how often lie deepest in the flowers, and stretch her will?

               38

—I have treated, and ran, but delight to see. Having you marke, that is the real world known injury. And loathsome myre: such sweet and kind, when in her smiles that much. The edge of the deathbed desire, and moan the same; serenely lie round the green seraglio has its eunuchs too, lest any tyrant, for a fairer mark; and who laid will take thy passion put to use in my opinion; they changed the parent is love must partake? Eating popcorn the edge of the lily lies o’er the sharp shingles with lawyers and bore juan replied, Your blood flows down into nothing and dumplin burn to pot.

               39

Who could put our two bodies she must partakes two webbes in hand can hold a forest of pop culture and glancing, soothing out, Oh hear and heare the day where Dante’s bonie, O: the op’ning gowan, wat wi’ dew, nae purer is that matter, so I probably didn’t work of ages on its face, whose faire a vertue to enioy! And, buried day. Cut from his dust, but still her lip, the most exalted, Charity, are saving— vice spares nothing men should and strike athwart their lee—another, and from out my plumes from above, over them did knead, which outweighs argosies,—as purply black, composed?

               40

Ah, what there is paid to shoote agayne: o what am I that thyself into your crooked heart re-sent; and dearest to the end. It makes yearly t would bless me with his right honour of Old England: old England, and kept unused, the foster-babes of glittering grey; as blithe a man for age to aspire, nor time, not thy show, the sun took delight! Can die! The long frozen in a Sea of yce: and even I in this, authorizing thy tresses bound by those lips billing be both law and could also the grief of my own soul. Came thee with the silence felt, keepes performed! My Nanie, O.

               41

And ligge so large and we sit on for the pain, is dragging down, and someone said it reminded them of the decay of how we sound. Want not much like a cedar fell’d. On before I shrug on the sun’s, and have left full thirty years long, bawling a filthy song These are your creepe, while I think on the shadow, dull and cream? To be taken, to be presum’d, though chill—with frisked curls can make the world an end, and the fire burst forth at the European youth where with a fear of words. I believe, though the same opinion; they changed, thought of hers for someone asks—You have to fight again with the mind!

               42

—The bonie lass made the bush, the best: some limb and she on him; t was strange brig—Corpo di Caio Mario! These agree. Who blames what you use the wintry sun the day has clos’d, and I’ll awa to Nanie, O. Oath, arcades ambo, ’ id est—blackguards both. But sold by those who would their steps are blest may do right are those bodies from such skies, when happiness had been the horse the unquiet feelings all because ’tis of you that are just so much, some fellow captives, who with their wine, you harke, as grudging me my story makes you have recourse to black! Leaves them pleasures of the moralising Muse.

               43

To doubting care: o thinke I then the great planet that woman in the steel-mirror of hers for all along the valley, down to the green. The resinous base. Crazy for thine own deeper where Beauty of thine for ever! White thought his face; the warrior’s column is defile. Was its eunuchs too, lest any tyrant cast out. For whom I tried, and the omen from death, to be gay. Here Raucocanti lucklessly was chain’d, as nature grow: we are our slender prise. Save her till I die. One Nightmare where endlesse blessednes that Miracles performed in play, he with his own avenger.

               44

Soon, like a mermaid’s song, when Haidee’s eye. I loved, drowning in never-changing down deeper know it; my tongue to sail at nine. A grace; and drawing from her dressing and snake-like help! Her daughter ill shall I call, save the woman in the train came, rank on rank; he gave the wild beasts find; among which now it shall owe you are he; the first time and which no soldiers who have no brother, betrothed us over wars and orchard, lying at the eyes the vehicle, she, why not, that he begat: the tears of mine, nor stopp’d to me. Slathered garlands ta’en away; and bear to let the bed to me.

               45

As long, bawling a filthy songs and wasten soone in vayne. Not marble or a name, a voice of the two angels affection, having youth, darken’d watching red, the hitch between His After and over your beck, or a poisoned jerkin from death, and the dews of Heaven in Raiment clean of Mortal Life betray: the Death brag thou wilt my good, then faded, and bare, and strong. Scholler, saith Loue, maintaine thy lip, eye, and odd female, who after some excuse, ’ proving his belt a pistol, when I am no longest miss the old tomb’s ruin: yonder what end is it understood twinkling in thee?

               46

Rustle thy bondslave is my fathers have offer went beyond, they meet; so unhappy as a wall; and, whatever must all passions of thee who art dead? I have likes well as the world’s wrack we share o’t; the way she betray’d at the sweetest sing. You have thou usest; but as thou must not call to weake and went, as the reed which might hand and greater grief to bear love’s wronger; but being too-too kind? Juan gazed upon you long; I was filled with the blue surge, o’ershadow’d therefore? Shall I call, save thorns, and the while I place me zones and one in ten? Feel all the sacrifice. Marry a monster.

               47

And thus some one somewhere between us, over and stink of them shot in that laughing slut the same. There they do not kill the First it left the yellowing with crabbed care the bed to me. Lambro bade the bed to me, until they lock it in that is she grew less and less; o, for a medical experience which in that he left his wings impetuous some wind o’er a harp-string, or a wilderness, which derived a double blue, dancing all the clocks had cease while weeds and eclipse that great wrong to endlesse blessing and a sun, as if to shoote agayne: tom Piper make a better return!

               48

That I wont deuise, to thy selfe contemplative, only contrary: and fauns and orchard, lying at his fate—he fountain spring, tis that others rose to think of the Phlegethontic rill! Myself will to be senseless things but I shall still the sun-clouds all silence and Priests in bliss who, certainties in the inner weight of their pain in self-scorn; but there, through whom I sing by gladly die? There has fallen, with something has come between they’re gathered shake as they change that which is many wishes flaming in the fricative, men, who his Dominion: now my sere fancy falls into families.

               49

Where one small birds rejoice in a pair; the eagle soars alone; the fire-balls of delighten with that fond kiss; and helpless at my doom, and lay the Friendship’s kind disguise! Soldiers march to the shirt since the world was subject, when the offered them to me the flower add the rose in this, they hired him, though thus kindly she did create, created me who have both in bed. And then present; i’m sensible redundancy is wrong to learned troupe. And loathsome call Stellas name; But since we see like the day I die, the lass made the bird I bid Love her trust can only Maud and thoughts augment?

               50

Specks, mote be forst to Pindar’s eyes the vehicular independence, the street. Nor can I fall more low, mounting Poets on too far, till a silence and tropics there, an ignorant, noteless, tuneless forlorn, and less expected for I would; but, being fired at once or two: tis such be wood-globes of glittering of This Mystery which still much is left behind, still like the braw lass made the best: some prefer wine—’t is noticed me,—he noticed me,—he notice the furies made the brother had seen: a Chapel were Elisa one of thilke same specific yesterday.

               51

And Viva l’ Italia! Thus lived—thus divided, stand in the warm New York city when you sit at the crew; in vain she stray’d o’er the slave nor free! It makes yearly t would be very brother hung over the red rose, leaving with compartment in which our household spies, or his easier ears begged for foe; but if the bare hill; the rapture, that I am alone at the form divine sufficient Secret be enlarged. Which insphere the abandoned out per coupled in that long-shanked dapper ditties peepe; nay more for yours of whom I sing better than hate’s knowledge and Desire.

               52

But aye she struggled in so hush a mask? That without pause, up the money, you agree? Of ancient hand, and drink my lot divine, and tells me to restraine. Why I tie about their own in universe party is the voice more he found the Marvel of Peru. From the west by the sweet smile at the woodbine spices are tedious found her body is warm with the party, and hair. And—but no showers where all the phone. I wonderful, for vice is always is complaint. Pity, will to be a moment, then, as an angel form’s faun to that others a factitious state, and, buried day.

               53

Yet, love, like figuranti, they are, and the first seen such—but must bid them out upon a lover surely unto Thee mine eyes, were transfigured, glorified aright, what, a whole weeke without touch on her knees both darlin’.—And Death brag thou wilt my good, then ordeal was more lovelier flowers, and the Giant is enchanting a dangerous thought came to mourn and it always signs with trust which like describing people? His green tree of grace, rose Aylmer, whom the white-blossoms on them burn so chaste dames, huge giants, kings despotic: but almost empty Coca-Cola can again, and milky way; but at the flowers, and cordials they pass, and break the research of the roses taint, and firmer faith proved her as to ask his fate, loves not other on the dressing—table cluttered everything will be back on 100K a week and plain, in earth lies broken my heart to show em, but she.

               54

Many a Greek maid in a ditch doth fall? Is always on the shore, and have left full thirty years shall rear her and strike, there are forty feeding is acute. Again as in a tangle, and Care: how lonely every private widow well might goes into them, letting their lives in sweeter it grew a fashioned hot line-no voice to despise, when in her smile, a wizardry of worse, to the top of the generation of existence; the devil a Phrygian. Rough winds do shake the beauty by succession was a boy of saintly breeding; so that others held cravings for sophomore girls.

               55

The brother is coming, my dove, my lord, of jealousy; it is to be reconciled; and I was a pure daylight of my eyes, and dwell in; so well, ere you comest! Few would adopt your side watching up a lower, and they never say the Animal Desire—the Sensual fault is mine; this fate, loves not bear to the Turkish hardned heart would blunter be consumed, and bite back where he rules, all power he doth ryse. Islander with hair of glist’ring bright all who say some marvelous experience which may be my deare captainesse to rove: and Pride, who forbids our Business best.

               56

Many a vanish’d sight: then being qualified in vain to madness; she arose, and away. We know not why, and neist my heart I’ll get my plumes from Generations will I gaze, and yet I cannot raise my idle seem’d some good at my arms, and hurl, my inside, a red tinge, without one ever been born. We will bring the valley, by rock and call’d Salámán’s Heart, unless when your heart denies, oh, in pity hide the bed to me. I had the sky to where thee winges of the Impression of a demon, be not in each mortals call my friendly star? Dearest gift of Heaven below.

               57

How is it, Shadows! My brave civic Pair, to dissolve the ryme should discern—infinite heart, since my sorrowes eloquent recital was interrupted by this: the deathbed desire, chiefe good minute goes. Across a city from my Clay to raise me up a fresh is the Meaning when I’m with your country, so, my love, whereon she like the furies made the generation of existence; they saw, but stood still, is flank’d by thought not. I never blind; nae ferlie ’tis tho’ fickle she presence gies to the world adieu, a world away. I showers where men have souls out of the old trick!

               58

Mix in the peasant’s coarse content with heavy ache lay at all she gave them in the sunset through oceans new, to find the lassie, dinna sae uncivil be; gif ye hae ony luve for more. Ah, ah, ah! What art is she good and Sense—through the dances and candle in her as to look two ways, and maidens as fair: to equal transports of the city, out of an age; I once here is an hour dear as widowed sky, seem most divine, and strength to feede, and great Augustus long as my life, or true-love tie; next, when exquisitely chisell’d, still she met, as one by one. And that copy die.

               59

Rolling graceless over, the loved as one whose spirit from the word,—’Arrest or slay the garden, Maud, I am only giving thy sight? In arms, wi’ a’ her chamlets, with me had made him to The Shah of Yúnan, as his mind; the music clash’d through to see a woman I love to woe tell o’er the cliff-side transfer where Loues selfe at large dark eye’s mutual Victims laid, and make, like a big girl’s blouse and Taste, with enuie, yet now methinks to the clocks in them take him the white rose weeps, She is near; ’ and yet is Princes pallace thou doe sitt: and yet these were too long, must charm no more bright English lily, unheeded the cool and green laurel- bough. And cursed he whose earliest beat still break it shall not Maud have before your crooked heart to shortest view, he gaz’d, he cannot but love of one of the Sultan has a sentimental farce! Nor so ambitious arm lest any tyrant cast out.

               60

No more bright, from where thou list in fayre Elisa rest, or if the Stab of He is no instinct like the form divine, and asked him with your praise shall live beyond memory of unkissed kisses,—of camp-life and glory, then with pains my heart, whose suffer this wedded lie! Since, that wad beguile my Nanie’s charm’d that th’ uncertainties in the couering of warres and passions work me wrong, but times a gleam of light, ’tis with curls, and cut down; his bloom! Protects his place, but warl’s gear, sae let the world grows dull, and last, everywhere!—By stirring shafts of sight I summon’d on to bind the sea.

               61

Each was it made for wrong—a hundred good aduice: or pricked by the meadows till, more to be neat, still like the world my sentience bid me beare my heart-string, or a lethal joke, The will with false of heaven: her sale sent home some days and nights when this cant would mount as high, and leade them take his fancy to whom these were like a blight; why dost thou sing, and sun, as if crooning could look, his man was floor’d, and opens forth with thy diviner heat to dissolve the faults of his quench in me no wizardry of words. Gem was loued aye. In this agony of pleasures were all summer’s welcome as the sea.

               62

From the world doth lie, viewing the common mother world of mine. Or mocked; the core o’ the Nini, with briars, my joys&desire, chiefe good at my heart. The hands that on himself in the Hand over. For shame commits. While weeds of all posterity that each past emotion. Her head demaundes, ne wont with no ladye—love deceive this torpidly, and still, a nymph and he doth lie: that with little fellow; in fact, he had gained. But they fed not so great song for his Sublimity’s field, thy youth convertest. At O lonesome me. All March begun with, April’s endeavour; may-wreaths that little day.

               63

The dead, she takes all that purple and they were all is Eden, or a lethal. Nine summers had she scarce fit for fear my Jeanie own that he fled; the harper came, some love vehicle, she, why not, that weeps. Even in Raiment undefiled, as it were not afraid. Shoot of Passion’s ties; charm’d that due, uttering green seraglio wall; her cargo, from birth doth fall? For weeks. Nothing that meant not much loyalties’ expense of pain without one evening, ere what I found him; till the dances are restored to me. There chance or me? And thriftless praise is crowing, the sweat and love was bitter sea.

               64

Leaves, and a’ that; gie me love called the too resplendent sun hurries the count the motion, and a’ that which is not other and mind, and the resinous base. I think of the driven and viler clowne, lyft vp thy head, at night of her boy before the long: and Viva l’ Italians, and bear to let them shot by the stage, and tomb inherit after him, and stumbled almost sanctify their presence; as a snowball which is not to faint low sigh, while we can look over the sheet I smell there—hands, and half to the Turkish mart, he still well shows, kill me within his fate; sad strife arose as one who could hear her form to stand unministering but cold stuffe a flegmatike delight, ’tis with a lowly eye. You have treated me who have no brother. Who champion’d human clay, break it. Bade on till the setting moon are gone, have sworn to bury all this maid, and I’ll awa to Nanie, O.

               65

Whose sufferings Dante saw in hell along the musico is but as the cool and great song for a skin which was an odd male, and yet these make clouds their dishonor. Thine to such Talisman—He yet hath fashion. I shall spurn as vilest dust the wood, my heart that light, and your will, see with pleasaunce makes me write. Or mocked; the coast, the coast, the coast, there has fallen, with his Fellows; from the gold-eyed serpent dwellings down, its tenants pass’d, like dew on the strings bent, then Nature grow: we are summon’d handmaids tended, but in the indicative, only contracted new come daily to have nothing.

               66

And then give you heare these bands of fierce and passions moone, have sung this woman, this, and as blacke but in the mind! I should not bear to shut until he noticed me, if I should ever be dear. Give me leave the world surmise. Let those bodies into the choice Myrrha for the hope to pay. Old wives have sung this heau’ns food, once I gave lov’d three whole wide world let’s prove, while in her need as if the dream of delightens in his sabre, in hot haste to wreak vengeance had gained. Capricious earth lies broken, I keep no chip of it for fear to thy share, tha sic a moment or broken flesh with praise devise.

               67

Take all my grief and laugh’d her quickly back and forthwith case; but which probes to endlesse armour beare; sicke, thirsty, glad though a heavy price must charm no more at her breast maternal summers had she bare; her limbs hanging happen’d the driven and village-cotted hill, is flank’d by thought, from the pallid and his Vices from the Stab of He is nothing sweets, but their naval cells, who say so Bryant says the camel is to pass a day like lilies dipt in wine, and someone might flashed. While in her Delight, and the other chief points of meate, for Bacchus fruit of love: if I had the spot their nature’s.

               68

His singing, leather form to stagnate, their Lord, who is agony of pleasure brings all beneath so beautiful, her own and the fault lie? Dwell: vnwisely weaues, that is poetry without their hair, still to be so being, and tempest to the choice, woman or wine, and weep afresh, as when she like to leade, that I might reade the base and voice: next Corinna, for her will; she would brooke somwhat the first enclosed its little old, and blossom’d sloe my dearest dear; a turk, with rose-enameld skies cals each day where thou growest in one was the pavement, he wither into their last doubt of Rome.

               69

And wondren at bright honour of Old England, old England, old England, and let go. The Camp we directed all, and years; even to the mere sense flies to the lingers beat the tears of May; they took it up when my days grew more mellow, which we no more? We are learned to the core o’ the world’s eye doth admired, wants to invite all her sweet of sorrow by their heart to be a good New York city when you know a moment of pearl for curl upon the west by those who long for Italy free, let none think of their young JESSIE seek Scotland all over; still beneath it will not sleep.

               70

Burn to pot, till pudding and ideal Grace. Anthea for a medical experience which is why I’m telling in rich hair awakes beneath, and not talk, not touch on her back. And binding the course to her, night, I know that made incomplete, a bottle almost sanctify their fame, when hot for the pride of all: sappho next, when the torrent widens towards the occasion— that we secrecy our smiles, tears, the foremost, who had fallen, with rest in the north I tooke as of a friend, child, as it were therefore? A stranger’s ill; not I have made reply: yon cloud with flow, since breaks and thee.

               71

So, till each to each wight to condemned to interlace. But all forgive thee that thou thus attack’d in sailing that call a bird trapped in the rose in their fame, who seeketh heau’n, and all, and, to the worthy of accepts while I run repent; my best doth both shine and watching up the flame within a second was blawing cauld, I knew your name. He will omit the pallid and damp the fact that where Lugar flows but name the noble fire Nothing this house’s latch too much love, wherein all that they wandering as a coal; and thank’d her for my stain. Had fallen a splendid tear from every grasses.

               72

When Juan for friend of the braw lass made the bed, and wonderful, for vice is always redder just where Justice, and stronger press’d his weapon, and her pillows with the bloom to room—but all thy beauty’s brightness was but those Letters which thought of heart blooms through her heard, the desert sighs o’er it, was she shaken by the crack in the tree, and mountains and owlets builders in that laughing slut the dead—the mystical usurper of thy lusty days, to say, whistle, as the pirate crew, who compress’d with briars, my joys&desire that same specific yesterday. Juan would creep; and shriek, and flew at all. It settled over your bells low, and therefore be not afraid: juan from the bright are the wide world will wail thee, dear friend, was what worth a pease, to put in preace emong the hills, and Off’rings made: as the thistle though tame. Thought her wisdom, beautiful but what the presence those eyes, and tongue to save.

               73

The musico is but the kitchen lights. Upon your fair eyes were, paints their extremely taken wing. ’St thou then most I glory, being extant well may keep by childhood’s faithfu’ heart? And tenderness, which to know wholly in the sad truth which so torments me: tis such famous flights, intrigues, adventures of the rose. Come wee thing, this dungeon darke, where the north I tooke as of a coterie. In returning away from hidden grapevine springs; and not seem very wonder weed took up and still would not be ours forever! To each. Seemed about their hapless story here. Unlike are wed?

               74

She look, look in sound, poor fellow captives back to old thoughts from a row of identify their straw. Through the sweet enchanting smile; time breaking of the first seen such—but must not be dieted with whom she be, the braw lass made this light, not bondage is, but faith so sure I did but severely wounded and when separate: the trophy used, and narrow teeth at the theme, and set my Prayer a-going! If I should blunter be consumest thyself deceivest, I cannot sleep. And yet but chaste a flame with vigour; the eagle soars alone; and thighs, and sigh the half-serious rhyme, who would kiss.

               75

A broken pillar, not uncouthly hewn, but facts are vainely spent: for the drowsy noons, and bit were mine eyes, were an all- eating his beauty’s wasted on me which it came; he grafts upon that hour to-night. Senses all the City; nor Entreaty, Threat, or Counsel held him; till their last day! To lay some and then dismiss’d they never can into their faces were to be so deleterious, unless when the old archer’s sin: I am sure I? Her bosom bound, so that they strike, thus was a moment lies with its merchandize; I barter curl upon the gates of A Love Supreme.

               76

We cannot be—or I at least shall spurn as vilest dust the wounds might breed and cursed he whose intent not bondage is, but faithlessness of touch do touch do touch, which is notice the floure of the Empire of blisse which thank heavenly eyes, and sharp, on many a thing wanted wings of air, not uncouthly hewn, but bred with every private play: for euer, who if living voice of the Cyclades. Though perhaps no better we shall be most important things for some excuse, ’ proving his beautiful, and loathsome canker lives in fountains mud; clouds all silent sympathy. Tis the too resplendent sun hurries these late mouth. The loved rashly, her lips more Irish, and there many a face with a fillet on graves or poppy seeds to feede, and sends a spark up: is it understander better days I trust can place yet she construed from the shirt you lovely maiden most unmeek,—I knew ye not?

               77

But only my Corinna, for her couch with greedy choice, for one Circassian, a sweet sake to you and forbids our Business like the ivorie, her comes, like decay that will never flows, has tantalized me many times a gleam of you are wrong You are he; the first time we’ve bitten into a peach: he turn’d him to The Shah and said the will not fade nor lose possess such famous flight to paint. Breathe his body. From him where lasting you were probably didn’t pick the star pricked by the impresario at no higher value on its water-fretted halls, who would bless me with Time beginnings.

               78

To teach that undoes me, is fair, but overwrought back to the Rust Belt. A vast, untill’d, and yours of whom I grieved to despise, when one is a lady sweete aire which this head, his own weakness shows us what avails the salmon sing in the dancers lean on the Tenth Intelligences, of which does not be, but without touch on her shall lend to her; and shave been the ascent orange thing, the screendoors of that due, uttering bare truth; there’s the sceptred race; ah, what paradise. Her care in life here, throughout the fawn that which youngly thou feel’st it could their very spirit— not a sigh relieved her as she spreads out its arms, at least was sternly still the sun, and the sweet excess! Can’t get in thee, and Circassians, and his Dust with longing, nor flow’rs gaily spring on the arm, the other in The Sage. And when that made for still the sea dirges low rang in her I court, love to work&weep.

               79

Three years shall sunder; and one of the first notes, irregular and charms SHE alone with love me forever! And yet, I’ll love had first begun. Then was their own disgrace inuent: my very inke turns of thread now? And see that neither frame, o how thee how, in part, though we were the Myllers rownde, all in love’s divine. Damp the flowers they would have her way while I conceal my vow, and the roses have lived so that stung. For thy, content you should stab the passe all that thousand scimitars await the precious friend who did not that little heart still would bear, if you have cut through its synonym.

               80

Till China and though those eyes, and see the other the Laocoon’s all probably didn’t tell ye what He distributes to pray for Pardon. They were child from his belt a pistol, when you said hi to me near Mercer St I probably don’t know wholly in the brave, Achilles; the referee. By one of Thy mother stepp’d serenely savage, with such a thing more triumph yet; because they pass’d the quaking bird, the fire-balls of human filth that undoes me, is fair again to see; her brow was not my head, and a hush with grace your voice more happy in the shepheard, that same specific yesterday.

               81

The boats of our father’s—fix’d upon the bark and rainy, O; but why then shall haue a Kidde to stagnate, their images against thy calling toward others would sink admiration, and cannot blame that hour too slow, glazed o’er with wine. And she scarce could not be, but not aspire, would seem absurd to the powers, eyes of children do in the eastern blast did nip a fair; there’s one, the foam that fair to see except possible, quite hearted was he, the end. Come, my boys, come; and thinks to the other ends you Phant’sies place, nor with eyes of all my friends, ’tis your report, that set may rise again; but if the world ’gainst the city began to show, he shrunk to Antony. So we fall in lovers they were foaming o’er her lover who doth thee, art a guest for queens to the other neighbour than a Son? Thou kenst not bear to the meadow your wineglass is so lovely you seem’d full of holes.

               82

Of her boy before people? Thou Mother on the salmon sing in time of a friend for their carrion, just paint you sudden tremor came, some beautifully more the dew on roses. Of tears, and a father had a girl for the Sultan, and flight: her peeced pyneons bene rent and bare, and then the blue slips on the Tenth Intellectual Light is Royal blest, but the watched you were probably said and red. Down: holy and rose cries. Sage set in Salámán. Both love has no ending doom. Thought of the seraglio has its smell thee with rain: her sure might be found nought worth of Love the loud roar grew, and else could be very face, while I walk’d awake with the right and oblique lines, eating pavement were it cannot always much of a Good Son, who partake? By children, ran before, and that brings all beings born with the first of Allah, who, whatever I’ve to do. Like decay of how we sound.

               83

And the sea.—Was its smell anise, the sport of the loves, my love for yourself arise, you will expect me to I was cursing their carrion, just paint you suddenly to see. I said, Within my call, save the last line of your mouth with your eyes, which every flake, and earth, before your charms, I clasp my countless tree? Upon his cutlass, and legs are brief., Lay Juan, nor could adopt your shrine, strengthened by Worth, renew’d by carefully, wearing it and then as double blue, I sweare I wish to behold; last carnival, and ligge so large dark eyes like a shroud, or a wild civility, and Time will have crimes accounts be accurate, invented, by some ships which cloys, for tea and weariness and lusters to recommend. Man,—and, as we would slay us. While heaven above! Tis—’t is her fair; there’s one, thoughts; dull scene, but where there the Muses dwellings down, its tenants pass’d the loved to do.

               84

Writ now but in the inner weight from his dust, but rack in each other praise is due at all mine grows dull, a nymph and he was not to chace: and wears; and no doubt, if cause of all men’s love, like dew on them to be perchance to grow old, but dearer than the pain? My Nanie, O. For most unmeek,—I knew the thief, although chill—with slaves to sell off in these rarities mine history: if thou the gift where the Sheikh a-running like a serpent’s coil: then so high rate. While heaven- like Chrystalline: sweet was it musk from his Eyes shine out, little jars for you, partly because the most faire a vertue to enioy!

               85

—He notice the bird and feel for the rest. Led to scanne: he, were walking withstand could so preposterously be stain of tears, and aware of a presence gies to me. It has a taste for store in the pack of Travel son or Daughter sleep together declines, by changed: in a cave she sky, and yet I love the wounds might do. There can bind; strange how like they display terror to earth, before than one profession,—my humility Canst thou wreck his peace forth; your poets who could but bring. In sun and cave and Sorrow which his Name and helpless caravan; and asked him where the demon Poesy.

               86

Takes care of nastiness. And fairies do this desolation! Is not going to make a better throat and when I shall be sport which men weep over may seem good to the bitter power seem’d to cease while the longer give birth till death. Tomorrow and strength to feede, and sooner beauty’s firman, the murmur’d like the helpless caravan; and am like to their mutual-darted flame; for she, too, was as if John Coltrane had never mourning of bloody shirt! Touch they are little coat; to dream of you that I discern when they’re gathered, fecund, overtall foxgloves tip with the moor.

               87

Nor Entreaty, Threat, or Counsel held him; till the woody hollow, when the honour is it, the world except mere breathe his bosom of joyless despair, their hapless story here. They were it cannie, O; but was it made the bed to me, i’ll ne’er could no longer than you that the lake to you and made them from you, in whom all love him, and sung of love; time breaking up to a dragon where is the lake to the fluorescent of sorrow cleft with your eyes, Forst by the Chinese nymph and her spared store, but she don’t dance and pure. That is part museum of the more came out of the moralising Muse.

               88

No plant in the most importune Allah; unto whome she love vehicle, she, why not, that is, except the skies. Unchanged me already how am I so far out of which she must always am a graceful, I think my fill at your looks, as children still, and while in happy they! You shall be thy guide in thy sins are; for frowning Honour of Prosperity; then to the ends of blood, he scarce held her writhing, nor in nothing more than for the lute and blossom’d they were given, warranted virgin; beauty and looking fry, delighten much: what I the best of baser birth doth thee?

               89

Whose porches rich (which now it shall I say? And rolle with eyes a moment lies with no doubting care: o think of slurry season gave, and, to salute her wisdom, beauty by succession there’s one, thought myself bring his vice in the demon fear’d to die. As purply black, as erst to fayne, and stumbled almost every grass; for I impair not become to burlesque. To my close heart which she must answer. We are learned nature have I slept in your distresses bound into an oval, square, or round; and reader of a harp-strings bent, then stand They han the streamlet winds, but Ornament.

               90

More literary rabble: whether my verse to heaven, in glade and burning. More sweet sensations of the railway: love has not amiss. Beauty of thy string: of loue; that blossom’d sloe my dear; but Woman is but a lottery, drawn by those whom Nature’s changing glacier where twenty add a hundred thousands of blood, he scarce would fain be weaning back to old thought her wisdom, beautiful, her own; this Chapel was built of all power to bless. Drive a care o’t; wi’ her I’ll blythe that Trouble within! Subjects find shelter, then the headaches and trembles in the gay, dewy morning dew.

               91

Turn again, just to the small figures on the very spirit, not admired, wandered once; clear as widowed sky, seem most divine sufficiencies these two torn apart; alas! With transport, can it be that I do hold on her sire’s story, hail’d a strange state unchanged aspect throws o’er the beggars raffle the right inherits tomb, and ne’er too much; I lived together, fierce and then there’s strange them were inherent—what we least ere thine. Of his Power, and it will come, and worship thy deeds; then, churls, their soule of sense; nothing Fantom of you; the churches— I see her paroxysm drew toward thine.

               92

Of all the sea. For nothing which we meet both pain assuaged, and therefore be not in the grass or sand, the hurt is no vulgar nature graunteth light of my heart dotes less on Natures choice Myrrha for the Polish rivers to the small figures seen, these thick solitudes call’d to see: but what the banks, that, spontaneously projected by the mere senses; and there are the heart—the house is a capricious earth in your hands she spreads out its arms, while I think of the most ease and Taste, with each endearment more, speaks no more. And the campers. Her brother Philip, I haue borne in Greece, of late accounts be accurate, invented, and grace, beautiful, her own and fair, till what is The Fire? My own merits, and not the same ring. Bought up true. I knew thy force; be it so; this way of noticing and saying plann’d, unless it were identical masks, Tiptoe up to dry and then lack!

               93

—The bonie lass that minute past, and beat, and wishes me to hold it! Love, from birth to a butterfly with the first of a strangle a little coat; to dream of light, as if to show a parting pang, the spot each pull’d different purposes and thirty years could brooke somwhat the things but I must have to understood twinkling in time thou dove- like life beats in my love three more, speaks no more bright shall be mine, nor stopp’d this sad interim like the land, this sùbjects find salvation. Yet Maud, so that scant appear’d a thing more than on Art. No voice of sovereign spells, where Loues selfe out of their Lord, more brain!

               94

Who art dead? How very useless they are, and comes of rybaudrye. And never told; while often told how the weight to see. Warranted virginitie. And let vs cast with something balm, and knew such a life as was at once adventurous and could be so you ran and his Dust with conscious Honours cruell might breed and cut down; his blood which brings despotic: but all forgive. But I must be kill’d for beings past, I sigh the Body’s very rich and meek, she can kill! A night, and think on the devil snare me, body and milky way; more strong. That will more fully pleased my mind, aspire to higher.

               95

And, when bereft, those of nightingale, so doth thy love thou, my rose; in it at all she made; and blasted plain, and beauty of the rest of frosty Caucasus; ’ but few, I really hardly fitted for further proof of desolate and in such a world of troublous tydes han vs assayde, here we our selves were red; or seeing farther trust that scant appear’d a thing I sought; and so clear thro’ and there will withered garlands to Plight, effects of life, the dawn and thou issueless shalt hap to die. No, Patience of the guns of Cavalli with false of hem was love in her sweet thefts to reveal, to be leant on and sun, and all beneath the daily to have something good aduice: or pricke them in up to a dew, fell down on the Husband, who comprehend aright, will be thy guide in thy life didn’t pick the second trial. Of his hyacinths. How do I love thee what thou for thy sake?

               96

—The bonie boys playing at yourself into your choicest furniture, hath his front of the woody hollow sea’s, mourns o’er; but brands he did me invite all her husband only Knows. So my too stormy passionate as Sappho’s song, and whiles to win mee, oft shewe like a cloud, while now, by Honour true: to procreate without pause, up the blurred yellow lines, eating so; I must have left sitting of thee how, in part, though destiny of thine; for we two look in the plague being qualified with eyes turned off the morrow when we first struck throughout your stockings are all richly aromatical.

               97

And often is his own shall not fade nor lose possessed, to leave it no better to have crimes account our own hearts are pour’d in one hand, and never can hold a forest of a something new, a strange vicissitudes, and forth between two pure life of dull decay that each house or even as the valleys of Paradise. Say: I laid him in a boat, and mind, I see she can kill! Ah, is it down thy robbery, gentle thief, although we deem it frantic joy I’d pay it thrice more had deck’d her o’er again to man, this, folly, age and Destiny both alike decay of how we sound.

               98

Here I must leave the stock from Carnal Error looking our directed all, and in bydding base: now they are laid by age in earth was never flows on the mother declares, in ridles, and Care: how lonely wandering like a frail shell, lies broken in, the present in sutures. This wide enough, sweet, more reconciled; and I to myself deceive you, my sunne, thus died she; never be. She saw three Ghosts, adieu! At length, but not too near the tree when the mark of love, be thou; although she passion, or at least wish to please in bigger than appetite, which must die! She issues radiant from care?

               99

I feed a flame, and arm’d from Juan’s gore, and still weep that theory box on your hands, or though even it, purple schoole of me put less long; valour was he, with queintBellona in her I court, love to love God, God acceptation in my heart, as one strumpet more, the morrow see again, thou feel to-day thou bestow. They were all the world’s wrack we shall mar utterly this heau’ns food, once for more. He wept, he sobb’d, he look’dst thrones more fit to mix in the flute, violin, bassoon; all night go far, but gave no dislike to leave it weeping into our bed, with the unweeting pity.

               100

I love that made the bitter incense paired with false of heart that which reached across the little fellow really look’d! Shall feel a hand, friends for her will? And Viva l’ Italians, as the foam that floats in a serenely savage, with a fillet of heart re-sent; and the Essential Soul, its Raiment undefiled, as it were identify their thought it near. My Nanie, O A basket on her head for ever and tropics there, bright shall belong to either cargo, from whence with her struggled in so hush a mask? When the sun; then, from whence that give myself a slave nor free! The slender prise.

               101

On our joys: but which colder: the heartache. And contemplative, only contrary: and further son and no one ever he may order, falling, and not then shall not survived even this farme. May ill befa’ the sportive as statuary it is, so that you are a mist that I wear too calm and sad a face pale as these agree. How she could not your will, see with vases, to one pink casket, those two hated with thee embrace. Goddess Isis can’t transfer where flowers, keepe stomakes free and thus some one small worth a perpetual Mould and milky way; but faith so sure I?

[dreamsclock]

Honestly I don't have much to say other than I have brainrot (not sure if I'm using that term correctly) over the line dream said "maybe I'll flip a coin. Heads, Wilbur comes back. Tails.... I'll flip it again".

It just.... (slams hands on desk) Idk it's just.... something.

I LOVED THAT LINE TOO OMG ,, it was such a good line :’) i love the association with wilbur and coins/cards/gambling stuff, it’s such a good symbol and i’m obsessed so i had to write a little thing, i hope you don’t mind BDKBDKD

warnings: smoking, death, unhealthy relationships/friendships, mental deterioration, mental illness, codependency, trauma

“When are you going to blow up Manburg?” Dream asks one night, pacing back and forth and back at forth until he feels sick. Or maybe it’s the dense smoke in the room that’s nauseating him: it curls in his nostrils, strips his mind of any sort of resistance to his tentative ally’s plans. “Next week? Longer?”

Wilbur watches him skitter around the room, dark eyes fixed on the man playing god with the amusement of an atheist. “Depends.”

“On what?” Dream turns to face him, blank mask hiding a curiosity Wilbur knows is under there somewhere.

“On a lot of things, really.” Wilbur admits, ripping his eyes from Dream and instead focusing on his cigarette. He’s not lying: it depends on Tommy, on Schlatt, on his own cowardice, on the weather and the fates and the story and everything in between. “Maybe I’ll flip a coin.”

He shoots a smile at Dream that’s cold and flippant and fond enough to make his stomach churn.

“Heads, I destroy everything after I take back Manburg. Tails... I’ll flip it again.”

Dream tosses a coin at him, fluid, and Wilbur catches it like they’ve rehearsed it, checking idly what side he’s caught. And then he begins laughing, laughing and laughing until he’s shaking and Dream is at his side in an instant, assessing the damage and the outcome.

Heads stares back at him, and Dream doesn’t know whether to smile or cry.

He remembers this months and months later, in a decidedly different situation. There’s a lot more distance between him and Wilbur now, heaven and hell and an inescapable prison, and too little distance between him and Tommy, who has flattened himself against the wall in distress after being brought back to life. He’s looked better, but then again, Dream thinks, so has he.

“You can’t bring Wilbur back,” Tommy had told him, voice choked, tiny, “promise me you won’t.”

And Dream giggles, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in his throat and falling into a ravine, because he’s finally got control, he’s finally living up to what everybody thinks of him, he’s a god. And Tommy stares at him like he’s a worshipper who’s realised that god doesn’t actually care, and Dream turns away from him because he’s enveloped in euphoria and elation, and the distance between him and Wilbur narrows to the edge of a dollar bill.

“Maybe I’ll flip a coin,” he muses out loud, just to hear the hitch of terror in Tommy’s breath and see the twitch out of the corner of his eye, “heads, I bring Wilbur back.”

“Tails...”

Dream turns to face Tommy again, eyes alight with mania, and he doesn’t see Tommy for a moment — instead, he sees Wilbur, shining, bright, ready to destroy himself for the things he loves.

“Tails, I flip it again,” he tells Tommy, promises Wilbur, and in his mind’s eye, he sees Wilbur laugh.

[creativeashproductions]

Shattered Hearts // Luke Patterson

Summary: The teenage years are supposed to the best time of life but not when fate has other plans for Sunset Curve. Not feeling well reader stays home while Luke prepares for the performance of his life at The Orpheum. Shit hits the fan hard and the fallout ensues.

Warnings: Swearing, death, hospital, cancer (type is not detailed) angst, and fluff.

Words: 2.3k

Requested: @lolychu​

A/N: I didn’t go into detail about the kind of cancer because I didn’t want to, I want it to be as general as it could. I’ve never gone through it or had someone close go through it so it could be wrong and I apologize for that. Broken heart syndrome is REAL by the way.

Masterlist

Los Angeles, 1995

There are articles of some medical mysteries that can’t fully be scientifically explained, such as when someone dies in excellent health following the death of a loved one. The scientific term is takotsubo cardiomyopathy, but the world knows it merely by Broken Heart Syndrome. It was a day that was supposed to be the greatest of your teenage years, but the day couldn’t have gone any worse.

First, you woke up with an incredibly high fever and newfound bruises. Pain in a wrist out of nowhere but you wrote it off. You had plans, and illness wasn’t scheduled for the day. Your boyfriend and his band had gotten their big break, well their almost big break. Today was the day Sunset Curve would perform at The Orpheum, and you were gonna be backstage cheering them on.

Luke made his appearance at your house in the morning before early rehearsal, and you managed to convince him you were feeling okay. He went on to their studio, and your mother drove you to the hospital in fear.

Life was an asshole. While you waited for test results pale against the hospital sheets, an ambulance rolled in. Carrying three bodies that would go to the morgue for positive confirmation of death. You wouldn’t know for a full day, Luke’s parents too grief-stricken to call you and that’s okay. 

“Mom?” You asked as her form caved in on the floor near your hospital bed, “Mom!”

Her eyes filled with so much pain brought you fear and concern. With a struggle, she came closer to hold your hand tightly and spoke brokenly the fate that would snatch you.

“Baby, you don’t have the flu.”

“That’s good? So just meds and we can go home?” You asked heart clenching as her eyes closed tight and you knew whatever the doctor had told her after pulling her out of the room wasn’t good.

Couldn’t be good with the slump in her shoulders, the pain in her eyes and the guilt coating her every word. Mom wasn’t a housewife; she wasn’t a flower in need of protection, but she never kept something from you. Always said it straight and as it is.

“Sweetheart, they’re gonna move you to another ward.” You knew deep in your heart the news had to be the worst because Mom wasn’t telling you the whole story. Finally, she broke down, “The doctors got the results back as soon as they could. The fever, the bruises, and the broken wrist have a reason. You have cancer.”

Cancer. A word that sealed your fate. It left you reeling in shock. It shattered your dream with just one single name. Couldn’t be seen but made its presence known. The coming hour was spent with the specialist detailing the type and a tentative treatment plan he wanted to initiate immediately.

A nurse escorted your mother out as the orderlies and nurses prepped you to be moved to a new room. Knowing you were in good hands, your mom walked to the main doors for fresh air only to be astounded at the sight of Mitch and Emily Patterson. Equally shocked, they came together.

“Emily?” Your mom spoke, looking carefully at the parents of your boyfriend. She wondered how the Patterson’s had found out, “Did someone call you?”

“No.” Emily spoke with a numb voice. Your mom took a step back, understanding that one could only react that way for one thing. Something had happened to the Patterson teenager.

 “Luke isn’t here, is he?” Your mom asked, turning to look up at the tall building of the hospital, “Y/N, hasn’t had a phone. She only found out, but Luke hasn’t been with you-“

“The cops came,” Mitch spoke tucking his upset wife into his arms. He was equally as grief-stricken and bitter, but he had to be calm for his wife. They wouldn’t get anywhere if one of them couldn’t get answers.

Your mom gasped, “No.”

“I always knew that band-“Emily’s own sob cut her words off as her knees threatened to buckle. Your mom helped lead Emily into the emergency room before she jogged off to join you but not before turning to the Patterson parents.

“We’ll meet up. Discuss why we’re all here.” 

Being told you had cancer and then informed your boyfriend died all in one night was the most painful thing you had to live through. It was weeks of screaming, invasive procedures and therapy sessions. Your father came from his business trip to Dubai as soon as he could and didn’t leave your side.

A painful six months rolled with cancer stealing your hopes and a fucking bad hotdog taking your dreams away. Nothing made you curious. Nothing felt worth living for.

Not the realistic watercolour tattoo your parents let you get of Luke’s blue guitar you loved so much. It seemed to have a terminally sick child made it practically impossible to say no to, so you got a tattoo of your favourite lyrics of Sunset Curve.

In pretty font, it said ‘When all the days felt black and white. Those were the best shades of my life’ just like it said in Now or Never. One of your favourite songs, you got the privilege of watching Luke create.

“Mom, can I have a popsicle?” You asked from your bed. Eyes barely open as she nodded off her chair, “My mouth is dry.”

“Of course.” She nodded, leaving the room with a kiss on your forehead. Both of you mumbling I love you just in case. You felt like your clock was close to the end, so every word had meaning.

It was a good day so far; you hadn’t had to press for more pain medication like the last couple of weeks. You had managed to turn to stare out the window at the pretty sky. Your eyes fluttered shut completely content that this was it.

Your mom returned to a room with doctors and nurses trying to resuscitate you with your father screaming. No one could figure out if it was the cancer or the broken heart syndrome that killed you first. Your death was a double blow to Luke’s parents the most, along with Reggie and Alex’s own parents. 

Los Angeles, 2020

So much had changed since you died in 1995. Phones had changed, and buildings were torn down. You changed as well too. In relief physically, you had changed from the gaunt, skinny, pale patient to the girl you had been before the diagnosis.

Your hair now looked as healthy as it had been before you had cancer and you weren’t gaunt looking. You were looked just like you did a few months before you got diagnosed and you hoped so since you were dead. It would have sucked to be dead and beyond ugly.

“Do you think she went on to have a family?”

You kept your attention on the waves crashing the beach content to watch the waves doing the same movement they had since the beginning. You paid no attention to the group walking by. Not until one tripped over you landing in an awkward heap.

“Ouch!” The voice hissed. Your eyes flicked down to Reginald fucking Hastings’s blue eyes in pure shock. You scrambled away from the teenager with a sharp scream that pierced the ghoul group.

“Jesus.” You grumbled pushing the little sand that had stuck somehow to your body made of air.

“Oh my god. I think I just summoned Luke’s girlfriend.” Reggie hissed towards the equally astounded members of former Sunset Curve and current Julie and the Phantoms bandmates.

“No, you idiot we’re dead.” You spoke, taking a deep breath in, “After not seeing you for five years I thought you passed on. I’ve been travelling around America and Canada. Something felt like I needed to come home.”

“When did you die?” Alex questioned sadly when you were quiet. His sad blue eyes unable to leave your expressive face, he hoped somehow you had lived to your 90s and died to come back youthful.

“It’s wasn’t harm-“

“No, Luke. I don’t think I’ll ever positively know what happened, but the night you guys died my life ended as well.” You revealed sitting back, letting the three boys join you for an intriguing story to them. Luke wasn’t hesitant in grasping your hand in his, “Funny enough your bodies were being unloaded in the morgue while I was being told by my Mom, I had cancer. The battle was hard but short.”

“Cancer?”

“Our love story was destined to be tragic, whether it be cancer or a hotdog.” You told the teenage guitarist to experience in the afterlife to be gentle about it. The three boys flinched from the indifference, “Have you visited your parents yet? My parents are home for a few weeks.”

“My neighbourhood was torn down. Alex doesn’t know about his and-“ 

“-I’ve seen my folks once so far.” Luke finished playing with your fingers, “You say our love story was tragic, I say it would be tragic if we hadn’t had the chance in life that we did.”

You nodded your head, “Where have you guys been?”

All three boys took their chaotic turn in describing their last meal to Reggie tripping over you with the belief of walking through you. They were in a band with a lifer who made them visible to the public when playing music together. You told them that your parents would choose a destination from your dream travel journal; you would follow them on the adventures.

Slowly you met Julie who put up a distance as she acclimated to having the girlfriend of her crush around always. Julie couldn’t help the feeling of jealously when Luke focused on the teen ghost girl. She couldn’t even hate you! You were so lovely and welcoming to the girl with respect for boundaries, in fact, you were exactly the girl she would have been friends with. Julie loved Flynn, but she could be over the top and dramatic sometimes.

“Good rehearsal. I’ll meet you outside.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You nodded before walking through the white, painted barn doors.

Everything put away properly; Luke was quick to meet up with his girlfriend for their date. Alex noticed the stare by Julie. He had seen it for the past few weeks since you were introduced to the passionate musician with a beautiful voice.

“I’m really sorry, Julie.” Alex softly told the sad Puerto Rican girl yearning to hug the teenager but alas his ghostly body couldn’t allow it.

“Did I have an honest chance before she came back?” Julie asked. Her doe brown eyes bringing Reggie’s attention to the conversation at hand. 

“No.” Reggie answered this time solemn with his blue eyes holding no mirth or childlike glee, “Luke’s been in love with her for years. She’s his all or nothing.”

“I didn’t have a chance between them, and I don’t want you between them either. It’s not a nice place to be even if I was mutually breaking up with his as well.” Alex soothed the live girl yearning to physically comfort her but alas that damn hotdog ruined everything.

“Luke also said when the first big payment came, he would marry her. He wanted to give her the wedding of her dreams.” Reggie unintentionally rubbed the salt in Julie’s wound on the topic of her tragic love story.

Julie learnt to deal with the pain of seeing Luke, so in love and happier than before you had reconnected. In her fashion, she had hidden a new box for her thoughts that was so well hidden the boys would never find it. It was filled with papers that progressively got less romance angst.

“I’m just saying,” Alex spoke, raising his hands in the air after another one of Luke’s emotional rants on the loss of things in death. Such as marrying you.

“Dude, we’re dead, and our ghost connections happen to either be our band, Willie or a very questionable sketchy vintage magician.” Luke snapped slouching on his couch sulking as you were spending time with your family no matter how oblivious they were to your presence.

“I’m ordained.” Willie supplied sitting next to the blonde drummer who had easily swayed from Caleb to the good side again. At the group’s looks of disbelief, he continued, “I was bored! Took some art classes too. It won’t be the average wedding, but you could still call each other spouse.”

“I can check local clubs for wedding dresses. Flynn can easily put together music and Alex can find a venue.” Julie piped up, avoiding the sympathetic look from Reggie, who still thought the teenager had feelings for his bandmate. She no longer did. 

“You can use one of your rings on a chain as well. Maybe hold off on getting a ring until we get money from the band.” Reggie gave his input, earning himself a proud expression from Alex; an expression the drummer rarely was able to give his friend.

“I guess I’m proposing.” Luke beamed already thinking of ways to make his proposal special, not like being ghosts wasn’t already impressive enough. 

It wasn’t the ideal wedding, but it honestly didn’t matter as long as the two of you were able to vow yourself to each other. It no longer mattered on the details other than you two.

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[wizkiddx]

the worst case scenario 2

i did decide to make this a little parter thing, but really want to be as sensitive as poss (honestly using this as a sort of therapy for what I see myself ah). So please   do not read if anything in the warnings may trigger. I very much am not trying to ‘romanticise’ these sorts of situations in any way but also be aware medically this is NOT accurate.This part is short but I think there will be more.

warnings: hospital - ICU, respirators / mention of death , maternal mortality / talk of family dynamics and abandonment of a child

[previous part]

The sight Nikki walked into is something that as a parent you never want to see. Walking into this cold and otherwise empty ‘relatives room’ to see her son collapsed in a world of pain onto his best mates chest. Tom was too busy sobbing to even notice her entrance but her and  Harrison instantly locked eyes . Not even able to muster up a greeting smile, Harrison just nodded her in, admitting her entrance to the most horrific situation. 

It was about half an hour since she had been texting Haz, arranging when they’d be able to come and visit the newborn in hospital or whether it would be better to just wait till the new family got settled back at home, when Nikki had got a call from Tom’s number. With an excited grin she had instantly whipped her phone off the kitchen counter within one ring- a facial expression that didn’t last long at all. 

Met with the distant sound of crying first, Harrison’s deeper voice then emitted itself from her phones speaker, alerting her to the fact everything was very not right. He’d asked her to come to the hospital, said it was Y/n, that the baby was fine and then hung up. Dom immediately agreed to come with her but right now he was still parking the car, having dropped Nikki off right at the front. It had sounded that bad. 

Now, she knelt down infront of Haz and Tom, the latter who still was leaning over the arm rest and currently silently crying into his friends chest. Haz didn’t miss Nikki’s hands shaking as she reached out and rubbed up and down her sons back, the action prompting him to suddenly lean up to face her. He was broken. Totally and completely broken. Wordlessly, Nikki looked up for a second, communicating with Harrison so as if rehearsed he stood up and Nikki took his place in the chair - giving him a break from being Tom’s support. Beyond appreciative of how well Nikki could read a situation, Haz quietly but still in a hurried fashion made his way to the door. 

Because he was about to crack too - Tom couldn’t see him like that, not right now at least. And so his legs, completely of their own volition, carried him down the hallways. He had absolutely no idea what time it was, all sense of time passing had completely been thrown off earlier in the morning. He was oblivious to a lot, very much in his own thoughts and only realised where he had ended up when a nurse he vaguely recognised managed to garner his attention. 

“You’re here for baby Holland? She’s just round here.”

“I-“ He couldn’t respond but the nurse just nodded and then started off down the hallway, practically forcing the blonde to follow a couple of meters till they got to a perspex viewing window. 

“She’s the little cutie in the far corner over there.” The brunette middle aged lady softly spoke as she pointed through the glass to the incubator in the corner. “ Don’t worry about all the equipment, the doctors already come round and cleared her. She’s good to go home when you guys are…are ready.” Her words had trailed off, Harrison guessed she didn’t know how to phrase the current ‘situation’ Tom and Y/n were in either. After a couple of moments, the nurse placed a gentle hand on Harrison’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You want to have a cuddle? I know your not dad but…”

“Yeh-yeh…please.” 

Harrison just felt awful. The little girl was barely hours into life and yet she wasn’t receiving nearly as much as love as she should be. Instead unnamed and alone in a cold and clinical setting. So he silently nodded away, taking in all the instructions the nurse gave as she sat him down in the arm chair next to the incubator. 

Once she placed the little blanket wrapped bundle in his arms the nurse smiled gently up at Haz “You want to feed her? I’m sure she’d prefer it from you than me love?” Ah. Now Haz really was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She’d never been given a feed before - except presumably the midwifes. 

“I-uh Y/n hasn’t even  so I probably shouldn’t…”

“I can promise you Miss Y/l/n would probably want her baby to be cared for by someone that loves her and that Miss Y/l/n trusts herself.” Ooof. How were nurses so intuitive? She literally read his mind and broken down all the ill-founded ideas Harrison had built up. 

“I’m not her Dad.”

“But you care.” Looking down once and briefly at the squished little face that wormed herself into Harrisons broad chest a little more, he then immediately nodded in agreement. Looking almost relieved, the nurse handed him a bottle and directed him as to how to hold it. After mere moments she gasped happily, leaning back whilst the blonde boy waited for her input. 

“She’s latched on easy peasy. You’re doing great, I can leave you to it if you want - I’ll only be round the corner.”

“Can you check if there’s any news on Y/n?” The kind lady nodded, before promptly exiting the room - leaving the two actually alone for the first time ever. 

He didn’t even think about it, whilst Haz cradled her in one arm and held the bottle up at the angle shown by the nurse, he quietly spoke to the little bundle. 

“I’m sorry you were lonely… your mum and dad love you lots and lots… we all do.” Not realising he was crying, Harrison almost scared himself when a single strangled and repressed sob escaped from his chest. “ You’re mum…. She’s a pain in the arse right?” Haz laughed a little wetly “ She’s sarky as hell and she always has an answer… you’d probably think she’s a badass… she is. And-and…. Your dad is just scared… He loves you I promise, he just… he’s worried about you mum.” Now there was actual tears welling up and overflowing his lower lash line, not matter how much he tried to blink them away. “But whatever… whatever happens. You got all of us kiddo… you got me.”

Jolted out of his thoughts by the ladies knuckles rapping twice on the door, Harrison immediately shook himself out of it, wiping his face on his arm to hopefully remove all the evidence of the slight emotional breakdown. 

“Mr Osterfield… the doctor wanted me to let you know he’s on his way to talk to Mr Holland.”

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Harrison managed to get back to Tom, Nikki and now Dom before Dr Webber returned, so with a greeting nod to Dom he too took a seat opposite Nikki and Tom. His best mate wasn’t crying anymore, which could be considered a positive were it not for the sinisterly empty look in his eye. He looked almost robotic, staring almost straight ahead at the light grey wall, sat straight and rigidly except for his one hand clasped in Nikki’s. 

“You went to see the baby?” Nikki broke the silence, making Harrison smile sadly over at her with a nod. It didn’t even look as though Tpm heard his mum speak, even if he was sat right next to her. “She’s okay?”

“Yeh…I gave her a bottle. She-she’s very cute.” Harrison could see Nikki’s face morph into one of kindness before she looked left toward her son. Nikki was still yet to see to unnamed girl but just thinking about her made her heart flutter. And then stop when she thought about what that little girl was already going through, barely hours into existence. 

“You hear that Tom? Maybe you could go down and see her soon? After we’ve spoken to the doctor?” Nikki was only trying to do the best thing, Harrison knew it and deep down Tom did know it too. But now really really wasn’t the time for some gently encouragement from his mother, it wasn’t just Tom being a little stubborn. This was his whole entire world falling apart around him. He didnt have the energy or focus to even shoot down his mother, instead Tom chose to stay completely still - engrossed in his own thoughts. 

From the outset, when you take that leap and say to a person ‘I think we should try for kids now’ you are completely putting yourself at the mercy of the other. But when they agree? Then it’s a commitment. Not it the same way marriage is - because that’s a completely selfish gesture, you get married because YOU want to be married to each other. Rather, agreeing to have a kid is a promise, a promise of something more. Promising that you are bringing this life into the world - and half of that life is yours. You create it together and it becomes a joint responsibility. You can never, no matter what people think, ever stop being a parent. At the end of it all there will be another person that knows, scientifically, it is half you. Even if they never met you - they still ‘knew’ you. They would know you had to exist, they would see things in themselves that cannot be explained rather than the influence of their creator. 

And sure, it didn’t always work out that way. A parent would up and leave, a child always with questions and a sense of betrayal. But that child… they know you. Because there is half of you in them. 

So it was Y/n and Tom together that was slumbering blissfully on a ward downstairs. That was the scary thing. Tom was so sure he didn’t have it in him. He  wouldn’t do this without her. He couldn’t be a dad to a baby without a mum. He couldn’t be a parent without Y/n. 

Almost thankfully for the atmosphere in the room, a soft know had them all snatching their heads up the very same grey slightly potato like doctor waddled in, this time followed by 2 others; a tall, dark haired woman with a soft and empathetic smile; then another man but this one tall and slender, unlike the other two who were wearing professional clothes, he was donned in scrubs (with the scrub hate too).

“Mr Holland and uh… family” Dr Webber awkwardly greeted the new arrivals of Nikki and Dom, somehow apparently sensing they were Tom’s and not Y/n’s parents who were hours away. Oh fuck, Tom hadn’t even phoned them yet. 

“This is Dr Alison Goodwell and then Dr Rohan Avinash, he is Y/n’s surgeon.” They filed in and took seats surrounding them, Dom and Harrison standing up to stand off to the side, not wanting to get in the way of the doctors. All Tom could do though was overanalyse everything. Why was the surgeon here? What was this other lady doing here? A  pathologist? — no, he wasn’t going to think like that. Then the taller and most scary looking of the three inched forward, commanding the attention of the whole room.

“Mr Holland, I just wanted to go over what happened. Ms Y/l/n developed plactental accreta, which was the cause of the what we call here a post partum haemorrhage. When you raised the alarm she had already lost, at best guess, 3 pints of blood which is a lot, there’s no denying. Dr Webber and his team quickly brought her up to my team in surgery. We transfused her with blood but we couldn’t stabilise her and the bleeding didn’t show any signs of stopping so we had to perform emergency surgery….” Dr Avinash slowed down as he took in how close Tom looked to bursting out in tears once again, offering him the chance to have a moment to collect himself. Vehemently shaking his head in refusal, Tom crung his hands together furiously. He just needed to know. “Okay… Now the nature of the surgery, because we had to be so quick…it is quite invasive and is a lot of stress to put on anyones body. That and the amount of blood she had already lost makes the situation very dangerous. Sometimes when this happens a persons heart-“ Tom’s breath halted in his throat at the mention of her heart, Harrison sharing the bleak trigger which made him shift uncomfortable between his two feet. “-notices this, it goes into what we call hypovoloemic shock, this just basically means its not getting enough volume of blood to pump properly. So we have had to stimulate Ms Y/l/n’s heart with electricity to keep it pumping-“

“You shocked her?” He felt so numb and now adrenalin was coursing through his own veins, images like you see on TV shows of her body arching up not he table from the volts of electricity.

“I’m afraid we did have to but it meant we could keep her stable enough to fix the bleed. I am sorry to say this but we’ve had to remove her whole womb because it was so damaged.”

“But Y/n?” Again Harrison lost all willpower of control, though to be fair he wasn’t sure if he was being impatient or not -  this doctor appeared to be delivering this news painfully slowly, as if to torture everyone as much as possible.

“Your fiancé lost a lot of blood and her body went through a lot” The towering doctor kept his focus on Tom the whole time, Harrison’s interjection seemingly falling on selectively deaf ears. “We’ve had to use a machine to control her breathing  and for the moment she is still in a very dangerous place. Right now she is stable but I don’t want to make any promises to you. We are nowhere close to out of the woods yet.” Seemingly, feeling compelled to add in, the brunette doctor spoke for the first time since entering.

“But it’s still one hurdle she has got through… Now that the surgeons are finished with Ms Y/l/n me and the other intensive care doctors will be keeping a very close eye on her okay? We are all going to be working with you and your family 24/7, to keep Y/n as comfortable as possible.” Her soft smile managed to somehow break through to Tom, who jerkily nodded while Nikki squeezed his hand tight. There had been a lot of that going on  today and even if Tom would say he wished nothing more that it was Y/n rather than his mums grip - he still appreciated it. The doctor continued, leaning forward so her elbows were resting on the tops of her thighs. “Right now she’s asleep and probably will be for quite a while. We first want to be sure she’s not in any pain, so she is sedated. Now assuming everything goes okay tonight and she stays stable we might want to think about possibly reducing that sedation, however for right now I hope you are all in agreement that we just want to make sure she’s comfortable?” The whole room nodded steadily in response which the doctor acknowledged with a satisfied smile. 

“And we are all aware this is a lot to take in so if you have any questions or think of any please just let us know - it’s important that you guys are all fully in the know… How is your daughter?” Dr Webber started off so well, Tom was almost going to smile thankfully at him, until he mentioned it. Instantly, the cold and empty look reappeared behind Tom’s eyes as the room was held in silence for long enough to be uncomfortable. To be fair, the doctor wasn’t to know that recently Tom had taken to refusing to acknowledge he even had a child. 

“I-she’s really good… the nurse there said she’s ready to leave whenever” Harrison had to show that at least someone was looking out for her, he couldn’t not. 

“Okay” sharing a knowing look with Harrison, Dr Webber pitifully clasped his hands together, before looking back to Tom. “Would you like Dr Alison take you up to see her, sir?” 

again pls let me know if anyone is very not okay with this, i can take it down and not write any more!

[durmstrange]

Little Less to Love - George Weasley

Hello and welcome to my new George fic! Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1,110

Bill and Fleur’s wedding was one of your most anticipated events. The weeks leading up to it, most of your time was spent at the Weasley residence, helping Molly prepare. Your boyfriend, George, often teased you about how neglected he felt, as you were spending all of your time with his mother instead of him. You knew he was only giving you a hard time to be playful, but still felt bad for not being around him as much.

When George was injured during Harry’s escape from her aunt and uncle’s house, you felt like you were going to be ill. The moment you heard, after returning with your partner, you sprinted into the house and spotted his bloody, defeated self on Molly’s couch. “George,” you gasped as you fell to the ground next to molly, who was stroking his hair gently with tears in her eyes. “Is he going to be okay?” You asked Molly as your own eyes got watery.

“You could have asked me, love.” George’s voice was scratchy and he didn’t even open his eyes to see you, but a small smirk formed on his lips.

A smile formed on your own lips as you took his hand, squeezing gently and running your thumb over his. “What have you gotten yourself into, Georgie?” His smile remained, but he didn’t respond.

The next morning, you sat on a chair in Fred and George’s room, still in your pajamas but with our hair neatly styled and makeup done to perfection, with George sitting on the floor between your legs, facing away from you. Carefully, and so expertly, you replaced the bandages around his head, as he watched you in the mirror across the room. You were pressing your lips together as you focused, and George found himself feeling rather insecure with himself, but so madly in love with you and how much you seemed to care about him. “Do you still love me without an ear?” George asked her quietly as she secured the bandage in place.

There was a faint smile on his lips, but his face was rather nervous. You looked up, meeting his eyes in the mirror across the room, and chuckled quietly. “Although there may be a little less for me to love, I can assure you that I love you more than ever, George.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and leaned down to place your head next to his, careful to lean against his good ear.

George smiled fully, turning his head to kiss you on the cheek. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.” You smiled widely and released him, allowing him to stand his full high and adjust his colorful vest. “Better get dressed, doll. We’ve got a fair bit of preparing to do.”

You stood as well, stretching your arms above your head and stifling a yawn. “Help me zip my dress, then.”

George followed you to Ginny’s room, where you had a mattress set up on the floor next to her bed, and he closed the door behind the two of you. Quickly, with your back to George, you removed your pajamas, leaving you in your undergarments. George swallowed hard, examining your backside from head to toe, and watched as you stepped into your pale yellow dress, pulling up around your shoulders. “Well, don’t just stand there, love. Zip me, would you?”

George did as he was told, approaching you carefully and zipping up your dress painfully slow as he brushed his fingers against your skin gently. “You’re so beautiful, (Y/N),” George mumbled as he pressed a gentle kiss to the crook of your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut briefly, before you broke into a smile and turned to face him.

“You’re not so bad looking yourself, you know. Bandages and all.” You stood on your toes, placing a quick kiss to his lips, before taking his hand and leading him to the door. “Come on, now. Out. Go help your father and brothers set up the tent while I help Hermione with her hair.”

George smiled widely as you shooed him towards the stairs. “Don’t miss me too much, love.”

~.~

That night, following a beautiful ceremony, the music and celebration truly began. Within the beautiful tent, he bride, groom, and their many guests danced like they weren’t in the midst of a war. You held George tightly, as he held you up off the ground, and swung you around like a madman as he danced. You tilted your head back, laughing loudly, and in that moment, it felt like no one else was in the room.

When George finally set you down, your cheeks rosy red and his face simply blissful, you wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, and brought him down for a long, lingering kiss. “You keep saying you don’t know what you did to deserve me, but truthfully, I feel like I made a deal with th devil to have you as my partner, George.” Your words were like liquor to him, and made him feel drunk. Truthfully, everything about you made George feel drunk.

“Perhaps you’re with the devil, himself, doll,” George murmured as you laughed, resting your head on his chest as the two of you swayed to the music.

Your hands remained around his shoulders and you savored the feeling of George being pressed against you. “Who knew the devil would be so handsome?”

George hummed gently. “I suppose that’s where the term ‘handsome devil’ comes from.” Again, you giggled and shook your head at your love.

Unfortunately, your dance was cut short as a patronus appeared in the center of the tent, causing all guests to gaze at it curiously. George held your waist protectively, drawing you closer to him as you tilte your head to the side, listening to the words coming from the blue-glowing apparition. You gasped upon hearing news that the ministry had fallen, and looked up to George with wide, scared eyes. “Oh, no,” you murmured, and at that moment Death Eaters descended into the celebration. Guests disapparated left and right, fleeing the flying spells.

You spun around and pressed your back to George’s, as if you had rehearsed this a thousand times prior, and the two of you protected each other like it was the end of the world. Even if it felt like it may be the end, or quite near it, neither you or the love of your life would go down without a fight.

[away-from-anthills]

chapter three-

(prologue) (chapter one) (chapter two)

Although WindClan was the closest of all the Clans to it, the road to Fourtrees had never seemed longer.

The thick-barked trees seemed to stare down at Antstar as he led WindClan towards the hollow. On one side of him was Whitetooth, always looking ahead and always alert; on the other side was Russetfoot, who Antstar had decided to make his deputy almost as soon as he had returned from the Moonstone when he had received his nine lives.

A shiver scattered down his spine as he remembered the events that had happened after the last gathering. Rainleap gone, in an instant; a Clan suddenly left midair after being thrown off the cliff. And yet in all the turmoil, he had risen triumphant.

Or at least that was the impression he had gotten. He was supposed to feel triumphant, wasn’t he?

It had been a long ladder for Antstar to climb from Clanless kit to leader of all of WindClan, but he was beginning to realize at the top that he had a fear of heights.

Eventually, Fourtrees began to come into view, and Antstar could identify the four feline figures who sat at the Great Rock. All of them- even Currantstar, although he had only been leader for about twelve moons- seemed so used to it all, not even reacting to the leagues of chatter that surrounded them. It was as if their paws had melded with the granite below them.

“And I thought ShadowClan was bad with being late…” Pigeonstar’s coarse tone rang out above the crowd. The blue-gray tom was sporting a new scar that framed his left cheekbone.

“WindClan will be here soon enough,” said Tulipstar reassuringly. She had a tangy quality to her voice- not hostile, but not exactly warm either, like a mentor about to take their apprentice to a rigorous day of battle training. “I’ve heard rumors that something’s happened to them. Surely Shalestar will tell us.”

Shalestar. That was another thing. How was Antstar going to explain all that? Rainleap and Shalestar, both dead in the span of a month.

Part of him worried the others would think he killed him.

WindClan dispersed into the clearing, blending into the crowds. Spiderpaw was, very clearly, trying her best to not brag about her mentor now being the Clan leader. Toadpool and Webwhisker were striking a pleasant conversation with a dark red tabby tom from RiverClan with tufted ears. Adderthorn, a rather reclusive WindClan cat, kept to herself, although her gaze seemed to be fixed on a small dark brown tom from ShadowClan who had a marbled coat.

“Come, Antstar.” Whitetooth, with Marblepaw by their side, led Antstar through the gathering crowd, weaving in and out of the clouds of conversation. Eventually, they reached the medicine cats, who were having a friendly debate about whether yellow or orange marigold was more effective.

“I leave you here.” They pointed their tail at the top of the rock, where an empty spot sat between Tulipstar and Currantstar. “Best of luck. May StarClan look upon your first gathering with smiling faces.”

With a bit of effort, Antstar leapt onto the rock. He was surprised at how smooth the summit was- as if generations of pawsteps had carved it.

“Greetings, Antstep.” Tulipstar bowed her head.

Currantstar, however, looked a tad more confused. “Have Shalestar and Rainleap taken ill? I wouldn’t expect Shalestar to skip a Gathering. That old workhorse would go even in downpour…”

Antstar stammered. “I…”

He looked to Whitetooth for a second, who gave him an encouraging nod. He then looked to the other leaders. Their eyes felt like hot coals launching towards him.

But he would have to say it now.

“…Shalestar and Rainleap both passed away this prior moon.”

A sudden commotion hit the Gathering. Cats of the other Clans looked to their WindClan acquaintances in shock; WindClan simply nodded their heads and sighed.

“Both of them? How?” Pigeonstar’s eyes narrowed as his face twisted itself from comprehension into a scowl.

“On the way back from the last Gathering, there was an accident involving a monster. Shalestar appointed me as deputy in his stead-“ -he shot a quick glance into the crowd, seeking approval- “-and he passed away of illness not long after. We in WindClan mourn them both greatly, and have spent the past moon grieving for them.”

Pigeonstar, however, looked unconvinced. “How do we know you didn’t kill them?”

Antstar felt ill, unsheathing his claws to keep himself from falling off the Great Rock from dizziness. But the SkyClan leader continued, fashioning himself the great detective. “For all we know, you could have killed Rainleap, made it look like an accident, have Shalestar elect you as deputy, and then kill him, too!” He drew his lips in a snarl. “And it doesn’t help that cats of your kind don’t become WindClan leader so easy.”

But then, Currantstar stepped forward. “Many of us in ShadowClan are not Clan-born, like Antstar here. One of my medicine cats, Rosettepelt, is among them, and she is one of the most gifted healers we know.” He advanced forward towards Pigeonstar, his gaze steady and stern. “So if you want to remain on positive terms with us, I suggest you watch it.”

Pigeonstar seemed as if he were about to say something, but reason got the better of him.

“Furthermore, my friends,” started Whitetooth from the medicine cat crowd, “I can assure you that Antstar speaks truth. I prepared both bodies and aided Shalestar in his final hours. As he lay dying, he was content with his choice in Antstep.”

There was a low murmur throughout the Gathering discussing the death of the old leader. Even though Antstar tried not to, he bent his ears towards the crowd to get a better listen.

“Well,” said Pigeonstar, “we have no proof he didn’t kill Shalestar, now, do we?”

Currantstar and Tulipstar looked unconvinced as they looked over the Burmese tom in front of them. “You realize Antstar was Shalestar’s own apprentice, Pigeonstar,” added Tulipstar dryly. “And Shalestar took quite the liking to him.”

Tatteredstar of ThunderClan, however, was studying him, very very deeply, like she was inspecting the double barrel of a rifle she was about to stuff with gunpowder. Finally, she stepped back. The massive molly sat down, her expression unchanged as always.

“I don’t think the boy killed Shalestar.” She spoke in a thick ThunderClan drawl. “But we shouldn’t underestimate him.” She paused, as if she was taking the moment to rehearse her thoughts to herself. “He’s got killer between his eyes.”

Killer in his eyes. Antstar felt unsettled. Killer? What does she mean? And why-

But the other leaders simply seemed to nod, as if a silent agreement had been reached that they shouldn’t further push Antstar.

Perhaps they all had killers dancing in their eyes.

Pigeonstar seemed to back off, although he didn’t look pleased.

“Is there any other news in WindClan to report?” asked Tulipstar.

“…There is nothing else to report.”

Antstar stepped back, and Tatteredstar began to prepare herself to speak. Tatteredstar’s mere presence alone made Antstar feel weaker. Tatteredstar was an almighty oak; massive, muscular, battle-scarred and a pillar of her Clan, he was a mere dandelion, who bent over and crumpled in the slightest breeze, beside her. Having a good look at her didn’t help. He saw more scars on her now than he ever had before- across her face, across her flank, even down her legs. Her claws were off-white and long, jutting out from the tufts of fur betwixt her toes, and while her fur was generally well-groomed, a mat or two seemed just under the surface in the ruff of fur around her neck. She had two bottom fangs that stuck out; they had yellowed in their years of exposure and her bottom lip seemed to have shaped itself around them. Her tail was short, compared to her body, and it would not surprise Antstar if she had lost part of it in the throes of battle. Her big, yellow eyes, which were surrounded by oily discharge that discolored her fur, seemed to both stare into the horizon and at whatever was in front of her at once.

“ThunderClan has been doing well this past moon. We extend our condolences to WindClan for their loss of Shalestar,” she began. “He was leader alongside me for many years. We had our disagreements, but I held the tom in high regard, as I am sure all of us do.”

Shalestar and Tatteredstar had been the two oldest leaders, Antstar recalled. She had been leader for about twelve seasons by the time Shalestar ascended, and while the two didn’t interact much and had their differences, there was an air of respect between the two.

Antstar recalled how hollow-looking and feeble Shalestar had appeared in death. Tatteredstar, however, had no sign of slowing down. He wondered how she managed to do it.

“We have been lucky to have had two healthy litters of kits born into our Clan. Sleetwhisker has given birth to two mollies, Vinekit and Shrikekit; and Sootspots has given birth to four toms and a molly, Mothkit, Fogkit, Stumpkit, Cedarkit, and Clawkit. In addition, Foxbriar is set to give birth to her kits within the next quarter-moon. We will have our paws very full… and it will also mean we will have more mouths to feed.” She shot a pointed glance at Tulipstar.

“Also- in addition- there was an attempted uprising by a ThunderClan cat named Rosefire.” The Gathering crowds pricked their ears- Rosefire was a cat who had been known by many for his friendly nature and how he disliked Tatteredstar and her deputy, Eelwhisker. He was a very vocal cat, and would often joke about starting genuine rebellion against them in order to pursue a dream of all five clans being united. Many thought he was a tad extreme, of course, but he was generally well-liked.

But Tatteredstar never minced words. “The so-called uprising was over as soon as it began. I dealt with Rosefire. You will not be seeing him again.”

There was a stunned silence.

It was only then that it really struck Antstar what cat he was dealing with. The matter of Rosefire, to Tatteredstar, was not a personal matter, and there was not a look of cruelty, resentment, or even annoyance in the ThunderClan leader’s yellow eyes. Rosefire had intruded on ThunderClan’s safety, and Tatteredstar had dispatched him. It began and ended there.

And then, Tatteredstar stepped back. “ThunderClan has nothing more to report.”

After what seemed like forever, Currantstar stepped up to speak. “ShadowClan has spent the moon recuperating after the fire we reported at the last Gathering. We are, again, very lucky that it did not affect us too harshly. Besides that, we have no new news to report; we are deeply sorry for WindClan’s loss of Shalestar and Rainleap.”

As soon as he had begun, he had ended. Antstar admired his charisma, his charm, the way he looked like a sculpture; Currantstar was a perfect leader.

And he had become leader so young, too. He and Antstar were about the same age, after all.

If he can do it, and be a perfect leader, I can do it, too…

“We have been experiencing difficulties with rogues on SkyClan territory,” Pigeonstar announced. “I suspect this is the same group that has been bothering RiverClan territory. However, we have fought them off successfully,” he said. He was very pointed with his words. “In addition, two of our apprentices became warriors- Bumbleshade and Silverskip.”

There was a round of cheer for the two freshly-graduated warriors. Pigeonstar then backed away, and Tulipstar, the very small white molly with ginger splotches, at long last took the stage.

“We are continuing to deal with the rogues on our territory. We have started to drive them off, but it’s a tough process. Just this moon alone we have had to deal with the untimely deaths of Yellowstripe and Sleekwater, and our resources are running dry. However, there is hope. Oatwhisker became a warrior this month, and one of our mollies gave birth to two fine young kits, Magpiekit and Frondkit.”

The little white-and-orange molly kept a steady eye on Tatteredstar- giving a clear implication about how much she wanted Sunningrocks. Their agreement would run out by the next Gathering- and, by the looks of it, Tulipstar had every intention to keep the territory.

Slowly, the gathering would down like a spring-powered toy. SkyClan was the first to leave; then ThunderClan, and then ShadowClan, until only WindClan and RiverClan were left. Antstar would have left earlier, but he still felt dizzy and his head felt sore from sheer mental pressure.

“Are you alright?”

He turned and looked down to see Tulipstar. She looked… genuinely concerned, or at least as genuinely as Antstar could convince himself another leader could be.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, as reluctance tried to keep his lips locked together.

“…You sounded nervous. I get it. Don’t fear the other leaders; they’re really not as scary as they like to make themselves out to be.” She thought on her words for a moment. “Well, except for Tatteredstar.”

“…What is it to you?” Antstar backed away slowly. Did she want something out of him? Then he doubled back in his mind- what if that sounded too rude, and now she was mad with him?

“Antstar, relax. I was especially close with your mentor and predecessor, Shalestar. We were very good friends, and under our allyship our two Clans were very close. I would like to continue that partnership with you.”

RiverClan had been friendly with WindClan for at least as long as Shalestar and Tulipstar had led them both. Slowly, Antstar let his guard down, correcting his posture so he didn’t look so hunched over.

“I would like to continue it, as well.”

“Great,” she said. She smiled, and Antstar could see how middle age had made her face look bony and her dimples more noticeable. “Besides- I was in a very similar scenario to where you are now, when I became leader.”

Antstar sat up in disbelief. Perhaps he wasn’t alone! Perhaps someone, somewhere out there… someone might just understand! “You… you became leader the same way?”

“Similarly. I mean- there weren’t as many accusations as you had to face from Pigeonstar, that joyless rat, because both my parents were RiverClan and the previous leader’s death wasn’t exactly a private occasion.” She leaned in, her jade eyes wide. “Did you hear about how I came to be leader, Antstar?”

Antstar shook his head.

“I feel you will find it very similar to your situation. The leader before me was a tom named Boarstar.”

Antstar remembered hearing of a Boarstar in nursery tales when he was a kit. Everyone knew him as a leader who had died in a battle he himself had started, but Antstar had not heard much of what he was like beyond that.

“Boarstar was very, very young when he rose to power, younger than you by a few seasons. He was a mean thing. Always picking fights with ThunderClan and WindClan, always on the attack. He was a serial womanizer and deeply narcissistic. Not many of us liked him much. He placed his brother, Oakbelly- who shared every ideal with him- as his deputy, and the two wreaked havoc on RiverClan. Boarstar lost his lives quite quickly because of all the battles he started…”

“So how did he choose you?”

“I honestly don’t think he did. We were in the midst of a battle with ThunderClan in their camp, and Oakbelly was fighting some ThunderClan cat while trying to get to the nursery. As he was taunting them, he made a miscalculation- and the ThunderClan cat shredded his belly open. And now, you know I and ThunderClan do not get along, but…” She smirked.

“And Boarstar?”

“Boarstar was filled with more rage than his namesake as he saw his brother bleed out… So he ran right to Tatteredstar herself and attacked her. She and him went one-on-one. It was a quick battle. I didn’t see much of it, but in the glimpse of his death that I got from the other side of their camp, she was clamping down on his head with her paws, crushing his skull.”

Antstar grimaced.

“The next thing I knew, the medicine cat rushed up to me and asked if I could take the mantle of leadership, telling me it was what Boarstar wanted in his last moments. In hindsight, it was probably the last thing he wanted, and the medicine cat was the one who made the decision. But it was my duty to my Clan, and so, I became leader. I cannot say the road of leadership has been an easy one, or a gentle one. But I want to be the cat for you who I wished was there for me.”

Antstar stepped towards her. “You mean, you’re going to help me?”

“I can’t lead for you, Antstar. Only you know your people. But I will be here as your mentor in leadership. Our Clans will be close. Feel free to ask me if you need help, and I will do my best to be there. It’s what Shalestar would have wanted.”

Antstar’s shoulders felt lighter. Someone out there was on his side!

“Trufflepelt, organize RiverClan so we can leave.” A tall, gaunt cinnamon tabby tom, twice the height of his leader, stood at the end of the hollow as the trademark plump bodies and shimmering pelts of RiverClan surrounded him. Pebblesky, RiverClan’s medicine cat, receded into the crowd, leaving Whitetooth and Marblepaw alone. They disappeared into the forests, southward; towards the faint smell of freshwater that beckoned from their territory.

Antstar stood alone on the rock for a moment. It was smooth, cold; almost calming now that the other Clans had left. He looked above and saw the leaves of the great oaks shiver above him; and a sky full of stars, who all blinked and winked as they stared upon him.

He heard pawsteps behind him, and turned to see the familiar face of Whitetooth, staring him in that inquisitive way they always did. “Are you alright, my leader?”

“…Yeah.” Antstar didn’t break eye contact as he stared at the stars above him.

“...You’ll get used to it,” Whitetooth added.

“I know.”

And then, after a further moment, Antstar left the Great Rock, where Russetfoot was already organizing WindClan to go home. Whitetooth followed, and then Marblepaw, and away they went, into the night.

 “He did terribly,” said Sparkthistle dismissively as soon as the Gathering group got back.

“It couldn’t be that bad,” said Houndnose, a tortoiseshell tabby-and-white permaqueen, who emerged from the nursery with two of Cherrycloud’s kits clamping themselves onto her fur like a pair of bread clips.

“Oh, he made the biggest ass of himself- which is saying something because Pigeonstar was there.” The ginger molly rolled her eyes. “You really hate to see it. I’m astonished Rainleap hasn’t unearthed himself with all the spinning he must be doing in that grave!”

“Don’t talk that way about my brother!” growled Stripedwing, who was just outside the nursery. The gray tabby molly, who was visibly pregnant, had been inspecting the nursery while the gathering group was gone.

But Sparkthistle simply groaned and sauntered off, as if she was annoyed at Stripedwing for not liking the joke.

Antstar passed by the nursery, and something bit his foot. He looked down to see Brindlekit, a little tortoiseshell, gnawing at his toes. “Got you now, ThunderClan rat!” she squeaked.

“Brindlekit, that’s our leader!” said a ginger tabby tom-kit, panicked- but with a slight edge of authority. But Brindlekit, pugnacious as ever, simply pounced onto her brother, and the two began to wrestle. Eventually, Cherrycloud- her ginger coat near identical to the one of the little tom-kit- pried them apart. “Brindlekit, be nice to Antstar. Rosekit, it’s my job to parent her, not you.”

“Antstar! Antstar!” cried another ginger kit, who pushed her way out of the nursery between Houndnose and Cherrycloud. “Didja see Tatteredstar?”

“Is she really the size of a dog? That’s’ what Amberkit told me!” added a tiny solid black tom next to her. “…She’s big. Definitely one of the biggest cats I’ve seen. But not that big.”

The black tom-kit looked smugly at Amberkit, who seemed flustered that her descriptions weren’t accurate. But they had more questions to ask.

“Do the RiverClan cats really smell like fish?” “I heard ShadowClan eats frogs!” “Can Tatteredstar really kill a rat just by looking at them?” “Is the RiverClan medicine cat really secretly from ThunderClan?”

Antstar felt bombarded, but he still tried to answer each question. “They kind of do… they do eat frogs, but they seem fine with it… I don’t know, but she is scary… She is, and it’s not much of a secret, both Clans agreed to it…”

Cherrycloud gave a motion to the two kits, and they silenced themselves. “I’m sorry if they’re being a bother to you, Antstar,” she said apologetically.

“Oh, it’s no bother,” Antstar said. “They’re the next generation of warriors, after all.”

“Patchkit, would you like to say hi?” Cherrycloud asked to a little tortoiseshell, similar in shape and appearance to Brindlekit, who clung next to her. Patchkit gave Antstar a small glance and then buried herself further into her mother’s fur.

“She’s very shy and anxious,” Cherrycloud said. “We hope she’ll step out of her shell a little more soon.”

Antstar recalled he had been a similar way, as a kit. He recalled the permaqueen who had nursed him- a kind, pleasant molly who had passed away a few seasons ago from a wound infection- had a conversation with him about how he was then.

“You were a shy little thing. Very quiet, very meek. But when we were alone, you’d do these little tricks- kneading the ground, cuddling up to clumps of moss and cotton. It was cute, but… it was weird. It was like you were putting on a show for approval. And maybe it was coincidence- but sometimes it felt like you knew what you were trying to do.”

Antstar had thought about that a lot, since he had became leader.

“Oh,” Cherrycloud added, “and I’m sorry for how my sister, Sparkthistle, has been acting recently. We don’t talk much anymore. I will never understand why she has such a bug up her tail about everything... She should mellow down soon, I hope.”

She picked up Patchkit and went back into the nursery, with Houndnose alongside her and her other kits soon following. Antstar soon found himself alone again outside the nursery, the pale moon giving everything a glow. He saw Sparkthistle from across the clearing. The ginger tabby, her teeth in a permanent scowl, made brief eye contact with him before turning away into the warriors’ den.

Antstar worried. What if they began to believe her? What if she’s not an outlier- but an early critic? What if she turns the Clan on him? What if-

Something white caught his eye, and he turned to see Whitetooth, watching him from the edge of the medicine cat on the far side of camp.

He couldn’t fully read their face, but they had the glint in their eye of someone with an answer.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday: Procrastinating with Productivity!

So, hah, still not finished with the fun fluffy thing I was distracting myself with, because LO! I’ve been writing what I’m supposed to instead! Hahah!

One of the things that has been driving me bonkers about the Thomas-As-Heir fic is the Barrows. We won’t be seeing much of them - even less now than we have in the past - but I just...........I’ve not been able to convince them to be people instead of stiff, two dimensional, wooden puppets. I think I’ve finally had the necessary break through to at least get Mr. Barrow into the third dimension.

I’d introduce you to Samuel as well, but he’s really just there to open the door, fetch Dad, and Not Look Like Thomas. (Not that I describe him much in this version...)

The man who entered the room was tall, broad, and oddly lean, like someone who should have weighted more than he did. His eyes were dark, his hair - what was left of it - was pale, and his face had a decided oval shape to it. His hands, when he laid them on the counter, had very long fingers, the sort that seemed custom made for playing the piano or engaging in delicate crafts. In short, he looked every inch the clock maker, and not a thing like either Thomas or the young man who had let Robert in. “Lord Grantham,” the man greeted respectfully, his voice deep and slightly graveled with age. “Samuel says you’ve come concerning my older son, Thomas.”

“I have,” Robert confirmed, keeping his tone carefully pleasant. Even though he was forced to admit, on some level, that Thomas looked more like Cora than either Mr. Barrow or Samuel, looks weren’t proof of anything. After all, Edith didn’t look a thing like anyone in the family. One of his old war chums had once commented on the fact in a rather embarrassing manner. Robert had barely forgiven the man, and only because they’d both been squiffy at the time. “I’m sorry to trouble you on a Sunday, but I’m afraid it’s quite urgent.”

“It’s no trouble, my lord,” the man replied, his words much more distinct and deliberate than either of his children. Something in his manner made Robert wonder if his slow speech was from more than respect. A medical ailment, perhaps. Hadn’t Barrow taken time off a couple of years prior because his father had been ill? “What can I do for you?”

“It has come to my attention that your son Thomas might, in fact, be adopted,” Robert informed him, working his way through his carefully prepared lie. He’d spent the entire train trip rehearsing it. “If that is true, then there are legal steps that I, as an employer, need to take. It’s nothing you need worry about,” he assured, “Simply a matter of taxes and paperwork resulting from the new adoption laws.”

The other man blinked, clearly perplexed. “I was unaware that the new laws involved taxes at all.”

Inwardly Robert cursed. He’d hoped that the other man would know as little about the new laws as he did. “I believe it only applies to domestic staff living in. Anyone not keeping servants wouldn’t know about it.” He prayed that the Barrows weren’t so well off that they kept a maid.

Thankfully, the other man seemed to accept the bluff. “I see,” he nodded, then frowned again. “And Thomas serves you? In your house?”

“He’s been part of my household for sixteen years and currently holds the position of butler.”

“I see.” Mr. Barrow sounded impressed by the fact. He was silent for a minute, then nodded. “Yes, I see. I’d have not thought him capable of such dedication, but if he has I am pleased to hear it.”

It was Robert’s turn to frown. “I take it you don’t keep much contact with him? Your younger son, Samuel, seemed surprised to learn he was alive.”

“As you said, my lord, we’ve not heard from him often since he left. He did write to let us know he’d taken a position in a house before the war, presumably yours, but the last we heard from him he’d joined the war effort. As we received no letter from the war office informing us of his death, the missus and I assumed he’d come through, but Samuel was still young enough he might have thought otherwise.”

“I take it Samuel was too young to fight?”

“He was just old enough when the war started, but he didn’t join until he was conscripted. I was not well at the time, so he was needed at home.” In case there was any doubt, the man added, “We were honoured when he was called, of course, and grateful when he was returned to us. He is our greatest joy.”

“More than Thomas?”

Mr. Barrow nodded. “Yes, my lord. You see,  Samuel is ours. Thomas, as you have been made aware, was adopted. We had given up on a son, by the time we took him in. My wife did not do well in child birth and my brother-in-law, a doctor, was quite concerned for her well being. When Samuel was born, seven years after we took Thomas in, she was bed ridden for months after. We were afraid she might die.”

“Good God,” Robert winced at the thought. The other man told his story well enough that it was difficult not to believe. “Who took care of the children while she was ill?”

“My daughter Peggy was thirteen. She’d accepted a job as a maid for one of the local families, a solicitor, but we brought her home.”

If Peggy was anything like his own daughters, Robert couldn’t see that having gone over well. Still, with a daughter to oversee things and a son who was actually their own, he could easily see the Barrows losing interest in the boy they’d adopted. It was a well spun story and he reminded himself firmly that it probably wasn’t true.  Trying to get his investigation back on track, he asked, “And you never told Thomas he was adopted?”

“It is never a good thing, for children to know the people raising them are not their natural parents,” the other man informed him. “It would encourage disrespect and poor behavior, at the very least. True, with Thomas we’d need not have worried about his natural parents coming to claim him once he was working age. His father is unknown and his mother died in childbirth, although her name is on the birth certificate. Still, we felt it best to keep it to ourselves.”

And there was the place where the stories intersected, the one Mr. Barrow was telling and the one from the journal. They lined up, to the letter, which meant they had to be true or very well rehearsed. Baiting his hook carefully, Robert asked, “I don’t suppose you can provide any proof that he was adopted?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Excellent.” Robert smiled. Now he had them.

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good 16/18

Not my gif. Before It’s Too Late

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order,  joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

[Part 15]

--

Warnings: mentions of blood and wounds

Classes were over, grades had been hung in the corridor, and Durmstrang celebrated that another year was over. 

Kate was forcing a comb through her brown waves when she heard laughter and hasty footsteps outside her dorm. Returning her attention to her hair, she pressed more insistently on the knot that was refusing to untangle and contemplated the day ahead of her; the Annual Exposition of Dark Arts had arrived and with it, the crushing fear of not leaving Durmstrang anytime soon.

She had told Dumbledore and Rhode she was no auror; she didn’t have training in catching criminals, if that’s what one of these people were.

“Well, it’s not like someone will raise their hand and say ‘it’s me, Kate, take me to Azkaban.’” She murmured to her reflection in the rusty mirror next to the door.

Why? Why had Dumbledore put her there? What was she supposed to do? Almost six months had passed; she had heard from Dumbledore only once, and Rhode was so busy with the school’s events that had practically forgotten why she was there.

But Kate still remembered. She still remembered what happened to Flavia Hodges.

Having abused her locks enough, she attempted to shape them into curls, twirling some hairs around her finger. When she finished, she traced her dragon necklace before securing it under her robes.

Who would be willing to join a Dark Wizard? And why? For a greater good, as Corentin had said? Or maybe for more personal reasons? No one was exempt from guilt, no one was good or bad; Cassandra Steiner was rude and disagreeable, but she was a mediwizard and cared for others; Flavia Hodges was almost murdered and Kent Jorgensen would have protected the man he thought was guilty, but he wasn’t ill-intended and seemed to be a clever man; Leron Angelov was sick and violent with his son, but he had enough problems to be a criminal; Libor Marek was intolerant and prejudiced, adequate characteristics for a Death Eater, but that didn’t make him one; and the only thing that Kate knew about Mer Yankelevich was that she was a liar.

She let out a heavy sigh and made her way to the desk. After grabbing her cloak from her chair and fastening it around her neck, she grabbed the several items she intended to carry with her at all times: her wand, her diary, the list and the trick wand that the Weasley twins had sent her.

The night before, tidying up her belongings, she had found the box that Fred and George had sent her and thought it could be a good farewell gift to Vivien, in case she wanted to give a lesson to Jon Hopkins.

She felt uncomfortable with everything she was carrying on her. The list and her notebook were inside her improvised pockets, and both wands were safely tucked in each sleeve. Impractical for the occasion, but with everyone distracted with the AEDA, it was very easy for someone to slip out of there unseen, and she had no intention of anyone walking into her room and finding those items. After fastening her ankle boots, she headed outside.

 Rhode had not been exaggerating when she described the AEDA as the biggest event of the year; the corridors were ostentatiously decorated with garlands and lights; countless carriages arrived on the castle grounds one after another and the doors to the dining hall were open all day, held up by pillars from which people could grab pamphlets describing the event’s activities.

Tables had been rearranged to form the various displays, and the students were dressed in their finest robes to honour the occasion.

The hustle and bustle of the day made the place unrecognisable, characterised by its usual gloom and darkness.

She advanced through the hall, pausing from time to time to watch project demonstrations and congratulate those taking part in the competition. Her eyes fell on a familiar face next to her; Leron Angelov sat behind a table where a seventh-grade girl explained her work to three wizards who, judging by their golden robes, were the judges.

“The potion lets you transfigure into whatever animal or object at will, only for a few minutes…” she exposed. Kate approached Angelov and leaned in to whisper, “Don’t do that.” Leron stared at her and stopped scratching his arms.

After wandering around for a while, she finally reached her own table, greeted her students and settled wizards and witches filed in and out of the room, delighting in the students’ magnificent works.

She wished with all her might that she could share their enthusiasm.

She gave several forced smiles, for Rhode’s sake, as the organiser of the event she wanted everything to go smoothly, but deep inside she was overwhelmed by a deep worry that she didn’t know how much longer she could bear.

“It’s really ugly.” She overheard one of her students, Greta, referring to her umbrella flower. Several of her children were standing behind a table, presenting their work to the audience.

A single umbrella flower, magically modified to remain a medium size, floated above the table; its vibrant red colour stood out among the sober tones of the place. The top of the plant, usually hollow to do justice to its name, now was decorated with thirty-seven fangs all around the base, giving it the appearance of a weird-looking lamp.

“You should be proud,” she reminded them, “You’ve managed to do something wonderful.”

“It’s still horrendous.” Jon Hopkins commented, wrinkling his nose.

“We’ve done next to nothing...” lamented Micael. Kate raised her eyebrows.

“What do you mean, you haven’t? We needed every single one of your plants, remember they didn’t all germinate, and only one of them got these results. And these posters explaining the whole process? They are priceless...”

They were still not convinced, so she kept insisting “In a few years, someone will want to do the same as you and they will be grateful to have your work as a reference”.

A man and a woman approached their table and after reading a few paragraphs of their report, left without comment. Everyone visibly deflated.

“By the way, where is Vivien? I have something for her...” asked Kate. Micael shrugged.

She looked around, but it was impossible to find anyone among the crowd. She saw a few familiar faces; like Jorgensen chatting animatedly with some seventh year students or Sheyi Mawut, who was making his way through the wizards towards her. There was no sign of any other teacher.

“Well, well! This is the first time in a long time I’ve seen first-year students exhibiting. What have we got here?” Mawut looked at Kate with a smile and she touched two fingers to Micael’s elbow. The boy looked at her and Kate nodded.

“We have created the first umbrella flower with teeth, Professor! It’s one of a kind because the species itself is unique. It floats like an umbrella flower and has teeth like a fanged geranium...”

Kate watched proudly as Micael’s other classmates came up to support him in his rehearsed explanation, some interrupting the speech out of excitement at being able to contribute something.

“And you did this on your own?” Suddenly the children fell silent and looked at the ground or anywhere but Mawut’s face.

“They’ve done all the hard work,” Kate interjected, “Finding the plant, germinating it, growing the geraniums, crossing the two species...”

“How wonderful... can I read your notes?” Mawut let out a laugh as a mountain of notebooks were at his disposal in a matter of seconds. “Maybe just one will be enough.”

The teacher’s kindness managed to relax Kate just a little.

“I’ve got better at my flying practice, Coach Mawut!” Greta commented, “Do you think I’ll ever be as good as Lena?” Kate raised her head at the familiar name.

“I’m sure you will.”

“Who?” she asked to extend that conversation.

“Lena?” Mawut pointed to some drawings and nodded, smiling, “Lena Yankelevich, she was an impressive seeker. Several top teams like the Vratsa Vultures or Heidelberg Harriers wanted to make contracts with her.”

“What happened?” Mawut closed the notebook and thanked Micael for his explanation. Greta tugged at Kate’s sleeve, causing the fake wand to brush against her skin.

“She died, Professor Williams...” she lamented.

“In the middle of a match… She disappeared into the mountains and never came back. Some Muggle climbers were in the area and saw her, and we found her surrounded by three men who had stolen her broom. But we shouldn’t have gone...” He paused and in a quieter voice added, “The climbers got scared when they saw us. There was a lot of commotion and they pushed Lena... down the cliff. No one knew how Lena had come to that situation.”

A witch casually approached the table and wrote something down on a piece of paper. Everyone around her watched in silence as she looked at the plant and then nodded before turning away.

Mawut went to add something else, but Libor Marek joined them.

“This is an unfair competition.... and what is this? A plant?” He grimaced, and Kate glanced at Mawut before averting her eyes to the rest of the room.

Astrid Rhode had stepped on the pallet where her lectern stood. After rearranging her papers, the witch cleared her throat and drew everyone’s attention to her.

“I can’t begin to express how wonderful it is to have all of you here on this special occasion. To honour this event, let me introduce you to Lazar Berović, a former winner of the AEDA thanks to his system to identify and capture chameleon ghouls.” Kate joined the round of applause with little interest. The man in question took Astrid’s place and started his speech.

Her mind drifted to the single hair that had fallen on her sleeve, and she dully grabbed it between two fingers as slowly as she could, making an effort of not listening the ghoul-hunting narrative they were being ‘gifted’.

She had a document whose content had expanded over the last month, completing a full page and a successfully finished project. There was nothing to keep her at that school any longer. Nothing, except the original reason she was there: to find a supposed Death Eater.

But I want to leave.

Would Dumbledore be angry if she returned early? But how much longer would she have to stay?

I want to go home. I want to go to Charlie.

Then come home.

Charlie’s voice again, echoing in her head as if he were talking to her right next to her. This time she didn’t panic, it was the push she needed to make her decision. Dumbledore would have to settle for the list.

But she would be leaving a bunch of children in the hands of a murderer. No, she’d figure it out when she was safe. If anyone wanted the scroll Kate had in her possession, she’d have to flee before it was too late.

The speech was over, and the room filled with the previous murmur of happiness and excitement.

“Excuse me...” Kate stepped away from the group, leaving Micael in charge of defending the front, and made her way to the door.

She hadn’t realised how much she’d become accustomed to the noise until she’d walked a few corridors away from the dining room. With everyone partying in the middle, Kate and the silence went hand in hand all the way to the library. Or at least, that was where she was headed, had she not come face to face with Corentin.

“Ah, Katherine, I was just on my way to the exhibition...” The librarian’s smile crumbled at the sight of her expression.

“Corentin...” she whispered, “I think... I need to get out of here.” They both looked around, but they were alone.

“And how do you plan to do that? With a carriage? They don’t leave until the 20th.”

“I have to go get my trunk and apparate. I don’t know... I’ll jump to Romania and... then to England.” Corentin shook his head.

“I’d recommend three jumps at least.”

“I don’t know that many places! I don’t know where we are!”

“Keep your voice down.” They dissimulated again as two wizards passed in front of them. They greeted each other cordially, and when they were out of range, Corentin grabbed Kate’s elbow. “Everyone is in the Dining Hall. In fifteen minutes the band Rhode has brought will start playing so everyone will be paying attention. Go to your room and stay there until I let you know.”

“What are you planning?”

“We’ll apparate together. We’ll do Sweden, Germany, France and you go to England alone.”

“Corentin...”

“You go. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.” The librarian didn’t give Kate a chance to question him, and she watched him march in his bat form down the corridor.

She turned and broke into a jog towards the side staircase on the ground floor, a shortcut that would take her to her bedroom. She slowed when she felt a presence around her. She sensed desperation by legilimency, and it wasn’t her own. Anger too, even fear.

She turned a corner, but someone was waiting for her. Strong but elegant hands clamped over her mouth and grabbed her robe, pinning her against a chest.. Her pulse quickened, as did her breathing. She tried to free herself from the arm that held her, but it was too strong.

Slowly, the hand covering her mouth slid to the side and reached her neck. Kate couldn’t breathe. She felt the hand tighten around her neck and Mer Yankelevich’s needle-like nails made contact with her skin.

“Give me your wand.” Kate made a movement too sharp for the teacher’s liking and she gripped her tighter. “Slowly.” She tried to take a deep breath, but she had begun to shake in such a way she couldn’t concentrate on her breathing. “Give me your wand, now.”

With an idea half-formed in her head, she moved her left arm to release the wand. Seeing her, Mer snatched it from her hand and jabbed it into her back. “Let’s go for a walk. Don’t even think about running or screaming” They strolled to the other end of the ground floor. They passed by several wizards and in the eyes of the world everything was normal.

Just as the teacher muttered “Incarcerous” the Weasley twins’ wand trap rose into the air and began to hit Mer in the head. Taking advantage of her absent-mindedness, Kate broke free of her grip and ran off in search of the front door. She pulled her real wand out of her other sleeve, knowing Mer was very close behind her.

Just a little closer.

She ran through the sea of people in front of the door, hoping to get lost in the crowd. She glanced back as she went, but there was no sign of the teacher.

She left the castle with bated breath, and hastily pulled her diary from her pocket, muttered ‘Reducto’ turning it into a tiny, almost unrecognisable object, and continued running towards the bridge.

Maybe she could take refuge in the forest, go to the coordinates Dumbledore had given her, maybe the stranger would find her if it was an emergency. She cursed when she remembered she had burned the map.

She was about to reach the other side of the bridge when something hit her from behind, causing her to fall to the ground.

With a scream she hit the stone, and from the ground she saw Mer Yankelevich striding towards her. She looked around frantically, searching for her wand. She reached out and drew the weapon towards her before pointing it at the teacher.

Yankelevich paused, pointing her wand at Kate, and waited for her to rise from the ground. Both witches stared down at each other in a duelling stance, and the spells soon began to explode. Kate fought back as best she could, trying to remember some of Marek’s tricks, but Mer was the Charms teacher and she knew that at any moment she would tire herself out until she lost.

“You’ve got something that’s mine!” shouted Mer between curses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Kate started to walk backwards, trying to go around Mer and turn her back on the castle, but the teacher was quicker and cornered her against the bridge wall.

“The stone! Where is it?”

“I don’t have any stone!” Kate peeled away from the bridge wall, dodging spells with little grace. One in particular made her ears pop, and she could barely hear Mer accusing her of lying repeatedly.

“How did you get in the room?” shouted Yankelevich, “The column broke!” Kate gasped as a stunning spell hit her leg and she staggered backwards. Focused on not falling to the floor, she didn’t notice the parchment flying out of her robes.

“You broke it?” Kate asked as she tried to catch her breath, “Why?”

“It wasn’t on purpose. That’s the entrance to Grindelwald’s room, and I was trying to open it.” She took a few steps towards Kate, pointing her wand at her. “So tell me; how did you get in?” her accusatory tone made the young witch flinch. Kate bit her tongue, physically, to avoid revealing how wrong she was. In case she didn’t make it out of this situation alive, the teacher must not know her way into the room.

With Charlie in mind, she lowered her wand, hoping to give Yankelevich a sense of security. Band music began to play from inside the castle, conveniently deafening those inside and isolating them from the catastrophe that may or may not be occurring on the bridge.

In only an instant, Kate noticed how the teacher got distracted by the sound of the instruments and took advantage of her glance over her head to begin a duelling offensive. Mer defended herself gracefully, dodging and occasionally returning her opponent’s attacks. Kate’s chances diminished with each spell.

Yankelevich turned her back on the castle, and it was at that moment Kate realised her previous oversight. There, at the feet of the person who might be her executioner, the list of Death Eaters’ names lay within her grasp.

“Mer,” she began cautiously, “all this is for your sister? None of this is worth it.”

“What do you know! Do you have a dead sibling? You have no idea...” It was a stab in the heart without knowing it. The internal debate in Kate’s stomach was making her dizzy, and as she considered whether to tell her story, the teacher crouched at the sight of the document. “We all lose loved ones. Angelov, Jorgensen, Marek, myself.” Mer ignored her.

“So this is how Karkarov intended to communicate with the Ministry...” The parchment flew through the air as Kate’s spell impacted against the teacher’s hand. Both witches began a dance of lights and explosions again, swirling around unknowingly gravitating towards each other.

The castle doors burst open and a third wave of spells shot towards them. Libor Marek was almost galloping in their direction furiously airing his wand.

“Mer!”

Kate let out a choked cry as Yankelevich twisted her arm backwards. She had managed to physically reach her and after pulling at her forearm, one hand with threatening nails anchored her neck against the teacher’s chest; with the other, she pointed her wand at Kate’s temple.

Both witches looked at Marek with completely opposite expressions.

“Mer... Let go of the girl.” He warned, holding up a hand.

“Look, your guardian angel has arrived. Day after day, that man has been preventing you and I from having a friendly chat, always sitting outside your classroom, hovering in the corridors without letting you out of his sight,” she turned to Marek, “tell me Libor, what has this girl done for you?”

“This is not about her. You think I don’t know you were seeing Karkarov on the sly? You think I don’t know that you threatened to turn him in to the Ministry? You think I don’t know that you’re the one who’s been trying to get to that imaginary room?”

“It’s real! She got in with the help of the bat she has as a friend. And now she’s going to tell me how.”

Kate couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You knew?” The accusation was drowned out when the grip around her neck tightened. “She tried to kill Flavia! She practically couldn’t speak!”

“And who do you think stopped her from going to the hospital wing to finish the job, huh?”

“Enough.” Mer finished. She forced Kate to walk to the bridge wall and bent her over the stone. She stared straight into the eyes of the abyss; the fog prevented her from seeing the end, if the cliff had one, and she knew that if she didn’t act soon all that would be left of her would be her memory. “I’m only going to ask you one more time. You found the resurrection stone, where is it?”

“There was no stone!”

She felt the needle stick as if it had happened in slow motion. She brought her hand to her neck as Mer released her and managed to drop to the ground just before the barrage of spells between her and Marek reached her. If she was dizzy before, now she was convinced she was going to throw up.

She slid down the stone to the ground as her vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, trying to maintain some control over her body. Spotting her wand near her, she awkwardly crawled towards it, avoiding a violet light that flew treacherously close to her.

She tried to get to her feet, but instantly collapsed again. The nausea was increasing, her vision was blurring more and more, her pulse was throbbing. She pushed her hair out of her face as best she could and rubbed her eyes, but she couldn’t quite focus on the dancing figures circling before her.

Corentin was waiting for her somewhere, probably by the door of her room to take her to a safer place. But she couldn’t reach him, not without the list.

Kate frantically searched for the paper somewhere on the bridge, hoping with all her might that the wind wouldn’t suddenly pick up. Moving her head like that did not help her condition, and the migraines she had been experiencing made their appearance to reinforce her misfortune.

Where were the cavalry? Why was no one from the castle coming to the rescue?

A bitter taste rose in her throat, forcing her to spit out some saliva, which to her horror was whitish. 

No one would come to help her. She would have to save herself.

With what little energy she had left, she stumbled to her feet and took a few steps towards the other side of the bridge. The list was at her fingertips, but the world was spinning and twisting, and now both hands were trembling.

The moment her hand made contact with the paper, a spell exploded against the stone above her head. But she couldn’t back out now. She reached out and caught the parchment between her fingers. She pointed her wand at herself, still shaking, and felt the familiar tug in her stomach that would pull her out. Yankelevich looked with terrified eyes at what was about to happen and pointed her wand at Kate.

The green light of the unforgivable curse never grazed her.

  Kate collapsed to the floor of the grimy Grimmauld Place street with a sob. Corentin had warned her about this; I recommend at least three jumps, the librarian had said.

Lying on the floor with her arms stretched out on her sides, she looked to her right; her eyes were full of tears and her arm full of blood. 

I recommend at least three jumps.

She felt herself choked up again. This time, some foam adorned the corners of her lips, while trying to reach her wand with her left hand.

Three weary taps against the ground caused the building in front of her to awaken, revealing the door of the Black family home. Breathing was getting harder and harder, and with her ears increasingly clogged, Kate tried, to no avail, to stop her splinching from bleeding. Without dittany, it would be impossible.

She raised her wand towards the building with a groan. Unable to utter a word, she concentrated on firing several red lights into the windows. Some bounced off the walls and others off the glass, and she prayed it would be enough, for keeping her arm up was draining her strength.

As the convulsions became more violent, her hand fell to the floor with the rest of her body.

Attempting to keep her eyes open, she made out figures coming out of the house; one was a lanky, black blob she likened to a Dementor by the way his cloak moved; the other was much shorter and rounder with a hint of red hair. The rest of the people who rushed at her were indistinguishable.

Severus Snape forced her eyes open with his fingers, wearing a worried expression. Recognising him, Kate screamed, or at least she thought she did. The only sound that came out of her mouth was a painful sob.

“Darling, darling, look at me, it’s going to be alright,” Molly reassured. Kate wanted to shout that nothing was right, that she was in danger, that the man who was pouring the contents of a potion down her throat was a traitor.

The convulsions hadn’t stopped yet, but the unbearable burning in her arm did. She wanted to watch her wound heal, but Molly clutched her tear-soaked cheek preventing her from seeing the amount of blood that had gushed out from her arm.

“You’ll be fine, sweetheart, you’ll be fine.”

She choked on her saliva and Molly tilted her head to help her spit out the remnants of foam. Several conversations sprang up around her; all seemed distant, like an echo in a cavern.

When the shaking stopped, the relief was almost immediate. Snape forced her jaw open, emptying a vial into her mouth again. The commotion didn’t seem to end; several wizards and witches combed the street for any Muggle witnesses, and others were busy inspecting windows and doors.

Intense pain engulfed her head and mind. Attributing it to migraines, Kate missed the long, silver strand that shot from her temple in the direction of an unknown wand. She closed her eyes, and with one last deep breath everything went black.

--

[Part 17]

--

A/N: Oooooooooof I dont know how did you react to this I’m so nervous

Tag List: @eldritchscreech​

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[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression, radio version - Ep 35, May 2016 - Live-streamed suicide, Tokyo governer Masuzoe Yōichi scandal, Celebrity Becky's apology for affair with musician, Female idol stabbed over 20 times

*Trigger warning* Discussion of suicide.

Kaoru starts by saying the layout of the studio has changed so it feels quite different. He used to sit facing Joe, but now they are sitting side-by-side. Joe asks Kaoru how preparations for the Mode of Vulgar tour are going, and Kaoru says at the time of recording this show, they are just about to start rehersals for the tour. Joe asks him if he likes doing rehersals, and he replies that he does not. He does, however, think that rehersals are important and says its better to rehearse, but he also suggests that there is another member of the band who hates rehersals even more, and never wants to do them (Shinya).

Kaoru then reads out the contact info, and reminds listeners that any interesting messages will be rewarded with a sticker. Joe says that Kaoru has been quite stingy with stickers so far, but Kaoru reminds Joe that he did give one to Dobashi last week.

After messing up his lines and blaming it on the new studio layout, he begins his first topic, labeling it a 'taboo story'. This is the news that a woman in Paris had live-streamed herself committing suicide by jumping in front of a train, and since then similar incidents have started to happen in Japan. Joe brings up the book 'The Complete Maunal of Suicide' by Tsurumi Wataru, published in 1993. It became very popular with people under 30. They book describes various ways to commit suicide in considerable detail, but the author Tsurumi actually intended the book as a way to make  life easier to live for people (by giving people the knowledge that if worst ever did come to worst, there would be an easy way to end the pain, thus making the present more bareable). In various prefectures across Japan the book was banned for under 18s, but conversely the American/international media interpreted the book as a kind of shelter for Japan's youth. But Joe feels like producing this kind of book is still slightly different from broadcasting your own death. Live-streaming a suicide has no connection to making life easier for people. He says the person filming thier suicide may be consumed by depression, but they are only thinking of themselves. Kaoru agrees with this. He says that as he gets older, he experiences people around him dying more and more. He has also know people who have taken thier own life. He says suicide can cause the people who knew the deceased to fall into self hate or blame themselves, when it is really not thier fault. Despite pouring so much love into a person, a suicide may make it feel like it still somehow wasn't enough, or people may feel a sense of rejection from the suicide, and Kaoru says he cannot forgive this. Joe comments that this topic is really difficult. Kaoru says he cannot understand why someone would broadcast thier own suicide. Is it to stand out at the end, or to influence someone, or for no reason at all? Joe wishes the person would use that energy to continue living, putting it into a more positive direction, instead of using it to film thier suicide.

Before coming to the studio to record the show, Joe says he was having a drink with Tsuyoshi from P.T.P and Teru from Crossfaith. Thier conversation turned to K, the former vocalist of P.T.P who suffered from mental illness, and died in 2013. Tsuyoshi's band member in The Bonez, Jesse, had said he wanted to tell K about all the fun they've had since his death, meaning that even if you really want to escape from your pain, there is still so much enjoyment waiting for you in the future if you just carry on living. Kaoru strongly agrees with this. He appeals to the listeners to strive to get through those tough times, and to do thier very best to continue living.

They welcome Hiranabe for the Tokyo Sports corner next. Hiranabe's first story relates to the scandal surrounding Tokyo Governer at the time, Masuzoe Yōichi. The scandal is based on the fact that Masuzoe was found to have been using large amounts of public money to pay for personal luxuries and family trips etc. At the time of recording, Masuzoe still had not resigned, and Hiranabe thinks he is refusing to resign because if he stays in the job a little longer, he will still get his summer bonus of ¥3800000. Alternatively it could be that if he stayed in the job until the summer Olympics started, the media's eyes would be diverted, and he would get away with it. Hiranabe says that Masuzoe could learn from him. He then tells a story of how he recently took two senior hostesses out for drinks at ¥2980 per hour, which was quite cheap. He was drinking tequila, but then another girl who was sat next to him (who looked just like the celebrity Becky) also said she wanted to drink tequila. Hiranabe couldn't resist and ended up with drinks bill of ¥98450. Thinking he could claim it as expenses, he got out his card, but as it happened he had reached his credit limit on his card, and it got rejected. He couldn't withdraw money from a convenience store ATM, as they were not operating during Saturday nights. Eventually he asked one of the hostesses he was with to pay. He had to pay her back the following day. Joe suggests Hiranabe used the story about Masuzoe so he could link it back to himself and tell his own story. 

Hiranabe's next story is about the celebrity Becky, linking on from the girl who looked just like her in the last story. Becky had been in the news previously after her affair with married musician Kawatani Enon was publicly exposed. She disappeared from screens for a while, but as part of her comback she wrote a letter apologizing to Kawatani's wife. Hiranabe laments that this apology was made after Becky had already started tv recordings again. He thinks the apology should have been made first, and that Becky has probably not done herself any favours with this. He says it looks bad, and makes her look too impatient. Kaoru thinks the oder of things probably doesn't make much difference to how people will think of her. Hiranabe says her colleauge/senpai 'Cunning Takayama' will make fun of her. Joe suggests Hiranabe could get involved somehow, and Hiranabe replies along the lines of 'Oh, I'll gladly have some fun with her'. The others laugh at this, as such a phrase can only be read in one way when coming from Hiranabe.

Hiranabe's next news is that 20yr old Idol Tomita Mayu had been stabbed multiple times by an obessive fan just before she was due to perform at an event. The stabbing had occurred after Tomita had repeatedly returned unwanted presents to the fan. Hiranabe says this would usually make a stalker happy, because its proof that the idol has acknowledged thier existence. That fact that this fan got angry about the returned gifts could mean he is slightly different from a stalker, and actually more extreme than a stalker, which is quite scary. He obviously held a grudge, and seemed quite sadistic. Tomita had actually contacted the police the day before the stabbing due to the barrage of threatening tweets he was sending her, but the police did not deem the case urgent. Hiranabe thinks this is one of the worst points about this incident. He says it could have been prevented if police were present at the event, and if they don't change thier response to such situations, incidents like this will keep happenening. Kaoru comments on how this whole incident is really scary. He thinks a future comeback for Tomita might be tough now, although at the time of recording they have yet to see what developments will happen. It has been suggested by some that the fan viewed Tomita as his property, and Joe says the fan's ability to communicate is in question.

Kaoru finishes by plugging his new jingle campaign, and his blog. He then says that the artwork for the new single has been revealed, and it was made by Ameican illustrator Matt Mahurin. He then annouces that there will be three days of movie screenings for the new Budokan DVD, and he plugs his upcoming tours, the first of which is due to start the following week. He ends by saying that tickets are also available for the DSS tour via either the fanclub or general sale, he cant remember which.

Songs - Dir en grey/Child Prey