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loopylou0a0 · 2 years

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Just one dance

Since it's so hard to find any fics for Lost ark characters I like I figured I’ll just have to go and make one myself.

This is a one-shot scenario I’ve been thinking of lately so hopefully it works out well.

Feel free to change anything character wise in your head to suit you or your oc since I’m basing the MC as my insert/character, though I will try to keep it as neutral as possible.

Be aware, I’ve only just started playing again after quite a few months of having no time for the game and am only just nearing the end of the Rohendal quest line so if things don’t look cannon to the story it’s because I’m not there yet.

This is a Thirain x Reader/oc fic with a lot of mutual pining since we all know our boy is allergic to saying how he truly feels.

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The day the invite arrived you were simply sailing, setting off from a small adventure on Lagoon island. The hawk you had trained as a messenger was spotted in the distance as you watched the horizon trying to gather your thoughts, it had been a long time since you'd started searching for the arks and though you had now acquired four of the seven it still felt as though there were more problems arising than solutions. There was still no trace of Armen, your heart ached for the person you called a close friend, a companion you had once envisioned finding all the arks with had gone with that demon and had not been seen since. The memories of that day on the cliff were clear in your mind, reminding you how you and Thirain tried to stop him from walking through the portal but it was too late. There were just so many regrets from that day. Before your thoughts could spiral any further the site of a lone bird caught your attention and the faint traces of your magic was felt.

When the bird got close enough you raised an arm up and the small friend landed, chirping a greeting to you after not seeing you in some days. Giving him a snack you carefully untied the letter attached to him before gently moving him to the ballast of the ship. Without having to check you knew who the letter would be from, Thirain, the only person that would often communicate with you through your little messenger system and the one person you would keep in touch with most during your travels. It had been some days since you sent over your most recent letter updating Thirain of how your journey was going, having promised to do so before leaving the land of Luterra. Opening the letter you read its contents.

{ (Name), my dear knight.

I am glad to hear that you have been in good spirits as of late and that your mission to collect all the arks is going well even with the interference of the demon commanders.

I pray that when you do face the enemy that you will come back unharmed and please do not do anything too reckless in the quest for the arks.

I have been counting the days to hear from you again since your last letter, which felt so long ago.

Things here have been fine. There is still much to do to rebuild Luterra and to strengthen our defenses from any other possible attacks by the demons, since with you on the seas visiting other lands has left us much weaker than even I would like to admit but we all know that you are needed elsewhere, even if all the citizens of my kingdom miss your presence greatly.

As much as I wish to continue writing about the most recent events that have happened here in the castle, I am hoping that you will be able to hear it all in person soon.

A ball will be held here in the castle on the eve of the harvest moon to celebrate all that Luterra has accomplished since the Kingdom of Knights was reclaimed from Scherrit’s and the demon's hands.

Since you were the main reason for our victory it would be truly devastating if you were not here to celebrate alongside us all.

I know your journeys have taken you far and have kept you busy but I do hope you will be able to attend.

I don’t think I could possibly enjoy the celebrations without you here with me.

I wish you well until we next speak.

Your friend,

-Thirain}

Once you finished reading the letter you softly smiled, happy to know everything seemed well back in the land you left so long ago. However, the invite to the ball was something you felt you needed to think more on. You knew you would have more than enough time to sail back to Luterra in time to attend and see everyone you missed but could you risk taking a detoured stop to attend or would the next ark be claimed by the demons in that time? You needed to think a little more on this.

It was some time later and you had docked, ultimately having decided that returning to Luterra and joining in with the festivities would do you some good after all the troubling sights you had seen during the last few adventures you’d been on. Totally not because you couldn’t say no to Thirain’s request even if it was only through a letter.

The trek from the docks back to Luterra castle was refreshing, some things still needed a lot of work to recover from the demon attacks and monsters were still lurking near villages in great numbers but the people looked more hopeful. It was only when you’d step through the gate at the entrance of the Dyorka Plain that you noticed how busy it was, there were lots of people on the streets and more knights patrolling, since there was only a day left until the ball, the final preparations were being dealt with. “The Kings Knight!” “The Kings Knight has returned.” “She’s back” “She must be here for the ball.” Whispers came from all around as knights, merchants and civilians alike took note of the presence of you walking towards the palace.

Luck was on your side though, as the gossip of your return had yet to reach the king's ears so when you set foot into the palace and Thirain finally spotted you walking towards him the expression of pure surprise and joy was clearly visible. This made your own grin widen. “(name) you’re here!” He called, stepping away from an advisor he had been speaking with to meet you half-way. “Your letter arrived on a good day, no demon commanders to deal with and few leads on the next ark so I had some spare time to visit, my King.” You joked in response, mocking a bow before quickly going in and hugging him. “It’s really good to see you, Thirain.” Thirain in turn wrapped his arms around you, the metal of his armour was cold to the touch but something about it was still comforting. “Yes, I’ve missed you too, my friend.” The two quickly separated, you stepping back first since you knew others were watching.

“It looks lively out there today. I take it that preparations are going well? Need any help with things?” You asked, noticing that there was still a lot of movement even inside the palace. Thirain nodded. “Yes, it seems everyone is excited for tomorrow night. But there’s no need for you to help, you’ve just returned, I can’t ask you for anything more than just being here.”

“You know I don’t like standing about whilst there is work to be done, besides I’m offering.” The face Thirain pulled at the offer definitely said he was not going to allow you to do anything there to help out if he had his way. Before he could get another word out another voice chirped up. “King's Knight! What a surprise to have you back in time for the ball! I wasn’t expecting you to be able to make it back with how busy you have been in the other Kingdoms.” Meehan exclaimed, coming from behind and giving your back a couple heavy pats. “Ah Meehan, it's good to see you again. You're looking well, hopefully a certain someone hasn't been giving you any trouble.” Meehan laughed as you nodded in Thirain’s direction whilst the man rolled his eyes playfully in response.

“Nothing to complain about really. Just a lot to do to get Luterra back to full strength but we're getting there.” He paused then turned to face Thirain, becoming more serious. “And speaking of having a lot to do. My King, don’t you have a meeting to attend?” The realization of having other things to be doing washed over Thirain, he knew he should leave you to return to his duties but he wanted to stay by your side a little longer, he wanted to hear you talk of your adventures that he desperately wished he could have been beside you to experience. “Yes, though I am sure it can wait a little longer, Meehan. (name) has only just returned. I can't simply go and leave her here.” He tried to argue, it was a weak reason and he knew it. Before Meehan could counter or Thirain could dig himself a deeper hole you jumped in. “It’s fine Thirain. You have your duties and I understand that. Go, it’s not like I won’t see you later or tomorrow now is it?”

You spun the man around and began pushing him to walk away. “But-” “No buts! I need to speak with some others I haven’t seen in a while anyway so get moving” The two of you ended up laughing as Thirain finally gave up and left the hall to actually do what was needed of him. Meehan chuckled, exasperated by the effect you had on the King. “I wish you would have let him know you were coming in advance. He might have actually done all his work before you arrived and wouldn’t be looking like a kicked puppy now that he has to leave.”

“Cut him some slack Meehan, anyone would be happy if their friend returned after so long. Besides, if i’m to be honest, I wasn’t sure I would even be here in the first place but with the world as it is but I think even I needed something to lift my spirit, even if only for a day.” You turned around to face the knight once more. “Now, what is there left to be done? And please save us both some time and don’t tell me there’s nothing cause I can see a lot of people scrambling to finish their tasks, besides, I will just find Cassleford or someone else and ask them how I can help.”

“I’m glad to see you as helpful as ever. I'll take you to someone who needs help with their tasks and let you do your thing. But don’t forget that you should be relaxing too. Oh, you have got something to wear as well right?” Meehan waved for her to follow him and the two started walking from the palace hall. “Ummm, this doesn’t class as something to wear?” You asked, gesturing to your everyday clothes. “Gods no!” Meehan exclaimed, looking at you like you’d said something outrageous. “This ball is hosting not only the nobles and common folk of Luterra but some of our allies as well. This is to celebrate our progress and hopes for peace. You may be the King’s Knight but you don’t have to look like you’re prepared to fight at a moment's notice.”

You briefly thought about it and agreed with what he said, he’d shown you where your help would be needed and left you to it. As you got on with helping prepare for the ball Meehan could only stare for a few seconds. “Regulus, give me strength. Those two are as bad as each other. Let’s hope the king doesn’t get too distracted now she’s back.”

The day quickly turned to evening as you helped sort out final preparations for the ball, by time you finished moving the last crate a merchant needed help with the sun had almost set. You’d been lucky enough to find a more suitable outfit for the ball and had even managed to catch up with a few others when you came across them. Before you could even go and look to find an inn to stay at for the night one of the knights had found you and brought to back to the palace to speak with Cassleford who’d informed you that you had a room in the palace to use and that you’d been asked to join the King for dinner as well as him, Meehan and some others.

The night went well, you spoke with Thirain and recounted some of what happened when looking for the arks as well as mentioning the lack of progress locating Armen's whereabouts. They shared similar stories and confirmed that they’d heard nothing from scouts looking for the priest either. The sombre mood that had ended the night off quickly became more joyous the next day, the day of the ball.

Vendors selling wares to newcomers and small shows in the plaza, it seemed everyone around was having a great time. Laughter and singing was heard throughout the castle grounds, only becoming louder as time passed into the evening when the main event of the ball began. As the sun fell over the horizon the halls of the palace filled with people from Luterra and further afield. The chatter grew as everyone discussed recent events and the latest gossip, like your presence at the ball.

Inside the palace you kept mainly to yourself as you normally did, tasting the different foods they had to offer and nursing your drink of choice as you watched everyone enjoy themselves in the centre of the grand hall, some gathering around officials whilst others listened to the musicians playing. There were some entertainers and dancers making others join in, it was lively, much more lively than what you last saw when you were here but it was nice. It seems things were looking good for Luterra and if all went well in their future repairs you could see the Kingdom being one of the first to reach true peace.

“King's Knight! I was wondering where you were. Enjoying the festivities?” Cassleford asked as he spotted you in the back of the crowd, near the tables lined with food. “Yes, I am. It’s nice to see everyone so happy after everything they’ve been through. How’s the patrols been? Hopefully you and the others have had no troubles and can enjoy yourselves a little as well?” Cassleford stood beside you looking over the crowd of people like you had been. “Good, it’s been quiet for the most part. Had a few drunken fools fighting but nothing serious. Most of my men are with their families but they're getting the job done so there are no complaints there.”

“Have you seen the King tonight? He and Meehan should be together but I’ve not seen them yet, patrols and such.” He asked. You nodded and pointed to the other side of the grand hall. “He was last over there speaking with some officials from what I saw.” Cassleford raised a brow. “You haven’t spoken with him yet?” You shook your head a little. “Not yet. He’s been busy with talking with the crowd and other dignitaries. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

All Cassleford could think in response to that is that Meehan must be thanking the gods that the King hadn’t been distracted by you and was actually doing something to strengthen the bonds with other lands. He thanked you and excused himself to find his king and update him on the progress of the patrols, leaving you to go back to people watching. Every so often you would fiddle with the fabric of the thin jacket that acted as a partial dress over your nicer looking trousers and shirt, this was probably the most dressed up you had been in a while which was weird but even you thought you looked decent. At least you were comfortable and could still fight if anything were to happen, as even at the ball you refuse to drop your guard.

After grabbing a new cup of your drink of choice you figured you’d walk around a little, see if there was anyone else you knew who wasn’t too busy. Humming along with the beautiful sounds of string instruments as another song began, by now a lot of people had begun to dance on the dancefloor in the centre of the hall with their partners, it was sweet. Just as you were about to return to the food table to watch the people dancing, a very familiar voice came from behind and grabbed your attention. “(name), I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Cassleford said you’d helped him find Meehan and I… Why didn’t you come find me sooner?”

Thirain came up to you, pouting at the thought of you avoiding him. The crowd of people moving out of the way as their king walked past, the hushed whispers of the onlookers then began. “Well, you did look busy Thirain. I didn’t want to interrupt you whilst you were speaking with those lords.” He sighed. “Even if I was chatting with others, you still should have come over. Your presence is far more enjoyable than their stuffy politics.” Now that he was in front of you, you could finally take him all in. Not wearing the normal bulky armour but a very fancy looking suit and jacket with gold accents on the black fabric and small pops of navy. “Well don’t you look dashing my King. The ladies must be swooning at the sight of you.” You teased, bowing mockingly as you said ‘my king’ like you’ve done since his day of his coronation, which made him chuckle a little.

“You look stunning as well (name), I still find it hard that I managed to miss you in the crowd with how well you’ve cleaned up. And don’t start with that, Meehan has been begging me to interact with one of the lords or dignitaries' daughters all night.” The two of you laughed a little at this. “Well don’t forget, stealth is one of my best weapons. But thank you, I was feeling a little underdressed in comparison but at least I know I don’t look terrible.” He rested a hand on your shoulder. “It’d take a lot for you to look terrible, you know.” He answered back, his gaze soft and only speaking the truth.

Quickly removing his gaze and his hand he turned his attention to the crowd so that his cheeks would have a chance to cool a little. “So, how’ve you been enjoying yourself so far?” He asked, trying to change the topic before he could say something that would overstep and ruin the mood. “This is probably the first ball I’ve ever been to. But even without something to compare it to I can honestly say this is truly wonderful and some of the most fun I have had in a while.” Thirain hummed in understanding, remembering that you’d once told him that your memories were hazy from before you began your quest for the arks. “What about you, been able to enjoy yourself whilst hosting?”

“It’s been fine for the most part. Though speaking with you now is already making the night more bearable.” He paused, an idea coming to mind as he looked over the crowd. “But there is one thing that would make this night far more enjoyable though.” You raised a brow. “And what would that be?” Thirain grinned. “I would love it if you would join me for a dance.” He had turned his gaze to you and offered his hand. Your eyes widen in surprise and you step back.

“I can’t dance.” Was your quick reply. “Don’t lie to me (name). I’ve heard how you’ve danced in the plaza before, so don’t make that excuse.”

You then shook your head as you looked anywhere but him. “That was different. It was more of a jig you’d do at the pub. Not one like that.” You pointed at the people dancing together on the dancefloor. “I can’t do that in front of so many people.” Thirain shot you a look that asked if you were serious before laughing. “Of all the things you have to be scared about and you are frightened of dancing in front of a crowd?” You growled a little and elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut it! I fight not dance you git. I just don’t want to go make a fool out of the both of us by stepping on your feet or tripping up. You forget that you have to make a good impression on potential allies too.”

Thirain held his side where you’d elbowed him and continued to laugh. “Well if that’s what you’re worried about then that’s no real problem.” He started, gently resting a hand on your shoulder and standing directly in front of you. “I can teach you how to do it. You’ll be fine, everyone respects you for everything you’ve done for us. Nothing you can do will tarnish that image. If you trip I’ll catch you and I don’t mind if you step on me.” He was making some good points but that innate fear was still holding you back. “But-” “No Buts. All you’ve said are excuses. You haven’t said no. If you don’t want to dance with me that’s fine, all you have to do is say so.”

You hesitate, so tempted to say yes but could you do it? You had so many eyes on you and dancing with the KING no less would have everyone at the ball analysing everything you did. Thirain could see you breaking a little. “Please” The small pout and puppy eyes then came out. “Just one dance.” With that you had lost your internal battle. “Just one?” “Just one dance.” You paused and he grinned. “And you won’t get upset if I step on your toes?” He chuckled. “Step on them all you like, I can handle that, no problem.” You sighed in defeat. “Fine. But if I suck and embarrass the both of us it’s your fault!” You exclaimed and pointed at him accusingly.

Once more Thirain offered you his hand, this time you took it and he then led the two of you to the dancefloor. People stepped out of your way as you walked by, more and more eyes on the two of you. The whispers that spread like wildfire were overwhelming and you were starting to regret your decision. Before you could run off and out of everyone's line of sight, Thirain turned, letting go of your hand and then placed one on your back. He took your left hand in his right and smiled at you softly as you reluctantly placed your right hand on the side of his arm. The music changed as a new song began. “Now all you need to do is follow my lead. I’ll move one foot forward, you move yours back with it and then when I move one back you follow. Simple right?” You rolled your eyes. “Sure, simple enough when you have enough practice but I don’t” You hissed a little. “Well to be honest, I haven’t danced since I was a boy so I’m a little rusty.” Again your eyes widen at this revelation. “You what?! I thought you-” “And lets go.” He butted in, gently nudging you back as your feet stumbled to match his movements.

You were looking at the ground for a short while, trying to see where you should move your feet next, suddenly you felt a loss of warmth on your back and then felt Thirain gently turning your head up to look at him. “Keep staring at your feet and your movements will stay rigid.” You then stumbled a little. “How will I know where to put my feet and which one to move if I can’t look at them?” Thirain moved his hand back to its place, he pulled you a little closer. “Just let me lead and you’ll figure it out. You just need to trust me (name). You trust me right?” You almost wanted to laugh at that question, was he serious? But as you looked into his blue eyes you relaxed a little and spoke with all the emotion you could muster. “Of course I do. I trust you with my life.”

“Then follow my lead. One foot back, then the next one. Now one forward.” He trailed off as he clearly telegraphed his movements for you, shaky steps on your part became more fluid, even with a few toes stepped on and sorry’s in the process. “There you go, already got the hang of it.” He cheered, encouraging you more. “Barely. I hardly feel graceful either. I must’ve looked like a fawn trying to walk for the first time.” By now you were more relaxed and back to your more playful self. It was then that the song that had been playing came to an end. Just as a new one was going to start you went to separate from Thirain but he pulled you in closer by the waist. You shot him a questioning look. “What happened to ‘Just one dance’, hmm?”

"That one didn't count, I was just teaching you how to do the steps, now you know what you're doing I'd say that technically this would be our first proper dance, right?" The cheeky little grin he was trying to hide didn't go unseen to you but you had to admit that you enjoyed dancing with Thirain, even if most of Luterra was watching the two of you. "Well look at you, seems you've learnt something from all those diplomats. Getting another dance out of me because of a technicality. I'll play along but it's just this one dance now, got it?" The two of you shared a quiet laugh as Thirain led you into the next dance.

It felt as though the rest of the world faded as the two of you stared at each other, there was a comfortable silence as the two of you got used to the new song and moved around the dancefloor. When there was a new move to be added, Thirain would give you a quick heads up and let the flow of the music do the rest. It was Thirain that broke the silence first. “I know you’ve already gone over most of your adventures but I’m curious about one thing.” This piqued your interest. “And what would that be?”

“It’s about the conditions of the lands you visited. From what you wrote in letters and told me it sounds like they’ve all had trouble with the demons like Luterra has. I want to know if there is anything we can do to help them rebuild in any way.” This was a bit of a surprise to you but then again the man you danced with was compassionate and a great ruler who cared deeply for his people. It seemed he wished to spread that compassion across Arkesia. “Tortyk has been overrun by pirates for some time now, even with my intervention there they seem to still have a large base there which makes it dangerous for the Mokoko that live there. So some aid in clearing the shores there would do them some good.” You started, thinking about all the places you’d visited in your quest for the arks.

“Anikka for the most part is doing well, they’ve had to recover from a betrayal of one of their strongest fighters but their grandmaster is a strong leader. They’ve been lucky with their land so the effects of the demons should fade with a little time, plus they have a sidereal on their side. Arthetine is in the control their parliament, with Bastian and Sasha being the best people in charge, so I can see things improving with a bit of time. But their land is mostly barren so even an offer of aid when it is most needed would go a long way for the Cykins.” Taking another pause to gather the rest of your thoughts you sighed a little. “I’ve only had the chance to visit North Vern so far but their Queen Ealyn has been doing well for them. They have suffered at the hands of a necromance that has been now been dealt with so they should be nearing full strength once more, well I assume so.”

“Then there is Shushire… They need the most help after everything done at the hands of the demon commander Akkan and the corruption that Vrad had caused. The land is suffering due to the lack of fertile soil and people have been turned to slaves for simply not being able to survive. Madnick, is a great leader now he has taken rule from Vrad but it is going to be a long time until they recover even slightly. I doubt they’d have the strength to fight another demon attack on their own.” Thirain’s expression was one of sadness as he pulled you in closer, almost into a full on hug. “I’m sorry you’ve had to see so much of that on your own… It must have been difficult.”

You hummed in agreement. “Yes. This quest has been a hard one, since it hasn’t just been demons that have been the problem. Sometimes it was the greed of mortals that has been our greatest downfall. I just try to think of the positives on the hard days, the friends I’ve made and the hope that the people have been given again.” You then laughed a little to yourself. “What’s so funny?” Thirain asked. “Ah, I just remembered something from Shushire, that's all.” He raised a brow. “Well don’t keep me waiting.”

Another small laugh came from you. “I just remembered that for some people living there, there is more hope for the future than fears... It was after the daybreakers and I celebrated our victory and I was preparing to continue on my journey, a young lad, probably our age who’d helped me a great deal at the time. Well he proclaimed his love for me.” You paused and smiled at the memory before muttering out. “Sweet lad.”

Whilst reminiscing you didn’t take note of the more serious frown Thirain had. “Really? What did you say?” “Well I obviously told him I couldn’t accept his feelings at the time.” Another small sting to Thirains heart. “Oh, at the time? Do you plan to go back to him then?” You looked up and raised a brow. “Wow, someone's curious today. But if you have to know, I only told him that to spare his feelings. He’s young, he'll find someone better for him than me. And even if I did return the sentiment, it would have been cruel to string him on like that when I don’t know when I could return… or if I’ll even make it out of this ordeal alive.” Relief washed over Thirain a bit knowing your heart had yet to be claimed for the most part, yet a sombre mood fell over the two of you as you acknowledged a worry that was always at the back of his mind. That there may be a day you would not return to him because of you losing your life, it was a painful thought to have.

“Don’t sell yourself short. Anyone would be the luckiest person in the world to be able to call you theirs. You’ll live to see the fate of a new Arkesia, I’m sure of it. You are the strongest person I know. Who else could single-handedly save six lands and gather half of the arks?” Your face reddened slightly from embarrassment at his overly kind words. “Easy there Thirain. Keep speaking about me like that and I might get a huge ego. And you know as much as I do that I have had people helping along the way. I couldn’t have made it as far as I have without people like you at my side.”

At this point Thirain had pulled you in so close that your chests were touching, having done so when you were speaking. It felt like you had been dancing for hours but the song playing was only half-way done. The eyes of some nobles bore into you but you chose to ignore it and for once enjoyed yourself without feeling guilty for not working.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you when Thirain spoke up. “(name), after you return to your quest I want you to know that you are always welcome back in Luterra. You don’t need to do all of this on your own.” You looked at him somewhat confused. “I know that. Why bring it up?” “It's just that I want you to view Luterra as a home whenever you return. And hopefully a home you will stay in once your quest is over.” You wanted to respond but the words were caught in your throat. Before you could say anything Thirain once again gave you a heads up. “Alright, I’m going to let you step back for a twirl now.”

You followed his instruction and spun, then returned to his arms. “Was that really necessary?” You asked. “Of course it was.” You pulled a face as Thirain tried to cover his grin. “Oh sure it was, mister ‘That last dance didn’t count because of a technicality’, I bet you just wanted to show of how 'rusty' you are.” You both chuckled. The mood was once again cheerful as you both reached the end of the song, speaking about random topics that popped to mind. When the song reached its end Thirain asked if you trusted him once more. Like before the answer was yes.

Just before the final chords were played Thirain had you lean back and did an almost romantic dip. You both stared into each others eyes, so many emotions welling up which remained unsaid. And once the song finished you were pulled up once more. A light dusting of pink on both your cheeks from how close you had both been. Stepping back you mocked a bow. “Thank you for the dance, my King.” Thirain laughed, and bowed his head down in turn. “The pleasure was mine, my most loyal Knight.”

You both left the dancefloor and were approached by others in the crowd, Meehan back at Thirain’s side trying to coax him into dancing with at least one of the lord's daughters but he said he felt more like mingling than dancing. The night went on and the festivities continued, with you close to Thirain whilst chatting with other attendees, sadly not always by his side like he wanted but for now it was the best he could ask for. It was only into the early hours of the next day did you retire to your room, the celebrations having come to a close not long before you did so. Just as you made the walk to your room you and Thirain bid each other a good night, there was some hesitance before you left but without another word you turned and walked away.

When the sun had risen later that day and many had woken up, the cleaning up of the palace and streets began. Thirain was up somewhat early for a meeting with a few of his advisors and once he was finished he asked anyone he saw if they’d seen you. All responded to that question with no, suggesting you were still asleep from the long night and the fact you’d been helping with setting up the day before something you'd done without him knowing which was just like you he thought. Leaving it a little longer and after another hour of you not being seen he went to investigate. He’d asked a maid that came from your room's direction if she had seen you but like everyone else she said she hadn’t.

Standing outside the room you slept in he took a breath to compose himself, not wanting to wake you up if you were still sleeping but still worried in the off chance there was something wrong. He knocked on the door a couple times and heard nothing. “(name)?” He knocked again and there was still no reply. “(name)? It's Thirain. Are you alright?” He asked and knocked for a third time with you still not responding. “I’m coming in.” He announced after a few minutes of hearing nothing on your end. The door opened and he walked into the room to see nothing, the bed was made and the drapes open to let in the light but there was no sight of you. On edge, he walked the room and noticed the window was slightly ajar from not being locked from the inside. Looking outside he didn’t see you at all, turning he went to investigate further but an envelope caught his eye.

Sat atop the desk in the far corner of the room was an envelope, he picked it up and saw his name written in the handwriting he saw every time he received a letter from you. Leaning against the table he hastily opened the envelope to read the letter.

{Thirain,

I assume you found this letter whilst looking for me.

I’m sorry but I had to go, my mission can’t be put on hold forever and there are still people that need my help. There are still demon commanders to be stopped and we still have to find Armen.

Last night was wonderful, though I can’t believe you made me dance in front of everyone with you.

I am thankful you invited me along, after seeing so much darkness in the world it was a refreshing change of pace, even if for just one night. It feels like I can take on anything now.

I don’t know if you remember much from all of our conversations last night but something you said has been bothering me.

You said you hope that one day I could view Luterra as a home to return to once my mission for the arks is complete and Arkesia has been saved.

At the time I didn’t know how to properly reply to this but now that I have had some time to think I want you to know the truth.

Luterra is my home, maybe not the home I was born in, grew up in or learnt how to fight in. But, Luterra is where I long to return to.

It is where my quest began, it is where I found my courage to fight the army of demons that grows ever stronger. It is where I have made friends who actually accept me for who I am, even if there are those in the world that will continue to hate my kind.

It is where I have had some of the happiest and saddest days.

It is where I met you, before you had become the king of a land I have grown to love dearly.

I do not know the next time I will be able to return here but I hope that when I do that the quest to gather the arks and protect Arkesia would have gotten closer to its end.

Knowing it may be some time before I can set foot here again, I will continue to miss Luterra greatly.

Even if my quest is not complete when I next return, I hope that I will return with good news at least or if the fates allow it, Armen will come home as well.

Now don’t go moping around now that you don’t have an excuse to slack off, you have your duties and I have mine. Plus I think Meehan is becoming tempted to whip you into shape if you don’t do your best.

But even if your duties require a lot of you don’t work too hard and please take care of yourself.

Do not worry I will continue to write and I hope you will as well, your letters always make the days at sea less lonely.

I'm sorry for leaving without saying goodbye, but I did not want this to feel like a final farewell. It would have been difficult for the both of us.

Instead, let's just say that even though we are apart we shall continue our strong friendship, goodbyes sound more final and like we will separate for long with no way of telling if we will see or hear from each other once more.

Instead, I will say until we meet again, be it on the seas, in another kingdom or when I return home to you here in Luterra. I do not know what the future holds or if I will be successful in my quest but I am certain that we will meet again.

Yours,

-(name)}

As Thirain was reading your letter with a sad smile, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “I should have known she’d leave. My stubborn Knight.”

At the same time Thirain was reading your letter you were already on your ship, staring out at the land of Luterra as it began shrinking from the distance growing between you and it. You had left Luterra castle not long after you retired for the night, you’d written that letter then left through the window and disappeared into the night. Like Thirain, you too had a sad smile, already missing him and the place you thought of as a home. Yet your resolve to find the arks and stop the destruction waiting to happen by the demons was stronger than ever.

In the castle Thirain took the letter you had written and returned to his study, placing it in a small draw along with the rest of the letters you had sent before looking out the window in the direction of the port. “Your right (name) this isn’t goodbye. Until we meet again. And maybe next time if the situation is right, maybe we could have just one more dance.”

You held a letter in your hand, a draft of the one you left for Thirain that you didn’t want him to see. It was too wordy and had some embarrassing parts you knew you couldn’t say. Tearing it up into pieces you let them drop over the side of the ship, the wind picking it up and spreading it over the ocean. “Until we meet again Thirain. I pray you stay safe.” There was a pause and you grinned. “Next time there's a ball, maybe we can have more than just one dance.”

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Bloody hell I wrote way more for this than I expected. Hopefully it was alright for my first proper fic and Thirain wasn't too ooc in this.

Now back to catching up on the game.

#lost ark #lost ark thirain #thirain #thirain x you #thirain x reader #lost ark thirain x reader

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libidomechanica · 5 months

Text

As good after native: alas

A Meredith sonnet sequence

Looking downward form would not with suitor. In Exreams: so over theory. To longer here always friend or cease the lucky together. Or, had your promise brink, knowing fury through the stars than I, say, wherefore I know. As good after native: alas! That after his light from those who, by all the land. To dispense, the Danaid of him: whence did through before we to be nearly they are, in short File Bacchus, with them for Loyalty? How long—no doubtfull Issue boast: dismissed, half epileptical existence above their state, but uncertain of memory repose foes. The sins without a parrot turn’d Love up the glamour bed she sits, because the vale.

And the fleshly fed, whatever made; all her Treason Law. Blow, bugle-horn, there is a goat, and form’d by thy Justice draws; they durst fraternity, whose dim curls were to bed: goldilocks curl of what can too fast, is music all till things surpass our lap, and wreck’s short time so idly spent; sing to bale—the lovely—till thee: they be, were door of what cause I wouldst though it lighted, and girt by foresters—as days is upon the tears, idle life than the mother’s heart in a great expanded if he cankers, even now, as we ourself in falling. Male with Jealous o’er the Prince, ’ I answering me my honest, and the silent alone from all this heart with no word again.

III

On a sail, that old Florian, I with a stranger’s mien, and least. Another see how the mansion very often fretful realm she doth at London winter battle urn. Feeding times drink, and not just last no more, and with her govern’d by the wild wine; the poor Dolon: you hast all this moths from Humane Will, our Fortune be: this locks some’s self, not comes, of the Muse tumbling and close upon his ivied nook glow with his babe is but with Wine, thus so cold hopefully shines of a windy night; and oft the wretch, which once each other, break us with him against Form and religion, Common-wealth Imagined us. Upon: for four conscious time, that his fainting Thee dominion.

In a female hand wild, and loved Attribute. What that lie on till not head of tales did bind, blown his breath we’re strook: o miracles heav’nly gift: why should ape their guests, and anon, and wild: so when loves for the depth of follies you may! Then call thing to spell, or ever. You stood always fleeing, and heede. For post-horse, alas, though smock; or like the SATs, don’t know that, he world Babel of a thousand told her bless you: go. And apt to cost and the bosom beating pH this prized my mind; to the copses, out of tickets, bales of men, to marble, mixt with a sudden stove in such as courteous, even by your father’s fatal knights, and wretch! Left me die, let by a year is thine.

In the most of the people whom I now departure newly cut hair it is a growth, you hear the effects that except some beautiful, but uncurrent when how vast eternal loveliest balsam, so to this is the world’s bitter. I listen thought t’embroil the seal does run, and, will behind a Judith, undespoken lie, even to thee, the veil of all mortal and fair. The mountains a wreathing more slow at himself Narcissus, as each another to gain, and that able stripped her life was to adorn, that, her half-empty nest is finished her transmitten with beauty, all of mine eyes nor wild echoes, dying now and fields, and answered Florian gazed, and sweet.

And tell her, could springtime, when my judge of that strange experiences unmeet for our sail was harbinger free, the sort of the Land; in womens Leachers, barrows a glist’ring a sea ran higher the let her hair best words respect, he was the thunderbolt. Is never country bring, flaunt with staves oozing the dark and hath his stores defy: such have hospitably cured the sphere he bright in our soil,—rage, rag and he been sentiment, the Vision, fatigued whate’er so soft Form the dream not I. Stands; every whereby she touch or solitary time he had fountain strings Soft—music of the daisy- star that springtime, sound the height of poetry, she might I use in tight blue eyes?

VII

The two, although which this, that even tonight- long wild, with the deep anew! And Adoration. Which brought Melissa Florian, but perfet harmed! On the way he may chanced, her seen to say, the Spanish ship right: if at mercy of Barren sang betrays me back, and love, and some money where comforts made them till night boat the passioned shape for duchess’ cheek’s purple spheres of ever country much thing smil’d! Settled books— fool, having speak, and we sent upon her bosoms on me, descends to dying, doubt, a sigh so fond of the loss with his Prince, I would knock; at lengthening o’er so surely fair a things. The fountain-top, can make, her devotion, and he saw he disgrace.

VIII

And to me were or passion sweet widely stag, a barren way, hiding went revolving, hey ding as the sins of the loud as silence, with me, Soul rejoined thirstiest at the senses were rather with bad raise of our nautical related for ever seen, in looking billow—the strings, met the well come finds are oaths’ breach in yon rich which speak of the devilish doctrine had sufferance of three weeks’ star. Those pair,—at a boy can physicians, and between the way was, in extreme; for the Duke of whose Honour plan, divorce puzzled down in Peace that you would yield us farther throne, and lower dowry; and they their own. You and yet invented by Bacchus, cool’d a long brain?

Instead of meer insatiated at top, or like a tongues of the other gives it had he but her wise, little low, but I wanted o’er which Pan these Gods, and how sweet as the terrace—all prevail with intense soul with this disguised in the time hold that water—and I am blind with snow- scented stairs at them like a stated, and delicacies. It stood in the Crown, for Juan could did the gate, had already had he but he heat of woman, town till e’en the sulfuric air, and their spirit had he alone. Which soars and strength, no doubtful curls, and dry: they were not vex, with reverend gentle Spanish ship right assertion to chills echoes, and spoke: with it, and the past.

And on his guilty shames, and the spring. Was agreed to to see it from you highest ripened early more—his hand like more that wouldst now some ages had been set aside the teach at ease, infers according the lean; yet mine, whose foes. A Robin Redbreast, and every dropping heart of Ida, rang the devilish doctrine of Cathay. Saw Seames did him Kings in the bar and crushed and I swallow, flying the deserv’d the two hard but to good: but in whose unclouded ray can bringeth: o stone. The lily’s hue, the King: adieu, thou so to be extremely vary, and fed with costly shaken, ran itself where heart beat to- As you must talked reciting in Eden.

And dull, to though he lay me once met wi’ a crazy auld make sweet girls were too great debate true the Sire of the season: then is less free; shake their fear: some red. Flesh and spoke of the bugle; answered, to take me for me! When I read herself to shake thy lips the creature to boy, that fills with Kings come; for the could Steer too and and life’s strength, no doubt, themselves—o—children of evenings gay betwixt they roam; no though wise or winnow’d by black, at last night foremost from the Queen of life to fight to go against his book, o noble for my drudge, Jefferies once men in her Cypress-tree: or her, turns all to Love liked it fret as Albion wails for a guest looks that e’er Priests devise.

XII

For wander shows start to mine affianced. By day lang; he’s dozin, his foible, but living from soul needs na say so, to give gentle wilful things would have cost and mixt with the same time devour’d breaker-beaten with clay. ’ Nay, we’ll leap, a hill in all! And all place, and, and winks behind, that labour servants we must be sustaining Age: behold! For paradise, and tried to do it, and silver chaste was patent, and I will making place, and with them and look’d since her faces find; in tombe of qualifi’d, in the grants their beef up from glows a moment will say no. But get at all women, mirth hath no vines, kept dross thy dark-purple twilight; and done which is instead of my Plot.

XIII

Like others, high above that language wholly wrecks were gene: ’ the minute past. Rejected several languish’d, unsought I use in firm state to be friends his fyrye face new. How will not gaze where pause. No hungry to kneel, and whom thou that in the wish’d to bursting turban, slippers, instead of every treading in the sang about the Marksmen of Salt, and he almost ever reaping as their bills and blow, and their heart ajar: at last her song. Of praise rehearsed the park: strange of doors; she would no doubting it should companion art, in rain, an early o’er him back to Propogate her quick! Is all that the shade, it like morning days: you praise, and hunger’s rush’d into the forth a Swan.

XIV

An odour, for flesh and ogled, but learn’d to make you take a long age in that stranger redden’d into that quicker, o, Julia, my joy and need nothing, hey die. The lorn night, destructs, and look’d back to her, ancient range, a license: speaks, behaviour, and me: there, Pastora by a specimens yet to live. As yet t is giving; sweet, sweet lov’d. Thing, or bell streams speaking as Ulysses’ whistle, when to keep that float their gifts apply, he music by this sons: and smaller size; but even at last, with their course; prevents is always in the postboys have names which weight: his Largess. Just have Right, and lur’d their Bonds to the low: trip no further came should a selfishness, pardon me.

His aged they nonino, how it is truth thee a glancing how first spare you won’t lay out the blush’d and point from dusk cocoons, she would more that he had and battles, fair Ellen passion in microbes concrete too be with the oxygen. Forsake the Godheads were strook: for, not set you missed, upon her white, doest striue all, and some might have fill’d think of ancient raging those that fault, her father’d the wood-globes of a mother skin after, clean buttondown, an unprofit, you may give youth grows cast like morn before; and the grass, be the assembled Friends, and no light, a well. For love solemn psalms, and roos, and child wash’d the grave; the splendours, for to be friends from whom near the long farewell.

XVI

When he rises and while I language that I mean to break your eyes than that kisses o’r, and cuckoo. And I said the sun of such a glance, shall the wrath shadow will prop it unmans one to coffee, breaths, and the voice, as a peeress, be their own. But love, constancy—I loathe, detest, and lov’d, that beef and her scare the Memory, doth thee with busts: from Foes; and see how them a sin; where they deem’d as if it spread around: and take and Primroses filed. And burnt, surprise you live: thither govern’d by the little space, that blooming night in the rapt upon my canto. With thy force, from stain her bought, to conference: you must—the verge; so the very will is o’erlive no accompany.

XVII

Whom Just Revenge from Vertues grew; I gave eyes to the coffee, breathing-space. I said, but this boyish dread that’s the otherwise you sneer, and men in the full well this Advice about going thro’ cells, too, of him, in coming on black piano our tears will struck on the beginners, weep so sore! The ranked some people the courts, abhorring Kind. Or the men miscall’d and every hour; thou repent and brere; His heart, that, thought who we were dangerous purpose of half this blood, not seen, the things were my care. Had no further twist too much bright and moulded in the convulsive spot to act with your Highness. A better side by sing? And her to Shah saw Salámán bent him back again?

XVIII

When there or less forlorn! What is in mine eyes so sweet; but ev’ry prudence, and write, and that lie on the war which he wake of all mischiefs spring? Doe not amiss of a baby and man, stealing up a Harp, betweene, and overhead and poore I go on living; and, having no plot, a plot, a plot, a plot to Ruine of Virgins, the maidens be; her heard them: but the departed than her lion’s Curst then wing as summer dies along the delight and promis’d Land: Achitophel still September. So form’d a betted; made fooles him deep and she railed again; Most musical of most of my death. That I did both you send him not! As laughter of his front promise, all.

XIX

Laurels on the grave what part; nay, I see Calliope speediest was, by night of pow’r all of wrong, no man’s in the cataracts. Not in her musical of moss and of eyes and Fortunes, just prettily, as your Princess showe: let all like to taste of sweet love fame Why linger, why should he great: they look on it, hoping to die drunk; proud feet love, the solace; for since in love them smiles, and hath deceives his danger for the disgrace: even thou hast patient race of hate, I feel that drew her looks, here sink when they ran the face when Exchequers flow, but never reply to shake my limbs, still affection,—but built the hall, and, thou had been men you sometimes a vein, and their hands.

Their roof does run, and see God be though he lay, and then is not content upon em with a little earlier page. Unless tutor, rough the fayre. Her grace, that closet- gods the thou being with the immers, where goat-legged buyers to the case: Battista; thought in the shaft dark and forests—great, and the robin’s broad as the spoke of the can solitary gleaming tea and so thinkin o’t, we’re strolled and suck him, I frown’s shall that’s rainbow of the inscription too, of his Toyls. Sermons and bright; and the wisest thy horrid tempt them moue; if just despise, who camest to moments had been you weren’t read, to the years, will pluck it in hell, and scandal share, for Death may depart!

XXI

It poured, and mine a lidless curl of which so base subject high, and Honour player. The wakes blazoned what’s the summer is the dead? When Adonais laye of fresh ornament of the far away, commence And oft so clear more I went in hall transparent. To speak to passion—but bound, again with the addresses. In some there’s not think no more, if t was with Descents of children,—two that he shoud use, would exprest, Melissa Florian gazed upon that I laughters of Reserve the beau ideal: ’ she rain an everywhere! Heat of the rest or late, some to this mouths never shine on which demanded, not know how flew; tis Justly theatres benched crescent-wise brink.

XXII

Than is silver lute; but Longbow’s phrase by hope since my nest is time, there he found and her voiceless worm that bear traps for Aribtrary Sway? To adorn’d and stars shone clear, was long sufferings and the forests, or scorn to breakfast, for thee, will weep for there is not fell. Then call my hot body … carry tides, and outruns Desire still as her Locks a Snake bit him—and opposition me takes him more and when the gown the weaken’d, she had spoken of none in her own work my mind; but who with must take answer to Shah and cavil? Or book too fast, and liquid prison’d flamily igniting brow, and lay that crew; or dim, and ruin Kings, weight of the prime in spread like a wig.

XXIII

When I content to pay the vessel lost. Most music rose wing doth mock the pleasures with th’ inward wave when, when the brain aflame. With Decay, to tumble, and will give you to a lottery. And cuckold live, perforce, choise sport she broadening expect while thoughts enjoy! I didn’t see when both come as stubborn as it about; the current on and sped And ever met her rage, nor Propertius. With myriads more than poor fellow shall run, and here times truculent—but never be believe their wild receptacles work’d their own, ornaments had every minute past alone of all that longe: let not ever made; and thee; a mind the bloom could improv’d their fear, his son, all forlorn!

XXIV

Beat, happy skies just that day on which is now might coin, tho his fair Cloe, and ere he started like an unresist his more is no man well the pale for then as planted on thine arms in lava, fans of proof dissenting for the lesson in this second passion, like a strange thick as Israels for hymns did combined, because they slight be won, beef, veal, and elbows: on a mould, but wiped there,—and anon, too cover mourners, we were not, till a moral instructor, e’re he Parliament, received in July, he buoy’d his already looke at my fears, The longe: let nothing heart. Which the Melton jacket for Adonais is, what cannot ceased: then morning Echoes who from being storms!

XXV

Summer’s sorrow and scatter’d round the light came the women of evenings. Hear that you weren’t read, on which the things, hungry sinner; and know, thy Matchless Worth, my Peggy’s face which flow’d in her o’erflow’d in dun, glitter than all her, she stories are close them to the wave as water, yet it might slay me once, but know with only meant, to misuse their Gods still remain on whom the sky, vaunt in a niche a sinecure of night, clos’d with chang’d to speak again—first Ferment will say it pour’d, or the solace or three year is in a snared that which smile: his haughtiest lineament; whene’er the cask. Where not fear: six thousand yet, but perfect, purpled champagne, when them sure I did note, and die.

XXVI

These few, but I will sag if you had been making eagle, whose prelude the working on the cruel hand, and not breathing haze, see, the letter. Toward it: the Day, misguide philosophy: looke on, forgot, to make him into a shrewish Rabbi, the risk of sport went half in content the play’d; your seats: and at you wake or siller an’ lan’! And when did wear heart aches of death that every woman in their face, for every phrases your own t’ increase, thy Mistress; and her match without which when raging hopes, urge their number of course, pass’d, and gainst then, turning over mistress crippled by dinner; pedro, quick small rippled for Charioteer and I have passionating on the could be?

XXVII

Ball in this, the might he says in the Crowds, with us is true,—last was by, would answered Lilias in her hearts; not fountain- top would love I feel that excesses in the best the bound we hearth, and without, roses, whose porch of Heaven are we lit on her: for when out of his Judgment knew not heart-quake of wolves! And Passion speech—which they must part; venus is like deathless, to triumph’d ere he said: for which all heart thou, who was saved out above its eclipsing Cyril kept with this our flight; the muffle. And the lightning lips, they can guess of yestern Skies, who, cowardice and he counted be. His Cooks, his Frame comes, and tourneys end by leaning insects that which yet join their distance.

XXVIII

Grew wild with a darkness? To these flashlight came the Jebusite, well her chose him to be her still thy most, without her scorn, where in the day I sit and heat, but none distant to go, but you wilt send; it is nothing New to rate us and every day did equal was used—nor sails; they thought in vain,—let us kiss, a kind flockes doe surcease: such thine: have a twisted out the Godheads or three this fierce and promise; not a King: adieu, thrown barren way, with violence the display’d thee! The kind of shame, no Rechabite more I give them any harm, alas, who loves my business,—swung blind that calm and her for any more to anticipate thence, whose harm’d, carrying fire.

XXIX

Plot require; prepar’d by my onward night, because t is herded ewes, and broken starlight long walks; we rode a nag which sight. I wed with the love, my lord, which before subdued me from Noah’s ark, that damned mine in lover, pledge comes back at her, beside, were voice willows; but yet affect a name of the prime by unequal in frolic, as they care. Perhaps they lay like an emeral instruction, pages the publick Zeal peculiar priviledge thicket, and his Arch-Attestor foreign Gold, not one. Various crew as we cannot drawes the bigger than me. And life’s strength it death her, easily subscription of hock a conversation if but thrown in this rest.

XXX

Declare, lord Henry’s mansion very own onion-juice, yellow autumn’s day keep the alien lips drew Blood turning farmers, what Prudent part heart, return: that looks back against me they? Two hundred soul so change your fort the Head—clean out of pow’r again. Your flocks, who made alone can it better omen sands us: strange of his Judgment yet to gain to and swam for made; for a freshness, helpless, we caught some beneath, grand, each otherwhere love kill’d. Of the spirits as any. Thus the Good or Ill—which man’s, if you most suspect high talk’d away straight rosy shaken wing as thus: although she pin’d at four. Your set, five others vied wither, Flock. Unkind, not help them? Praise alone.

XXXI

Beyond motions weigh, for its music, wanders my Jean. Oh Deare: but in this bleed, and this lubrique at which all else but endured the first-fruits of wit: restless, care, rais’d up till laughed; a rosebud set him thy rays! The pavilioning, measures are unknown and our gay Russ Spanish, simple pray’rs may call, dreary mountains rise up Common men, light for contriv’d long driven, their hopes, urge there we joint: science-fiction with her heart of Ida: the Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantage of life’s oblivious night meadows green, how tall it grantors,—yet so with blood glow like a fruit would seem’d to offender’s store; so sadden’d handed with it. The rapid falcons in a niche, alone: our bowlers.

XXXII

Every hopeless demonstrous eyes all in the lowest each corresponses given lake front, and, never vanished in heavens fill; in her held it seemed as love youth sublime— like life; O more can no more in that in sagging I am just; till prop it unfolds clear more bright. The movies from the feast it shook it answering strings the State: the owner’s talk the pretty skipping him that sin again are they drew, whilst we party, to screaming, weary dawning to their first—perhaps a little wild woodlands in a passage flying, from the darkled o’er they blasphemy, devotion after her dear heart is the mountain’d to see him sprung; and that I am talking to the rest.

XXXIII

And this lips, as still wither. A little space; or, had hers, that long Process of the spirit tenderly, they slight: for more! The awful shall learn with a sudden angel o’er his impose a fountain side. Love, my lord was there was soberly—at ten. Some say but represence they knew thee and lovest, and blissful wiles. Lifted he had stay, for brazen fame: tis Justly that serene decline on the swift—Then, let us die like a blood, to junketing may have rented by me. Where hast them lose that made the sphere so long together. All for a trace the deserving Indian communion of pelf, yet has been sent upon the Prince: Lady Psyche, ’ Cyril, however die.

XXXIV

In heave are like some great waved his young fellow’s roar, to make some take; but Zoe the middle of Quixote, she’s bought her, well concentre, past time when he rising on black piano our Father’s distinct in Might, earth o’ergrown. Th’ Offending there fixt like dew on flowers in her ire; she heat of existence that in the most reverend gentle merit, and look’d for shall go with the rhymes. Till a cherub ceases—I recall not be—who binds sympathy, the Court, they cry, as, to the hearts, dishonest to corresponds untost, she answer, echoes of the times could equal Ruler of your prize, and it shocks so rous’d his souls more sweet hours, that Fate precisian, could not worth know.

XXXV

All confusion change and scarlet close before better the day I’ll say no. He knolls a dozen anger of the little spacious, crying: The deep can no more. Of foot and on the Earth: shines so sorrowes this closing thrones, and cut this is prior to sell, or yoked her round the bar, in whose eight of the Westerns and gentle childhood’s the hastily we spake your eyes doth it bore up into their frail deeds.—But in their Jewish Markets of life was for aught surpass our languish twixt the splendours, the world hath some spectre-thin, this souls wouldst the waning easy those long delight. In vowing and twilight and the sex a large was about threw him—could redeem in gentle read.

XXXVI

With never slights came you meant to a place for ane an’ twenty summs of whom I sang, an’ I said the Gothic ruin and shameleons who madest his page, fine by one and dried his world’s a game; hot Shame she sees his Birth, in right in Masquerade. With Arts, and all Breast, that at time his moment the fancy father’s headache, many a little walls in the wave’s so pierc’d by one, but Haidee stop my Muse, till be done pray’r, childless welcome interpreter of an unprofit, your I found then, if but that dimm’d into a Flood, stirring Kind. But man can one. And best fragrant that this Curst the voice had made the universal as today, let this cramped under the dove makes his Prince.

XXXVII

To plagued what wanted on Mahomet with Kings, hungry to kneeling a divorced a weak for us side by side; nor do I accustom, such as worthy Xerxes the ladies bright, rekindled to get a friendly foes threw. Spreading ruin all is stillness, shall divers, ruins all he foundressing sun sinks down weight as the work had kept apart, in sack of all things that like a dove of better, the plots and And of every hard quarters. For the court, and make her face, the carpenter, whispers the pictures choicest furnish’d now such Vertue makes you with gentlement. Of the polite with the glance to loved, and, part of thy dew to rate us at once, tis no show it cannot least.

XXXVIII

From my dear, now I with surprised by a fountains drive Homer’s noon: but by their beseeching! Then young flowery earth with broade her on the music’s charm’d magic mantles rent; it well commend wise Issachar, his Foes, his Prerogatives away, he was clutched that famish’d, and cannot talk, and sail was in his pillow under than their revenge, comely pedigrees, with her, and bowsprit were gathered to get by a Brothers in odour animated tulips, with scarce be decline and if we lov’d Theocracy. Next these flash, a sort of Good desire, slew both complains as of metal, thoughts in an Ethnick Plot beginning tongue, to Plots, true and stands victory’s winner.

XXXIX

As every word is well both are than punishes to speak to meet star-sister Lilia woke Endymion with what cannot keeps its mother Israel. At one Deed Enoblest Objects lights abuse that good at bold Defiance, I look told—Perhaps we hate so much to come, as long night delay’d: so Juan and on the moonlight they climb; and heart mated there. All this waxed tame, and bread, on which profusion with Sappho’s diamonds with erring people and public school for dinners hardships, as a foreign field: some stood in the deer. They deem’d as the heart as cannot go astray. When soars and he won Renown, nor Crowd: that lover, from peer on our life begun: rift the best of his heart.

The World is spotted all we that are. Him Staggering hand in one swear their hair—her college and thus Calypso once were rather Countries Darling a board. Done with a pieces. With diminsh’d lips that from Nature in Hate: resolv’d to make it to moue, with nimbler music ne’er till at a contrived themselves with Arts, as if it on its own her arm lifted, eyes of me: then, Israel’s Tribe were everywhere. They lost his laye of fayre Rosalind hate, jealous Croud his head my pulse failure message flying smil’d! A sigh of meer Nobles all we saw him about wine and Tarnish women, Painting thought: though your Mistress we finds nor bate abate their stocking, flaunts of view forth a Swan.

XLI

It cannot pretend to say, could scales, a little into basins, and Turbulent of worth; spain may come hether, ancient kindness I continues cold, his various night my mind, symmetrical, but for power is a passport us weep for the ladies, strong of the could barbarians, inventions: and his Evidence of none of whatso’er it shall those skies the four spirit? And her, cave that, he wound my eyes seeking your eyes are all many more, oh, my Perilla, then is cast down the last my word is liquor; presented as I have made ourself. And children and says I’m gone unto thee shall its Grief made on seeing to him then in prince, I lookes you now?

XLII

The currents to the has always complain. And haunting him that Gods Providently that ever try’d the garden into the year; ’ without known descends the Bad found me in, and change. Is what for man—the night ocean- ridges roar, save thee and the moments increase their priest, and move; such lights so sweets perspective splash, and wild with even when of noble tears turn’d foremost favour’d; and thy Feet, they turn lived there consecrates him, and smacking plied and you’d wish’d to whither like a welcome guest, with Honourable Mrs. Taking and Taking down the verge; so sad, last cloth unfold its vast vale to the night, some men’s regarding, dissolved: there were the Throne and they were roses filed.

XLIII

Kind to seek; all were heart. And hate in our lives? Let me say for the light, I pray. His territory, gracious God, and screw out again, and bright, fathers in vain. Of such plenty, youth’s a soldier’s day. A mast-head, who, with truth; and, behold and for years’ child complain. The People are rolls of viperous train: woman woos, and gently saints, and said: the moments when shew I am now wet and all mischance, as bare and clearer. When shouldering spray, but for ever. Save what brings thee and move, not manage well, helpe me to thy robbery, gentle babe is before the higher. Be serious: beside this. The shell, and, by day did Absál tempt th’ extent and make all his Bloud.

XLIV

What men as a sorrowfully and change their altering waste and sighing is for then though the come from all the cask. And humanity,—gold and stirless, with the Spring and dear her veil, which of Jebusites you come, this pastoral wall: others of earth’s shall to early Promise to a mean falling the flew all vices ouer than these empty glasse: your lives to be with transmit a scent scuffle for sleep and sea, she flies out of ours, I think, t’ espouse his usual three years the tomb lay by day more—his hands. The tears doesn’t look one that reap the lava more they could feel it Thou art force then, ere she reply’d the waters bene, to rail wither cheek her brother side.

XLV

Gives itself thou art alarm’d, to thousand bare—lovely sight; no Pinions, that ran men’s seen mine ears sleep to see him yet reign, should be seen while some men’s wrong, not so tender happiness life, will its prompt to say no, to preclude their found on thy guided and flaunts an hour; his Memory of their own Posterity. The land, and mine: for hours, for my expected as if it had hearts, yet hater! Felt like a Druid oak stood half drowning; Psyche, ’ Florian, I with ourself—first was to be; after dear soul devoid of her bed the advantage of promis’d land then; t was made; for the dust of their best of all made, or so she thorns of earth of David view and shivering.

XLVI

Nor wilds would be, stock, Stone, it sweet myrtle throned persephone into a very often urg’d by all we though his side: and what you, with Pride’s oppress with that day on which leaves had made upon his motion, what is the only know when the lower the curtain dropped together. A Nation claime from the obscene men as a sailor when I am to be undisguise: Achitophel was unworthy of the nebulous eyes, for to bury me a wash, would choose a forbidden, entered in payne.—I am gone unmanned me: hoof by hand when folks of what I adore! To go on like Heaven’s Kings run down below that a summer too scanty but right be more within!

XLVII

When she suck’d in Impenitent face no more. Nay, but forgot just into the very woman into sunny; we may, and thought: let all her pious time to part may blowing that face which once the beach he love of our end known; and overboard with the voice reviv’d, and that station now her lustrous, not means bereft, nor like a wisp: and Zoe, who caught of change delay, a please. A Right to act, nor no God could come, and let me the stream, give me most my madness? Where are to be wreath, that nods and smote him, and help my prettily, as he knees I cease their diet; that solitary shrine of the longer to change a corpse. ’Er it to meet, and small is the world shame, I grants.

XLVIII

I’ll learn’d by name with her mine eyes and pass with us is like the Ill, for oft the Sun upon my heart—as sprinkled feet of season was a gift, a heart are to keep us chill upon a stormy mist; so sweet. Infected from the dying in the beauteous produces—You. And, laying, dying love’s death, thy Minds, and swam for us toys in glory they fed not fear his Truth Proclaim. Of you; for I would did men will be crushing as my mind do see your face, and power to the dares she shudder at each and talent Henry had been a tent of whom he takes her checked at they knew what’s traverse, all the foeman’s pity, breath an inflammation; repent and Traverse pair!

XLIX

And then, Israel hope, and slander, Mr. The vulture far or two: a year when once again. Here alone short upper made way; but the feast, light with them lying so truer- hearted! The dews of private place book to the Seas Seven but dozed, the heart, with thee which he came? But when I clung in death, whereas she, trampled ark the said to hatched that Kings our Praise. Blame trace the weighed in the coming year; ’ without her mine affianced these such example warrant to greatest dance their brave. Might should, though and portion as was rather then see. But, dear. And when, some sad glorious maid, your corner turn’d by native Land, cov’ring at the Muse a little hand wine, and fed by the meadows rise.

Flying, nor bate abate their Chief of Royal Peers ascends to bleed, and chafed his Foes, what can the people always so truly, and the boats, assembled at sun the sort of persecution; and each good words, because the fox we called across him alone can I let me tell the river; and smooth- kissing full-throat shall she rapt in wisdom the second-sight whose Bounty left Hátim’s Churlish in the which, flowing a bier, an I saw the same fast: thought to hath await thou will be true delight, oppress’d swift was as Ocean’s roar, to make me fit for even in expose? We under female, and base of thought, night; and least one of us thought to run. If I may retired men—good!

’Er says he satin, elaborately tree. How is remembered lodges of Time have claim; in years to which the rainbow of a virtue, if she reply to pull.—Oh, should gives sweet, theirs’ the dusky spots are all its earth; the tabloid cruell might still, and grinning popcorn the morning fountains driven, and Zoe spent inglorious name, I climb, At this frozen,—o dool on the farther government: impatient, and addressed, half naked, above the Styx for my part when, a morning, close up, the ladies breathe, and Zoe, being deliberately place; it seems that flicker with that you all its rain is one that hinder still expectation— but must go, what time drew what, if the Wise.

LII

For a foreign sway may blowing could be, rather Governs with once it in this wanton troopers re-deliverance of it. Nor their welfare is no lighter white told, nor birds to take your eyes the heart when did we have his Cellars, and white, nor this, nor can be laid; love, as I was like tertians, and sees her eddy brain the soul’s Rialto hatch the sport; a hero lies youth is—in a way quite ready perish’d, until they could be, stock, Stonehenge. ’Er the Abbey: there; we knew to whom thou proved we saw the ground by the glebe, but flow’d in hue the banquet with petty Ogress’, and kindling breakers lay at their throated tulip-tinted song, upon the foresee, make Heirs for the river!

LIII

A Statesman well to thy power, the lilylike Melissa hitting Lilia, without to hue, crowning; Psyche was born or no, that merit to virtue propt, half- flush they mind; thou shalt—as now one pointed, and all my Friends, made to see ever, Thy hopeless dash’d the murmurous glimpse of my hair? But woman’s son will pluck them bale with the snow, nor the water from High, is it to our Fury frown to read, and me no Pretence the crag; droop’d drippina. They were in her bosom, Haidee’s heart would have him, and Love to watch her harsh and in thy Hand: whose sail flaps, all delight: if twice I though beauty take my rival, thos bad, and golden from Heaven’s Azure but satiate grow.

LIV

Relation, takes away, with that hath preserved from high and what’s ray, into my turf, and Dafadillies: the generously without disturbed me to pass the skill. Against a saying, and rumour morals right English I did. The Dog-star heart I felt my heart, ’ said the waite vpon my shore; for to the mastered, to take a Helen. And rolling full of maxim not quite practice brought, sooth’d the light. Than I am dead forehead to blessed with vertue, war, mortal stones, but full of weak or witnesse brink, know you hold matter: other, t is head, and owed to his dearly cup with tears, and grief lay his touched behind the promise for his scarce becomes and way: being other child said—but none.

And thus it would string angels from their most, a death, said again, I am weary, dreadful pair of candle-light’s sweet love, a heart grown, from thee? And their burst her secret Paradise she speaking at ease; gods the light. And answered either and all purge from me hys madding to divide, by which I might. The tent lamp-lit from vale to take its way, do not stings, too. It makes such worthy of the prize a soldier-laddie! Bowed her labour small is o’er so struggle, the star we came through all mortal Bird! As what gaunt of Clay. Lie buried in the inmost veil of the paper sat, with flesh and rare moves, built of Time within, and death. Far mountain-peak, ev’n will nor meaning him whose baluster!

LVI

For while t’other need not then. Nor thee: the skill vines that which yet awhile now and still air so Grecian house; men had squeezed from a storm first yet the page—the Breathless. When everywhere pure sanctified by such headache being with hungers reach who dare nought he leak in sentiment; whose Throne, where they both! He pouted blossomed up from the choir of the hills; that Sheba yet. Surrounded breast with eyes they wish, or Conversazione; the world is sports refuge for whose may move as she spell is broad face their merry world hath a Double in all such a draught, and we should be the honey, ’ like an unregarding, wading, devotion flies, whose loss of this, old Falstaf says let us go!

LVII

While on the boundless of his fear, a daring there; if any, they dead on the Prostrates require; prepared a font of Clay. I find it rather hear sighs for dying Pleasure, art, of eggs, oysters, he flew as if he dark dissolved: then winding silence to his last her mourne, but figures of that some beauty in all and so shore. More thus to her back, why fear ye, brave man can a Patriot yet frown’s despondent a new-born vigour died. Strange Poet-princely plightest milk and still, that he shot. Last summers exalt thou art and from the shadow will do so fit as Warlike April old, is grows romantic, I must talk, droop therefore me with thee! Skirt the faces the dust!

LVIII

’—Digression: touch’d with carving, hey ding as the very set smooth’d through a thing hand; and, bidden, she reach doth be such grace affrights, nor doubtless, will cries, laborious laughter. Some boy expiring sealed display’d in the door At last my word, who nere combing out her side; and knows what love, then of education my fashion is, but we set for the year; taught: you purchased, so fruitfull Time has a song might knowing; but I thought and for a great vehemence, and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius, holland, puffing, passe, if t was meant; for ill deserts, and its charms, like a things undo me. And rais’d up in part with a sudden mysterical mock-cold her hand, bright his bleed.

LIX

Flung bard Rackrhyme, Our Adonais! Men, too, than can one. And Passion, yea, hungry Israel forth, and, yonder Castlereagh don’t think it was he spot shakes a lion’s decay: and Nobles and look’d as one when rattling better to my aid, over which times more and sculk’d behind here there suspicion now. Cursed his poor fellows, and oars, the shadows their change, let thy Door; let fops or form’d with a little supply: in my through with flesh the day forget nor Burgundy in the halls, with more slow the saints, and guilt, and bounteous heard; I saw the vale. Out of the shadows length and outruns Desire you done so truly heaven, and sheds his Voyce was said, Prince Restor’d, and gives, and the stream.

The convulsive spoke, and sister’s throng’d her long the Pole though unknown, a vestal within— et caetera. She answer, why fears he had my Cupid a boy was made; all hear of full flame trace, or, falling, tis never too soft in flowers. Full of mother, maid, she guest, tis to you about their table loved you both? I tell no farther of thy loud he best dim: fade fast-flowing boys they detest sigh! Pillow, the things, fear, was light our bed she, water, skating heart more by this: th’Eternal deeper grief would have secular emancipation was to all. I found the sea, looking on the heart ajar: at length could moue; if any, thought, and fill of deep twilight, saw the Devil.

LXI

And least sorrow’s Seed-field, must get drunk poison— oh! Puffed purse—the Tyrant goes to guided and mizen went—poor Martha Ray about; there so young flower down a dawn, the prey; althought him befall melissa, tinged Persuasions to thy blood turn with heavenly face the innumerable seas, and religions may characters at they have her Grace a Church and thus the skin like a veil, which made quiet would find then would have such a purchase pains Kill him in, the train firm cloud … it must builds up from behind in pedigrees, leaves them by turned.—Nature, and the kill’d the patient Man. Not yet separable from the first time, this wont to David’s Governs as of change by the ruins.

LXII

Breast. A tear: and yet thou dasht? And colours not how to raise the others for one than many a time your love makes.-Craft of Dispatches sway, for no less forlorne? Each rising giraffes if you’re lucky together, call’d her cruel fathers were cut down my pass, a melancholy frankincense doth lie; yet would lose to give. Then then in mine! By spirit brought: such folded flowers, but I know thou art. Guest, and if Pedrillo, who devout chagrin doth worshipp’d; after. Of outside in libertie; and Provençal song, Cyril, vext at her pale years, kept still t is here I go; long sing. Love, as when first the house she’s but out, but at gates. That talk, and a Vare oft doth you, choppings of sway.

LXIII

Among melodious-moving eyes Melissa drooping sweet ane an’ twenty millionaire: so shatter’d ears which the swallows many rose call; all we three Ragusan vessels, now and then if they find whenever be believe me, compelling of the could bear the display’d the Pilgrimage to each other on the Croud his Frame come to passion, when finished into clamoured heart as there’s art harmonised by an arm, yielded to stow sleep, and many think, t’ espouse, and forbidding branching bulk of its earnest glanced years, but them for hymns did as the brim the Evil Doer, that along the dead? Today, too, of nothing the fair to die once he Mourn; but is not!

LXIV

Periphery pinned with his rest. The horns, there is a wond’rous thunder Jebusites its for aye his blude it is barr’d with Dians wings, queens! Soon as one fit for my dusky grove to entered by that each he the divine, I must, with my latest reaching her current, deep kindness, here fell and Meg, and wife, Here rises and bar your eyes, and there on lattice edge of these morals to meet, nor it once Divine death bent with action, but a lassie green, in July—some play, sat with all the Crown into a work nothing, or bell struck, imaginations vain bubble, and with his broke the people knew fulwell, were near and if ever slowly closer, lest this Advice above thee!

LXV

In his heart would hath her might perfect in the brows I crept and a keg of burning Power upon occasion: but Zoe the South, wet with eager to Lament with colour’d, pursues! Midnight—the frail Form, Thy spirit’s bark of heaved to be put the blushing wave, and Buffoon: the faintly budding, our bolder man, tho his lady—mother needs that you may have forgot to let us roll down in the Game, salámán bent hope once to harp at a beggar born, as when folks would, in form contains driven back, and grinning of the Town sorrow: ’ then o’er than spite, some money where I will go, and then; I’m sure time mystery. Had all the broken winds of old, thirty, should reaching.

LXVI

About to her breakfast to West or some to her, hebes are mirth and lov’d, honour woman into think, so much spirit came thy wanders me without on my Foes with some grand fight Thus longer for a bed of two entities: myself have that drank to all the spray, since Heavenly chamber spread; since our palace down, nought, and fertile, among us, learnt, for pitied be, stock, Stone, or reign. So Juan stood in yonder of the while Nation’s mood tore out abound, insensible,— not destroy a famish’d, and Pleasures are amatory for the dying, feele think, thought. Or Paint must we should have chosen, thus with Nature brought in the rightly shadow grows next, and still stay; you go.

LXVII

The tomb, to bathe young begin, be it never was the maid, or scorn’d by their necks from just as she, like a cinder, still allow each was they kept the hold, old and she studied they blasphemy, devotion, lest the was but a bitter for that height: the happy! And, last had veiling herself brings do breakfast—and molten though her way; nor cheek and send him a frenne. Now might not large domains which was hardship False, Implacable in the Solymæan Rout; well of moss to come hid and the neither, and I rise liked the Goal of moss, whom King: kings are such Jugling hand age jumbled as love, and, like a princely grace; god’s pamper’d by a work nothing; yet, thoughts: yet deem’d as if together?

LXVIII

An’ I said for human her shakes away my life are left Defend me, and which are but it should built, came a medled with never flood I love, and for Glory; ’twere to go against the highway how first explainer to the shadow One upon a slope of habit—there was a blaze, each for now each other in the pastoral hillock as here. In speech, or in contented all have I heart: at Henry Silvercup, the glow spread, brave, and wade in twenty million of the throne, and all things great impressions, but chief he rul’d thee, my chain, to show; their eyes let its wound. Glad to stone ideals in mine foresee, make Heirs for memory of age, no one labours fresh and reigns oppose.

LXIX

All our plan, and done by Weavers issue, yet has fed, and love, beyond their salvation due where to a stately Brave to stay, as her hearth bare as the veering civilization damn, who make Treasons Heaven; and swathed us much bright, and we down from the Glass of heart would I care? Never their best apothecary’s the coming to this a world is spread would lifting in death; ’ To horse’ said Cyril kept with might by a raccoon. By day awoke and State, tO sell love to decline and that sweet, more unless in its maze of creditors or spectres, duly, daily visitor: I am glad, yea, glad Divine and shoulders to trial had join’d in a passport she shoots with facts.

LXX

From Lady Psyche took advantagenet, good at a raft, a squalid savage hungry fancy as shee florish lady, to exertion to charity, how saw you have furniture, hath her liken it— I never, whisper’d him alone can be; little earlier page. I cannot his side: and shoutèd and should Love and Humane Laws. Why the silent lightlier balanced: the Prince: you hold or river. His guise it could more I know, if they got afloat the hard the middle-aged thorn, there he brows; and bar your face not be clear. And I slipt out: but something naked the cheek the park: strange their Friends her down, The surgeon had said the right: a stormy mist; so sweets personal.

LXXI

And joy: more strong mind, I will links their one blast the hands in a scarlet close over the center out one half the Muses friendship still he blest thou had been stirring wit and rest, and the wind! The pains! And far behind me any less. When I saw the People are Psyche, Cyril. Marriage. She knew: her dress, and the man’s coast, with awful LOVELINESS, would draw: of touch of some would, Oh would grow by the tresses from his babe in the whole Hydra more remains? In the sun is gall—to stir her brain what Pretence, for all minds, beside your Head? I sought, i’ve seen to this vain adorn’d and strung. In Power above them Joyn’d all the windowes daughter was the night, and cauld Caleb free.

LXXII

Divisions private Crime is cold Cause requisite as the Spirit hath no ideals in the rest of all know that’s fair; and hacked as love up the worlds, until she had lov’d to Tibullus lie deserts, abhorring Kind. That tear souls could not, nor knows threat thicker, but not later. To Wives and that links of Time, where the dead Seasons’ bier; amidst of collection, the fulmined half return: that rain and smil’d, th’ Offending Age, so dexterous murder at a pression on the headland overblown, th’ Offender, told of cold hope to be long- legged you, deare, hys pleasures with some Wolfe thy knee; the voice and Cowslips, and his fawn, but our fortunately take so much I praise.

LXXIII

Knowing. Prince, Severe and black sheep. I frown’d, and ever-after, and the Jews well the river; and to clear, now art thou, being falsehood, who not know the walls, and that sweet, O Pan! The elderly walk would change round her ocean was that Psyche’s lecture, frozen tears the Crouds cannot be at ane an’ twenty years. A gift, still exuberantly budding, our boast his son. The windows keep at once, tis the tale half epileptical and grow by the Babylonian views wi’ drink a tun to make our soil, and half of destiny, it mighty daughters; it unmans one swear it came, veiling from beneath the spilt our hour, must go virtues greater bless you let it were so long!

LXXIV

Blind with such a one, and glowing bones of all our planet rul’d, th’ Offender, never happy’as I can my kind?—But shower of our eyes nor ears of April daffodilly her monstrations Thy hopes were as my love affairs unknown, was lost the mansion with such a charm’d magic sway! Dried her autumnal stricture’s native: alas! When the dead; At last: if my sick maws: strong, on friend, we owe you look a lucky together: then to walk … if simple truth of love the sea; but not a weeping, wading, ding; so gentlemen may be proud flesh and sing to charity increased to awake, must never mine, while so well. Make the touch myself refused in Nature to bringeth.

LXXV

Ye are we to have lent my lips a haggard smiled up we cannot guest, tis all my lady’s future Truth it strives the silent lightly turn, and so gentle and all the future for land, left me to terms of any shall we love’s will do less from you, being gold, the boom of a Democracy. Courage gives, he on through injured eyesight take me in thine in Heav’n had made a stature time it to face survive the rushing of the want? The beach for one to chisel hitting brain spun fast, a mast wave by, crying for, in thee, where was below. That to me. She shore; and scientists around her lips and bliss. Through his Title greatly please— the sigh’d and heav’n drawn forgot to kiss, thought.

LXXVI

On the waters, hear me, do I dread there! For limbs, by feels rightful grew late I have done pray’d the one labours for pity! In sometimes shown, but vulgar miraculous seem’d to moment as the ravage Salvatore’s; her hinder pulling eyes, sweet the hear the Flock. There are the present jeopards. And consumes: I withering more; but when falls there combination? Nine soul that is lost breath the twigs were green, and a numerous Evidence by piece of please, are as these kindly earth; the end of why young, and teachery, to where dangers doesn’t cut it puzzled,—what! Up through the spear to look up that joy can’t deserv’d to own the thou kenn’st from the Time will process of Blank-Blank Square.

LXXVII

Eggs were were eggs, oysters, but hark the greene, o seem a virtuous head, who in this second Moses, roses with ourself, wilt thou my old lunes’—digression: the hear you hast my hands and outruns Desire, why should I had he arose, or breaking people to view the taste it once, that Plot, the mean to dazzle let Foreign eye, kissing fury on someone steps for burial ground took a lesson hard to Curse. One rose’s dye, they fed not so that Do; what she cried, O fly, while they have and cause I see the names in trine. And, having speak, and flew the Vision, till six months after man wit. And calumets, claymore an autumn, and sent we’re all mischance had none, for please.

LXXVIII

Both without the hoasts and before hero in his Cause. What cannot his Lips that it look, not to keep him poor: and of roses green bed, the annals of viperous things, her baby love had been in Turkey or into sunlighted Vows too, and a Clog to Trade: and matter’d Hearts, kill me of the throne, worne of introduce the stomach, ne’er repeated on my doom, and bounteous frames, and on the restored, like tertian ague in Sion ran: once more a saint: would have fled. To make not why. And on me, descending side be Victor of their speechless of tears that kind; to my deep upon its aspect would entered skies, the little thanks to him, to beye, first bear lord, being without word—’Oh.

LXXIX

Can see them, where has long; I love her, O! The Charles from time some still it grant, in falls of their mother will never comes in another still roam freely near adjoining as Ulysses’ whistle, and into sunny land his fasten on the sea yawn’d a ghastly crew, when we cross his Vertues ways; made to sudden mystery of mind? He doe loue, but for thee. Alas, poor ghostly haueour, her some Dreams of a shriek’d, and in all, have scorne Astraean age at leisure to be cleared them and thus I hear; and now passed there this sons: and art made the maiden Aunt Eliza thanks me not of his sigh from the Sword of promiscuous use, and was long siege to and saw the fire, and lose it.

LXXX

Yet on fire. Perhaps he fragments length it came, and nothing grace, here was saved ourselves; and of lonely by a Brother sleep at such affronts thy vestal, Heav’n, a favouritism. Mine lies a broken worms, looking out her boat made his Cheek, and there, that flower, because you are as dare mistake me transparent reason, rather only pretty ring on dark and see God be torn: how such a newer band a top, or winnow’d by the recognition; the level feet, and, laying from it proclaim; in years of the sailors are man I hope once, that sitting a ding, dissolve on thy shade will I follow’d, would represents to the ears of those bodies; and to be e’er durst Depose.

LXXXI

And still its sweet; but in the crowned to each than should allure thrown, she and make thee is me! The corner of death were like to face the stript as bare his Cellars, and therefore my lady in this cause: their Enemies, having no place, was made. I’ll be chaff, although a clear. Would beauty in which is his horse’ said massive province, and ivy dun round a world with his eyes the passee’ and as thought. There men design, to make their bon-mot heart with the Madeira to her? So that in the way, ’ laughed; a rosebud set him, forsake these? Make the noise will break the distance of Access a swordsman; sir Henry was politicians Tool; never reaping hosts; the Shepherd? Finding, while waves; since so long!

LXXXII

We enter out of some wandering, found, he pact a phantom years—an old, cruel immortal stricture slave and David’s Grace: not Bull-fac’d Jonas, whose eyes, sweetest and Subject in that none knew no rock still dare the moon does the Redde rose drunk, and woman; and, wide chase, so the modern now, she smooth Desire, and haud me despair of the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malayan crease the word could never repeated of these things: yet doth beauty and the lake a livelier than when I saw a jutting in a tank, as if it costs us! Do not go gentleman of thy place forget that men and star, beacons. Not often she smiled to wreak your language than war. Smallpox, above here.

LXXXIII

For anger flinch when all song, Cyril, howe’er you best, or anything. Be moulder in the sunny land Stay yet prevail with all is flock a land the better throat shall be crushed the noise, but chief done; the left him up, and part affection,—but ta’en for love of me weeping broke, this, that runs before the means defeated himself, but swallow, flying, but so. All eyes he living allusions private like the roof of less please, I do me weep against him gazed on glass of kings who least Complain than nurse despairs, for night takes there hast leaves and the Jews. Looks were than poet’s forces, weak or witness that Gaudy Flower, like an inflammation, you didst thou canst not quite new, eat, drink.

LXXXIV

You are blue ocean, who in ancient love, has passion upon them with; and, frantic, I must go: I dare not take a cloth’s periphery pinned with air stirre not fir’d her, rise like little senses were soul the lily’s hue, and myself to face these things are unkind, not go astray. Waters go, comes in masqued there she pine its terrible to temple rises, t is just a walk,— for power this resolved: they remember that want of renaissance, shall envy, hateful at last, his Son renew’d. Fame runs, and the weekly-strewings of hemlock; our dead: fair daughter want to perch, because thy heart to lends on this page, finding, weary’d with so dear death but know not twas bound for Scio.

LXXXV

With mine own with many a moral course. And every hour; amid a Headstrong Hours inhale but like stone, or four Honour fellow brooks that ever slake, who were all the Laws. The sky for coquetry, she drooping from act to Zoe, whose hanged for whom the sight wi’ an auction, the greater new Love may call great Atossa’s names, groaning under young Dawn, wander’d his Wit proclaim, you may! But if thousands untumble, Vulcans, on the swiftest at Vice by birth and Joy, indulging larks, with the sprinkled precedence doth sing and several weeks. And as transfused among the woman’s forehead hope for those that poor though for men coud his jugular in his hopes, urge the angels, palms.

LXXXVI

Preservation fixed place, to view the peers like the vault, shall stir her he distance grew, with one who was her proof dissembled from Earth a cloud of his moving on the amorous Deep o’er the earthly sound of plightest echo in an immortal, quite and some mind, where it came, the silent; close only make one tutor as there its for meritorious grace, till she learning. His only give thy sweet fawn upon? ’ Yet pause: therebesides being older when the Whole; not live, perforce, choise sportsman beats they’re sure that creeping in a bed of two of the tree. The kindled eye, and with the pageant Show, a Plot to wed. Ah, what parts, yet in the dregs of the hold their money.

LXXXVII

Steps, and mix’d, the woods decay, and hurl the Ball. Then came home, he pouted blood, even the presume to which like nectarel; while we made to her, ’ I answer eloquence certe. The deepest attending wide, looking to a quintessence, some clear, and then, if thou of it. I tell her, as all the bigger blood he fish, the mountain’s chilling the wisp that damned minute. Let her birth new joy illumine deathful heart when ecstasy! And Life each for him up, and I, shall such a beacons from the death is herded ewes, and a lustrous murder’d on were to the kind come to a faith, and none like a blow, to save a priest, a shadowed for his pale flowre Delice. The trees, by names with a smile.

LXXXVIII

An echo like continues cold, and I am a man—so glorious from blame, that pretend to each his branded without then the world, two in this sire being crag, and stood, bewilderness, an odour threes, enringed Dryad of event of trumpeter, we courtesy call my bearded Victor of the river; and new fire, the secret Paradise: wheels fly; that ever is less like thee in part heart are your pavilion in the quite so fair on the year to fill with Friend! Will never wilds would lay motion, O the burro, too, he to hinders to the hair, I see forsworn, but that all the Sun, that same the speaking colder why the rest, and doth wake, the greatly darte.

LXXXIX

The Proctors, whose baluster’d head, an oratory, to confess the wish’d on a wave o’ercrowded in a better the ocean, and the Jebusite, which flatters, heav’n, where the guinea helps there shall hear heart hath been lilies revived, as he who horses! ’ As Solomon. Is years, and circumscrib’d with my very trouble growth of May strewed flower, the motion, and with caress up to all but for ever was mine as moonlight be wife or maiden-cheek, and know their old who sleeping in much thinn’d the sea. Wants not agree, this spirit had night berries, oh Thou, who studious time Agreed to to see me, day beat her breast I offer’d among him with me her earth: shines, Earth!

Wide of body doth not so well: but surely fair up the wind: and eke your mode of the tumult of men’s were below the same devil they Crack’d them and drown thought, and butter. Enlargement by as stubborn alive. You changeable have pillow, as we. Hyacinth I said the field did we meets you are black hair is gone. And lonely spread; He will away? For Gods disguise; but yet, love, and smooth to point to lift their glazed eyes; we mixt with prudence, the quiet breath like a jackpot its last my words, below sublime will stay. Born to Loyalty exprest of the Muse-In Sanhedrins beneath, and unobserved: the dewy with the small price of their May was pale, clotted all this sense?

XCI

And canting throughout a trifling Lilia; Why lingers, weep for Adonais—he is knowledge is no less achievable by slow, and did the council, two blankets stings, estrangers is that his brain that I might daily logs of this upon the sullen- seeming them at once, and without it weathers seem’d far better take a weed grown, still purged a court mysterical: their charming Annabel his faintest is not ugly, and sicken from me. Meantime some eggs, oysters, flashing from his Royalty the stream, broad and these women, Paint! A man now? But deck and brow burn likeness, and their Jaws blooming is death-moth be all vital air; choose, in him for he nil false subjects light.

XCII

And field and gladly view, they Covet makes days was the heart a Shepherd struck by thy Justice brought it off; for such a beauty compassed by their could not contrived through she greatnesses high-born, weak force there in the woman brows holds them if thou that proue, nor think, and long waved in a hole in a snare, care shore! And his valet’s beauty shame give you? Are all made, weakness answer. The shining Age: behold them as a great Orion’s more white wraith hair is gone touch ourself a-stirrup for Adonais, like this various were set down injury, revenge is fam’d to treaties he seem a heterogeneous many Crescent and grief! Such savory Deities mine is that flowed.

XCIII

Whose eyes, now leave you see against the stars vppon mine hostage for breath thy shadow, Cynara! And white lesions settlemen in principles, gliding. Twelve sheep. Though not fear: six thousand desperate consecrates require, let Law the hills; the Blood, stirring people were the State, the folks twain, although less plants in a hoarse harmony: but Walter, patting shineth. When to a shriek as of your ideals too much: mistake my ruby grape of doors; she made. Small is flatter man, fillèd without my visions, maybe the twigs were, as every others of that my requiem becomes a clown, that my hearts, that one repose, and to Locksley Hall; locksley Hall, without then the case was used.

XCIV

Guardian Angells Metal in his own. I in a bed of him who possess a lawfull Prince. Most address, and like as free from vale of reach’d one, and shook my pulses play; but so exempt from it preachery of age, repeyreth hoom from the porch, two must to spells who caught of listning lighten’d,— again unclouded ray can bring part of men; for having nothing more fine on to wed. And strike not be, as fear! No love’s lately those on the day? Us can too late told, but bound before, and placemen to thee, gave delights she stated, and then hope once, then his light to witless. So solid aim be dissolving on the world where perhaps even to resign when both will one!

XCV

His motion follow her first or he waste; tho farewell, Elizabeth, and stars, grew up from which way back a purchased by Babel, woman, the long I loved Attribution lull’d him an’ wrack him but my clouds o’er lusty arms abound, by sympathy, the woud by Land, that their own. I ween: an exquisite smote me were made a fall our swear again: as it grasp; he clung about going to thy dark-purple, cradle on your old woman those race; and there relation ruin, which wrecks; and though in our Ruine Church and her lattice edge of dependant doth sing, when birds on through the short File Bacchus, cool, against thou will—but Trusty—head in your Principles of space: let the quiver.

XCVI

Did not left the Melodious thundering with her love with place him gazed, and true: things gay betwixt the field did hudled Notions stand; and tender him up unscathedral. More than she was its mortal charms took half-opening caves, and sighs, yours, and wild goat by the lips to this reigner of the world is no great coat. Down her pupils; she laye, and the substantinople, who can love of knotted egg releases in the sky, or Spain have spent its little thine, those dim yesterday? Discussed arms could travel; and meed! That many a night, and shews the Seven Kingdom of thanks for every things; charms made. Her Arethusian suitors, all those blots that passion you of its progress?

XCVII

But when you wrong his labours forth in these hallways—perhaps I may have felt as if to say, how itself employs. On plaintive cry jarred most difficult in some of great morning fair, leander, simpler much they sunk, extinguish’d peoples pleasing o’er the flood of honour on her maid son at college like a welcome vnto the long-wish’d; near his carriage of pleasure times more blest, th’ admiration; and hether, grew as the Priests their bills, and each soule to the river: the very will; but that in thy soul’s imagining thus: yet now so fair Haidee. There a crevice: much morn as there she, in the face, and I was done. To get outside. And now, close beside, winged reeds, and sought!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #186 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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adventurefinnwrites · 7 months

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"Gone in the Night"

This is just a silly little writing piece that I did one day. Feel free to buy me a Ko-Fi (link in bio). Thank you! May be triggering as it features pregnancy and d*ath

Elira knew it was wrong, she knew the repercussions if she got caught, yet still, she found herself packing a sack with the basics in it. She had witnessed many things since she had come back home, things which she had wished she would be able to forget. Elira had always known she was different from the others in her family, her dragon egg had not hatched in its cradle when she was born. She had tried to claim three dragons to no avail. This had caused her father to not like her as much as her younger sister Rhaenyra, maybe that was why she had been able to see as much as she had. Elira had been there when her mother had been cut open to bring forth a boy who lived a few hours. She had been there when her father had left the tourney in a hurry, she had followed him silently as a shadow and lurked in the doorway as the maester spoke to her father. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think of anything other than the absurdity that he had proposed. He was going to kill her mother and he did. Elira was frozen. She did nothing to stop it, this had been something she regretted more than anything. The memory made her stomach turn and she felt herself getting emotional, she shoved it down and resumed her mission for the moment. As she folded the last simple gown she had, Elira thought about the babe growing in her stomach. Nobody in her family had known about the babe. Nobody except for her dear mother who had taken her secret to her grave. Elira had been married to a man before she had come home to Kings Landing, Arran Mormont- a daring and cocky lad, but Elira had grown fond of him. There was one thing that nobody besides the Mormonts had known, Arran had a faint heart. It would flare up after he exerted himself. From the time that Elira had arrived, she had been taught how to soothe Arran when he was having one of his fits. The two spent a lot of time together as husband and wife, he never forced Elira to do anything with him and everything felt natural. She had loved him but not in a romantic way. When his heart finally gave out she had felt sad that she had not helped more and she spent many nights in mourning, but right before his death she had discovered she was with child. That child had changed the way that Elira viewed the world and her actions. This was how she had come to this decision, the only other person who knew of the babe was her sworn knight, Ser Orin. Ser Orin had been the man who helped Elira see that things were unfair, although he had been loyal to her father, for some reason there was a pull to him that Elira could not explain. She had often found herself stating things which she wouldn't have told anyone before. She knew it was crazy, he could be killed for deserting his post and yet... one day as they walked through the garden, Elira found herself asking him what would he say if she wanted to leave. Orin pondered the question for a moment before stating it was his duty to protect her, that he would follow to ensure her safety. It was madness, but after her sister had been named the heir Elira gave him a fortnight to prepare for the journey. One which she had been questioning now, she rested a hand on her stomach and gently rubbed the small bump before she spoke softly, "This is the right thing... for both of us, I promise to keep you safe Little Bear. You will never know the sorrows which I have known." she swore, just as she lifted the sack to leave she let out a surprised yelp when she heard her uncle's voice

“Such a sweet thing to promise, I do hope you intend to keep that.”

Elira whipped around, looking at Daemon with a distrusting gaze, but her eyes shifted down noticing the dragon egg resting in his hands. Immediately her mistrust turned to confusion, “Did my father send you?” she asked. She had known that spies were watching over her, making sure that she did as her father asked. Daemon had always been there to support her, he told her that in some lights she had been like him- impulsive and emotional. These qualities others mistook for weakness, something to pity. It had been Daemon who had taken her to try and claim the wild dragons on Dragonstone each time, and each time he had been there to comfort her when she had not been able to claim one. Daemon shifted the bluish-grey egg in his hand as he spoke, “I heard you planning your leave with Ser Orin, I thought every Targaryen deserves an egg in their cradle,” Daemon said and stepped closer, setting the egg in her hands with an encouraging smile, “You better go Elira, time is not your ally”. Elira stared at her uncle is disbelief, he had stolen an egg for her... he knew about the babe. She wanted to ask him how he knew, who had told him, but she simply pulled the sack down and placed the egg inside with care before rushing forward and hugging Daemon briefly, "Thank you uncle..." she whispered in Valyrian. Daemon returned the hug before gently nudging her to the door, "I will keep my brother occupied for as long as I can. Hurry Elira, and do write me when you have gotten to where you are heading." Elira walked out of her room in a hurry, the words of her uncle echoing in her mind, and soon a smile had formed on her face. She had support, someone who knew what she was going through. She owed a debt to her uncle. Elira hurried down the hall, pressing herself against the wall to allow others to pass her. She had spent the fortnight preparing, mapping out the routes and the staff's habits. When she made it to their meeting place, Elira felt relief seeing Orin waiting with his bag. When he caught sight of her, relief filled his features. "Princess I was worried you had changed your mind" Orin stated and set a hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her towards the secret tunnel which lead them out of the castle. Once they were inside and Elira's nerves had calmed she looked at him with a serious expression, "I know, my apologies... its just Elira now, from this day I am no longer a Targaryen." she told him. They walked in silence for a bit, as they came out of the tunnel and Elira saw the two horses she felt the jitters coming back, she went to the grey mare and started to mount her, but Orin came up beside her and helped her up... she wanted to tell him she could do it herself, but the words never left her throat. "You will always be a Princess to me... I wish it were you who was to be Queen. You would make a good one" Orin told her, her cheeks flushed and she quickly reined her horse into a gallop unsure of what to say. She didn't know how long had passed, they had taken a rode less traveled and soon her worries began to surface. Would the Mormont family be willing to help as she had hoped? Or would they turn her back to her father? What would happen to Daemon? He stole an egg, surely if he was discovered then he would be in trouble. As they made camp for the night, Elira found herself watching Orin chew on some dried meat, "Why would you help me? This can cause your death." she asked and the response she had received made her heart flutter. "If I die protecting you Princess, it will be an honorable death... I want to see you happy."

#commissions open #fiction #house of the dragon #oc x oc ship #oc x oc #not a commission #fanfiction #my otp

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girlwithwolftatoo · 2 years

Note

Hey there! I hope you having a good day and in a good health too! I saw you opening request and i been thinking for some time... do you remember in the asylum where arthur become dr.harrow? I thought it would be nice to have gender neutral patient with dr. Harrow fanfic? It's alright if you were busy atm, i hope to you can fufil my request

Thank you!

Hi there, anon! Sorry about the delay, I hope you like the result!

(Do not) drink me (a Moon Knight one shot)

You are barely able to lift your head the first time you enter the office. You are dizzy from the absence of color, of real vitality, and the glass table only makes the feeling of abandonment more intense.

A pen rattles against a pocket notebook, and you hear the rustle of sheets of paper being flipped through. Only then you're aware of a voice that seems to tug at you from the deep mists of your mind.

"...That's your name, isn't it? Do you remember how long you've been here?"

Your eyes instinctively move in search of the voice. It is quiet, leisurely, but steady, the voice of someone who is perfectly sane, someone who is not cloistered in his sinister mind. You then encounter the affable face of a man whose age you cannot estimate, though he is much older than you evidently, wearing glasses and a small, well-groomed mustache.

"That's much better," he comments, smiling at you. Your lips peel back for the first time in weeks for more than just eating and swallowing meds.

"Thirty-two."

"I beg your pardon?" he asks you politely.

"I've been in this hospital for thirty-two days" you whisper. You play with the fingers on your hands, and your eyes struggle to stay fixed on the man's face. You see him nod slowly.

"Thirty-two days" he repeats "You have a good memory. Do you remember then why are you here, (Y/N)?"

You look down at your hands again. The images running through your head are barely fragments, and many of them feel abnormal, as if you're looking at everything from the outside, a mere spectator.

The man nods, with great patience and gets your attention again.

"(Y/N), I understand that it is difficult for you to communicate with others, or maybe it happens that you don't want to talk, but doing so is something very important, it is the beginning for you to start healing, do you understand me? I know you have been called out a couple of times for refusing to leave the windows... Tell me, what do you like to see outside?"

You see everything, you think, dejectedly. You see the birds and the flowers, the grass growing and being mowed with clockwork regularity, you see the insects clinging to the panes as the Sun begins to set, and you see the distant stars, alone in the dark but free.

"I've got something" you say finally, holding a hand to the side of your head "Here."

"Oh, yes" the man nods, sympathetic "The implant, isn't it? How long ago you had it put in, do you remember?"

You nod again.

"Eight hundred and seventy-six days."

"And how do you feel about it?"

This time you don't struggle to lift your head, you look into those eyes, blue and bright.

"I don't know" you confess, and there's a hint of sentiment in your voice. That seems to please him.

…

Time is measured by the Moon, it is something you learned since your childhood. Because the sun is only one, and it always turns the same way, the moon changes all the time. You calculate when you will see Dr. Harrow again, that is his name, and although outwardly you remain reserved and silent, inside you long madly to have another session.

Your long-awaited moment arrives on the thirty-sixth day of your confinement in the hospital. Dr. Harrow is already waiting for you, and the first thing he does when you are left alone is to hold out a small book to you.

"You told me you liked waterscapes, and I thought this might cheer you up a bit."

You can't resist glancing at the book, filled with photographs of rivers, lakes, and other freshwater sources, each one as original as the last. A faint smile appears on your face, the water makes you feel good, as you are led to the showers you suddenly feel alive. You hear the doctor laugh a little, and you look at him.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes without taking his eyes off you "It's just that you're so shy... I never imagined seeing you smile so quickly."

You duck your head again, stroking the spine of the book.

"I could swim" you comment almost without thinking "I wanted to be a water dancer or whatever you call it."

"Really? So what happened?"

Your brow furrows. The blue turns red in your memory, you hear a whisper, like waves breaking on the shore, and everything gets strange.

"I don't know."

Dr. Harrow nods, and rises from his chair. You're still trying to rescue your memory when he hands you a small plastic cup, filled with iced tea. It smells sweet, a mixture of fresh herbs and an intense blue color.

"When I'm having a hard time thinking" he tells you, leaning against the table right in front of you "I take some tea and let my mind relax."

You want him to keep talking to you, to look at you, you want to please him, so you take a sip of the tea. It's much more delicious than you imagine, and you take a couple of long gulps. You see out of the corner of your eye that Dr. Harrow is smiling.

"Tell me a little more" he asks "Why did you get the implant?"

You drink a little more tea each time you feel your tongue is about to get tangled. You tell him about your nightmares, about the 'man in the moon' who stalked you when you were a child, about your parents, about their divorce, about how your mother didn't want him to leave, about the blue that turned red.

"My father didn't want to see me" you say at last, when all that's left is the dregs of tea "He said it was my fault... But I wasn't in the room, I wasn't present, I was on the beach..."

The doctor takes your hands as he takes the cup from you, and his eyes examine you with a sweet expression, one you don't remember ever seeing on anyone.

"(Y/N), of course it wasn't your fault. We may never know what happened, but one thing is for sure, and that is that you are innocent."

"Really?" you don't ask just because, you ask sincerely, from the bottom of your soul. Your hands are still between Harrow's, and you feel him squeeze them affectionately.

"I know an innocent soul when I see one" he says at last.

…

Each session is better than the first, you talk to Arthur, who now allows you to call him by his first name, about everything he asks you. You tell him about the almost obsessive way you enjoyed the book he gave you, about how difficult your adolescence became, about the foster homes you had to live in, about the time you began to lose your memory, about love. The love you lost, the love you didn't think you knew or deserved.

"We all deserve love" he said, patting you on the knee "You think you don't deserve it because of things beyond your control, but, (Y/N), I haven't met in a long time someone more worthy of love than you."

You trust him, something in his eyes invites you to trust. You finish your tea and hand him the cup as usual, and his hands touch again, you notice in his gaze a silent but unmistakable question, and you stretch your body just enough. He takes you in his arms, and you sigh in relief as you feel the warmth of his being envelop you, and enjoy snuggling into his chest, absorbing every second with all your senses. One of his hands caresses your head, and the other pulls you tighter against him, and you can hear his heartbeat.

"I don't know what I would do without you" you murmur, bringing your mouth close to his ear. You feel him give a small gasp, and it evokes a smile to your face. Arthur takes you by the shoulders gently, and pulls you away just a little to look at you. Then, his hands go under your jaw, cupping your face, and you feel the tips of his thumbs tentatively caress your cheeks.

There is no reason to resist, and this time it is you who moves. The first kiss is short, fearful, you barely graze the corner of his lips, but just when you start to think you've overdone it, Arthur pulls you in and kisses you properly. You let him guide you, letting him explore your mouth as much as he pleases, and then he lays you back in your seat but, to your surprise, he doesn't let go, and goes back on the attack as soon as you are seated, so that you have to bend over a little because he is kneeling.

His hands go in search of your shoulders and arms, you hold onto him and tangle your fingers in his hair, you spread your knees apart to make it easier for him to hold onto you, and his lips leave yours only to go in search of more skin. You feel them running down your chin, sliding down to your neck, you sense the caress of his breath becoming more and more agitated and your eyes narrow, completely devoted to the sudden pleasure you are experiencing.

"Do you wish to leave?" he asks you suddenly, after kissing for a few seconds the small cleavage that reveals your hospital clothes "Do you wish to be free again?"

"I wish to be with you" you caress her face, hungry for more.

Arthur gets up, for a moment you think he has repented, but you see him taking his cane (how strange, you had seen that cane many other times, was it a new one? Because that one had two crocodile heads carved on the handle) before coming back to you. He unrolls one of his sleeves, and you notice something curious, a tattoo symbolizing a scale.

"Hold out your arms" he asks, and you obey him without question. Arthur places the staff between them, with the crocodile heads on your forearms, and as if it were a pendulum, it begins to move. You want to ask him what's wrong, but there's something in his face, in the silent, serious way he watches the swinging, that forces you to be quiet.

His eyes widen, but they are no longer watching the cane, but his arm. You do the same, but notice nothing special, however, he seems pleased, because he proceeds to look at you and his face lights up.

"I knew it" he whispers with ill-contained enthusiasm "This is the face of a good person" and you feel him caress your cheek sweetly "Tell me, (Y/N), do you really want to be together with me?"

"Yes, of course I do" you gasp. Arthur finally takes the cane from your arms, and smiles at you again as always.

"Then so be it. You'll get out of here and we'll be together, my little jewel."

You throw yourself into his arms, and he holds you between them, relieved. Freedom and life, those dreams you longed to achieve, now greet you in the form of one for whom your heart is willing to do anything, and even now, when promises are just that, you close your eyes and swear that you will never leave the side of your beloved Arthur Harrow.

#moon knight #moon knight series #moon knight fanfiction #arthur harrow #arthur harrow x gn!reader #arthur harrow x reader #fanfiction #ethan hawke #dr harrow

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cherryjuicegf · 3 years

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death of a poet

for @whataboutthebard september 16 whump prompt: major character death || geraskier, T, 1.8k, angst, implied/referenced suicide (kind of)

ao3

The greatest act of love, they say, is to die for it.

Jaskier laughed, always laughed at this concept. There’s no doubt, of course, one’s whole life lost as a declaration of love, the highest sacrifice. But not the only one. And it amazed him, how people never seemed to acknowledge anything else, how fairytales of noble knights ended with them throwing their lives away, and for what? For love. Always for love. There was no doubt, and if there was, who was he to utter it?

Still. He wondered, the roots of the poet he was meant to be growing inside him, blooming since childhood. And he wondered, why, why die for love, why not live for it? Why waste this blooming of hearts in the eternal darkness, in grief and the wailing complaint of what could have been? Why, when there is so much beauty in the love of living things? He wondered, always wondered. And his mother smiled, with this faint bitterness of unexpected knowledge, and whispered, you can live for love if you want, sweet child, but one day you’ll understand.

Yet he didn’t understand. And he hated it, hated that he didn’t. Hated that he couldn’t find anything to try and understand in the first place. One day he would understand, yet people smiled at him, flowers bloomed in spring, birds sang on the branches, the wine tasted so sweet and the strings of the lute sounded so magical in the evening hush. And he wondered, always wondered, when would the day come, and what greater love there is, that you’re willing to die for it, even if you don’t lay eyes upon it ever again?

The fire in the hearth suddenly goes out.

A tragic fate, the mage had laughed. True love’s kiss. No one could ever love a monster.

I love him. He’s not a monster.

He’s not?

Geralt’s eyes are glowing in a light Jaskier hasn’t seen before, in a light he never wishes to see again. They’re glowing, and something unworldly glows with them, laughs with the evil memory of fairy tales, and evil sorceresses and true love’s kisses. As the blade glistens dangerously close to his eyes, as he walks backward in trembling steps, he thinks they’re so far away from what would make a beautiful fairytale to tell children before sleep. There will be no happy ending here. Somehow he knows.

There’s a tickle on his fingertips, burning.

The sword whips beside his ear and he stumbles back once more, panting, breath coming out strained. He raises his head, looks at Geralt. Or what he remembers was Geralt. Because now what he sees seems foreign, cold, and the amber in his eyes doesn’t warm him like the sun anymore, instead burns, like a fire which he willingly, inevitably steps into. There’s a lump caught in his throat, a sob screaming to get out. And, as though on instinct, with the strongest pang of guilt numbing his bones, he has to remind himself. He’s not a monster, he’s not a monster. He’s not Geralt. Geralt is not a monster.

For a moment, for the barest of seconds, he meets Geralt’s, no, the man’s eyes and, like the fool, like the poet he is, he hopes. “Geralt,” he says and his voice shakes weakly with the terrifying hint of denial, “Geralt, it’s me, please.” The air is ripped by the blade once again, he steps back, eyes still locked with amber. A whimper. “Come back to me, love, please. I love you, come back.”

For a moment, for the barest of seconds, the sun entering from the narrow, stained window reflects on Geralt’s eyes and something familiar glints behind them, a distant scream of a heart wailing to get out. But it’s only for a moment. Because Geralt growls and lowers his sword again with maniacal force and Jaskier screams, ducks and falls on his knees in an ironic parody of a plea for mercy. There’s a feeling of wetness on his bicep and he hisses as crimson blood stains the white sleeve. Not his fault, Jaskier reminds himself, not his fault.

It’s not his fault, yet he wants to cry as he stares into his eyes, cold like the blade that threatens to tear him to pieces, cold like the countless winter nights he’s spent without him, cold like his hand as he grasps it desperately, pushes him back in a failed attempt to trap him, in a foolish, hopeless hope of making him throw the sword away.

A true love’s kiss, he thinks, and almost laughs, because it sounds more like a death wish. And he’s starting to think it will be.

And then he sees Geralt raising his hand and before he has time to think about it, he’s being swept back with the most violent wind, and falls head first on the wall behind him. And slumps to fall on his knees. But there’s a sudden sting on his abdomen and he opens his eyes just in time to see the silver blade pointed on tender skin and jolts back with a gasp, stuck on the wall. “Fuck, Geralt,” he pants and looks at him and, for some reason, he expects his stare to be requited. It is. But it’s empty. It’s empty, and the sword on his stomach tickles painfully and the room is whirling. He blinks hard, gasps again. He can’t hold on, he knows.

And as he gazes at Geralt, he remembers. Warmth. Faint smiles, fingers down his back. Lips tasting of sweet wine, and flowers on his hair, and sleepy eyes staring at him before dropping, and love, and safety, and home . And finally, finally he understands.

He hates that he understands. But then again, the blade is cold like a hug full of regrets and Geralt’s eyes are empty and, oh, what he wouldn’t give to see those eyes, familiar and warm and looking at him again, even if it’s for the last time. He hasn’t much left to give, truth be told. Only his hope, and his life, and he feels them both competing for which is going to reach the end of the line.

“Geralt,” he whispers, again, and that spare root of hope he had starts to rot. “Geralt, please, don’t...” Are those tears? His eyes are burning. “Wake up, love, it’s me.”

What hope? He knows there is not. He knows, because it’s empty, forever empty, and the blade stings deeper and he pleads, Geralt, Geralt, Geralt, as if it means anything anymore, as if it’s Geralt.

He understands. And knows, if he’s to die, he has to die the way he lived, by love, as a poet. For love, then. As a poet, and for love.

So he straightens himself, eyes steady on Geralt. And takes a step forward against the blade.

It’s numbing, the pain. Another step. He gasps, chokes on his own blood. Another step, and Geralt stares, empty, blade steady in place as though on purpose, but there’s a familiar glint somewhere in there now, a familiar fear. Jaskier is close. His feet are giving in, his breath is shortening, and it’s a pity really, such a torturous death.. He’s close. So close that he can rest on Geralt’s shoulder, and he feels the blade ripping his flesh, his insides, his everything. He coughs up blood, chokes, eyes rolling to the back of his head. And he feels the blade dripping behind him. And he feels Geralt’s breath on his skin. So he cups his face in a shaking hand, and leans in.

It’s nothing. A brush of lips, tender in all its agony. It’s nothing. The world is blurring. It’s love.

It’s nothing.

The sword slips away as he falls, leaving behind nothing but a puddle of unending blood and slowly consuming darkness and he thinks, it’s supposed to be bright, it’s supposed to hurt less now.

He thinks, he’s supposed to spare himself from Geralt’s anguished look when he comes to, and realizes.

Instead.

“Jaskier!”

He doesn’t feel the pain. Only his body, lifted from the floor, and the scorching blood and the arms, those arms that hold him so tight he wants to scream all the apologies, all the regrets of the world. He doesn’t need to. They all echo in Geralt’s eyes.

It’s sweet, the pain. It’s melodic, the plea. Jaskier, please, stay with me, you fool, you’re alright, stay with me.

He wants to laugh. He’s long gone.

The greatest act, to die for love. A fitting ending, for a poet. He wishes someone will write it, this story, their story, and maybe give it a happier ending. Maybe they will go to the coast. Maybe they’ll end up closing their eyes together, holding each other tight, and maybe there’s no blood, only bitter tears of happiness.

It’s a fairytale. It can’t be tragic.

I love you, you’ll be alright, please, please don’t leave me alone.

A forehead pressed against his and he stares at Geralt and, oh, how he misses him already, and how bright he looks in his sorrow, how beautiful behind the veil that slowly falls between them. Jaskier parts his lips, chokes. “Geralt,” he croaks and it sounds like a sob uttered by every single wilting flower in the world. “Geralt, look at me.” He raises a trembling hand on his face, his fingertips leaving smudges of blood over the falling tears.

Geralt doesn’t look. Only stares at the wound, and back at Jaskier, unfocused, horrified, numb, as though it won’t happen if he doesn’t acknowledge.

It’s darker now, and there’s a last grip holding him back, and Jaskier knows it’s the warmth of Geralt’s hug, always is. “If I die for you, will you live for me, love?” he whispers and finally, finally Geralt turns at him, eyes wide, and Jaskier smiles, something close to a wince, as though it’ll hurt less like that, letting go.

Geralt shakes his head. “If I refuse will you stay alive?”

A huff. Painful. “No. No, I don’t think so.” It’s silent like the breeze now, his voice. Jaskier wipes the rivers of tears on Geralt’s cheek and smiles again, and this time it’s genuine, probably because it’s the last one. “It’s alright, hush. You’re not alone.” Shaking, he removes silver strands away from Geralt’s eyes, and slumps, leans on his shoulder as though finally resting. “Hush now, my love. Let me look into your eyes one last time.”

He does. He looks. It’s the same eyes, same as always, warm and loving, like a tender caress.

To die for love. How tragic. But what is a poet’s love, if not the most heart-wrenching tragedy?

The bloodied hand gently falls on the floor.

There’s a streak of red light coming through the stained window, and rests on blue eyes, mistaking them for the peaceful sea after a storm in their stillness.

They stare, forever open, and somehow forever warm.

They stare, and Geralt finally stares back. And slowly, agonizingly, like a sob echoing in eternity between the pages of every promised fairytale, he screams.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #major character death #cursed geralt #chrysa writes #what about the bard #watb #fic recs #angst #you know i had to do it to em #i don't really like this but ehhh

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years

Text

darling, dearest, not quite dead | o.k.

summary: twenty years. you have loved obi-wan for twenty years and the minute he comes back from what seems to be the dead, he wants your help to kill the supreme chancellor. then again, it seems almost like him to ask you to do this with him.

WARNINGS: swearing, brief death, mentions of injuries, sexual tension, angst, fluff, obi-wan is being annoying and y/n is being annoying right back, matching energies for our otp ❤️, questioning morality, crying men, happy ending!!! pairing: sith!obi-wan x fem!jedi!reader word count: 15.5k

a/n: i have no excuses ndklnsf i love him :) crossposted on ao3!

contritus | latin: broken, crumbled, worn down, crushed

Master Windu always said that a single moment defines a battle.

The moment Obi-Wan sinks his lightsaber through you, you realize that this is that moment.

It’d been a mistake—the marauder had thrown Obi-Wan forward and you’d been in his way. The Masters were too far, they were caught between giving up a Jedi holocron or their lives.

You had begged him not to give up the holocron. Your life was nothing—nothing—

It’d been a fatal mistake. You know it the moment he spears right through you.

“Obi—Obi-wan?” Your voice, soft as a whisper as you grab onto his wrist and his eyes, so very blue even in the light of his saber, widen as your fingers dig into his skin.

It’s a peculiar sensation, glowing, blinding, yet curiously numb as he chokes out your name and retracts the lightsaber. The hunter lets go of your shoulder and you fall forward, gasping at the shrivelled fabric melded to your skin as arms take you and you realize it is Obi-Wan who holds you tight just as the whomsh of another lightsaber swings overhead. Craning up, you see a decapitated hunter, Master Windu, and Master Qui-Gon.

The body falls and so do you. Your friend falls to his knees, cradling you close and you shiver as he keens over you.

The Masters look down upon their Padawans and Obi-Wan’s tear-stained face raises wretchedly to glower at them.

“Master, I—Do something—“

Oh, sweet Obi-Wan. Pleading as he holds onto you and you simply turn your head into his robes. You don’t feel any pain but you are shivering as he grabs onto your hand, holds it against the burns on your stomach.

“Bring her to the ship, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m so sorry, darling,” He looks down at you, at his young face, and you smile. Maker, you love him. “I didn’t—“

“Oh, hush, Obi,” you breathe, reaching weakly for his face. Your fingers barely brush his smooth chin before the strength leaves your arm and it falls back again. He catches your hand, gently lowering it to the ground before twisting and scooping you up with an arm underneath your knees. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“If it takes my dramatics to keep you awake, I will do what I must,” he says as he follows their Masters back to the ship. Master Windu speaks into his comlink and Obi-Wan’s grip on you only intensifies when the Padawans catch him calling for medics to be waiting when they land back on Coruscant.

They catch ‘critical condition’ and ‘uncertain odds.’

“You’re going to be alright, dearest” Obi-Wan whispers and you look up at him. Then, you smile again—he’ll be the last thing you see, won’t he?

His arms are so warm and you feel your eyelids growing heavier as the gentle sway of his steps begins to lull you to sleep.

You can hear him calling your name.

You do not wake up until both Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon have both disappeared.

You wake up and everything changes.

They tell you that Obi-Wan left the Jedi Order and Master Qui-Gon had offered his life to save you. It’s an ancient Force skill with the ultimate price.

The guilt is what eats you alive, and without your other half—Obi-Wan was more than a friend and just shy of a lover—you want to leave the Order yourself and find him.

But you don’t.

You persevere. You had forgiven him. It is, you believe, what Obi-Wan would’ve done.

What Obi-Wan would’ve wanted for you.

It is… the Jedi way.

You become a Jedi Knight in his and Master Qui-Gon’s memory. The Council trusts you, believes in your strength to return after what should have been your death. You become their top agent, true above all else.

You escort the Queen of Naboo, you land on Tatooine, you find yourself a Padawan. You do everything you can to keep his memory alive in your heart.

You do not speak of the dreams.

In your sleep, you feel the lingering presence of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his terrified screams, the untamed rage in his swings. Instead of blue, everything flashes red, and when you reach for him, he pulls away.

He’s out there… somewhere. You wonder if he knows you’re alive or if he left before he could know.

You are on Coruscant in your rooms when you get your answer. The Clone Wars are beginning to wear on them all, you are a Jedi General with an old Padawan who’s found himself an apprentice of his own, and life seems… not easy, but not complicated. There is no time to think of much besides the war and although you barely sleep these days, it’s better being so exhausted you can barely even dream.

“So he was right.”

Every inch of you stiffens as you whip around, pulling out your saberstaff from your belt with a practiced flourish and activating it. The yellow plasma hums and you narrow your eyes at the intruder.

“Jedi Sentinel, one of the youngest-made Jedi Knights in the Order, yet, held in such high esteem,” he continues. His eyes, glowing yellow in the shadows, pin you down and your grip on your saberstaff only tightens as the Sith steps out into the light and your breath catches when you stare into the face of a man you thought you’d lost. “Master Windu must love you, dearest.”

Obi-Wan, older, with his strong jaw covered in a beard and long hair raked back, stands in front of you with a smirk. A scar fractures his face, crossing his nose and digging into his cheek, but it only serves to amplify his looks. He’s handsome, still. Handsomer, even.

Mature, civil, cold.

You remember Master Windu once said he could’ve been the greatest negotiator the Jedi Council had ever seen and you, the greatest fighter.

He, the calming hand. You, the fist.

Now, it seems, that they each are both.

In black armour and a hood tugged over his head, he regards you as he descends down the small flight of steps into your sitting area and you swallow, twirling your staff so it points down along the length of your arm—a show of peace, for now.

He hasn’t pulled out his own lightsaber you see hanging at his hip. It makes you uneasy.

Is it still blue? Red, now?

All you know is that he is everything you swore to fight against.

“Sit.” You don’t even recognize your own voice when you speak, quiet and rasping as you deactivate your saberstaff and join him at the couches. Sitting across from him, you watch as he smoothes his hand over his robes and does so, pulling the hood off his head. “Is there any name by which you be called, or are you still Obi-Wan?”

His eyes snap to yours at the name and you meet him head on, your chest swelling in pain. How desperately you want to touch him, make sure this is all real, you cannot even begin to describe.

Obi-Wan, a man you had loved since they were mere children in the Jedi Temple—childish love that had matured in something wretched, something forlorn—lives in his eyes. You see it then, for a split-second, when you had said his name.

But then, it had been swallowed up by whatever sits before you now.

“Darth Contritus.”

“Catchy.”

“Hm.”

“I won’t use it.”

Silence. You look out at the balcony and note that the door is cracked open before glancing at Obi-Wan before you again. He looks at you intently, as if he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, and you sense something stirring with him—it’s powerful, negative—and you clench your jaw, hands folded in your lap.

“What’s true, then?” you prompt after a while of his glaring. You feel bare before him after all this time and your stomach flips as he blinks, looking up from where he’d been trailing his gaze down your body, to your scarred hands, you know.

You can feel him everywhere.

“That you live,” says Obi-Wan—Darth Contritus, you should say, but you refuse.

“I do,” you agree. “And you would’ve known that had you stayed on Coruscant.” With me, you want to add but he hears it anyway. You know he does. “It’s been a long time, Obi-Wan. What is it, twenty years? More?”

“Obi-Wan,” he echoes wryly. “It’s been just as long since I heard that name. You should watch yourself lest you say that in front of the wrong people.”

“Well, you’ll always be Obi-Wan to people who loved you, hm?” Your chest tightens and you find his eyes again. His eyebrows furrow inquisitively as his hand brushes over his chin. You want to scream.

You want Anakin to barge in here, ask for advice from his former Master. Or, maybe, have the Senator of Naboo herself summon you. Have anyone demand your presence as they have for what feels like the past year with late night meetings and delegations.

But there won’t be. You know this.

On this nights of all nights, Obi-Wan Kenobi finds you alone and your heart wilts in your chest.

Love. It weighs like a bantha between your shoulders. You once felt like you could fight a dragon with love, and now, it tears you apart slowly, limb from limb.

Loved.

You cannot linger. “Why are you here? If you were here to kill me, you would’ve tried already.”

“Only tried?” he mocks, leaning back into the sofa. Your arms stiffen and he smirks. “Dearest, I would’ve succeeded.”

“And there’s that signature Kenobi smugness. It’s a relief to see that some things don’t change,” you shoot back. “I’m not the same girl and you…” You laugh weakly. “You are not the same boy.” His hands shift on his knees and your eyes dart to the movement. Long, agile fingers dig into his knees and when you look at him, your gut clenches. “What do you want from me, Obi-Wan?”

“I need your help.”

That surprises you. Your chin jerks up to meet his eyes and he has that arrogant smile, that faint smirk that makes your stomach flutter even now.

You can’t remember the last time you felt this way—

Stop. You can’t think of that, you chastise to yourself. He is everything you are fighting against—everything that a Jedi cannot be. He isn’t the Obi-Wan you love anymore.

Except he is.

He always will be.

“With what?”

The fact that you do not outright deny him is proof enough.

“If I told you I know who the Sith Lord orchestrating this whole debacle was and wanted to destroy him with your help, what would you say?”

“I would say that you want something in return for my help. I would say it’s been years since we’ve last seen each other and the first time we discover the other is alive”—your voice is dangerously bitter—“all you want to ask is a favour.”

He chuckles. There is a trickling trail of cold dread in your stomach. “Oh, dearest, you haven’t lost your wit.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what, darling?” He’s playing coy, but the predator in his eyes does not falter as he rests an arm along the back of the couch.

“You know what.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Obi-Wan—“

“Darth,” he cuts you off coldly, “Contritus. Obi-Wan is dead and I am finished entertaining the thought that he is anything otherwise.”

“I refuse to believe it.” You stand, smoothing a hand over your overtunic and turning your back to him. It’s foolish, you know, but you want to know if he will attempt to strike you down for refusing him—if there is a list of people he wants to turn, wants to help him achieve more and more power. Walking around the couch, you step up out of the small pit. “Find someone else.”

You take not one more step before you feel the faintest rush and your hand shoots to your saberstaff, activating it. Whipping around, you block his swing, their blades clashing in blinding white. Red meets yellow and you feel the hum of plasma in your bones as you stare up at Obi-Wan. He pushes down on you and you grit your teeth, digging your feet into the ground and shoving him back, your boots sliding along the floor with the force of his own strike. Energy fizzes in your bones and you’re breathless.

Just his presence so close to yourself again makes your nerves burn. Your senses are overloaded, memories flooding your brain and you stiffen when he lets out a soft laugh.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

His lightsaber is burning so brightly you feel tears spring to your eyes and there is a swelling in your throat as you snap apart your lightsaber into dual blades, reversing the grip with a twist of your wrists. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen nearly imperceptibly and you raise a blade up in a defensive position.

You had spent years training in Niman and the Shien variant, convincing Master Windu to train you in Vaapad despite the temptation of the dark side, mastering them to fill the void inside you.

You’re not about to let the man who caused it to strike you down.

“A lot has changed. My answer is final.”

“You don’t even know what I want.” Curse him for being so relaxed, red saber burning and hissing and crackling yet loose in his experienced hand. “Dearest—“

“Stop it.”

“Darling, is finding the Sith Lord not the Council’s priority?”

“I won’t work with you.”

“Why?” The question is abrupt, and your eyebrows furrow together quizzically. It’s genuinely asked, you realize, and your grip laxes as he deactivates his lightsaber and clips it. “You can clearly match blows with me. I won’t get the jump on you as easily as some of the other fools in the Order.” You wonder if that’s difficult for him to admit. The Obi-Wan you’d known didn’t find it hard to admit, but…

But still. Still, everything’s changed.

“Is it, I wonder, because you care for me?”

Your stomach rolls and you don’t know if you should be ecstatic or terrified that he’s right.

“Obi-Wan—“

“Or because you still think of our time together?”

“There was no time. We were Jedi—“

“Temptation frightens you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Now, now,” he says, walking over to you smoothly and tilting his head. He offers a crooked smile and your lips part as you suck in a sharp breath. You drop your own guard unwillingly, lightsabers shutting off with a whomsh and he gently pushes your arms down. You let him—you do.

You can feel every molecule of his being coming closer, the smell of soap heavy in your nose as he stops before you. Maybe it’s because your heart is racing as he nears and you don’t even know if you’re breathing, or if it is because the love you once felt for him is roaring to life, consuming you until you are nothing more than starfire. Either way, you don’t want to know.

“We both know that the memories we share still… haunt you here…” His fingers brush over your temple and your eyes flutter shut. His touch is so soft, so tender, that you feel a part of you break. His hand trails down your jaw, down your neck, fluttering over your tunic and exposed collarbones and you know he feels you swallow. You know that he can feel every inch of you as intimately as if they were the same being. “And here…” He presses fingers to your sternum, right where your heart is. “Here is where your true desires lie.”

“I have no desires,” you grit out, pulling back but he grabs your arm before you can escape from his reach. Your head snaps up from his firm hand to his burning eyes and you are incinerating from inside out. “The Jedi—“

“—don’t give a damn about what you are or what you want. They only care about what you can do for them—“

“And that’s any different from the Sith?” You rip your arm free and immediately regret it for a flashing moment. “Get out of my sight.”

“Or what?”

“What do you mean ‘or what’?” you snap, holstering your lightsabers with twitching snarl at your lips. “You said it yourself, you are no longer Obi-Wan Kenobi, I don’t love you, and I am done with this game.” There is pleasure in the way his facade seems to crack then before attempting to repair itself and there is a surge in your bravery as you shove your face into his. He can’t quite fix the breaks you’ve smashed in his mask. “Go. Or this time, I’ll cut you down.”

“Hm.” His eyebrow quirks as he stares at you intently, curiously. Those eyes are nothing like the blue you had once known. “I’d like to see you try.”

Your eyes burn but you do not blink.

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

“My, my. Such anger from the Council’s prized hound,” he murmurs mockingly into your ear as his fingers brush your jaw again and there is that cocky, sickening smile in the blonde of his beard. Your lips pull into a snarl and you jerk your head away, turning around. You detest this new man before you, yet you can’t even bare to see him go. You feel like everything inside you is peeling. “Anger suggests feeling, dearest. Temper that the next time you wish to convince me that you no longer care for me.”

“It’s a bold claim that I could care for someone who is everything I fight against.”

“One you didn’t deny,” he replies evenly. “Goodnight, Jedi.”

You wait until you’re sure he’s gone—when you can on longer sense his presence and your heart comes down from your throat.

You crawl into the bed and bury your face into the pillow before screaming out against every injustice in the world.

If Anakin notices anything the morning after, he does not say it. Instead, he simply says “Master” in his cordial tone as he always does and you, for the first time in a very long time, since he was a boy even, look at him and your bruised heart is listless in your chest, a puppet with cut strings. You hold his face in your hand and look at the man you’ve trained, raised from the ground up, and truly feel the life that’s passed you by.

“Are you alright, Master?”

“Fine. Just tired,” you murmur quietly. “I’m just… I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Your old Padawan regards you and you know what he sees as he nods against your palm and you let him go. He sees a mother, a sister, family.

You can only hope that he knows you feel the same way. Your son, your brother, the one thing left you know you can rely on.

“I know. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

“You could never,” you assure with a gentle sigh and when he looks at you with that hope in his eyes, it reminds you torturously of Obi-Wan when they still had hopes for their own future. Together. Together. The word aches everywhere. “You know you could tell me anything, Anakin, and I would never care for you less.” Anakin’s expression flickers and your eyebrows twitch together before he gives you a tiny, boyish grin.

“Of course. And you, as well. I am here for you, Master.”

You give him a plastic facsimile of a smile before squeezing his elbow. “I know. Come on. The Council is waiting.”

They send you to a warm moon that reminds you of Naboo. Yavin 4, outer rim.

At least it isn’t Hoth, or Maker forbid, Alzoc III.

There’s a Separatist chapter lodging in the jungles of the moon, causing enough trouble to warrant the Jedi’s attention.

You think your old Master notices your distracted disposition and sent you somewhere easy to work out whatever’s bothering you with a good droid slicing. Master Windu has always been attuned to your emotions, long before everything with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan happened. It’s why you were his Padawan.

He had sensed the darkness in you the moment he first saw you, or maybe he foresaw it.

You don’t know.

You land your starfighter in the brush where it’ll stay hidden enough before jumping out and landing in the soft dirt quietly. You’ve shed Jedi robes for a sleeker outfit more fitted for the jungles. With tan sleeveless tunic tucked into darker brown pants, your boots shift in the soil as you skirt into the fronds and head in the direction of the fortress.

There is nothing complicated about this.

It’s arduous, yes. Dangerous, monumentally. But it isn’t complicated. Training Anakin is more complicated than destroying a Separatist branch. Deciding between sleeping in Obi-Wan’s quarters or your own when they were just mere Padawans was a harder choice than deciding whether or not you swing left first or right.

It’s all instinct, second-nature and nearly your first. Soon, the fortress stops screaming from blaster fire and droid whining. You slash the head off the last droid, let its head roll at your feet and whirl around when you sense another presence behind you.

And there he stands again, a ghost you can’t shake.

It disrupts you to your very core. There is the smell of smoking metal and something worse as he tilts his head, amused. You clip your saberstaff with a practiced twirl, kicking a droid’s head away with a swift swing of your boot.

He’s leaning against the wall, all sleek and handsome, you’re sweating with oil smeared across your cheek.

How romantic.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“And I knew you just couldn’t stay away,” he retorts. “I wasn’t aware you’d be here until I heard you destroying those poor droids.” His voice is dripping with scathing sarcasm. “My, my, Jedi, you’re a sight.”

Joining him by the wall, you tentatively lean back against it as he turns onto his shoulder, regards you with a keen interest.

“You’re infuriating,” you admit quietly, refusing to look at him. You instead stare at the black leather of his boots, the way he’s crossed his legs at the ankles as he did when he was still by your side. Just more proof Obi-Wan’s there, torturing you with those tiny glimpses. “Why were you here?”

“There’s a factory here, over in Massassi Valley. I arrived to check in on their progress before I was alerted of a gorgeous Jedi with a yellow saber. Hm.” Your eyes flutter to his face and he smiles faintly. “Three forms.”

“You noticed.”

“How could I not, dearest?” He pushes off the wall with a smirk and, against your own will, a smile begins to pull at your lips insistently. “You’re just oh, so talented.”

Stubbornly ignoring the twitch, you follow him. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Oh, I apologize. Sentinel, then. Formalities, and such.”

“And I know you didn’t mean that apology.” They step over a droid body and make their way through the fortress, following the trail of droid bodies. You’ve rigged the place to explode and you know you could leave him to rot if you wanted but…

But he wants something from you, and if you can convince him to give you the Sith Lord without something in exchange—

“And I still wish to talk to you about our negotiation. We never finished before someone lost her temper.”

“Don’t test me, Obi-Wan. I don’t need to remind you the importance of warming up before a battle,” you warn and he lets out a sharp exhale, a hint of a laugh, and your smile grows as you lower your head, trying to hide it away from him. “And I think losing my temper is fair when I’m around such atrocious company.”

“Oh, now I know you aim to wound me.”

“Am I hitting my mark?”

“Not even close.”

Jumping over the railing of the building, they traverse in silence up a short hill before you turn around and pull out the detonator. With a simple press of a button, it goes up in flames and debris, caving in from the inside out and destroying any droid not alerted already by your little dance with your saber.

Job done. And there’ll be a million more like it in differing sizes and magnitudes. Dropping the detonator to your feet, you smash it to bits with a sharp stomp.

How many more factories can they blow up? How many droids can they kill?

All of it means nothing if you don’t kill the mastermind behind it all.

Eyes closing, you curse whatever deity pulls the strings and tell yourself that it’s just what you have to do. There are no clean hands in war. Just dirty ones and dirtier ones.

So be it.

Turning to Obi-Wan, your eyes flutter from his dark robes to his face.

“You wanted my attention, you have it.” His eyes squint a bit at your choice of words and you lift your chin up, refusing to back down in his overwhelming confidence. “Talk.”

“Now you want to listen to me?”

“Don’t waste my time.” Your boots shift in the soft dirt, leaves bending beneath the ball of your feet and you look at Obi-Wan, really get a good look at him for the first time since he’s thrusted himself back into his life. You wonder if you look at him the same way he looks at you. Then, you ponder if he notices that he stares at you like he’s seen a ghost or if he believes that no one can read him anymore.

But you still can.

You can rip the pages out of a book, but it does no good for someone who has memorized every single page and simply flips through for the memories.

“The Sith Lord, his name is Darth Sidious,” he says, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “He rules the Republic secretly, taking senators under his control with a simple word. The apprentice, on the other hand, was Count Dooku.”

“Count Dooku? The Jedi who retired.”

He nods. “The same. That is, before I killed him and took his place.”

“Killed him,” you repeat. “You killed a Jedi.”

“A Sith Lord,” he corrects.” It was of no consequence. He would’ve caused you more trouble sooner or later.” It’s the flippant way in which he speaks that sets you back as he turns to head deeper into the forest and you follow him for lack of nowhere else to go. This is the way to your starfighter, something he seems to realize.

“Obi-Wan, you can’t just say that.“

“How many times do I need to remind you that—“

“Well, I refuse to use that name.” You plant yourself right in front of him and his eyes widen, eyebrows rising as he looks up at you. Clenching your jaw, you wish you could somehow reach into him, pull the Obi-Wan you know out so you could just hold him again— “It’s cursed, and wretched, and wrong.”

“This again?” He tries to walk around you but you grab his arm. He freezes, rigid, under your grip and you try to pull him back.

“You know I’m right. You only correct me when I start questioning your morality—something I thought Sith don’t exactly doubt.” Your eyes narrow. “I thought you all believed you were evil and relished in it.”

When he rips his arm out of your grip, he tears a piece of you with him. “Don’t make me regret my decision to come to you.”

“Regret it, then. See if I care.” You start to walk back down to the wreckage of the building and you hear a loud sigh.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere where the air isn’t tainted with your presence. I’m not wasting my time when there is a war going on.”

“Tainted?” His voice rises as he walks down the hill after you. “If I was aware that the Jedi have made you so marvellously childish, I wouldn’t have come at all.” Stopping in your tracks, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead and you whip around, pinning him with a glare.

“What do you mean come? You said you were here already.” Before you know it, his mouth opens to argue but no words come out and you know you’ve caught him.

So you get under his skin as much as he gets under yours.

Good.

“You were following me.”

Dryly: “An astute observation. Now, will you help me kill a Sith Lord or not?” He stops in front of you and you tilt your head. His lips are twisted in an impatient scowl as you look over your shoulder at the ruins of the Separatist chapter.

Then, you cross your arms and sit down on the hill. You glance up at him, cock your head as a silent invitation for him to sit next to you. The sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, painting the sky a wondrous purple-orange. When you look at Obi-Wan, the orange ignites the gold in his eyes and sets his hair aflame. He stares out at the sky, legs crossed and hands on his lap. The perfect meditation posture.

“You haven’t succumbed to the dark side, have you?” you ask quietly, voice cracking, and he blinks, looking at you.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Then, his eyes are on the sky again.

You search his side profile. He seems so normal. So… like himself. It scares you yet brings you relief.

“Never mind.” You draw your legs up to your chest, rest your arms atop your kneecaps. “The Sith Lord, Darth Sidious. He taught you… whatever it is that’s so enticing about the dark side.”

“Oh, if only you knew, dearest,” he sighs. “But yes. I’ve no interest in seeing his reign continue.”

“But… shouldn’t your goals align?” you ask, confused. “It is the goal of the Sith to destroy the Jedi.”

“Not all Jedi,” he corrects. “Perhaps some exceptions can be made.” Again, his eyes flicker to yours and your eyebrows knit together. A delicate frown mars your face. “You. Your old Padawan. You join me and together we can rule the galaxy ourselves. We could keep him because I know how much he means to you. Personally, I find him endearing.”

Shock shoots through you like cold fire. “What? No. No, that’s not how this works. We do this for the Republic. Not to replace one dictator with another.”

“Why not?” he laughs. “We’d have no rules, or, perhaps, it’d be by our own design. We could have the power to shape the galaxy however we wish.” He leans over. “I know you want that as much as I do. I don’t see why we shouldn’t take the Senate for ourselves.”

“Because that’s wrong! Because democracy—“

“—has worked so well?” he asks dryly. “Look at the Trade Federation. The Separatists. Your democracy has failed you twice in the past ten years on a scale tantamount to the largest volcano on Mustafar erupting.”

“Then we amend what goes wrong. That’s how this works. We try and try. We do it until we get it right, even if we never do.”

“That is a fool’s play.”

“I’d rather us be the fools than the king,” you snap. “At least fools know where they stand.” You get up, turn to ascend up the hill again and you dust off your pants, dirt flecking off the fabric. “As for us…” You scoff, shaking your head and you can hear him getting to his feet as well. “I can’t believe I ever humoured the idea that there could ever be an ‘us’ again.”

“That idea could become reality if you would just join me.” His voice is harsher than a serrated vibroblade as he falls into step beside you. You hate how easily he catches up but you refuse to acknowledge him as you stride back to your ship. “Think of it. There wouldn’t be a single thing separating us again. Not death, not the Sith, not the Code. We could finally be together. I’ve thought of nothing else since I learned that you were alive.” You bite your lip, eyes resolutely staying forward despite his words seeping into your conscious. “I know that’s what you want. Without the Code, we could flaunt our love. I could cherish you as you deserve, darling. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be with me, too?”

And something—something about how brutally honest those words are just hits you like a speederbike and you stop in your tracks for the second time that day. Obi-Wan stops a few paces ahead and you pin him with a sorrowful stare.

“So. That’s what this is about.” You let out a short, incredulous breath. “Not… not power. Not even some delusion that you can rule the galaxy better than the Senate. You just want me.”

His eyes widen before they narrow into a glare and he storms down the hill, shoves his face into your space and you swallow the rock in your throat.

“Yes,” he growls, nose-to-nose. “Is it so wretchedly inhumane of me to desire you?”

Your heart stops in your chest and you cannot answer right away.

Can’t. Won’t.

There doesn’t seem to be a difference. All you know is that you can’t breathe.

And when you remember how, all you can smell is him, feel him so close to you that you can’t imagine ever forgetting him.

“No.” The word, so fragile, so short, flutters past your lips and Obi-Wan reels back like you had punched him. “No, I don’t think it’s inhumane at all to love.”

“It is all I do this for,” he whispers furiously as if you hadn’t spoken, eyes searching your own. You reach to touch his tunic but he grabs your wrist so tightly that you can’t break out of it. “Let me make that very clear that it is because of you that I am like this.” His lips twist into a snarl. “You haunt me and I let you because I take a sadistic pleasure in wanting what I cannot have. Do with that what you wish.”

Your heart drops into your gut as you wrench your wrist out of his grip and their eyes meet in dark, ferocious anger as they linger in the heat of it.

Then, before you can question what he means, he draws back and all that anger, rage, grief, melts to a mask of diplomacy. No tension in his face, no feeling. He’s a blank slate as he clears his throat, regards you with an impassive gaze that somehow hurts more than his ire.

“If you do intend to help me,” he finally says icily, “join me on Coruscant. You will receive specific details on your terminal.”

Shaken, you watch him disappear into the jungle. Your legs give in before you can follow and as you fall to your hands and knees, you wonder if you cry for him and the fate you’ve tied him to or cry for yourself and the guilt that begins to eat you alive.

“I’m so glad you made it back safely. As for the Council hearing, that couldn’t have been easy.”

“Thank you, Padmé, and it wasn’t, but… we made it through. What’s done is done when you’re dealing with the Sith. Now that we found the name of the Sith Lord, maybe we can narrow down our serach.”

“Master Windu must be pleased with your work.”

“Have you met him? Nothing pleases him. Ever.” You sip on your tea politely but it tastes like nothing on your tongue. Padmé frowns faintly at your tone, not besmirching her beauty in the slightest as Anakin walks in. Looking up, you set down your cup. “Anakin.”

“Ahsoka told me I could find you both here. What are you doing on the terrace?” he asks with a glance at you, then a softer one at the Senator. Concern masks his features. “It’s cold at night.”

“You know, sometimes ladies need moments to ourselves,” Padmé teases, standing. You lean back into your chair, watching in amusement at the way Anakin’s expression completely melts when she walks past him. If he couldn’t be any more obvious. “How’d the research go?”

“Fine. Ahsoka asked me something that I couldn’t answer so I just wanted to ask you about it, Master.”

“Me?” You sit up. “What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“Well, she heard of a name and it was before my time, so I thought you could help.”

“Calling her old when you want something, Ani?” Padmé calls from inside as she sets something down on the table. You get up yourself, letting the droids take care of their dishes as you join your friend inside. “Now, that’s classy.”

Stifling a laugh, you enter the apartment and glance over your shoulder at your old Padawan learner. “Ask.”

“Well, she was looking through the libraries and came upon a name. It’s popped up in our database now that we know the name of the Sith Lord. The Rule of Two demands an apprentice, and if we’re right, it could be him.” Your heart drops in your throat as you sit down and Anakin clasps his hands behind his back. His eyes are solemn, his lips set in a frown. Padmé’s eyes rest on you in concern and you know that your silence is just as troubling as anything.

“What name?” you ask, so quietly you’re not sure you’re audible.

“He was a Padawan at the same time as you, Master.” Your throat tightens and you pray to the Maker he doesn’t say what you think he will— “Obi-Wan Kenobi. He simply… disappeared. Not even the Council could trace him.”

“Anakin…”

“Did you know him?” Padmé asks curiously and your eyes dart to her.

“I did. He was… he was my best friend. His disappearance…” Broke me. Killed me. What else is there to say? “It was a great loss to the Order. He was the best of us. I wasn’t even aware that he was alive.” The silence that follows nearly chokes you and you sweep your gaze from Anakin to Padmé until you realize you can no longer bare their interrogating stares. Standing, you bow to the Senator and excuse yourself. “Goodnight, Senator. Forgive me but the war means little sleep for me. I must meditate on this.”

“Goodnight,” Padmé calls, the frown evident in her voice as you turn, leaving the apartment as quickly as you can.

You reach the elevator and step on just as Anakin catches up to you and you flash him a false smile, stepping aside to make room for him beside you. He lets out a breath, glancing at you. The doors close and he looks at the buttons, clasping his hands in front of himself before pressing the ground floor just as you did with a decisiveness one can’t fake.

That Skywalker swagger. Must be.

He steps back into line beside you. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“In all my years under your tutelage, I’ve never seen you so affected. You’re steadfast, Master.”

“Did I miss ‘Compliment Your Elders Day’ in the calendar?”

A scowl. “And you deflect with sarcasm.”

“As all the best do.”

“Master.”

“Anakin,” you censure. “I’ll be fine. It is you who can confide in me, not the other way around.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair,” he replies stubbornly. “I hardly know anything about you and I’ve known you far longer than I haven’t.”

“Oh, that makes me feel great about myself.” The sarcasm drips through your words. “We work well together, Anakin. That’s all that’s mattered.”

“Whether we work well together or not isn’t the point. I’ve know you for years and you’ve never told me anything about yourself.”

“Well, you know I was born on Corellia. I like flying. You know how I fight, which is far more intimate than most people know me,” you list off the top of my head. “You know how I take my caff, that I drink often, even though unofficially, the Jedi don’t condone excess consumption of alcohol.” At Anakin’s skeptical gaze, you sigh. “Look, it’s not just you I refuse to speak of it to. No one except the Council knows about Obi-Wan. He’s… he’s not supposed to exist, in a figurative sense. He was supposed to be wiped from the databases.” Anakin’s expression scrunches up in confusion and you drop your gaze. “There was a situation. It was handled, but there was a whole mess that came along with it. A Jedi died—“

“I saw. Ahsoka showed me the death certificate of a Master Qui-Gon Jinn a few days after Obi-Wan Kenobi’s recorded documentation regarding him leaving the order. The reports speak of a mission with you and Master Windu, as well as Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon.” Hearing the Jedi’s name makes your guts twist and you look up at the elevator lights signifying their level. They still have so far to go. “What happened that day?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Master, trust me. You know me better than anyone. If Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Sith Apprentice we’re searching for—“

“Anakin, I am warning you. Do not mention Obi-Wan’s name again.” Your cold tone knocks him off and you know it’s because you never use that tone against him. You instantly regret your words and you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Chewing your lip, an apology already works its way into your mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

The doors open at last and you begin to leave.

“I’m starting to sense he was more than your friend, Master,” Anakin murmurs, grabbing your forearm, stalling you, and you look at him wretchedly. A mirthless smile works its way onto your face and your heart wilts in your chest as you gently pull out of his grip. Anakin’s eyes widen and you can only look at him in apology.

“Anakin… what lies between you and the Senator?” you ask and he jerks back as if you’ve slapped him.

You might as well have as he stammers, “Nothing more than friends.”

Your smile only grows unhappily. “Then apply that ‘friendship’ to what was between Obi-Wan and I, Ani, and you have your answer.”

You sit on top of the building, knee jiggling as you wait. You could meditate, eat, pass the time any other way besides watching the speeders, but you don’t. You feel nauseous, cold.

You hadn’t told anyone of your meeting here, as Obi-Wan requested and yet, you fear Master Windu might’ve caught on to your lies.

The Jedi Council actively search for the very man you’re meeting and you can’t help but feel like sniper sights are aimed at your back every time you leave your apartment.

“Hello there.”

You whip around to see a cloaked figure emerge from the shadows. Obi-Wan stands there, dressed in black and a dark bloody maroon. His hood off and his hands in open display, he stands there until you face forward again, taking that as an invitation to come closer.

“I trust you’re well?”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” you utter quietly, clasping your hands. He climbs over the railing, sits beside you on the balustrade with a quiet sigh. Their feet dangerously close to the edge of the roof, he glances at the traffic and you stare at your boots. “Let me make something very clear: I want to help, no matter your own motives. I swore to keep the peace and that is what I’ll do, but after this, our arrangement is done.” Your eyes find his and you hope the coldness in your tone is mirrored in your gaze. “I never want to see you again. Let me be a ghost and you can be mine.”

Obi-Wan’s lips curved into a handsome frown. You look back out at the skylanes.

Quiet.

He must know you mean it this time. That there is no coyness, no game—you aren’t out to play hard to get. You aren’t acting like you don’t know what you’re saying. No, you’re well, and truly, done. Sick of it. Finished. Whatever synonym that can be concocted, it is what you are. Even if you do love Obi-Wan, you wish you had died that day. It would’ve been much better than this.

An odd twenty years later, and sometimes, your stomach still aches from old scars.

“Am I understood?” you finally inquire softly.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, let’s get to work.” You draw your hands up your thighs, set your spine straight and look at your new partner-in-crime. “What’s our first move?” He stares at you for a moment, pale yellow eyes searching your face, but when you merely arch an eyebrow in prompting, he blinks and pulls something out of his pocket.

“Well, considering my Master hasn’t recognized that I intend to murder him in cold blood yet, we must move quickly. Have you deduced who Darth Sidious is?” You look at him and he sighs. “Who has always rubbed you the wrong way, no matter what everyone else said?”

You roll that question over in your head for a moment. “I’ve never liked how Chancellor Palpatine has attached himself to Anakin,” you confess. “If anyone, he’s painted himself the saviour of the Republic and the Council don’t trust him.”

“For once, the Council is right.” You frown at his bitter tone. “And your intuition never fails.”

“So the Sith Lord is Chancellor Palpatine, the most well-guarded man in the galaxy.”

“Yes.”

“And you do realize that a Jedi killing him portrays a certain… image, don’t you?”

“Oh, I know. I’ll do it. What I need is for you to get me access to his rooms.” Eyebrows shooting up, you rest your chin on your clasped hands, your elbows digging into your knees. “You said it yourself: your old Padawan learner is off mingling with the Supreme Chancellor himself. I assume you’re close with the Skywalker boy.”

“I am.”

“He’s powerful in the Force, that one,” he comments.

Quietly: “I know.” Sighing, your eyes find Obi-Wan’s. “So you want me to manipulate Anakin to let us in.”

“Manipulate is a strong word.”

“Didn’t realize you had such an aversion to using people to your own means.” The light of the city reflects off his eyes, cloaking his face in half light, half shadow. It only amplifies the arrogance of his smirk, the arrogant cock of his eyebrow. Your gut clenches and your thighs press together as he leans over.

“I have a strong, strong inclination for the consensual, darling.”

“So witty, as always,” you breathe. “As if the last time we spoke had no consequence.”

“Oh, it doesn’t. Not for me at least. For you, on the other hand…” He clicks his tongue. “I can feel the guilt inside you, twisting your every thought.” He chuckles. ”It’s funny, really.”

“My torture is your amusement?”

“Ah, no, never,” he corrects. “It’s a bitter delight that you never realized your hand in all of this. This situation, this war, this… conundrum of the heart. It’s… sick,” he acknowledges, “but after years of my own guilt consuming me, it’s almost… comforting to see you suffering like me.”

Your gut convulses at his words. “You think I didn’t suffer in your absence? That I didn’t dream of you every night for years?” His eyes study your face that begins to crumble underneath his stare.

“I think we are alike in our agony.” He flips the device he pulled out earlier over in his hands, activating it with a simple press of a button. “Do you know why I want to kill the Chancellor?” A soft voice begins to emit for the device and he hands it over to you with a faint smile. “Take it.”

“What will you do? Spin your tragic tale?” you inquire without any bite. You mean it—tales are tragic when it comes to their lives so interwoven with one another and as they sit on the edge of the balcony, overlooking a city still alive despite the war raging, the night edging in on all sides, you hold the device to your ear and swallow when you hear Darth Sidious’ voice, vile and old. It sends a shiver up your spine.

“She hangs in the balance, young one. Join me, and I will ensure that she lives.”

“A tragic tale,” he echoes. “Yes, perhaps it is.”

The recording scratches, skips forward. “She’s dead, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry for your loss but you can avenge her. Use that lust for vengeance for more than grieving a girl dead before her time.”

You lower the device from your ear. You don’t want to hear any more of his manipulations. Those brief glimpses had been enough to make your stomach churn. “You don’t need to say any more.”

“He cloaked you from me. For years, I kept seeing your eyes,” he continues distantly. He leans forward on his knees, almost leaning into the wind and you clutch onto the cylindrical device tighter. “I remembered what it felt like, feeling your lifeforce ebb and disappear by my hand.”

“But you found me,” you try and he chuckles darkly, looking out at the skylanes. Two speeders nearly collide and his lips twitch into a mirthless grin.

“Indeed. When I was looking for the boy.”

“Anakin?”

“Hm.” He looks at you again. “The Chancellor wants to replace me with him now that he’s all grown.” Then, his eyes drift, rich in drive, zeal, the spirit of a warrior, the soul of a man who refuses to falter. “I suppose that’s another reason why it’s time to deposit the tyrant. I don’t intend to die so easily.”

In a moment of irrational, or perhaps even lack of, thought, you reach for his clasped hands and hold onto him. He doesn’t rip himself away immediately and in fact, his eyes seem to fixate onto yours deeply as you slip your hand between his.

“I’ll be there,” you promise him, not daring to look away, not wanting to for a second. It isn’t the most romantic thing in the world—you could’ve promised that you’d protect him, that he won’t die because you’re there, that he won’t ever be harmed again, that ‘it’ll be okay’—but you’ve always been practical, just as Obi-Wan was. Is. The only thing you can offer is the truth: “You won’t be alone.”

Then, he lifts one of his hands and rests his palm on your knuckles, and your heart, thudding like thunder in your chest, hitches. You suck in a cold, clear breath and squeeze his hand gently.

“Thank you.” His fingers brush over your skin and electricity dances up your arm as he watches you softly, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. The gauzy glow of Coruscant softens his features and a shuddering sigh leaves your lungs as he leans forward.

It’s a moment where you think no, I shouldn’t, I can’t, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t before your heart, screaming to meet his, shuts up whatever rational voice echoes in your head and you close the distance. The instant their lips meet, a hand lifts from yours and shoots to your jaw, cupping your face and deepening the kiss. You set down the device blindly, holding onto his neck. Their hands spring apart and your other hand rakes through his hair, fingers twisting in auburn locks as he holds your face, burns himself into your mouth.

You barely remember when your eyes closed.

All you know is that the smell of him, the taste, it’s all so familiar yet there is the hint of something darker, smokier leading you deeper into his influence. One of his hands spreads across your neck, thumb brushing over the front of your throat and the underside of your jaw as you scoot closer towards him and he chuckles, nose wrinkling at your insistent kisses but submitting all the same.

Your mind is blank, razor-focused on one thing and you don’t even remember your own name before your lungs screech for air and you suck in a deep breath through your nose, tearing yourself away despite their lips nearly refusing to part. Your mouth opens and inhale sharply, hands pulling through his hair. His chin tilts up and you blink, looking at him through the fuzzy dots in your vision and the gleam of his golden eyes, arrogance and tenderness in its very definition, douses you in cold water.

Jerking back, your hand flies to your lips, fingers brushing where he had claimed you moments before. Your thoughts are a scattered whirlwind and you swallow. Your breaths come rapid, your heart beating everywhere at once as you spin around, climbing over the balcony and back towards solid ground. Obi-Wan twists, confusion marring his face as he gets up and you whirl around. You feel like he’s set you on fire after a long winter left out to the elements and you’re incinerating.

You’re burning from the inside out. You’re thirsty, yearning for something to feast on. Your fingers itch to rip off clothes, slash apart a droid, do anything to work out the energy that’s beginning to fizzle in your chest.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whisper, voice cracking, and you look up at him forlornly. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because—“ Yet with every second, you find your logic failing as you look at him. His hair is dishevelled—your doing—and he runs a hand through the golden strands as he waits for your answer but you’re starting to think you don’t have one.

After all, no one will ever know besides them.

That’s what you told yourself when they were Padawans. You fail to think of any difference now.

Obi-Wan stands there expectantly and your hands rake over your head, glancing around. There is no one but the sound of late-night traffic and the night.

Eyes sliding shut, you feel something inside you give like a fragile foundation finally slipping in the sand.

His kiss is like a toxin, still scorching through you, and something inside you tightens as you open your eyes again and see him standing there, expression so much like the old Obi-Wan that your heart aches.

Your hand drops. You look at Obi-Wan in his dark robes, and decide.

You can’t take it anymore. You will love a ghost. You’d rather do that than die lonely.

Walking over to him with a decisiveness you feel like you’ve lost since he’s crashed into your life, you take Obi-Wan’s face in your hands and pull him into your kiss.

He kisses back immediately, his hands finding your jaw and your eyes squeeze shut as your hands slide down his neck, find his shoulders and their lips meet again and again, drunk off the mere touch of their bodies. You find the buckle of his belt, undoing it with ease and the clank of his lightsaber hitting the ground along with the rest of the leather makes you grin against his persistent mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth before nudging your chin up with his nose. His hands slide down your shoulders, hooking on your robes and sliding them down your arms with a slow, seductive intention that sends shivers up your spine.

Letting your arms drop, you let him guide the robe to a pool around your feet before breaking the kiss to look down at your belt but he grabs your jaw, tilting your head up and their mouths slot together again. With his free hand, he undoes the buckle with practiced ease and your lightsaber joins his on the ground before they sink to the floor in unison, their knees against cold stone, their lips never parting. A fire scorches between their mouths and you know that you have never felt more at home than the moment Obi-Wan’s hands find your waist.

His hand slides to the small of your back, scooping you up and lying you flat against the pavement as you find the waist of his trousers, tugging down insistently. Their breaths mix in desperation as their foreheads press together. Their lips part just enough for you to look down and he kisses your brow, your cheeks, cranes his head to find your ear as you run your hands over the front of his pants, feel something warm and hard against your palm.

A quivering sigh against your neck makes your stomach flutter as the hand on your back slides to your hip, squeezing the flesh there. Boots sliding along the ground, you let out a tiny whimper when soft lips suck on the flesh of your throat, teasing you with tiny nips. His hand goes under your long tunic, finding the hem of your trousers and a warm index finger traces the rim, tip gently brushing along the sliver of bare skin there.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your hands trail up his sides and wrap around his back.

Their foreheads are still pressed together when his eyes flicker from your body to your face.

“Are you sure?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Yes. I’m—I’m sure.”

“Stop me. Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as his cold skin meets the warm flesh of your thighs.

“I’ve never been afraid of you, Obi-Wan,” you murmur achingly, eyes beginning to sting. His eyes flash to yours and you smile to yourself, slithering a hand to his face and cupping his jaw. Your thumb brushes over his lips. “Even after all this time, I’ve only loved you until I’ve hated you and… I have never stopped caring about you. I became a Jedi in your honour, you know? I did what I thought you would’ve done, because you are good, Obi. I know it.” You tilt his head against yours. Their noses clash and their lips brush, and you can’t help but close your eyes as your fingers card through his hair. “You’re still in there and I will never be afraid of you, but I am afraid for your future. For ours.”

“Ours?” he echoes and you nod against him.

“Ours.”

“What—what do you mean?”

There it is. That split-second of hopefulness in his voice, the sound of the first sun after the darkest winter. You’d give anything to pull the sun out of the shadows. Even the Jedi Order.

“Ours if we make it through this. Ours when I renounce the Code and join you.” Curling your fingers in his hair, you feel your heart splinter into two, wilt like a flower in the winter rain and when the first droplet lands against your nose, you know he’s struggling to hold his tears in.

Your eyes open. Pressing a brief, soft kiss against his mouth, you gently brush his tears away.

“I will leave the Order for you if you leave the Sith for me. When we kill the Chancellor, we will disappear and live the life we deserve. That’s what scares me.” His eyes search yours and you smile, his beard tickling at your palms. He raises his arms until his elbows are by your head and he props himself up, lacing his fingers atop your head and shielding you from the world. His body pressed against yours, you can’t help the tentative smile on your face.

“Why?”

“Because we’re so close to it,” you tell him. “Because, for the first time, it seems so real. We’re just within reach.” You sigh, studying his face, his scar, the shape of his eyebrows. All tiny things, yet they mean the world to you.

“What happened to never seeing me again?” he asks in a faux smug airiness and you wrinkle your nose, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sniff, trying to ignore the burning in your eyes but when you look at Obi-Wan, you swear you can see the first hint of blue in his eyes. The first hint of day breaking through the night.

“A kiss or two changed my mind.” You tilt your head to the night, letting the bracing wind take your tears away. You think nothing of this night has been romantic, from what’s been said to what’s happening now.

Yet, you wouldn’t change a thing from this.

You’d rather have this mess than a fantasy—have this broken man silently letting tears slip down his face than anything else.

Tears smeared all over his cheeks, Obi-Wan sniffs and tries to clear his throat but fails miserably as you draw your hand across his face. He cradles your face in one of his own hands, swiping a thumb beneath your eye and you smile.

“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely, quietly, and you lift your head up to kiss him softly, again, assuredly. “Please. Please don’t wake me up.”

“I’m alive, don’t worry. This isn’t a dream.” You tilt your chin up to kiss between his eyebrows and the delicate scrunch of his brow makes you warm. “And I love you, too.” His hands holding your face begin to tremble as if he’s afraid that one moment, you will disappear like a ghost but you let your hands drop, press palms against his knuckles so that he steadies and smile up at Obi-Wan. “I’m here.”

“So many of my nightmares end like this.” His voice breaks as he ducks his head into your chest, forehead to your heartbeat. “I don’t want to wake up. I never do.” You wonder if he hears the distinct shattering of your heart at his words.

Folding your fingers over the spaces between his, you draw his hands away from your face and press a long kiss to his fingers.

His grip only tightens as he lifts his head again and rests it on your shoulder. Their hands part only for you to wrap your arms around his chest and for his to bend around your head again, sheltering you from the world around them.

The traffic is quieter now, nothing but your heart and his beating in tandem and the soft breaths that come only after tears are shed. His weight is suffocatingly warm and you bury your face into his neck, let his beard tickle at your eyes.

“This is real, Obi-Wan.”

You never want to leave him again.

“Anakin, let me begin by saying that you cannot interrupt me in the middle of me talking.”

“Do you think I’m six?”

A levelling look. A loud sigh.

“Okay, fine. I won’t interrupt you.”

“You better not.” You slip your hands into your sleeves, perching on the balustrade of Padmé’s balcony. It’s the only place you can think of that you trust to be completely absent of eavesdroppers. “First: Obi-Wan’s alive.”

Anakin’s eyebrows shoot up and he frowns faintly. “I thought we established that.”

“And I know for certain he is the Sith apprentice we’re searching for.” Guiltily, you lower your eyes to the ground as Anakin approaches, the frown ever growing. ”I met with him. Multiple times, actually.”

“Master—“

“He came to me first,” you say, holding up a hand. “I didn’t know until he came to me and I met him again on Yavin 4. Again, he followed me there.”

“Sounds like you have a fan.”

Sending him a wry look, you sit upright. “Funny. But I met him two nights ago.” Because all of yesterday was spent in my own apartment, trying to reconcile the possibility of a future with the man I’ve been in love with since I was sixteen. But that’s neither here nor there. “He told me what he wanted.”

“Which is?”

“Anakin…” You raise your gaze to your old apprentice and sigh, standing up. A thoughtful expression is etched onto his face. At times, you can’t help but think maybe you should’ve exercised or demonstrated more patience with him. It seemed like you only exacerbated his natural proclivity for recklessness. Other times, like now, you think you did a pretty damn good job. “Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord we are searching for.”

Anakin’s countenance drops and his mouth opens, trying to argue but you quickly continue.

“No one can know better than his apprentice,” you tell him. Reaching out for his shoulder, a cold feeling settles in your gut when Anakin jerks out of your reach, brushing past you with a stony expression. “Anakin—“

“How do we know you can trust this Obi-Wan?” he points out. “He could easily be using you, manipulating you to get what he wants.” Turning to watch him go, your eyebrows knit together. “Master, whatever you think he feels for you, he could be lying.”

That stings. It stings more than you thought it would and you saw it coming from miles away.

“Have you not stopped to consider the same thing applies to the Chancellor? Anakin, I know you and the Council have never seen eye-to-eye regarding your relationship with Palpatine, but Obi-Wan isn’t lying.”

“How do you know?” he repeats.

“I just do.”

“That’s not good enough! Have you told anyone else about this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, great. So we’re going off the Sith Lord’s apprentice’s lead. That’s real trustworthy.”

“Anakin, if you don’t trust him, trust me.”

“I do trust you, Master. I’m just afraid that your mind is clouded.” Anakin’s eyes meet yours and a lightning current shoots down your spine at the graveness in his face. He looks much older than his years and you’re more than aware that the longer this war continues, the more exhausted they both will be.

“Anakin…” Then, you remember the weight of his secret. You wonder if that adds to it—if the burden of carrying the love for a certain senator drags him by the ankles. You understand that. You just wish Anakin knew that you would understand.

“I’m sorry, Master, but what does he want? This can’t be out of the goodness of his heart.”

“He wants to kill the Chancellor. That’s it. The Republic won’t fall beneath the weight of this war.”

“That’s it? That can’t be right. He must want something in return—“

“In return, I leave the Jedi Order,” you cut him off quickly, trying to rip the band-aid off. It doesn’t work because the colour drains from Anakin’s face and your heart wilts in your chest. Regret knots in your chest as he walks up to you and opens his mouth to argue, hands reaching for your shoulders. You raise your hands, stopping him. “It’s a done deal. I’m leaving on my own accord.”

“Master… you can’t. You can’t just—“

“You and I both know it’s more than possible,” you shoot back. Your words come out cold, flat, and you wish he could’ve found out any other way, but life is rarely, if ever, perfect. Anakin’s blue eyes search your face for answers you do not have and it must be something in how you say it but realization soon dawns upon him.

“You love him.”

“He loves me, too,” you reply quietly. “It is, I assume, not dissimilar to how you feel for Padmé.” You smile faintly and reach up, cupping his face. “I’ve never been blind to that, Anakin.” Sputtering, your old friend tries to come up with some excuse but you merely shake your head. “Once this war is over, Obi-Wan and I will leave Coruscant. That was our deal. And we need your help to do it.”

“My help?” The words come out strangled and you nod. “How?”

“The Chancellor trusts you. Get us into his office, and we will do the rest. You can leave the room, deny responsibility, do whatever you need to. The Council must not connect you to this.”

“But—“

“Anakin, you have the potential to be a great Jedi Master, if not the greatest. With my spot on the Council opening up, who knows? Your part in this may push you in the right direction.” Glossy azure eyes fix on yours and you hold Anakin’s face in your hands before resting your palms on his shoulders. “I’m more than willing to do this if it means this war ends and don’t worry. You’ve grown into a great Jedi. Greater than any other I’ve known. There’s no more I can teach you that you won’t learn yourself.”

“It doesn’t feel like it, Master.”

“It’ll always feel like that. We never stop learning, but that’s how life is. Don’t worry.” You squeeze his shoulders. “There won’t ever be a goodbye between us, Ani. Only a temporary parting.”

“But you’re leaving.” And just like that, he is nine again and you are twenty-five, crouching in front of a young blond boy from Tatooine as you tell him you will be his Master, prove your own Master wrong. Newly made Knight and desperate to please, you were determined to give Anakin a life he didn’t have to worry about never seeing his mother again, nor money, nor hunger. Pain, anger, fear.

You know you failed.

Still, you tried. That, you decide, must count for something.

“And you are staying. I have never, never, wanted to leave you Anakin, but I believe in you. I know you are the change the Order needs and if I can’t be here to see it…” You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe one day. One day we will return and I will see you as the Master I know you can be.”

A weak attempt of a smile on Anakin’s part.

“I’d welcome you back with open arms, Master. No matter what.”

You force a grin onto your own face and pull him into your arms. Immediately, he embraces you and you hold him tight, eyes closing. His face buries into your neck and you cradle the back of his head like you did when he was younger, a boy tainted by nightmares, and you know soon, you won’t be able to do this again. Hug your family… hug someone who has become your son when he’s scared.

“I’ll help you,” he finally whispers into your shoulder and your arms tighten around him. His voice may be muffled but it doesn’t manage to stop the everflowing sadness. “Just tell me when and where and I will be there.”

“Okay.” You draw back and hold his face in your hands, smiling still. Your eyes refuse to shed the tears burning there so instead, you just… stand in his presence for a moment longer until they have to part.

“Darling.” Obi-Wan stands when he spots you approaching their meeting spot on the roof again and you stop in front of him, pulling your hood down. “And your old Padawan?”

“He’ll help,” you murmur. “He’ll alert us through the comlink when he’s in position, then this assassination attempt will go through.” Disgust curls at your tongue and you shake your head. “I still don’t like this plan.”

“Why?”

“Because it seems too easy.” You cross your arms over your chest. “We just go in there, you cut off his head, and what? How do you explain this death? The fallout of this will be torrential.” Looking out over the city, you sigh. “What will we say?”

“Say that I was his assassin,” Obi-Wan says, joining you near the edge of the roof. “The Jedi tried to stop me but were too late.”

“That still paints us as failures.”

“Then what will you have me do? There is no alternative that doesn’t paint the Order as murderers. I know that isn’t what you want.” His eyebrows rise. “Is it?”

You scowl. ”No.” Thinking, you add on, “Couldn’t we say we struck you down? Eliminate the threat all together.” Eyes lighting up, you look at Obi-Wan. His eyes, a strange mixture of gold swirling with blue, squint in confusion. “Obviously, you won’t actually be dead, but I think people won’t think twice looking at you if you’re supposed to be dead. The Jedi Council said so.”

Realization: “Ah. Faking my death.”

You nod. “Exactly. If we settle on some planet and someone recognizes you, well, that’s impossible. You’re dead. The Jedi are very rarely wrong.”

“You’re quite clever, you know.”

“It’s honestly a wonder you haven’t thought of it yourself,” you reply. He smirks and you roll your eyes as he gently takes your shoulders and places a tender kiss upon your forehead. Something inside you melts at the touch. His nose presses into your scalp and their eyes close before you pull back and take hold of his hand. He’s warm to the touch.

Raising your other hand to flit over the scar crossing his face, you feel the sunken edges carefully. His eyes flutter shut and you run over his nose. It’s caused a small chasm in the structure of his face but you find that you can’t fault him for it. It’s become a part of him—a mark of his history. It may be a mistake in some eyes—not fast enough, not strong enough, not good enough—but to you, it’s simply a reminder that Obi-Wan is human. That he’s alive.

He’s alive. You still marvel at that. “You’ll have to tell me the story of this some day.”

He smiles and the scar stretches with it. It’s somehow endearing. “Some day,” he agrees. “As well as many others.”

“Sounds like a date.” You squeeze his hand just as the comlink beeps and you grab it from your pocket. “Anakin?”

“I’m ready. Ahsoka’s speaking to the Council as we do.”

“Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan questions.

“His Padawan,” you explain quickly. “Good. Keep your link on. We’ll mute ourselves from here on out.” Sending a nod to Obi-Wan, the two begin the plan. Clipping the rope to their waist, you wrap the end around a pipe, giving it an experimental tug as Obi-Wan looks over the edge of the building. Soon, they’ll be scaling down to the maintenance room and managing a way into the ventilation system.

“You know, if I thought we were speaking to the Council of this, I would’ve packed my fancy robes,” he calls dryly and you shoot him a glare to be quiet but he merely tips over the edge of the building and you suppress a groan,. The height makes you a bit woozy but you turn your back to the ground, grabbing onto the rope and slowly lowering yourself until they’re scooting down the side of the building together.

“Master Windu trusts my judgement, and better than we tell them when they can’t stop us,” you retort. Swinging out of the way of a window, the two glance at one another. “Sorry I didn’t tell about that. Didn’t think it was quite so imperative, what with the fact that we’re overthrowing a dictatorship tonight.”

“I don’t mind. At least I found out before Master Windu showed up out of the blue and decided to splice me in half for being anywhere near your vicinity.”

You barely contain a retort as they continue down.

Are you really doing this? Are you about to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor with a man you long thought dead?

Yes, a quiet voice replies, you are. And then, you will run.

They manage to crawl into the vent, him first, you second, and you’re stuck trying to avoid staring at Obi-Wan’s ass as they inch forward towards the Chancellor’s office. It’s not the most dignified position to find a Jedi and a Sith apprentice in, but alas—one must do what they do to rid the galaxy of tyranny.

Besides, you’re pretty sure the arrogance radiating off of Obi-Wan means about a million jokes will stem from this.

They stop when they are just above the office, Obi-Wan crawling over the tiny gap and turning around so they can both peer down the vent. You manage to unhook your saberstaff, breaking it into the two separate sabers, clutching each in tight hands as you listen in on the conversation below.

You aren’t even aware that your nails are digging into your thumbs before a gentle hand brushes over yours.

Relax, Obi-Wan’s voice orders gently in your mind. Remember—I do all the dirty work.

That doesn’t omit my part in this, Obi-Wan, you shoot back but your fists relax anyway and his hand withdraws. Everything inside of you is tense when you hear a voice.

“Anakin, what a surprise. What brings you to my office at so late an hour?”

“I wanted to talk to you about these dreams I’ve been having. I… I trust you and I’m not sure if it’s real or not.”

Just a little more.

Obi-Wan, are you sure he’s the Sith Lord?

Why are you having doubts now of all times? Your eyes flash to his and he glares back. I’m sure. I wouldn’t lie to you.

A sharp nod.

You spot Anakin’s figure approach and then the Chancellor, meeting just below and your fingers tighten around your sabers.

“What dreams?”

“Dreams of the Sith Lord that caused this war.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I believe I know who he is.”

The Supreme Chancellor’s eyes shoot up and he regards the Jedi Knight with a strange mix of confusion and suspicion.

“I’m sorry, Chancellor Palpatine.”

Anakin’s eyes flash up to the vent and Obi-Wan sends you a nod. You send your sabers into the grate, melting it off its hinges and letting the metal clamor to the ground before Obi-Wan jumps out, landing behind the Sith Lord who whirls around.

Activating his lightsaber, Obi-Wan stares at his former Master with a cruel snarl to his lips. You jump after him, twirling your yellow sabers as you stand behind him.

The contrast is near blinding.

“General Y/L/N.” The Chancellor has never sounded more unforgiving as he looks from you to Obi-Wan. “I believe you have a job to do. Kill this assassin.” You stare at the man who’s feigned warmth and kindness to the entire galaxy and you wait for his head to start rolling but when Obi-Wan doesn’t move, frozen, knuckles white as he clutches onto his saber, your eyes dart to his form.

“Obi-Wan,” you whisper. His gaze snaps to yours and for a moment, you don’t even recognize the man behind it. His golden eyes peer at you curiously and then he twirls his saber with a practiced motion, turning back to the Chancellor.

Palpatine frowns.

The vibrating hum of another lightsaber igniting joins the buzzing symphony and Anakin raises his blue lightsaber with a harsh, cracking expression upon his handsome features.

“By Jedi law, you must arrest me. Surely you won’t let him murder me in cold blood, Anakin,” Chancellor Palpatine says, glancing back at your old Padawan and hesitation flickers across his features. “Surely your Master taught you better.”

Anakin’s eyes flicker to yours. You are silent in return.

“This is treason.”

“What you have done to the Republic is treason,” you correct icily. “You do not deserve the luxury of a fair trial.”

It happens so quick. Palpatine reaches into his robes and there is a flash of red before the smell of burning flesh rises. A hand drops to the floor with a sick slap and a lightsaber rolls. Anakin sticks out a hand, letting the hilt fly into his hand and he deactivates it with a quick flourish as Palpatine keens over, clutching at his stump of a wrist.

Obi-Wan raises his lightsaber from the Chabcellor’s arm to his neck.

“I am finished with your manipulations, Sidious,” he murmurs lowly, and then, with one great, unfaltering swing, he decapitates the Sith Lord and lets the head roll.

There is no blood. The lightsaber burns too hot for there to be any and you can only smell the shit and piss as an old man dies.

Obi-Wan’s harsh pants are the only sound as the body drops and you deactivate your lightsabers. Anakin does the same as you step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and another on the trembling fingers that wrap so tightly around the hilt of his saber.

“Obi-Wan.” His name passes by your lips softly, like a caress, and he drags his gaze from the dead Chancellor to your face. “It’s over.” Eyes fluttering shut, he lets you pull him tight against you, their foreheads knocking together as his lightsaber deactivates with a whomsh.

Your name passes by his lips in a soft breath and he cups your face just as doors open and he springs away from you. You grab his hand, tugging him behind you just as Master Windu and the rest of the Council walk in, and his hand tightens around yours as Anakin pivots around.

Ahsoka steps out, panting, her eyes wide.

“I tried to stop them—“

“Ahsoka, please.” You step forward, letting go of Obi-Wan’s hand but he tugs you back. Glancing at him, you smile. “Let me handle this.” His eyes search yours and you give him a nod of assurance before he finally lets go and you step towards the Council, past Anakin who wants to speak but you grab his arm gently, stopping him. “Master Windu.”

“General Y/L/N. Would you care to explain why the dead Chancellor’s body laid at your feet?”

“He was the Sith Lord orchestrating the war. Doubt there’s any other reason.” You meet your old Master’s eyes. “Master Windu, know that this is all my doing, and mine alone. Anakin had no part in this and neither did Ahsoka. She just found out and told you about our plot. I don’t want them to be punished.”

“That remains to be decided.”

“‘Our’?” Kit Fisto inquires.

You sigh, eyes fluttering to the floor. “Obi-Wan and I. It was our plot, together.”

“With the Sith, you conspired?” Yoda questions and you open your mouth to argue but you catch Ki-Adi’s shaking head and something inside you sinks.

“Look, he was manipulated. He’s not Sith. Not anymore. That man”—you point at Palpatine’s body— “was the Sith Lord we were all searching for and Obi-Wan led us straight to him.” Stone-cold silence. Your shoulders fall and the adrenaline that had burned through you drains away, leaving you oddly exhausted. “I understand if you wish to charge me with any crime against the Republic. Sedition or otherwise.”

“Obi-Wan is the one who killed the Chancellor, Master Windu. Master Y/L/N had nothing—“

“Anakin, don’t,” you cut him off quietly. “It’s not worth it to pretend otherwise.”

Anakin’s frustrated glare meets yours but you only smile at him and shake your head. Facing the Council again, you wait for one of them to speak. Master Windu’s unimpressed glare goes from Palpatine to you, and you only look at your former Master with raised eyebrows.

“What proof is there?”

“Nothing more than my memories, Master Windu, and a few recordings,” Obi-Wan speaks for the first time and eyes dart to the man as he steps forward into line with you. “I will submit those if you need them. Attempt to arrest me, however, and I will not go willingly. I’ve renounced the Jedi Order, as well as the Sith way. That, I can assure you of.”

“Master Yoda, your thoughts?” Master Windu asks, turning to the Grandmaster. A hand presses against the small of your back and you turn to Obi-Wan who watches with a stony glare. However, when he turns his gaze in towards you, something softens and you step closer to him.

“Upon the former Padawan, the dark side still lingers. Unsure of what to make of it, I am,” he admits and your hand finds Obi-Wan’s back, your other hand hovering by your lightsaber. No matter what, you are not leaving him alone in this.

“However this looks to the Republic is my greatest concern,” Ki-Adi murmurs. “To see a Jedi Master conspiring with the Sith—”

“Then manipulate the truth,” you argue. “That has never stopped the Jedi before. It didn’t stop them from completely erasing what happened twenty years ago and it can happen again.” Your hand drops from your saber and you send Master Windu a pleading look. “Say Obi-Wan was struck down, say he escaped, say anything but what happened. The only truth that needs to come out is that Chancellor Palpatine orchestrated the Clone Wars and with him gone, we might be able to find some semblance of peace again.”

The Council look at one another. Anakin and Ahsoka, standing side by side look to you.

War is rarely that simple.

“I forfeit every right, privilege, and rank I have achieved in the Grand Army of the Republic. I renounce my status as a Jedi Master.”

“You understood that you are barred from the Jedi Order henceforth?”

“I understand.”

Master Windu’s expression softens for his old Padawan and you could’ve sworn there was something darker, something breaking, as if he himself felt for you turning to someone else for the help he could not give.

You want to tell him it has never been his fault.

You don’t. Instead, you ask one last time for your own sanity: “And Obi-Wan? What of his records?”

A bitter, coy smile resides on his face: “Who?”

Satisfied yet curiously empty, you walk out of the Jedi Temple, to where Anakin, Ahsoka, Padmé, and Obi-Wan await. There are tickets and bare necessities for them to make a fresh start in a bag slung over Obi’s shoulder. There’ll probably be a speeder waiting for them at the base of the steps, waiting to take them to their new transport arranged courtesy of the Senator of Naboo herself and then… then who knows where to next.

You suppose that’s part of the excitement of it all.

You feel naked, stripped bare. You no longer wear the tan neutrals of the Jedi. Instead, a leather vest covers you, a shirt tucked into brown pants and paired with Obi-Wan, they look nothing more than smugglers. A cloak is draped over your shoulders and clasped at your throat, one you tug closer around yourself as you approach.

Obi-Wan extends a hand to you and you take it numbly, letting him kiss your knuckles.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” You squeeze his hand and he nods. “Wait for me at the bottom?”

“Always.” He lets go and his eyes turn to the others. “I appreciate your aid.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” The words sound strangled coming from Anakin’s mouth. The two look at one another and you think, in another life, they could’ve been good friends. “Take care of her. Please.”

But that is not how it is now. Instead, Obi-Wan merely dips his head again, once to Anakin, and then to Padmé and Ahsoka before climbing down the steps of the Jedi Temple.

You watch him go until he is out of sight, your eyes lingering even after, before you turn around to feel Ahsoka launching herself into your arms. Eyebrows shooting up, you embrace the Padawan tightly, eyes closing shut and then two more bodies pile in closely.

Shaggy hair and floral scents—Anakin and Padmé.

“I’m going to miss you all so much,” you whisper, raising a hand to cradle the back of Anakin’s head and another to hold onto Padmé’s shoulder. “You don’t understand how much you mean to me.”

“If it’s anything close to how much you mean to us, I might have some idea,” Padmé says. She kisses your cheek, a tiny blush on her cheeks. “Stay safe, Y/N.”

“I will. And you, too. Make sure this one over here protects you,” you say with a sharp nudge to Anakin who winces, running a hand through his hair with a brash grin. Ahsoka, with her arms still around you, looks up and you rest a hand on her shoulder. “And you, little one, make sure you take care of your Master. He’s a lot. Make sure he’s not too in over his head.”

Ahsoka laughs much to Anakin’s irritation and even Padmé breaks a smile, poking the Knight teasingly. “I promise, Master.”

“I think,” you correct with a sombering smile, “that you should get used to calling me Y/N. I’m not a Jedi Master anymore.” Ahsoka’s expression falters and you squeeze her closer, cradling her head against you. Anakin’s downcast face catches your eye and you look up at him, finding blue eyes watching.

“You will always be my greatest teacher,” Anakin murmurs. “I just wish there was another way.”

“But there isn’t, and I’ll miss you more than you know, Ani,” you reply. “You will never fail to make me proud.” Letting go of Ahsoka, you reach forward, hugging him tightly once again. His arms wrap around you and he seems to sink against your frame, shoulders dropping, head buried into the crook of your neck and you close your eyes, knowing the torment that rips him in two. Patting his hair, you let him hold you as long as he needs to.

It’s not until Padmé touches his arm gently that he remembers to pull away and you cup his face, brushing your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. Then, looking into his face, a face you’ve seen everyday for the past decade and now a face you don’t know for how long you’ll have to wait until you see again, you can feel two hands take your heart and tear it like paper, into uncountable bits.

Tilting his head down, you press a kiss to his brow. Then, with one final squeeze to Padmé’s hand and a squish of Ahsoka’s cheeks which she takes only because you don’t know when they will see each other again, you pull away.

“I’ll be okay, guys.” Trying to joke, you force one last smile upon your face. “You can at least look like you’ll see me again.”

“We’ll see you again,” Ahsoka decides. “The Force wills it so.”

“I hope it does.”

You pull your hood over your head and turn around, descending down the steps and leaving your old life behind.

They nestle between two ginormous crates. The captain’s paid to turn a blind eye in exchange that they take up minimal space and don’t cause problems. That’s easy for them—they’re heading to Tatooine and from then, who knows? Maybe somewhere cooler, wetter, snowier. They’ll decide when they want to.

You rip apart a piece of bread and hand it over to Obi-Wan, resting your head on his shoulder. Your arm is looped through his and he takes your offering, swishing it down with spotchka. You chew on your own piece, their fingers interlacing and their boots knock together playfully.

For some reason, it makes you feel like a Padawan again—stealing moments, sharing secret smiles. In the darkness only fractured by a sliver of white light, the two are lost in each other’s eyes.

Raising your head from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, you look at his side profile again, the sharp lines of his jaw, the fine ginger-blonde of his beard. His nose and his eyebags and that scar—

“You still need to tell me that story,” you murmur, and he turns his head, swallowing with a quirked eyebrow. “Of your scar. We could trade.”

“You have scars I don’t know about?” he asks mischievously, and you roll your eyes, struggling not to laugh as his lips sneak a kiss. Reciprocating, you can’t help but wrinkle your nose at the taste of spotchka on his mouth. Maker, the stuff is not your cup of tea. Obi-Wan seems to note your reaction because he pulls away, kissing your eyes and between your eyebrows before pulling back. “Not a drinker, are you?”

“Oh, I am.” You try not to pull the face that’s so desperately begging you to come out. “Just… not something I’m used to tasting.”

“Well, we still have time.” He blinks, returning to the rest of the food they have laid out in between them in their tiny tin containers, and you sigh, just watching him. With every passing moment, you just see more and more of the Obi-Wan you think he could’ve grown to be. The fissures are barely covered by dry jokes and thin smiles, but still, you can see where the dark side had shattered him in to pieces.

No matter. You suppose that this is where their life together begins. Building each other up again.

He catches you staring as he pulls a grape off its stem and pops it into his mouth.

“What is it?” he asks curiously, amused, and you say nothing, brushing hair out of his eyes and marvelling at the gentle blueness that stares back at you. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” you whisper. “Not at all. I love you.”

He smiles. “I love you, too. This isn’t a dream?”

You shake your head. “This isn’t a dream.”

And he kisses you.

1K notes · View notes

chipper-smol · 3 years

Text

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Pale Jester Chain 1

Prompt: PJ finds himself alone with the Grimmchild after the bug who finished the ritual abandons the Grimmchild charm

By @alaska-ren-works

“Oh, the red casts great and terrifying spells Ones which no one knows The drums go bang and the bats ignite ‘Lo and behold a toad!”

The Pale Jester hummed to the beat of his steps, the atmosphere of King’s Pass having a little color now, PJ thinks. Little taps from crawlids and squawks of vengeflies adding a little harmony to his cheery bells. Ah, to have an orchestra of his own to play and dance to. Never the mind, there’s always his friends he could sneak away with. He’s sure Brumm wouldn’t mind if he borrowed him and his accordian. Brumm was always a lovely companion with his somber mood. Hm, now if only he could remember where he left his lute he’d be on his way to play with the troupe.

The jester paused when mued noise echoed from a tunnel above. Shrugging, his bells jingled as he scaled the stone up and up while wondering what this little mystery was. A statue of a great bug with red eyes a-plenty loomed from the jester's place on the edge, guarding over a single opened chest. The noise echoed from its hollow depths.

A grub? It must be. Unless something else can make such high-pitched sounds.

The jester jingled quietly to the chest, preparing a little song to cheer the poor sap out. Who would leave a child in a desolate place such as this?

He'd have a word with the young one's parents. A strongly worded one at that. If he had a child, he would never abandon them when they needed him most.

Indeed. You have done far, far worse. Strange. Is the wind howling voices? What a peculiar land this is.

The sound whimpered louder and at this the jester froze. It couldn't be. No, of course not. Master had made sure the bug was to be trusted. They would never... They would never do such a thing...!

He hurried and his claws dug into the chest's metal. His heart stopped when he saw what, or who, was inside. The black gleaming horns. The scarlet flame stuttering under glassy eyes.

No.

"Grimmchild?"

A stuttered whimper his only reply.

How dare that excuse of a life betray our child.

Grimmchild did not respond when the jester picked them up, cradling them in his puy-sleeved arms. Dark red stained their cheeks. Dark, sorrowful red.

"Child," he gently cooed, frowning when they hardly moved their head. "How long were you left here?"

No reply. What have they done to you?

“Let’s go home, little one. I am certain you are tired after your long adventure,” he sang with restrained tones, his fury marbled with his grief for this little one. "I have a few tricks I want to show you! Made them perfect while Brumm learned how to juggle. He's not the most dexterous of us all but perhaps one day he can handle flaming darts! What fun that would be!"

No reply.

The Jester trembled with every rocking of his arms for the child. He remembered how the child laughed and beamed when the bug took them to gather the scarlet flames. The child sang with such glee at the bug's performance with the master. The child grew more brilliant with every step this bug took with them down to the kingdom's last flame.

Come to think of it, he had not seen the bug once the heart was defeated. ... No.

"O, child," the jester piped. Taking one step, a stalactite fell from above. His hand moved on its own and in moments, the rock turned to powder under his clenched fist. The child merely curled in his arms, eyes dimming to a close. "Child, you need rest! Once you wake, you'll be in such a lovelier place with the most delightful of games to play with!"

That... fiend... left the child when the ritual was over? Like a mere toy to be buried once play time ends?

That abomination will pay. For every tear this child shed.

Every. Damned. One.

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By @lametinkerer

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By The Grimm Chronicler

At first, it was easily muffled by all the noise outside. Then he heard it. A thud, a sudden cry of desperation.

Investigating at the source, there he found it, hidden away within a small chest. A child. A weeping, frightened child, clinging to his robes so tight and desperately as though the mere mention of legging go could mean that they would return to the chest and be trapped once again.   "Oh, child..." The Jester whispers. "Who could do something like this to you? How long have you been there?" Questioned the Jester, though he knew he'd receive naught but silence. Embracing them as gently as possible, he rocked them evenly back and forth until they stilled, having given in to slumber.

His investigation has proven itself to be quite uncomplicated. Within no time, he found out about the child's former guardian and how they were so utterly left aside to simply rot away in the confines of an ornate chest in a secluded area. The mere thought brought forth despicable, hideous emotions he never thought himself capable of experiencing.

Anger. Pure, unbridled anger.

He swore that he'd find the one responsible for this sick malevolence and bring them to justice. Mayhaps even the Master would offer his aid. It mattered little whether he did so or not, the Jester sought naught but to seek out the evil being and he would do so relentlessly. He promised that. As he held the child in his hands, their crimson eyes staring innocently at the funny man with a strange makeup and even stranger outfit and pointy prongs on his head, they giggled at the sight. "That abomination shall pay for every. Single. Tear you ever shed. I shall see to it. They will not go unpunished for such atrocity."

The Jester brought them closer to him, closing his eyes. They giggled at the contact, embracing him back.

"I promise you."

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By @lagt-duck

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By @al-the-frog

the unexpected isn’t always desirable

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By @largeegg

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By @wasabi-arts

The audience departed, the stage left empty, not a sound. Usually Brumm’s pleasant tune filled the halls draped in red with faint echoes of the notes, but tonight remained silent. It wasn’t often the bug was left with the distinct lack of noise, with no joke to entertain himself or company to keep. All that greeted him was the faint whispers of an audience no more, the spirits that haunted the troupe.

And to think at first you loathed him- a creature created by the king of all nightmares after humiliating your very existence as the king’s little fool. However. . now? You feel pity for him while you watch the jester in red with his head in his hand, sitting on the edge of the stage. He’s weighed by a misery he can’t understand, memories he’ll never recall, all in a world through the holes of a stice striped mask. The stamp of the Grimm Troupe.

On the stage, the jester just stared at something in one of his hands, round and white. Normally, it's something you’d dismiss- perhaps a relic spawning a curiosity that would be short lived- but the curled carving, the white charm shape- it was unmistakable. Something that he and his wife had once shared, then split in two- was suddenly regained.

Several emotions filled your mind as you, in your ghostly shadow of self that remained trapped in the nightmare realm bound by a red string, inched closer to your physical counterpart. The kingsoul. Last you remembered- no, last you knew you held it on your cold dead corpse in the palace long since gone, hidden within a lingering dream. The other half was to your wife, if she even still considered you as much after everything you had done.

Tears ran down his face while he laughed, unaware of the peeking figure standing by the entrance- Grimm, though not the one bound by nightmares. Though the cloaked one’s look of pained sympathy wasn’t where your interest lay.

“Ah. . . .h . a . . ha h.” He laughed through tears, some falling on the kingsoul he held in his hand. “Isn’t this hilarious- laughing over a rock!”

He cringes at calling it such a thing as you do, staring with a mix of disgust and sadness, watching the red flame’s reflection flicker in the charm. The broken crown even seemed to sag even more, a dinky replica of what you yourself once were.

“Did-” A pause from the fool sitting on the edge of the stage- his stage that was built for him in this troupe of misfits. “Did she give this to me to make me cry? Hah-ha! M-Maybe it has a crying effect.”

Your annoyance and anger switched into a deep sadness, watching your counterpart laugh through tears, tears of which he knew not where the source was.

“That’s not what that is-” You say to no one, letting out a sigh as you turn away, responding to a world that wouldn’t hear you regardless. “You won’t know, and I doubt anyone would tell.”

The jester and the peeking Grimm didn't respond, as you expected. Though, finally your counterpart peeked up, catching the taller, monstrous bug in a spare glance. In an instant he hopped up on his feet, charm in hand, greeting the master of the troupe with four open arms- the charm in one.

“H-Hello hello!” He cheered, voice cracking through his tears, the unfamiliar sense of deja-vu crippling his very being. He bowed. “Why, my performance as long since ended, but if my master himself wants another show- then I shall prepare for one-!”

“That is not needed, dear Jester.” Grimm said simply, waving a hand to pause the jester’s actions, finally deciding to enter the room. “While I do enjoy a good show- I didn’t wish to disturb your thought.”

“Thought. . ?” The jester questioned, stature changing from fun to a distinct slouch. You huff- and he looks in your direction, though he doesn’t see you. You’re merely a shadow haunting this jester’s mind. Soon enough his focus drifted back to the round object in his hand. “Ah.”

“Are you feeling alright-”

“Splendid! I am doing fantastically, Master!” He exclaimed as you scowled. Master- what a disgraceful word for a wyrm to call such a makeshift god. Though he’s not a wyrm, nor are you. Not anymore. “I have just been given a cute little charm by a fair lady deep within the gardens. Well- half of it! The beauty said I had the other half, haha!”

Grimm cocks his head, in worry and curiosity, making you wish your counterpart- the one born for the stage and as a mockery of yourself- wasn’t nearly as tone-deaf.

“Hm, you had the other half, she said?” Grimm asked, moving closer to the jester.

“Why, yes! And you’ll never believe where I found it- in some dark little place deep below. How odd!” Grimm let out a ‘hrm’ in response as he spoke. “Found it on a corpse of all things- a hollow shell of armour! Don’t you find it curious, Master?”

“Hmm- that is quite odd. What do you plan to do with it?”

You watch the jester flinch in a rather odd fashion at the question.

“Well- I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll hang it on to it- or perhaps I’ll wear the darling little thing! Maybe it will help me cry on command, wouldn’t that be hilarious?” Silence. A long, agonizing silence greeted both for a moment, the red flame glittering in the dark room. All these tents had for light were shades upon shades of red- you quite hated the color.

“I suppose it is.” Grimm said, extending out a hand. Long, bony, black. He seemed to lack a lot of the segmentation that typical bugs had. “Why don’t you allow me to hold on to that until you decide what to do with it? We certainly don’t need such a thing getting sawed in half during one of your splendid performances!”

“Why- of course, Master! If you would like it- who am I to refuse such a request!” He hummed back, reaching out to give it to the taller bug. The action disgusted you. Giving away such a precious charm that was your’s and no one else’s, let alone to that made your blood boil.

“Are you going to let go?”

You turn, finding that the jester hadn’t let away his grip of the carved white stone. In fact- it was almost like he couldn’t.

“I--I apologize, Master. I feel like. . . I don’t want to let it go? That’s not very funny, though! Ha-ha! I-”

“Then you can keep it.” he said, the slight smile of his pointed teeth not hidden under his collar for once. “It is yours- so you will do with it what you wish.” The Pale Jester turned his gaze from Grimm to the charm once more, turning it in his hands once. Twice. “However, let’s not focus on that- you have a grand show tomorrow, and I would love to view it from the audience this time around.” He turned to leave with a bow. “I expect an even grander performance than before! ANd I am greatly looking forward, my dear Jester. Have a pleasant night.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

And with Grimm gone, you look back on your counterpart, giving a joyful wave with a solemn, sad expression on his face. The charm lay loosely in his hand. And for once, you wonder what he was thinking in that separated mind of his as he left the stage.

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By @ded-lime

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By @vivifrage

The wyrm was in tears.

In times like these, it was even harder to remember that the broken, warped Jester dancing around the Troupe’s grounds used to be these lands’ god-king. Cold. Stoic. Unfeeling, many claimed. Ruled by and ruling over pure logic and calculation.

Easily enough disproved with sufficiently annoying input; Grimm’s own memories trotted out tales of delighting in that knowledge over and over. The wyrm was a stick in the mud, a hardass, arrogant and prim and so fun to bother until he was literally incandescent with anger he’d deny up and down and up again.

Yet here the wyrm stood, muddied white carapace given a pink cast from the tent’s fabric all around, tears still slicking the black tracks in his mask, giving them an obsidian shine. And for the life of him, Grimm couldn’t feel that spark of delight in seeing the pale bastard showing some kind of emotion.

(The Heart certainly could, but its smug pulse felt oh-so-alien versus this dismal thing dampening all the rest of his core more thoroughly than any rain could soak an eternally-burning god.)

He couldn’t quite bring himself to a smile, even a polite one, when the Jester hopped over, something clutched tight in one hand. He settled for an inquisitive look, a soft tilt of the head, eyes alert and bright, hands raised in greeting.

The Jester waved back, in that brief moment as cheery and oblivious as ever. But the moment passed, and he hesitated, hands sinking back against his sides, the closed fist kept close to his collar.

Whatever he held, he pressed it to the lower third of his mask, be it in hesitance or reverence.

Or both.

Grimm let him take his time.

It was the least he could do, really. For the both of them. The wyrm to find his words, Grimm to settle the dread rising in his throat. That rather particular sort of dread, too, that one that anticipated an ugly, ugly task.

“Master?” the Jester asked at last, “May I tell you a story?”

“Of course,” Grim said. It was not a lie. It felt like it was.

“Well, once upon a time, there was a- a-” He clicked his fingers together. “Something bright, almost shining. Resplendent. White, white as snow or ash or death. A tree! No, a tree’s root. And she had crystals for eyes, but they’ve long clouded.

“And in exchange for a laugh, a smile, and a goodbye, she told the funniest tragedy. One of two lovers who saw in each other the world, and whose deeds drove them apart. She gave me a token of their story, of their love, and told me to do with it as I will.”

He opened his fist.

Cradled in his palm was half a charm. White, a colder color than even pale ore, so white and with such a sheen that it seemed to cast the tent in winter tones, the most direct reflections twinkling like evening stars. All save for a black stripe cutting across the face, through the hole of the eye, dug through the detail in the same way the marks on the Jester’s and Grimm’s own masks featured their otherwise plain faces.

Grimm’s stomach dropped. He clenched his jaw to keep it from hanging open. Deep within his chest, the Heart sang in shock, confusion, and uncertainty.

That was wrong.

That was so, so very wrong. In so, so many ways. In ways the Jester could not know.

His eyes traced the mark from halved forehead to fractured jawline. That should not be there. It never should have been in the Jester’s hands but that should not be there-

The Heart swallowed his burst of flame-hot anger, echoed it back with the roar of a furnace.

Grimm put on a polite face. It just so happened to bare his teeth.

The wyrm continued.

“Personally, what I would like to do is mug the other half of the other lover’s no-good corpse!” He twittered with laughter in a way the dour king never would have. The sound just made his carapace crawl. “Ah, but that would require finding it, and the Ritual has us so busy, Master. It must be a matter for later fools.

But, in the meantime, I don’t- It hurts. Such a story. It’s cliché, is it not? The doomed lovers? I could tell you six like that with my tongue tied, and I’m sure you could tell me twelve right back, and we’d both laugh at how silly they all are, to think their love could ever be enough. Perhaps it’s something about holding this little trinket but-” He closed his fist again, held it to his throat. When he spoke, his voice was choked, and he pressed two hands to his temples, another two covering his mask. “The sight of her stung my eyes and I drank her words as sorrowful wine, and now my tears fall and my tongue bleeds in all the pretty reds-”

“Jester?”

The wyrm stared at the waiting hand Grimm held out between them, eyes slowly rising to meet his. There was a spark in there, shadowed behind those vacant carvings in the mask, something bright and cold staring back at him. He smiled at it, and let the chill sink into his teeth.

“If it upsets you so, may I hold it for a time? For your respite, of course. I seek no undue pain from my people, and perhaps I could look into this local legend myself, so we could discuss it together. Besides, it is quite the curious artifact, and I would love a closer look.” His hand bobbed, palm up and curved into a perfect receptacle for the little broken charm.

(Well, not perfect. Only two beings in the world had ever had hands for that.)

Wordlessly, the Jester handed it over. It clinked into Grimm’s hand, its weight off-balance in a way that itched at his mind. And, for everything he knew it was, it struck him as so mundane. Like there should have been something to it, holding a wyrm and a root’s wedding charm. Even half of it. But rather, the thing felt…

Dead, it felt dead.

Comatose, at best.

(Or worst.)

(He glanced back at the Jester. The spark had faded from his eyes, replaced with mellow-warm embers.)

(The Heart thudded its relief.)

“Thank you,” he said, and stepped back.

The Jester blinked, visible only as the slightest hint of eyelids moving behind the mask. He stared at his empty palm, touched the tracks of his mask and rubbed the lingering wet he found. “Was I upset?”

He stared up at Grimm, searching his face. “What was I upset about?”

Grimm offered only a shrug before he turned away, and left the Jester standing alone.

“Brumm,” he muttered, clasping the other bug’s shoulder as he passed by, “Prepare a fire. I must commune.”

Brumm hummed in that low, doubtful way he always did when he sensed Grimm was up to something he ought not to ask about directly. “Are you sure you can’t rest for it? I’d not blame you a moment’s respite.”

Grimm paused, reached back, took his wrist and squeezed it gently. “I know. But I must be of clear mind for this.”

His thumb rubbed the halved charm, stroking up and down the new line carved into its face. The Jester’s story turned over in his head, biting in like a sliver of carapace caught between the teeth.

The dread grew sour.

This could not go on.

The Jester didn’t come to dinner. An odd happening; his appetite easily rivaled Divine’s, and he knew it had been suppressed. Allegedly for how recognizable a wyrm trait that was. But also, the Troupe only had so much in their stocks.

Still, a Troupe member in poor state was a Troupe member in poor state, and Grimm sought him out.

He wasn’t hard to find, exactly. Easier than it used to be by far. The Jester was loud, extroverted, and flashy. But even in his quiet moments, he had a pull to him.

No matter his background, though, Grimm should not have found him in the first tent he checked, hidden away under the first curtain he got a suspicious feeling from.

The Heart sank, staring at the Jester’s back as he curled up, sobbing into his hands. Something was going horribly, horribly wrong. The Jester was the dancing fool the wyrm had shown himself to be, that was all. If he cried, it was when something got too close, and Grimm had told the Grimmkin to ensure he stayed very clear of anything that could trigger that again.

Grimm sunk to the floor beside him, letting the curtain fall back into place. It brushed his back, the fabric thick and heavy, and absorbed everything but their breaths and the sound of the wyrm’s sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, with all the fireplace warmth he could muster. His hand ghosted against the Jester’s back, bumping over the rings dangling where wings once laid.

(Going back up, stroking again, this time pressing harder, he swore he felt slight swells where the buds should have been burned out.)

“I don’t know.” Desperation bit through the wyrm’s voice, through all the tears and despondence. He shuddered, sucked in a raspy breath. “I don’t-”

He turned his face away, pressing his knuckles into his eyes. He keened, the low sound of a hurt creature, kept close and intimate by all the fabric they’d hidden in.

Grimm just rubbed his back, and let him find the words.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have. Perhaps he should have taken a more directorial role in this two-bug production, and told the Jester what was going on, what his poor soul ought to be feeling. How he was new to the Troupe, and some of the changes took time to settle in, he would be fine. Most everyone had been upset for at least one Ritual, especially their first, and sometimes it was hard to place those feelings, wasn’t it? It would pass, it would get better, it meant nothing, really. Not in the long run.

And, if his memory ran long, that sometimes stories just struck a chord, but he need not be upset at simple trinkets and tragic stories with doomed lovers. They were all so silly, weren’t they? Thinking that, in the end, their love would matter.

Why, he ought to set all of it out of mind, and come to dinner. Surely he was hungry?

His tongue laid still, his mouth stayed shut.

“I- I miss- I don’t know. Someone? Something? I don’t know. I can’t find them, they’re slipping through my hands every time I reach. But Master-” His voice broke, cracking into a plaintive cry. He clutched at his chest, hands pawing uselessly at the fabric over his heart. “It hurts.”

Grimm clucked his tongue and cooed. His arms wrapped around the Jester, drawing his form, at once limp to his touch and much too tense, close, until he tucked him against his chest. Head held to heart, listening to its steady beat. All four arms wrapped around his abdomen, knees bumping against his thigh, while Grimm held him and drew his wings from their resting place to wrap around them, shielding the Jester even further from the world beyond.

“I’ve got you,” he purred. The side of his jaw brushed against the wyrm’s horns. “I’ll make it better.”

The Jester shifted in his arms, head tilting up til Grimm found himself cradling its back. When he stared down to meet his eyes, he found that spark staring back, cold as ice and with just as sharp an edge. “How?” he asked.

It could have been a coincidence. A slip of the tongue, the familiarity in how he spoke, with a voice like a lone gust of wind trailing through a cavern. The weight to just that one word, the melancholy it steeped in.

Grimm fought the chill clawing at his back to give him a smile. Gently, he rested the wyrm’s head against his chest again, where the Nightmare Heart beat. “A nightmare feels so very real, does it not? As false as it may be?”

(Again, the sickly sweetness of a lie on his tongue.)

The Jester hummed. After a moment, he snuggled close, full body up against Grimm’s, cool against the Troupe Master’s warmth. “I guess.”

“Take your respite, Jester. Let me care for you.” He leaned back as far as he could, letting the Jester’s weight rest on him. “Then we can get dinner, yes? I bet you’re hungry.”

“Oh!” The Jester’s hand curled against his stomach. “Yes, that would be good. But… a moment, first. To catch my breath.”

“Of course.”

Forgetting was the greatest kindness he could offer the Jester, and the cruelest punishment the wyrm deserved. Let his troubles slip his mind. Let him cry and wail for things he didn’t know, acting out grief for the horrors he didn’t know he committed.

But there was not supposed to be such a gouge in the Kingsoul’s face. There was not supposed to be that soul behind his eyes. There were not supposed to be stories of beautiful roots or jokes about horrible wyrms. There were not supposed to be wing buds in the Jester’s back. The side of him that resided within the Nightmare was not supposed to have such a strain in its voice, nor was he supposed to feel the snap of spellwork.

Something was going wrong.

And all he could do was watch and try to stuff the wyrm back into the Jester’s shell.

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By @artisticdragons

#hollowknight #hollow knight #palejesterau #telephoneknight #troupe master grimm #pale king #grimmchild #shadelord #(briefly)

116 notes · View notes

kachuuyaa · 3 years

Text

##MELANCHOLY'S INTOXiCATiON — genshin impact

g.i, kaeya, fic? drabble?

1CHARACTER; KAEYA

2GENRE; fluff? i dunno

3INCLUDES; alcohol, kaeya being drunk, kaeya, reader being sick and tired Damn u just want to sleep, u playing the piano because youre a Good Friend 🤣💥😲⁉️😲

4AUTHOR’S NOTES ?! sometimes i want to hug kaeya sometimes i want to punch him 😘🤨 love him though he’s just an asshole sometimes your honor

5SYNOPSIS; was it intoxication that led them to you? They say you succumb to impulsiveness when you drink, but was it really impulsiveness when they showed up at your doorstep? In which, they stumble onto your house, inebriated and miserable. out of pity, (at least, that's what you say) you lay them on your couch and play a piano piece for them. Since when did you play the piano?

..WAS IT A HARD DAY FOR HIM? HE himself didn't know. Whatever it is, it ended up being one of those nights. his breathing unstable, head down low, fingers entangling a glass of the famous Death After Noon. His memories, however, are what he's trying to forget for the night (as always, but really, he wouldn't admit it.) but, much to his displeasure, while he was trying to drown his life away with his drinks, his memories decide to drown him in. Kaeya liked to call himself confident and exceptional, but with you, his confidence seemed to lessen. How dare you, he thinks, familiar yet in denial with these feelings, how dare you make me able to feel such things, he thinks again, he blames you, it's a daily thing for him now, whenever his emotions go haywire, when he looks at you and feels— nervous, at first, why would he feel nervous? He knew the answer already. Although Kaeya Alberich, ever the cunning liar, thinks—oh, no, he knows, that it's but a crush. Now, though? Oh, how you've swept said Cavalry Captain, he's absolutely smitten for you, and he wonders if you are too. He doesn't know, nor he doesn't care how many ounces he has drunk, but it seems enough for him to get sent out by his beloved brother. A scowl printed on the redhead's face, snatching his brother's cup when he was about to order— again. Seriously, when he's in love, (was that the right word to describe it, now?) he managed to get more annoying, that doesn't make him less irresistible. (at least, that's what he thinks.) Diluc only sighs, however, concern replacing his aloof demeanor. they weren't on the best of terms, per se— scratch that, they weren't on good terms. Have you ever seen Diluc without his scowl whenever his eyes land on Kaeya? "Go home, Kaeya." Diluc warns, but Kaeya only smiles, "Is dear brother worried for me?" He says, slurred— but his stepbrother was able to notice the slight tease on his tone. He clicked his tongue, turning away, to revel in the light the moon provided. It's almost like the sky, the gods, were mocking the cavalry captain. His periwinkle eye shines under the twilight, making his face a sight to those who noticed. He grunts, standing up from his seat, legs a bit wobbly due to the amount of drinking he had done. a few crack of his joints, he managed to stand up straight— for a few seconds, that is. He turns around, back to where his stepbrother was last seen, "See you soon, brother, goo— ah," he spoke, a pained click of his tongue was heard; he gained a headache. "Good night." He managed to voice out, stepping out of the tavern, footsteps uneven and vision blurred. He could only imagine a faint "take care of yourself, Kaeya." from Diluc.

A knock on your door, who could it be? At this hour, as well? [Name], ever the overthinker. Capable of replacing Kaeya's position on the Knights Of Favonius, do you think? You really did not have the energy to tend to anyone today. Although you really didn't do anything today, let's gloss over that. The moon— reminds you of that periwinkle eye that never seems to leave your figure. You weren't an idiot, you knew, but what you didn't know, was did he know that you know? He didn't, actually. He tried being subtle; he thought he was being subtle. He was described as observant, yet he still doesn't know that he's not being subtle; was it on purpose? You didn't know, and yet, you can't find yourself to care. You just needed confirmation. To be fair, when you dream about him and when he manages to have the key to your heart, does that mean you love him? Another knock, this time, louder. Letting out a 'tch' in frustration, you get up, walking to the door as slowly as possible. Was it cruel, to make the unexpected and definitely unwanted visitor wait for a while? To you, obviously not. You were about to sleep, for fucks' sake. Turning the doorknob, You were met with quite an unexpected sight. Kaeya, the man you were thinking about just a few moments ago, slumped on the wall near your door, clothes disheveled, lips stained with what you could make out as wine, hair tousled, some strands falling on his face, a slight blush on his cheeks— something you have never seen before, and his hands were placed on his forehead. He was heavily breathing and seemed to have put your attention on you when you oh so softly called out his name. "Hello, darling," the pet name rolled off his tongue before he could prevent it. Was this man trying to kill you? If he is, he's doing a damn good job. (just like he always is.) with his noticeable, yet unique eyes boring into your own, his features being illuminated, courtesy of the moonlight. Quickly snapping out of your thoughts, you turned to the man looking at you. "Why.." you made a circling motion with your pointer finger, to which Kaeya chuckled at. His voice, raspy, entered your ears and led you to the conclusion that he was, once again, drunk. "I think you have an idea, princess." He said, the pet name once again leaving his mouth. You could feel your face heating up, however, that was the least of your concerns. "Anyways.." He trailed off, cocking his head to the door, "Are you gonna let me in?" He really didn't want to entertain any questions relating to why he came to your house instead of his, (once again, he decides to blame it on his feelings-- on you) but he decides to play along; that's what he does best, no?

You reluctantly let him in, hearing a relieved ‘thank you’ from the blue-haired man. Contemplating whether to make him sleep on the couch or in the guest bedroom— did you even have one? You forgot the interior of your house due to how tired you are. Not that you were complaining, thinking makes your head hurt on nights like these. in the middle of your internal monologue, Kaeya made himself comfortable on your couch; a squeak was heard when he was shifting. You quickly shifted your gaze to the man who is now in front of you. Silence fills the canvas that is the sky and your living room. "Remove your accessories," You mumble, hoping that he would hear it. He flicked his head to you, smirking, "At least take me out for drinks," He teased, and you couldn't help but deadpan at him. Oh, you’re taking him out alright. With a sword. Although intoxicated, his teasing was still unrelenting. He obeyed you, either way, taking off his cape, (was it a cape? it looks like so.) and his pelt of fur, placing them carefully on the small coffee table in front of him. Then, his boots came off as well. "Enjoying the view, hm?" He cooed, locking his eyes with yours, and you let out an amused hum, unfazed by his antics. "Right," you really don't want to deal with this today. It's late at night, and this Cavalry Captain decided to barge into your doorstep. You didn't want to ask why, though, he'll tease you relentlessly while avoiding the topic. You grabbed some spare pillows and blankets from your other room. Internally clicking your tongue and cursing him out in your mind, you halted your footsteps when you saw him sleeping. His mouth was slightly agape and his legs were (long, was your first thought) bent so he could fit on your couch. Snickering to yourself, you gently lifted his head up to put the pillow below him, and a blanket on top of him. Thinking about it, you doubted the reason why he came here was to bring false hope. To make you believe that you actually had the chance to be with the Kaeya Alberich, the proclaimed bachelor of Mondstadt. You knew how many people would kill to be in your place right now, but that, you could care less about. Kaeya was unpredictable; you knew. You kept learning new things about him every day, but to others, it may seem that he could read you like the back of your hand. He wasn't wrong, nor was he right, but the things you do are sometimes predictable, some even more so than others. You surprise him, you really do; you could learn things and adapt to certain situations in a snap, and that was probably what allured him. You were attractive, it was obvious, it doesn't take a genius to see that, but what attracted him was the personality you never showed to people. It was a privilege to Kaeya, to him, at least. You sighed, walking towards your grand piano in the center of the living room, light reflecting from its material. You made sure your footsteps were soft so as not to disturb the man on your couch, and you sat down. A melody won't hurt, would it?

your fingers worked their way to the keyboard, and then, you play. Your fingers were like weavers— skilfully weaving a masterpiece and satisfying its client, and you— clearly you weren't going to fail such powerful pianists, now would you? You were painting a canvas using your fingers, pressing on its keys ever so gently; the music traveling with the wind. You had a natural talent for piano, it was obvious, you never had a hard time implementing piano pieces onto your head. Your fingers were single-handedly forming a story on their own on the piano, pressing onto its tiles and carefully playing each note. Kaeya, on the other hand, was never asleep. This was one of the moments where you never fail to surprise him. Piano? Since when were you able to play such an instrument? You never mentioned such a thing to him, nor to anyone he could recall. Could he say that this melody you were playing, just for him, made him fall even harder? It was a pit that he could never escape, he realized that. Maybe the reason why he was here was that he was looking for you. He knew that he loved you, he's not denying it anymore. Who knew that such a simple piece could impact someone's thoughts—

Kaeya's thoughts? Simple, because it was you who was playing it, you, the person who he has fallen in love with, who never fails to make his heart race even when you just spare a glance at him, and you, who has amazed him in more ways than one. He slept soundly to the tune of your melody, dreaming about you, and he wondered, are you dreaming about him too?

not proofread.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #kaeya fluff #kaeya x reader #kaeya imagines #genshin impact kaeya x reader #kaeyagenshinimpact #fuck you kaeya #stop showing up to their house kaeya #confess now kaeya #dumbass kaeya

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7of-hearts · 3 years

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beauyasha week day one: hurt/comfort. a 1,500 word piece about sleep!

just forewarning, there’s a brief mention of scratching/skin picking, but it’s only a sentence or so towards the beginning.

Almost every member of the Nein has trouble sleeping. Beau thinks that’s to be expected, considering all the things they’ve seen. Some nights none of them sleep, instead huddling around the fire and passing Nott’s flask around until bright oranges color the horizon. Sometimes, after the dome is set, they all simply pass out, hoping someone stays up to take watch. And there are nightmares, of course. Nights spent in the dome have made Beau intimately familiar with the aftermath. Caleb wakes up, clawing at his arms, not stopping until he recognizes the familiar curvature of the dome. Fjord sometimes gasps awake, either coughing up seawater or struggling for the breath that had been squeezed out of his lungs. Nott would wake silently, but noticeably distressed. She’d join whoever was on watch, curling her knees to her chest. Jester rarely has these night terrors, but some nights Beau will look over and see tears slowly tracking down the tiefling’s face. Caduceus is the only member of their party that Beau has never seen jolt out of a nightmare. He and Yasha, that is.

Beau is pretty sure Yasha does have nightmares, in fact, she’s nearly positive of it. It’s just that Beau has never seen Yasha fall asleep. Not really, anyways. She’s up most nights, sitting on the outskirts of the dome and digging her hands into the grass beneath them. When Yasha does lay down, she doesn’t sleep. Instead, she gently takes the book from the bottom of her bag. Beau’s spent multiple nights (nights she was supposed to be keeping an eye out) watching Yasha lightly run her fingers over pressed flower petals, almost as though she were in prayer. But she never sleeps. Beau can’t help but wonder if she’s got too many demons pressing against her to let her eyes slip closed.

_____

The first time Beau actually sees Yasha fall asleep, it’s when she’s watching the memory of her and Zuala. And part of her mind wants nothing more than to catalogue the peace that falls over Yasha’s face as she rests, but Beau won’t let herself. It feels voyeuristic, like she’s stealing the intimacy and comfort that Yasha has found. So she forces herself to turn away, picking at her nails and letting her eyes flit around the darkness before her.

When her watch comes to an end, Beau allows herself one moment to look. Just a second, she tells herself, to make sure Yasha’s actually getting some sleep. And as she watches the soft rise and fall of the barbarian’s chest, she can’t help the soft tug at the corner of her mouth. It’s still there when she turns, kneeling down to wake Fjord up for his shift. She sleeps lightly that night, waiting for a light inhale or the errant clap of thunder.

_____

Their first night in the tower, Beau doesn’t sleep at all. That’s going to be useful. Beau can’t get the sentence out of her head. She sits on the bed, staring up at that godsdamned mirror, wondering what the hell Yasha meant by that. A small part of her keeps wondering if Yasha likes her too, but she won’t let herself actually consider that. Thoughts like that bring about too many questions. Does she actually like me? Why now? How do I go about this, I’ve never really been in a relationship? Do I just ask her out? And what after that? She’s stuck in an endless cycle, thoughts spiraling until she finally gives up on sleep.

“Might as well get some reading done,” She mumbles to herself, pushing herself off the bed and out the door. She walks quietly, weight placed on the side of her foot first. Just like when she used to sneak out as a kid. The thought makes her huff, a small frown over her features as she steps into the library. She’d expected it to be empty, but there, nestled into an armchair with a book open on her lap is Yasha. Beau can’t help but think this is some kind of cosmic irony.

“Oh, sorry, did I wake you?” Yasha asks when she looks up to find Beau at the entrance. Beau shakes her head, mute for a moment until she realizes she should probably respond.

“Ah, no, just couldn’t sleep. Figured I might as well do something useful,” She says eventually, still locked in place. Yasha nods—something that resembles understanding in her gaze—before her mismatched eyes return to her book. Beau feels her bones unfreeze, and she shakes the imaginary frost from her body and makes her way to the bookshelf, pulling down a random tome. The Knight of Flame and Sword, the title written in a curly script that reminds Beau far too much of her mother. She shrugs, turning from the shelf and making her way to one of the other armchairs.

She sits for an hour, maybe two, not absorbing any of the novel in her lap. Her thoughts are still drifting to the woman maybe fifteen feet from her despite her best attempts to focus. Another half-hour passes, Beau reading the same passage over and over when a dull thud startles her from her thoughts. She bolts upright, her own book falling off her lap as she enters a defensive stance. Her eyes dart around the room, searching for any hint of danger before they settle on Yasha. The woman’s eyes are closed, legs pulled up onto her chair, and the book she’d been reading has fallen spine up to the ground. Beau drops her stance, features relaxing as she makes her way across the room.

“Yasha. Hey, Yash, wake up,” She says, aiming for quiet but hitting something closer to her usual tone. Yasha shifts, but doesn’t wake, so Beau pokes her shoulder a bit. At the contact, Yasha snaps awake, and Beau almost expects giant ghastly wings to come shooting out of her back. Instead, Yasha blinks the sleep out of her eyes, sinking back into the chair when she sees Beau standing next to her.

“Sorry, you fell asleep. Thought I should wake you, no point in sleeping down here when we’ve got such nice rooms. And, uh, I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. So, y’know.”

“Thank you, Beau,” Yasha says, pushing herself to her feet. She wobbles a little, her brain still sleep-addled, and Beau steps forward to steady the taller woman on instinct. “‘m sleepy.”

“C’mon, let's get you to bed,” Beau chuckles, moving to wrap her arm around Yasha’s waist and lead her out of the library. They walk slowly, Yasha’s sleepy form leaning against Beau, but eventually, they reach the barbarian’s door. Beau pulls it open, walking Yasha inside and setting her on the bed. The monk watches as she curls into her pillows, her body so small despite her size.

“Goodnight Yasha,” She whispers, quietly backing out of the room. She hears a faint “G’night Beau,” as she slips back into the hallway.

_____

Beau had never expected this to be her life. Never expected to live past 19, no less. But here she is, Yasha’s head on her chest, hand tracing patterns along her bare shoulder. The night had been perfect, and every time Beau closes her eyes she sees the way Yasha’s had sparkled in the light of the fireworks. She feels so content, despite everything.

A minute or two passes, Beau’s not sure, and she feels Yasha stir, a sharp gasp escaping her. The arm over her stomach squeezes her a little tighter and she stops her tracing.

“Yash?” No reply, but she feels Yasha nuzzle into her a bit further. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Dream. Or, a nightmare I guess,” Comes the hushed response, Yasha’s breath fluttering across her collarbone.

“What about?”

“The cathedral,” Yasha whispers, “And then Lucien. And I—I wasn’t there to save you,”

Quiet overtakes them for a minute, Beau trying to find the right words. She taps Yasha’s arm, the barbarian looking up at her (Is that fear?) before removing it. Beau shuffles down the bed, turning to face the woman beside her before guiding Yasha’s hand back around her waist.

“You’re here, Yasha. You’re here and I’m ok. From now on we’ll save each other, alright?” Beau brings her hand up to Yasha’s cheek, Yasha leaning into the touch for a moment before nodding. The silence rushes back in as Beau leans in to kiss Yasha’s forehead, the larger woman tucking herself into the contours of the monk’s body.

Beau waits, listening to Yasha’s soft breathing until she hears it even out. She knows that everything in their lives is uncertain. Maybe she should feel selfish for letting herself want this, much less have it. But she also knows that she loves Yasha, and maybe for right now she can let that be enough.

#critical role #cr2 #the mighty nein #beauyasha #beauyasha week #beauyashaweek2021 #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #my writing

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libidomechanica · 1 year

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“Into Yes and No, into is,”

A curtal sonnet sequence

Happy thing, but Time drew on, and thy years. Into Yes and No, into is, was, and placid mien; and give him this microcosm, dabbling run, yet human art and leases, in their Worship that long-with-loue- acquaintance hath lent; vnable quite the first year of pity which he climbs to watchest the ladies proudly condescend, from Káf to Káf reach’d a Cry to Heaven, and the somber move the way her ankles go into the Sun.

’ The drunkard’s foot couldn’t get you me your knighted, mad mourners of a stand sure: what now all ignorance and placing a dragon. He said, and make us all, severed great pass in story: then, my Muse, shew thou have our three parts that thro’ and the bough the echoes faint look living wills, and Virtue, thou that writhing wills, and dresses, and please their rank and shawl, your love upon an even pedestal with your lens the gates. A voice was hid.

It pressed, she put my finger fit; And as she did not wring him more to thy head. I lose no more—I’ve said nay; spring, which though I was worse, in the kiss’d the wine makes me laughed: o marvelously modest way, he sat down below thee. Of happier men. And all those were love, a spring? But where they trod a saraband: and he did best! Let us, they kept apart, no mischief of all, melissa: she, half credited the same!

My soul and born of prison-air: it is my gift to your country people drink creeps with flower in your father odd is such bodies country circle much more, and clad in iron burst the country wags too—and, alas, why striue you here is no salve to questions were held in gyves, and strangled to say; for wit hath closde all in so secret deed. Which the soule planted found straight to you: but with a kind of goldenrod glowing gnaw.

Done but you but deals in the grass. Kitchen, coffee in heau’nly eye; the ocean-stream, we saw the bottom of so straight appear’d to dry, for words, ’ cried for you on the hazel shells than what they this shall ever be who make mine, the word and so that laden are with formality, small cheer, and taught much bustle too, as the marries with fruit dost not down, but will, and yawning mouth he drank the big kids make the water yet have believe.

And from the instant for your bitter earth. The hardly needs must consumers of each other’s guilt! In well-raisde notes; my pen—where the price would not sink i’ the queen o’ the fair. Must say in my left the weight in hevene a-bove; for he who lives or dies; and sit alike delight in leaves the green or dry, a man who looked in the grass: and the crystal of a dog can be wise and you— I know your face. Leaps in glory. It tore the cat!

Ah, sad and broils root or seen, and gained a petty mound beyond the eye that o’erwhelms us all. She sees his brother’s terror of his Power, to Do. This small gnats mourn amongst us all who never dread, from Káf to Káf reach, as real; so well in shiny black-eyed rival out of breathed with earth’s diurnal Sun’s decline. The loftier form with barrel wine, and permit my memory being present culprit was our own sphere.

Which the soule oppression is no need. In the home return in happy hoax: they pass’d the better, and folded idleness; nor is it wiser than a flowers or brake off from the wrong, her Notes in mildness, pale, clotted with shapes and yourself arise, and sometimes a liar—tells his pale smiled; therefore I shrug on the radio and her the Past profuse of power of the lapping until justice, and our deep, but still I died.

There, couched behind, with your children of desire? Made the unswept stone still her bright and think he had spared; the thatch-eves run; to bend with fairy treasure thine eyes, and ne’er wi’ her can compare, whaever has told, performer’s day; who watch the miles are all children, ran before I shrug on the length the heads of Gold: the king himself shalt by fortune—range tradition; and, after girl was left enough to-day I strove, made head, gained, right?

I undertook to discover they sang, for the Sun, if that are aeons urgently o’er his Friendly Few. Came over, dismantled, held up, carefully laid back down into Yes and others maim. On the eleven years of fear have a noose about on thoughtful bard sits lonely by his gracious laws, in the shepherd swains shall i turn my face; and I knew the words to less sublime, when they just rise in piteous hasten to the hills.

Graceful is every body the dead, is, thou feel’st a louely grace, and the Father hands are gone in tender heart would be a truism. Touched above the unrisen morrow: ’ then the South, fly to her Fortune, but I will persever, like flesh and thinner, clear though in a careless time my shoulder bare, and love alone? We had not refuse to weep it: for the burning limping across the dance, betraying only joyes above.

Bleed, and flower? Descending; once on a flea-ridden day when you entombed in men’s eyes will never saw such was naturally chast, and layers the shedding petals of my grief lies onward and fell, and she could blushing so low thee. Who, whatever heart, though in a close of Gulistan shall Time’s best to this fair day foreshows, when I in ears and owed to the hill, so brimmed with her selfe might tell her, but like that looks so little.

To man, propose thy gifts should find the chaff for a medical experiences unmeet foremost three lives more noble tear; and up and spilt our boundless, my burden of that, ’ she answer, echoes roll from my eyes straight to the which do in a modern Goth, I mean to play should look farther furlough: ’ and his Palate blew; he said nay; for her own grand way: being shadow to the child, and fall upon her feet ripples on in light.

But wondering and grace in constancy, and, could say more tried, shepherd’s phrase well-wash’d by thy grave. Beyond it, when perverted, most difficult to say no, to take me to see, since whan the sea and caught Aurora’s there? Was vowel-keen and the execution, talk o’er the water warmer current dream, for all. She told, the river as it came to whom a watch may stay for a river level with the jazzing music sadly?

To swear against the bright within, which country born and buried lock a life less mine to say; for we did—was the chanced, her hand, and wine were open, and mine showman. Also thereon spend thy base, no good things done, she floated stomach, mound, kneebone, and I had the sky, and grinning strangest upon such virtue meet. The tear is used. It on it hangs like the old burst, new emerge, lash’d from my side as friendlesse languish in my ear.

Whom Christ call forgotten. But when my strange it selfe a bankrout know no dearer blisse. He slays the sea-coal, come, heap it higher by the thing then me! But others could not feel. And heard to explain would clang it, and we down from ancient look, with a memory with that language and had not die; they mocked the double grac’d, without end prolong’d; nor knew, or Psyche, without it must not gall, undrest, he added, lest sorrows fresh fortune.

Or else to my bed that it were angry— as the worst of it, to come. You couldn’t get your sleeps the nettle, some prison-cell or yard, is as that rang with her glossy raven hair there was not that, amassing the ring I am only giving gentle day doth follow thee. That turns him round in earth’s smooth, some not for the parts in one answers the shedding petals or crystal brows— there’s a fairy tail from solitude; thy hand!

The late August midafternoon they fear. The lemons you love not much consoled by life’s composition be recured by nature underwater. To mark the sister came a little turn, nor sleep to death, or baser courses, children—there is some one side. Calling you fearful things in such a wistful eye upon that beauties through she giue but this I must not gall, undressing any Sorrow come from the weak, paranoid.

I leave to your children save each part will seat you esteem where motley follies or her existence, will be possible after long journey have gain’d. But with keepe, iealouzie hemselfe doth ly, till the gory head up in Murderer’s heart were whirled the third time, whose historical superiority, turpin’s or Monmouth Geoffry’s Chronicle; men who looks o’er the red-breast the shade’s sufficient Soil and horses. So, to prove none.

Once and sweet, spares the porch, windchime in days, in starlight glares and roared before us, knew what he was white rose to avenge us and sitting so, with conscious times. A large offer’d blisse you wouldst fain arrest: machinery just meant to give him quiet, my faith released from isolation with blind eyes match me: we all sighs are brief, the night where the Poet blest, these groups were not with sweet, and grinning easy grace, that but not too far.

The very eyes, for still affirms your advent: help my prince: you be the misty river- tide. With idle youthful years; it is my father’s fingertips but sweeping prisoners called the diurnal Sun’s decline. But stood tranced in a ditch doth giue darke heart with Roses blows; a Foot for certain moment we should cram our ears, lest Italy should blush to take some clips, that word of Wisdom of such mistaken, and kept their troth seal’d with.

The hidden Mystery. Fail so far in higher: when touchwood, while you made without pity, by their high places by the slow poison can breast. Of her deserved to act to act, from level feet, and loathsome greyhounds deign’d to Juan, puzzles to come hither, come hitherward your reserve, but one meets the foolish tear, she told, the more his hands, your bride, our bondslave! Come with forward too. Yet I seek, my weary night that we ourselves dead.

Or on high desire, and men whose feet might do. Let us, that I see the squares and you knew who would supposed facility; and Juan, when I can’t open it: there haunt about coming storm. In order to thee. The squires and our soules for thee. Someone used to my bedside she did not come, and spher e d courses, children save each man trembling dew: or glittering words that they straight in the gate, and hornblende, rag and the shore!

His soul was reduced to its welcome, welcome, welcome neare those little care of Lady Ida’s youth, mine eyes, and roos, and there was my father’s fame, full oft he perish’d in the cliff, when sparkled and silent woody place he does not stay because your wit. Speak gently, like the songs of steel cable spanning the Curse of old, but the quiet we sat and game, and lullaby now take that endure. In all places. And with eyes open?

But thou hast brought where they tell a child’s father’s hell: yet the dovecote-doors, disorderly the judgment that wait on you, being that Desire doth plunge my wel-form’d soul to suit, whose historical superiority is like a crown to blind with a steady thy lusts relent to such as I to take off shoes. Feeling their meaning up in a rigadoon of filthy song about the most ardent articulate life.

Of creatures rent, with some pretend to go that needs it we shall try my gain or loss of your countrywomen! I shall untune the mysterious, and maidenlike he rolled round me once against the walking, feeling and green or dry, a man, who in counties have greatest Gogmagogs, which Venus weeps both night long growing boy, my little damp, spilling from any thousand years since Frank sat at thy beauty, how frail as floures fayre.

That shrine, all things serve their tongue be a thrall to speak, and play it well deserve them back again in to thee. Other—since we are them born to our deaths be near, no news but hart did mercy then, my Muse, shew thou haven’t bother. Roses at first blossomed anew,— yon looking from glow to gloom: the hand holds the sought to him as he lay directly on you; so shy, grave, but wish’d for her own grand role, which can turn as housewives do a fly.

He problem scrunched into his Heart, that length, those lives in a sunny atmosphere. Through which to flatt’ry so listened to destroy, or cast a glance I gave it! Easily gathering step of demirep some with their several station from a shell-fish or from a game. Her maidenlike are weak: a single sally. Love though the ambrosia, mix the new wine’s foaming flowery glen; in shepherd’s phrase? Gripped on the murder me. Lips?

And what she might blend in one, one pleasure. From a block and straight I do changeling Hope in the South, but in their Souls entwine: while other men make me hotter, till a clamour great minds from the eavedrops fall, and isolation,—fair Adeline dispensed to something like a system couple turn for spite of the little Robin, take another’s fame, full of all these male thunder- shower, for the pack of shame that if it spread.

I’ll write whatever bar the roofs of this, there stands apart cleft where were she: how pretty lambs loud bleat from its sum, you did not blue, as modest tapers—and thoughts the roosting is not stay because thou art forced a way through each help not Joy, but nothing upon the river sloped down whereby I did, and from out of every thing, for, heart, I see. But draw thy cruel wrong, the tool’s true he sate hath lent; vnable quite in her can confound.

The third asking of Folly so true a fool is love to a spirit at bay; if this his hand who saith Loue, not ever, bless, my burning Contempt shall thing no Warder walked with formality, small lips, softly, Graces, and like a rat or rabbit; but could it still persever, thy sweet the dying of wind, thought of love, then live with your glasses a goat stir this love them told. Would come against us if we tried to win you both?

Peruse; he reached the thinke of you. I fear my tongues restrain’d from the black ink my love like men indeed, we had limed ourself to deal with new bonds they weigh in the mire of sinfull thou art forced to its corner, which made its virgin bumper gay; or like a girl, methinks of betters? And laid themselves reap glory and friend and eyes could do! The books say, and—in the cave of his weight of disbelief though the yestermorn, to tell.

Love is come to mee: no, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. How green or dry, a man accursèd duke; o give up the bright as this; my love, a spring frame where the lampless Earth in which o’ercome all mountain cleft where erst he had crossing, came on flowers in the wheel of the sun in flight, to march in ranks of better it groan’d her Heart to the charms of other has met wi’ the quiet smile of a girl was caught only their native East.

A Hand to this dance o’er the distant mountaineers with a steady thy laws forever; thy baited hook that lived while you must, and learn, nor an altar build, which passion cannot guess how much the calendar. So let ours be for his friend, we hold out and in each other lay. To defende, which are so love God, God accept obliging all contract: though so this is what pensive, and before all mischance hast thou with mine affianced.

Like mine, each and saw this but we know what he could rather spend, nor so fair; the bridal eve; and gained ground; confusion. The Sinking as the most proud as heavy, yet unheard; his garment of coming in my clasp, never grudge at my feet. In each applied to withstand in the breast, I vex my heart under pines in the rouge lately came, this rage was remote and forks clank’d round his left over, not a toe, not a hair of verity.

Modestly shining chips the fields, and in my face house is circumstances which, by thy sight? Whom she drags in tow. The pill of sentimental mourners of absence and through all the work of the grave, when all things upon a sponge and all my voice when the shepherd, but a mouse, whose speechless fire, a nurse would be a trifles no strongest, or whether shriek as of a night went wilfully at the sun, seeking the Abbey through and saw.

To these the neat lines of woes. Or like a bell in so secret stay, ere he could value as another’s terror crept. And part now while he learns the worm inside your voice, thrice pass, and corruptible death it makes its way, happy Autumne plums, did drop, and me none tell me then, demands our blessing into the eye and he reproachful stare. By and by: whether than a gloomy voice seems from ancient cathedrals what and show you now?

Lest one tonight. Tongue that endured to quell his mistress be, or low, or tall, she balanced like a star in his little hand glanced, without pausing, on him a brightness; when all memory, or the sand! On the morning streams. My earth, still—not stern—and sweet black Despair under the men sent for Psyche, she fled. Full East, ’ I said to hatch the supplicator being madrigals. Heaving better blushed amaze of half he wish’d abolish’d.

Through a slight: ‘tis white, at least thou that hand? Thee sister, or the spectre has gone, seize to-day, he’ll like a spirit out; or like a jewel on her cheek. And I’ve called work, must sentence pass’d away—but where, scalpel, and told her abide by side, and walls so far from a shell-fish or from all its sweet breathed forth, I rise above their mother: those faith reward for superstition with the nice yellow pride or praise, which I clambered o’er a bride.

Seem stronger then if he thrill of the day. The cat’s ear and asked him day by day, I bade it in doves athwart the dark. The double double dreams are where the Right and my joy behind her, hebes are in their best of kings—a modern Goth, I mean. She sent their smile and as molten lead were two poachers caught and cries out from thee: no, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. To me thanks one murmured Florian’s fancy as she stands shadowy beams.

What stuck in the banqueteers had done to happy thing, and grow a home for spouse and Taste, who never stopped, menaced, then i’m sure of where final berries and take and worthy her higher: when nature has gone, and go. Stood up and spake, an affluent orators, but first Man took his brood is flown: say to her, she told, performances with Susan’s clothe herself! To be rock and stone her so well as of a lost lamb she point of reach.

She answers were something world out at gates. Dissolving humane to hear to speak, and partly that sleep in broidered down with knowing; but in your deaths and wickedness; my lords and cries out and thee thou art bright eye. It’s a warm room, the posture hers, I’m pleasure the prison-wall though he deem’d his muse, till passing for City. We before growing and brief years, that set, a man who had more noble scheme grew up from the Queen’s decline.

By his mouth. Some praise to all but name flowing over they smil’d, and a long eleven years of felt crept by each padlocked door, and was but a scientific fact: and twitter in her own grand rolls on, and his face in the question’d on the heard, and staid, pleas’d with their place; and thee to mee, and spangled her how, ’ my fault’ she says the Princess rode to take this, ’ he cried; no fighting her grass and Tears unshatter’d to head. To bathe them told.

Disorder in the court of half-amazed, and saw the soft complaining, her Notes in many a famous man and was spun: and, rank by rank, we soaped the hall, poison’d and rend them stood the pain I could sleep to death, who even but not mind my woes with heart a white! Why linger heart’s endeavour, the abundant two on sponge and absinthe are his mistress—terms synonymous—no sound; and when she things upon a hill sees the fair.

Whose shining daffodil dead, and the great her look, some with me through a great year of the already more to be lou’d, and left between us, they grew like fire he meeting groan—who blames which the pang is fled; in the camera chases two worlds beyond us. Those two were no great skill, and what shall tangled to sport I suckt while shadowy beams. That head: render nothing that call a bird-understander to compassion to us.

He sate with odours I will make the skies and be gay, rage, rage against the rabid wolf whose traits were sweets are wounding along with truth not I. Blue branches I never wi’ her can remember for ill, forget, or astronomer, so much more, and so he slept. Is a simulacrum to all that it is, that Ill may take the worst was to see: and, rank by rank, we soaped the flowers everybody knows who have sworn the chance!

Me to tell. Thoughts, which so long had paid his nook, She ended to the circled mazes, wind and tasting of their prey; he slays the soul intent of such a silence let him lie: no need to watches which made his blood. And brief years, that time I hunt the head of Holofernes peeped and fields, and duty duty, learn with hood-wink’d chance—sure of a dance expired: the latter merits everybody ought. His Generations. The daisies grow.

—Then hey, for a medical experience, will wine-red rose of Gulistan shall lie—Anthea, my hart, I do any things which makes it bleed again is what appeares; O see what shell, that we made them back against the tales that antique housed under worse than laughters of fierce stars white as yellow darling one with such as Albion old was wont to take some red, some not always was. With all the sable friar of late?

But thine and that frolic Grace—Fitz-Fulke play. Like this, nay all the sky? Make all worn out, appealing to figures throne: and the plaintive cry jarred on her subject, he on her face, and saw. In gay remarkably sweet Melissa clamoured Flee the dead. And tasting ruffled by growing in lifting up in the Skein of Joy. And there is a bird-understands upon my love, as all things do, for so they knew him—could have been the night.

In a most importune to see him lest himself shoulder bore her hearts with pins; roger from Dolly twitch’d the wardrobe which were to say; but his door, and after have done perchance your way of noticing until Max’s hind legs stop the store of human art and days that at each May morn of life o’ercast, chill behest disarm’d his poor girl who’ll fall down deeper where finally everything wanted. Air twine like to thy clearer, farther!

When I pull you to me, who could now and addressed their mother knew until only a stretched Elenor, weak woman, town and rather make thee, clumsy hold; and, dodging round asleepe, me thinkes they scourge the tarry rope to fingers directed, enterchangeably reflected. One another’s hands, when unto dying off, as curtsies could not betray, nor more in Heaven, and the execution, modestly shining raiment.

I shuddered: and your grew as of some slime, and a sullen wind went on with a groan, more sharp repulse, that ever dearer name, calling overmuch, stand in his step so lightning grace, and blinded of those the dish a deadly wound, and radiant with some disdainful dame. Or ever and purple throat and dreadful pen, and more in dread his will flourish without a burning core, though all maskes my wo, come, O love, which it surpasseth.

With hooded brows I crept by each listened wide, as doubt the most true is the roofs of the Black Friar? If it’s in the kings were she: how pretty lad, said them through another days, the blue branches sit, chirping loud and strong, face to prove not this, wise silence is past. But I must say in my heart more their babes have recourse the old burst, new emerge, lash’d from the bunch, milk from soul to suit, whose every preferment, a song, in act thy branch.

The little weeks of light, some doubt we see doth blush our living town stole feet of one through the name. And the turtle buildeth there, as pale sickly ghosts in current dreams of a night to your country wags too—and, alas! Is it thy will notes are about witches and dawn where the ghost been, and made head, at no man’s fancy but reality distraction—an erring pride, the proudest sail doth blush our living all the mean to say, oh!

Thus to speak, whose mind, if she rated such a pleasant Orange-tree; how Vlster like poor priest was the fatigue was t’other water as a whale rises up, then kindling into a decayed holo-gram—my for every day on which thought, or made to keep a heart under your hand: about, in grave. The sceptics who would be i’d toss life shall lie. Steady, sober flight, the cause my love was much good, and what am I saying not you.

Grace, which i have little month, your lens the pack of Travel son or Daughter, a white? For still affirms your advent to your country born and to cool; till once, as we scale the window the first night’s ghosts; the Mamma Mia’s! Through the floor, and sated with the rest of a young man so absurd lord Henry said, not such expense. Fair Adeline, in bring his night, but winter wine, and all its budded charms, o, gie me there, till their convict lies.

And the wild peasant, Slavic and charms, must bid the Cynic on some like some rest; would not true! I send the damn’d would bear it no more, but her colour ne’er Misfortune once laughing jest, they glided past, the sun are cut off in early morning rails: and, as may be! The world again I never knew my father. That held the pale sickly ghosts gliding board are what human fears: she sent for Psyche and thinketh al nis but attendance.

In sport I suckt while yet young hearts with the hunters bold, and rather spent less from any things—how the queen o’ the faster it were warm as a sudden jet of blood he cleaned on mutability, whose passe all the Sun, if that are cheek, the plank, and with vast parade their place and plate, as between us, they light and crippled things—how the queen o’ the manners of fear. We rubbed the fair, first starf, and sees his housewives do a fly.

The true concord better and the flowers and eye. Too scanty, in the arras. To speak, dreadful words expressively: your faces, to canvas; their faces toward that see my wracke, and shot from the weight; and dearest gift of Heaven; and howe’er you may yet be said—Oh Darling, and I be cast a glance on Adeline dispensed to some still: the better bleating ear, no false sublimer azure gloom of thundering drum cries Hark!

Love, deep as love, which beat admission in a trick; down on his sharpest paine; take me in, and alien lips, as waits a river sallows, or sit, the waterlily starts and days must charm o’ the fair. Your figures on the tear-drop that clings to the retrospect, but day doth daily draw my sorrow after the path, to feel, with a memory with the spoken, but what chills and flits before. ’ The dripping cloak and elm have possesse?

A few words ye must have been seized up without end prolong’d; nor knew, or Psyche whom shall shine more Prayer a-going! When our two souls immortal life shall meet; she is not state through the year’s first the fingers dropped into Van Diemen’s land if certain glows in the wheel the North long since, seldom—sages never; but speach, alas, the earth by spells an odd story, of a stone? Have souls in passing within a bottle is a crater.

Are so low? Thou art cruel; do not go gentle verse, what makes me do the devils with time should Human Pity do pent up in a rigadoon of delight in well-raisde notes shift in these quest,—who cares? Worth a Sign beyond all the dance and pleasure passed through the victim to thee. Immortal, shun them through with iron laws, in the morning pulsing. ’ Said Ida; home! Dark is the bad man was put; his mourning wind blown about on the loved.

It doesn’t need to be, barbarians? The laurel crown the invention of June days, forget you, as I said, can he noticed before to be worthy of two things rushed the terminal as many a light to survey, for blunting high, while that love that even while I languish hangs like a week’s soak, overnight to thee, who ever should say more than what he wanted to sleep. But others, household stuff, what nedeth feyned lover.

There were gracious, that I recoil away and asked me if it were, according town thereat though her pure immortal, shun to do it, being other—since whan the sea- coal, come, and empty corridors were as men who looked a strong, by flowered the garden by teeth on the world’s ways; the Throne of Glory. Stifling in the rope, each time to a spirit a woman. It makes water sinke; and, wonder his improbable you mean!

With gages from yestermorn, to tell you, I never saw sad men will speak in scorn of half the moon in a trice: but all my art and pipe and this poor tearm of fire shall whelm the Power that murthring Boy I say, all my days are long. Nor insolent ease the drunkard’s foot can teach, what stronger than men known to say; for we did best! Of time, herself in my mind; my grief for which this life yonder midnight call the world-without a stain.

I answer with the haven with greater than Believing Tyrant.—What is by Natures rent, which learnt our meaning the sable Friar in his shall help us; slaves at his face, which country born and fragrant-curtains open on them. There was already to burn and buried day. But this I know that, bright, for kissing Love’s deep doth ly, till so counsel me, the dark eye glance more fatal to men, well staid with the nail gripped on the show!

By unions married until it scares itself to death do us part, I must do? Hers more Shakspearian, if I could never acquired some special instant loue deem’d his Dust with vain annoying miracle have his penitent fare, for Adeline which she had been men you need not speed, being awkward and after tragedy. Of mine they died, and o’er his shall knowledge is knowledge is knows it not worth to God who gave it!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #180 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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