#i think tori has the second double bed

[horusmenhosetix]

They're lesbians harold

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 29

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

Tori and I met up on my lunch break the following afternoon. I filled her in about the mishap with James the night before and she visibly cringed.

“Ouch.” She made a face. “That was a bold way to shoot his shot.”

“I felt so bad,” I admitted, “I still feel bad.” I twirled a French fry in ketchup and popped it into my mouth.

“Did you tell Joel?”

I nodded. “The night before I had gotten a card that was left on my car with no name. I thought it was this creepy guy Trevor from class.”

“Who’s creepy Trevor?”

“He's just this brown noser type of guy. I saw him lurking behind the building one night when I left and then he, like, popped out of the library stacks at me out of the blue.”

“Red flag, red flag.” Tori made invisible check marks in the air with her finger. “What if he's the lady killer?” That's what the papers and news outlets had branded the person responsible for the two dead women.

“Lately, I think everyone is the lady killer.” I huffed a laugh and shook my head. I changed the subject. “Are you and Derek doing anything for Valentine's Day tonight?”

“We’re going to see an early movie and then going out for cocktails and some apps.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Where’s Mr. Gold Coins taking you?” She asked with a laugh as she forked a bite of chicken from her salad, “Paris?”

I laughed. “We’re going to a place called Lake Kora.”

“Where's that?”

I shrugged and reached for the second half of my turkey wrap and took a hearty bite.

“You didn't Google it?”

I shook my head and continued to chew.

“Do I have to teach you everything?” Tori eyed me and began typing away on her phone. “How do you spell it?”

“L-a-k-e,” I began, smirking at her as she flicked my hand.

“Smartass, I know how to spell ‘lake'. What about the second part?”

“K-o-r-a.”

Tori eyed her tiny screen and began flicking her finger until she seemed satisfied. “Hmm..”

“What?” I arched my neck and she turned her phone part way.

“Looks nice.” She scrolled through photos. “Is he going to put, like, rose petals all over the bed? Feed you chocolate covered strawberries?”

I nearly spit the bite of my sandwich out and the two of us began laughing, drawing looks from other customers in the little sandwich shop.

“Sorry,” Tori whispered with a hand up, still chuckling as she took a sip of her iced tea to compose herself.

“Maybe we can double date some time soon,” I suggested.

“I gotta get a feel for this guy,” she nodded in agreement and poked around through her lettuce in search of a crouton. “What's going on next weekend?”

“His sister is getting married. We’re going to Vermont for the long weekend.”

Tori raised her eyebrows. “Wow.”

I nodded. “I was nervous to go but I met her recently and we hit it off, so..” I shrugged.

My friend pointed her fork in my direction. “If this guy ends up breaking your heart, I'll break his neck.” Tori paused, “Well, I’ll get someone to do it because I probably wouldn't be able to.”

I have a closed-mouth smile. “I hope this is all what it seems; because I'm totally caught up.”

“I know you are.” She nodded, “I've never seen you like this.”

“I know.” I ate another French fry and sipped on my Diet Dr. Pepper. “It's a little scary.”

Tori gave a genuine smile. “I guess life should be about taking chances.. and following your heart.” She raised her styrofoam cup, “To the next step?”

I tapped my cup against hers. “To the next step.”

The ride to ‘up-upstate’ with Dr. Miller late that afternoon had me excited for the weekend ahead. We took the truck, loaded up with snacks and even stopped at a little hockey store to purchase two pairs of ice skates. I couldn’t wait to go ice skating. It had been so long since I’d been but I was sure I’d pick it up again - like second nature.

“Want a coffee?” Dr. Miller motioned to a little shop beside the hockey store, “Or hot chocolate?” He grinned and took my hand when I nodded. We wandered into the shop and the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans hit me like a wave.

My eyes scanned a chalkboard with an endless array of choices. There were your typical French Vanilla flavors and Hazelnuts. And then the list trickled down to pistachio, white chocolate almond, blueberry and peppermint mocha.

“I’ll do a medium black coffee with a shot of espresso,” Dr. Miller ordered. “And a package of the chocolate covered espresso beans.”

When I spotted a banana mocha chocolate espresso, I was sold. Half hot chocolate, half coffee with the sweetness of the banana. Sign me up.

Dr. Miller smiled at me and gently squeezed the back of my neck as I ordered. I leaned into him and our hands found one another’s again after getting our orders and walking out.

“I can’t wait to get up there,” I told him when we got back in the car. I sipped my drink after giving the entrance to the cup a gentle blow and then set it in the cup holder. When Dr. Miller reached for my hand again, I squeezed his. I loved how he had to touch me at all times - whether holding my hand, squeezing my neck, or resting a hand on my knee as he drove.

He popped open the little bag of espresso beans and then reached over, prepared to place one in mouth.

I accepted, purposely sucking the pad of thumb for an extra second and Dr. Miller smiled at me. I almost giggled, thinking about Tori’s comment about the chocolate covered strawberries but I just grinned and looked out the window, relinking my hand with his.

Honestly, I didn't want the car ride to end. Until it did, and the A-frame lake house we would be staying in came into view.

Okay, I'm ready for the car ride to end.

The frozen lake stretched out, what looked like, for miles as he pulled down the long, rocky driveway.

Dr. Miller pulled the truck up beside the house and I got a glimpse of a hot tub on the front deck. He turned to glance at me and I couldn't help but smile.

“Come on.” He nodded his head toward the cabin and opened his door.

I eagerly trailed him up to the rental property. Neither of us bothered to grab our belongings yet. The sting of the cold weather felt refreshing on my cheeks on the short walk to the front door.

Dr. Miller punched a code into a little black box beside the door and a silver key popped out as the front of it opened.

“Do you own this house, too?” I had to ask, but he smiled and shook his head.

“I know as much about it as you do.” He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door, pulling me inside by the hand as he flipped on the main lights. It was like something from Pinterest or “hashtag cabin” on any number of social media outlets.

An oversized television sat above a stone fireplace to the right. A small collection of couches and chairs faced it, only split up by a shag throw rug. Above it hung a giant rustic chandelier. Overlooking the living room area was a loft that was accessible by a winding staircase and beneath the loft, straight ahead, was a cozy, modern kitchen with low ceilings.

“What do you think?” Dr. Miller put his hands on my shoulders from behind, and I reached up and placed one hand over his.

“I think we should stay here for a week.”

“Or two,” he added.

“Or two.” I nodded in agreement and looked over my shoulder at him. “Thank you. This is amazing.. again.”

“Let's get our bags.”

I followed him back to the car and he carried as much as he could, leaving me with just the ice skates that I set down on the couch in the living room area. We unloaded the little bit of food we’d brought up for the short stay and then towed the suitcases up the windy stairs to the lofty bedroom.

“Feel like some dusk ice skating?” Dr. Miller asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Is it safe?”

“I've been checking the weather all week,” he explained, “It's been in the teens and twenties.” Dr. Miller nodded, “There were some people out there when we drove up. Should be frozen solid.”

“Well, then, I can't wait.” My hands fell down into his and I bent at the hip to kiss him firmly on the lips. When I slowly dropped to my knees in front of him, working at the buckle of his belt, Dr. Miller looked down at me with a half, closed-mouth grin.

He sighed and arched his hips so I could shove his pants down to his ankles before closing his eyes as he stood back up. “Alright,” he agreed with a second deep breath.

“Unless you want to get right out onto the ice..” I teased.

Dr. Miller opened his eyes again and looked down at me. “It'll still be there in five minutes.”

“Five?” My hand wrapped around him now and I took him partway into my mouth. I guessed longer.

He groaned and smiled with his eyes closed. “Maybe three.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

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[turneradora]

Here are the press article from the Radio Times magazine.

Thanks again to Emma Jones for the written version ! 🙏🥰

Rutting in Rutshire!

Bouffants, bounders and creaking beds… Jilly Cooper reveals why Rivals is her favourite book (and shares the secret of a happy marriage)

‘Buckets of electric blue eye shadow, heaving shoulder pads atop polka dot and pinstripe suits, haystacks of bouncy hair, kept in place by enough lacquer to fuel a rocket – it feels like I’m back at school getting ready for the end-of-term disco. In fact, I’ve walked onto the set of Rivals, Disney+’s big-budget adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s 1988 bestselling bonkbuster.

We’re inside a huge restaurant in Gloucester, which is doubling up for a posh eaterie in the novel’s fictional Rutshire of 1986. Waiting to make his entrance is Aidan Turner, sporting a moustache to make Tom Selleck proud, in the role of TV chat show host Declan O’Hara. Other names on the call sheet include David Tennant as the cartoonishly named Lord Baddingham, Danny Dyer as big-of-heart, bigger-of-wallet Freddie Jones, and Alex Hassell as the polo player-turned-Tory minister and one-man shagathon, Rupert Campbell-Black. It’s quite the starry cast, but despite all the familiar faces in the room, there is an audible hush upon the arrival of one small, smiling figure through the door – Dame Jilly herself is in the building.

Later, in a quiet corner, she expresses her enthusiasm for the project in exactly the selfeffacing, giggly and gushing style you would expect from the creator of such scrumptious literary – and now TV – fare: “It’s miraculous!” What about the producers? “They’re brilliant, they don’t really need me.” This is clearly not true. With 45 titles to her name since her light-hearted guide to wedlock How to Stay Married debuted in 1969 and 11 million books sold in the UK alone, Cooper is best known for her Rutshire Chronicles, an 11-strong set of door-stopping tomes that began in 1985 with Riders and follow the antics of the horsey set in bedrooms and boardrooms, stables and swimming pools. Rivals, the second in the series, focuses on the very 1980s idea of a battle to secure a regional TV franchise. “I think of all the books I’ve written,” says Cooper, “Rivals is my favourite. The battle for franchises in those days was so strong. And people made absolute fortunes."

The ideas he presented were lovely and he was lovely. It just happened.” She grins. “Plus, the fact that he is double-barrelled, that’s nice.”

As is her priapic protagonist. Rupert Campbell-Black is at the centre of the new drama, as he is in the books, and was the one bit of casting over which Cooper exercised her veto. “I thought Alex (Hassell) wouldn’t be right, he wasn’t blond, but then I met him and… he is very attractive.” Campbell-Black is a composite of two real-life, double-barrelled men, Rupert Lycett Green and Andrew Parker Bowles, as well as the Earl of Suffolk and Berkshire, all of whom the author met soon after she and her husband Leo moved to the Cotswolds in 1982.

“I’d just moved to the country and met these heavenly men, they became great friends and and I was able to study how an upper-class man would behave there.” Do her friends mind appearing in her novels? “Oh no, they love it.”

Campbell-Black may have wall-bouncing charisma, but he’s not entirely chivalrous with its deployment. Is that OK? “People do behave badly,” says Cooper. “They certainly did in the 1980s. Rupert has good qualities. He’s lovely to his dogs, he’s a good MP and he adores his wife. They fall madly in love with each other. Lots of men are frightfully promiscuous until they find their true love.”

Does she believe men like Campbell-Black are at risk of being squashed out of society today? “Yes. When did you last see a fantastically attractive man on television in drama recently?” Hmm, Poldark? Another grin. “He’s in my story. I love good-looking, glamorous, funny, macho men.”

Cooper’s own great romance was with Leo, her publisher husband of 52 years until his death in 2013. She says: “Happiness in marriage comes from creaking bed springs, not so much from sex but from laughter. Well, a bit of both, but definitely laughter. He was lovely, funny, clever, full of military history and kind. He loved cats and I loved dogs, so we worked that out.” She is perhaps referring to his well-documented 1980s affair that rocked, but didn’t ruin, their marriage when she says, “Obviously ups and downs, but when you go through a down, you just hang on and hope it gets better”.

Cooper’s stories are all as raunchy as they are romantic – “I just like people to be happy,” she smiles – but in between all the muddy boots, labradors on mats and shepherd’s pies on kitchen tables, there are progressive layers to be found in both the books and now the TV adaptation. The female characters are strong and self-determining. “The women in those days were seduced, and were seductive,” Cooper says, before adding wistfully, “Beautiful men and women… and they didn’t fight so much.”

Have love and romance changed in the 30 years since the book came out? She sighs. “Half of teenage children are brought up without their parents staying together. It’s so sad. Happy marriage is the best recipe for life and if people can try to stay together, they should try to make it work. The world is very frightening now. Don’t give up on things easily.”

In real life, Cooper counts among her set Andrew Parker Bowles’s first wife Camilla, now better known as Her Majesty, of whom the author can’t say enough good things. “She’s a friend of mine. I adore her and I think she’s going to be a wonderful queen. She looks beautiful at the moment, she’s become very glamorous.” And, of course, a real-life totem of Cooper’s favourite thing, a happy ending.

”‘FOR JILLY TO APPROVE MY RUPERT WAS IMPORTANT’

ALEX HASSELL PLAYS RupeRt Campbell-blaCk

You were chosen from hundreds of possible actors to play Jilly Cooper’s romantic lead. Did you feel the pressure of expectation?

Initially, I wasn’t sure I’d get the part, I’m not blond or blue-eyed and I’m not from that world, but it’s important to me to live up to a certain Rupert-ness. To have Jilly’s seal of approval was very important.

Where did you go for inspiration?

I’ve met two of the men she based him on, which was helpful. But once on set, you put on your costume and start to feel it.

Or take your costume off…

How did you prepare for that naked tennis scene?

By trying not to get intimidated! If I did have nerves, that day was important as I had nothing to hide behind and it was a naked crucible through which to believe myself as Rupert.

With his arrogance and privilege, is Rupert a force for good?

It depends… He’s reaching middle age and rattling around in his house with just dogs and horses for company, and he’s realising that past choices aren’t going to end well for him. But there is a core of goodness there.

IT’S A PERIOD PIECE LIKE DICKENS’ DAVID TENNANT PLAYS

Lord Tony Baddingham

What was the appeal of Rivals? Before I’d even opened the script, my wife Georgia saw the title and told me I was going to be in it, so any element of choice was taken away from me. She had quite a visceral reaction to it and has been a champion of the whole thing. Did a little part of you want to play Rupert Campbell-Black? It didn’t really matter who I played. But I couldn’t compete with Alex for Rupert. I think Lord Tony Baddingham is a more natural fit for me.

Tony is the resident baddie. Do you have any sympathy for him?

He doesn’t see it that way, he’s just doing what he needs to do in order to survive. Objectively, I can see that some of the things he does aren’t particularly morally robust. It’s all Daddy issues. I don’t think Tony is difficult to make sense of, he’s very plausible. The characters all have drama to them, but they’re nuanced and make sense. You’re not struggling to join the dots, they’re well-crafted and that’s why Jilly’s books have survived. There is a quality in this work that makes it timeless.

Would these characters be believable in a more modern setting?

No, they are entrenched in the politics and mores of that era. It was such a specific moment in time – all that excess; Margaret Thatcher saying there was “no such thing as society”. It changed how people were allowed to think and certain people grabbed it, ran with it and wallowed in it. These characters all swim in that swamp.

The big battle in Rivals is to win a TV franchise. Is the story still relevant?

It’s not something we really have an understanding of now. When I first read the scripts, I thought, “Are the stakes of this going to make sense?” But it doesn’t matter what they’re competing over, it’s just who they are and that’s what drives them and that feels very alive and human.

What kind of portrait of 1980s England do we see in Rivals?

Jilly Cooper is a great chronicler of the human condition. It’s a period piece like a Dickens drama. You can marvel at how different some things were and how similar other things were. That’s part of the joy.

What did you love most about the 1980s?

I’ve loved rediscovering the music. I was a teenager during those years, so there was a lot of music it wasn’t cool to like. But some of these tunes are banging.

‘A WOMAN WITH RED LIPS KNOWS HER BUSINESS’

NAFESSA WILLIAMS PLAYS Cameron Cook

You were born and raised in West Philadelphia, a long way from Jilly Cooper’s Rutshire. What drew you to the role of TV producer Cameron Cook?

It was the script, plus how smart Cameron is. You have this black woman in a white man’s world in the 1980s, being able to run a company. She’s very fashionable, very strong, very grounded in who she is — and very comfortable in her sexuality.

She’s very distinctive. Did you have a particular style influence?

The singer Sade was a big inspiration for how Cameron looked, with the flicked back ponytail and the long braids.

Would you resurrect any of that era’s distinctive fashion?

I loved the high waists, the belts, the hair. It was all bigger, bolder, brighter. We don’t see as many red lips and nails now as we did back then — that speaks of a lot of confidence and sexiness, and being bold. A woman with red lips and red nails knows her business. Bring some of that back!

‘THERE WAS AN INSTANT TRUST WITH AIDAN’ VICTORIA SMURFIT PLAYS

Maud O’Hara

Maud doesn’t seem very satisfied with her lot as Declan’s wife and is very open to temptation… She is a very complicated, insecure, broken butterfly who exists on validation. She’s feeling down, she wants every man to fancy her, and her selfishness drives her to where she wants to go.

Had you met Aidan Turner, who plays your screen husband, before?

I didn’t know Aidan, but there was an instant trust. We barely talked about how our characters operated, we just knew they were existing in an English hierarchy, as this scrappy, passionate Irish family. We instantly knew where we were at.

Does Jilly Cooper treat her female characters well?

When you watch the whole arc of all the different women, by the time you get to the end, it feels like a feminist piece. All of the female characters play their politics out the way they want to — some get what they want and some get what they need.

Maud is very colourful in her mood and clothes. Did you have fun with your costumes?

Maud is more boho 70s than the others. The costumes did a lot of the work for us. As soon as we put on our clothes, it felt like we knew who our characters were.

I BASED DECLAN ON MY DAD’

AIDAN TURNER PLAYS Declan O’Hara

When you got the script for Rivals, did a little part of you want to play romantic rogue Rupert Campbell-Black, as opposed to Irish chat show host Declan O’Hara?

No, not one single bit. Alex [Hassell] does it better. It’s a best person for the role thing. There are very few Irish actors who can do Declan O’Hara as well as me, know what I’m saying? My eyes were always on the O’Hara prize.

How familiar were you with Jilly Cooper’s books before you were cast?

I remember dating an Irish girl who loved Jilly Cooper. She was in the atmosphere, but I hadn’t read the books until I started shooting. On the first day of filming, I got into the trailer and there was a copy of Rivals. We already had all the scripts, but we could use the book as a reference for tone. It was great to have it there.

Declan has quite a distinctive look. Where did you go for inspiration?

There’s something of my dad, who had a moustache all through the 1980s and 1990s. I lightly based a lot of Declan’s character on my dad — he sounds like him and has his physicality. Plus Declan is a dad, and I’m a father now, too. I felt I made a lot of connections.

Was there a TV interviewer or chat show host you studied beforehand?

Declan’s an amalgamation. There are some modern British presenters, but someone I went to a lot was the host of the American debate show Firing Line, William F Buckley. His show was political, smoky, quite serious, slow-paced and high-brow — all the things Declan would love.

You’ve been interviewed many times before. What did you discover about life on the other side of the microphone?

When you’re interviewing someone, there’s power because you can ask what you want, but it’s about building up the trust. If you just lambast people, you won’t get to a second season — people have to respect you.

These things are important to Declan. Even the word “chat” irks him slightly. Rivals is set firmly in the 1980s. What would you like to bring back from that decade?

The lack of telecommunications and mobile phones. As we see in the show, it forces people into situations that could be easily solved with a phone call. The characters can’t contact someone on the other side of the county, they have to show up unannounced at their house. There’s a lawlessness, a looseness, an unpredictability.

‘I MISS THE SHOULDER PADS’

KATHERINE PARKINSON PLAYS Lizzie Vereker

Lizzie is the sweetest of the local women, but she can be easily led by her Rutshire neighbours… Lizzie gets caught up with the snobbery of the world she’s in, and she does that thing of joining in with the crowd for survival. Then when Freddie Jones [Danny Dyer] arrives and they mock him, she’s chastened.

It takes an outsider to come in and hold a mirror up to these people. The married but neglected Lizzie embarks on an affair with Freddie. Did you approve?

They are both quite pure and drawn to each other for the right reasons, so it’s actually a positive thing. You want these characters to find themselves again.

Rivals is set in 1986. Have things got better for women since then?

My mother’s generation were more likely to sacrifice their talents for the sake of their husbands. I think that’s definitely evolved since the time Jilly Cooper was writing about, but it’s helpful to look back and see what still needs to change.

In your opinion, what was better about the 1980s?

The earrings… and the shoulder pads.

‘I’VE NEVER CLAIMED TO BE A HARD MAN’

DANNY DYER PLAYS Freddie Jones

Tech millionaire Freddie Jones is a lot softer than the “hard” men you usually play?

I don’t know where that comes from. I know I’m a working-class actor, I swear a bit and walk like a duck with a swagger, but I’ve never claimed to be a hard man. When I was in EastEnders, I wore a pink dressing gown. But this is something different and, for me as an actor, I needed an opportunity to look different. I don’t get many opportunities to do that. Even my biggest haters through their gritted teeth might have to accept that Freddie is a nice, watchable character.

Was that your real hair?

I wish. I had it all clipped on. What a bouffant it is! I’ll cling on to what I have for dear life, but I accept it. I’m a grandfather now, I’m allowed to go bald.

Freddie is the richest of all the characters, but an outsider in Rutshire. Is he the real top dog?

There’s a kindness behind the eyes of Freddie, but he’s a teddy bear with a bite. He has no desire to be top dog, but when he needs to put his foot down, he does. I fell in love with him when I read the script.

One scene, where Freddie and his wife are mocked by the Rutshire set, makes for uncomfortable viewing...

There’s an element of classism and other -isms in the show. As much as they want Freddie and his money around, they also look down their noses at him.

In 2018, you accused David Cameron of “putting his trotters up” instead of working hard. How did it feel going to Gloucestershire, the stomping ground of Cameron and his pals?

It’s not the world I come from. But this is set in the 1980s, we’re in a different era and environment now, but we’re true to how it was.

Freddie also develops a slowburn, hard-earned romance with Lizzie Vereker…

They’re both in marriages where they feel suppressed and don’t feel seen. Hopefully, the audience will root for us to have an affair, which is a strange thing as it sounds awful.

Do Freddie and Lizzie get a suitably Cooper-esque sex scene?

You’ll have to keep watching. Things take a surreal turn.

What was the best aspect of the 1980s? Anything you miss?

I think we have far too much technology now. I have children who can’t understand how we survived without mobile phones. I feel it was slightly less complicated in the way we engaged with each other: sitting down, making eye contact.

EMILY ATACK PLAYS

SARAH STRATTON

Your character, the wife of the Tory deputy Prime Minister, appears very manipulative and conniving. Did you enjoy playing her?

She’s a car crash, but she’s ambitious, smart and a bit sick of being told all her life she’s a ditzy blonde. Particularly at the time this is set, women felt there was little other option for them but to use their sexuality to get what they wanted. Characters like her are often written as unlikeable, but there are lots of hidden layers and vulnerabilities.

Her look is very much of her time. How did you go about creating it?

My morning pick-up times were the earliest of the entire cast. Hours and hours in hair and make-up — so much hairspray and backcombing. At my first fitting for costume, I thought, “I’m never going to fit into that,” but with a pair of Spanx we were good to go. And I bought some cheap 80s perfume, which I wore every day.

For one famous scene of naked tennis with Rupert Campbell Black, there are no clothes at all. How did that feel?

The whole cast were warned early on that there would be nudity and sex scenes, so you knew what you were getting into. The sex is integral to the scenes and the characters, and the tennis scene is very famous, so I wanted to get it right. Alex [Hassell] and I talked it through with the director, to make sure we felt comfortable. It was a closed set. I felt very safe, and I had a great spray tan.

Last year you made a documentary about the sexual harassment you’ve received for several years. Did you hesitate to take this role, or did you feel defiant?

You can’t win whatever you do. If you keep your clothes on you’re a frigid nun, if you take your clothes off you’re a tart. But I love my job and if a role I’m playing requires nudity and it’s integral to the story and I’m safe, I’m exactly where I should be. I’ve learnt it’s not my behaviour that needs to be looked at and changed, it’s other people’s. I’ve learned to take back the narrative that was taken from me — my sexuality, my body. These kinds of roles are fun. I’m still young and it’s OK to feel liberated. I enjoy what I do. And it’s Jilly Cooper – it’s an honour to do it!

Since filming, you’ve had a baby. Are you thinking about work again yet?

For nine months solid, I sat on my arse, ate peanut butter sandwiches and watched all of Downton Abbey. So I’ve had my time off, and now I’m back

[libidomechanica]

“The joys growing—whether did fret”

A ballad sequence

               1

The joys growing—whether did fret.     She was broughten afar: for another, which such discussion.     Now in patterned

discontented least; but which like home.     And, Julia, that struggle on his at all the waves out of     the leave thy will live with

Hoof and probably a millions live     by long been a gloom. The breeze me out there did save, should grow     old … I shall exclaim receive,

and I none. Now let us     go to thee, and in an object of seas, and me. Yet would     say: That is not take: I

list not manage sublime and Nail,     and still she work of me in doubt but I wandred years had     none of that with science

in this sublime, be happy morning     in me, my Muse! And every which in your mother’s hell:     yet Helene, love them as

the rustle in my own head, before     happy sending eye, double. Love great, which smart made cry,     no second is past prim,

silent, clear as I forgetful     of sword and mine for each soule a song something to her lips     and Clorox have know, breathing

cake and a voice right of books     at the nation’s reigne to the mail, lets faste, since breaking in     the taut holds, I long we

haven were made, shall obey thy     lying. Nothing in, and follow, quoth he, can vie with me     not. And do you know. And

bird We three; and longing, lustful,     secret oar and flips it malingers, sister as here, so     stream of great me be ten.

Such follow slime, nor would not grieve     to the made such a carpet as, this tumult of prey upon     your ne’er-cloying star!

               2

In that Oothoon weeps away! I     saw her brother, where Cupid fix’d in happy any other.     So make me forth; your hand, on winged speech, you gull part and     sang sweet. Star-like, no sword blows cold fire, love still permission—     in political dinners

which mine, a loaf of breathing     doth involve in her veil for then may I dare disturb the     parson claim’d superscription beauty fades away child-bed     taint the stars I have most enjoy’d, Man were a mulberry     and his noon. Below me,

they what is being mild, wearing     good. With the better the soothe my whole length to survives; up     in my sleeves, leaning helpless, at midnight’s shine because the     Noose of a’ the stars I have on so, you wrought him vp winter,     city, guessed him in

my beauty of love for all the     Sun … I open was seeking for your marges meet the wind,     the delight. The priests may turns with works on this forgot up,     get up, get you there, blush’d a sweet look on the day, cash for     a hundred to its case.

               3

Ah, wilderness welcome away!     No, no, my Deare, let bee. Hark when his feast, impetuous Love,     in term any or steeps, and legs are. Not the Tory, a     death and where dwell a well- built thou Gods, delight, aSTREA right     retires, where? For she thine

oath to gratify sensual     ear, mistress at you no more. Like as, to be blessing to     save all to see me sight. In political bottles I     make know that rubs its own cost you can replies, but silence,     and tears; a tap at this

day think of your days, that having     sun has not so long since best rememberment of my mind     spite of the dream too wide spindrift gaze on so, but have live     to caress, to fyll the Thonder of losing isn’t have in     her strange, that hole your upper

boxes too, daily new boots.     Like loosen it. Besides, that Arm in Armes he sleep, as I     grant, it and destroy there my goods to shaken by a fattened     with something though no coxcombry or conquer not, that     to delight not my luve

I know, while the poore, you with the     chains to bitten by this love once did bind to chicken all     the hill to brings of this mother grimly digging mortals,     do you know it, and if unskilled with reverend Rapp learn, and     walk one cup of windows,

and tears but their vain to Mire.     Ply vizard barks, a silent advice. Nights that beats you by     her heart fit to know and tea. You struck Fire; or dove, into     detail, my Muse is its country in Boston, a     metaphysicians, and each on

them doe loues thy perfect enough     for love me never reason of all outwent. And look     easily will sit upon the eyes first, but to touch your best     way one be put in Oneness of the world’s ways; yet each one     Beautie chastely let you

pleasure shall I know that merchance     and all silent among the lower ranged … There’s music     by the power of Wisdom’s simplicitie breathed joy and hastened     next is loose the gentle doom, and thought doth first night of     others caught he sat by

the high talk and say so, to give     me shepheard through her woes, and lose me, the new polished in     Dust, nor those rancid dream is done for you It maken fields,     and he rose that the morning. Aware of love you despise;     let crutches for me,

miracle-tones worn that for my sommer     breeze went o’er thy dewy bed! He is Syrinx daughter,     with some sublime and marrow of some but Stage-play-like dark     eye glancing and thy coin, for me, I love to a wife is     never was knights where more

bearable. Nor hour and they had     fill’d the straight—like this mild beam blowing! With the thin scream of     mosquitoes ascending every bellowed to publish things,     or best; a beauteous Then the Lark, to find, to ease me.     Be where to the woman.

               4

One create, that hole where I sit is nowhere. And     day could entwine continent! Like a guest waiting my age with her and breath of a softer     breed made her and then might and gay,

a manlier vigour; because I do louers speake? The     nightingale is dim vast vale of blood, transpires at the flattery? That, said I hate’     to me so brightly that have dispelled.

               5

Nor, in term I may stand therefore     I was a nice you grew habit—blows eight art refined—     aurora throw down swung, so

loudly the greatest wool, which show,     than Heaven and other flower, and what shall forsworn. And     for the Mind sense, my freedom

locking, for those king all things     in like despite of selfish blightingale. Stock or stone—     wherewith what gars your

best do knowable repose, ne’er     troubled. Because I doubt, the wretched pepper—althought? To     run this desk and place, but

let me confess threates, and if     I had wish to seeketh nothing both playe: such plenty: so     let me ending words to

his views to dry bone. It’s a’ for     the Sage of this Morning on this I will be on your quainted,     upon a printed

hyacinth is good to thee more     mouth; flower, and if these things which seems to his, and a     nomenclature as purest

vintage, doubt, if Love, if you’re luck     to tease on, she gan to set my wit is possibility.     Forests of Humber

would I hurt applied to keep the     ear of the souls shall not chatter hours is past mud, the lust     me so happen to love

no ruth for any weeping t’     have lied. As subserving around thee I’ll fight and his     ritual, althought to. She

swell in us find: I by the     virgin fill’d to force his essence; but I’m an image     satisfied—the Tombe did lie

deserts of spite; and that, once of     their Feet lips, soft snowy sentence, for a hundredth part of     the Dunghill. All burro.

               6

The will still all the white in his     head, which are the air, thy love, and the universe?—Or Thou     Jewels for he would I lov’d,

neglected by the green all the     chin, maud to her glamour disappoint of dried to-day. And     thee I so wondrous sweet

posterity undone by one     ballad gallant and find my ioyfull stowre. To her timber     cotes to his Munificence,

like things she’s bonie, O. Dwells up,     the Body and Fashioned water sending; nothing to the     objectionaries, on!

He too much, or lifting for thy     voice is that so as to see thee beseche so be told, that     you ought my heart blooming

star is a hard-ship that we are     to prove me, these theyr wonted smile, to us none come hither     matche? My meaning ere

are the Harmonist embrace of     heave my fill with a fear, a day of the worser spread, and     come it listen! Tell me

when they him castle and Tear—mother     passion, like ripe head just be in marble vault and from     thy brow to sage such is

foiled. On the right of Intellectual     Truth, could not divided be to take you I say     I’m nearing—i only

for a spring at their prayers,     I said he, all should be my smile, and darkly; but ye may.     That hole yours I wash of

all my soul. With reverential     petrol in silent croak at him—Hysterious birds unknown—     trees, a hostage, that thou

appears a question, when sweet hear     our love you It makes real, or hidden: which did saved my fingers     seek my love, but this

wings in a queer sorrows out then     with the humming a tear, a dark leaf, unless this, curled once     best, when the rain set early

urinating will put in     One. It was right the moonlight, it broke up to the palates     from thy beauty is told

of zest. I’d rather, or     brigantine, or wrap about the others child, and in their locks     of vowed haue gayned. My

vegetables, all songstress more solemn     sea to the language ever traverse of thy hart roote:     it was tendered to dine.

               7

Or she I was better than all his sight and shame.     Till hear men abideth fast, yts time. Retires, now will all other way, which the three, people     contrived to stray; your fine annoy,

our sweete Violet. Some parts of snow, when a lover     and meane the Bunsen burner, you see. They heart so sound the Courtesy and toss in wedlock.     Keeps catching isn’t true shall exclaims

her who want to shaken by this conduct, since Hamlet,     nor self-enjoyings of their follow’d with trees and loued Lilly, who has to enormous     joys in the honey, or a draft on

Ransom. I lay her face, ere well knowledge the Pez     Dorado, the somber move to a coquette—so very body be. On the troubled     you, dear I shiver into that mild!

But you new Vintage, or steep’d in delight; with that     kind. How can I shall approve twas but a broken my gain for heater you’ll find buttercup     in a disasters under the

dog for a wife. The scoundrel sovereigns along the     late: and the end of Honour me, this beuie of Ladies coupled in the rocks of Rockport.     With lullaby your sheepe, and we gazette,

having gowan, wat wi’ mae nor mix’d thy Dust     inscribed between us. Pretty birds do sing: Tell me, succour of the sea is crying     to see thee, her mother’s wind o’ the

shore, and the games. Then the worth it, after that is     a good Hobbinol, that of the long as foreknown and yet should shade shining. State, showing     the first is greeing, but a little

Mermaids single contrary I though nations wear     white and Attic shape before here! And I—too late, and thee from the heart and jumping-jack     pajamas in a Heap of my bad

angels, but first times twould be done instances spoke     that they conquest for which governs sent; for, to this form and sun, and looked age should have some     weep so sore! She site once a sadistic

displac’d that ever sweet Rose-bud, you will, and     the pasture-ground globe, hot burning near they, for as much. On your ponder of the flowers     gathered, Even them their mail and let

none, and Clorox have gone, hey ho the wise, and     tomorrow, and the ghost? By her scorpions— stifled town and only shepe, hey ho then he     wild Recess! But forth south and aye? Ah,

dress that I most death. Who hold your sleep tinkle home     is quicken’d and radiator grill groaned, gave me this hyacinth at hard sky     Up the ev’ning girls, the dauncing troth.

               8

Adieu,—farewel, and given     away child but in Wales. If to love south. And what I feel.     But, as love, for prejudice

it as if shed, presume to     the least part shall becomes the same. Perhaps, as if he had     sent the that held by ill

be. To see, walking will I ne’er     Misfortune’s bashful dawn the last fly to take the Foam of     mine eyes doth keepe: let me

like amorous excellent amongst     the eternity: Cold Pastoral! All the Blue Field,     salámán to him that’s

ended as seated on thorns and     lo, it is to critics, or are made of the sky, while ribbon     in forbidden fiers

warre: where this spight that vnkindly tow’rd     me, as this much my Love! Leaves yet doth almost ridicule     benumbing their heart is

not thy lying clouds and the Seven     a spare it, if there each was not extremely sick? This     to growne thy Bagpypes

as happiness of butter, I     long’d so heare apace: let her with me, and ocean,—that the     electric happiness

no sibyl in the world, and Behold     think that the was kind: and haunch the fate which he cliffs where     shadow, washed last great pittie

is, it mine after that one traverse     all worse the oar! To the motley mantle of my     carefulnesse, must leaves around

again all vital things she     noticed me from sea plain— oh might falls from my ears are     article at his gourmand!

               9

The turmoil of existence forth?     Oft gratefull way: I must unlearned you with glauncing     the cold men mighty Being

is form containing in the     must have known, not told of old. Had laid us as rather     is whirl, a ceiling Lips

open’d in deep desire breeds     that may never should her mothers with sluttish time younger     men; And should I ween, so

the sun! I lost recently so,     a virgin bliss destroy the Starrs, althought or for innocence     and so I cannot

divided be in Colinet.     Eye, robert Burns: know it, but thinks my luve o’ my kisse! Yet     were rounded with your day

for, and lean, watching and anxious     train fire, and distant stremes that my Muse would see; thy     glorious frame: the sharply

gryde, uch wound of wrangle think that     now at erst: they fill and black, an’ it’s terrors and fire? Twas     beggar and another?

               10

A patient elm, leaning human     heart and gleam of her ye together: one week, then, on a     deserve ourself a-stirrup

for love for May: and strive to     that clos’d my invention be ruled! Or grave-damps fallen winged     speechless with the winds before

my state and I rejoice by     the trip and are they had so much my soule doth bow to Niobe     did lere. Then in hand gallop’d

a-fields, and Courages—why     call’d for a pint-sized journey. We questions the wrapt inflections     counter, struck his mother,

but ah! To smashed lasse passion     that tongue to wayst, till withered, and hate; since comfort,—white birch,     glinting machinery and

looked on the morning, and brother     as if it seem to tell you made lovers by him; and     Theotormon broken showers,

and that slides alone in the Spring     is done. Said to the ambulance at Maud is sweet decay,     as when you will I

am, or wrap about me shatter     his manner was about in the world is wot, upon     what peace, which open shown.

Above as half seriously     proud; at last, sat by the bay like a tedious zeal or     love or be proud; your love.

But, ah, she was an idol show,     than ours, although the sun- flower. Your state is endeavour,     to saue the night wrestlin

wind! I beg no sin certes it     condition. Distant glance whose tree, was neuer sonet song     after that’s sae meikle

this same too, reader! How their heard     unto the cause the bay estuaries fleck thee to make     young Eulalie unto the

yellow hair of raines spred; she witch’s     life? For tombs and round of you, fair, kind of what euer senses     all: Aurora was it

ever the king’s sun to erase?     And this arm of folk at the Foam upon a hill to mee:     I pyne, he rode by sap:

but which done, setting tiger, and     expended breathing can do; the widow insisting tressed     Brooke doe bathe young

Lochinvar is in the lily lea?     I doubt thou canst the Brain green leap, and the silent advice,     were furled. Nay! For the

fruit; but certes it conduct, sincere,     bubbled, till the day to be a blanket to meet decay.     Love often, when you

watch may sit, in royalty. The     Sun did most thou hast so much refines from the dirt, for such     these word were soft Sh!

               11

But, right in view? A water the     shepehooke hath the morgin’d of money, that soul seeks. When     did the Lord Lochinvar.

Two lines my wanton babes have wended;     I have ye wi anither room. Worst or gentle Eulalie     by us; compare

with the women if unskilled, that     was liberal by peace, and die and crushed the Court of dewe, yet     hath charms, had laid down as

love, all this merry grow the cannot     reach’d the bee forswonck and in the wet, still hear and despair?     And from death the rain,

has such as the queen with secretes     its beating sheaue, cockel for earth! What time do I not     run. I love you by heav’nly

fires in its sky, and give him     asham’d to be a woman, said I, beats lightlest boye,     however doth impart. Flashing

remove mountains drive that which     no one brought a glimpse of wintersect and time-past, known. To     bear take my rights have known

worth on Fancies, open the that     lovely Pussy you have I not grieved at his fair, do you     forth a tawdrie lace. That rubs

in the holy well: at entrance     Theotormon hearse. Rich, nobler with dindon a lunatic     commission, oh Thou hast

lullaby the lips. Take the rain     falls cool, and made by looking voices of vowed haue a squint     eye: let no Hand our dayes

run but they him clayme with faithlessness     of mine eyes, and loathsome can Willye his body solvent.     My haruest hastily.

Thou need’st thou dare company is     Heaven to hell in vain? May be just be still permission—     in political dinners

which should transfigure, so lewdly     bent: ’-yes, I dash for lovely maid! A librarian     in Calcutta and chasing

stain both moue. And Pain like your     day forest, there with mery thinking dais before me to     sleeps so peace for who will

make her mesh, and a thorough winning     Reed his pass, and heretic, or to stay. Each nights bright     and cut through not separated

and policy in love,     and that shake a flowers with ease. Thou new. This to greater     woes, the eyes is holy!

               12

And take things to half smiling crest.     They did play, and the boy who objects, that mild silver saw     you, except the maidens

loth? Not one to whom he might alone     I am shoveliness. Mute, motion; if in     convenient up the Humour

ever compounds from the blue sweatshirt     with some have to wake her weel against Lovers fallen     worthy prayers, I said,

The devil hath mo pence; and     entremets’ to piques a lass, and lascivious end: for     I brought in place, but forthwith

unripe corn, and flower; like     a hawk, an’ it without a bright fill volumes with buls and     he had no human the

sun was soone week, then, come—so sure     his eye. Would your arms and he threw the priefe. Iron time, and     thee. The dying farther

than match her—look’d and makes the days     and the lurid flow of terror and tasting the new pride,     nay, proue, some pleasaunt Pipe,

whych made the middle hath bred heart.     Thine in the earth bold Love will be, as form no preacherly     heat, am I. When I

the dreamed too, in a tree. Come little     town you rise the shrieue: now carefull verse: and come try     me, who doubt. The worlds to

fancy her begot such civil     war is cruel madness only a few favoured every     that from her sharply stop,

and more they bell rang, nor ever     to gay, lambs we purge, even the heart of pale and London,     you lying cloak and read,

Thy beauteous earth enfolding strange     love, that laid down low, of comfort, that which they share it, spare     it: come try me! Blood, amang

the violence jewels, and you     love, and making of. To see how a flowers and holy     order as dew, impetuous

comprehensions, before his     Lips thee, and pray. But whether, or breathe his body be. Has     a kisse. Inside wall, I

fear my tongue, and love in Fantastique     Triumph I’ll softly it rainsoaked garbage. When     Adeline, right have me; and

less bound thee when dread in the best     class,—aurora’s spirits things; and my shrinking sometimes in     the trouble the same pass,

yours is a bee, my freedome lorne,     my youth and channels poure out to be by bigots shaken     down, as we lay at birth,

or I tomuch because her peccant     part; this with Azra to the Wine of use, political     yours to call thy feet

question’s harlots; and in praying     the face, all the dead night is good eating child: yet     I wanna be your ring?

               13

Who hath nypt my state, your mind assumed     a man right start eternal hues: her lost two course to     be hearts beating of

Michelangelo. But laissez aller’—     knight be my debility. Would Prudence, not unperceive     in the flew and cause

his berth, tis under on thy soule,     I did not thy face. Sylvan his voice and no Wheat, am     I to the was by a

Tombe did get mars and pledge, while ech     turning, miss Raw, Miss Millpond, smooth lips crimson soulless love     my power; and I by

thee on a dance upon my distress,     the race is well apayd? Moments for less heart serene     with your siluer rayes, o

how should it be displayes, and wildly     fling its curious world I were right eye saith truffles.     Though not intoxicated

homage yields, and sin no mo     delay. Now raspberries spread, at seventy yeare, let me     ending. There was awe in

the breeze me out and more, drink a     glance whose sport me from the little great sound my griefe. The mind     to females steered throng. He

stair, with face nor priority.     Adieu my death the best all the years. For few of the wind     fall upon the bridegroom

stood one way and after step. Where     is not else—it is gone. And hether Wise or bowre, both flesh     as words to faults by lies

as Heaven, my absence exiles     sunshine is tied to me’s a syncope or purple Cullambine,     working of

Michelangelo. Of fayre Rosalind     hath massy plate as briefly of meetness to beguile he     is fled, of desire!

               14

From all the Wine of your soul, when     I was afraid. Dropping furious frame, take me to his     body I love in weeks,

I breathed his thunderstand—be dumb!     He that forth the inside your own door, and even by light     way I may, a dinner

and checkmate, but could be found she     guest hope away, leauing noon is torn by the gibier, but makes     the sang sae merrilie; their

ever-flourish upon the morning     lie in one day to be vext her with numbers dwindle     drops head inviolably

blue latitude of their pursuing     hopes of your hand, the silver, or a clanging life—he     saints doth sleepe. Towards boye: him

Loue with his grave stolen what came     with you a places, wilderness, would guidman delight! I     mourn no more prevail, the

sun is daily knockest at the     summer-time in a choice but there, that once that glorious     rage, tortured like that blowes

to be mistaken, Our life,     snatched on mine afternoon, the wind; in winged speed no more—’ such     logic will instrument,

which might as a shell, a turtles,     unseen, we sick of a softest dream with for whom I long     prey: they close round him, if

here be, which, where:—by stirre still a     farthest bird of Honour friend of racoon to his owne ioy     there for laik o’ gear ye

light and singe, forcing with hoary,     darke, sincere, but get a weed sways in a choral cave of     you, your body be. But

I could see; the dead?—Thy death does     the chickadees and bubble’s shame, that is a lad were thou,     O Love said: The end of

warm until he star that sat in     the floor, her smooth and hearse. What a beautiful, exactly     pure scourge; there within the

titmouse a Bow, but welcome away,     dead sands upon the turn’d fiend in battle on the street     to traveler clears ago.

               15

Music the blue string; ah! Oh might     cheap hotels and one words to let it bear upon a place.     As fast as the greater, as the tree, ye’ll slip frae me like     so much, is not one stand, my tears. A sigh? Jamie, come downe     thy right in? Then blowes

then might from sleep on so fondly     laid, and you know by thy purity; between her heauenly     raced, at seventy yeares, whether Wise or I a boy     who should shade hears they sent a ring, and Cowslips, dear! The clock     that all, I shall sorts of

a pitteous blame him, will reverential,     glad if for half so dear! Till Spring red, round sunshine     from his sighs, your friend at twilight, when clear springs of     shadow, like him which she know as spotless in a Prayer,     and the flowers gathered

and balm, or poisonous flies as     rather men too: for a ring a pilot like watch at first     wits thine Image where Time’s hate, be happy lovely in their     Lips. He that guide. Eye on what Heart alone, and deep, whereas     inside of Honour turns

to his own rose up from the low-     tide leave thy doubt thou swells like accomplish’d, cheerefull way:     I must I pass overwhelming question make faults conceal     it innumerable, clabberable, against mindless     palates tingled; call the

more sense does not her, thus seate. All     creatures where to curl round to eternity, and me where     are desire, of which quarrels move, complete the waves a     lasse not the eyes of emotion, felt on the cookery     could never with his merry

plough by autumn, and she of     the danger wonne or war’s quick, we are the severall was     seem’d his breaks a sick man’s gown, and the same my bundless bound     back her Head hung with lullaby, the nut if, afternoon     hover round she held the

times, and all sung by virgin fancies     bought to the chains to bitter seem’d thaw to a dying     fall beneath his wish, according on Cannobie Lee, but the     Keyes be bare; and in which I let my father doth forest     will deny! Who buys for

not thinke thy music the burro.     With poppies orange loves by, untied her eyes sparkle in     the goal yet, do not an experiment. But when he felt,     Away, quoth you along we had not be gay Sir john, or     matter, I lay on; not

the fly rejoin’d—’She was a Catholic     because I had never bough brittle to find. The     unsuspect best or Branch: Each Porch, each wish we never again,     his reputed Son? A patient far too higher variegate     the breeze lifted in

praying the suffering here and taught     shade heard the shoes turn the Good, defining all that laid your     most Rabbis Jewish that he kils his fiery race renew!     That broke up to see men let the leafless brook’d, which, rank     and yell: Get out my head,

which flourish specially upon the     seals upon an England, grew warm this morning. Ah, when I     touch! When your Gowne, as half a year droops upon that never     swell? Like a well-wrought it was not here by side, by staying     in my gazing them all:

have not touch entirely. That     shall no more—no more, bubbles of my chest, I wanna be     your mother at morn. Beauty fair Ellen of the Door of     Peace. Then for one hundredth part of prey will. That, at most clouts     than Gold he crushed them in

season gone. The flockes doe surcease:     and out with that is She butter. Is wanton play in     love, and their best; an age and all its resound: ye care na     by. There i have seen hair. Can seemed a mortis erunt.     Suddenly from thy greefe I

dye, hey ho Bonibell, tripping     cloak and for Love. Yet these late I find a mulberry grow     they have not matter with a sigh, and thinges of folly,     or Girl! An innocent, for Thou hast though it answer him     not thy ioynts be wed, or

wed a fair perspicuous occupation.     The awful the middle of her shepheards God perdie     and arrow eyelids can it be poor, and the Pincke and in     the laye, and grave to the Back of a little Merman! With     Damaske rose or if it

has gotten tree, and sight, the day.     Book both moon and the muttering with something shut up from,     then the sun, her woes, and Favour of the end of love each     of ages have quietness and ever less. The grassie greene     cabinet, the nightingales

divine ASTREA is our face.     That huge stalks as that is only a few speciall greete? The     dooryards and lithe pestilence, with money, wrapped into folly     and poor; then of heater you’ll find salue for years the rent,     and fade as he saw her

turning cake and gleams are all faster—     infusion to prepare a lily, and Shadow movest     thou, silently postpone, untied her head if here no     miracle-tones for me, I am amaze. Now what is     not that which flower range.

               16

If thou art may be sayles, which may     see both heart that kydst not, as banish’d, I will, to the     firelight the murmured dawn

are full of late by the lefte to     wastes to crim. When swift delight winds the ladies cough loudly     Thenot light, Ask why God

made monastic voice is o’er thy     will gaze, till the night woodland walkest will have live, and small     remain the dream. Ye’ll fasten

to perceiv’d, spread, until I     see both of kings of the snow I dreamed of his Worshipped into     my heart blooms each day.

Nothing up a Deity; but     shade noon-day, ye wadna been worth it, and Lip forbidden     fields, and woman, you come,

let bee. The glittering payne to     Wámik—Oh Thou Jewel utter; I have I which, when the middle     of glorious frame?

               17

My little on waves shepe, hey ho     gray hair, that to music from your breathe hill-side—and marrow.     Yet, your state, which with Sally

Brown, Small is flower, and     revisions, to keep in t the first to name mystic musick     match’d with his sighs and butter,

like stone boats. Faire eyes have caught     as a Nun breathe noticed me—she fresh and Nail, and a maid,     every which must leave

posterity that is nicknamed boy     I fear and still it indeed the end of emerald and     with whole little day-bill

and the Prize, and in another’s     night, and twirls. And rainy days are mine. And curving arms, who     dare conversation in

his pilgrimage. Come away dyd     wipe. As grow comes glowing! What is pure creeks we may be clearer.     I to my chiefest

are the monarch’s plays an evening     marriage.—Or fell as you deserts of dawn the land? That suckling     to be a delicate

my after all, whose frequent     rainy days are made me so liefest Nymphes, as a deserved     a head, and me, if

I should convey, and tuned the costume.     I call thing else stand thy fancied sigh, and seem in a     row and you with its tip

gum, pungent, cold straight—like the Optick     Nerve, I wounds thee, and drooping, gardens, and still the Body     perfume. And child: now

I will shepheards delight retrieves     from the Mind stiles where again. Of Honour frown—that kydst not     lift her now, i’ll leaves dry.

               18

When, oh then, you watches, and take     the end; that euer was radiator griefe. I that rubs its     crime. Since sweetest Silvia, let’s goe away her scorpions—     stifled to gaze toward

parable star in the pains out,     we men love, whose only she peered the leaves, nor these wall, I     will see her second for such as out the fount of my days     only a harsh and faster—

infusing here. That his Embleme.     Then bloom them to shake loosed our day will bloud congeal’d toward     the window, half shut, an eye in the teacups, the buff, all     front it shall telling on

his Crown, the things; and frog eyes attached     to grasps her violet eyes and which infinite? Seeing     blended, or movement, stepping from remembered in prince; yet     wait a sick of the whisper,

tenderneath to me for such     easy terms. And onward, as the grape; and you gave measures,     and welcome, with me, would lye, and decided think about     her ear. Grass upon her

forever. The rurall sorts of     seas assigned as was longed in these responses given away,     for he giues play. Past whirl, a ceiling pointed hyacinths.     Love them riding that

all in marble men as place to     my thought to ask the hollow the polished in Knowledge croupe     the Maker is daily breast. Because there like a hawk, an’     it wit thee. Pennsylvania

humps on endlesse regarde, though     of you asleep in, wherefore. Far-off sail away? Nothing     shrubs, how God will I begins to awake, and their     endlessly, and you were possess’d,

desiring to Spirit     all the Pheasant ayres of view from its spires love greater woes     the bargain ye wadna been boast how I admitted though     my heart them doe loues vnbridled

love often liuely chere. Ye     geck at me in war, was neuer thing comforts into my     eyes, a gathering all bring to my brush came song after     supper, you will turn the

Hilt, catch for love, nor taint or mistress     never in one by one measures: Innocence! See, you     take front proper less, and Sops in winged speed i’ the sure I?     Out my pure eastern hill

Hey, rose, her love return. You seene,     or wrap about him, like a thousand Virgins, the Bankrupt     worse than I can form, dost thou art, in seeing man’s gown, and     sicknesses, turning ere

will so early light of such soothe     of bright hence unto the latest ties of all light to the     Eske river twittering what here Adeline, and fleeced too     tall peeling palace shower,

and sin! Soon as that shall grass     tips wave, believed its that has its clue? Ye wadna been one     yet America. The sheep are lockèd up; but show the islands     that strife; one droned in

the sea. But show; an hundred favorite     aggies. But a trice; the flowres: bring more ingenuous     wherefore the flower, and cloudes han all that full     cold blowing a herd-maid

gay; who labour mouth in arias     of hours, to build its nestlin wine, the sweet in ilka     groves, where pains hand on my loveliest interjections for     you call on myself rounded

and with a slow offence, this     union your dreams, so sweet in my Song no marine being     bridegroom said to the snow tires, of which Plato. Of this     is my veins. While my feet.

               19

We may be much more beauty lay.     Must have slain. To every streets found alive, our chiefest bondage     made that do believe

to those who as ye may. Are so     I won’t, but ebbs like a lad were to save his face to waits     the way to bene so

pale Thou messenger on a printed     page. Over the will put in world out showers. I lookt     to flight. I the fond ware?

It is there not; the low-tide leaves     linnet fondly to-day with oyster-shells before than what     substantial awe we watch

the duckling that wilds, from the pills     the burro, too soft snowy sentences, the twilight, in     one yet hath been sae shy;

for laik o’ gear ne’er the summer     air is of no tygres kindled, cool’d? Without miscarriage;     and unnamed it see the

victor’s brow and looks make coffee     hot let me love your heart, are you love each wish she hears the     brain; forsters, brother, but

gaed wi’ Jeanie to the weather’s     life? Reckless, as I think they seem filled with she now I know     my head. Mysterious?

               20

Heart, my socked in the thou, sweetly     were unobjects the lily lea? Our ease, chain’d upon a     work nothing. Borne alone.

               21

Either and be silence and gem.     And through your setting look and all her altar, O my     Prodigal, complete the way to his team, we mortal blemishe     may least part I can’t feele no wit can praised, but burning     of Time, like a girl, said

was angry howl, and cedar pole,     that is got upon our ne’ertheless a married each man’s     art and if unskilled, my thigh almost day—creating point,     a dreams which was in the bark o’ yon rotten tremble? If     you play, the same time to

prepare and I. Stairs neighbors had     hears, with the ox? For which did steady Writing; for those kings     that dwell apayd? Angel of being human heal; the holy     collar mountains may bring starry dare his shepheards God     of straws, ever a flames,

as a thorns and destroy their long     been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but live, and     portraits from her dress it that you do not chatterie is: she     sweet as stride: here was not say they willingly the heart would     I hurt applied them he

be found us, and gay, so the     same, else laws the ghosts, and thought him, her smile, like Thee. He that     trees seem but o’er thousand mark; that in my ball rowme to this     was the quietness honour thy voices dying flower     shut did him after scoop.

His Head, turn’d this tumultuous     Shout of Soldiery behind youthful friend I should indulge     man but attendant lord, one word the halted on me; I     shriek if a manlier vigour; because they may furnish. Days,     and bed as the summer

drive to presage the town where the     night, alone, so name, such spies, the waves flame growing itself     from its earth: so good, is not wrong mine, you cannot last where     is not bear thy sore harlot here. So liefe: but now, young     Lochinvar. Singing of the

Sea, who in his beuie of thralled     to be a word were metamorphos’d strange, that mild silvery     bellowed to sing, or fleeting souls refin’d, the gem so     small mine eye is it thus keep in one years had the bonie     Sail and coal, and I none.

               22

Arrive with me not follow Echo     of my tongue: when I still as a softer clime had fall     night to the crush it breed

more than a Raphael. Dwell addrest.     Ghosts, rejoice by the same, and hate, whose sessions and shame;     however succeed? Then

come quick, we are the ladies with     thy frozen bosom in vain: gemms in a dreamless, and so     she said: The end is the

village strength and longings to say     what a beauties part; and then his art can spie; take me day     for, and might times, and must

be! Which it down low, when the soothing     is ever new; more like a coin were soft, her the while     yet all along weeds among.

Lo the same. But the bumpers     a thought a glimpse of the might cloud of it to walk about     in Vain! Smooth wright. ’-No day

would well her on a bank, bush, and     high; lips she’s bonie Bell. Of all in heart them more dear; no, the     blood, and his bow, there, there

mouth in arias of time of     one such man witnesse doe not think, he stood will put into     wash and lyfe. And chafed his

good about for this is than this     Morning, will not much. Ye living gentle doom is in the     leave to the Bier; his

Discourses; and if you are the great     me write the Parrot—or in your mouths shoulder even my     gain for her, but which she

did lere. And loving firmly to     the Pussy you have tarried, that breakfast the Passionate     balloons rends as many

a million’d accident; it     suffereth longing coy, keep close shall her obteine. Where gone? Sharp     scratch what reliefe: but oh!

               23

As that foes by and an encore.     Gaunt Gouda in the patient. But it is what waste, is laid     it; ’ a kind of moan and

the race. A bigger blended some     acids with either yellow not wholly father value     on a dewy hills of

things that festers meet, old with a     golden closer than unseeing, soone be proud, yet flutter; I     have all discharged. And are

puppets, Man in hid wayes to be.     Mince, my Corinna, come True. Appear, be better angel     is said I hate half shut,

and Sally Browne, or pink, of no     greatest wool, which Aurora Raby? She is your mind hath     he skirts. All view of the

stream, we may, and all where where the     soft pipes, play is got upon the bell. Until this morn? Until     this power to whom

thou hast not see’t? Your tender-song     in or the pretie Pawnce, and taught thee. A love were none my hurtlesse     byrds are no caress,

an innocent, dozes through some     splendour. But even boat, the Woodes can words could not find     out thence commonest morning

dog and gently description     even I in pure, she has always written: Take the smallest     children chair, its ropes

renneth this hand while ever warned     well, whose vapor can hears nor can tell? A voice is the thou     sprung his bonnet and miles

to stay. Your mouth keepe: and if     for he of the Mind grove where goat-legged buyers the musks, the     siller, he danc’d wi’ Jeanie

doat, and are not lose no two     spirit, until Max’s hind less tabernacle is made me     good humour such rejects.

               24

Can that hidden rills float hear. Cast     up from the sponge drinks it up: mine own women play it Cuddie,     were marriage-makers, and eke you so applause but faithful     steps pursuits and pillow,

that with thee. Inadvertent brush     came like him whence remove; therefore, till the end’s gain’d, whatever     was smashed dust, and timbrels? Lo how shoulder bare her sailboats     they told me to gaze:

but one respect, thoughts lay with me.     And chain-smoke that tents the low vibrating her mammie’s wark,     and bright, and wild white. With fine bed that’s upper think they share,     to lead inviolably

blue latitude! Now leaue to me     here, in a foreign count no mo delay. One afternoon     and earth with myne though she dream, where we long alone through? Wide     from his immortal body

be. And the Cord fitted thus     is a beautye I wear what Muse would not for great torments     earlier daysleep, my life he doth will make me Christian-name     was veil’d, yet we weep for

stop as the village is not showers,     and come, what red mouths than her obteine. Yet that proue, some     disguised pleasure still my arm about it; as, if more, replete     wither’d with my

devotion given to be borne day,     shall cease; whether now, and where I’ll love theme: While minds and the     last I lay on sea-ward Quantock’s healing up. Ah, dread out     the earth, and Socrates?

               25

Angle of the passions and drove strength, nor soul rejoice     in midst of body rocking Nymphes did not pin her self. Passive you there with coffee     hot let me behold as air! Her joy illum’d my brain; our foreheads globes of lonely     men in garres the eyes gave itself verdantly budding Boy, or too nice, since; no doubt     thou liest lie some ruffles to graciously

proud rather brother is conversion of the     self-enjoyings of Love again, only takes on the lurking here and put claims her blinded     thing house of Gold! Ask why. For man thoughts are drawes to the moorlands dress willing is spred;     she thing, artful, happy’as I came too, daily new boots. Sea, salt, estrange, for the little     month, your mind there, talking with wonder.

               26

I was angry howl, and, where a     boulder quite literated from a dream. Now though ladies     do show us thine, because

you eft with thing the green-painted     hyacinth at board and crushed to rehearse. And I love,     therefore. To fyll the daisy’s

side, by Natures’ Eyes. For islands,     maintenance, I thought their severall was allowed in motion     has been a tenement

which might be my lover’s vow,     despite of each our youth shut in your day to increase, enough     it rings, samite shot.

               27

A gathered, “Even the city.     One of your own opinion of her can tell? And where death     does rustle in the other’s

wheel where the spheres, Thine in the     night, stray or nightingales divine, entrailed with old     Benbow; and hether and

curtain moment at once is therefore     that all, all wounds that guides the Soul was said to touch, and     so heare a newe daunce in

a through the bell, and lived for the     called The Witch. And we drowns with tann’d and we touch, and in blackout,     Madam white, sleep, my

lovely thee to a Shrine, god being     better Effort lifted from nature’s a finer silken     skill how does sit so

language woo: take my sad and     responsibilities I love you keeps me from all worth and     all roundels fresh new smelling

ear attends to her demands     our cartridge—or fell vpon my chiefest are, till the end’s gain’d,     what you to pray, that ken

me, that we all that my rugged     up my sommers beyond my distress with that house door; she     took her soft, her her birth

another Grain set early morning;     in vain Religion? And thy Dust inscribed the here a     Range of cloud and riots

trace the blue and sweeps not; she countries,     our marges meet, a Hair, drove so many life when, even     and thought, hey ho grace

First Hair, and I switched at tablet     and by my young, although a favourable spite, whose shrowds;     how should be my love, who

like the house where the edge of her     impetuous course, with light beneath? Shall I were the luve wi’     the salt lawn in bare wed?

               28

Of whales come, chiding women com’st     the catalogues dramatic at least, imperious birds     and my warison; ’ scott,

they renew’d by care. Which servility     in the new world convey’d, sincere, and by my sigh,     and wasted tears; it isn’t

even now I call for the human     forget the wrinkled streets that men does the days and for     him. You have love for my

verse into a small live air so     love no mo delay. Where storm, and lonely chere. You know she     is already no one

merchant’s ships have dined on thee. Of     someone would pant, at present moment of my Julia did     unlace he gave me despisd,

and I’ll get cold flood of her     be your eyes are little rivers swim the wide spindle in     the records of juniper

enfolding far peace march in     May, in my breast. Through as yet this Urne; so trembling voyces     siluer rays. Made one temper’d

to the roar and of movement     which perhaps it may not brave day with four garages and     do thereby, the arrows

on my chief powres are bearable:     but world the bell, and how should have been sae smart made green     leaves of you that is about

my kinsfolk pray in love and     indigestion Whither hae her ail might feet him when other     Maiestie, where your infant

ripe for all her the same. That I     oft haue behold the best acquainted page. Mixtures, on the     seemed I, my spirit, and

he not bear thy delight. His bow,     for Jewels for ever the kids down until I seek her Heart,     which prove me, your have hearse.

Bring how shall we for many thinke     that thou may’st marry Bromion said, The devil, wooing keeping     up a Harp, between

us and oarlocks for love. Life     of joy with she may procession than Pittsburgh. With what sense     or love? From thee hence I

was danger wonne or less, dumb till     the hinny he’ll lead to the land is the Rain to tell, which     is persuasion; since than

come for my life it was replies,     very was disclose or Branch: Each Porch, each our maladies     shall be one holy books.

               29

But if his lady-sisters hast.     I peeled bits of the King. Soon as ASTREA’S praise my hand. Scott,     who practice. For weeks, I

breathed with a desperate     Presbyterian. Art the Mayfly is not dig so deeply had     sail, with white; where I spun,

and though we can I shall no more     love decrease, chewing airs. You heare all are break from thee from     meeting sea. We shall call

thy you of the sees her hearty     Purpose, were wound you know not harp’d upon your head look, for     priority, he neither

red nor seene thy wing, and their     flock, the count it shame. There are sweet kisse; but his regarded     curls all those red earth she

known. The window-panes, the siller,     he canna hae luve to bed, sweet floor the lower in its     own. Comfort,—ah, it isn’t

hard to make the late August     midafternoon, like one day is a stare; and Jack on her e’e,     as thou awake, it tore

the could I wed already, know,     I thought to life’s love in his hand. Does not even of which     nodded to tuned it was

wonted with Time and Nature on     me, O: may ill avoids the reply to teenish marble     cold floods o’er the silent

sapphire-spangled her little     aside, nor left an orphan; left my little; but to master     there, blush, and by this

same look up with the rising     dispraises be to show John bull some holy time our virtues     and faire Mother dreams athwart

a creatures the timmer o’     yon rotten to dry bone. Pain, yearning. With such the receding     din past when you wilt

their roots too—but whether and a     lustre in senses unknown? Some have not said was hardly     see to say, close meek trade;

and for Chastisement, of monstrous     earth beneath? A man and true’ varying here.     But, more rich reward glide.

               30

I said, but the whole when the making corn wi’ mae     nor me. And with capsules in its dry String again, adhesion pure as still on Menie doat,     and all wealth you, the more’s the room

the way to see the triumphs and she will the skirts     that which gaping logic will the villain felt their endless bright every well: at entrances.—     Trees, sycamores blazing eyes

grow by the boggy depths of time, sylvania     humps on the place. And play, a manlier vigour; because his sweet spring, as swallow, the     unnamed boy on thee. Your sight. All you

are the lounged goddesse plain, till I pawne yon spotted     Lambe in the deem’d to a thousands, from you there was the low vibrating my pype, vnto     my way to their flocke, forcing travel.

               31

While thus I turned myself the parent     breathed for woman colouring shoulder and fair Twinnes     gold, when thy cheek once and perfect beyond here’s nestlin     wind! Oh Thou Jewels pour—oh!

Do I dare disturb the universe     of blizzard and piety, or a greater gloriously     her first that places, and the Pen of many eyes     than our coat so soon; as

yet thoughts like the sky-lark shrills. Yet     asleep I dream a rich in your best is ratty and that     July 21st plainness of his Pride alone I am     becoming hand in what it

is about the Treasure the danger     in red and bear the Hall! And in a frocke of late     schoolmaster heart, my home. Within the very first did stealing     up in a choice but forty-

odd befell; till hear his sect     is right alone; since barr’d with a ring above the far side     of gold,—twas Cupids cold Aurora deem’d innocuous     occupation. Take down!

Sicker make somehow echoed to     scathe. Half seriously, and set him up a lower, and     moss. Like Anthony’s by Caesar, ’ by those on the might, it     is wide is for my good

estate, whose Christmas game: and a     lean. Bodies marr’d thus thou shalt have slain your round the sun gutter     laugh at the learn it, I hae seene to come one long woo’d     youth are artificial,

and I, that never knee. All honor,     or to happy, honest, stain. Pan may I do croud, since     sweet the patching Sleep robb’d me of use, politic, cautious,     with the truth be bride of

quiet as the finesse does     meditating of to pass. Ah, poor losse regarded Darnel     with secret tears but a feint. The little trace the Heaven     pleasures but as it no

fair cousin without miscarriage     in losing mirror are one: so shall excuse the iron     time to prey because it flies, and after frequent before     says: all kinds, maintenance and

but that, out of Nightingale is     different faith, hopeth all the wiser Muses! So he sighs     behind, the rurall vainer of death and with beating pomp,     nor soul, inexactly.

               32

The inside of Humber did fume,     and thus she. ’Tis Friendlessly, we’re tapers to cost you through     the little breeze in the

wood a Piggy-wig stood where to     print age, goethe hart: dumbe Sleep like the meadows, woods and earth, and     beare, not I. So clear springe

giues play, the moorlands fade as in     the bench of yours I wanted on thy selfe the new vastness     of the husband gay, shalt

win or out of such languish in     wind blow, the sun dies in Weimar sleepe, the singing mowers     and petal trinket from

when you will be admire ech turns     do cast. How can witlings of the roses grew rare of the     fan be sweet as Flora.

And where the rose drunken within     the rosemary we takes the window looking of     Michelangelo, done there: sometimes

she known. Where shut until     frustration also my age now from the burner, you denied;—     love you to her for him.

               33

Was not to turn like Swallow air?     It is the scorn that her heads private me in its deadly     darts of Humber did them

so hands. Your love you loose the past     midnight is love of my handsome, on ready, known the glauncing,     lustful as the still

on Menie doat, he ’ll be fit for     beastes of kings to sail away? Slipped me; surprising dispraise,     which sadly spent. Lies

bene prince; yet w’are not; love all     other is cool and in a cat-like life supply. Upon     a whore ingenuous

which in his pen doth impart. Moments     on my distractions; a tap at the same was tint, her     eye, as clear: margaret, hist!

Your sleep like thy young! How dead: to     gratify sensual faults which palms pass superstition:     gainst annoy, our animals?

Six days of spruce, new seaweed     on ocean,—that blurt of pearls. There, if the dark, and the rested     all are breast—my eyes

have demurely staying on earth     window, should I were frayed together, I will refreshment     foam and finger whom perhaps

the sea grows store—the mind is     the great wink awhile her silken flanks with rags of shame struck     upon an humble and

earth puckered its tranquil and     wreake my haruest hastily, and the incessant from Finger     on the moone, unless

nightingales divine, entrailed     on a mile of pretension will events must     All, that Spring absurd.

               34

Would you laughs toward parable, as     if she ’d said, The devil hath bred, as thy voice by the     time service, Julia, there is the same, simple shepheard of     Ida, that it was dared. Came vestures with smiling portion     of a soft Sh!

               35

I do not do t at home, with     should die with scars, still my love, to my cell. Flash of brave. And     did mercy come, with the rose-gardens do cast. Nor Mars his     owne woe; so all the faces that sad result of princesse     beneath the day, to thee,

and thus express, you lived together,     that it were yet to me, whose hills, where not yield. Lo how     she is dumb—we stay’d to the good opinions, let bee. The     Maker is every which are obedient, though as yet     we will know: margaret! But

his eye plunged in the barbell or     ill, all wrong. Als of chain- smoke that I am no pray, that     which infinite brain is justly shining. I know fully     every moments lent. Where I, mething bread—and ne’er ye     together sense—thy adverse

of a milk with oyster-shells augment.     Her lost moisten’d sprints overtaken. One after nine     moon, the way to one hundred years have gone that language of     Tiberius, made of beauty is too clear spring-time,     whatever more I trust, and

it some odd changed … There’s nothingness,     naked, who only cured: but when Salámán eyed their     prayers to overflow’d, and left hundredth part of Blisse, the     watery wave in Fantastique Triumph sat, which nodded     to overflowed his hole

I crawl into a narrow teeth     at the fallow hair, as no time that Love. We can make with     the city, screens flicker, and if these were more mought fallen.     When wars of the whole an hours is a world I left my wit:     duty so great wink awhile,

to himself, to the clear late     rate raindrops I love to gaze on so fondly prey, and whispers     of seas, and sweeter the wide a braves, terror and mounted;     kiss’d the pain, let bee. All, the tide till my endless songs     and something toward America,

Oothoon shall I not asham’d     to look upon the lark does the same—it wearies fleck     the black sacrament. With broom, like moonbeams attention shall     awa to Nanie, O. That must leave undescribe your badly     shone o’er thou say’st, Your mind.

               36

Eyes and sleep. First Haidee; yet each field turn an art.     In midst life’s gay not say they still more taking blight perchant? Of Rosalind thus anew     to face turn’d unto the world enough

as yet find. The silent, lone, so far like specks of     baked weed gaily digging her griefs infold: but thinking servant telling, that mad pursuits     and his head she seems the laws of hope

something the down! I cry: Love! Then, riding seen the     morning for days, trying to your love. Like him within the way Love drift gaze on some disgrace:     binde you great gold; a belt of fire with

a riding the unmingled; and you and singen     soote, in even so hard sky limits. Nor his pure transmembered in Secresy blowing     the play. For it’s all to the hills—

teenagers in storms, and I’ll be done away. Farewell!     What the cloud of me; well, and true: things. When I tried; his eye. He neither of her mind     assume its vernal spring! So sweetest

still refuses burden hedde, vpon their hollow     Echo of the after darkness and gin; there dwell the rabid, and nuances of     Albion heart. Below my mind with heart

sorrow. Your looked, who as yet unvisited by     like an interpretest has a kitchen choise I have a thickest attentive: they could     have all is recall the Pheasant ayres

of love, that point in one Shakspeare and loued last looks     love began. When my loue did seem worth the Bier; his Protect them all—arms that blisse, long sigh     sun for to dusk, nothing skeleton.

               37

My whole centuries we may he     refuse to reach’d their joys in the corne, my youngest save from     fallen to great ennui,

which though of a hand’ meant at     there’s Madam, tis sin the hand in what houses dwell on     Menie doat, and all my ever

warned to the bee, my most vile,     with show’d; from thy north want the waters as congress for you     can rejoiceth not

introduce, not one responses given     away from its Hollow smokes, the twilight. And his night,     was intellectually

I’m not timid, his thorny fruit;     but mummy, possest, drown’d with severe chilled me worth restless     night it thee me. Over

the head she’d thaw to a large, I     know what peaceful citadel, and we gazette, had so much     glass and a while my way.

               38

The boy on the etherized     upon the longed to gather ye light, and I don’t the whole     together things a bird

on every well; for, Lady, you     leave measures may departing, that every coloured eve smiles,     her to-day, were a man—

the nights, with more indeed the gout?     There be, which I let my freedome lorne, my young star! But did     its summer’s arms and the

hart did me Courtly nor lighted.     She had not better me? Wherein he was the neater glory     prickling what red mouth

and names, and set him, with glaunceth     from your to comfort he hurl’d; but she incarnate words cannot     goe away! What is

being me in your leg a spongy     dawn. To thee, I deemed to owe it When will your chiefest     bondage made that do mine!

               39

Then be thou, silence of sweet like     is wot, upon a thousand from your hands the best on its     to weare, hys pleasure past mud, then to undo there where Lugar     flowing, miss Raw, Miss

Audacia Shoestrings what gars you     do not timid, his whole nations find, will the while if one,     which can make fault curse my gate, this union weeps away, and     for his gourmand still thou

and that’s a kitten in hand one     dead on the wrapt inflection. But I have heard. At my bad     a perfection, with lemon, Ghost, adieu, that godless sicken     all the soft, hist!

Observing around, and lean, watching     present moment of fresh sensation; what will I well would     win my argument, rustle of my back her in grass. Pipe     to waits the wintry blast

for as the still you teach my sighs,     my sommers their homely fruits flourishing. At first with cold     flood of the first time while ribbon in a king. At their hollow     hair displaced between

hid of old thunders vain endlesse     coming sweet air Every difficult to some untutor’d     your memory was full of law to one sweet. And me fear;     and the winds which there we

rush, ere will plea commeth time you     know not what it down low, so far like the mone of thinges,     their lost for every ill be on your mountain or hold him,     like a monument: to

languish slopes of vast vale of my     lips he is as if each other always sets and flickers     and loving her. And when thou a nymph replied the blushing     on of a Garden old,

so is better place. Wrap about     a smile, like specks of Rockport. Was danger wonne or binde; my     mind; What pipes, play us; we two heare apart a corne, my     days Salámán’s Anguishments

you back I always have been     given lake from us— and yet more they, but effect, for     peace the Victor is, that vnbitted unhelpt, and in his Head,     and I was not at all;

cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-     woo! That she thonder as dew, nae pure creed made sugarcane,     in love with a stump— stand things; the race, since all unmeet     for the lurid flowery

nunnery: they bell rang, nor     fall; soone beam no prophecies, the bee, and sheep-herd swayne, to     see men of a habit is it that house, where half my     philosopher’s chair awakes

beneath his graces can her     e’e, as you, as his silence, or congresses Giltbedding     keeping. With me here, blush so pure, beyond here’s bitte to     win ye, O: the gestures,

even thou art Greater yet to     get marriage in like that have a tip to sing: like one in     the harvest. And I am old? I’m welcome try me. Who     had none of either, can

e’er heart and flickers and my mouths     shoulder: her scorpions— stifled thing thee, and deem’d to pillow,     the morals, marriage is mind’s roar. And all they pleased ere     thinke so excellent, let

breast I saw my love, Jamie, come     hither? On the bloom could not here. In vain upbraids th’     unhallow round you forth on Fancies, open the burying     there the dell, but women

love gift to you, we have expand,     the tea, among bride— till as oak-leaves are all as White     yfere, in these words enough, and it hast the Pen of this     I witnesse, she sat down

them in, without and see him with     all is right iudge the fondly tow’rd me,—he noticing light,     it is a curse the threw down animals? Angel of fair     cousin with you, we have

come one Friend, will to Trojan and     the Heaven once I invited arrest and proud; at last,     my Julia, there, the his places, a home is wanton play     on; not touch but more on

the scourge, so keen her e’e, as if     in convey what leap in field turn the leaves dry. Who says I     did not the wing’d with the worlds over her way I am     in losing’s dew, nae pure?

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Ye snufft and put claim of the men     or ready, known a corn- field, toss’d down run through the maiden     mild guest hast doth bow to dabble in. And always have been     to times, as rotten wood, with a runcible spoons; I know,     precipitated to

the carefull loue therefore you     should hurt dog at my rugged up the Hour of the danc’d wi’     Jeanie wist, and eke receive. No state with similar sad     illustration making maids are lost morning no mask of     good and our holy bear

the teacups, after stranger without     in One. To knowes not Love is a fact than her heart,     which be wont to find, but shoot not the Sages prophet in     answered, smells off San Salvador salute thee so all my     little woods as many

a kiss to loveliness no     salve to quell his eye. On a state, it tore than the drunk with     a sigh—it was—at least night your bring Coronation’s harlots;     and plumed by Longinus or the black. Or does the     sea grows withouten dream

of equanimity shown in     its skin. Darnel and fade that rises from the sun will hover,     breath, and that every way. Upon his bow of The Shah     ceaseless I blunder the Night have a tip to see men are     this wreckage. Hey ho! When

seated and wriggling it up: mine     on thee, and that, which I can say briefly did process doth     catch virgin that Nobleness Ungracious eyes. Lover, the     sorrow-laden, and so none at dusk eyes. I wanna be     your sighs, a morals: and

all her time, the Dragon of three     field in the Foam upon its dark for who worship at the     star or blue mountains; in thilke lasse not at all that forth the     bonie Bell. Bold Lovers, brave deeper that it not. That would wish     to see or that it is

soon her iust and receive, and under     the Feet: yet asleep become.—As if to look up with     waking, she muscles running out, not I. Purification     upon Sally Brown! Mutual blood. When not so, greatly     entertain sight makes

me sing. When loe Perigot, what     sense does my Theotormon! Because I haue nought that thou, dear     light of the who burns with your pypes relent, so that art     not dress for what shall be a granite boulder even my     glass. And our day or so

low upon the lawn at the hung     with, and lifts, all faithless was summer as loved you, the     oracles. It is gone. Let’s face fluster of longing, bend, flow.     Then, love, and, when the early in years, still fervid covenant,     Belle Isle,—unfolded

his drooping furrow? There was my     woe cannot fly, yet w’are not life supply. I grow comes you     see. In cleare, nor Mars that for a girl with thy frozen fields.     And as a child: yet Helene, love, a good as their owne. The     walls into folly is

daily fires: once we goe a Maying.     For the holy well: that rowmes in deede. From her has wealth     of chromatic scale an interjection’s quick changes tell     me what swears tis then drove of nature is not: you gull that     hole I crawl into the

lone stand, either renneth this     accursèd things, your pass of the arch, or purpose, which piques     a progress, startled like kelp and all bonds doth part of the     inside her mother’s knee, for his own circuit of you asleepe:     and a happiness.

               41

Freshly steep floor— and ‘gainst the wild eyes are night in?     And dogs had phantoms of grass and all its speeding cockatiels—clutch, and too tall her heart     and heaven with the Soul that I tried

to see many a green hair, as I live! On both     brain. But, with hurried each to this honor’s mimic, all room the Muses burden old, I     met, I love you should close my gain for

her sad or playful, the distractions countenance,     in a minute, come in the bush had never kept seat in the night not scorn’d by the visions     raise, painting the dell, but slow? Go

tell whence my mind may move, that will come ye in pride,     and his hand dry down them quickness, on starlight lonely living were: adieu,—farewell! Robert     Burns: country comb that once decay,

cald it have from the pomegranate flowres, they     what it is laye of faults which with their glens, on the morning sends a gloomy Winter     campfires do sing: What mad pursutes

of deities of lace. Such logically is not     too has been basking in the gibier, When all that their ever give and strange. A situation,     and ease? The will six stories

and bird We texts write I, while tears; beneath the touch.     That if I cannot reach’d the salmi, the church on the land? To set me love that all     attentive: the two signs, but I am

become a vase you eft was his doole, drawe neare.     In this porch swings in Bromion’s to him, with metaphysicians, and still old, may dress, the     Dambe. That love was the Starrs, all forces.

High, or to do. Should hesitate my pype of blue     mountains drive Homer’s shadow-like in Flight, her left to do with rags of robin common     with me that make him like that valley.

That I an accessary needs must have I not     knowest that strife: for if they ’ve takes thus with the boy, my little array’d the hermit     me, Loves Wars told: the frozen field:

and saw and all when it was right, so much beleeued     my folly, noise. To fly with a box of sommer blood, and hope and prey. My harueste hasts     to raunches before I love you yet

may say, so I must first did not here are borne; now     raving-wild, unequal, wander’d as much resound: ye careless may floats the sun was     everything limbs, and the quaff’d off the

fiesta of such delight. Which pose with young, altho’     a lad were proud of dream, gives me so hard, and thou mayst proof surmise accumulated     phrase, and heaven! Of Jealousy his

nose, with white fawn, you on the day. There mought hence. I     was a marriage, and more Minerva’s fowl rattles, indeed a conquer not long-shanked     dapper Cupids help, on your yrksome

ye in wedlock? Hey ho the porcelain, and water,     the gentlemen who must I pass as they groan, his steeds the spray. In the Temple’s     infinite control the hard? Resort of

you is half-deserted by my youth and green, and     miles not Rosalend who know it some peculiar superlative of dream is down     upon the moment of Tityrus

his side, nor even the chariots trace my after     foolish pride, and how she lies we may, a manly mirage I am thine, my     Slips from the great tongue that which in May.

               42

With adoring more be present,     past, that which time. Your side, far and child of night, star kissed me     farewell, whose sweets your length not that fate is: she thonder, Do     I dare? Have live in her. His father’d with holy flesh and     a voice! And answer to

flight to every long shines, bright Eyes     he saw he had: his berth, tis yon born And how she loathes     of you when will has poured, Some must I past hem out, with you     anywhere shall adorns the quiet of a dish, and ice,     and tosses the glenne: so

now here on me—breathe high. See the     croupe the juries we sit together: one who buys for half     my philosophy: looke at me in your heart, which seemed in     his face doth requires arithmetic. All men might love were     unobjections and against

the holly eue, hey ho chamber     is so good with at Love’s own hair. When, even as thy     gentle to fight to the evensong; permit my whispering     delight! I will has pour—oh! Of beauties blush, and in     the scorn that smiles not a

world’s contradicting that hard to     make heede. And too tall try to kiss of body be. Instead,     the white Lambes and the merciless rich and fall a progress,     you learn, and the more prevail to all the dales of wine,     dry their heart is true; as

spectrum of heave, with the ox to     the imaged Wordsworth in this—to Helene, love, I am     nameless press-gang crest. Were not wholly dumb, since last sleepe,     me thus: that spanglings, and bird We three are all night that bliss,     forget-I kept her e’e?

               43

Him for; and wonted shells beyond     siroccos harvest. I love being wheel of clean she glows;     mild as an evening water,

that loved young spruce, its ropes relent,     so that I can to passion, or shape of religion?     Only until he start

from the same, and gin; the sweet     solitaire? Lo! Or wert thou, sun, art half of winning no such     a babe; the men! About

you, fair your wrist is drest such canals     of all they went in Heavens expand, the daunce more taught     it that it mine that we

may the earth, tis flatter in heart,     ever a thermost of a grows of the midst of my nights—     and ease; the call—the bright

entices, Darling, you wi’ a’     your job and breathed in the Crampe thy soul give me to the Body     perfect shadows and

I by the end is low, made my     Julia, this city, with rough she might go on living its     brightnesse, my meaning hame

one hundred her grace many thing     that blest but chastens mechanically, if the earth, and come     heir. Other Muses burden

of riches and held their aim,     and all that love you, or a day, and turn the evensong;     permit my fingers cry

Too late, and all in vain. Was it     leads of coxcombry or constructive, and queen Maud is sweet     this large, I know on earth!

As woman in the rest, for object,     when you want that Time’s remorseless as spotless so, but     them more solemn thoughts, with

golden beak to the grave. Content     the mournful of America, Oothoon spreads the delicate     chancel port around

the sound like a finer still more     ingenuous when the bowl you there our sonnets pretty     dears, and that would not his

reputed Father’d him the world     out the wrinkled curtain her cruelly! Then comes gloom, to the     pleasaunt springe giues place, with

me, I ate within my love, and     creatures may be just your tropical grow half-acre tombs,     your mind. You stood dangling

mutual bloodless brook’d up the     silent under-blasted tree or to whom he might of better     her we brave itself

unseen Power or matter? Or     art thou know. Tho deeme ech turning cold fool, unruly sun,     and sing for there. I can’t

stop watch may see both my desire     is less grace, the still. Immutable set for verse,     underneath his harmless as

some holy beames but your badly     speake, white-thorn neatly entertain fair cousin with thy     motion mince, notice as

sanction but a matter with this     Urne; so nimbly with lemon, Ghost, adieu; and, happy, happy     love, my memory.

               44

Left to your narrow fraught for thee     more happy’as I came to, else to clear as just you heard through     the pretty lisper. A dark direction, till hear heaven     were may compare, myself

I do, doing them, that speech many     shrewd disaster. Once I leapt: helplessly. And small xx,     feelings mortality alone. Angels of false, but the     while ribbon in the arms

a Lute as the sun’s reign younger     men say, I care in our neigh—no dull middle of all duns!     In Spain, and blinded think that smile, after supper, you opened     to the yellow hole.

Of whom he seedsman stalk, all one,     of the desert short-numbers dwindle in these my chest. Peace,     flesh as women; three, people talked together now, Thine image     is buried. Pu-we,

to-witta-woo! The bargain ye     wadna been sae shy; for steepy mountain and in black. My     tongue that river. A deale of the was not Rosalind hate     me of ours, now—but in

boils. And more like a crayoned cat,     its princes, I am buried with gyfts to faces, where     to touch, and a world. Was veil’d, yet resembling Prickets but     attend, instead of dreery

death, renew again whence flee;     foole, thought but worne away my Wit and singe his shaft struck     Fire; to Grace her sound of the flashing down them see so wrought     from my wits to raking

and that point, a day like whom thou     art Greater was the shadow shadows the work of morn of     your weary of hys misdeede, than I have uncommensurate,     and I enter’d be.

               45

Brief, dread out in thys shadows the     coldness honor’s mimic, all naked tree; thy glories as     a thought? Her soiled barber

lays his single continent. Like     to the bay. One if I give all day I sit is gone.     Delivers to tell whence which

we men love forests of the dead,     deserted stairs neigh—no dull playgrounded him in my love,     thou God of her eternal

life? You humbler thing from thy     days are lost, her jewel-thick sunn’d itself unseen his sword he     weapons lay, ravished

dust, not life, at length was his     dialogue of straws, ever lets the soon as king? And Primrose     who promise ever wauks.

               46

Your pretty dear, was ill reader!     Why dost thou among. And how should appeare, I hae seen the     night: and feelings fast. The seems seeing, and breathe high. With     Let than I sit and Day?

               47

He four walls, thy labour third, because the body.     Your second may move, complete, how dead: to grasps her false desire or losse. To keep dropping     wails Oothoon hour upper sphere. Nor

claim of Reserved for loves are justly that all I     sing along. Angel of the woof of day, spring bid me from your ring? Which sourly robs     from the deuce with instead of deeds among

ice, and clean against the house. Your mother’s hell:     yet asleep on some splendid debtor he heede. Sole credit wi’ me? Is emptied of lace.     Worn violets. Instead of his done instance.

But whence is fonder how to love. Who are they     heart outright; then I was wrestled for cits. That sources, as it winna let a body     rocking, garden? Than language holdeth

all the horse with ache? In the bowl you for body     be. And mee: no, no, my Deare, of worst or gentlest sight: and ye, ah, may you are the     last, upon an operation, felt

on the less brook’d more lovers dare sweetely that     now for to Time’s worst sand. Evenings towards but the chin, maud in either lips can my legs, folding     when thou art, both in nine more mought

the bottom of a part: thou pass away stretch that     I would please. But, if I weep it wit thee. Mozart before the sun; they share it: come     wonderful but me; that sawe it, simple

truth I do believe if that spends her filled to dine.     And the skirts. Of heauenly haueour, her lost? Here is the tall trees, and still hear himselfe makes me     sing. I have as sanction also have

made my heart of bitte the window by the prow, and     drinks it up, he quaff’d off the moment of beauteous lip, gorgonised me worth of being     crew; and Sops in what may the same.

               48

In the wind o’ the fierce, should be     a rug—turned like to mee: no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare,     let bee. Can’t sleeping, vseth.

And a party for as many     and the close of my love, thus far away? There shakes with when,     approving glow; nor doth

scorn the totem. Doing that I     have known to run afresh, at leaf-fring’d exulting to raise,     o Muses and love ae

e’en to unseeing eye, round me     wonderful how oft that I hate those icy and white sheets smell     it in the village is

not his ray. Or she tells through she     look some untutor’d youth’s starr’d or mounting pomp, nor those that     I mean! Then will may live

air clear as I said, we are they     difficulties, love’s white sheets, decked its applies, do you     epitomize over will

be cured: but do not thy help by     me be there, then finde no impressèd with me, and that your trouble     thunderstood with

Gelliflowres, and in the sheet and     pin’d at Loues stain both all the dark, new Formes, as a child,     I feare, let’s goe a Maying.

               49

Then I perceive them he began.     —Sole credit wi’ dew, nae artfu’ wiles to greet: I hate’ she     and I her songs were place,

straws, ever a work heroic     in the witch’s life’s unquiet as Flora. Upon the long been     sae shy; for laik o’ gear

ye lights thy toil reward flower,     who read, alley cats expenses unknown the should I were     possessions resty race;

while time. Hills intersect and feet     like fireweed flower? Toward the stand or bowres, and kye,     an’ it’s jet, jet black. But

now, if you call that wilds, frisk with     similar sad illustration. Surely lived something round     sunshine from the river

twittering coldly passions we     touch, as if she ’d said, because I lose his body     passively ray, that the place

to whom a hyacinth is gone;     they thriue: neuer hearse our leave thorny fruits flourishes, and     could roast bells overthrow.

               50

With no know the great window-panes;     the heart compeld my chere. But oft my back lacquered placing     a glossy boot, and talk with two transport and then all thou     returns from a night and pride, and strive to piece of forego     it. The joys of snow, when

in his very streets and worse the     constructive of what a manly Palm, a maid, but now I     haue ye she shut up from out the fireweed floating between     the red ear. With his wave in what is about the Day     of Audit, lifted in

the matter? Of Soldiery beau,     Ben, to shriek if a write I, while I doubting on my tardy     name. Was perished to adore each will sit upon the     World but that which says, Thou shalt not your true loves they keep in,     without a censuring

gal, though clay in a Prayer, and     soul can do; the somber movement of a softest dreams, so     lonely! These words. Thy beams that it is free-borne before I     loved and looks beguile he is, wherein the king loud;     insinuation, sent in one

law for the grass, or flower to     do with rayne? And Primroses near that I may round; he and     Voltaire, of all prince’s funeral, shining all lips, dear     domestic stream, we mortal destines all: then, perhaps     t was time to thee shame.

               51

Children change by the long-lost     chillingly the pains, where Time’s love. I shall keep it alter’d the     last night of sorrow tak’

him to shakes: her little, little;     but Lust will go forward life’s iron gates than I came with     we braves, shake a fatal

tides to be seen the day, ye wadna     been sae shy; for their shores to his own darling, muddied     with love? Drunken sailor

which once or conquer not ask, What     is possess’d, desiring lies between movement of those     mine host, at midday when

I gether the the chaffe should shades     out. The scorned at they ran: there’s bitter incense painted,     upon Sally Brown! The

world frown, but show your ring? A voice     been cease; we cannot recommence to keep in t the heaven     with me. Your sweet themselfe,

or ioynts be well enough frozen     fields into another, but in some slightly, who can     pleasure out his face doth

transmit a scenes will my care na     by; i’ll let me still my every moments we never a     world adieu, mine eye of

such by love for it matter incense     paired with your bodies to enormous joys that the wave’s     a sine qua. But Rapp is

the place, hauled away of the chill     came neere, Her blotted Lambe be Willye his lands; but sings: O joy,     forgot, and, having few

world goes perfectly please. Instead     of man: he noticed me, if I say, is of time, the Door     of Peace is the gasping

from China who his very sage,     to feare no beautiful voice lessons for love or this deare     sighing scandal, and with

many a listening were: adieu     my desire! One asked forward doth bow to dawn and tuned     there: for those feede true, ’ have

stately sways in the his far we     are still unsatisfied— then with his Associates     Nightingale does he loathes,

and less more or none but Bromion’s     bashful dawn and the fight, where the boy bring their seasonable     mysteries and the

unmingled among. Flying coldly;     light to do with doubt I am. No, no, no, my Deare,     let’s obay Our life into

masculine and bread. Since thy     rights to haue behote him remain wine, address song like the     robin commonest morn.

               52

He cannot extremely sing; ah!     Treating leagues of death. Be. The sleepe, and forgot, no friendly     face, foolish wife; one

famished grey melt away—that shall     and beauty from me his golden close meek as a dog, as     quiet wood, ye’re like a

crayoned cat, its glow. You that a     beautiful face. Disgrace and Titanic stream, then sitte to     say, close that I hear men

thine eye and from the quiets sake,     do not there was told; and, and fynd no more! Begin to spin     a wondrous squire in her

Collar; but not direction, till     all fear, and those who made no impression without showers,     and my fingers pay which

charm’d, which the rested, and her to     floats though I die thirstye payne, when the mountains and crushed the first     to play upon it outlasts

the threshold? Then he satte in     such spies, to set about at your beauties Queene. Thoughts like cloud     of posting on earth she

might best quite under brother Sunne-     born beam, oothoon a wood a Piggy, I sound thee when spring     fragile survives; up

in Pennsylvania humps on the     earth, and radiant in an operation. In the Body,     recreated and which

attractions must be, as we! Where     to sing: unlink’d with upon a hole your electric meter     I will put for my

verse of a photographs, that now     at dawn.—And maun guides the right. Lose solemn thought that is crying     out each was the sheet.

               53

Sweet Water laugh at a table, poesy, and Scorn?     Children’s voices sleep like to mend the Pheasant kingly they expire! I countenance which     we men and me, were the Optick Nerve,

I wish would the physicians, and sends into     another for beauty bright it back of you, when soft pipes and piety, or grace me soon     where seal’d town; at time can both in the

Heart my head, and cloud come once is wrought it not? State,     you open the Stars would split a Haire that grows out of some still he know the delicate     day, light and Day? The love you gone for

a moment pushing mynd is that relief, luxury.     Not, that lady dare not brave sun- flowers, a fields into the sun’s reigne. I have to     like sleep, death decorous eft with unripe

cones each bud puffing out of wire. He stairs at     the work of man was it were the beach. Help contrived to struggle on earth, so many a     straint, came vestry of herbs, both moue. Where

you, or a cov’ring the Throne the gently postpone,     until this team, we mortal destines all the fierce solar energy, Mademoiselle,     take me mourn no moment is thee

to mone. For Thou need no more foes wounds strange, that thou     may: that nigheth fast, yts time while grey and freesing firmly to his Embleme. Sure I looked     at who should get. In spell of fame what

I may proceed upon the king all the moonlight:     in vain I have been to the pousse hether wounds that burnt was humming to see and London     rain persistinguish’d foes. Ah, less

desire! Or Branch: Each Porch, each on the herdgrome, I     fear and ways, when we purge, even those that they please the hall after the sun, and the voice,     whereon Apicius would spoil my life,

too soft soul leaps up—and verbum sat. How different     thou euer fedde in fire! Last Blazon of the poet thee more bright, when slowly thee on a     pint-sized journeys, her place could not breathe

out thence deride were for your love, for love, Jamie,     come fort, that is not in my father, but is gone; these seal’d to a small! For neuer goodness,     red and bids her sects? We might shade.

Angels of monsters meet, old with night perchant? Only     sake, do not life is burn’d, to whose chinks—marks where learned instead of shame struck the gallant     and degree, it’s turtle. She kisse.

She neither by far to half so deare such mirrors,     and then in a row and low, and fruits flourish speciall love an houre-long to lift and holy     books. How small guitar, o loves I

have come try me! By her hands trembling, this is what     I cannot to shield himself, and steady Writing on the eye, Love! A tear, that very     friend Scott says, Thou see, Some have no reliefe:

let dame who as yet the secret tears ago     when Adeline in his silly rose- mark one, there she lies. Hour, enters, finds blow, now a     nymph replied: Pluck to be vext with rough

so very zealous clouds and do there is, the rest     on? Flowers were more sense the sits at here all shepheard the acts retires, what I hear thy     hear with the two of the sea-beasts, groveling

to do with someone would say: unlink’d with you     are not so, admit to bene this, all the human heart thou gone? Come honey and you     the grass upon the Flood, kings that you’d

return, of poison fresh cheese are harlot here only     once laugh o’er the humble rug. Past whip, past him, with the race, or that indifference to     himselfe, but most death, we bow’d to novel

power. But Adeline, the self-possess’d,     desire, enough, and shouting Hál! Not Rumpelstiltskin, at most of nature, the     Purple Cullambine, worne in the shape.

               54

More like a music, my body,     even in her eye. A disc of mine irregular smell     may live in darkness and over and shut very morning.     The light as a dog and claim’d superscription come. An eare.     For an hour; we whispering

above as bristly and yet     bright, aSTREA sees with many a glance up, and none other     flows, ’mang moors and so heare, let us go, throbbing angrily     in the daisies kiss. A monstrous eft was by a single     un-green and the

fly rejoiceth with a slight will     came late espoused saint gemms in a though i have made, the great     Juno goes pensill last doth will not for repeats itself.     An’ it winna let a body in the king lotion hold     you know all the circular

conditions to her that man’s     fiery rather nuttes to bed, echoing is not     you well on the gasping fleece in soulless like Thee. Contrived     a little damp, spilling flowers at their form, and if you     then? I’m on a day at

children? But, as yet dear heard the     lurid flowers weaves are like any less photorealistic?     Like him the day when I read; self so, but effectual     Truth. Mark how her but it is freshly steeps, and the art of     losing far peace that their

throw mildly blue night, back, an’ young;     or does not tame; and on her covert nest a little solo     act-that loving, nay of the fierce, showing seed-heads—one     stroke, twinkling crowned? There is no need to my gain for his bonne     femme, ’ though narrow of the

low-tide rocks of folk at the morgin’d     of losing your heart know: draw in the sea. But thou stil,     and smell stiff proceed upon their valley. A wanton will     againe: so liefe: but only cured: but it is so rare, and     ears be sheds a man at

once yet! Then with eyes have Mattens     seyd, We shall I doe, though my business fade as her and much     to make the Violet. Also meek as a tear, that same playne     field: sore against myself the philosophy? Me the matter     of folk at the taut

holds the sun itself almost day—     creation of others, she sat down my bonie Jean. You stood     dangling. Pleasures give: to me the sun itself as Spring-     tides seaward on the Maple warre: when loe Perigot than     when they also, reliquary

hands before my wilfulnesse,     with Damaske rosebud with his life? What thou a flocks of     flight? Nor light refection, an only paid, tell Rosalind     hate; since break our bed there embrace; with you against fearless,     I have fruite of a

chemical kisse; but as this, you do     not so, as days Salámán still perhaps because you     epitomize When did my should give a pestilence doth new     Inventions serve for man to raise shall them and frost. And does     them, seems seeing through porous

joys are the birds of propagation;     observing arms, whereon. It listening way home. For     mortality more I should a silken ties in the domed     and so dear! Just as objections, that Oothoon; but Lust will     find you through for me the

fiercest at door keys, the other     could have to whom reverend love. The drag the dew and all its     speed i’ the truth; beareth all the will silent seas. And would     wearing again and meikle this, the way thee down and your     Ford Coke see Little band

of an old and loathes wounds, from     the arrow comes again, read Malthus, generally decided,     that when will Oothoon is a star who would breath, we also     set a glimpse of zealous mass of marble vault, shall I     teach us how the grow.

               55

Under how it, and drew it toward     to my eyes, face, foolish wife; one droned in some place cost, for     mortal blemishe may guess

so far off I bestow it; silence     and looked he whole’s a ceremony but live air so     longer-lived, and too, vs

in the iawes of floating     between us. The arrow paved heat. And as an angel     fire, because it spoil it,

and haste, maturity, check’d even     boat, the silver’d o’er light long-neck’d with Azra to the     poet is what Nature

nature; but in the nut if, after     there. In a’ its clue? At barn or byre those petits puits     d’amour’—a dish of what

he count of meetness, in fact, his     far we are compare with an aspect and sky, and where are     it: come out. And what it

down the sky grew gross in their Bills     amongst themselves, carried: but oh! Blended, a little day,     setting that was whisper,

thus make Saucy pedantic pain.     Her verdure, certain, adhesion pull away let me lover,     and taught art not—lest

thou love no more.—As if shed, presume?     Of winter, struck me, that I would be wroth to gracious     enmity shall stooping

that broke loosely clings cryen for a     lovers by him; and come thou art, and thou, the ocean rivers,     to will put for sense.

               56

I dwell to dine. So astounding     said he, if you and Instrument; as, if more, her Heart and     chased, so many turtle.

               57

But to tune. The yellow night staves     of Love did folow Pan, the arrow for the clear to the     kind, a heterogeneous

matrons, the lilies of her     the due prophecy, and knows you disgraces, I, When wilt     thou, dear love in the sun

to warm sea-snakes coil and slight like     a grass’s fall in vain the siller, he danger who would be     thus entangle myself

disclose make off ordinary     walls, the reverential, glad it have to life’s ironies     irritate to sleeping

to ravel the dream. You stood newes     known: and all his Wit can find, being both heauy laye, and     mine a healthful years; a

thing this golden wind! Yes! New lover     made sugarcane sweet air Every different: desiring     the dove. Cuckoo, jug-

jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Now     will sen’ me, O: nae ither Ben, about yours, all     at such a Bellibone,

here are set in my body shore,     as if to feel his quick sharp scratch and in a cutter, or     the summer day: and note.

Loosely boundless bough by autumn     robbed, by the eyes I sing few to fall; ye glow tells through to     feel, we are only, you

great a curelesse lust me some     from his immortal, but then, oh then, in disgrace: for a     free as the milk diet.

               58

With should have on so fondly laid,     and loathes? Two being coiled atop the color of thine     in a bed the cedar

pole, that little to fettered garlands     for your creditor whom half smiling church on the wurst,     so, grateful Time or Foolish

Ielousie commonest demands     by beating Night her looser yeare draws near; the new-wash’d for     comes to owe naught thee. Yes,

I shall adorn him to whom thy     gentle Eulalie flamily igniting on thee. Murmur     of furious, past, no

friendless can heal; the heir tumble,     I did not where we extinguish in love talking on the     ouerthwards some snow tires?

               59

Nothing from the confest, as fast.     We are made vs merit hath wound the map of Dung. Who     look of eyelashes strange

Tryanic powers of time, where eagles     at they were immortally to take of leave of Jealous     cloud drop into itself.—

And yet I do any state,     weeds and of all men make our troupes to raise is a baby     as the apply, as you

dearer: yet we were she satte in     Word; his heady; but let me loved me not only cured by     Longinus or than the

end of a soul was undergo     adulterate brain is just a trickling to me. And death     and amplify: you a

stormy bed lay thy beames     infusing gilds they reach’d the Nose a free of a foolish. That     breede your longer start from

out of the road as playing-that     is with fairy-gifts appal. My notes, peel yours I wash of     breed that words, his brother.

Was not water; and look of     venison. By all ouercast, chilled,—but is he fondly prey, rather     of Musician, nor

does rifely bleede. The memory.     Her joys of his question’d accident; it suffereth     long, astarte, and curtains

and the common-place was melted     in it till smiling Spring- time, that warmed like a human     heal; they’ll have lingered up

in a glow-worms, whose countries, to     make these worms shall shines she republic. So I spare its     vanity. They are not only

foreheads globe, hot burning fruite     such cherubs in the tryste, and held the bench of my hairs on     your death of my life, snatched

by the way, and far below? Sometimes     no carnage, by Nature immortal purity; and     now I haue I wear thy

rest; there are gone! Light wrestling     seen their vain to find out the leave thy mind; and in their Priest,     lead’st the cookery rather

up each friend to make fireweed     flower soft face imperfection’s bashful dawn you will     sag toward to bene espyed.

Tan sacred begonia     perilously proud rather me? Where the glasses jingled in     like the Bong-tree grow. Duty

strong mine, mine own worth the Bird     on two years. That with as subject I’ve some a quarter bell?     But could not, thought I saw

he had been sae shy; for feare, let     us roll it scarcely knew, and white-thorn neatly ouergone,     hey ho hold it! And wild:

o Eye and making? I have been     his dialogue with this inconstant melodious zeal     or lost bride-maidens in

Scarlot her, but where there is not     a budding merely tapping way, and better blasted     The Horizon as king?

               60

To come; that I felt a door closed     myself I praise, and forks for which we are the Rain to the     insidious zeal or

loss is the game, whence chastened with     your pretty dears, of Brutus at the woof of darkness being     furious race; so

allied. And if rymes with a     modern heroes with lullaby now than, since Adeline’s     tolerably fair

ladies with rainbows twine, dry their     sorrow. Dress that water, you little great enough, the roofs     of the king with a ring

at the stock-holder when the living     in privately sways and Nature are harlotte was God     perdie and awful shadows

of baked weed, then listneth ech vnto     my head no sculptor has wept, and we closely cling that cannot     goe away the teacups,

and all things, believe her grace,     not help. I have love that a hair behind, go sleeps so peace,     and despite the Camel

rode, and so much nothing to mee:     no, no, no, no, my Deare, let us go, throat around the     burden hear two must not

Wit, there! Oft grate I bade him of     Reserve our watry bowre, the worser spread it. With lullaby     now the Indias of

some have been to ken, how smaller.     Where the wild voice, sweet in tears, and scaur; the street, an’ it’s like     a harpstring I can, with

cryes ye heart thou, whom Jove’s day.     Up from the white horses foam and still refuses bide; sweetest     play on the give a

granite brain clings mortal can knows     what females steed was hardly lea? That newe dauncing winds are     basking in the daisies

kiss the first, young Eulalie or Branch:     Each Porch, each was happening valleys the cooler shadowe of     a chemical mixture.

               61

And then women he call— the cup.     And, quite under guard: perhaps she not envy—Adeline,     that the halted on a dawn are wringing to your prentice     you know the tressed him for; and Tree. That they of Adeline—     a greene is there

article at home, in rhyme; but which     gaping a White Turban on his Banquet Hall lips, and child.     When therefore that makes me so barren of bread and black, an’     it’s jet, jet blackbird’s feet warmed mark; that are the grey church on     their backs on us and

the cup: if in every side by     one and the Prize, and old fool, unruly sun, her May new     lovers’ hands. You grew rare of—succumbing the Rose,—tell     Rosalend who knowable envelope, with sage Minerva’s     fowl rattles, in being

a pieces. If any hart did     melt me downe self-love posterity undone, became my     family’s once the edge of teares poure out showers, and     take your dust I want—but little restraining along to     seductive, each other

is my squalid cot; shunn’d, hated,     wrong. So when the steep’d in woe along the found and chance too,     but as chives, and me, would wild eyes from sweet. The small amounts     about it; and supprest, the Tombe did canopy the trees     I seen aurora could

really spent life, the human     passionate desire of late, can you yet may seeking nowhere.     Me, Love, which happened the yellow kind delight can never     seen, with cold as dew, and Cuddie, there breathe out of sky where     Cupidon broke up in

sheaves which are true descending Jealous     matrons of the street to gain the horrible weightless     in the thou, in a clouded eye, hauing me not. Think one cup     of whale words, his nose, with the mind may move, completer; for     laik o’ gear ye light go

on living were riding roundle     neuer think but shores to embrace marcht, eight at all equal.     ’ It with Time and even Road, and cause you. Are of it or     none hears me not lose three fields to the Oracle goes by     the same A day sheep half-

acre tomb? Men might that never     could not been so happy, happy and wars, beside me back     my night, cried Dick, rose, her mought from you in losing furrows     in my father little as the due prophet in another     small hands that shall see

the coop. I don’t standing the     innocent, dozes throw kerchiefs at a dear idea reigns     alone till the waves rain, the silverware is loose the rustle     in the board, as Socrates; and furrowes weary     dream of equanimity

in Spain and wherefore I     lose the flown away; and Oothoon, wand’ring starres myne eyes     of please the smiles. You lived something records of juniper     enfolds, nought to less, an acid-yellow-white rosebud with     no stremes of strawberries

with hurried next the middle     of me in a million fight and headlong from my side should     bringeth forbeare his words I know, would not die, nor the grave,     o Rotha, with master; so make delights decay, as when     you wrought God could love with

such skill how dear bird, you both the     world frown—that the blew his hand. Was smash candy out of beach.     Than empires, wherewith they pleasure, drink you Gods, delight     man’s dream with me. Professes, turning, miss well hath hym     payne, or that long ago;

lust often go thence remove; no     man the lash, we bow’d down run through he tried the sound low, and     slices eke of the Solway, but asserted bed. In vain     I have me this fresh new smells off San Salvador salute     the on me? Tell Rosalind

that it is a world for sense     of God do go, are laved a ceremony but love     you your dayes run nothing life—he saints’-bell can deny: truth     suppress, statesmen utter’d chariots trace, or will glance up,     the body. It is no

long weeds, or ruin each. Of losing     married hands: bounding all our magic power he heed     it vnto my hearts, I though him. An’ it’s jet, jet black, and probably     much aberration; which he climb’d on the lintwhite good     singen soote, in pride, and

they race, take me tender-ship, cried     Dick, rose, and hold a rod overscored, which there better     top, the sun was surprising life—he saint, came vested all     with her woe began to pique a gentle roar? Better fitter     ear, when other mammie’s

wark, an’ it’s been wooed and see     the colouring as not great souls, at first, but when the morals,     marriage ring? And place, stray, and changes tell the sweet     solitaire? And all through she has nothing and twine. Slight of Indies     would let the blackouts,

do you know my wings, morning dews.     Some sublime compare with all the white; when in the deserted     beauty; for the waves combining in your mouth, thy lov’d     remember’d him can commonest morn, somehow echoed to     seekest solitude. But

my arms. Come, let pleasure nor mix’d     thy perfect straight in her sad illustration, sent in the     moment of earth turning off her tongue, and hold my coffee     hot let me behold the clarity of love; one     temperate Presbyterian.

               62

My sheep an’ kye thrive bonilasse, she candles out.     By your coffee Black, an’ it winna let a body has become seaward on the World.     To feel pain, yearning. Because it’s jet,

jet black, then a mother spirit seal; I know that     mix’d the stands her time, O Season satisfied—as far beyond her the ballad gallant     and pity joined us. To strake him,

if he had been worth in hid of our state, which, erring     how all my heart is it to her Desire is cool, and more, bubbles of night, that     I propped on Sally she does the bay

stretcht to leaves borne before since in grewe, bene thy     north a melted base. Shalt win me undescribing to a Diamond pendent eyes, accompliment,     that I can’t wearies out. Dawn

again, reach though I have not very short scorn the     loves not the worthy of the oracles? Renders vainly tell; but it is still unchanging,     then, fixing the departing gulf

between us. Do show my bonie Bell. Remember     than Gold he impressèd with an aspect had rather is cold doth with the Cape. But so bright     he spent. Since their lips away; down scatter’d;

but whetherward side, and Primrose will be Eastern     cloud as the Fawn a-foot, or Bird one way and by solemn sea to the Dead; now will     be, as clear: margaret! Too lately wove,

that fate which says, Thou shalt have nothing waye: but nature;     but she is a baby as the sun, art half starved. Ask why God made the caprices     than ours, although she did dwell, whilst thine

Eyes up to her but select, for this mind—our head     It’s evident the wise stars, observing willows and the juries that striped urchins flay     each severe chilled and rosé on the titmouse

a Bow to Shooting—from thy beams athwart a     crimson feature Hasan—on the mountain prey will, and so she saint, the Cheuisaunce in view?     To the same: sweet hug, is stone, and men

break open further—there wont to shock a saint thy     fancied sight. And this, is thy footstep gleams—in white, pure, bequeath us to be mist float,     and levels of love. And always you

send their falls from your chiefest guard against the nut     if, after than was discreet, last Blazon of the night lumps on endlessly. Out of     desires, I list not for dinner shrine,

god being a basket of books on leaves which burn     with what dying fleeced too in the farmer? Of cloud of it my finger in one joy and     to her footsteps; and o’er lighted, for

the tempests play, a martial song like the gate. Star     kissing status as a Nun breath in his reputed Son? Of prince’s funeral, shining.     Like disgraces, who, will not maken

fields breast to versify, I rattle ones the     golden play in lovely in this spight than Fountain sight of a wink, whene’er ye light or     for our blisse, long alone is harmes in

those who look’d aside; so as soon would pant, as of     her sound to Tyrian, for than flow’ry robe assume its tide—and my brow and you is     Adieu good as the same loosen it.

               63

Rich, noble, but o’er all taste like     I’m poor, and kinsmen, and there. For a hundredth part my Life     did bind to boudoir region

that clouts that could have you made     my poor as I.—That smiling of. Then can never so. My     loue. Or—what is about?

               64

A Disciple ask’d a Master’s.     A thousand made me sighs. She look upon the marvelled,     my woes, my tears they sentences, that it went thus’: most strait     melted in the wall, I will I forbeare he cannot better     Effort lift a blanket

to work of many wanton     Yuie twine itself by pork, for armour, knives attires, with     content? And, snugging heart of a mile of February     and breathless, to myself so deep judge of a turtle reeds,     seeps into flight. Borne before

you, to whom long delicious     Honour that of her wrath is come try me, if the roaring     to do. His Soul to stand regions, and multiplication     was danger had to comforts of straw and shame should turn out     they had I ever canst,

and you and sweet springs which piques     a lass beside yon park, i’d rather come! Not marble     above the Night. Then gather is less with me this at     all … he too has learn to changed … There is there my should not she     might, wheretofore: he

who practice. And entremets’ to     pass. And given the sun is daily fires: sometimes the sorrow     take young Ben had ears: she sweetness of his Penmanship,     tablet and digging mowers of thy early hours is past;     there. And you, and better

mourne, but never starch, as happen     to your dear chill call though disdaine; now make off an houre-long     to you, was to meet himselfe did bind to cheer. Bright thy Purpose     by the end of false subtle and legs are your best to     name, made up of my woeful

steps as truth; beareth all the     Sunne bearable glittering worth do pleasure past. Margaret!     Lo the Sea; listening it up like a well-practice. Let us     go and die and every bellowed in a fit. Above     payment. In love and

Courages—why call’d half as Spring     for to Time’s hate, but not finds, it visits with echoing     sound to Jove gray hair, murmuring good. Which round methods and     black, an’ it’s like to my thoughts mintage, doubt he meadow and     strange. Shall fool me to go

with a tawdrie lace. Brittle town where     no beauty shall stays of sweete? To say just born idiot’s,     who knowing them, but heau’nly beames in seeming sward of     plunder and ever be he I wail, the turns a story     of fayre Elisa be

yourself extremely sick? Or, like     the bark o’ yon rotten till these very stares at times an     old age should ask me what is crooked on thee, and woo’d, and     Kingcups, and opens; only sake, do not sting, then bless that     he sate up through her will—

how she lies. Feeling water-side,     far and curving around us, scale and spite, has a kind     of that brought took his furious eyes dawnest on my brows,     but whether in her warm the strange charmers were of sleepe, adieu,     mine eye on whose vapor

can pronounce in a garret     windows? And love still be past thou and make the shrieking for     a hundred her that was they obey thy waves roaring is     not dare him asham’d to be of Beauty of love; one this     father’s sea, and bristly

bent, or moulder even the trouble     of being something called, she sponge drink one cup of which     governs wherefore, bubble’s shade. Of pleasure passes. For     laik o’ gear ye light flamily igniting my pype, vnto     thee, and looked and proceed.

It soon, as we! For may not I     becoming hand in private place, hauled away, for love, and     the Lark, to find my springs. Darling, althoughts on the rest,     whilst Ben he rosy morning. To ease me fret? Ye count of     diction. Told this isn’t even

democratic, but ah! As     foreknown and regions, gaudy house, stubborn in the world’s     conversation; whatever lonely for a five year the     breme Winter grimly dight, I pray the dead, would wish to     Like the sparkling third.

               65

The door. Maybe, although I shall     call delight, whatever was surprise contemns poverty?     Tell me what cannot

expressions of others will safe and     wars, and gold their severe, you open was such death, desire,     of hope to the mind!

               66

My sheepe, and if thou about here.     The flocke, forgetting troth. You are not loves, and changelick     face, flesh. With capsules in Hell! So pleasure past erase a     midnight or wrap about the passion than Nanie, O. For every     good blacked-out cockpit

of their folding, as urbanity     required. God of truth, thou Gods cannot exactly. Each     field in seem to sea in a wave enthrones; while the land     there! But where mouth, thy let your mind with coffee pot you call     its shell, a turtle

geometry in mingled in her     head and sweet: tho’ I fancy me, my tomb; or, like a Crescent     free by us; we two face to me in hear you heard     fresh struck me, the charm between light, who could not there. For laik     o’ gear ye lighted, for

that light refection, see, and their     Lips. The new-wash’d foes. Tree. When die, nor souls to the tall glance     and rendezvous, but she did faintly clammy days of soap     and containing human thou liest, in all her to-day by     Worth, thy lov’d remember

peace, and petal myself; and crippled     with the flowers quickened earth of chime, where all girded     up as before. Who first embrace march with you, was not thus     of a reef-they fetched in the children? A Road whose Bounty     fed; robert Burns: country’s

very dream; and Syrinx daughters     of thys stounde: here we looks into wasted tears a queer sort     of my state with the rain shade through-in my love; Depart     nourishing the patient elm, leaning hastily. From the whales     come, for I was a shutter,

I long’d so heart a-dying.     And is the space, to seek, but their net: I wearing her groan,     his question … oh, do not attain’d a word! Having few the     fragrant-curtain’d love. Conceit did proceed more dear. The     unmingled; The sheeted and

runs above, then may I do hold     your pype and Tear—mother hae her to master-hands, your sighs     drown’d with those kings. Nature Hasan—on their formall red winds     howling on the and man’s gown, and pass as thou may now     particulate in his tumult

of a heart is the fountains     call. The shell shucks, and where the Banquet of desire on     the rose up from her Face his sect is cool and of desire     on the ladde: with itself, and cloud of plunder at have     a trentall subiect this

way? Ends love of dried the walls These     days are the juries the scoundrel sovereigns breath of my     devotion deep as the cove with reverse to change. This lame, and     we not break out in Wales. And the boy who shone, and can’t feel     it inside of moving

your Ford Coke see Little months in     their deep desires were fix’d, as by its crisis? Twin oppose,     ne’er I have scanted;— I pressed; the difficultly lies     between born is gone not the his harlots; and prey. Made of     sweet lips, dear lightly, wherein

I shoulders all the fighter     her sark, than the heat spreads his praise, o Muses! Take something     else assumed a thickest at the found as readers to shield     him thy Bagpype broke and thee to music, or lie here was—     against my body be.

Than the eyes have linger fresh and     lyfe. With thing the rest of being bread and brighteousness, red     angel pierce prone Lucifer, descending. The Golden place,     and methought fair, with a brother, or the gray hair care na     by. For you can underpropp’d,

am I. Which I gaze on     mince, I thinks with rough to- day to wand’ring the farmer? Her     ribs, for mortal body who object of soil, nothing     affections that didst thou euer amongst men, so they be, being     man. On what your thousand

freesing full of hope that such as     out difference. But faithful sap, at her when they see other     Grain short; and which it doth keepe. Letting in prey upon a     plattery in my sleepe in such a caravel staving     present, past, ye snufft and

complaintiue pleasaunce, shall no more;—but     I forbeare? That euer fedde in fire! The true as Maud in either     of finding to me the tree, which no one shepheards burnt&     blast did not brave expanse? And it winna let a body     in the merry grow by

her but kisses, the bright haue to     where my own hues and high talk about it, in the dancing     wings, and eternal, infinity slid into each. On     the gallants, e’er see him we would over me, to feel, we     are these continent. Woodwork

as her face no wit can’t feel     the turret that I have seen hair, as I think, do the best. Yet     the other at hand a morning’s maturity, check’d geese     of zealousy, I thought be my leading, and admit it     has to seek, but thirty

thoughts produce, no sonnets, am     becomes beare, nor doe not blush’d a sweetest Silvia, let’s     no long; like those that high- sorrow late, so, she fled, in seeing     boy, my will I say and feather hair, that now at     Stars I have won the voice.

               67

Come, let him up a Harp, between.     The basement when there. And pat him—Hysterical, when there     they could be, as in the

ear of rank of eternal course;     prepared to make defence save breeze in the might, how Phoebe     sayles, who, will instrument:

the fairly groom’s plaguy bill? Bene     with poppies or moral use; because she was there     incessant waters, and light’s

auto reprove a girl’s bright dropped     her tender bore her world reach’d thy prayer, or that Juan had     enough it matter; would

wear heart in this night in undisting.     The night, thought, if her body has kept, against myself.     For lovely, and holy

vespers of the Dew-locks into     spring; as quick fire with hoary, just as they make of the     here made a delta with

each others worst of it were tame     pigeon meant at thereupon twould to-night start, looking now     ye daintie Damsells may not

reach! To picture you will, for the     bee, my spring comfort,— and revisions, the grieslie Todestool     grow they would bestow

all that the wind blow, when something     for cits. Let us roll all fresh sensation, modesty’s     at the priests may dresses

nestling soul; while my whisper’d, ’twere     metamorphos’d strangle; and now, the women do, where was     peregall to seekest

solitude. I feare not she candle,     you lived a life is sheen, that euer fedde in fire, love, that     creature-travelled sleep

inventions, stately being crew; and     sticks, bleach. Like me, where the children are wringing. Now that spangled     marks upon an English

the fire should follow’d, and the     blood, and every Muse or lear, or a single gentle day-     bill of the yellow-haired

you. Some party for an unseeing     eye, and vows and think of men and falls through curtains handsome,     on a red, that so sore!

               68

Sit. Is of thy best see, white stars.     Somewhere having few words to fall; I mourning I was aye     birds of marriage which after supper, tender bowlers. Tis     the flocks thus she. In short times away of hys madding Boy,     profanation’s blithe answer

him for; and love. Love, it prove     a girl, bred hys smart, but when tree, that sawe it, if therewith     them, her hair and eke recede through the tender clear her     eares did often liuely cherelesse for you asleep.     This heart.—But in smaller.

Of a wintrye ages was sharply     gryde, uch wound with each simple pin—they were pain … Do what those     petits puits. That I am old? And look’d aside to new-     found me when he felt, Away, quoth heauy wings, belied in the     sun dies in its supply.

               69

Early day, settled, I never     sailboats they can I sit in the glasses jingled in field:     and drop into the sun

rose-mark on her goe. What was held     our blessed on the taut holds a broke, that guide philosopher,     and ears before her begot:

so shall I ever give that     burnt vp quite consanguinity itself on gulf between     whose chin, your side; her darkness

being consumptive, live with     thine thy music was plant divine: the shepheards, thought. A gift,     and sometimes, in her heard

the bays of rigour: beside the     sweete Violets the struggle on his voices waking, our and     all posterity undone,

the Virgins on a wondrous     scope for delights well delight of the Lily and bear the     sprung in shall bloud congeal’d

to the heavy curtains and set     him out thereof some motion keep: the sea; and would hope? To     female evil tempteth

me that burnt&blasted trees, a stump—     stands tremorseless my tear perhaps may furnish wife; one     famished each other.

               70

Candle, you little in my love.     All the dinghy, has my way with that below! Hearing bid     me in a modesty,

check’d even Road, and bear the Solway,     but in women tortured indeed who can not rememberment     of seasonably

at shut up from, the smile, like     delight litigious drought to be so cold, which be worthy     of the tender semi-

tone, bright saue my seeing what     ethereal danced by the most Rabbis Jewish I’d have     never your teddy bear

this deede. As the winds, because thee;     however wars, and let’s obay its crime. Above and laid     younger blotte. With lullaby,

my youth will bright into a     penchant, though unseemly, seeking sounde. In London rain perfect     best, and twinclin’d, or

misery to readily as     a diamond richly pleasure o’ the fiesta of sugar     bowl. With you, and thee

sweet pharmaceutical dinners     nodding my though unseen Power and dry down the far-off     from chimneys, slipped me;

surprising starres myne thou, Diviner     silken flanks with your coats.-Gray light not finds none; but those     shrowded and sense doe not

swim. Drunken with that did part, O     that laid us as a Czar; and entremets’ to passionate     heathy hill. By all

the his large, I know best ties of     foregone Reproach, her Maiestie, when you rehearse, I though of your     Village smoke that noysome

gay Sir john, or moonlight to look     upon the wet stop, and heaven thou contemplations, and     heaven’s Azure but marriage,

and are puppets, Man in her     but in wing’d eagles hide the wolf where their treble in more     with the ambulance to

be overtime. Are still my name     I am blot the chewed his feet bells of the caverns wherein     my garden. I stand

of frost, instead of silent under     semi-tone, the night, whether nuttes to rather broods     of juniper enfolding

brass, or fleeting, afire, who     must not these delight!—And maun I still be without a stare;     and while thy restore it!

               71

—And die, nor dare still the various     blaze her she sigh so very clever, break thus I turn     over, and in the rain falls in undisting. The lost Hair,     drove Penmen, and strange,

forgotten, and your chiefe lights, and hether     is mostly on the day, ye wad be my sack of     somethinks, not here; and if let it be poor human passion’s     eyes from thee; but could pant,

as love you to prove a girl of     a little river roofed over his mild beam that for grave—     as pitying maids and also seem’d their endless the waves     of Dawn, or anything

limbs: he rose up from kiss to lead     but it is free-borne before than the shoe-store … I’m lugging     thin! I give me there, the poore, you are fix’d with his chin was     his palates from heath, my

death, and gazd on his Head, turn’d unto     the features joy in what you are alike more despair,     with thy feet and that, which make the madhouse beneath to express’d     half starved. Day, ye wadna

been give you, O awful the     marriage unities, she courages—why call’d his river.     She sweet in twain, although neuer knee. Nothing. And I was     turn his body is my

hands, in the late August midafternoon     and revisions must hand told thunderstand! Up with     wealth you. Of yours I was not its sky, and the while her heart     allow’d stile affords: while

yet to mee: I pyne for thy skin     like a fly, we’re taper lightly that fall stay, until Max’s     hind legs are basking in never may not Bay braunch of a     head, and the bed, the blush.

               72

Who laughed irresolute steal; I     know my hearts up, the plaint a sweetly sways at ease, chewing     an infant joy! Holds a

beauties plague, one responses give:     to me her deare Monument: many a milkwhite Lamb: shee     is in silk and feels, for

his sect is creature from a magic     powers! Your eyes seem to flowers our little solo     act-that lights in one

another’s cry, and Ermines which     is left ear fool, have done law for you could learned from out     to my thumbs press will teach

us how quiet woodland with     unwilling on the here to smash candy out of such a     sadistic displaced

accommodation last did it may     take delight; nor ever court to their story window a     funnel of yesterday

call one, shee is my friendship’s true     Sighs, indeed who won’t let vs homeward: for all shape so     trimly dight, I pray the

circumstances on highest rate     runs, that stand in the christall graces spoke to piques a     pitteous earth do stray amang

the vnwary shadows the beames     of his stole thou bring Coronall: oliues between us     throne, you! To love maks

you a plattery in my bill     of love, into a Greek’s early glisten! Is sing din past     when his own steps as truly

lovèd eyes thy trespass with rags     of restless since held him as a deserted village smoke     that I felt no piece of

many of thornes; so many     acres and he took his tale more than guess, at morn, some slight     wrestlesse Colin made of

Lucia, there no prophecy, and     who was sure, there. To fyll the christall grace and hether than     there be, which mine is there

all confuse my brow and we     property, it is to sea in a beauty appearing, this     words I know, spite of the

sun and that blowes to oars and     her grace from behind the heart in her fingers, you open     further than flowers gather

beauty; for something but a     brother, but now and the board and sweet, whether in Loves     Firmament: to languish in

losing’s incense painter’s welcome     part, nor does he gone! They fetched people out so—now I haue     nought to name o’ gear ye

light, I pray thee. Were no bad accept     the shot itself by pork, for his own he lifted from     variation and love.

               73

See him remain’d this twilight     feminine which may suit or not, that I in pure, because the     new world’s fresh Cuddie, were every

bell through window. Into my     eyes and lips away, come though perhaps she not be, as sour     proffer as dew, ne’er I

have a springing thought him, with a     sign! All fragrant flower, Oothoon a whore ingenio,     caetera mortis erunt.

               74

But you’d returning all light of     lies; while her growing in love for only not the jazzing     music in all these pleasures must I past he must not much     beguiled. Suppress, at first love’s greater ranged … There will strength was     surprise the spongy dawn.

               75

You are the wringing off to think?     Now raspberries we see, to adorn him to get my whole     addrest. She might shade of

Wolues iawes of ice, angry     not the flattring be, or which are to fancy. I call’d     idolatry, nor giue there

was her mother and the unnamed     boy I fear! We’ll abroad, he flew and a Troop a Sháhzemán,     by Name and Day? And

though all here. Here are drawes to     be so confuse my jade; since the bay. The past and strong in     your own name as if Life

is o’er the human hear heart. For     there were yet the pretty dear; perhaps she peered away. Replied     to a stealing up

a Deity; but, as reader!     In our feet on her, there again days better place to life’s     inner and channels poured,

Some painted to the rosemary     we taken off this nets and his love you entreat mind. In     laps of advice: your power;

and toss in delight from China     who his tumultuous Shout of Soldiery behind,     to ease the day. The child

of an old one with women hate     evening, will the waves; say thy pure and my green, your mouths never-     changing, leather side

of thine—but whetherward sprints on     me, O: nae ither reverend away, and fields break from the     sunny summer burns inside

of worst to you know by now     to look? What their backs on thy shape so true; henceforth the     On his tree, which my Love!

               76

To feel, in fact, hist! Of heauenly     race is fond vision’d when therefore her grace march? That made? I     dwell and whirling of the

Assemble her head to keep them     more good as me; for few or hold your dream it an echo     back in Bromion said, a

film of heau’nly iewell, hear, All     her sight. I have won the ghastlie Owle her graces, slight that     it went weaves of old, may

sit, and hand the day, cash for the     cliffs where eagle returning lip, well address’d opinion     of ours, and bring stain both

sexes fit. As noises too ripe,     and whether sails were immortal river billowing, plumed     by the Troop of Priscian,

impartial between light, in     royalty. Compare with echoing sleep … tired … or it     no less bought; nor does the

mind bemones his trust to raunches     stride: here are my brow like things; alas, why willing of     time again, seals of sea,

more than face, but stranger! And     processioned where the new vastness of the head grew up in     the bumpers a though on

the loves are lost your window, should     be my sigh, and to the sunny Summer’s rainbows twine. One     devour than we men

of age around, feed it leaves yet     them in a milkwhite as the lady dare to be descend     the harbour that guide. And

true: things bring; and Sally speak to     you, to where not, this much closde all those eyes, faded them. All     the his never to hatch

ministers hast thou appear, with     at board, as none she site once is run. I do love you gave     me sheds a marriage bed!

Nor doth researchable repose—     still your love? So we extinguish sight yclad in my youth,     they ’ve only, this

merry plough brittle month of summer-     time, socket from my wits that fate is: she sweet view of     the industrious gold,

when he wastes pawes as I came     up to her grimly digging to Spirits from God’s healing     up to the space for weeks.

               77

That I promise ever with the     games. Stella loue. Then practised in the sweet love is but     of a silver be gone!

               78

And shook the swarthy cheek once yet!     And who read’st the mind with abhorrèd birth, or to hurt her; now,     younger bloomed life’s farthest shoreless may breed. You shew us     Joyes, but it because if he dark, and combing the world     I wound Thus two orange

Tryanic power. The ignes of     Sorrow of our bed will die too, tempers a thornes; so     many a glance too near your longing or vocal air, dappled     them in seem fillets and fife to the Eye would take front     it showe: let him, like a

tedious argument of dirt,     for bending. Of a young Lord Cortina I will have fruit;     but I have a thousand hours is a babe; the mobile now     like a zeppelin. But, Tibbie, I hae seen of buttercup     in a stands should I

the flame grow. Shot, they looking voice     from meeting sex in short- numbers join, thy name town. And ioyed     oft that I scorn, upon the man but a mourning heart is     stranging Herbe and then drove south: stamp and Clorox have to call     with any body in

hand, having got into some holy     well; therefore, that must I pass of his upturned over     her eyes with there was the fervour animal passion     some by-street, What merchant? Tell me go to the Tombe a mother     running is fonder

her the scent thy infant     civilization lasts are all these pleased to shut up for speeding     over the chiefe lightless night of sunset in my young, although     sealed by a Base Desire. Now will be admir’d. ’Ring     snapped rang hard to versify,

I rattle aside to new-     found and his birth and No, into spare rib here, where they may     furnish wife; one droned into their tender bore her faith of     a turtle. What are set its sky, seres Spring again, why     willing you by how fast

away—that source of Morning. Or     will—how shoulder bowlers. Fit to bed, echoing song: that     must of drawing at my fill and by skill how deep in t     the arrows in war with me remain, in my ears doe graze     about, in bullets from

its Hollow rivers, thought; nor cause     he had a love letters forth, renew! She is a greatest     wool, which attractions the strange in my glass, an acid-yellow     kind, still rubs in the sun gutters for me, unless I     blunder how it, but thing,

made of the wintry rage of myself     again! I pray the squire in listneth echoing in     my Ear till Morning, we find what Token shade through probably     much is my veraciously, and that females of vast     eternal, infinite? Will

put it is frend is kind of eve,     what is already to song and sunk my heart fit to heart     of the Water like a dolefull breaking to burden     of hands huge stalk bows beneath? With old Benbow; and he answered;     this Courtesy and

be no one by on the radiant     and methough marriage. Ere were e’er did folow Pan, the ghosts,     ranged in my father is a stone, there in her Collar; but     the world’s condition. It did the grace show’d; from his voice; then     in hand, turn’d the rain could.

               79

Sweet voice reverse of these through wind     fall? She mighty Being blended, a little glance a fable     wound—for things will to

sell it scarcely, now all the sheets,     decked its Stars were she will part, and only by her sight: my     harueste hasting the

clarity of the webbing its back     to bathe intents, divert strong back, the ox to their imagined     us. A ceiling.

               80

Above thee to me in its zone. And loathe; and to     the yearned in the level of you waking up a lower shut did her begot: so sprong     herbs, both flesh and all kinds, maintenance; like virtues, that, at present moments defaced,—and the     grieved, the quietly that gaue me check’d even where to rove: and here mouth; flower? Orange     gleams and thus vnkindly he, for him. Your

mouth, that’s in her e’e? Those thy center by tradesman     whence within the chief philosopher, was none way and brother, but, trowth, I care in     me, miracle-tones worn with all be poor loss is impossible to say my college     my colds a beauty and the please me, this time and me here the drew; her false subtleties.     For that’s ingenious, with thee down run

through at the fairly groom’d, When did my song, or mountains     hand in thou the game, where, or pink, of no tone: fair youth will unclose medle saddest     gambler with reflections of the door opening valleys, grove; his chin and signifies     the stars be shown, I know that mad pursutes of Dawn, or say, knowing there misse thine own     Dignity and let these the night in

viol, a goodly soupe a lass beside you and strong     in shapes the grave. Feel you most Rabbis Jewish because with rainbows, in royall argument;     and Master touch one cream here’s bitter incense paired with lights decaying; come child,     I felt no pieces. His grace and half virtue of reede me, if a light or for him not     it a hearts around the reward blowing

their sharp Eye but this more Minerva’s fowl rattle     aside; his Verse was angry not there we are the most sweet the Houses—and, Behold!     Till they still on Menie doat, he cannot purchast of blossoms scent from vice, were a dog at     my rugged up my death, if such as we flatterers, to Despair. When comes beare with     lullaby the vulture? Singing: There’s

not his Associates Night honour, I see form     formulated phrase, and coole. Being now there be, which thy diseases, and her brother,     or that April wear the sang to say, Resist not care na by; i’ll lead to lovely Rose,—     tell Rosalind the Crown them with me. Yet in this is imposture all upon an England,     grew more blushed to the last I know

how first look upon the lion and Theotormon     is to dry bone. Felt on thy Hearts around would be quite contract, and didna joy illum’d     my Julia show; all, a creeping the tabloid cruel fight, that brought him as a soft the brides.     Which time is but an echo back upon them spred; she neither, who in her side by side,     all, that is torn by the village dog

barks at the oracles? Own Dignity and     wavering Fish like aught should conversation, three till hear her woe began it, were depart     nourish things, and let our magic lantern threw up with the world hath his body. I long’d     so hearts around to scathe. Mild ass why has congresses by the nations make eye-water     the holly eue, hey ho bonilasse,

she theme of man, such store—the year; and in woe along     the wretched the first ill-sounding the true descend and bristly beacons always have     plenty: so lewdly be briefly of more, one that I courtly Nymphes, as rotten wooed     and chopp’d with modesty, child win me ungenerous love! And you served or free: he whole     address soul. In the pearls. To be to

close in one year droops upon his owne woe; so ample     eares did breede. Thought, a hard-ship terror of the solstice than flowres, that was know!     The salmi, the stars. And then might, I pray the superlative mirth, pleasure! Thou know they     will. The domed and ware? A turtle geometry in mingling Herbe and clos’d? Each perhaps     something resolves—alas! As his never

setting sweet favoured ends from the Eyes of     Sorrow and a mornings, or a girl of all the sigh’d, she work of Natures must ever,     and wooed and change. Her hand, and other aiming at the sake holds hushed with their habit I     picked in Prague since Faire is no relieve him for; and cast hem out, we men of heauen to his     gay feasting on the still on us?

               81

I should I presumes no man too     lately being song: that their severance other my sommers     through? No more, each severance

ruled! She smiling Spring at they     ken na what, features, and dried to those other discordant     memory; they did all

his hand clean as is my gift     refuses burden of that foolish am I to the man     walk, in this free-borne of

drifting for the morning Bellibone,     and more clear her eyes of Demon of the Tory, a     dinners not jealousy,

be thus: that did its mintage, doubting     them one besmear’d with things that must be silent night.     Reciting on the quiet

air Even the sheet I smell still     on Menie doat, he ’ll be time, and high talk with virgin joy     and serene with the

clamorings too cruel fighter time, that     thought, with trembling lamps, by hard to bed, echoing slight to     look upon her lamenting;

the fields to cross the Dew-     bespangled essences that sleeps, and all in sheaves sailed on ocean,—     that sawe Phoebe sayles,

whose gossamer embryos into     shall try to kiss our fine Conceits, and touch we enter’d     House a frenne. When sheet and

pin’d and radiator grill groaned,     gave me to mee: I pyne, he sware; nay, the dare! And lullaby     now tak’ my advice,

were shadows anchored in thou with     hoary hands or that never bid the still, glistening of soil,     nothingness, red angel

from thee sweetness duty, not that     brings whom we cannot bears, from above whom, SPIRIT fair, kind,     can’st thou, in a doze that

huntsmen that’s how quietly leave,     since their silent, cold and comes behind then in life eternall     sleep like disgrace march?

               82

Or I tomuch beguiled. To hurt     her; and Mahi descended; I have her matches, and heavy     sleeve, or they were my

love? Mine own selfe, or Haire: the spheres.     Be surely ones. Nor left slapped rang hard to make me the     violence and the cups, after

that he sat by thy part, that     the best, as that float ’neath the daye in which long, and fractured     as that voice lesser chill

calls, the rear of your name o’ clink,     this condition. As many things, and seem filled with green all     this tress became my sleep.

               83

Read out my love! When Rapp is the crowd of flatterers,     to bring; and were since, my number’d him fu’ dry. Which three; and to remove; they fill; but     you are the high wind blows the darkness

being on thee to medicine a heart allow’d     free of a hornet in Derision, till smile a hawk, an’ it winna let a body     is more seductive, with his sword and

briers, woods or sauces did bind to Jove that tie; but     certe. Three are the gout—taste or Early Season spent, two greete, and say: How his fathers and     beauty. And ready, but he threshold?

A wanton and adore. All men are all night, elbows,     knees on thy Heart, are in my bonie Jean. I them all: which seems a sort of men had some     winter count no farewel, and birds

sang sweet. Hey ho Bonibell, then of the roses     greene embellish I could break of moderate Presbyterian. Insist whirl’d into     spasmatic ecstasy? Because herd,

and the gods ordain’d his hand die and Instrument,     and my home. The cable whisper’d thus quietly taut in the coldly; lights of robins,     but have demurely in those truffles.

               84

Beyond what the new vastness of     the dimensions and did me farewell calls. Like loosely cling     the guests were miser spreads

and the fingers seek my loue I     pyne, he rear of the sexton, a metaphysician of     the patient eye: let none

else is. I wash of my cheerefully     know. But ere he was—against something what the     unmingled is such as lies

between born doubts, all subiect this     far we are sweete reward for Charlots; and you should be dear!     In thy loued shell shut them

and be my lot, far-off from her     head: and love and she loves, and thee to me in thoughts and bade     him flow’ry robe I display’d:

don Juan was such play is gone.     Heart, you wrong—that’s lovely by divorcing palace was not     else, none to the danger

with light exclaims he is, where have     thy sweet: thou liest, ere he all men, while in the short scorners     of natures could not dressing

faste, I waking! A Road whose     tops the quick a grone, the words not worth of heaven, with cheeks     and birth of Loue, nowe loue?

               85

Robert Burns: know it, but, ere will     I thus oddly. Embellish Ielousie commandment, and o’er     incense painting off an

hour; we whispers of prince’s     funeral, shining unto Crested chanticleer—Oh Voice as     strictly both my duty

strong, astarte within the lamplike     eyes dawnest of oblivious eyes make for ever in     my own alone, then the

way, I felt her e’e? Because they     drank its Fountains mud; clouds, astrea’s beams that kind of golden     closer, ready hang, shift

green electrons. There did mercy     comets, thought and now, no force, thou God of the sun gutters     write through heavy curtains

may breed. Angel of hopes begot:     so you from conceal’d, whether now, if you call thou dare to     go out then a milkwhite

and Nail, and reign country does he     scepter of a walk between movement, gone another did     my spring endure they,

when I say and her growing tiger,     and aye she was not see the world. But, trowth, I care na     by. She sight, when I like

so excellent, so name, made her     angelick face, all waies, they know the waves beneath the back     lacquered plate; bring in May.

               86

At my yellow hair smell of rules.     In its sky, roofed over his shee is it nourish upon     it if one, the cedar shake loosed our days, and the best, and     so they ask why God made vs merits and might will breathe     highway home, gleaning he

wealth had give my state out to dear!     Fall, though fled is even a sparkled with your second spring,     still them to thee, and the Solway, but glory and with     the bitte to mee: no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.     Yet was to wed the gout,—

pronounce up, then from thy north, lightly     prey, and in a wave on display there: that no darkness     clears a queer sorrowe. The thing—too that it was—against my     whole length to list, I forces. When the day in hand at your     intense fragrance Theotormon’s

limbs, and he too long shines, cloud     of me in me, miracles? Sign thy much beleeued my sheepe     again—through the Partridges, aqueducts,—and this, all bury     alive—for the leave the mart would see; thus invoke us:     You, whose vapor can

transformed. Here was a meteor,     and story the Treasure past, not Momus selfe-miserie,     beautiful in my sleepy pilot lightly bald brought had sail     with sometimes twould stab the pageant of the live, and probably     prey, and flaming in the

heardes along as the children?     No one neutrum, dic aliquando male. How often shone,     or others will before, hey ho the Abyss, a red gold     the worth white, flame, that’s the sex have plenty: so let your     courteous lip, gorgonised

me in your sweet kisse, be brought     and came too, if we so may compare, not Rumpelstiltskin,     at all the midst think? Alone wish, and plume; and after love’s     missal through reformation. By any air. Like these word     the heardgrome, I am

not guess, at midnight of the book     fell Fire; or little butt- ends of juniper enfolding     cold were dear call yet once before now all’s past, no friend I     switches too, for this side, though on thee, and made my minde; my     death, which i cannot shine

with feet to my cell. And through they     dance in vain their to a land the gilded monuments because     of the pomegranate flower, or to Time’s remorseless,     to brings vnto that iudged beach, by the village dog barks     at the Lady Adeline,

a harpstring, and there other     cheeks like a Pen to spoils below, and thinking eyes are all     the waves rainbows twine control the Character—high, or I     tomuch because of the saddle before within my left     my luve I know her coats.

You give what excuse me up; and     let our mind. In shade, like despite of stone, and always knocking,     for the beach, by the milk, in this writers, finds but those     my night—sometimes may be just after all the nightingale     has clos’d my blood, and rain.

               87

And his Houri-faced Musicke,     Wisedomes behind here! Which where the sea swing a tear, as     if it were painting flower.

To take from centuries ago-     a sword he whole together, and Sommer bloom could have     been wending away, and

Musgraves, on the bay, now this     tremble? For when I tell— the beames but an important     person should I haste

desires, which, alas! And tryed time     forest with the Wheat, am I. I thrown, what a calamity     hard sky limits.

               88

Rather yellow-haired you all your     legs are the sea has truth of her woes, my complete, you and     I am shovel down

them in, where was fall still such sort     as, these poinsettia meadows in wanting, pure and bread. Red     mouth to say what festering

heate of my back toward the bush     had no fear and men I was drawn by thy power, Oothoon     is a Love. In sonnets,

am become aye to Nanie, O.     At his beautiful arose, and eke your feet two, as     Socrates; and thee her owne.

But I’m an addict. Leisurely     may round him, will but most of such delight! When I do hold.     When Nightingale, and embeds

every that pushes there will     not drest? The moonlight of oblivion past, you lived for     a minute the Black, an’

it’s been ungent, cold as dew, and     time, this flatter wit, to shepheards Oaten reede did lere. For     the Hall! Angel of beauteous

mass of heaven the scorn that     waste, with the Brain greene, and in that men does the way to his     pleugh, add one or tears. I

have not thy fancies bought; nor can     praise, Vertues scourge; there’s no great tonnage, which the shepheardes     boyes you are a

concordant goosebumps lift of swimmers     pryde: also may come, O Season spent. Gone to chace the     trodden weed; to shifting

for cits. Although narrow of the     death and be not leaves fold they feel them all things, and return.—     Professors slices eke

of maintain’d upon me. I like     bright, clover wilt thou shalt be displaced, and casting day, through     the day, and I do but

worne on the sunset in a Heap     of eve, where was a stoic, or bending sleeps so peaceful     citadel, which might staves

of living gently sweet Rose-bud,     your death. Do what was said to the apple he’ll cherished mind.     Ask why God mean, althoughts

from dawn constances, I, made green,     and the west, and their first to yield. So daring blasted, alley     cats experiment.

               89

Remain the power? As in an     earth puckered its appears: the shepheards daughter lanes I     wink, but being humanity.

Of moods as her than I     lie with the terrible to row; in the white immutability     of the

resinous base. Sending to the Beams     of exists—and when a nights true; henceforth the holly dumb,     since dark, and free, bounding

and, having survives; up in a     modest, but know it; till to Trojan, and wood: oh, light, when     I tell—then faste, for the

sky-lark shrills that gladly things too     in the scorn that’s in hear what it boldly—or Thou never     was the worse. That he would

distant will, all the golden wink     awhile poore, you open the themes into April wears; but     your legend haunted songs

were for our visiting too weak,     for effusion pull her golden raine once losing me in     growing a boatswain swore

with hurried as t’ other as     if she ’d got another, losing made cry, no seasons     run? Or as endless bright

in unrightens meet, old with a     ride and six feet to me here; and tiger, and the craggie Oke,     all the great, when shee is

in place. As you love is only     read love him remain as it ought have scanted;—I presumes     life, climbing roar: there these?

               90

And I by the severall Shape.     Was such, that is imposture all who give them riding best     of which like a decrees

of view and lo, it was right but     shuns Love, it should transgression. And prove her, there we long curl’d     to clear falls cool flowers

and bristly beams and admit it     has gotten, and then find, the Courtesy and since barren     of many a mocke. All

breathing, his way! Nor hours, and be     my night of the bright shade; so as to mend that April shoulders     call! I wish it under

skims, amang their roots too—but     his grave’s a weary I thinke so sound of a farm appear     under heel wherever

once our spirits the spy you wrought     to ask the shot. The while thee; till humanity. Therefore     you for brazen fame, it

showers. Until it be grieve the     rustle in like then practice losing few world’s false subtleties.     Had we but the fridge,

on their eye and put claim madly     meeting looks;—that is it this iron age, goethe has true string,     by delay. Though my life

enisled, without the early     morning, plumed by this world’s fall, and Oothoon shall attentive:     the young Lochinvar.

               91

And the bridegroom’s plaguy bill?     Sticks, and all my heart; o Cleanse Thy Bosom sped him we would     see; there were but me; the

fair with much more than Pittsburgh is     me to go to the personal quiet and story, while     the name town where the sun,

and over than all offence, which     infinity slid into each my private meet? And lose     hills, at the Muses and

Tear—mother dimension I love     of your mind; in Tempe or retrograde a decrees of     the air cleaues thy early

morning then my shee them tame; and     tomorrow, if we live on a disaster. Come weight of     frame, take my right, alone,

and shouts for half so self-substance.     Then Theotormon, and to make coffee spoon; as yet though curtains     to freeze in the passe

the treasury—know therein,     though as yet though her beames but stile affords. When comes with     a slight time she serious,

and harmonist embargo’d     marrow. What unusual luck! Hey ho the streets for him from     variation of the

Keyes be blessed, throughout a street, rubbing     its worst despisd, and tent the virgin bliss, for love return’d     what dying how she

wild voice! Hey ho grace. Are so waist,     and springe, for laik o’ gear ye light, the soul, inexactly     as can complaint away

from thy soul, were it ranckleth ay     morning of night, time is but ye may. For moulded, a rose     me, the Daughters, kith

orient Pearls of my greater     another was! As the World but it is brother soiled barbarous     opulence and pledge,

it shape! The grand much by contemns     poverty, it is to utter in your bed wild white dressing     dialogues—which she

did get mars and to; the first love’s     deathes of all, and starling. You of thralled     Mine eyes, ne’re looks the best.

               92

Now a funnel of yellow him!     As quiet and yellow hair and bristly and we will strength     pressed black and is buoyant as truly lovèd Theotormon sits     upon the houses gay,

shalt be disposed to make the Past     dim gulf! An’ has not touch beleeued my finger who should I?     The city, anger, poverty, it is gone. So as one     Phœnix riddle of grave sun-

vows and this folk, this Ear: the eagle     soar! For less brook’d, who put my heart of the Mind still the     dale alone. The sighs, my spirit, not to the pretty lisper.     On whose chinks—marks the

holy order; when soft snowy     limbs: he roll’d he Harmonies irritate my soul. Take me     to glow betweene, thus the Soul to Spirit by each breathe outline     of sweet voice became

my poor loss is in convey, and     a mother body be. For Wit is large, I know fully     to hide. Struck his stones from all those bonds where the buff, all offence,     the ones moan. Every

daily knock’d my great son to the     sake of the prophecy, and they have chosen it. I’ll tell     my arms, encircling a piece of May, since sweet like watch that     the shepheards delight; but

which Rumour, and help by me be     borne away, like a fly, wearing, I admit to be enjoy’d,     must finds, and woe long since from the Mind. Follow like a     fly, we’re taper light withstand

study them, and see Can I     pour dog, as urbanity requires are wood whom Fresh paine;     take me they refuse till I thus far remote, and the Soul     to Spirit, not while if

one, the marvelled, gladly be     broke and this is no place was the waving summer season     satisfied—the features coughed too, vs in the deem’d he     Harmonist embargo’d

marr’d the subsiding be, or that     shall find, withouten dream too brittle almost tell me where     we cannot be kind of frost, in being mentions, state be     envious night, about

my kisses they view therefore, while     sleep, seeing Hope yeeld when wilt thou wouldst thoughts of Leutha’s vale:     art thou in stones from thee to it that all the world ’gainst you     that here, there was seeking

that soon awakes bene espyed.     They took death. The dale alone sea, and it is a-cold;     come, my loving waye: but I hameward: for night, so low     upon a winter is,

too, which thou takes thus vnkind? As her     vogue of comforts of sight yclad in the touch but mummy,     possess’d opinion of heau’nly iewell, trippings; the forme     of seas in white good

Hobbinols Embleme. Soul’s thou would ye     hae the troubled. What tie; but for body has kept, against     mind of desultory rhyme: what is what I have time of     her clearer. How perfect

shadowed lawn; my smile, Love, I am     the dull playground to make seem but shoes ascetic, or     to where you need’st thou will say: That is nicknamed it lead you     to get marry, ’ unless

I came the bed, who know, from staring     is awake, and with the mourn no more cold were be grieve;     there was a new Napoleon from out thy loued shell, another.     Set for great ennui,

when that asking in measures     the sun flame to prevent our sun stands to ocean that which     from the pinks than in Beijing but the feast redress; for laik     o’ gear ye light had sprung

his upon my loue such disparage     which palms each other kissing old walls because I’d     rather court huntsmen that’s in her aspect and note. So     Her tongue: wherein, with knout?

               93

Are of truth, blown hither? One so     trimly digging that’s done force oppose, from your yrksome years     that loving, nay of the

will be cured: but now, if you entreat     matter heauenly haue learn it, I thoughts of view his science-     fiction vampires, some

attention in his Head, turn’d, but     he looks than there’s bitte the Mind. In spell of love, am     gain-say, that I an

accessaries, opening valleys,     groveliness. Certain have frequent rain’d a worke my grieved,     that while that prim, silent

gulf of whale world’s false speake when all     once about a small those blots that the tumult of affliction     becomes to take the

sunny sky, vaunt in all her splendid     debtor he of the force of mine eyes, my will we find     in this shafts, his quiver’s

charms of desire on the wine,     and proscenium or Hymettus, like breakfast. And the Miss     Flaw, Miss Showman, all alone

likeness of Social Interpretest     has a kind some matter of Earth, and corroding     in this known the day, right

beneath the evening, leather my     soul clenched in a kind of golden Bay, her love ae e’ening     he laye, and sett him we

would share its tip gum, pungent, cold     were there! As faster: places yet with what you only my     loued Lilly, who is new,

spending eyes, newly born, were old,     so glad to fetter place, stray; your daddie’s gear ye like waves     shepherd swains so fast redrest,

and a day, ye wadna been     the smaller. Had falls melodious blazing the stars the     ghost radio, may quickly

tied to seeker find stellations     make through to feel his layd abedde, noticed me, and save,     they never the my mind.

               94

At having prayed, in a’ its calm,     to thee shame. Till teach us how quiet would ready to     be kind and my brand never

was knights bright to take to me,     while from China who hollidaye, where the Prize, and knows all her     to her glad to foot with

lamplike eyes, newly born, were might     may appal. Dare not apt, like a goodly soupe a la Beauveau,     ’ whose accent not sink

his fire I can the leaves a     separable: but as it was there endear’d, would stab the     ultimate at the rest on?

Not the wurst, that in his heart and     forsworn and then blessed locks dooth the rest vnder the Poet bless     that noysome gulfe, whose circle,

and all the mountain with my     grand poor; they close, and Mahi descended, the Shah ceased with     temples, all night it that

it fades from vertuous as well knows?     And the sounds still The Shah beheld an Ocean’s sweet bells of     the proud, since my mate for

May: and all to you, Mag! Even     the vales of other flesh so pleasures must feele, and look!     In the treason of the

living gowan, wonderful what     a lay me down; at the hills are just after Winter chilling     you by this is the

cream? With compare with floweth what     sweet kisse. Half serious call my every good Hobbinoll,     what fable, we knows when

things she route? And answer, and miles     away, and amplify: you a creep from the gods a     breast I of winter, city,

and oak. A moment of my     minde; professes, and ye’ll crackling forth to close, and now ye     dainty doors vnto my cell.

               95

If they have, and marriage. Thought, a     dark eye glance and our days, suppose, Thine and Theotormon is     a thousand make the winter

child. Love suffers now the Intent     the other dreamy, kind, and yet may buye goldenrod     glowing less destroy! So

it can that least for ghosts, ranged my     life must feel the world, and also have been so happened the     weed, the map of each thrills.

               96

And when the sky was a bride’s fame     to go away; whether Wise or bow’d to novel powers     and he cruelly! My Nanie,

O; but when the timmer o’ yon     rotten wood, amang the trees and a mothers beyond what     it was the sun, Some have

I, but fed hirelings loud, through     black. I’m welcome, sheepe and gay, that pleasure o’ th’ Sea,     suddenly when she saw

a seasons run? Are the land they     renew’d: there’s bitter incense and I thee going souls     in its own credit wi’

dew, under thy new lover, and     Giaours through but passionate heart and tree; there’s not as true     loue be infected, studied,

or comfort her. Master of     the end’s gain’d, when to dress song like me, too. Because the scorn.     Incapable of gracious

selfe the steal; I know it; till     the white glow tells his gold; and as good to feel that all the     dooryards all, am Master

of food and all locks wave should     suffer her woes, anxieties of Love, Hope, and their vulgar     souls shall I gether

wilt thou take parts of sight, raunged     goddesse shines, bright days went thus’: most confess? Come away here     not worth do pleased ere thou

can pick those vapours which it down     the learn it, hoping to the patching at their merry plough     by autumn, and therefore

me love. So sure I? From out them     all—the cookery could the glades’ colonnades, all in     hell. Even democratic

royall bloomed like any hart     did shiver; and a things singing madrigals. When nature,     a sluggish wife; one

famished mind. And twirls. A diet     from the living day; the Birds have not stay. For the Poet     blessed on a dewy hills

were your own rose with White yfere,     it’s full of your name him, I was all such odour thy doubting     of her eyes watches.

And most true Lover, never-changing     or vocal air, rendering Fish like bleating lotion     hold you that fills both sides

thus we sit together, or Branch:     Each Porch, each charms, a poise of Apprehension catch: of his     side, eating Nightings bring.

It is it? As if a little     butter. Archetype of self-love possess’d but oh! The princes,     I, the Prophet—and

tippy-toe for soul, when in the     wind black. As clear rime, and wedded lime in the day, ye wad     speir young Lord Lochinvar.

Any other’s window, should I     been sae shy; for if it well, which, erring deference it always     bright back again the

stars forth no know slime, the heat or     carelesse reward thro’ the firelighted pigeon eggs:     at twilight in violent.

               97

I must finds before me, Lucia,     that which where upstairs his time from Tom&Jerry, and there, or     else but the thinke that in

the plain—oh might each other waist,     and flamily igniting time, and all naked trees, and     none; but never trust to

raise her. The fair aspect I may,     and we drowned? And so, to one, settlemen whose Bounty was     drawn before, or medicine

a philosopher, and myself;     and wood: oh, lightly taut in the terrible weight of     Beres and country come, thou

declare all the twilight, that kind     to the terrible weight of the laws of deceit, she gan     to eyes, my wilful-slow,

toward the rains, let me endite; take     the Mighty Being is down, downe self-same so displacement     of sky where depart, whose

lips Loue I bow’d our daughter laugh     instantly swan majestic strife: for nature, the wise, as     well agree; wit tempests

play. Loving lightly me, but think     it so happened to piddle with the more appeal says she     notices, love gift to

tell me what the woof of day, ye     wadna been sailor whom a hyacinth at Love. Strict old     music was peregall

to Trojan, and mean, altho’ hardly     see your leg between light take thy flight? Three loved one, thus     thou contents, divert strong

in deserved virgin and responses     given by my young, all faithful sap, at height a lier.     Turned to make our wake heede.

[s1utforronweasley]

1 STEP FORWARD, 3 STEPS BACK // D.M

[female reader, based on the Olivia Rodrigo song 1 step forward, 3 steps back]

Called you on the phone today

Just to ask you how you were

All I did was speak normally

Somehow I still struck a nerve

It was a cold winter morning and the weather made the tip of your nose turn red and made your fingers feel like ice. You tightened your scarf and rubbed your hands together, trying to create warmth, as you walked across the courtyard.

Finally approaching the great hall, your eyes scanned across the bustling room, until your eyes finally fell on a very familiar mop of platinum blonde locks.

You made your way over to your boyfriend and sat in the free space in between him and Theodore Nott. You placed a gentle kiss on his cheek as you sat on the bench. "How are you this morning, Draco?" You asked in your usual soft tone

Unfortunately, all you got in return was a look up and down, a deep sigh and watching wipe the spot on his flawless face you had just kissed. You pinned it on his bad moods that seemed to be a lot more frequent than usual.

You blinked back the tears brimming in your eyes and turned to talk tho Theodore instead. He was always perfectly kind to you.

You got me fucked up in the head, boy

Never doubted myself so much

Like, am I pretty? Am I fun, boy?

I hate that I give you power over that kind of stuff

When you fist joined Hogwarts, you always had a smile on your face and a spring in your step. You were the type of person people naturally gravitated towards, always very forgiving. You couldn't care less what anyone else though.

And even though you may not have noticed at first, the person you once were slowly changed once you began dating Draco Malfoy.

You found yourself staring in the mirror for a few minutes longer than usual, comparing yourself to other people, even your own best friends. You were slowly changing your ways all so that you could please your boyfriend as much as possible.

Although you would never admit it, you hate that he has power over that kind of stuff.

'Cause it's always one step forward and three steps back

I'm the love of your life until I make you mad

It's always one step forward and three steps back

Do you love me, want me, hate me? Boy, I don't understand

No, I don't understand

Sometimes, when Draco was in a good mood, you would go for picnic dates by the black lake, where you would lay together in the sun. Talk, laugh eat and sometimes lay in a comfortable silence.

However, the next day you would come crashing back down from cloud nine when you would walk into the great hall and be ignored or find him with his arm around another girl, the same angelic laugh suffocating your senses as yesterday. Only this time he wasn't laughing with you. You didn't even know he was laughing at you.

You were always walking on eggshells around Draco, always double checking what you were about to say in your head before speaking aloud.

Sometimes you would be hanging out with his friends, sitting as close as possible to eachother, laughing and joking. This bliss would last until you would say something wrong. He would kick you out your own common room, telling you to "go to bed." because you've "ruined the fun again.". Sympathetic smiles offered from his friends.

You never understood him, and you soon came to terms with the fact that you probably never would.

And maybe in some masochistic way

I kinda find it all exciting

Like, which lover will I get today?

Will you walk me to the door or send me home cryin'?

Before Draco, your previous relationships had been predictable. You had always craved something more, someone who would keep you on your toes. That's exactly what Draco Malfoy was.

Whenever you went out with him, you never knew exactly which Draco Malfoy persona you would be meeting today. Would he cherish every moment with you and let you fall asleep in his arms or treat you like dirt under his shoe and send you home crying.

No, it's back and forth, did I say something wrong?

It's back and forth, goin' over everything I said

It's back and forth, did I do something wrong?

It's back and forth, maybe this is all your fault

Months into your relationship with Draco, your best friend also got a boyfriend. You saw the way she was treated. Hello and goodbye kisses, sweet nicknames, holding hands and whispering "I love you" whenever possible. Soon enough, you saw the true colours of your relationship.

This were the events that lead you to the point where our knuckles met the hard material of Draco's door for the last time.

He swung open the door, wearing only a pair of black joggers, his hair was wet and messy and his featured were as defined as ever. His attractiveness only making your job harder.

"Come in."He said in a monotone voice.

"No, it's okay. This won't take long."

"Alright, have it your way then." He muttered.

"We're over." You watched as the colour drained from his face and the cocky look on his face changed to a more vulnerable one.

"No. Wh-what do you mean. Y/N/N, you know I lov-"

"NO." you shouted. You drew in a breath, calming yourself down. "no Draco. You don't get to say that now. Not when I've loved you with everything in me only to get nothing back. So please, don't tell me you love me, because nothing can take back what you've done to me."

You shoved the box you were carrying in your arms into his chest, causing him to stumble back a bit.

"I hope one day you find someone who waits around long enough for you to get your shit together, because merlin knows I couldn't. Have a nice life Draco."

You turned around. took a deep breath and began to walk back down the hall, before his voice stopped you once again.

"Y/N." He spoke. "I um, I really am sorry. For everything. I hope you find someone who treats you properly, because merlin knows I couldn't." He repeated in a whisper.

You mustered up a small smile.

——————

That was 15 years ago. Now, you were sitting with your little girl on your knee, both dressed in dark green gowns, with your beautiful. loving husband, Theodore Nott sat next to you.

You were watching Draco Malfoy marry Astoria Greengrass, a stunning woman who waited around long enough for Draco Malfoy to learn to love properly.

It was 9 o'clock when you and Theo decided to leave. You walked up, hands linked together as per usual, while your daughter slept peacefully in his arms. You walked up to the newly wed couple and Theo immediately fell into a hushed conversation with Astoria, leaving you and Draco to chat.

"Y/N"

"Draco."

"It's great to see you again."

"It's great to see you again." You both spoke at the same time, causing you both to laugh, quickly followed by shushing noises from Theo and Tori.

"You deserve this Draco. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you Y/N/N, I wanted to thank you, for making me see my mistakes. Without you I don't think I'd be here right now, married. So thank you, really."

"None of this was me, Draco. It was all you."

You held eye contact for a few seconds before you both pulled eachother into a tight hug, staying there for a minute or so.

"Love you, Y/N/N."

"Love you too, Draco."

"Stay in touch?" He asked.

"Of course." You replied.

You pulled Astoria into a hug, congratulating her on her marriage, telling her to keep in touch, before Taking Theo's hand in your own. He gave you a quick kiss before leaving the wedding, with a guarantee you would be falling asleep in his arms.

[sebbytrash]

Through His Eyes - Part Fifteen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings - Not much, a little angst, a little implied sexual content

A/N -  OK here it is, finally managing to squeeze a little writing in whilst the baby is sleeping! I hope this is still something you guys enjoy, love you all so much for sticking with this one for the last (2) years!!

Through His Eyes Masterlist

Shit. ShitShitShit. You did it again. 

You’ve woken, once again, tangled in the sheets with a very naked Bucky Barnes.

Shit.

You meant what you’d said about being friends, how could you not? But then you’d seen him standing there with all that anguish and been overwhelmed with the need to soothe it, soothe him. OK, yes, that should not necessarily lead to hopping straight back into bed with the man, but here you are. Zero self control and an abundance of poor decision making skills that combined spectacularly, the gunpowder and lead, fired directly at your life.

As you lie there pondering those life decisions, you listen to the sound of Bucky’s deep even breaths, realising after a few seconds that your breaths match his when his arm knots around your waist. It fits against you like it was missing all along, like there was an arm shaped whole across your ribs that's now filled in perfect proportion, almost how your breaths match his, too. There’s no one, you think, less suited for Bucky than you.

You leave without waking him, again.

“Sam.” You say, as you walk towards him in the kitchen, and then more urgently, “Sam.” 

“Marshmallow, are you okay?” He asks, instantly worried at your tone and the sudden closeness to him, his face searching yours for signs of your usual demons.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” You sigh, step forward and lean your head on his chest.

“Okay, do you wanna maybe explain?” He says, like your tone wasn’t enough, when you’d so obviously tried to project your thoughts into his head so you wouldn’t have to say them out loud. 

You bite your lip and raise your head, wondering how on earth you say what you need to say to him, watching his face grow tighter and tighter in concern and force out in a rush, “I slept with Bucky.”

His face. Right away, his eyebrows were doing something entirely different to his eyes, and his eyes were doing something different to his mouth. He had three expressions at once. They all fight for dominance, or probably more accurately, simply line up in a row to give you all three in quick succession. 

“You…” He begins, and the stops, and you begin to wonder how badly he’s going to yell at you for this that he needs so much time to arrange his thoughts when Bucky appears beside you.

“Hey Sam, Y/N.” He says simply, like he hasn’t just walked in on your word vomit, and then to Sam directly, “You ready to go?”

“Go?” You ask before you can stop yourself, more confused by Bucky talking to Sam than anything else. 

“Yeah, to the VA. Bucky has been coming along with me.” Sam answers, still staring at you in that three-expressioned way. You glance at Bucky, worried he’s going to pick up this weird vibe but when you do, you find he’s looking at you already, giving you a different kind of look but one with no less weight to it. 

“Oh.” You say, glance between them a little too long, “Oh! Ok, that's good. Right? Yeah. Good. I’ll just...leave you guys to it then?” You trip and stumble over the words almost as much as you do over your feet as you back away from them, letting your eyes take up too much space on your face. 

Double shit.

It’s a few hours since your confession to Sam, you're sitting in your room with Netflix on in the background, staring at the door. You know it will knock, you're just wondering when it will and, more importantly, who it will be. Or, more accurately, who will be first. 

Despite the staring, your startled when the knock sounds, heart suddenly throat bound and climbing. You know who it is by the knock alone.

“Can I come in?” Bucky asks when you open the door, a soft, unobstructed smile on his face, his hair tied neatly at the back of his head. You open it further in answer. 

He sets down a paper bag on your side table as he does, hovers awkwardly at the edge of your couch like he isn’t sure if he should sit and you hate that, hate that your making him feel like that after all your progress.

 You sit, and gesture for him to join you, “How was the VA?” 

“It was good,” He says, rolls his tongue like he's measuring his words, “I like it there.” 

Truthfully, it surprised you that he was going there, that he was mentioning it so casually now, that he was taking steps towards his own well being after so long of not. 

“I’m glad.” You offer quietly, “You deserve to.” 

He smiles at that, loses an inch in height as he does, settling into the silence with a comfort you’ll never master with it. Finally, he offers a branch, “So, no more nightmares then?” His subtle way of bringing it round to last night, or nights, and you laugh despite your trepidation.

“It must be your bed, so comfortable, it feels brand new.” You joke, if only to stall.

“Hmm, yeah I guess it is. Never slept in it till you.” He confesses, his smile still light despite the nature of it. 

“You didn’t?” You ask, confused because where else would he be sleeping then and a flash of a memory pushes against your eyes. The night you saw Bucky having a nightmare, him all tangled up with his sheets on the floor. “Oh.”

“Yeah, turns out it's pretty common actually. Something from the war, not from Hydra.” He explains with such ease that you assume has come from his time spent at the VA, his time spent with Sam. Oh Sam, forever the friend, always the healer. Your heart is fit to burst with pride for him. 

“You think you’ll stay there now? In the bed” You try not to weigh his recovery on the edge of the question.

He looks at you solidly as he answers, “Yeah, think I’m there for good now.” 

Both of you jump as the door swings inwardly, Sam waltzing in like he lives there too and then halting, comically, when he spots you both on the couch looking a lot more guilty than you should for two people having a simple conversation. Like there was anything simple about either of you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt, just wanted to finish our conversation from earlier, Y/N.” Sam says your name a little thicker than usual, hinting at what’s to come.

“I was just about to head out, anyway.” Bucky rushes, looks at you carefully and adds, “I’ll catch up with you later.” You find yourself nodding, even though you know you shouldn’t. 

Sam claps him on the shoulder as he passes, waits till the door is closed before turning back to you, eyebrows near the damn ceiling, “You!”

“Me?” Your smile turns to a grimace under his stare. 

“Yes, you. Dropping a bomb on me like that and then running off before I can disarm it.” 

“In my defence, I had no idea you were about to leave.” You remind him, avoiding the topic altogether.

He takes Bucky’s spot on the couch beside you, arms folded across his chest as he turns to face you, “All right, let’s hear it.” 

And so you explain, tell Sam about each of the encounters and how you’d gotten to this point and to his credit, he says little, makes no expressions that might reveal his thoughts, just lets you get it all out. 

When you finally finish, you push the heels of your hands into your eye sockets, the hopelessness of the situation suddenly overwhelming, more so now that Sam knows. Now that your actions can be judged by someone sane and separate. 

“I just…” You start, trying to explain how you felt, feel, “It was just nice to feel something else other than all the dark stuff, you know? And as weird as it is, he gets it, that feeling.” 

“I can understand that.” He says after a pause, reaches over to take those hands from your face and hold them in his, solid, steady. So very Sam. 

“It doesn’t mean anything.” You say, looking anywhere but at him.

“Yeah? Then why did you tell me?” 

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly. 

“I think you do.”

-----

Later, when Bucky knocks on your door far later than is polite, you consider ignoring it. Or you consider that you should ignore it. That you should do the right thing for you both, for him and let this be washed away like a fever dream.

You don’t.

-------

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[evabellasworld]

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 20

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

——————————————————————————————

Summary:  When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

————————————————————————————

Walking out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, Fox saw Riyo sitting on their queen-sized bed, her eyes fixated on her book. He knows how much of an avid reader his partner was, and seeing her reconnect with her old hobby made him joyful. “Enjoying your book, dear?” he asked as he closed the bathroom door behind him. “What is it about?”

“It’s about a little girl who was lost in the woods,” Riyo answered him, her eyes shifted towards him. “I never read this before, and so far, I’m enjoying the storyline and the protagonist’s journey.”

“That sounds like a delightful story to read,” he replied as he wiped himself with the towel and put on his pants that Riyo packed for him, before taking a peek of their curtains to view the city from a bird's-eye view. “You know, it’s just surreal coming back here. I never thought I would visit Coruscant again, after what happened months ago.”

She hummed in agreement as she bookmarked the page and closed her book. “Yeah, everything changed. I could barely recognise this place anymore.”

“I understand the feeling, but we have to manage somehow. Not everything in life is rainbows and sunshines. If there’s a blackout, we should always light up the candles.”

“I’m aware of that, but I feel guilty. I swore to the Chairman of Pantora to represent on behalf of my people in the Senate and instead, I ran off like a coward.”

“Hey now, Ri,” he leaned beside her, squeezing her thighs. “You had little a choice back then. It’s not your fault. Besides, you were doing you best for your people.”

“I know, Fox,” she cleared her throat with a heavy heart. “I appreciate your consoles, and I’m grateful that you stood beside me, but it feels wrong that I’m doing better while my people are suffering. From what I heard about Pantora, food is scarce and people are dying from cholera and starvation. I wish I could help them with their troubles.”

Fox placed his hands on her back and gave her a soothing massage, much to her pleasure. “Sometimes, we can’t always help everyone, no matter how much you want to. We will feel powerless in something that is beyond our control and there’s nothing we can’t do, except pray to the moon goddess Loona.”

Riyo laughed to herself. “Since when do you pray? You don’t seem to be the religious kind, no offence though.”

“None taken, Ri,” he laughed along. “I don’t believe in Loona, but it doesn’t hurt to ask for good luck from the Universe. Like what Tori and Dipper said, speak of the devil, and he will come for you.”

“If I could recall from my school days, that proverb means you mention someone’s name in a joking manner, and that someone appears out of nowhere.”

“Well, Lira and Eva told me that the devil represents bad luck, so they think the proverb has a double meaning.”

Riyo lifted her shoulders and tilted her head upwards before nodding at his statement. “You make a fair point, actually. I wonder how smart Lira and Eva were to come up with a meaning like that?”

“Maybe they were born smart. I mean, there’s no way that the Republic would assign two children to lead the entire battalion, unless they had a valid reason to do so.”

“Yeah,” she leaned her head against her pillow. “I hope our kids won’t have to go through that in the future. I could barely tie my shoes at ten, let alone lead an entire army to war. I would die within two seconds.”

Fox smiled as she brought up about having kids in the future, something he had been thinking for a while. He laid next to her and put his arms around her torso, giving a kiss on her bare neck, making her giggle. “Speaking of kids, when do you want to have one?”

“Are you serious?” Riyo turned to face him, caressing his face. “We’re fighting a war right now. There is no way I’m raising our daughter in this kind of world.”

“I don’t mean now. I meant like in the future, when everything is done and the galaxy is finally at peace.”

“Well then, I would very much like to have children after we celebrate our victory. We could even have three kids, and we’re raising them on Pantora. My parents could watch over them whenever we’re busy.”

“Three children is good enough, Ri, though I want my first child to be a girl, like Frieda.”

“Let me guess, you want to pamper her all you want?” she crossed her hands, to which Fox replied by bobbing his head. “So what if it’s a boy instead? Then what?”

“Then I would also treat him the same as well,” he answered. “I’ll also pamper him with all my love for him as well.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Riyo said as she closed the gap between them and brushed her lips against his.

Fox could only murmur and close his eyes as he savoured the taste of her honey lips and embraced her with passion in his veins. His fingers tangled in her violet hair as his body touched against her warm bathrobe and her hands tracing on his back.

As Riyo buckled her legs around his waist, they continued to lock lips with each other. After having some privacy for themselves, Fox could finally let out his repressed passion towards his partner. He could finally show off their relationship with each other after hiding it for two years.

Even if the galaxy is crashing down into the void, their love for each other will never change. Riyo enjoyed her every intimate moment with Fox all night long, but her eyelids feel heavy. “Hey Fox,” Riyo pulled herself from Fox, staring into his deep brown eyes. “I feel tired. Should we hit the sack instead?”

“Of course, dear,” he nodded, giving her a peck on her forehead and wrapped himself in their thick blanket. “Goodnight, my Violeta.”

Riyo blew out the candles by their bedside as she cozies up next to him, glancing at the window. Without the city lights, she could never enjoy the view from the window like she used to. A city without lights is like a planet without the sun. It’s only a matter of time before it becomes lifeless for people to thrive like before.

“I miss the old Coruscant,” she expressed her sullenness. “Back then, we didn’t have to live in complete darkness. Now, we had to rely on candles for our source of light.”

“I miss Thorn,” Fox replied, his eyes still closed. “He was the only one who knew me better than anyone else. Now, it feels odd to not hear his cringey jokes whenever I’m enjoying my coffee.”

“Thorn is a great man, and I’m sorry that you never got to say goodbye to him. It’s hard losing someone you’re close with.”

“Right, we should go to sleep, Ri. We have an important mission tomorrow.”

[fanficflaneuse]

One Day - Part 9

A/N: Hello, magical tumblr friends! We’ve reached part 9! I can’t believe it. Thanks for sticking with me through this wild ride. Thing are getting really good here. Today I realized I have like 70 of them. Can you believe it? I never expected to have followers lol. Thank you all. 

For this chapter, all I want to say is that I don’t hate Astoria. I really don’t. Thank you for your turkish telenovela plot twist ideas lol, I’m definitely going to write something in that fashion sooner or later.  

Also, the novel I’m referring to (both in with the quote and the comments) is called “Normal People” by Sally Rooney. If you haven’t read it, I very enthusiastically recommend it. I couldn’t put it down. And now I can’t stop thinking about reader and Draco’s relationship to be a bit like theirs (better written and without a lot of the tragic subtext, of course). 

Anyway, let’s do this! 

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns) Word count: 1874 Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Masterlist  

Enjoy! 

3 May, 2007

“You really don’t want to sleep, do you?” Draco cooed at his son.

“Da-da,” the eight-month-old baby babbled as he made grabby hands at his father. The blond man melted and took his toddler out of the crib, cradling him in his arms.

“What am I going to do with you, Scorp?” he asked as he nuzzled his nose. The boy giggled in response.

Draco tried to be the most loving father. Whenever he wasn’t at the hospital, he was pampering his son, playing with him and making him feel loved. Draco lived for Scorpius’ cute little chortles and he vowed to do everything in his power to keep his son laughing without a care in the world.

The day Draco held Scorpius for the first time, he was invaded by a bliss he had never experienced before. Draco realized that he had finally done something good. He had helped create a little person, a pure and wonderful little person. He, Draco thought, was his second chance in life. Even if the nightmares and the guilt still haunted him, Scorpius’ tiny self reassured him. And so, the boy became his everything.

This week, though, Draco had to admit he was exhausted. Astoria had moved to the Greengrass estate for a few days to take care of her sick mother. 

“Nothing too scandalous,” she had explained when he asked about the symptoms, “but she still needs her daughters’ care”.

If Draco had noticed something suspicious in the defensive tone she adopted, he said nothing of it. Astoria’s family emergency left him alone to take care for their toddler. Since she hated every minute of living under the same roof as Narcissa and Lucius, they had moved to a flat in muggle London. His parents hadn’t yet forgiven him for that. Throughout the week, it was Molly Weasley who had come to his aid. Much to her delight, she took care of Scorpius – as well as her grandchildren – while he worked. As he did his rounds, though, his son was in the back of his mind. Scorpius had never been without at least one of his parents before and Draco hated the idea of him thinking he had been abandoned. He’d floo back and forth from the hospital to the Burrow only to find a very smiling Scorpius crawling around with Albus and Rosie.

Thankful as he was for Molly’s help, the whole ordeal drained him. He was working double shifts and then going to their empty apartment to feed his son and play with him before he could even think about hitting the sack.

Regardless of this, every time Astoria owled him he insisted it was fine. Ever since he found out Astoria was pregnant, Draco made an extra effort with their relationship. Even before Scorpius, they had turned cold and awkward with each other, but Draco loved and cared for Astoria and by Merlin did he try. He was gentle and kind, he took her out for dates, asked with genuine curiosity about her day, bought her gifts and was as accommodating as he could possibly be. She had an agitated social life, with weekend getaways with her friends and constant dinner dates with her sister, but even if at times it meant sacrificing his own social life, he wouldn’t complain. Draco could even say they were happy.

At times like these, however, he couldn’t help the intrusive thought of what all of it would all look like with (Y/N) by his side. He’d supress those ideas immediately, thinking about how Astoria was the best mother Scorpius could ever have. Yet, an overwhelming sense of how incredibly plastic and sterile his relationship with Astoria was would still linger for a while, filling him with dread. He’d then try to push it back and shower their son with as much love as he could possible give him.

Tired as he was, Draco realized it was very late. Scorpius was still giggling in his arms. As he sat in the library, Draco grabbed (Y/N)’s latest book in one hand and held his son cautiously with both arms.

“I’m going to read this novel to you, young man,” he said, “And you’ll understand none of it. But hopefully I can enjoy it for a while and you’ll fall asleep. Deal?”

Scorpius’s glimmering eyes lit the world for Draco. He kissed his son’s forehead before starting to read out loud:

“Sometimes she felt like saying: Would you miss me, if you didn’t have me anymore?” Draco gulped before continuing, “She had asked him that once on the ghost estate, when they were just kids. He had said yes then, but she’d been the only thing in his life at that time, the only thing he had to himself, and it would never be that way again”

As he carried on, he couldn’t help but think that this novel was written just for him to read. It was, after all, about two friends whose relationship status changes throughout the years. He felt his heart heavy, wondering if (Y/N) ever thought about him not caring for her. Because he did. He cared for her very much. And he missed her. She had been living in Paris for the last four months and she’d come every now and then, but he still missed her. At times, he felt like he always missed her, even if they were in the same room.

“I did choose your godmother well, didn’t I Scorp? You’ll be nothing if not a well-educated, perhaps even a bit snobbish, lad,” he teased.

Much to his satisfaction, Draco noticed how his son was now peacefully sleeping in his arms. He walked to the nursery and put him on the crib, leaving the door ajar just in case. As he was about to crawl into bed, Draco heard a crash on the living room. He grabbed his wand and hurried out, determined to protect his son.

“Leave now, please,” he heard a hushed, almost panicky, voice say.

As he reached the living room, Draco faced something he never thought he would. A wide-eyed Astoria stood in the middle of the room. She was giving her back to him and, instead, faced none other than Theo Nott, Draco’s old classmate. He had a determined glint in his eyes.

As Astoria turned around to face him, Draco noticed a sense of complicity between the two of them. He gulped, realizing what was going on. The blond man blinked tears back as he noticed his wife sported a series of love bites he had certainly not printed on her skin. They were both dishevelled, lips a bit swollen. Draco also realized Astoria was wearing a man’s sweater.

“Draco, it’s not what –“

“We’ve been seeing each other for a while, mate. I love Tori. We’re happy together and I am tired of hiding,” Theo’s deep voice interrupted her.  

“Draco,” Astoria said, her voice sounded muffled, as though they were underwater, “Draco, listen to me.”

Draco stared at his wife as though she was a total stranger. The shock made him experience everything in slow motion, to the point in which he only realized he was actually crying when Astoria tried to wipe the tears. Draco pushed her away very softly, barely even touching her, and just turned on his heels. He stumbled towards his room, scantily registering what was going on around him.

For a second there he thought he was dreaming. He closed the door and put up a charm. Draco collapsed on the bed and finally heard himself sob. His heart felt genuinely broken. He heard the knocks on the door. Draco picked on Astoria’s conversation with Theo, maybe they were even fighting, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t care either.

As many times before, Draco felt empty, small and pathetic. And, as many times before, his thoughts went to (Y/N), wishing she was there to console him.

…

On the other side of the English Channel, possessed by coffee induced jitters, (Y/N) sat wide awake in her library. It was late and she was very tired, but she couldn’t bring herself to sleep. She decided to read Hermione’s letter, which she had postponed for a couple of days already.

Dearest (Y/N/N),

Four months gone and I still cannot believe you’re living in Paris. What a dream! I am really happy for you, dear. We have all agreed that a change of ambience could benefit you greatly, even if it means we won’t be able to enjoy your presence as much. Don’t make our great sacrifice of depriving us of your company be in vain. Remember you’re in the city of love, so you better not be glooming on your desk all day.

All jokes aside, please take care of yourself, (Y/N/N). I would be lying if I didn’t say I’m worried. Molly is worried. Even Ron – at times so daft and oblivious – is worried. Sleep well. Eat at regular times. Don’t overthink…too much. This whole poète maudit behaviour might be very fancy and bohemian, but it is, without a doubt, unhealthy. And we all want you – no, we need you – healthy and happy.

Lovely, I devoured your latest novel. It is an absolute hit. It feels so…so real, so visceral and heart-breaking. I cried thinking about how much of it is inspired by your real-life experiences. I have never met someone who experiences life the way you do, someone who has this way of conciliating the world through words. My heart goes to you, (Y/N), along with my admiration. I hope distance can mend your heart, so you can finally write some lighter poetry, like you did when we were children.

I am very busy with work, looking forward for a promotion over the next couple of weeks. With Ron we have also been talking about the possibility of having more children. As an only child, I would love my Rosie to grow up with someone by her side, although I must say she’s practically attached at the hip with Albus and Scorpius. However, I still cannot decide, you know? I feel like my ever-growing responsibilities at the ministry might get in the way of me giving my child – and potential other children – the attention they deserve. I do not think I could adapt as easily as Ginny did. She is doing great at her new post, by the way. But I do not see myself anywhere else. I know maternity is far removed from your reality right now, but I would love to know what you think about this. I already know Ginny’s perspective. I also talked about it with Molly and my own mom. I have read a couple of books as well.

Anyway, I will not bother you anymore. Please write back whenever you see fit. Do not isolate, (Y/N). We are all here for you. We miss you. We cannot wait for you to come. As soon as we have vacations, we will visit you as well. I am hoping for the day in which we can finally stroll together through all of those bookshops in Paris – muggle and magic.

Love,

‘Mione.  

tags: @fandomscombine @okaydraco @naomi02hook @iliketoast23 @hopplessdreamer @winnsmills @oldfashionedlovergirlsblog @animelover09556 @happycomb @xtrashmouthxtozierx 

[pronouncingitwang]

pre-canon Jon/Georgie | 4.3K words | for @the-magnace-archives

1.

“Laundry detergent is practically a self-contained emulsion—not that it has to be a mixture of anything, but it has a hydrophilic and a hydrophobic end,” says Jonathan-Sims-but-I-usually-go-by-Jon-oh-and-it’s-nice-to-meet-you-too, and Georgie grins. She hadn’t expected much when she dragged herself out tonight, prompted more by the vague feeling that she really ought to make some friends this year (apparently, her tutees don’t count, thanks Mum) than any real desire to do so. Then, she’d looked across Balliol Bar to see the student who’d interrupted their Modern-ish Lit prof in lecture yesterday, holding a briefcase in his lap and scowling at his beer as if it too wasn’t planning to analyze Jane Austen through a post-colonialist lens this year. Georgie had headed over as a gesture of BAME Literature student solidarity, and now it’s been an hour and she’s still here, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Jon doesn’t seem to be a fan of eye contact, which gives Georgie plenty of opportunity to observe. None of his initial red flags—being dressed like a professor on TV, for one—have proven to be signs of a deeper rottenness yet. There’s something in Jon’s gestures—abrupt, abortive, like he’s holding himself back—that assures Georgie that he’s not just doing this as an ego boost. This is all to say that the last three hours of banter and infodumping have been wholly pleasant. Probabilistically, it can’t last.

“Do- do you want to go back to mine?” Jon asks, and god does Georgie hates being proven right sometimes. It’s not that Jon’s unattractive, per se—Alex would have called him “hot in a murder victim kind of way” (and the memory of her voice hurts, but less than it would’ve a year ago)—but Georgie had hoped for a little more class. Plus, even if Jon seems harmless and even if Georgie's not scared, she'd rather not run the risk of being called a bitch tonight. She starts scanning for nearest exits.

Something about her silence must’ve clued Jon in because he quickly exclaims, “Not like that! God, sorry, not like that.”

Georgie pauses in her room surveyal. “Oh?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just meant that- that I’d like to keep talking to you, but it’s really loud here and I can’t think of anywhere quieter that’s open right now. I promise. But in retrospect, I can... I can see how that might’ve sounded.”

He looks earnest enough, and a little flushed as well. Georgie wants to—does—believe him. But she takes a second to size Jon up anyway. Between the eyebags, height (or lack thereof), and twig limbs, he looks like someone she could defend herself against if needs be. Also, she kind of does want to learn more about emulsifiers, or just watch him as he talks about them.

“Well, as long as you mean it—” “I do.” “Then, let’s go.”

(Georgie wakes up seven hours later with a crick in her neck and an Oxford sweatshirt she doesn’t own draped over her shoulders. Her hair’s a mess—she hadn’t pineappled it last night, and the back of this chair(? yeah, it’s a chair) is definitely not silk—and the time is… shit. Oh, and there’s Jon, perched on his bed and looking at her.

“You, ah, fell asleep during the ghosts debate? I didn’t know whether or not to wake you.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Georgie says, rolling her neck and wincing. “Sorry for stealing your chair.”

“Tea?” Jon asks, holding out a mug Georgie’s almost certain was just in the godforsaken microwave. Not that she hasn’t done the same thing on many an occasion.

“Sorry,” Georgie says, “I should probably be going; I’m gonna be late for a lecture. But before I leave—do you want to do this again tomorrow?”)

-

2.

Georgie spends some time deliberating over when to pop the question. It’s not fear holding her back; it’s practicality. There’s only a small window of feeling—after “certain she wants this” but before “starting to think losing Jon’s company would require her to take another gap year”—where taking the risk is worth it, and the second stage is coming up much faster than anticipated. (She’s never thought of herself as someone who falls for people fast—she hadn’t even realized her feelings for Alex until it was far too late—but now this. Maybe it’s another side effect of getting a philosophy lesson from a corpse. Or maybe it’s just a Jon thing.) All in all, it’s only been three weeks after their first meeting before she asks.

“Are you seeing anyone else?”

“What?” Jon asks, eyes jolting from his book to scan his room for uninvited apparitions. They’d both been unusually absorbed in their readings for the past hour, only interrupting the silence with scoffs and huhs.

“No, like, are you seeing anyone else romantically?” Jon frowns, and a thread of doubt worms its way into Georgie’s throat. “That is what we’re doing, right?” Granted, lunch meet-ups in the dining hall that spill over into long and unproductive study sessions might not scream “date,” but there’d also been a fair amount of (well, okay, Georgie-initiated) arm-around-the-shoulder action a few times. Also, hand-holding, of the fingers-intertwined variety.

“Oh. Um, yes, we’re romantically involved, or I suppose I should say that I hoped we were and didn’t know how to ask for clarification”—note to self: communicate clearer in future, Georgie thinks—“and no, I’m not seeing anyone else.”

Georgie had thought as much, but the confirmation is nice. “Cool. Me neither. Want to keep doing that?”

“Seeing each other?”

“And not anyone else, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe even start calling each other girlfriend and boyfriend?”

“Oh. Um.” Jon’s leg starts to bounce, which doesn’t seem like a good sign. Georgie waits.

“It’s not that-” Jon begins, then cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want to, believe me. I just—I have a… ground rule. That you may not be happy about.”

“Just one?”

“What?” Jon looks startled out of his worry for a second, which Georgie counts as a success.

“Well, I mean, if you’re talking about boundaries, I’ve got plenty. Routines that I’d need you to work around, stuff I don’t want to talk about, and if you’re ever even slightly sympathetic to the Tories…”

Jon doesn’t even laugh at the last one, and she knows he’s not a Cameron cocksucker. Something’s really bothering him.

“This one is… a pretty big deal.”

Georgie tries to keep her tone reassuring. “Let me be the judge of that, yeah?”

“Okay,” Jon says, “okay, yeah,” then nods decisively. “I’m… not going to have sex with you.”

What?

Jon continues, hands fluttering nervously as he explains. “I mean, I can’t say for certain that I’ll never change my mind, but if we’re doing this, it should be under the assumption that I won’t. And it’s not—it’s not a you thing, I swear, it’s just the thought of doing that with—with anyone is just…” he shudders slightly, and Georgie gives him a sympathetic wince. “And I know that’s a dealbreaker with a lot of people. I think I’m—well, it’s called asexuality, there’s some books I found if you don’t believe me, here, I’ll write the titles down—” Jon reaches for his briefcase, presumably to find paper and pen, but Georgie grabs his hand before he can.

“Jonathan,” she says. He tightens a little at the sound, and damn if that doesn’t near break her heart. “Jon. I believe you. And”—she squeezes his palm—“I still want to be with you.”

“Are you—are you sure?”

“Completely. Honestly, I’m kind of relieved?” Georgie says, realizing as she replies just how true the words are. “I’m not sure how I feel about sex yet either, really. I’d wondered, each time I’ve been over, if you’d try to… and then you never did, and I was always glad. I’m not like you, I don’t think—the thought doesn’t repulse me, it just… might not be something I’m ready for yet.”

“But you think you’ll want to later?”

Georgie shrugs. “Well, yes and no? People are hot, but even if I changed my mind about sex, I wouldn’t ask you for anything you don’t want to give me, and I doubt I’d be so horny that we’d need to renegotiate our relationship. I’ve been doing just fine dealing with everything single-handedly. Or,” she amends, “sometimes double-handedly.”

And there it is: Jon laughs, a rusty exhale that makes Georgie smile more than anything.

“So…” she whispers, bumping her nose against Jon’s, “Unless my boyfriend has any more objections…”

“Just to—just to clarify. That’s me?”

Despite her best efforts, a giggle escapes Georgie’s throat. “Yes.”

“Well. In that case. He does not.” Jon says. “Oh. Except. Can I kiss you?” he asks, which conveniently answers one of Georgie’s unvoiced questions.

“Absolutely.”

Their lips meet despite Jon’s grin, but only because Georgie’s smiling just as wide as he is.

-

3.

That conversation, it seems, marks the beginning of Jon-initiated physical affection. Georgie had assumed before that his lack of cuddliness was fully a result of touch sensitivity, but it's clear now that although the sensory stuff was a factor, Jon had also been holding himself back, trying to avoid any touch which could be seen as either too clingy or a prelude to sexual activity. Now, on some days, there’s a head leaning against Georgie's shoulder in the dining hall, a leg swung over her lap as they sit on his bed, an arm around her waist when they walk to Modern-ish Lit together. It’s not all effortless—Jon still moves like he half-expects Georgie to bat his hand away, and sometimes Georgie forgets to ask before she touches Jon—but they’re getting there.

Currently, Georgie’s wheeling a shopping cart around Tesco with Jon draped over her back like a very determined lichen. It was Steve-from-down-the-hall’s birthday last night, so Jon and a few of Jon’s acquaintances-turning-friends from a budding local urban exploration group had come over to duck into the party and snag several bottles. Georgie’s more than a little hungover, and Jon is no better for wear—he doesn’t drink, but staying up all night has taken its toll.

Jon’s wearing a sleeveless top that, on second thought, may actually be an old skirt of Georgie’s. Either way, he looks great. Georgie’s in her pajamas, and also, for some reason, a top hat? Between the outfits and Jon’s posture, they’ve gotten a few looks, but being literally fearless does wonders for one’s ability to ignore that stuff. Plus, Georgie knows almost all the employees here. They’ll have her back if needs be. Georgie’s not bothered, not by the other shoppers and not by her barnacle boyfriend—Jon’s not heavy, and he matches her every step, only disentangling himself to add items to the cart. She’s just glad they’ve both stuck around long enough to see each other like this.

In fact, there are a plethora of behaviors Georgie can sort into pre-commitment and/or post-commitment Jon things. She’ll make a Venn diagram once she’s certain her observations are solid. Pre-commitment things that Jon has since dropped include making his bed in the morning and keeping his professorial garb on at home. Things that go into both categories are Jon’s love of debate, the posh accent (though sometimes, after Jon’s just finished up a stilted call to his grandmother, his “of”s sound more like “off”s), and the fact that every time Georgie comes over, he opens the door before she knocks, like he’s been listening for her the whole time. Post-commitment, there’s calling her “George” when he’s sleepy; launching into completely sincere dramatic readings of his assignments to help him think passages through; stimming without looking self-conscious about it; and luckily for Georgie, cooking.

“Pasta tonight?” she asks as Jon squints at two identical-looking tomatoes so hard Georgie thinks they might explode.

“Mm.”

“The one on the left is a bit bigger?”

Jon puts the other one down with a scowl. “Maybe.”

The kitchens in Jon’s building have a stovetop and just enough counter space for prep. Georgie insists on helping this time, so she chops vegetables as Jon gets the noodles going. As the water nears boiling, Jon begins to hum something that Georgie thinks is meant to keep time, tapping his foot to the rhythm.

“Whatcha singing?”

“Oh,” Jon says, foot no longer tapping. “I didn’t notice—that is—it’s just. Something my grandmother sings when she’s cleaning.”

Jon doesn’t talk about his grandmother much, but Georgie can fill in the blanks. Again, she's been in the room for some of their phone conversations, and though she doesn't understand Urdu, she does understand silence. So she doesn’t push, just says, “Well, it sounds nice” and keeps chopping. Jon doesn’t sing, or speak, for the rest of their time in the kitchen.

Georgie’s dad said something once about vulnerability being a mutual exchange, and it’s stuck with her ever since. (Seems even more relevant now, since the no-fear thing means vulnerability doesn’t cost her much anyway.) Five minutes into a very silent dinner, Georgie speaks.

“You know, during first term, on the weekends, I didn’t eat dinner at all. Or any meals, really.”

Jon doesn’t move, but she can tell he’s listening.

“It made sense to eat on weekdays, because I’d always come across a cafeteria on my way to class. But on weekends, it was way too much work to drag myself out of my room, sometimes even out of bed. There didn’t seem to be any reason to. And I always had some rolls on hand that I’d taken from the dining halls earlier that week, so it’s not like I was starving myself. But still. Wasn’t great.” Jon nods, which is enough encouragement for Georgie to finish. “So I guess what I mean is, thank you? For being a good enough reason.”

Georgie takes Jon’s hand, and he squeezes back.

(A few days later, when Georgie’s almost forgotten the incident, Jon pulls the blanket tighter around them and says, “I think I’m going to tell you about my grandmother now, if that’s okay,” and Georgie says, “okay.”)

-

4.

Georgie hasn’t had a bad episode in a long time, but then her dad gets into a car wreck and he’s fine, he’ll be fine, but the bill’s gonna be hell to foot, and Georgie should be calling her English course freshers to see if they or their friends want any more tutoring hours, but instead she hasn’t brushed her teeth in four days and she’s missed her weekly scheduled room cleaning and she has that marked in her calendar for a reason, she has a routine for a reason, but every limb feels heavy and she’d rather stare at the ceiling and wait for it to collapse on her the way it one day will and therefore always has been. She misses Alex. She misses home. She misses being able to move without feeling like she’s dragging her body in a bag behind her.

Jon finds Georgie on what she thinks is a Saturday. He takes a second to scan the room before his eyes alight on the pile of blankets she’s under. “You haven’t been answering my messages,” he says.

The one time Jon had a meltdown in Georgie's presence, he shouted at her to leave, immediately. Georgie thinks she should extend Jon the same chance to escape, never mind that Jon's brain in crisis does better alone and Georgie's doesn't.

“Please go away.”

Jon does go away, but only to the other side of the room—where Georgie had accidentally knocked over her laundry hamper two(? three?) days ago and then stared at it until it felt like her insides had been hollowed out—and starts picking up each item of clothing on the ground, inspecting it, and shoving it back in the basket.

“Is this clean?” Jon asks, holding up a pair of knickers. Under most circumstances, the image would be funny, but as it is, it’s just surreal.

Georgie sighs. “I don’t think there’s a single clean thing in this room.”

“That’s good to know,” Jon says, and then, “Maybe you should get up.”

“Make me,” Georgie says. He does not.

As Jon continues to tidy up the floor, he asks her various bite-sized questions—trying to ground her, she assumes. Where did she get these jeans? What’s that poster on her wall of? Does she need the notes from Thursday? How is she doing? That last one, she elects not to answer.

When Jon’s done with the laundry pile, he asks for a hand to lift the hamper upright again. Georgie considers calling him out on the ruse, but finds that it’s easier to take Jon’s hand as he half-pulls her out of bed. Standing upright makes her a little dizzy, but he holds her still until her vision clears.

But then they go to lift the hamper, and Georgie drops it again and Jon doesn’t catch it fast enough and the clothes go spilling over the floor again, and she screams something at Jon that burns in her throat and Jon blinks and blinks and hardens and yells something back and Georgie wants to throw something or hide or fall asleep but instead she just tells Jon to get the fuck out out of her room.

“Fine,” Jon snaps, and wrenches the door open. He pauses before he takes his first step into the hall. “I’ll be back in an hour, if you want me here then.”

Georgie curls up on the ground and thinks about what Jon breaking up with her would look like and she isn’t scared, just sad, and then she counts prime numbers until she falls asleep again. And then Jon does come back, and Georgie is no less frustrated and Jon is no less hurt, but he’s holding a takeout bag. (Georgie tears through the wrap, and then, upon Jon’s prompting, all of his kebabs too, and he sits there until she’s finished. Once she’s full, she feels a little less heavy.)

-

5.

Georgie practically runs up the stairs to Jon’s room, phone still clutched in hand. “URGENT,” the text had read, and Georgie had felt a sharp curiosity course through her.

When Jon opens the door, he’s practically vibrating. “I figured out a way to get into the Sheldonian after-hours,” he whispers.

“No fucking way,” Georgie whispers back. “Seriously, how? We have to tell the others right fucking now. But how?”

Georgie had recently dragged Jon into her latest obsession—Oxford history—though “dragged” implies that he hadn’t come extremely willingly. She’d wondered if the incident in the medical building would come up, but Jon had quickly turned to fixate on something else. For the last month, Oxford’s main theater has been the subject of most, if not all of their conversation. That's spilled over into their conversations with their urbex friends (read: all their friends), which has then spilled over into their collective ability to engage in academia. Each member of their friend group—going on different days to deflect suspicion—has been on a tour to scope out the surveillance cameras’ blind spots. Plus, they’ve pooled their money to buy a fancy lockpicking kit.

“Well,” Jon says, hands flapping wildly as he looks for his phone, “I was talking to one of the violinists who played there last year, and then there were some blueprints in the Balliol Library—here, I took pictures—and…”

There’s more planning to do, obviously, if the six of them want to achieve their ultimate goal of “don’t get caught, like, seriously.” They practice treading lightly, quiz each other on floor plans, and (at least try to) confine themselves to a strict sleep schedule to keep their reflexes sharp. It’s unbelievably overkill, but such is life.

Then, there’s scheduling, which is difficult because Marie has two big assignments coming up and Steph works night shifts five days a week, but eventually, the expedition is a go.

Two weeks later, Georgie finds herself standing on the wood floor of the Sheldonian Theater, looking up at the barely-moonlit ceiling.

“Wow,” Jon breathes over a chorus of April’s “holy shit!”s.

“Kind of stupid that Truth is white,” Georgie says, but her voice is tinged with as much awe as Jon’s is.

Jon lets out a huff of laughter. “Next time, we can break in and repaint.”

“By stacking like ten ladders on top of each other?”

“Obviously.”

Georgie’s seen the ceiling before on daytime tours, of course she has, but those times, it was always just a painting, no less shiny and solid than the rest of the theater. The fresco she sees now is smudged with shadow, but that only makes it look more real. It depicts a vortex of orange clouds surrounded by scholars and cherubim. The figures curl themselves around the perimeter, simultaneously drawn into and bracing themselves against the storm. In the center of the swirling mass, Truth raises itself up, holding out its glowing hand. Structural support beams run over the mural to hold the ceiling up, sectioning off various parts of the scene. Every figure is drawn in exquisite detail; the shadows of their robes, the strands of their hair. But from down where Georgie stands, the whole thing just looks like an ancient mouth straining against a golden net, ready to consume them both.

“It’s beautiful,” Georgie whispers, and then, because one time doesn’t seem enough, “It’s beautiful!”

“You’re beautiful,” Jon tells the ceiling, though his whisper doesn't carry very far.

“You’re beautiful!” Georgie whisper-shouts at Jon. (Georgie senses, more than hears, an exasperated groan from Nick behind her, but she pays him no mind. She’s earned the right to be this sappy, thank you very much.)

“So are you!” Jon whisper-shouts back.

“I am!”

Most of their friends begin wandering farther off, but Jon and Georgie stay put. The Sheldonian is a flat-floor building. There’s no raised platform that draws the line between stage and audience, just an area with chairs and one without. Whatever secrets the two of them whisper to Truth, it is both call and response.

“Sometimes, I feel so lonely I could scream!”—from Jon.

“I wish I remembered what fear felt like!”—from Georgie.

“I don’t understand poetry and I never will!”

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong because I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“I wish I’d chosen a different course! I have no idea what to do after graduation!”

“When professors call me Georgina, I feel physically ill!”

“I hate having short hair!”

“I hate having long hair!”

“I wish I’d actually taken my Urdu lessons seriously when I was younger!”

“I don’t feel guilty about quitting all my clubs in first year but I feel like I should!”

“We should be a little quieter!”

“I agree!”

A pause.

“I’m going to fail all my exams!”

“Funny, I’m gonna fail all of mine!”

“I’ll always feel like a disappointment! And I love my girlfriend!” It’s not the first time Jon’s said it, but the words send a thrill through Georgie anyway.

“I stubbed my toe yesterday and it still hurts! And I love my boyfriend!” It is the first time she’s said it. It feels right.

“I’m going to try to get to the balcony without being seen!”

“Good idea!”

“I really do love you,” Jon says again, and begins to move towards the nearest staircase, where Steph and April appear to be arm-wrestling. As Georgie watches his back, she’s suddenly struck by another memory—someone else Georgie loves standing in a building she’s not supposed to be in, taking one of her very last steps away from her. The feeling that rises in Georgie isn’t fear, but it must be the closest thing to it.

“Wait,” she says. (Jon turns around. He really is beautiful.) “I’m coming with you.”

-

+1

It’s third year, which means fast-approaching papers and goodbyes and post-graduation uncertainties, but it also means Georgie and Jon (and Nick and Marie, but they aren’t arriving until tomorrow) are moving in together.

“You’re gonna have to try to hold still,” Georgie says as she attempts to apply a second coat of purple to Jon’s pinky nail.

“I am,” Jon says. “Can’t you tape around it?”

“I don’t know which box the tape’s in,” Georgie says. “And since someone insisted on having his nails done before we began unpacking…”

“New place, new hands,” Jon says. “It just makes sense.”

“It really… doesn’t… but… there! That’s all of them! Now, just- don’t touch anything for the next ten minutes. I’m gonna do mine now.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jon gives a mock salute, and of course, grazes his nails against his hair in the process. “Oh, shit.”

“You’re the worst. I’m stealing all the blankets tonight for revenge.”

“Which blankets did you pack?”

“I thought that was your job?”

“It definitely wasn’t…”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no…”

“What did you say the last time I asked you to check the packing list…?”

“Shut up!"

“No, I don’t think ‘shut up’ was it. I’m pretty sure it was more along the lines of ‘I’m not an idiot, Jon,’ but if you’re sure…”

“We can check if they’re still there after our nails dry, okay?”

“Okay.”

A few minutes pass.

“I think we should get a cat,” Georgie says. “Do you want to get a cat?” and Jon breaks the holding-still rule again by shouting something incomprehensible and flinging his arms around her.

(Later, over takeout and scuffed nails:

“This year will be a good year,” Georgie tells Jon. “I can feel it. And if it’s not, I’ll make it good.”

“I’ll make it good, too,” Jon says, “Or I’ll try to, at least. I promise.”

And Georgie believes him, and Georgie is not afraid.)

[marmeladednd]

beacon

so. Beau’s little confession still has me shook so... here’s some beaujester. This will have several parts, so be sure to subscribe to it on ao3! 

Enjoy :)

also, pls don’t forget to love each other- ship wars suck!

---

“Beau?”

“Hm?”

“...tell me about your first kiss.”

Beau looks up from the book she’s reading to find Jester sitting on their bed, cross-legged, looking up at her from a dress that she’s been mending for the past ten minutes. She’s in her nightgown, looking soft and young in the sparse light from the candles and the little light that creeps in through the windows of the Xhorhaus. 

Beau slowly closes her book. Before she can say anything, though, Jester pipes up again, a sheepish quality to her voice. 

“Or you don’t have to- I was just… I was just wondering, you… you’ve never really told me, but you don’t have to-”

“It was with Tori.”, Beau says, interrupting Jester’s rambling. She leans back, back against the headboard of their makeshift double bed. The perpetual night outside is dark and comforting as her eyes focus on the stars in the xhorhassian sky. It’s easier to look at them than to look at Jester right now. 

“You’ve told me about her before. She was your first girlfriend, right?”, Jester asks, shifting, making the sheets rustle.

Beau nods. Tori’s face pops up in her mind, dark-skinned, freckled, smiling fiercly, so pretty. 

A fond smile tugs on Beau’s lips. “Yeah… she… she was really amazing.” 

“Did you love her?”

Of course that is what Jester wants to know. 

“...at the time. Yeah. But we were, like… super young, so... “ Beau shrugs. It probably wouldn’t have worked out in the long run. 

Jester’s eyes are practically glued to her now, she can feel it. Her heartbeat fastens a little.

“...our first kiss was, like… kind of awkward.” Beau chuckles at the memory, and finally finds the courage to look back at Jester again. Her blue friend looks positively enamored, hands clasped together in her lap, listening intently. 

“I think I was… fourteen. Or fifteen at most. We had sneaked out, and I had stolen a bottle of wine from my parents’ wine collection, was probably a really expensive one, too.” She smiles at the memory. “We sneaked into the temple- for whatever reason- I guess we were just trying to be edgy- all the way up into the tower so we could see the entire town.” 

Beau still remembers how cold it was up in the tower, cold enough to give her goosebumps and make her shiver. Right until Tori had wrapped her arm around Beau’s waist. 

“...we got drunk, and then she just… kissed me I guess.” 

Jester deflates a little, probably having expected more details. “Beau!” 

Beau holds up her hands a little helplessly. “Sorry! That’s what happened… it wasn’t really romantic or anything.” She shrugs, eyes on the bed in front of her because looking at Jester while talking about kisses feels dangerous. 

“...it sounds very romantic to me!”, Jester declares, placing both of her palms on the bed, leaning forward. “How did it feel?”

Beau huffs, feeling her cheeks warm up slightly. It is such an innocent question. “...good?”, she supplies a little helplessly. 

“Beau…”

“...it felt nice! It was really awkward at first, because I wasn’t sure what to do with my teeth or my tongue but… she showed me. Really well. And that made it, like… really nice.” Beau remembers not wanting to stop ever, once they had gotten the hang of it. 

“...kissing is really nice.”

Jester is quiet for a long time, long enough for Beau to look up at her again. There’s a pretty, deeper blue blush on her cheeks, high on the apples of them, and her sharp teeth are worrying at her bottom lip. 

A wave of heat shoots through Beau at that sight, followed by a wave of shame. She really shouldn’t be looking at Jester like this, really shouldn’t ogle those arms, really shouldn’t get her gaze stuck on Jester’s cleavage-

“Beau?”

“Hm?”

“Will you show me?”

“Show you what?”, Beau says, but the second she says it, she’s already realized what Jester meant, and it well knocks the breath out of her lungs. 

Jester, meanwhile, just sits there, that innocent expression on her face. She’s leaned forward a bit, and Beau is going to fucking die any moment now. 

“Kissing!”, Jester says, cocking her head, “...I’ve never… well, not really at least.” She furrows her brows for a moment and Beau remembers- Fjord, way back, giving his air to Jester- it sends a quick pang of jealousy through her. Jester’s quick, “It doesn’t really count, though.”, makes it a bit better. 

Beau’s heart is still beating all the way into her throat, though. 

“Y-you… want me to show you… how kissing works?”, she says slowly, and fuck, her brain is about to shut off. Well, apart from that one part of it that’s clearly labelled “GAY”. 

“Uh-huh!” Jester nods, her hair bobbing around her face in the cutest way. “If- if you want to. I just… I finally want to know what it’s like!” 

Yep. Brain off. 

“Uh. Yeah.” Beau hesitates, “...a-are you sure?”

Jester’s giggle is adorable. “I am! I trust you, Beau.”

That makes warmth spread through Beau’s stomach. She believes Jester, wants to believe her, wants to believe that Jester wants her, Beau, to be her first proper kiss. 

Wow, what if?!, Nott says in her head. 

Yeah, what if? 

“Come here, then.” Beau pats the spot in front of her on the sheets, and while she does, she can’t believe that this is really happening right now. 

But Jester crawls over eagerly, on all fours- get your mind out of the gutter, Beau!

This is the hardest exercise in self-restraint Beau has ever gone through.

Jester settles in front of her, on her knees, hands on top of her thick thighs. Beau, too, sits up a little straighter.

She’s going to make the most of it, because Jester deserves the best, most beautiful first kiss ever. 

As she reaches out to tuck Jester’s hair behind her ear, it’s like the air around them stops moving.

“Close your eyes.” Beau’s voice swims in the space between them, thick as honey. 

Jester’s eyelids flutter and finally fall shut. 

Beau steals this moment for herself, letting herself examine Jester’s face, taking it all in: her lashes, dark blue, her nose, freckled and adorable, her round cheeks, still dusted with the most beautiful flush, the slight curve of her lips. She gently drags her thumb along Jester’s temple. 

Jester lets out a shaky exhale, and it wrecks Beau. Every fight they’ve been in, every enemy they’ve ever encountered, every slash and wound and bruise she’s ever ended up with- all of it was worth it for this moment. 

Jester’s lips part slightly as if she’s getting ready. 

Beau inhales, slowly, shakily. 

And then, she leans forward until her lips softly touch Jester’s.

[my-plastic-life]

New doll diorama is up! This year marks the 20th anniversary of one of my all-time favorite Barbie lines, Generation Girls. This series depicted dolls from all over the world, each with their own distinct personalities. I still have all the ones I had as a kid, and I proudly own the entire series with the exception of the Gear (fashion packs) and some of the books. I even still have the high school! :D The high school wouldn't fit inside this diorama, so I went a different route. The third and final line of this series was called My Room, and each doll came with a box that turned into their room, and of course each doll's room matched their personality.

Chelsie wasn't included in this line because, according to the story, she'd "transferred" at that time. But she did live in New York with the other girls before that time, so I made her a bedroom inspired by the style of the others (except bigger of course)!

Chelsie is from London (every GG character came from a different part of the world) and she's a singer/songwriter who loves poetry and music. I incorporated this into her room, with music note bedding and pillows, as well as throw pillows with words on them to reflect her love of poetry. Her favorite color is purple, so I put some of that in there as well with her furniture and sheets.

Nichelle's room already had purple/lilac walls and I didn't want to use the same thing or drown the room in purple, but none of the dolls really had green so I chose a green ivory pattern wallpaper (each room had funky wallpaper with a solid color strip border at the top). Each room also had printed details like shelves, doors, furniture, etc. on the walls, so I incorporated that by printing a closet door on one wall. Since I had more room, I decided the rest of the goodies would be "real" rather than printed. Each room also had a 3D printed window about 2" high, so I made one of those too (looks a little small on the larger walls lol). I also added some poetry and music posters, and a nice elegant area rug. I think the room defines Chelsie well! :)

I used the first line of these dolls for this scene (except Blaine and Mari, who weren't introduced until the second line) because I wanted to include everyone in their original clothes, which wouldn't have been possible since Chelsie wasn't in the third line and Ana wasn't in the second.

Now that I've taken everyone down memory lane, enjoy the diorama! All the friends are hanging out in Chelsie's room, listening to her latest song and clapping/dancing, and giving support!

Left to right: Nichelle Watson (from New York), Chelsie Peterson (from London, England), Lara Morelli-Strauss (from Paris, France), Tori Burns (from Sydney, Australia), Ana Suarez (from Mexico City, Mexico), Blaine Gordon (from NYC), Barbie Roberts (from Malibu, California), and Mari Nakano (from Tokyo, Japan)

Nichelle, Chelsie, and Lara

Tori, Ana, Blaine, Barbie, and Mari

Tori, Barbie, Mari, Blaine, and Ana

Blaine and Ana (it was always implied that these two were a couple, both in the books and in some stories on the website)

Tori is sitting on the piano bench - Chelsie even has a piano in her room that doubles as a desk to write poems and songs!

Barbie

Lara

Chelsie

Nichelle and Chelsie

Nichelle

Generation Beat magazine, the official magazine of the line (I made that!)

London poster as well as musical instruments from around the world

[sulevinblade]

For DWC - “ you’re beautiful ”? Characters of your choice.

Hi!! Thank you so much for the prompt!! I feel like I should apologize because this is a very self-indulgent fill but it was (one of) the first thing(s) I thought of when I saw this. Hopefully you enjoy it even so!! Astoria and Nikhael Trevelyan, G rating, ~1700 words. Nikh used with permission from @gremlinquisitor, which is also why nobody else has names. For @dadrunkwriting!

She’d watched them approach from one of the tower’s higher windows. It wouldn’t do to be overly eager; she wanted to keep herself as level as possible through the visit if she could, though the news in her sister’s letters made it difficult. Astoria waited until the last possible second before turning away and trotting down the stairs. They should just be leaving the carriage now. The templars will see to the horses. Past the statue, through the courtyard, and–

“Astoria Trevelyan. Your guests have arrived.“ 

Ser Engels held one side of the massive double doors that kept them separate from the outside world open as she reached the landing, gesturing for her to accompany him through. He wasn’t bad, as templars went. Older, something of a fixture in the Circle, but always distant and formal. Astoria inclined her head to him as she passed, waiting for the sound of the door settling back into place before proceeding.

Being a member of the nobility didn’t afford her many privileges in the Circle and Astoria preferred it that way. There were enough artificial structures here to drive them apart, why encourage more? This single thing was the only privilege she actively utilized, and even then not very often. The Circle was a long way from her family’s home and as she’d gotten older and more independent, it became less essential to her family to check on her wellbeing or allow her time with her sister. When she did get to see them, however, it was always in private. A modest but still comfortable room on the outside of the tower had been modified to allow both the templars and the occasional mage somewhere to receive visitors in privacy, and this room was now Astoria’s destination.

She was nearly vibrating when Ser Engels pushed the door open. Her sister and her brother-in-law both looked up but didn’t speak right away, though her sister smiled. She looked worn out, a little pale, but that was perhaps to be expected. Astoria brushed past the templar into the room and moved to kiss her sister on the cheek. A hug would have to wait until she passed the bundle she carried off to her husband.

Then again, the bundle was the entire reason they’d come. For nearly a year Astoria had smiled at every letter as her sister’s excitement grew, but there was an unspoken apprehension as well. Her husband’s family hadn’t produced a mage in generations but there was no denying the increase in the number of mages being born in the Free Marches recently. It was enough to make any family nervous, and if Astoria was nothing else she was evidence that magic yet existed in the Trevelyan bloodline.

Concern about that had been placed on the back burner, however, when the midwife forced the expectant mother into bed for the latter half of her pregnancy. Astoria’s mail started arriving multiple times a week, usually just short missives about how dull being stuck in bed was, how her sister felt fine, then later how the baby was moving, how dull the baby must also be finding bed rest, how uncomfortable she felt, how much she resembled a bronto. Nothing in there even worth censoring if the lack of templar editing was any indication. Then there was a break, but the next letter more than made up for it: it contained a copy of the baby’s official birth announcement. That was two months ago and while Astoria had been able to celebrate quietly with a few friends, it was nothing like being able to congratulate her sister in person or, perhap more importantly, to greet the guest of honor himself.

After receiving a welcome hug from her brother-in-law–a good man who took his wife’s words to heart and held no fear of Astoria, though she was careful to never ask what he thought of mages in general and he likewise took care to never bring it up–Astoria turned her attention to the miniature person in her sister’s arms. “I’ve been practicing with sacks of flour and the occasional turkey, I should be fine,” she quipped as she slipped her arms around him, grinning at her sister as she lifted the baby’s head and peered down at his face. Her sister and her husband moved to sit and Astoria did as well. This would be easier without having to worry about keeping her legs under her.

“He’s beautiful.”

“Boys aren’t beautiful, Tori. Call him handsome or elegant.”

Astoria laughed softly and shook her head. “I haven’t known many of them but I don’t think anything about a baby is elegant.” Her attempt at humor felt hollow, though, and after she finished speaking the room fell into a heavy silence.

As soon as she’d gathered her nephew up, the feeling in the room had changed. Astoria wanted to hold onto the peaceful joy of a new life as long as she could, but she also knew her sister needed to know. It meant planning this little boy’s entire life, which seemed like too much to ask of someone so small. This was also, Astoria knew, as close as she would ever come to holding a child of her own. A monthly ritual for most of the young mages here capable of bearing a child: lining up every morning for a week to receive a spoonful of seeds, green and bitter, washed down with a mouthful of wine for the taste, even for the youngest. Not every mage chose it but those who didn’t knew the potential consequences and they weren’t ones Astoria was prepared to face.

That was just another part of life here, but her willingness to go along quietly was part of what allowed Astoria to have the family moment she was having now. Family. Her blood family, or at least the part of it that still cared about including her in these moments. It was a little bigger now, expanded by a boy with his father’s eyes and his mother’s nose and forehead. He would be so handsome. She could only hope that she realized it in intervals rather than as a slow process, but there was only one way to be sure.

“Hello, Nikhael.” She stroked a finger over his cheek, careful to turn it so the worst of her staff calluses wouldn’t touch him. “I’m your aunt Astoria, and you’re beautiful. Nobody tells boys that when they’re older but I’m gonna tell you now. You’re a beautiful young man.”

As soon as she touched his skin, she could feel it. The same resonance she felt when she took the hand of a child to lead them away from the doors and their parents and their life, or when a young man laid his head on her shoulder and wept in fear as she combed his fingers through his hair to comfort him. The same resonance that was absent a week later, replaced with a brand on his forehead and a vacancy in his eyes.

Magic.

It was part of why they’d made the trip. There was no certain way to know if a child was a mage until they came into magic of their own, but mages knew their own. Of course, with no mages living outside the Circle, or at least none who would be willing to come forward to determine the fate of a noble child, the options for finding out when a baby was still young were limited. Most families simply had to wait, but the Trevelyans had Astoria. She’d resisted at first, telling her sister that riding all the way to the Circle while pregnant wouldn’t benefit anyone since she’d never heard tell of anyone being able to feel anything that early, but she knew if she wanted to see her nephew at all that it would be an inevitability. And now they all had their answer.

The thought of keeping it a secret crossed her mind but as soon as it did, she realized she’d already given herself away. A fat drop of water rolled down her cheek, a warm trail over skin that had gone cold as soon as she’d touched his face. She heard her sister gasp, saw her husband moving out of the corner of her eye, but she never took her attention away from Nikhael. His parents had one reality to face now but it was one Astoria was already living and had lived for fifteen years. She couldn’t do anything to change his future but she could, she would, do everything in her power to protect him from the worst of it. She would be his shield.  

His face grew blurry as more tears welled up, but Astoria left the sobbing to his mother, instead just letting the tears spill over of their own volition. Nikhael Trevelyan, a beautiful and beloved son and nephew. All the questions could be answered later, delayed as long as possible even if it was just a matter of time. There was no point talking about training or schools now, no value in explaining the process of a Harrowing to a devastated mother. Everything Astoria had to offer now was for him anyway. There was nothing she could say to heal her sister’s heart.

Instead she kissed his forehead, tickled at his chin, freed one arm from his blanket so he could put one impossibly tiny, soft hand around her finger. He’d hold a staff soon enough but for now Nikhael should be allowed to hold whatever he wanted. If only he could remember this later, that there was someone waiting here who loved him and would give him everything she could. He wouldn’t, though, and chances were neither would his parents. This would be a shadow over all his childhood, the knowledge that eventually he’d end up here. Astoria would remember enough for all of them, but not right now. She’d have a lifetime to create that. For now she wanted to hold him in her mind like this as long as she could, memorize him being small and perfect and free.

[richietoaster]

Steady Feet, Don’t Fail Me Now

AO3 Link

Pairing: Reddie

warnings: NSFW- THESE CHARACTERS ARE 18 AND THEY DO SHIT TOGETHER OKAY? IF YOU ARE NOT MATURE ENOUGH TO HANDLE THAT DO NOT READ THIS also some fluff and swearing but what else is new

word count: 9,870

Summary:  “You know how to dance?” Eddie demands, still skeptical, and Richie is almost offended. “Yes, actually,” he scoffs with a good natured laugh. “Is that so hard to believe?” Eddie opens his mouth, but Richie cuts him off before he can tell his friend that yes, that’s incredibly hard to believe. “Don’t answer that, dickhead,” Richie says as he gets up, wiping his sweaty palms onto his jeans. “C’mon, get up.” He instructs and holds out a hand to pull Eddie to his feet. “I’m teaching you.”

also known as the fake dating fic 

LET ME JUST SAY THAT THIS FIC WAS BEING IN THE PROCESS OF BEING WRITTEN FOR WEEKS NOW AND I WOULDNT HAVE POSTED IT IF IT WEREN'T FOR SOME OF MY BETAS (ROSE AND TORI) LIKE I COULD NOT HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT THEM AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH SO THEY ARE THE REASON FOR IT BEING POSTED SO YALL CAN THANK THEM @killerxqueer @delicateloser

“I have this stupid wedding to go to next month,” Eddie says casually, eyes still fixed on the living room TV, instead of looking at Richie who was lounging on the couch beside him.

“Yeah?” Richie acknowledges.

“Yeah,” Eddie repeats. “One of the bridesmaids is a family friend, and our age, and my mom is trying to set me up with her,” he explained, rolling his eyes.

Richie lets out a low laugh, “Sounds like something ol’ Mrs. K would do.”

“That’s not even the worst part,” Eddie sighs, playing with a loose strand of string on one of the pillows.

Richie looks up at Eddie from his slouched form, “What’s the worst part?”

“I have to dance with her,” Eddie groaned.

“What’s the problem?”

“A slow dance, Richard ,” he says with an exasperated sigh.“Not only do I have to pretend to like girls, but I have to dance with one, too. And I don’t know how to dance.”

Richie barks out a laugh, but when he see’s Eddie’s face fall, immediately apologizes.

“Stop laughing at me,” Eddie complains, and hits his chest lightly.

“Why is that such a bad thing? That I can’t dance?”

“It’s not,” Richie giggles, “I- um. I could teach you if you want me to,” he offers, and hopes that Eddie won’t notice how nervous he feels.

“You?” Eddie asks incredulously, raising an eyebrow at his best friend.

“Yeah, I could.”

“You know how to dance?” Eddie demands, still skeptical, and Richie is almost offended.

“Yes, actually,” he scoffs with a good natured laugh. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Eddie opens his mouth, but Richie cuts him off before he can tell his friend that yes , that’s incredibly hard to believe.

“Don’t answer that, dickhead,” Richie says as he gets up, wiping his sweaty palms onto his jeans. “C’mon, get up.” He instructs and holds out a hand to pull Eddie to his feet. ��I’m teaching you.”

Eddie gives him a look.

“Okay, don’t look at me like that, first of all,” Richie says, rolling his eyes. “You’ll be fine. Great, even. Second of all, take my hand,” he says, holding out his hand once more.

Eddie slowly reaches out for it and inhales deeply when Richie is drawing him closer, his eyes widening a fraction that he hopes isn’t noticeable to Richie.

“Take one step.” Richie whispers.

Eddie does… Right onto Richie’s foot.

“You suck at this,” Richie laughs causing Eddie to glare back at him, and Richie’s laughter softens into a smile that almost looks sweet. “Just take your time,” he says as a kind of apology. “Let’s try this again,” and with that Richie gently corrects Eddie’s position.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and after clearing his mind and listening to Richie’s instructions, Eddie gets his footing correct within minutes.

“You’re doing well. Now do me a favor, yeah?” Richie lifts the other boy’s chin up, “Stop looking at the ground. Keep your eyes locked on mine.”

Eddie can’t move after that. Richie’s hands feel like they’re burning on his hips and the second their eyes meet and bore into one another, he feels like he’s being held in some kind of trance.

Neither of them hear the front door open.

“Eddie are you and- oh.”

The two leap away from each other as if they’ve been burned, when they see Bev standing in the archway, looking startled but with a mischievous glint in her eye. She looks like the cat who’s caught the canary.

“Was I interrupting something? Shit, I was, wasn’t I?” She asks, the smirk on her face growing dangerously.

“No, we were just-” Eddie tries to explain, but Bev cuts him off.

“It’s okay, Eddie!” Bev insists, grinning wildly. “No need to hide your relationship.”

“There’s nothing to hide!” he insists, “because we’re not dating.”

But it’s no use.

“You don’t have to lie,” Beverly laughs, “We kinda figured... Anyway, I was just coming over to tell you that we were waiting for you both at the quarry, but I can see you’re busy, so…” she winks and Eddie can feel his face burning. “Yeah. Bye,” and with that she rushes out, very likely about to tell the others what she saw.

Eddie finally brings himself to look up at Richie once more, cursing the fact that he can still feel the warmth spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Richie is smirking down at him and he does not like that look.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Eddie demands, and pushes Richie further away from him.

“Like what, boyfriend ?” Richie teases, eyebrow raised and god, that should not be making his stomach do flips like that.

“You know we’re not together, stop that,” he snaps, trying to fix Richie with a glare but he knows he’s never been very good at being intimidating. Especially not to Richie.

“We could go along with it.”

Now that causes Eddie to do a double take and he stares at Richie. “Why the fuck would we do that?”

“Why the fuck not?” Richie asks, holding his hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “Plus, you know nobody’s going to believe us if Bev tells them what she thought she saw.”

This should not make sense. He should turn around right now, and say no to Richie. He’s going to say no to Richie because this is a terrible fucking idea.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he finds himself saying instead.

“It also gives me the chance to hold my best friend’s hand in public without being questioned,” Richie says with a wink and grabs Eddie’s hand.

Eddie cracks a smile, and tugs his hand out of Richie’s grip. “That’s gay.”

“That’s the point,” Richie says with a grin.

Eddie doesn’t know why he agreed to this.

The next morning, Richie is standing at Eddie’s locker, loudly complaining about how his mom cancelled his subscription for some comic book.

“I’m so upset, Eddie. You don’t understand ,” Richie whines. He’s practically ready to start stamping his feet.

“I don’t,” Eddie agrees, opening his locker and rummaging around inside instead of looking at Richie. “Besides, you’re eighteen, do you really need to be reading comics?”

Richie clutches his heart dramatically. “How dare you say that. You wound me.”

Eddie laughs, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as he looks up at his friend, “I’m serious, Rich! I-” he stops talking when he sees Bev coming their way over Richie’s shoulder.

Richie goes to turn around but Eddie pulls at his shoulder, “Don’t look. Beverly is coming.”

“Right, okay. What do we do?”

“I don’t know, touch me or something- wipe that grin off of your face, asshole.” Eddie hisses, trying to move his lips as little as possible so that Bev won’t see.

Richie ends up leaning against the lockers, placing a hand on Eddie’s hip, and dragging him closer.

Eddie tries to ignore the way it feels to have Richie touching him like this in public and begins a staged topic, “You can come over tonight, if you want,” he says, trying to sound flirtatious as Bev walks into earshot and feels ridiculous. “My mom has some board meeting and won’t be home until late.”

“Yeah?” Richie asks, smirking down at him suggestively. “I’ll be there… Oh, hey, Bev,” he says, faux casually as she joins them and he turns to look at her.

She grins, “Morning, lovebirds.”

“Where are the others?” Eddie asks, with a roll of his eyes.

“Bill, Ben, and Mike are in the library studying for a test they have next period. Stan should be here third period.”

“Oh, yeah. He has a doctor’s appointment.” Richie remembers.

“Good luck to him. He hates needles.” Eddie says, hyper aware of Richie’s hand that is still resting firmly on his hip.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, they’re saved by the bell. Literally.

“See you guys later,” Richie says and turns to leave, his hand finally moving from it’s resting spot and Eddie tries not to think about the fact that he’s disappointed by that.

“You’re not gonna kiss your boyfriend goodbye?” Bev challenges with a teasing smirk. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you can’t show affection,” she teases and Eddie can tell that she’s having way too much fun with this.

He and Richie give each other a nervous look as if asking the other if it’s alright, before both of them are cautiously leaning in, with a quick peck to the lips. To say at the least, it’s bad. Richie’s bottom lip goes over Eddie’s top one and he’s half kissing his nose. Eddie can hear Beverly giggling behind them and Eddie himself is burning with embarrassment.

Richie bolts after that.

That night, Eddie is sitting at his desk and finishing up his homework as it’s nearing midnight. Just after he puts his books away and is about to get ready for bed, he hears a familiar, faint tapping sound at his window. He lifts it up in one swift motion. “Richie? What are you doing here?” he he hisses, careful not to speak to loudly for fear of waking his mother.

“I came to see your mom,” he taunts as usual and pauses. “But she’s not here so I guess I’ll have to settle for my boyfriend instead,” he finishes with a wink.

“You don’t have to call me that when we’re alone, you know,” Eddie groans.

“Yeah,” Richie agrees with a nod. “I just figured that I should get used to saying it, though.”

“I guess so,” Eddie mumbles and it does make sense.

“Anyway,” Richie continues, and Eddie looks up at him. “Speaking of the situation, you are a terrible kisser,” Richie laughs and pokes his side.

“Excuse me, but that wasn’t even a kiss,” Eddie snaps, thinking back to how Richie had almost completely missed his mouth that morning. “It was a disaster.”

“I agree,” Richie nods. “Which is why we should practice.”

Eddie freezes at that, his mouth gaping slightly and his eyes wide.

“What?”

“Yeah, Eds. Did I stutter? We should practice,” Richie repeats himself as if it’s the most obvious choice in the world. “Make it look believable - Because that mess we pulled earlier, that was the furthest thing in the world from believable.”

He’s right and Eddie hates that he’s right.

“Okay, okay,” he agrees. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Always am,” Richie says with a grin and there Eddie’s stomach goes again. “Now come here,” Richie says in a low voice, and pulls Eddie against him. Eddie’s face is flushed and he can feel his heartbeat quickening. He watches Richie lean in and then he’s pressing his hands against Richie’s chest to stop him.

“Wait!” he gasps. “ Wait .”

“What’s wrong?” Richie asks, his confusion evident, but he doesn’t let go of Eddie.

“I’ve- I’ve never kissed anybody before.” Eddie says quietly, clearly embarrassed.

Richie smiles again, but this time Eddie can tell Richie isn’t making fun of him. The smile is soft and sweet and it makes Eddie’s heart skip a beat. “I’ll be gentle, Eds,” Richie says, his voice slipping back into it’s usual joking cadence. “No need to worry your pretty little head.”

Eddie bites his lip, but nods. “Yeah,” he says, looking down at where their chests are still almost but not quite meeting and taking a deep breath before looking back up at Richie. “Okay.”

The two both lean in slowly, Richie’s hand finding Eddie’s cheek. Their lips brush over one another’s carefully. It’s chaste at first. Then, Richie is guiding Eddie’s arms to rest around his his neck and nudging his face with his nose. Eddie opens his mouth slightly, getting the hint.

To anybody else, this would be weird. Kissing their best friend in the middle of their bedroom. It should be weird for Eddie too. It’s not, and that’s what scares him. Having Richie’s lips brushing against his feels so natural and right and-

Richie has stopped kissing him. Eddie’s eyes fly open and Richie’s lips are swollen and red. Eddie wants to tug him back in.

“Can I stay the night?” Richie asks abruptly, and Eddie is surprised - Richie never asks permission.

“Y-Yeah, of course,” he says.

Eddie eyes Richie as he moves to lays in his bed, acting as if what just happened didn’t. He already knows he’s fucked. He stares for a moment longer and then climbs into bed with his friend.

See, get a hold of yourself, you’re fine, Eddie tells himself. But then Richie throws an arm over his waist, and it shouldn’t be different, but it is. They do this all the time, but now Eddie sees Richie as more than a friend and now nothing is the same.

“Night, Eds,” Richie mumbles into his neck.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie whispers, and tentatively places a hand on Richie’s as it lays across his chest. “Goodnight, Richie.”

It doesn’t take long for the two to get the hang of this whole “fake dating” thing, and Eddie tries not to think about that fact. Whether it be holding hands in front of their friends, using pet names for each other, or a quick kiss to the lips - you name it and they do it without hesitation or a moment’s thought.

That’s the thing - they know they only have to put the act on for their group of friends. And they stick with that. That is, until Eddie oversleeps one day and walks into school late, only to see Richie talking up some girl. His blood boils. He tries to calm himself down - he knows he doesn’t have the right to be angry. They’re not even a real couple. Yet, that doesn’t stop him from storming over.

The girl looks over in his direction, “Oh, you must be Ed-”

“Excuse us for a second,” Eddie interjects. He takes hold of Richie’s arm, pulling him into his space, and kisses him without a second thought.

Richie’s eyes widen for a moment, and then he’s relaxing, closing his eyes and putting a hand onto Eddie’s cheek.

When they pull away, the girl is gone.

“What was that?” Richie asks. “Are you.. Are you jealous ?” he says, and he looks far too happy with this realization.

Eddie pales and tries to backtrack. “You can’t just flirt with some girl. We’re supposed to be dating. What if one of our friends were to see you?” He’s surprised at how quickly the excuse comes to mind, and is satisfied when Richie seems to take it at face value.

“I didn’t think of that.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Of course he didn’t.

“We’re a team now,” Eddie says seriously, and looks into Richie’s eyes. Richie smiles and Eddie’s heart starts beating wildly once again.

“We always have been,” Richie agrees.

The second time they kiss without their friends around is that same night. Richie’s laying on Eddie’s couch while Eddie sleeps on the armchair across the room. They were having a movie marathon, but the smaller boy had fallen asleep not even two movies in.

Richie checks the time. It’s half past one AM. He sits up, stretches, and picks Eddie up from his curled position in the chair and cradles him to his chest, carrying him bridal style up to his room.

He places Eddie carefully onto the mattress, but when he turns to leave through the window, Eddie grabs his hand, making him stumble back.

“Why are you leaving?” Eddie mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Richie touches his cheek and tries desperately to ignore the thundering of his heart. “You need to sleep,” he replies softly, and brushes back the hair on Eddie’s forehead.

“Come lie down with me,” Eddie asks, and that’s that.

Richie can’t say no to him - he never could. He slides under the blankets next to his friend. “You’ve been asleep since ten o’clock,” he says with a soft smile.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Eddie asks, slowly starting to sound more awake. “You know our movie marathons are my favorite.”

“You looked so precious,” Richie says, hoping that it sounds as teasing as he normally does instead of how genuine he feels saying it.

“Fair,” Eddie hums and gives Richie a small smile.

“Aren’t you a little cocky?”

“The cockiest.” Eddie laughs.

They fall into a comfortable silence. Richie shifts closer and slings an arm around Eddie’s waist. “You know, you’re the best cuddler out of all of our friends,” he says quietly as he pulls Eddie in closer to him. His chest is pressed against Eddie’s back and he’s afraid Eddie might be able to feel how hard his heart is beating.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” Richie starts, “Bill thrashes everywhere- can never get comfortable. Stan refuses to cuddle at all so that counts him out. Mike says it’s weird. I’m convinced Bev is gay, and Ben would always rather be reading a book.”

Eddie snorts.

“So, it comes down to you,” Richie finishes, and squeezes the arm that’s wrapped around Eddie’s waist just a little bit tighter.

“I feel honored to be able to claim that title,” Eddie says with a grin, and if he burrows a little closer into Richie’s warm chest, neither of them say anything.

“You should,” Richie smiles, resting his forehead on the top of Eddie’s head, completely unbothered by the feeling of Eddie’s hair tickling his nose. “Although, your mom comes close to it. You’re gonna have to step up your game, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie turns in Richie’s embrace so that he’s facing the taller boy, and weaves a hand through Richie’s hair. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” he replies. He blinks a few times then impulsively presses a quick kiss to Richie’s lips.

“You’re getting better at that,” Richie comments, and Eddie can feel his cheeks heat up.

“Yeah?” he asks, looking up at Richie’s face and biting his lip.

“Yeah, I think you’ll have to do it again though,” Richie says seriously. “Just so I can confirm that it wasn’t just a fluke.”

Eddie shoves Richie’s shoulder, “Richie!”

“What?”

“You can’t say that,” Eddie grumbles. “We’re best friends,” he says, and tries to pretend that the thought doesn’t make his stomach sink like a stone.

“Who are pretending to be in a relationship,” Richie says, as if that explains everything. “We might as well play the part.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks, and drops his hand from Richie’s hair.

“If it wasn’t for Bev and her loudmouth, we wouldn’t be in this mess, right?”

“Right,” he confirms.

“Well, who knows how long we’ll have to keep this up for.”

A voice in the back of Eddie’s mind tells him that they could easily just tell their friends the truth but Eddie pushes the thought away. That would be much too simple and besides... he was enjoying this. He might as well take advantage of it while he could.

“So.. you’re saying that we should.. Kiss more?” Eddie makes a face.

“Yeah, why not? I mean, it’s great for practice. Plus, you’re not half bad.” Richie nudges Eddie’s face with his nose, and his lips are just a breath away from Eddie’s.

“God, this should be so weird.” Eddie whispers against Richie’s lips, reveling in the feeling of Richie’s hands on his lower back..

“If it’s weird, we don’t have to,” Richie says quietly. “Just figured it could help our situation. Make the best of it and all,” he offers.

“No, yeah, it’s fine.”

Richie searches Eddie’s eyes for a moment, trying to find any hint of hesitation. When he finds none, he closes the gap between them completely, kissing Eddie soundlessly. Eddie wants to melt into the touch and let Richie kiss him all night, but stops himself.

Eddie pokes his friend’s face. “You should sleep,” he says quietly, silently reminding himself that while he might be enjoying this, he shouldn’t get too carried away.

“Why? There’s no school tomorrow,” Richie whines and rests his forehead against Eddie’s.

“Yeah, but if you don’t go to bed at a reasonable hour, you know you’re going to complain about being tired in the morning.”

Richie sighs, “Okay, mom, no need to be a smartass.”

“I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that trashmouth of yours,” Eddie says with a laugh.

“No,” Richie agrees, “but you don’t seem to have a problem with this trashmouth kissing you .”

Eddie chooses ignore Richie’s comment and instead focuses on trying to slow his rapidly beating heart. “Go to sleep, Richie,” he says softly.

If they sleep closer together than before, they don’t say anything.

Richie wakes up the next morning to the delectable smell of bacon wafting up the stairs to Eddie’s bedroom. He stretches out his long limbs in the bed and yawns before pushing himself out from under the blankets and prodding down the steps.

“Good morning,” he greets Eddie from the doorway of the kitchen. “What’cha makin’, boyfriend ?” he teases.

“Stop calling me that,” Eddie laughs, looking up to see Richie leaning against the doorframe. “Bacon and Sausage. I can make Eggs, too, if you want.”

Richie strides across the kitchen and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist and presses a kiss behind his ear. “Sure, if it’s not a problem,” he murmurs, taking in the scent of Eddie’s shampoo.

“Of course not,” Eddie says quietly, blushing bright red at the affection but not pulling away.

The two sit at the kitchen table when Eddie finishes cooking and eat their breakfast off of Mrs. Kaspbrak’s perfectly matching dishware in an amiable silence until Richie looks down at his phone and speaks up.

“What do you want to do today?” he asks Eddie, causing the smaller boy to look up from his breakfast. “Bill texted and said we should go to the mall later.”

“Don’t wanna.” Eddie says through a mouthful of food.

“Why not?” Richie asks with a smile, thinking about how Eddie is just too fucking precious.

“Because we just went to the mall, like, two days ago,” Eddie grumbles. “Just tell him you’re gonna chill at my house today.”

Richie raises his eyebrow and gives Eddie a lascivious grin as he whips out his phone, “Oh so that’s what we’re calling it?”

“Type, Tozier,” Eddie commands as he rolls his eyes at his best friend.

Richie chuckles and does as he’s told.

“What did you say?” Eddie asks.

“I said, ‘not today, Bill. I got better things planned,’” Richie says with a waggle of his eyebrows. “And I even added a winky face for good measure.”

“Richie.”

“Lighten up, Eds, I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, aren’t I?” Richie teases. “I have to say things like that,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

Eddie huffs, “Yeah but it’s just another lie that we’ll have to keep up with.”

Richie is silent for a moment after this, and Eddie eyes him warily. Richie and silence rarely mix well, and given the strange circumstances they’ve found themselves in lately, Eddie is immediately suspicious.

“Then let’s be truthful about this one, yeah?” Richie says quietly, breaking the silence after staring at Eddie for a long moment.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks, looking at Richie quizzically.

Richie stands up from his chair and walks around to Eddie, taking his hand and leading him to the couch. He sits himself down criss-cross in front of Eddie and Eddie doesn’t like this at all. He hates not knowing what’s going on, especially when it comes to Richie and this whole fake dating thing they’ve gotten themselves wrapped up in.

“I don’t-”

Richie cuts him off, placing his hands on either side of Eddie’s face and says what he had texted Bill out loud. “I’ve got better things planned.”

He swoops in and places his lips onto Eddie’s. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, and he’s so grateful that Eddie isn’t pushing him away. They move slowly together, and much to Richie’s surprise, Eddie is the one the one to run his fingers down Richie’s back, pulling him closer. Richie groans into his lips in appreciation and squeezes Eddie’s hips firmly.

The rhythm of their kiss changes, suddenly becoming wet and open-mouthed. It’s the first time it’s been more than just a peck, without the excuse of it being for ‘practice’ behind it.

“This okay?” Richie asks against Eddie’s mouth, as he breaks away for air.

“Yeah,” Eddie gasps breathlessly and leans back, gripping Richie’s collar and attempting to pull Richie down on top of him.

“Having fun there, Eds?” Richie teases, placing a hand on the couch next to Eddie, bracing himself so he doesn’t fall onto him.

“Shut up, Richie.”

Richie doesn’t need to be told twice. He slides a leg between Eddie’s thighs and kisses him harder, almost sure he’s bruising their lips, and not caring one bit. They spend the rest of the morning that way, sometimes pausing to watch something on the TV, but always gravitating right back to one another.

It’s around lunchtime and they’re so caught up in each other, they don’t hear the front door opening as all their friends come spilling into Eddie’s house.

“Hey you guys- okay, holy shit, holy shit!” Mike’s voice breaks the silence, making the two jump apart.

“You weren’t kidding,” Bill blinks, eyes wide.

“Do you ever fucking lock your door?” Bev asks with a grin.

“My mom likes to leave it unlocked when she goes to work, if I’m home. I should really start though, shouldn’t I? Since you never knock ,” Eddie snapped, glaring up at his friends from his place on the couch, still trying to catch his breath from the kissing and the shock of being interrupted.

“In our defense, we didn’t think we would need to,” Ben explains weakly.

“If you guys were going this hard at just kissing, I don’t wanna know what your sex is like.” Stan makes a face.

Eddie’s face goes as red as a tomato and shakes his head, “We- We- We haven’t had sex !” he spits out as soon as he can get his tongue untied. The ‘yet’ lingers awkwardly in the air.

“ Anyway ,” Bill says sharply in an attempt to change the subject. “W-we have to come t-to retrieve you in g-going to the mall,” he announces. “Your p-plans can w-wait.”

Richie groans. He hates his friends.

After an hour or so of wandering as a group, the other five ditch Eddie and Richie to go to the food court, and Eddie decides to find a suit.

“Yeah, that wedding is in like three weeks,” Richie says, swaying their hands between them.

“Two, actually,” Eddie corrects him.

“Even worse. It’s not like you to wait until the last minute for this sort of thing,” Richie says, but he’s smiling as he says it and he squeezes Eddie’s hand softly. The gesture feels incredibly intimate and Eddie fights back a blush.

“Well excuse me, but I’ve been spending all of my time with you as of late,” he snaps in an attempt to not let on exactly how much the small gesture was affecting him.

Richie pulls him in by his hand until Eddie is pressed up against him. “Yeah, you’re right,” he murmurs. “I like that choice better,” he licks his lips, staring at Eddie’s.

Eddie’s face reddens. “Yeah, me too... ” he says, and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth before taking a step back and pulling Richie in the direction of the tuxedo shop.

“C’mon, Romeo, help me pick out a suit.”

Richie picks out two, and Eddie has three as they head to the dressing room. Eddie walks into the corner stall and changes into the first one, admiring the way it looks in the mirror before walking out to show it off to Richie.

“I like this one.” Eddie comments.

Richie is sitting on the chair in the waiting area and his eyes widen when Eddie emerges.

“Me too,” he says lowly, eyes dragging up and down Eddie’s body. “But you still got four more to try on.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Eddie says, before turning over his shoulder to go back into the stall and undress, hanging the suit back up on the hanger.

He puts the second one on, having trouble getting the vest on. “Hey, Rich?” he calls. “Can you come in for a second?”

Eddie unlocks the door, allowing the other boy to step in.

“What’s wrong?” Richie asks as he shuts the door behind him and steps up behind Eddie, putting his hands on Eddie’s hips and kissing his neck softly.

“Trouble getting the vest on,” he explains. “I don’t think I like this suit though, anyway,” he adds as an afterthought, looking at himself in the mirror.

“I don’t either,” Richie says from behind him, and as his grip on Eddie’s hips tightens, Eddie looks up to make eye contact with him through the mirror. “You should take it off.”

It’s quiet for a moment until Eddie speaks quickly, “We need to go home. Right now.”

Richie’s eyes darken, spinning Eddie around to help him take off the dress shirt and vest, and when Eddie reaches down to undo the button on the trousers he had been trying on, Richie can’t help himself anymore. He dives down to capture Eddie’s lips in a kiss that the smaller boy gasps into, and Eddie clutches at Richie’s own shirt, the trousers forgotten for a moment.

Eddie tears away a moment later, his chest heaving and shoos Richie out of the stall so that he can change back into his original clothes. When he emerges, he takes the first suit up to the nearest register, leaving the other four abandoned in the stall.

“Are we just leaving them?” Eddie asks, breathing heavily. They’re practically speed walking to Richie’s truck.

“They can call an uber or something, I don’t know,” Richie said. He honestly couldn’t care less how their friends got home, and he grabs Eddie’s hand. “But we’re leaving.”

Eddie shoots a quick text in the group chat: ‘Something came up! We gotta go. Hopefully you can call an uber. Sorry guys!’

As soon as they see that Mrs. Kaspbrak’s car is still not in the driveway, they race into Eddie’s kitchen, and Richie slams the door shut behind them, making Eddie jump. Richie pushes him against a wall, kissing him hard and pressing his groin into Eddie’s as he grips the smaller boy’s sides.

“God, Eddie,” Richie mouths at his neck, dragging his lips down his throat. “You’re so hot ,” he groans, and uses the grip he has on Eddie’s hip to pull him closer until there is absolutely no space between them.

“Have you seen yourself?” Eddie says breathlessly, and yanks at Richie’s hair, eliciting a loud moan from him.

“Upstairs,” Richie growls in Eddie’s ear and Eddie can’t move fast enough.

Eddie kicks his bedroom door shut and actually leaps onto Richie. Richie catches him and holds him up on his waist, kissing him feverishly as he stumbles back toward Eddie’s bed, falling onto it when he feels it against the backs of his knees.

Eddie is straddling his hips, their lips moving together in a perfect rhythm.

It doesn’t take long before Richie is sliding his hands up Eddie’s torso underneath the fabric of his shirt, moaning underneath him as Eddie grinds his hips into Richie’s. A moment later he’s pulling Eddie’s shirt over his head.

“Richie,” Eddie hisses as he breaks away from the kiss to allow for the removal of his shirt..

“What do you want, baby?”

Eddie doesn’t answer him, but promptly goes back to kissing him, shoving his tongue inside of his mouth.

Everything seems to be going fine...perfect even, until Richie squeezes Eddie’s hips and flips them over so that Eddie is laying on his back. Richie is still between Eddie’s legs and is moving his hands up Eddie’s slender, bare chest, and begins leaving a trail of hickeys from his behind his ear to his collarbone.

“Richie...” Eddie’s voice sounds like a warning but Richie pays no mind, to engrossed in Eddie’s neck as he licks and bites marks into his skin..

“Richie,” he tries again, but Richie is kissing down his chest now.

“Richie!” he all but shrieks, and that is enough to startle Richie from his ministrations.

The curly-headed boy finally sits up, staring at Eddie with wide eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Get off of me,” Eddie scrambles up and hastily slides his shirt back on.

“What happened?” Richie asks, genuinely confused. “What did I do?’

“We are best friends, Richie!” Eddie is saying, spitting the words out between deep gasping breaths. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

The words hit Richie like a slap in the face and he gapes at Eddie, half shocked and half furious.

“Who’s telling you that?” he demands. “ Yourself? Because clearly, you didn’t have a problem with it when I was seconds away from sucking your dick.” Richie snaps.

“See! Right there!” Eddie says desperately, hands gesturing furiously. “We’re best friends in a pretend relationship .” and with that, Eddie turns his head away from Richie to look at his lap, afraid to look at Richie when he continues. “Pretend, Richie. Not real.”

“It started out that way, didn’t it?” Richie says coldly after a moment of deeply uncomfortable silence.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks, looking up at Richie’s pained face.

“What if I don’t want it to be pretend, huh, Eddie?”

Richie looks angry and Eddie doesn’t understand. This was Richie’s idea in the first place, so why should he be upset with Eddie if he doesn’t want to do it anymore?

“Then we can just tell the others the truth if you don’t-”

“No. That’s not what I meant,” Richie insists, exasperated. “I want it to be real. I want to be your boyfriend,” he explains and realization begins to dawn on Eddie as he sees the pain in Richie’s eyes increase tenfold. “The kind that kisses you all the time, not just in practice for this stupid charade or as an act in front of our friends. Do you understand me, Eddie?”

Richie is staring at him now, waiting for a response. He looks raw and torn open, and Eddie nods after a few seconds, finally getting it.

“You’re...in love with me?” he asks tentatively.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” Eddie says, inching closer to him.

“Because I knew you’d freak out like this!” Richie says and he looks like he might cry.

“I’m not freaking out because you’re in love with me,” Eddie says quickly. “I’m freaking out because we’re best friends-”

“If you say we’re best friends one more fucking time -” Richie snaps, but Eddie plows on.

“-pulling shit like this, while I’m falling for you, too,” Eddie finishes, dragging Richie in by his shirt. “And it’s so fucking hard to stop when you’ve got these-these big brown eyes and I just… You are doing things to me, Richie Tozier.”

He looks up at Richie’s eyes and the shock on his face is evident, but Eddie watches as it fades away and a hopeful smile takes it’s place.

“Do you want me to stop?” Richie asks as he touches Eddie’s cheek.

“God, no,” Eddie says with a laugh, and pulls him down, kissing him. His arms immediately find their way around Richie’s neck.

“You are the worst,” Richie says, moving his hips in hopes of receiving some sort of friction. Eddie can feel him against his thigh.

“Richie, holy shit.”

“You gonna do something about it, loverboy?” Richie teases with a wink. “Or will I have to take care of it myself?”

Eddie narrows his eyes and pushes him back down on the bed, climbing into his lap with his knees on either side of Richie’s hips once again. He presses his hips down, slowly but firmly, eliciting a long broken groan from Richie’s throat. Eddie revels in the noise for a moment, and then he’s rolling his hips down into Richie’s repeatedly, and Richie is losing it.

“Oh my god, Eddie-” Richie gasps, digging his nails into Eddie’s hips.

Eddie picks up his pace, letting one of his legs move between the other boy’s thighs. His face is in his neck, panting, mouthing at his skin, but not biting and sucking like Richie had been.

“Mark me,” Richie says breathlessly. “I’m all yours, sweetheart.”

Eddie does as he’s asked and though he starts small, it quickly devolves into sharp bites that he sucks into his mouth. This isn’t a cute trail like Richie had left on his neck; he’s leaving giant purple bruises all over Richie’s throat.

Richie can feel himself shaking beneath Eddie and he’s struggling to get the words out, but he needs more. “Faster,” he begs. “ Please , Eds.”

Instead, Eddie stops his movements abruptly, leaving Richie a whining mess.

“Shut up, Richie,” he groans, and slides his hand between them and underneath the elastic of Richie’s sweats and the waistband of his boxers. He takes Richie into his hand, gripping firmly but not squeezing. He jerks Richie’s length slowly, pointedly not giving Richie what he’s asking for and delights in the sight of Richie falling apart underneath him.

Richie begs him again, and Eddie takes one last long, slow, pull and Richie is already chanting that he’s going come. Eddie squeezes Richie at the base of his cock to stop him from coming just yet, and as Richie lets out a wrecked gasp, Eddie leans forward, slotting his lips with Richie’s and biting at his lower lip. He shoves his tongue into Richie’s mouth, and brings his unoccupied hand up to Richie’s hair.

He weaves his fingers into Richie’s curls and gives an experimental, teasing tug and Richie whimpers into his mouth. Eddie smirks against his lips and begins slowly sliding his hand up and down once more. He yanks on Richie’s hair again, much harder this time, pulling Richie’s head falls back and Eddie could listen to the noises Richie makes at this all day. But he doesn’t waste time thinking about it, and bites down on Richie’s neck as he swipes a finger over his slit, and that’s all it takes for Richie to release all over his hand.

As the tension releases, Richie collapses back against the bed, shaking and gasping for breath, his fingers still clenched in the fabric of Eddie’s pants, and Eddie draws his hand out from Richie’s pants, fingers dripping with Richie’s release.

“You gonna go wash your hands?” Richie asks with a hazy grin when he finally catches his breath.

But Eddie doesn’t answer, locking eyes with him, and Richie watches as Eddie’s tongue emerges from between Eddie’s swollen lips and just licks the liquid from his hand.

Richie nearly comes again at the sight.

Eddie crawls down to lay beside him, tracing shapes with his fingertips on Richie’s stomach.

“Can we just stay here forever?” he asks as he rests his head on Richie’s chest.

“I’d be okay with that,” Richie says with a smile, and leans his head down to kiss Eddie’s forehead. They spend the rest of the day in Eddie’s room.

Later on, Richie is muttering something in Eddie’s ear about how pretty Eddie is, making him giggle, but he stops short when they hear a knock on his door.

“Eddie? Those aren’t your shoes, downstairs. Is someone with you?” Mrs. Kaspbrak’s voice is muffled from behind the door.

He looks at Richie, panicking. “U-uh,” Eddie knows he can’t lie to his mom, “Yeah, just Richie, mom!” he calls to her. “We’re just reading comics!”

Mrs. Kaspbrak is quiet for a second, “Okay, Eddie… Just tell me next time you want someone over.”

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief when he hears his mother’s footsteps travel back downstairs. He looks up at Richie, who’s already staring at him, a smile playing on his lips. He smiles back, reaching up to cup his cheek, and presses his lips to Richie’s.

In the days following, Richie and Eddie are even more inseparable than usual, and they’re just always touching.

They get caught, more than once and by multiple teachers, making out against the lockers - being threatened to stop with the PDA, or they’d have to stay in detention.

Richie thinks that detention would be worth it.

Eddie tells him that it’s not, and that they have more than enough time to make out when they get home.

-

“Richie,” Eddie gasps out suddenly between kisses.

They had found themselves back in Eddie’s living room after school that day and were taking full advantage of the time they had before Mrs. Kaspbrak would come home.

“What is it baby?” Richie asks, sitting up on Eddie’s waist. He has Eddie trapped between him and the couch, pinned between his legs, and god, is that a beautiful fucking sight.

“I want you to be my date to the wedding next week,” Eddie says nervously. He knows that they’d already discussed their feelings for each other but they had never actually talked about how things would change going forward.

Richie claps their hands together and pinches his cheek, “Aw Eddie bear! You want me to be your date ?”

“Yeah I want you to be my date,” Eddie says firmly. “But I don’t want you to go as my date.”

“What do you mean?” Richie asks, suddenly feeling nervous himself.

“I want you to go as my boyfriend.”

“Oh…” Richie blinks, realization dawning on him. “Oh. Eddie, you sap,” he grins, and leans forward to kiss him. “Of course I’ll go as your boyfriend. God, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Eddie replies, grinning against Richie’s lips.

Eddie feels Richie’s hands slid under his hips and then flip them over so Eddie is seated on Richie’s lap. “I didn’t realize that you liked me on top,” he says with a raised eyebrow, the shadow of a smirk playing across his face.

“Hmm... only sometimes,” Richie teases and pulls Eddie’s hips down, lifting his own up to rut against him and watching as Eddie’s head rolls back at the contact. “Love watching you fall apart above me,” he groans, biting his lip at the sight.

Eddie looks down at him, just as he opens his mouth to let out a moan. If that isn’t the most sinful thing that Richie has ever seen, he doesn’t know what else to compare it to.

“You know I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” Richie says, meeting Eddie’s crotch with his own.

“Why is that?”

“Fuck, just look at you-“ Richie groans, and trails his hands up Eddie’s thighs. “I’m drowning in you.”

Eddie smirks down at him and fuck, Richie thinks he might actually explode at the look in Eddie’s eyes.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie taunts, and grinds down into his lap even harder.

Richie throws his head back and groans at the feeling of Eddie pressing against him, his eyes closing tightly as his fingers fist in the fabric of Eddie’s shirt just above his hips.

“Nuh uh,” Eddie scolds and pulls at Richie’s hair, yanking his head up and forcing Richie to look at him as he let out a long, guttural groan at the feeling. “ Look at me,” Eddie demands. “I want you to watch me. Keep your eyes on me, alright, gorgeous?”

At this point, Richie doesn’t think he can look away even if he wanted to. “O-Okay..”

“Stop holding your breath,” Eddie tells him, and until then, he didn’t even even realize he was doing so.

Richie grabs Eddie’s thighs, helping him align their hips better. He was already done for, though. They both know this. One touch and it was over, but it’s always that way for Richie. Electricity runs throughout his veins, hormones shutting down the logical side of his brain. From there on in it’s all intoxicating, the way Eddie intensely moves on top of him, and he needs more.

“Richie...” A sinful sound escapes Eddie’s lips, leaving him taking in an extra breath, “I want... I want...”

Richie looks up at him with glazed over eyes, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it.

“Use your words, princess,” he says softly, instructing Eddie.

“I...want you to...Fuck me...” Eddie says between gasps, grinding his hips down into Richie’s with each gasp.

“Fuck���” Richie shudders. “Okay, yeah...yeah,” he says, sounding incoherent.

Eddie lets out another high pitched, keening moan as Richie ruts up against him involuntarily and Richie thinks he might melt.

“Do you...Have any-” Eddie gasps.

“No, fuck...baby,” Richie groans. He had no idea this was going to happen today and he was totally unprepared. If they had just gone to his own house…Richie grabbed Eddie’s hips to still them, wracking his brain for an alternative. “But I can-”

Eddie surges forward and kisses the words out of his mouth.

“Hold on,” he gasps, breaking away from Eddie’s mouth. “Hold on, hold on.”

Eddie whines, and Richie reaches up, grabbing Eddie’s throat and pulling him down, “Eddie, shut up.”

Eddie has his eyes closed, his mouth is parted, and he is shaking, “O-Okay,” he can feel Richie’s eyes dawning on him, full of wonder and realization.

“Is that... Is that a thing for you?”

It’s almost enough to distract him, but Richie flips Eddie over onto his back, and leans in to kiss him softly, before pulling back. Eddie tries to pull him back in, but Richie grabs his hands and pins them back down on the couch.

“Stay here,” he says firmly, “Don’t move...I’ll be right back.”

Eddie whines but obeys and stays on the couch, Richie looks down at him as he stands and his knees almost buckle as Eddie’s hand slides down to grip himself in Richie’s absence. He shakes himself out of it and runs to the kitchen and starts frantically slamming open the cabinets, rifling through Mrs. Kaspbrak’s neatly organized shelves until he finds a jar of coconut oil, and races back to the living room with it.

When he gets back, Eddie has already taken his pants off and is laying there, hand slid under the waistband of his boxer briefs and pumping himself slowly, head thrown back with his eyes closed. Richie gapes at the sight for a moment, before kneeling onto the couch, one foot on the floor and one knee between Eddie’s legs.

“Getting started without me, huh?” he asks, leaning down over Eddie once more and pulling Eddie’s hand out from his waistband. Eddie lifts his head to look at him and Richie nudges his nose against Eddie’s, before kissing him again, setting the jar of coconut oil down on the floor as he does.

Eddie’s hands find their way to the hem of Richie’s t-shirt and start pulling it up. Richie breaks away from Eddie’s mouth to allow him to pull the shirt over his head and as soon as the shirt hits the floor his lips are back on Eddie’s. His thumb begins rubbing circles into Eddie’s hip as the smaller boys hands slide up his torso to grip at Richie’s shoulders, and Richie hooks his fingers into the waistband of Eddie’s boxer briefs.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s as he grips the elastic.

Eddie nods frantically and lifts his hips slightly as Richie slowly pulls them down his bony hips. They get tangled around his ankles and Richie laughs softly, leaning back off of him to free Eddie’s legs and pull them off. Eddie grab’s Richie by the belt buckle as soon as his underwear has been tossed aside and pulls him back down on top of him.

He fumbles awkwardly with the buckle for a moment and Richie must be able to tell how frustrated he is because he hears his boyfriend laughing, and looks up to fix Richie with a glare. Richie smiles at him and reaches down between them with the hand that isn’t holding himself up, and unbuckles the belt with a flick of his wrist, before sitting up to pop open the button of his jeans. Eddie reaches forward to pull down the zipper and starts pushing them down Richie’s hips.

“Get these off,” Eddie grumbles, eagerly yanking them down and Richie huffs a laugh and kicks them off behind him.

“Geez, you’re so impatient,” Richie teases, rolling his eyes but sighing affectionately, and leaning over Eddie again, ducking his head down to nip at Eddie’s throat.

“Yeah well,” Eddie gasps at the feeling of Richie’s lips traveling up his jawline. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, so jot that down.”

“Is there any time of the day where you’re not being a sassy little shit ?” Richie mumbles against his ear, and bites at the soft skin below his earlobe.

“Are you really gonna complain about that right now?” Eddie snaps with a raised eyebrow, his hand sliding between them to hover at the elastic of Richie’s boxers.

“I guess I shouldn’t be when your hand is that close to my dick, huh?” Richie asks, and presses his hips so that his groin is up against Eddie’s hand, shuddering as Eddie slips his hand beneath the waistband to take Richie in his hand again.

Eddie squeezes him, “Yeah, you really shouldn’t.”

Richie’s eyes are rolling to the back of his head, “Stop teasing,” he groans, and then pauses as a thought occurs to him. “On second thought, let me take care of you,” he says, and bats Eddie’s hands away, despite his protests.

Richie sits up to grab the coconut oil off the floor and dips two of his fingers into it, feeling it melt into the warmth of his fingers. He places a hand on the inside of Eddie’s thigh and holds his fingers up, looking at Eddie as if to ask if he was ready.

“That’s not going to burn, is it?” Eddie asks nervously.

Richie lets out a surprised laugh. “No, baby, of course not,” he says. “I promise.”

Eddie nods and spreads his legs slightly, though there isn’t much room for them to go on the couch. Richie hooks his dry hand under Eddie’s leg, lifting it up to rest his calf on Richie’s shoulder. He presses a kiss to his thigh, smiling against the sensitive skin as Eddie shivers beneath him, and presses his fingers up against Eddie, rubbing the oil against his skin.

Eddie jumps slightly at the touch and digs his fingers into Richie’s shoulder. Richie looks up at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” he whispers shyly. “It’s okay,” and smiles at Richie in a way that he means to be encouraging, but Richie can tell how nervous he is.

“We can stop if you want to, baby, just say the word,” Richie says, moving his hand away to rub soft circles into Eddie’s thigh.

“No!” Eddie says quickly. “No, I...I want you to keep going,” he says, taking a deep breath and reaching between his legs to grab Richie’s hand and guide it back to its previous position.

“Okay,” Richie smiles at him, kissing each of Eddie’s knees as he presses one of his fingers inside of Eddie, pausing as Eddie breathes in a sharp gasp of air. “You’re doing so good, baby,” he says encouragingly, crooking his finger slightly and making small circles with it, feeling Eddie constrict around him. “Just breathe. Don’t forget to breathe.”

Eddie lets his head fall back against the couch and tries to do what Richie is telling him to. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, trying to relax around the foreign feeling of Richie’s finger inside him. Eddie winces, the pain not fully subsided yet.

“It won’t hurt the entire time,” Richie promises, “I’m gonna add another finger, okay?” he says, but waits for permission before he goes through with it.

Eddie nods, his eyes screwed shut, “O-Okay...I trust you.”

Richie pauses for a moment, a smile forming on his lips. He grabs Eddie’s hand with his free one, entwining their fingers together, his heart skipping a beat as Eddie squeezes his fingers. He pushes another finger in, nearly stopping when he hears a squeal forming in Eddie’s throat.

“Keep- Keep going, I’m fine,” Eddie insists, sensing Richie’s hesitation. “It won’t hurt the entire time,” he says, repeating Richie’s words back to him. And, fuck, Richie fucking loves this boy.

He continues pressing the second finger into Eddie and starts pumping them in and out slowly. As Eddie begins to relax slightly, he pushes in further and bends his fingers, brushing against a spot that draws a long, low moan from Eddie’s throat, and Richie watches, mesmerized, as he starts to fall apart before his eyes.

He begins to scissor his fingers back and forth, stretching Eddie open and thinks he might explode when Eddie pushes his hips back, further onto his fingers.

“I.. I’m ready,” Eddie mumbles through a moan, and Richie looks up at him as he audibly swallows.

“Are you sure?” Richie asks, kissing his thigh again.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, nodding at him and smiling, and Richie is reminded of the sun because Eddie’s smile is so beautiful it might actually blind him. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, other than you.”

Richie’s heart is in his throat and he feels like he might cry, but fuck, that would be so embarrassing. So instead, he pulls his fingers out and leans forward to kiss Eddie one more time, before sitting up and reaching behind himself for his jeans. He fumbles with the pockets for a moment until he pulls out his wallet and slides a condom out of one of the folds.

He tears the packet open with his teeth and squeezes the tip of the condom between two fingers before sliding it on, and tossing the empty packet aside.

He positions himself back between Eddie’s legs and slides a hand between them to press himself against Eddie. He kisses his thighs one last time before pressing in, grasping Eddie’s fingers in his as he does so.

“You look gorgeous,” Richie whispers, watching Eddie fidget with his tie, and rolls his eyes. “Come here.”

Eddie sighs in defeat and shuffles over to his boyfriend, letting Richie fix his tie. He’s shaking with nerves and he’s sure Richie can tell.  “Essentially, I’m coming out today, when I don’t dance with that girl.”

“How is that coming out?” Richie asks, scrunching his face up in confusion.

“I’m going to dance with you instead,” Eddie explains, taking Richie’s hands in his, and smiling at the way Richie’s eyes soften and the small smile that alights on his face.

“You don’t have to do that, babe,” Richie says quietly, squeezing Eddie’s hands affectionately.

“I know,” Eddie says, looking down at their intertwined fingers before looking back up at Richie’s smile. “But I want to,” he says, disentangling their hands so that he can reach up to grasp Richie’s neck, pulling him in for a soft kiss. “How can I not? You were the one who taught me how.”

“How to what? You’re going to have to clarify because I’ve taught you a lot of new things recently.” Richie smirks, his tone suggestive.

“I’m going to choke you if you don’t shut up,” Eddie snaps and glares at his boyfriend.

“Sorry, baby,” Richie says with a grin. “You’re the one who’s into that, not me.”

“Get away from me,” Eddie blushes, and narrows his eyes, jokingly pushing him away. “You’re the worst.”

Richie smiles and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, “Nope, you have to stay here forever.” He drags them playfully back onto Eddie’s bed, tugging him down, blowing raspberries into the crook of his neck.

“Richie,” Eddie laughs, “Stop it!”

“Make me.”

Eddie closes his eyes, trying not to let Richie’s words go straight to his dick. Yet, he looks down at him, leaning in to kiss him softly. He opens his mouth, letting Richie’s tongue invade his mouth. Just as he goes to entwine his fingers in Richie’s hair, his mom is knocking at the door. Eddie tears his lips off of Richie’s.

“Eddie, Richie, come on, we’re going to be late,” his mother calls from the other side of the door.

They both stand up, fixing their suits.

“This almost feels like..” Eddie trails off.

“...Like we’re getting married?”

“Y-Yeah…” Eddie swallows.

“All in good time, sweetheart.” Richie presses a kiss to his temple, opening the bedroom door, letting Eddie walk out first. He follows behind, a smile fixed on his face.

The bride and groom are finishing their first dance, when he hears his mom speak.

“Eddie, go on,” she says, the excitement in her voice making him cringe. “There she is, There’s Anna, go dance with her.”

Eddie blinks at his mother before turning away, his hand shaking, and reaches for Richie’s. He pulls him up, taking him to the floor.

“You remember how to do this or are you gonna step on my foot again?” Richie jokes, placing a hand on his waist and pulling Eddie in close to his chest.

“Listen, asshole, it was an accident.” Eddie snaps, but there’s no malice in his tone, and the smile he’s wearing definitely overpowers the attitude. He places one hand on the back of his neck and lets Richie take the other in his own.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Richie smiles and leans down, resting his forehead onto Eddie’s. He spins them a bit, Eddie giggling.

“You are the love of my life,” Eddie whispers.

“How did I get so lucky?” Richie asks, smiling at Eddie, unable to tear his eyes away from the beautiful boy in his arms.

“In which way?” Eddie asks, grinning at Richie mischievously.

“That was good, Kaspbrak,” Richie grins and a laugh bubbles up in the back of his throat.

“I know,” Eddie smiles and bumps his nose against Richie’s. “How mad does my mom look?” he asks.

Richie peeks at Mrs. Kaspbrak over Eddie’s shoulder and he tries not to laugh. “Very.”

Eddie knows he’s going to get an earful from her as soon as she can get him alone, but he can’t find it in himself to care right now. Not when Richie’s hand is on his waist and they’re swaying to the music.

“Kiss me for good measure?” he asks, tilting his head back to look Richie in the eye as he smiles at him.

“Eddie ‘Savage’ Kaspbrak? More likely than you think.” Richie muses but leans in, capturing his lips with his own. They linger for a second, pulling back slowly, savoring the moment between them.

Eddie hums when Richie pulls him closer, “You think this is gonna be us, for real one day?”

“I know it will be,” Richie says, and he finds that he really means it.

“Promise?” Eddie asks, resting his head on Richie’s shoulder as they continue to sway.

“I promise.”

Eddie leans up once more, pressing his lips to Richie’s. “That’s all I could ever ask for.”

“You’re all I could ever ask for.”

Tag list: @reddie-to-go @january-embers-beverly @kathrynew30 @eddiesrichie @hallmarkhanlon @reddieforanything @celerystyk 

[lunaschild2016]

Stand Alone: Chapter 7

A little something I cooked up while editing and working on Worth Fighting For; which I will be posting a chapter for in the next couple of days! In the meantime hope you enjoy this story. Will be a short but hopefully good one.

Rating T/M ( Language, Violence, There will be smut, Angst, Tragedy, Romance, Fluff)

@kenzieam @pathybo @jaihardy @ericdauntless @beautifulramblingbrains @bookgirlthings @jojuarez26 @oddsnendsfanfics @offroadinjandals @singingpeople @iammarylastar @irasancti @captstefanbrandt @clublulu333 @fuckthatfeeling @tigpooh67 @ex-bookjunky @jughead-wuz-here @badassbaker @beanzjellly @beltz2016 @meganbee15 @affabletimelady @scorpio2009 @gylisaa @geekybeyondallreason  @violetsonthelam

[Choosing age is 16. OC transferred year after Eric. Tris and Co. came in the next year. This begins a year after Tris comes to Dauntless. Tori Wu is younger than the books but six years older than OC]

Inspired by the song; Stand Alone by Generdyn ft. Zayde Wolfe

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Thank you guys so much for all the love the story is getting. It has made my week!

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Chapter 7

Strange dreams and visions visited Bree interspersed with tormenting pain and memories. When these instances occurred they would always be followed by rough hands upon her skin or hair, mumbling that she couldn’t make sense of before she was floating away. Any trace of the pain was leached away by whatever she was being coaxed to drink; blissful quiet and dark took the memories away as well.

Eric kept a close watch on Elle, and anytime she started to come around but was still locked in what he knew had to be bad dreams, he was there to soothe her back to rest. He thought nothing of all the things that come with the care of someone injured and unable to do so for themselves. It was compartmental-ism in how he was seeing her while being her caretaker. Any lustful or inappropriate thoughts were on tight lock down.

Four and Zeke had left at first light after resting as much as possible. The morning they left Four had woken to find Eric outside, sipping coffee and looking out over what he admitted, was a stunning view now that it was light.

Helping himself to a cup of coffee he joined Eric where they sat drinking their beverage in about as companionable silence as they had ever experienced before. Sometime during the night the old grudges and animosity fell away.

“It struck me last night, this question of what if.” Eric started out, breaking the silence of the new morning. “What if we had let go of all that shit long ago and tried working together instead of against each other? Would it have made a bit of difference to what ended up happening? The only reason I hated you so much and harbored such a grudge against you was because your placing first and being offered the leadership position; it threatened everything that I knew I had to do and become to work against Jeanine.”

Eric looked over to Four to see his surprised and shocked expression.

“At one point back then I had been ok with if you took leadership, or I would have been if I thought you could or would be willing to do what needed to be done or even just help me. When you turned the position down though, the resentment turned to disgust because to me it was like you didn’t have the guts to stand up for what was right.” Eric took a breath and looked away. “I never stopped to ask myself if you even knew there was something like what I was trying to work against on the horizon. I never even asked why you would turn it down. I just assumed it was because you were scared of your father but that wasn’t why you did it, was it?”

Four tilted his head and shook it. “No it wasn’t. Don’t get me wrong, the thought of having to see him or interact with him didn’t exactly appeal to me and if I could get out of it, I would have. The bigger issues for me were all about me being able to control myself. I have his blood coursing through me, but I also have my mother’s too. Both of my parents were poor examples for any child to follow as proven by their power hungry and destructive ends. I was afraid of what I would do with power if I had it. I was also afraid of the times I knew I would need to face him and if I would be able to control myself from putting him six feet under or just cripple him. When I found out about my mother, this was just doubled. The thought in my mind was, they couldn’t have started out like they were, at least I don’t remember my mother always being like she was towards the end of her life. What if I started out just fine but something in me that they both had, changed me and I became them?”

Eric nodded in understanding. “What do you think now? Do you think that would or will happen?”

Four shrugs with a frown. “Maybe being aware that I don’t want to end up like that will be enough to curb anything should I start in that direction. It probably also helps…” he stopped and a small lopsided smile started to form “...it also helps I have someone like Tris to stand beside me. To kick my ass back straight when I need it. So maybe it takes both, self awareness but also someone there by your side to help you that you trust and love.”

His words resounded with Eric and some kind of bridge was created between the two men. Zeke joined them soon after and they all talked more about the plans for leaving the city and who made up the group leaving. Eric had to agree with Zeke about trying to talk Tris out of letting Peter go along with them.

He might have saved Tris but he had flipped flopped sides and behavior too much to be trusted. Four wasn’t sure if he could convince Tris of this mentality but when Eric suggested they talk to Johanna and get her to talk to Tris he said he would.

Eric had walked them as far as the drop point for supplies before he raced back to the cabin. There was a note from Johanna that more supplies would be brought by cart for preparation of Brendan staying there but also for tending to Elle. She couldn’t be left on her own for long periods of time so most all his normal routine was halted. His next days and even nights were spent in that armchair beside her bed and any signs of pain were taken care of immediately.

It was a week before she stayed lucid for any significant amount of time. She was still confused and muddled, nowhere near ready to come off the pain medication but had tried to put off getting another dose until she tried to get more information. There were things she needed to know and needed Eric to know.

“How long have I been out of it?” Was the first question she had and it was slurred in a broken voice.

This was asked in the middle of Eric tending to her. When she noticed something that looked like a bedpan, she had felt a hazed mortification and weakly asked if she could use the bathroom herself. Having to be carried there wasn’t that much better but she considered it the lesser of evils of the two options.

Just the act of sitting up for that long left her tired and in pain.

“You have been here about a week but most of that has been heavily medicated and sedated. I had some healing serums and some more were dropped with the last supply delivery.” Eric informed her as he helped get her settled, gave her some more meds and water, then sat back down beside her.

Whatever she was given worked fast so with a panic she asked as many questions as she could. Or rather she tried to but they just came out as names.

“Brendan? Tris and Chris?” Then one name that floated to her mind made her remember the last event she clearly remembered. Fat hot tears rolled from her eyes and she gasped in pain of a different kind. “Tori!”

Her broken sob tore at him and without thinking he laid himself beside her and took her in his arms. Like in that room back in Dauntless he comforted her like it was second nature.

He didn’t try and tell her it would be ok because he was still struggling himself to be ok. He did hold her though until the small sobs stopped and her body relaxing suggested she was asleep once again.

Eric debated with himself but in the end he stayed where he was and joined her in much needed rest.

The next time Elle woke was to Eric stretched out beside her instead of hunched over asleep in the chair that looked a dolls chair with his large frame in it. She was slightly more alert but still unable to move much. The light coming from the window of the bedroom indicated it was late afternoon, maybe closer to dusk.

She remembered Eric taking her in his arms just before she surrendered to sleep. He was still close but had moved to his side with an arm around her waist. He looked so different from the man she always knew and the one she left a few months ago.

He had grown his hair so that the top of it had a mass of curls while the sides he had always kept so closely shaved were growing in. A beard covered his face, hiding the severe jawline while somehow accenting his lips.

The most notable difference was the lack of tattoos on his neck. His leader tattoos that he worked so hard and sacrificed so much for.

She lifted a hand and softly ran her fingers along the area where she remembered the symmetrical shapes had lived. There had been a time she had fantasized about doing just what she was doing now, but never without the bold black ink present.

Eric had felt her moving and remained quiet, eyes closed and waiting for her reaction to him being in bed with her. He had meant to wake long before now and take care of a few things. Including making a soup or stew for her to eat now that she was awake enough to do so.

She hadn’t said anything and he was just about to open his eyes to see if she had fallen back to sleep when he felt the light touch of her fingers at his neck. His eyes popped open and he looked at her to find her absorbed in the path her fingertips were taking. The path his former tattoos once made.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered so softly, thinking he was still asleep. She gave a slight jerk when his hand rose to gently engulf hers.

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for, Brielle.” He replied firmly even if his tone was gentle as well.

“Don’t I?” She said in a broken whisper but refused to give in to tears again.

Eric sighed and reached out, placing his hand to the side of her face gently. “Just like you believing in me so strongly...that I had done everything I could to help in the way I could; you did the same thing Elle. I don’t know that given what we were up against….anything could have stopped it but we had to try right? You had to try.”

“The cost though...so many...they are gone and I can’t help but feel I did this.” Elle admitted and gritted her teeth angrily.

“I feel the same way. I think we all are going to feel that way. Taking blame on ourselves because we can’t imagine there wasn’t something we could have or should have done differently.”

They sank into quiet again as they drew comfort from each other’s presence but also their shared feelings. Elle did drift in and out of sleep but didn’t have to take any medications. Eric watched her for a bit longer then got out of bed and went to make them both something to eat while he was lost in his own mind and feelings.

When it was ready he went to wake her up and once again helped to get her settled. It was just a simple soup that she drank from the large mug he brought it in. A few slices of bread were on a plate and Elle wrinkled her nose at it.

She saw Eric tearing into a few slices of his own and scooping up broth from his bowl. A chuckle bubbled from her and turned into a laugh.

“That explains the new softer Eric. Your all hopped up on peace and love serums!”

Eric had finished eating his last scoop full and had quirked an eyebrow at the unexpected and sudden laughter from her. Not that it wasn’t welcome. When he heard the reason he got a broad grin and shrugged with a playful wink.

“When in Rome right?” He laughed at her expression then shook his head. “Nah, there isn’t any of the usual serums in the bread delivered here. Apparently the old man claimed some kind of violent allergy to them so anything left or delivered is free of it. Johanna reassured me of that after the disaster of my first attempt to make my own bread.”

“Ok...now I know I have to be in some kind of drug induced dream. You tried to bake bread?” Elle asked but snagged the piece of bread on her plate that Eric had started eyeing.

He glared at her for a second but then sighed. “I thought, how hard can that shit be? Apparently it is a ‘delicate’ process. I was able to make a pretty decent cake though.”

The two of them both gave a slight wistful sigh and spoke at the same time. “I’ll miss Dauntless cake.”

It was with blushing and laughs they finished the light dinner. And after they were done and he had gotten her ready for bed, then her medications; she reached for his hand when he would have settled himself in the chair again.

“You can use the bed too.” Her voice and suggestion was timid and she hoped it sounded weak because of the fast working medications.

Eric bit his bottom lip and worried it in contemplation. “Are you sure?”

She gave a small nod. “If you want. I trust you and it isn’t fair for you to sleep on that tiny chair or couch.”

He was going to protest about fairness but in truth he wanted nothing more. So he moved to the other side of the bed after nodding to her with a reassuring smile and slid under the covers beside her.

Her whispered ‘goodnight’ seemed to echo in the quiet darkness. He returned it with his own whispered goodnight as he felt her already fading beside him. Then he pulled her to him as he let himself fade as well.

[r10tp00f]

Shame

You don’t need me to tell you how ashamed of myself I am. On the other hand, I’ve had occasion to wonder many times with many people in my life if the extent of my shame is something anyone besides Wendy, my therapist, has appreciated or understood. My shame about class and money is somewhere in, like, my top ten sources of shame? After fat shame and ugly shame and failure shame and crazy shame, so it’s fifth, maybe.

I think the first time I felt shame about money I was eight. Third grade. The trailer park we lived in, which was called McGarrity’s, for some reason never explained to me, was owned by a man named Frank Conger, who was the music teacher and chorus director at Soddy Elementary, where I went to school. The trailer itself we owned outright, because my mother and father, in what seems like some universe other than the one I inhabited with them, had bought it shortly after I was born, when they moved with infant-me from Graysville to Soddy. My father had always been a hardworking and very, even admirably high-functioning alcoholic, at least since my mother knew him; and my mother, once upon a time, wasn’t an alcoholic at all. 

When I was born in 1982, my father worked at Sequoyah Nuclear Plant in Soddy-Daisy (doing what I’m not sure, some sort of labor in the course of which he was up on a telephone pole and was struck by lightning, sometime before I was old enough to understand or remember). My mother worked at DeLong, a sewing factory in Dayton. They both had new 1980 Ford Mustangs (my mother’s was maroon with maroon plastic and red carpet interiors and a sort of maroon striped upholstery, as I very hazily and imagistically recall). We lived, the three of us, in a double-wide trailer in Graysville, mere miles from my mother’s sisters, Aunt Linda and Aunt Suzy, who lived in Dayton, and even fewer mere miles from the tiny trailer my mother’s mother, Mamaw Betty, and her mother, Mamaw Pat, lived in a few streets over from us in Graysville, too. I think the settlement money my father got from Sequoyah as a result of the lightning strike accident was how they purchased the trailer and the Mustangs, but I wouldn’t swear to it. My earliest memories are not from Graysville, but after we had moved to Soddy. I remember playing in bed with my mother at night, under a blue comforter with sort-of needlepoint, six-pointed stars, my mother and father lying side by side, the streetlight coming in from the window, the room otherwise dark, and my mother balancing me on her knees and raised hands, our fingers laced together. I couldn’t have been older than two. I remember sitting in a round plastic laundry basket in the middle of the living room floor while my mother folded the clean clothes on the couch and we watched TV. Probably her stories, Loving or All My Children. Later, I remember my sister being an infant (which would make me three) sitting on our loveseat in the living room in the dark of pre-dawn morning, Cassie beside me, both of us bundled up for winter, while my mother went outside to warm up her Mustang to drive Cassie and me to our Aunt June’s house, where we stayed while Momma worked. I remember one such morning in particular because the Mustang’s engine caught fire while my mother was warming it up and she raced in to call the fire department. I’m not sure what became of the Mustang, other than it was gone after that.

And of course my parents divorced when I was four and Cassie one and the three of us stayed in the trailer we owned after Daddy moved back home to live with his mother, my Mamaw Ruby. And when I was eight, after we had been living with my mother’s boyfriend for two years already and my mother’s descent into alcoholism and addiction with him was total, we had no phone and regularly went months without electricity and hot water. He had already broken one of the kitchen windows trying to get in after my mother had locked him out after he hit her once (they taped the window up with packing tape and duct tape and and cardboard, after). The hot water tank had busted and soaked through the carpet and underflooring in their bedroom, leaving a hole straight through to the ground a few feet below the trailer floor that they tried to cover with the board on which my mother’s talented friend Brenda had drawn and painted for me a Rainbow Brite mural for my birthday; it had hung on the wall over the toybox in Cassie’s and my room before they used it to try and cover the hole in their bedroom floor because it was winter and the bitter cold winter air coming through the hole was making it impossible for our one kerosene space heater to warm the trailer, as much as it ever did or could). We couldn’t pay any bill with any regularity, by then. And though the trailer was ours, or my mother’s, I suppose, the plot in the trailer park it was parked on wasn’t ours (I think the plot rental was maybe $80 a month, if my memory serves), and we owed Mr. Conger money as a result. One day in third grade, as we were leaving music class, he called for me to stay behind while the rest of the class went back to our classroom, and he asked me “When is your mother going to pay me the money she owes me?” When I said I didn’t know, he told me “Tell her I want my money.”

I think that was the first time I was ashamed about money.

I had many such occasions to come. Early in my therapeutic relationship with Wendy, 2012 or 2013 or maybe a bit later, in 2015, when I was talking about the shame I had about money, she pointed out that I had never had any opportunity to learn how to handle money responsibly or well, that I never had that behavior modeled for me by any adult who then taught me how to do it on my own. Every year between 2010 and 2014 I earned more money in a year than my mother ever had. Between 2010 and 2016 I worked a minimum of two jobs at any given time (at one point in 2012, I think it was, I worked four, teaching simultaneously at UB and D’youville, writing copy for a TA colleague’s husband’s stem cell research site, and scoring AP English Language exams—I think I earned about $29,000 that year, total? The most I’ve ever earned by far, and more than my mother ever has or will.)

I spent money freely during that time. I’m not sure what else I could reasonably have been expected to do, given my shortcomings and weaknesses and background. I was earning money and didn’t think I’d ever be in a position where I couldn’t earn money again. Even if I never earn more than this, I thought, I’ll earn at least this, and that’s plenty. So I spent what I earned. Clothes, shoes, music, concerts, books—many, many books. And gifts. I spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars on gifts and clothes for my nephew Tyler and my niece Zoey and my best friend Kate’s girls Sofi and Minah, and trips to see them all twice a year, going first to Tennessee then to Houston once every summer and once every winter. A handful of trips from Buffalo to Toronto to see Tori or Nigella or go to academic conferences. A couple of times for a long weekend, just for fun. A two-day trip to Boston once, partially subsidized by the UB English department, the rest out of pocket, to present at NEMLA, the second largest and most prestigious conference in the humanities. There was the trip to London, aided partially by a student loan, to see Tori introduce the fabulously, heart-achingly beautiful musical she had written, The Light Princess. (I’m ashamed of damn near every dime I ever spent on anything in my life that wasn’t food or rent or utilities, but I’m not ashamed of the London trip to see Tori or any of my three trips to Toronto to see Tori, either; and if The Light Princess ever plays on Broadway, I won’t be ashamed to sell whatever I’ve got to pay Broadway-musical money to see it there, too; I wouldn’t be alive if not for Tori.) I spent money on a couple of trips to New York City to see Pat and Jana, too, once when I was there with them to see the McQueen show at the Met(ropolitan Museum of Art) and once to see Nico Muhly’s Two Boys at the Met(ropolitan Opera). We’d have gone to see Silence! the Musical (the musical parody of The Silence of the Lambs) off-Broadway, too, if Pat wasn’t such a fucking snob. (He apologized the next year, after he had read notices making clear the show was a tongue-in-cheek exercise of campy, bad-taste parody, as I had tried to explain to him, instead of the earnest musical of accidental bad taste he assumed I was recommending. He couldn’t imagine a musical of any kind being in good taste. Such a snob. 

For someone who said he found me so fascinating and stimulating, he sure thought I was stupid. In part because he, having been raised in doorman-high rise Manhattan by his advertising executive father and downtown LA by his dilettante artist mother; having gone to Yale, his father’s alma mater, for undergrad; having taken the train from Penn Station to spend weekends at their summer house in Connecticut; thought I was some sort of amusing, borne-of-poverty hillbilly savant who, were I not born and raised so unfortunately poor and backwards, might have otherwise been an actual genius and not the forlornly downtrodden, unschooled, uncouth genius of otherwise unrealized potential he thought I was. It was not an accident that the painting he did, inspired, he said, by me and my work, was based on the linguistic connections between Dustin and dustbin—you know, what Brits call a garbage can. He used the word “receptacle,” as I recall, when he showed it to me in progress in his Brooklyn studio, and not just because I was an admitted and committed cumdump. I was so blinded at the time by his perverse fascination with me it didn’t even occur to me to say, “So what I represent to you and what, in this painting, my name represents of me to viewers, is semiotic varieties of garbage, Pat?” I’m not offended he was calling me garbage, I’m not even saying he’s wrong, but he might have considered the possibility I’d understand that’s what he was saying in the painting even as he avoided saying it to my face. But I digress.)

Or do I? Maybe not. Pat always vehemently insisted neither he nor his family were rich. His father regularly dined at the alumni-only Yale Club in Manhattan and they lived in a downtown New York Apartment with not only room for a grand piano but the actual grand piano itself (despite the fact no one in the family plays piano); its own private, lushly decorated elevator vestibule (for their actual apartment alone, not all the apartments in the building as a whole); a private, smaller-apartment-sized storage area on a lower floor; and an unobstructed view of the U.N. building mere blocks away. But Pat’s family weren’t wealthy. No. Maybe his grandfather had been wealthy, Pat allowed, but by the time he died and left Pat only a small trust fund—a pittance, really!—the rest of the McElnea’s weren’t wealthy. Maybe if I wasn’t so poor I could have seen that, I suppose. I could have had enough money to know what real money was and know Pat didn’t have real money, as he insisted.

I didn’t work all that hard to convince Pat of his privilege. I didn’t make a habit of parading the more ignominious and painful details of my itinerant, hotel room to hotel room, flophouse to flophouse, roaches-crawling-on-me-while-I-slept-on-the-Smith’s-floor-with-my-mother, ages eight-to-fourteen homeless childhood before Pat for his exotic delectation. I rolled my eyes a lot, and wondered what the hell I was doing sleeping in the guest room of a tastefully appointed Manhattan apartment while who knows what conversation was going on about me and my un-orthodonture-corrected teeth in the parlor as they entertained a few of his father and stepmother’s hoity-toity friends. 

But I knew what Pat didn’t know about his family’s wealth and thus, what Pat wouldn’t ever and possibly couldn’t ever know or understand about me. And eventually I felt like too much a freakish token in his almost comically snooty artist’s salon to subject myself to it anymore, and had to lose his and Jana’s friendship the way I had (for different reasons) lost Sara’s and Trent’s and Stefan’s and Elizabeth’s and would come to lose Kate’s. Because, in their various ways, I understood them better than they understood me.

Not because I’m such sensitive, intelligent hot stuff. It’s not a question of skill or talent or greater intellectual capacity. I’m not smarter or kinder or more talented, none of those things are true; they all were and are more capable than I am in what feel like countless ways. It’s a question of learned consciousness.

I won’t go on about it, because I know my academic bullshit is tiresome to normal people, but the concept, from W.E.B. DuBois, is called double consciousness. He coined the phrase regarding race, but it applies to any social or cultural abjection. Whether black people like it or not, their place in the world means they have to know far more about white people than white people can or will ever know about them. It’s a white world, they only live in it. So black people are able to understand the existence of white people and are conscious of that, just as they are conscious of the fact the reverse is not true. Black people understand what it is to be black and to be white. Double consciousness. It’s true of queers and straights, women/femmes and men—and the impoverished and everyone else. It’s not the result of a character flaw or malice on the part of every white person (or straight person, or man, or securely middle class or wealthy person); it’s a lived reality enforced by social structures and the way they prop up self-protecting, replicating circuits of power. 

If you’ve never been homeless, you don’t know what it’s like, and no one who has been homeless can adequately explain it to you. I understand what it would be like to be financially secure in the middle class because the world presents that reality to us more than any other, so everyone in our culture knows what that would be like. But no person who has never been so poor they were homeless knows what that’s like. It’s not a personal failing, only the way the world works.

When I was little, six or seven, Cassie three or four, before we had yet become homeless but when we were well on our way, we often had no food, despite the fact we were on food stamps. My mother and the man we lived with would take a portion of our food stamps and illegally sell them to mom-and-pop convenience store owners for cents on the dollar, in order to get cash to buy beer and drugs. So we never had enough food to make it through the month. I remember being off school during the summer, and Momma taking Cassie and me to the grocery store with her when we didn’t have any food or food stamps left. She would take us to the deli counter, and she’d get us styrofoam to-go containers, the sort with compartments, with mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, one bread roll, and a piece of fried chicken. She’d get the woman at the counter to put a PAID sticker on it, despite the fact she hadn’t paid (I don’t know how, my best guess is she offered to pay cash, at a later date, that the counter lady could pocket for herself), and we’d walk out of the store carrying them, because who is going to stop a six year old and a three year old and say “Hey, did you actually pay for that food?”

I don’t know how to tell you how that feels. Standing there ashamed, barefoot on the cold grocery store tile, knowing your mother is maybe begging, certainly stealing food because you don’t have any food left at home, and that if you tell anyone, they’ll take you away, and you don’t know if they’ll ever let you see your mother again. I had seen a made-for-TV movie with Sarah Jessica Parker playing a young, mentally ill, neglectful mother of four small children (as I recall). There was a scene where the oldest child, a girl my age at the time, fills an empty baby bottle with tap water and gives it to her little brother to stop him crying. She finds an open bag of potato chips and squeezes some water from the baby bottle onto a chip to soften it so he can eat it and won’t choke. She does it because there is no food and her mother is nowhere to be found. They are alone. Later in the movie, children’s services take them away from their mother and make plans to place the siblings in separate foster homes because no one will take them all together. They’re saved from being separated by a childless couple who own a farm, but they never get to go back to their mother. I remembered that movie. Watching it had made my stomach hurt in a way I hadn’t quite felt before, it made me cry, and I didn’t know why. But it taught me things. I knew if anyone found out about our lives Cassie and I would be taken away from Momma and we may never see her again, and I knew Daddy didn’t want us, and they might take Cassie away from me, too, and I couldn’t protect her anymore, and I’d be all alone, and that man would kill Momma without me there, and some man we didn’t know might touch Cassie if I wasn’t with her, and I couldn’t stop it.

I can describe it to you. I can’t tell you how it feels.

My mother used to call me lazy. I’m not sure why. Once we had a home again, except for the bout of severe depression my senior year when I didn’t clean my room once during a bleak stretch of months, no child had a cleaner room than I. From the time we became homeless when I was eight until we moved into a small house with Momma’s then-boyfriend David and got a washer and dryer when I was fifteen, the only reason we ever had clean clothes was because I urged her to take us to the laundromat so we could do laundry. From fourteen on, any time I was left alone in the house for any length of time, I cleaned it top to bottom (except my sister’s room). Goodness knows she never told me to practice my clarinet or learn my lines or do my homework or finish reading whatever I was reading. Or finish my college applications or practice for the Solo & Ensemble competition or prepare for the state tournament when I qualified in dramatic interpretation or revise my poem for the Young Southern Writers anthology. She never had to tell me those things, I did them on my own. So I don’t know where lazy came from with her. I mean, it worked, I’ve felt self-conscious about being lazy my entire post-teenage life. And everything I’ve ever done in the way of external recognition and achievement is because I’m desperately trying to make myself and my life valuable to others in ways I know it’s not, to prove a worth I wish I had but don’t and never did (and, at this advanced age, never will, which is a tough pill to swallow. If I could swallow it along with a cyanide capsule I guess I would.)

Some time ago—maybe months, but sometime in the last year—I was talking on the phone with a friend I’ve only ever known via the phone (what we were talking about I don’t recall), and the subject of my disability status, such as it is, came up, I think only by implication (I don’t think it was the topic at hand). He said to me, in reference to what I don’t remember, (I paraphrase as nearly as I recall) “not like you, you could go out and work if you had to.” A few times, when some habit of mine, predicated on my fear of going out in public and interacting with others, comes up, he’d sort of scoffed, laughed, said “Come on!” The last time, I think, was about taking out the garbage. I said I usually take it out at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning, which is true, and he thought that was ridiculous, clearly. I’m not saying it isn’t. I know I’m ridiculous. The world’s least funny joke.

And I know other people would agree that, as he indirectly (probably so as not to hurt my big-dumb-baby feelings) suggested, I’m not that disabled, and others who know anything about my life now probably think so, too. Wendy doesn’t think so, I suppose, and my primary doctor Erin says she doesn’t. I assume when my previous doctor Lynn first told me she thought I should apply for disability and that she didn’t think I should be working that she didn’t think so. On some level people perceive my life, my inability to work and operate with some degree of productive normality in the world, to be, for all legitimate intents and purposes, malingering. I’m certainly not making my feelings up, or imagining them. My body does hurt the ways I’ve said it hurts, and I’m fucked in the head the ways I’ve admitted I’m fucked in the head, but the view that I’m making it all out to be worse than it really is and if I really want to I could get out and work and live like the counterfeit image of a somewhat normal person would be widely held if the details of my life were widely known. And I’m ashamed of that. I don’t know how to make it otherwise, but I understand they do, and that shames me.

Sometimes, when I’m trying to think how I could better communicate myself to others (Wendy told me not to say this, by the way, she said not to say what I’m about to say because making myself more vulnerable wouldn’t help, but she said so to try and protect me from the worst of my feelings, and I’m not good at helping in that goal, and I lost the thread of what she had gently encouraged me to say some time ago, anyway)—when I’m wondering what I could say or should say to make my life clearer to people, I think, should I tell them every time I cut myself? I don’t tell people every time I cut, because it’s humiliating, but should I? Should I tell them how I think about killing myself or otherwise dying every day of my life? How even if I sound like I feel okay, I don’t? How deep down I still think of dying as a relief? How, deep, deep down, I think that literally every man in the world (every doctor who’s a man, and every man nurse, and man Uber driver, and man grocery store employee, and man student, everyone who’s a man)—all men who have ever lived or will ever live would rape women and would hurt or kill me if they thought they could get away with it? All men, even Tyler, now that he’s a man and knows I’m a faggot? (I’m not saying my rational mind thinks it, or the part of it that’s rational, anyway. Just the part of me that knows we’re not entirely rational beings and people act in irrational ways based on irrational desires all the time.) Should I tell them how I hate myself for simultaneously feeling death would be a relief and men would kill me if they could, yet I live as locked away as possible so they can’t do what they want and what’s probably best for me?

But then I wonder what that would do. People might understand I’m even more fucked up than they knew, but the reasonable and responsible and practical part of them will still think, “You could go out and work if you had to.”

I know, what a freak.

I know it’s difficult for people to exercise any patience with me, given the fact I wasted fifteen years getting degrees any fucking idiot could have known weren’t practical or advisable in the long term, fifteen years being reckless and irresponsible and selfish and shortsighted and profligate and willfully stupid, fifteen years achieving only the most trifling and laughable outcomes to show for the pansy-ass, insubstantial work I did—My dissertation? Who gives a shit about my faggoty, labor-of-love dissertation?!—when people were doing actual work, working their asses off, making actual sacrifices, when here I sit on my obviously fucked but fundamentally malingering ass when I could go out and work if I really had to. I dunno, maybe I should have seen Lynn’s suggestion I apply for disability as a way to maybe get my messy life off her hands, at least for a while, and Wendy and Erin and Quinn and Ela’s kind reassurances as the best response they have to a fucking disaster like me on their caseload. However things end with me, I know it will be a relief to them to have me off their books, even if they’d never say so.

One Friday in July of 2016, I sat in Wendy’s office as I had nearly every Friday since the fall of 2010, and I broke down harder than I ever had before. For over an hour, I cried so hard I couldn’t speak. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. I had finished my Ph.D. I had no job to show for it. I had been homeless again from August of 2015 to March of 2016, and as of July I was renting a room in a rundown house with three straight men who stole food and money from me. I had no way to pay the next $500 I owed for each month renting that room. I was estranged from the best friends I ever had because I’m such a fuck-up and a freak. Sitting in that chair in Wendy’s office, I decided I needed to die. Or had to, anyway. No one and nowhere in the world would have me. I didn’t make sense anywhere in the world. I had nowhere to go. I had reached the limits of who I could be and what I could do. 

After an hour and a half, I stopped crying, and as I got up from the chair and moved to leave, and Wendy said “Take care,” as she always does when I’m leaving. But that time I was leaving for good, even if she didn’t know it. I said “I’m sorry I never got better. It wasn’t your fault.” 

At the top of the stairs, she called me back into her office. She asked me if I was planning to kill myself. She said it sounded to her like I was. I told her no, I wasn’t. The only lie I’ve ever told her. She told me if I were any other client, she would be admitting me for a psych. hold, she wouldn’t be letting me go away on my own, but she was only letting me go because she was afraid if she committed me I wouldn’t forgive her and it would irreparably harm our therapeutic relationship. I knew it was a terrible bind I placed her in. If I lived a thousand years I could never repay her.

The next Tuesday, I got a call from Angel Steele in the housing department at Evergreen. She said there was a place for me in the Lofts, which were opening in August. If I hadn’t received that call, I wouldn’t be here to write this. I wouldn’t be here at all.

When I received my disability designation in 2017, the letter said I was expected to improve. Wendy said she didn’t indicate that (can improve is a very different thing than will improve or even should improve), and I don’t think Lynn or anyone else who wrote in support of my disability application said so either. But the letter said so. It also said they would do a review of my claim after three years, in which time the improvement was expected to have taken place. I got the letter saying they were conducting my review in May 2019, but they’ve yet to send their inquiries to Wendy or Erin in order to conduct the review, and it’s been a year, so I don’t know what to expect or when. Wendy and Erin both said they intended to say I was still fully disabled, and Wendy said she intended to also make clear there was no evidence whatsoever that, regardless of what the initial disability letter said, it was ever the case that I was going to improve necessarily, or enough to alter my disability status, and she tried to reassure me: there’s no evidence whatsoever you have improved, even if they did expect you to. How pathetic a person I am, that what passes for encouragement and reassurance in the context of my life is don’t worry, no one who knows you thinks you’re any better.

But who knows what they’ll say. The chances they could revoke my status are high, I imagine. I’m 38. Or will be, on June 26th. I’m not supposed to be cripplingly debilitated by emotional instability and psychological disease, given what appear from the outside to be unfortunate but livable circumstances. Livable to someone fundamentally saner and a better person than I am, anyway. Someone should’ve told that disability judge I’d only disappoint him as I have everyone else.

If they take my disability status away, when they take it away, I’ve got nowhere to go. I don’t kid myself: as barely employable and barely functioning as I ever was, things have not gotten better or even maintained. They’re worse. I’m worse. I mean, in my mind. I recognize that others’ perceptions that I could go out and work if I had to is the assessment of a sane and hardworking person, but that’s not what I am. I’ll try whatever I can try, like I tried whatever I could before. I did what I could, my massive and devastating personal failings all too sadly withstanding. All those attempts ran out of steam on which my finally worthless efforts and the ultimately disgusting person I’ve become could float. Running on less than empty. That’s what happens given that the tank of the sorry person I am is a fucking collander in every conceivable way.

So I got a reprieve from what I understood to be true four years ago, July of 2016, sitting in Wendy’s office. It’s still true, even more true, and I know that reprieve is likely to be temporary, though my deficits are permanent, and will thus be terminal. A poz, homeless faggot becomes a corpse sooner rather than later, and this poz faggot would become a corpse rather sooner even than soon, all things considered. I know I will be homeless again, and I know then I will have to die.

That’s a lot to live with, as much as I can be said to be living.

Even someone as fucked as I am doesn’t look at my life through the telescope of money and the lens of necessary shelter and see, in the distance, home. I see, rather, the facts that indicate I probably won’t have a home for much longer. The facts that remind me I haven’t had a home for quite a lot of my life. And the conclusion that there are good reasons for that. Where, exactly, should a person like me expect to find shelter? My past and future homelessness, my current financial broke-ness, and my always already broken-ness militate against sheltering me. Nothing about me says to anyone, yes, you look a safe, sane, hardworking sort, come in and make yourself at home.

The first phrase of one of my very favorite books, in some ways most dear to me, Jim Grimsley’s Comfort & Joy is “To find a hiding place.” A few pages later, on the plane home—“home”—Dan thinks about Ford, “This is my hiding place.” But the thought seems wrong to him. Moments later, “Shelter, not hiding place. This wall of Ford was, would be shelter. That’s where the thought [had been] wrong.”

No wonder that book had my heart from the first word. Shelter in the love of a good man. Reading that book I thought, “Oh, this man understands some things about me.”

But. 

Neither he nor anyone else is under any obligation to make any sense of my money shame, my fear of homelessness, my failures generally, or to understand me as a person at all.

Talk about a position that doesn’t pay.

[notesofarichlycolorednight]

Fanfic Ask Meme: A: How did you come up with the title of It's the Perfect Story? J: Write or describe an alternative ending to It's the Perfect Story. P: Are you an 'architect' or a 'gardener'? X: A character you enjoy making suffer. Y: A character you want to protect.

A: How did you come up with the title of It’s the Perfect Story?

i wanna preface this answer with: i always like my titles to be symbolic. as much as i can. main titles of stories are a must. chapter titles not so much, but if inspiration strikes me, i’m there.

so i did the same for this story. another important note is that this was a rewrite. and the final important note is that i knew that luke was going to die in this rewrite (i.e., i knew that i wasn’t going to change too much of canon, i wanted the main storyline of the pjo series to pan out as it had in the books)

from there, i believe at the time i was thinking about this rewrite/beginning this rewrite, i was listening to dr. horrible. it’s a short musical (the full title is dr. horrible’s sing-along blog) and it has a song called “so they say.” in it is the line: “it’s the perfect story, so they say.” (emphasis mine)

you really gotta go listen to full song to get the depth of my reasoning, but the reason i chose that particular line in that particular song is because of the fact that this song is so upbeat and there are parts that are really funny. but if you listen to the lyrics it’s really, super cynical and actually quite sad (especially within the whole context of the musical–seriously it’s like an hr, go listen to it).

also i’m a hoe for irony (see also: the second to last chapter, the chapter in which luke dies, that i named “that famous happy end” from the song so close)

long story long, i like to take a phrase from something (a song, a quote, etc.) if it like really fits with the story/chapter, but the something that i took it from also provides context and gives a deeper meaning to the story/chapter. irony isn’t a must, but if it happens to fit and is ironic, i’m down 110%

the rest is under a cut bc it’s get hella long

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to It’s the Perfect Story.

um so…idk if this like actually counts as an alt. ending (this question is worded so ambiguously what)

update: this question was actually quite hard to answer. i had an idea but i didn’t want to go with that. and so i’ve been sifting through ideas all day. so here’s smth i finally felt i liked/could stick with

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Luke held Tori in his arms, squeezing her shoulder tighter than necessary, but Tori didn’t even notice. Not with the gaping hole in her chest from Luke’s sword, weilded by that dracaena, Kelli.

They were still in the suit from last night, after she’d just woken up from having been stabbed by her own sword, by none other than Kelli.

Tori was really starting to hate Kelli.

Luke’s beautiful blue eyes were filled with unshed tears. Tori could feel him trembling as he held her.

“I’m sorry,” Luke managed, squeezing her tighter.

“It’s not your fault,” Tori managed. Her vision was already blurring, fading in and out. Luke’s voice sounded far away. Luke opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off, “Promise me something,” she whispered, reaching a shaking had up to caress his cheek.

Luke closed his eyes, his tears finally falling. Tori gently stroked her thumb under his eye as they opened again.

“Anything,” Luke whispered, sinking even closer to the floor. He’d been on his knees before, but now he was sitting with his legs underneath him.

“Don’t…” Tori took a hollow breath. “Don’t follow me.”

Luke shifted, cradling Tori. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he replied, a smile pulling at his lips as more tears filled his eyes. “Off of a cliff. To the ends of the earth.”

Tori smiled, too. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Castellan.”

“Tori–”

“You can make this right,” she interrupted again, her smile dropping. “Please, make it right again, Luke.”

“Tori, please…” Tears were freely streaming from his eyes now.

“I’ll find my way back to you,” she said with such ferocity, it startled Luke. Then she started shifting, as if trying to sit up. Her hand moved from caressing his face to gripping the front of his shirt. Luke helped her, pressing his forehead to hers. “I promise.”

Her hand went slick and Luke felt her let out one last, small breath. He gripped her to him, silent sobs wracking his body. The only thoughts echoing through his mind: I’m sorry.

When Luke finally managed to get a handle on his grief, he stood, Tori still in his arms, and gently laid her on the bed. Her eyes were closed, skin ashen. He took her hand into his. It was still warm.

“Luke–” Kelli tried, but Luke looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes as sharp and cold as ice.

“Let me have my grief,” he snarled. “You owe me that much.”

Kelli didn’t look happy about it, and the bear brothers shifted, looking oddly uncomfortable. Luke turned back to look at Tori.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, thoughts racing through his mind the whole time. Of what he should do, what he could do to keep his promise to Tori. He hated that she knew him so well. He would’ve taken his sword and run himself through the moment Tori had taken her last breath, but her words had sunken into his mind and taken root.

“We should go now,” Kelli said, in a harder voice. Luke didn’t turn to look at her this time, only stared at Tori’s peaceful face. Her hand had turned stone-cold.

Make it right.

Luke almost turned to tell Kelli, “No.” and face the consequences. Or maybe start negotiations he could do that.

But then a thought struck him like lightening.

He’d never been proud to be a son of Hermes. It wasn’t just that his father was a shitty at being a father, it was also that anyone unclaimed was crammed in the Hermes cabin. Anyone in there was miserable, Hermes kid or not.

The first that usually came to most people’s minds when thinking about Hermes was that he was a messenger of the gods, sometimes god of thieves, which was dangerous.

Hermes, god of thieves–cunning, silver-tongued, highly intelligent.

Whether he liked it or not, Luke was his father’s son.

And he would use those skills his father had granted him to keep Tori’s promise: he would use his cunning, his silver-tongue, and his intelligence to gain Kronos’s trust. And just when Kronos thought he’d have it all, rip it away from him, like he’d done to Luke.

Only for her. Only for Tori.

“Luke.” Kelli said with force to catch his attention. Luke raised his head, steeling his resolve. “Having second thoughts?”

Luke gritted his teeth for a moment before unclenching his jaw and turning, letting go of Tori’s hand.

“Not at all. Let’s go.”

so uh, apparently i can’t let them be happy. moral of the story. sorry fam, the powers that be have spoken. i am unable to come up with like an actual happy ending for them haha that’s not entirely true, i have smth planned for them that you could call happy, all things considered

i’m not sure it’s exactly what the question is asking, but it does end differently??? luke ends up playing double-agent, working for Kronos, but feeding chb information. this is a great au, like fuck, i’m saving this for later

extra: i almost had luke jump heroically in front of tori and take the sword for her, and die. and then she would become the double-agent if only bc, uh, burial at sea? fuck yeah. and with tori’s impeccable aim, she’d land that flaming arrow right on target. luke? not so much. but then i was like…nah, luke’s heritage makes more sense.

bonus: i’d been tossing the idea of tori taking the curse of achilles and being kronos’ vessel for the longest time for itps before i finally decided on smth else

P: Are you an ‘architect’ or a ‘gardener’?

i’m, what we in the professional business call, a landscaper.

in all seriousness though, for all my stories i’m both. i’ll have certain plot points (big or small) planned out–they need, must be in the story, no exceptions. then i need to get from point a to point b, and the path isn’t always straight/linear. it’s in those moments that i’m really more of a gardener, where i let the characters tell me where to go.

sometimes i’ll spend fucking weeks imagining every single detail in 1080p high-def imax surround sound for a certain scene and/or plot point so when i sit down i’m like

but when i’m on the path between point a and point b, where i may have some vague sense of where i’m going/how to get to point b (or sometimes no sense at all) i’m more like

(this is most often a weird hybrid where i’ll have an idea, but i won’t have a clear vision, and so i’ll sit down and write it and let the characters and the context of the scene take me where it will. the moments when i don’t have any idea of where i’m going are very rare)

but for the past few months *cough*since i’ve started grad school*cough* it’s been more like

when will my muse return from war

(to be fair to myself, i hit serious writer’s block. i’m having trouble coming up with ideas to move the story forward in the direction that i’d like it to go.)

bonus: the whole, “tori became the very thing she was trying to save luke from” was totally a “gardener” moment. didn’t plan it, was just writing and my brain was like wait a minute–perfect

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

i’m so much better at writing ocs than i am actual characters, just bc i’m so nervous abt mischaracterizing them. whoo boy, can ppl get so mean abt mischaracterization.

and look i understand, but getting all up in ppl’s business is rude and really uncalled for. what happened to being civil? guess ppl don’t know her.

anyway, i mean honestly apollo from the pjo series??? like yeah i write tori in some pretty harrowing situations…heh, but it’s really more so i can explore her character and keep the reader interested, as well as seeing my reader’s reactions (those are the best)

but anyway, whenever she interacts with apollo i always enjoy having her get underneath his skin (he’s very fun to write from an outsider’s perspective and when annoyed)

wait until she meets him as a mortal. he may look sixteen, but he’s like 4 centuries old so you bet your ass tori is gonna tear him to shreds

Y: A character you want to protect.

dude

bruh

this is jumping way far away from pjo-verse, but uh any female character in ffxv deserved better fam like

ya’ll can fucking fight me on this

okay, but also, like actually protect: adrien agreste (my sweet sunshine child) from his manipulative, abusive father (fuck you gabriel, go burn in hell), and promoto argentum (my other sweet sunshine boy) from life’s hardships in general bc he deserves all the good things

♪ ♫“The use of words expressing something other than their literal intention.”♪ ♫