#its short and sweet but it hammers in its point so WELL

[golden-stag]

I think my favourite part of any GG song so far is extremely specific but it's the middle part of Armor-Clad Faith from 2:13-2:23.

Something about that really specific part scratches an itch in my brain

[reminiscingtonight]

The Talk

Alessia Russo x Williamson!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: A short one for our Arsenal girls' win

[WOSO Masterlist]

Leah’s not stupid.

Leah may be rash, hard headed, and a little reckless sometimes, but she’s not stupid.

It’s obvious how something has changed with you. You, her sweet baby sister, went from watching trashy TV on the couch with her most nights to not even bothering to stay home after practice anymore, always sneaking back into the house at early hours of the new day when you think she’s still asleep.

Leah likes to think she’s a good sister. Someone you’ll always turn to if you need help or if you have anything you want to share with her. 

But obviously what she likes to think can’t be further from the truth because two months pass and you’re still sneaking around, taking muted phone calls around the corner, never spending more than a few minutes alone with your sister anymore. 

Leah likes to take pride in her observation skills. But honestly she can point to your inability to be subtle that helps her figure the whole thing out. It begins as pink cheeks whenever a certain new striker comes near you. The eyes that linger too long when you are all in the gym together for a quick weight training session only adds on to her suspicions.

Leah has also noticed the way long limbs often trail after you, stumbling into the nearest bin whenever you laugh at a not-so-funny joke made by the girl in question. Alessia’s often found sat near your side whenever the girls have a movie night, or whenever the lot of you go out for a meal together.

Leah considers her suspicions confirmed when you disappear after a night out at the club with the rest of your teammates and Alessia is also conveniently missing as well. 

So, the next day after practice, Leah decides enough is enough. No more sneaking around, no more lying. She was going to take matters into her own hands and put an end to everything. It’s about time she lays the hammer down, even if it comes at the risk of you hating her. 

The opportunity arrives when Alessia is called away to the physios. Leah lingers in the hallway after practice ends, pretending to busy herself as she awaits the striker’s return. When Alessia finally finishes her session, she’s walking down the hallway, head down, entranced in her phone when a hand shoots out, gripping tightly against her forearm and yanking her into a nearby storage closet. 

The shriek she lets out quickly dies when she meets the familiar eyes of her national team captain.

“Leah!” Alessia gasps, trying to pull in a breath of air at the surprise. 

Leah’s eyes narrow at the younger girl, hand only tightening its grip against her arm. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Russo. Because I definitely do, and I have to say, I’m not amused so far.”

“I…” Alessia trails off, trying not to look too rattled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Watch your next words carefully, Russo. I don’t take well to liars,” Leah warns, voice dangerously low.

Alessia’s mouth clamp shuts. 

You warned her about this. On your first date out, you warned Alessia about how protective Leah could get. 

“I think we should wait to tell Leah. There’s no telling what she’ll do.”

So she agreed, not thinking much about it. 

Until she got the offer to play for Arsenal. And then her access to you was unfiltered and oh-so easy. 

Where the two of you used to be so cautious about not letting anything slip, faced with the ability to see each other whenever you wanted was just too good of an offer to pass up. So gone were the nights you’d entertain Leah’s want for sisterly cuddles. Gone were the days you went out for after practice smoothies, relishing in some quality time with your sister. Now you go out on dates with your girlfriend because you can. You can take her to all the places around London, take all the time you want mindlessly strolling about just because you can.

Though now that Alessia is thinking about it, maybe the two of you should have tried a little harder to hide your relationship. Because faced with a slightly fuming Leah Williamson glaring down at her, Alessia has the sinking suspicion she’s not getting out of here alive.

“You’ve been keeping (Y/N) out until the late night hours every night. I oughta have you benched for the next couple games just for that.”

Alessia’s eyes widen even more in fear. Did Leah actually have the power to have her benched? Alessia has no idea. But she’s not willing to flirt with the idea. 

“I love her, Leah. I really do. She… she makes me feel things that I didn’t think I ever would.”

And once she starts, Alessia can’t stop. 

“I would never hurt her, I hope you know that. I feel so lucky every day that I get to call (Y/N) mine. I thank my lucky stars that she chose me because I think she can do so much better. I wake up every day so in awe of her and I love her so much that sometimes I feel like I can’t even breathe. I love her every single second of every single day, and I’ll continue to love her until we either break up or I die because let’s be real I’ll probably keep loving her even if we ever do break up. Not that I want to break up with her though! I would never break up with her,” Alessia rambles on, not seeing Leah blink as she slowly becomes overwhelmed with the amount that the younger girl is saying.

Leah didn’t really come into this thinking too much. Her goal was to scare the star striker a bit, but the younger girl’s word vomit of appreciation for you, though lovely, is a bit unexpected.

Alessia also seems a bit taken aback herself, face steadily reddening as embarrassment floods her system. 

Alessia doesn’t have much time to think it over though. Suddenly the door beneath her back disappears, light flooding into the room as the two of them go toppling out of the closest. 

Leah swears when she crashes to the ground, Alessia’s bony frame not doing much to cushion her fall. 

When Leah looks up, she finds you staring at the two of them, mouth slightly agape in confusion. 

Alessia pales when she realizes it’s you who opened the door. She scrambles to push Leah off of her, the older girl glaring at her as she lands on the cold hard ground. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Leah, on the other hand, simply rolls her eyes before getting onto her feet. You’re watching with wide eyes as she comes to a brief stop in front of you, pausing long enough to brush the lightest of kisses against your cheek. 

“She passed the sister test. I approve.”

She pinches your cheeks between her fingers as an afterthought, and your look of confusion quickly turns into a scowl as you swat at Leah’s hands. “Leah Cathrine, get your grimy hands off of me.”

“Bring Lessi around for dinner some time, yeah?” With one last loving pat, Leah gets on her way, leaving the two of you to stare after her as she slowly turns the corner.

Alessia nervously rubs at the back of her head when you turn your gaze onto her. 

“What did you tell her, Less?”

“I…” It’s times like these that Alessia can really see the resemblance between you and Leah. Narrow eyes full of suspicion but still filled with love. Alessia hedges her bets that you love her more than you’ll dig for answers. 

“I love you?” The words are paired with an unconvincing smile, Alessia not eager to repeat her word vomit.

[a-collection-of-cool-ideas]

Thank you wonderful fanfiction authors! You do a great part to make life wonderful. Recs below the cut (I CANNOT believe I haven't rec'ed some of these before!) Previous recs: 2018, 2020, 2022. Looks like I only do these every two years lol.

Gravity Falls

Feels Like We Only Go Backwards, by @dubsdeedubs / WDW; complete multichapter. A heartbreaking concept with a happy ending. Sad but wonderful and a really fun idea. Working out just what is happening is a great challenge, and watching the pieces fall into place with mounting consternation is awesome.

In Search of Antidotes, by @astriiformes / azhdarchidaen; complete multichapter. An awesome Historical AU, and neither Ford nor Stan go through the portal (there’s still suffering though). Bit of freakiness, bit of funniness, bit of stubbornness, bit of coolness. A very cool read! A much more classic demon-possession story than canon with its modern sci-fi overtones. The gothic sci-fi horror takes the floor here. Jekyll and Hyde, Frankenstein, Dracula, it takes inspiration from all the best roots!

Just a Game, by @nikxation / nikxation; one-shot. Intense! High stakes! Well-written! Doesn’t mess around getting to the point, and hammers its beats into you! LOVE it! Bill holds a gun on Ford, while in Ford's own body. The tension in this is unbelievable!

An Outreached Hand, by @dubsdeedubs / WDW; incomplete multichapter. Something freakishly supernatural happened to Stan during his homeless days. It’s called Ghost Trick AU, and it’s super interesting and utterly engaging! It’ll have you tearing through it wanting to know what the heck is going on! The characters are all so intense in their own ways, and the plot is drip fed to you piece by delicious piece.

Snapshots from an Alternate Reality, by Rethira; one-shot. PORTAL STAN!! Just a short little one-shot about this alternate version of events, but incredibly cool to read. Love the writing style: it takes you through the scenes like a skipping stone, its wake mesmerising.

All Things Go, by @cantica10 / Cantica10; incomplete multichapter. A weird (in the best way) idea of a crossover between Timestuck AU (where Mabel is trapped in the past) and a Wings AU (where, you guessed it, everyone has wings). Adorable Stan and Mabel bonding, but is SO not afraid to get really dark. That being said, it’s also so sweet and fluffy, and explores the effortless love that Mabel feels for Stan, and that (broken, scared, young, sad) Stan feels for her. This is one of those fics I am compelled to keep coming back to. It’s such a full experience to read.

Snow and Pine, by @ancientstone / TheArchaeologist; incomplete series. A great concept!! Loved the idea of these two brothers being forced together by circumstances instead of intention. Some great selective description here, and the plot itself is a very fun ride. WERE. WOLF. STAN. Need I say more?

Lighthouse Keeper, by @impishnature / impish_nature; incomplete series. There’s a lot to this story; the main work is mostly a series of one-shots, with other works sprinkled between. The idea is so eerie and haunting, and the vibes are pretty different to most other things I’ve read. The instigating artwork by @sightkeeper is magnificent and Imp has managed to capture the images very well!

Triptych, by @scribefindegil / scribefindegil; one-shot. A very cool character study on Stan. Great for informing his central motivations. It's kept short and sweet, but the analysis is no less thorough for it. I loved the insight into my favourite character's life and mind. Scribe writes him so well.

Blind Faith, by pinesinthewoods; complete multichapter. Come on, how could I NOT mention this one? It's one of the many here I'm astonished not to have rec'ed earlier. Super dark, super scary, an AU where both Stan and Ford fall into the portal. Ouch, but cool. Really good, but be prepared to yell out loud in horror. This is a doozy, don’t expect a lot of happy feels going into it. That being said, it is INCREDIBLE. The structure of the story is fantastic, perfectly encapsulating the reliance each of the brothers’ needs to have on the other and how one has to step up when the other can’t. Stan and Ford are forcibly tied together in this, and they find they each mean more to the other than expected after ten years of bitterness and radio silence. A STAPLE of Gravity Falls fics.

Like They Were a Perfect Fit, by @sensitiveowl / hapful; one-shot. Aw, ow, cries. Love! Lots of tangled-up emotions and scenes that will tug at your heartstrings thinking about Ford’s life journey. Speculations on the importance of the photo that Ford is implied to have carried around with him for 30 damn years.

30 Seconds Later, by @invisibletinkerer / shayera; incomplete multichapter. Loved this to death! A really great concept executed fantastically. An AU where while it took Stan thirty years to rebuild the portal, Ford was only gone for thirty seconds. The characterisation of paranoid Ford and his interactions with the rest of his family are perfect, as is his reaction to finding himself in the future and his relationship to Stan. And Stan is wonderful in this too! A very good examination of age, aging, and the associated changes in perspective.

1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back, by @infriga / Ppleater; complete multichapter. An AU where Stan is turned into a kid in the midst of Ford’s pre-portal paranoia over Bill. It adopts the wonder and innocence that comes with youth, but still retains the darkness of Stan’s adulthood - wait, actually, his entire life has been kinda dark in this fic. This is one of those fics you can tell the author had a lot of fun with. It’s palpable in the chapter titles and the art :) The illustrations are beautiful, the story is heartfelt, and it is not at all afraid to go into some dark places. A very enjoyable, loveable, read!

The Road in Front of You, by @nicnacsnonsense / Nicnac; complete multichapter. Ford falls through a portal potty and gets dumped in Stan's path. MAN!!! This fic has a really great concept, and Nicnac’s writing is impeccable as always. A great look at Ford and Stan’s relationship post-high school, how their personalities have developed and changed, and most importantly how they reconcile the changes in each other.

Nothing a Little Sleep Can’t Fix, by AkitaFallow; one-shot. Oh MAN. WOW. Okay. A heavier look on the mark Sock Opera leaves on Dipper, featuring repercussions throughout the rest of Dipper’s summer. Absolutely, heartbreakingly, entrancing. The slow build up of the plot perfectly mimics the rising emotions that poor Dipper is struggling to keep a lid on until they inevitably explode, and watching the people who love him pick up his pieces afterwards is just golden.

Ad Infinitum, by @nicnacsnonsense / Nicnac; one-shot. My first read of the Same Coin Theory and it was awesooooooooome!!! There are so many repetitions of phrases that spark in my mind because of how great they were, and the aspects of Stan contrasted with Bill that thread through it are incredible. Kind of an unsettling concept. I couldn’t get enough. For a fic that’s all about cycling around, you'd think it'd get repetitive, but every paragraph is rich with novelty. A FEAST.

Some Sunny Day, by @anistarrose / anistarrose; complete multichapter. Another Same Coin Theory fic. The beats of the plot in this are stunning, with some truly awesome lines that left me reeling and thinking Oh SHIT that did NOT just happen!!! In the best way possible. A highly interesting story and some excellent takes on the Pines family and the world of Gravity Falls.

Towards the Sun, by @notthistimespock and pinesinthewoods; complete multichapter. EXTREME BROTHERLY FEELS. Incredible! Love the in-depth examination and speculation on Ford and Stan prefinale. A different ending for Weirdmageddon, following Ford’s journey through Stan’s mind. It gets sad, it gets scary, it gets freaky, you shed tears. Another one of those staple fics for the fandom. The story is a wild and heartrending adventure, full of imagery that stuck in my brain for years after the first time I read it.

Fisherman’s Knot, by @scribefindegil / scribefindegil; complete multichapter. MORE EXTREME BROTHERLY FEELS. Deals with postcanon adventures on the Stan’O’War II, including some reeeaaaally bad mental states/situations. Have tissues handy. I think this is generally regarded as the be-all-and-end-all of Stan twin angst. It is long, it is HEAVY, but it is also heartwarming and hopeful, and full of adventure and magic, and the kind of love it's made with really comes through.

Mob Boss Stan Pines, by Capricious_Passions; complete multichapter. A fic that you HAVE to read over again to get the complete picture. Complex and well-thought out, incredible attention to detail, but the first read will baffle you! A lot of fun trying to figure out what’s happening, and even more fun on the re-read picking up all the details you missed the first time!

Scrapbook, by Shyeye; complete multichapter. The complicated weight of grief hangs heavy over everyone in the story, and the difficulties in dealing with it are at the forefront of everyone’s minds. The depth each of these characters are written with is very much appreciated, not-so-pretty parts and all. This was a wonderful, touching, read.

Rescind, Reset, by @endae / endae; one-shot. Canon divergence where Mabel temporarily lost her life during Weirdmageddon, and the aftereffects on her and the rest of the family. It is one of the most beautiful things I’ve read, very emotionally raw. I cry every time. This incredible story is wrought with a filter of broken hearts being pieced back together as the characters live through the aftermath of their happy ending. It’s a shining, nuanced take on Mabel and how someone with her personality deals with the plot premise. I love the complexity of the emotions in this, not only from Mabel but also from the rest of the Pines as they work through their own traumas.

Safe as Houses, by @beastenraged / Beastrage; complete multichapter. If I could whistle I would! An entrancing read about the Pines family’s adventures from the perspective of their home. Some great and not too far-fetched ideas about how the Shack may have come across to its inhabitants over the years.

Greyscale, by @impishnature / impish_nature; one-shot. OH MY LORD. Incredibly touching and heartbreaking, I can’t look at this directly for fear of being emotionally blinded. Loss, and gain, and loss. Striking, powerful, so, so beautiful and painful. The aftermath of Weirdmageddon: another canon divergence where Stan lost his life. Except... Reverse Portal AU Stan stumbles across this sad dimension soon after. I swear, no fic has made me cry so hard and left me so much in shock of what the heck just happened to me. I love the look at how loss has affected the characters, and I especially love the path to recovery that is laid out for them.

Buying Gold, by @dubsdeedubs / WDW; incomplete series. Veeeery intriguing. It’s not really Same Coin Theory, but it’s a great read about the similarities between Stan and Bill and some cool speculation on Stan post-defeating Bill.

Any Family You Choose, by @nicnacsnonsense / Nicnac; incomplete multichapter. So sweet! Portal Dipper finds a young Stan Pines and decides to help him out. This concept is so wonderful, and the characterisation is blindingly clear. Keeps you guessing at the backstory!

Across the Universe, by Queen_Mab; one-shot. SUCH a great set of adventures. The multiverse really tries to hammer in its lessons sometimes, whether they stand a chance of sticking or not. Extremely well-written and fun, I devoured every word ravenously. Some scenes of Ford's portal time, with some VERY interesting encounters.

Star Wars

Anything Brighter than Even the Sun, by @hamliet / Hamliet; complete multichapter. The Rogue One crew survives and continues rebelling, as does Galen! The main focus is on Jyn and Cassian's characters and relationship, and how they navigate growing into a family. I love Jyn's character especially in this, with all those hard edges guarding a deep, deep well of passion.

Chirality, by @niobiumao3 / Niobium; complete multichapter. A Tech was CX-2 fic! It's great to see this fan theory explored, and Niobium writes so well! The plot is entrancing and has you hooked on the edge of your seat waiting for all the pieces to fall into place for our poor brainwashed guy. The way CX-2 thinks and melds with the personality of who Tech once was is beautiful and his interactions with his family and Phee are a sight to behold.

Crash Landing by @returnofahsoka / delightwrites; complete multichapter. Another Tech is CX-2 fic, can you tell this idea has a hold of me. The characters' voices in this come through SO clearly, it's insane, and the writing style is perfection. Jumbled and pained and confused and grieving, all threaded through with that little bit of hope. Wonderful.

I'll Keep You Safe (You Keep Me Strong), by @miadeardn / sheikahs; oneshot. An AU where Crosshair's chip never activates and he is as embroiled in adjusting to being on the run with a new little sister as the rest of the Batch. Just a sweet little moment between the two. Both of them are written very in-character, and it's great seeing a side of Crosshair that never came to regard his brothers as his enemies.

Talking in Defence, by @buskuta / buskuta; oneshot. An awesome look at all of Hunter's complicated feelings regarding Omega and Crosshair's relationship post-Tantiss. He's not a paragon of perfection, he's human. I can't emphasise enough how much I love this and how well he's written here.

Unyielding, by Face_of_Poe; complete multichapter. The scene immediately post-reunion between Omega, Hunter, and Wrecker, with some speculation on Crosshair's internal strife at that moment. There's a chapter for each of the remaining Batch and Wrecker's is EXCEEDINGLY well-written in my opinion. We don't get nearly enough exploration in canon or fanon about the depth of his thoughts and feelings.

Plan 100, by Face_of_Poe; complete multichapter. An awesome canon-divergence speculating on Omega and Crosshair's escape from Tantiss. The action is great, the strategy and coded communication is so sharp, and the feeling of desperation as Omega and Crosshair fight to evade recapture is fantastically taut. I especially love the small moments in this showing just how close these two have grown, and, in Crosshair's case, how little he's realised it happening. It feels very true to their characters.

Through Darkness Unknown, by @stardustandash / StardustAndAsh; complete multichapter. Holy shit the stakes are so high in this. A Tech Lives canon divergence of Omega and Crosshair's stay in Tantiss, and you can really FEEL just how helpless they all are to Hemlock's control. I absolutely love how this fic does not pull its punches, really forcing Crosshair and Omega into relying heavily on each other. There's so many great scenes in this that are seared into my brain!!

Ask Yourself, by StoneSage; complete multichapter. Omega is captured by the Empire while Crosshair's still working for them. I freaking love the complicated messiness of Crosshair's response to this- he's constantly challenged to act on the callous persona he projects, and constantly comes up short realising what he's actually willing to do to his family when it comes down to it. Very true to his character, and the quandaries Rampart presents him with a subtly terrifying. A fantastic examination of character and a great plot to go with it.

The Space in Between, by Misvet; incomplete multichapter. A series of stories focusing on the complications and dangers involved with Omega joining the Bad Batch. The writing style is great, the plots are great, the characters are great! It's all great! Just read it!

Maybe Fate Has Different Plans, by hanged_albatross; complete series. God I love this so much. Some incredibly touching and well-written moments of the Bad Batch protecting each other in a dangerous galaxy, with Omega, of course, at the centre. She is characterised so well in this, and constantly written with the idea of despite being so young, she is also no less protective of her brothers than they are of her.

Modern Batch, by kaydear; incomplete series. DUUUUDES just read this. It's such a sweet collection of stories about an alternate universe of the Bad Batch in a contemporary setting. Life is tough and complicated and full of pain, but also there are others right beside you to lean on when you need it, and so life is also full of love. I have cried multiple times while reading and re-reading this.

Skulduggery Pleasant

I Will Lay Me Down, by mcginnis; oneshot. This is perfection. A rewrite of the aftermath of the Lord Vile reveal in Death Bringer. I wish this was canon. Valkyrie and Skulduggery are PERFECTLY characterised in this scene, and the nitty-gritty of how they're both feeling is thoroughly explored and explained, and the tone of the story never once diverges from canon's- it is complicated, dark, and interspersed with ridiculous levity.

Pride and Prejudice

A New Addition, by @ralkana / Ralkana; oneshot. A great fic about Elizabeth and Darcy and childbirth, various moments in this are imprinted in my mind permanently. High emotions all over the place, incredible tension and wonderful dynamics between the two main characters and the rest of the family.

Mr Bennet Travels Through Time, by AMarguerite; oneshot. A truly great fic with a wild concept that totally works. Mr Bennet is actually from the 1990s. Weird and funny, but also touching and sad, and goes leagues towards explaining a lot of this man's quirks and contradictions. I was fully invested in this all the way through reading, and it did not disappoint. Utterly satisfying.

Once Upon a Time

The Worst, by @alchemistc / alchemistique; oneshot. The real-life dynamics of these ridiculous fairytale people had me grinning ear to ear. The mortifying ordeal of your family of fictitious characters helping you move into your college dorm as told from Henry's perspective. Love it to death.

[casual-praxis]

Miscellaneous things I noticed in the FS Manga

I reread the Four Swords manga quite a bit now that I have it, so I figured I might as well share some of the things I’ve noticed over the course of those many rereads.

- In chapter 11 it’s revealed Blue keeps his hammer in his hat.

- The flower Zelda is mentioned to like is potentially a blue flax, just going off of appearance and status as a wildflower. 

- In the first chapter, all the Colors have dark-shaded undershirts/sleeves, but starting in chapter 2, only Green has dark-shaded sleeves (Blue has a lighter grey color). This was probably done to save time, or maybe just to make it easier to tell them all apart. 

- Everyone’s default expression just seems to be :0 which is honestly probably just a quirk of its era, but still really funny. 

- In chapter 2, the first time Blue gets hit by Shadow, Red is briefly seen crouching next to Blue as if to check on him. I think Red remains crouching after Blue gets up, but I’m really not sure. He’s back on his feet by the time Blue gets hit again.

- Vio holds books really weird but at least he seems to be having fun. Up until someone talks to him, anyway. (I attempted to translate the words we can see, but I think it may just be gibberish. It was not a very good attempt to be fair.)

- Shields, swords, and sheaths only seem to exist when relevant. 

- For being touted as the “boring” and “uninteresting” member of the team, Green sure does have a lot of expressive moments if you focus on him. I think he’s the most well-rounded of the bunch in terms of personality. His defining character trait is “motivated”, which when compared to “angry”, “cry laughing”, and “morals are a roulette wheel”, isn’t that easy to see visually. He’s competitive with Blue, he shows when he’s scared or happy like Red, and he can think rationally like Vio. He has all these overlapping traits with the others, they just aren’t nearly as prominent. Like a jack of all traits.

- In chapter 2, Shadow jumps at Green in an attempt to kill him. A similar pose is mirrored by Vio later in chapter 7 during his fight with Green. Perhaps intentional? (What do they have against Green??)

- Blue is the undeniable powerhouse of the team. He lands the final hit on Stone Arrghus, protects Red throughout the whole Temple of Light/Darkness (which I thought was really sweet, dude was not leaving Red behind no matter what), takes out Big Poe, and steps in to take down their father (so Green doesn’t have to). He also drops a bunch of Hinox into lava if we’re counting that. Pretty much all these instances did have help from the others in at least some capacity, but you can trust him to finish the job.

- The dynamic between Red and Vio, though not seen much due to Vio’s Evil Shenanigans and the team being split for multiple chapters, is surprisingly wholesome.  In chapter 2, shortly after receiving their names, Vio lists the obvious personality traits they all have, and pats Red on the head while smiling (which may or may not be his first genuine non-smug smile at this point?). Red seems to admire Vio, though honestly he’s like that with all of them. They seem to stand near each other a lot early on before the group is split. In chapter 3, when Red gets stuck in place and Stone Arrghus is about to attack him, Vio is the first to jump in between them to save Red. In chapter 8, Red runs to hug Vio after they get him back from Vio’s Evil Shenanigans (and Red also seemed to run to him for a hug in chapter 6, but because it’s not shown, Red probably stopped just short of giving him one). I really wish we got to see them interact more. 

- Speaking of Red and Vio, their speech bubbles in chapter 10 appear to have been flipped around. 

- Of all the Colors, Vio is the only one to never be shown crying. The closest he gets is when Green stomps his foot and his eyes tear up. Red cries all the time, Blue cries a few times but most notably when Green “dies”, and Green seems to be crying when their father “dies”. 

- Not so much an observation but just a question--are the fire rod and ice rod actually two different items, or just a toggle for the same rod?? Due to the lack of coloring, and the fact the rods look pretty much, if not completely the same, I can’t tell if the “click” that comes from it in chapter 7 (while they’re standing on Vio’s execution rock), is the fire rod being changed into an ice rod, or Red switching weapons all together just with a weird onomatopoeia (or potentially the “click” had nothing to do with the rod at all). 

- Though not super fleshed-out characters, the other knights of Hyrule showing up in the fight with Vaati to help out the Colors was a nice nod to the start of the story, what with the themes of teamwork and all that. They might not have been there on time, but they made it there eventually and got the Colors out of a tricky situation. Their unity is their strength, as they say. Also, shoutout to Link’s father, he’s doing his best and clearly loves his son(s)

- In one of the bonus comics, “It’s Not Easy Being Purple,” Vio is for some reason labeled as Green. This one bugged me when I noticed it.

- In the final bonus comic, “Fear Like Never Before,” I am convinced Vio’s Evil Shenanigans Part 2 would commence had Green not put the sword back in again. (Just look at his face. Why is he staring at the ground? Shadow??) 

- Red is best boy, moving on.

These are just some of the immediate things that come to mind when I’m rereading. I seem to get a new appreciation for each of the characters each time, so that’s really neat. Back when I was like 13, I only knew of a few pages of the fan translation, and of the characters I only really had a feel for Red’s whole deal, so he was my favorite (still is tbh). 

Now I can say I like all the characters, each for a different reason, and not to the same amount, but I don’t dislike or feel neutral about anyone like I used to. Green and Blue were really “meh” to me when I first acquired the manga a few months back, but honestly they’re both really interesting in ways I’ve only started to notice recently. 

I thought Blue was just angry all the time, but he pulls off a lotta cool shit constantly (not including the time he literally got frozen) and I think he does care about the others a lot even if he won’t admit it (his interactions with Red turning more soft is definitely an indicator). I wish we had gotten to see what his response to Red would have been back in the Temple of Light/Darkness when Red asked if he was even worried about Green and Vio. He was definitely worried, but someone had to be focused, and in that moment it had to be Blue. 

Or something, I’m not very good at character studies. I’ll stand by what I said about him caring for the others though.

Liking Green more is still on the newer side for me. Again, I never disliked any of them, but Green always came across as plain (since he doesn’t have any stand out character traits other than being the one who looked most like Link), so I tended to overlook him. The thing that got me to like him more actually was his body language. He is very expressive, be it his facial features or the way he moves. I love characters that emote in exaggerated ways, it’s also why I like Red so much, they share this in common. In particular, Green just has some funky poses I think are neat, like in chapter 5–he may be fighting for his life but his dodging is just so cartoony and bouncy, I want to see it animated. 

To some extent they all move like this, but with Green it’s nice since he’s not usually comic relief. It’s nice to have a “main” main character be just as goofy and cartoonish like the rest. 

And when it comes to Vio, I’ve always liked Vio. Finding out how unhinged he actually is was a treat, but it also was a really funny realization for me. I knew him as the serious bookworm, which isn’t entirely wrong, but he’s also a smug bitch who, had the narrative allowed him, would definitely have a kill count. In fact, he has only read one book, but it was in doing so that everyone latched onto the idea he loves reading. Love that for him. I also love the fact he’s a liar.

It’s like he got most of Link’s negative traits wrapped into one, and then they set him loose into the wilderness. It’s a miracle he didn’t kill anybody. He certainly tried. 

I do not have the words to explain how much I love Red. He’s adorable and so unapologetically emotional that it makes me happy. He’s just being himself, havin’ a good time. The others would have perished without him, I’m convinced (or, well, Blue would have frozen to death, Green would have died to the Hinox, and Vio would presumably continue living in his darkness-sponsored love affair with Shadow until he either killed one or both of them). 

This got longer than it was supposed to be whoops.

[see-arcane]

Lucy and Jonathan

“We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not already engaged to Jonathan.”

I’ll admit, while it probably wasn’t anything more than an airy throw-in without any real barbs behind it, the inflection on Lucy’s comment followed by the idle advertisement of upcoming character, Dr. John ‘Jack’ Seward, as a higher-up-the-ladder ‘what-if’ prospect, still kind of stung to hear. I know it’ll get sanded back in later chapters because—minor spoilers—context clues will show that Mina, Lucy, and Jonathan have known/been friendly with each other since they were kids, and comments from future letters will show a more mutual regard. So it makes me wonder what the reason for the implied derision was.*

*(Beyond her possibly trying to push Jack in a way that says ‘Nope, No, I Choose Not to See the Crush, No Thank You, Hot Potato.’)

My guess? It’s a bit.

Specifically, a holdover from hers, Mina’s, and Jonathan’s earlier days when all of them had grown into adolescence, social mores started getting hammered in in earnest, and Mina and Jonathan were just starting on their official courtship.

Suddenly, they’re no longer a trio of kids enjoying each other’s company. Now it’s two young ladies—one rich, one poor—and a charming young man—also from a lower class. Considering the period, it would be only too easy for whispers to start flying behind fans and cigars that the young Mr. Harker might consider leveling up his prospects, or that the lovely Miss Westenra, a veritable Victorian Helen of Troy, might idly snatch her low-born friend’s man out from under her nose on a whim. And aren’t they such a pretty picture? Quoting their Shakespeare at each other, so intriguingly close compared to most men and their ladies’ friends…unless there are certain extra friendly circumstances involved, ha ha.

A ribald comment too many from coworkers at Hawkins’ firm and a backhanded compliment or three at the latest spring ball probably shocked Jonathan and Lucy respectively into action. Bonus points if one of the inciting remarks came from some tittering debutante, “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. You two are so alike! Such sweet bonny things, parroting the Bard at each other, prattling merrily about the latest little outing without stopping for breath. Really, Lucy, he would just do for you.”**

**(Some have wondered if Lucy was nudging Jack toward Mina due to certain similar traits they shared. Some morose aspects, intensely focused, interests in modern technology. You’ll see when you meet him. Either way, it’s another parallel to ponder here.)

Cue Mina having to endure her loved ones defending her honor from being dubbed a victim of romantic betrayal in the most vaudeville manner possible. Though she should expect no less from Theatre Nerds 1 and 2.

When they go out, Mina is permanently sandwiched between them as if they’re ducking behind a red-faced shield. Lucy brandishes a parasol to ensure they’re at least the shaft’s length apart; sometimes she’ll even open it to make sure they’re not swayed by looking upon each other, may Heaven forbid such scandalous temptation! Jonathan sits on the bench with them with his hat pulled down over his eyes for safety’s sake. At least a quarter of an hour at the start of each outing is dedicated to a back-and-forth of:

Lucy, nose up so high she’s looking more at the ceiling than him: Mr. Harker.

Jonathan, checking his pocket watch to see how long he must endure this most arduous company: Miss Westenra.

Mina, head in her hands: It’s been months.

Lucy, scoffing: Months of torment in his presence.

Jonathan, scoffing harder: Agony in hers.

Lucy, on a fainting couch: However can you stand him, Mina?

Mina, about to pull her hair out of its pins: You helped him pick out the ring, Lucy.

Jonathan, picture of woe: Tormentedly, of course.

Lucy, nodding: Agonizingly.

In short, Jonathan 🤝 Lucy:

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

"Its cold you should take my jacket" with krobus mayhaps? I just think its a cute mental image BVNJ

Maybe theyre goin outside durin winter, and sure shadow people probably arent as effected by the cold but maybe it could still be a sweet gesture (the reader is going to freeze to death mild mistakes were made unless they're just the kinda person to go out in the winter shorts/joke)

-salt anon

YEAH Krobus time <3

Notes: Farmer and Krobus are established as roommates.

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

"The crocus are blooming nicely this winter...oh! Hello, little worms!"

Standing just a few feet away, you kept an eye out for any villager who might be walking around at this late hour, acting like a bodyguard for Krobus.

The last thing you wanted was for someone to freak out at his mere existence on the surface.

Ever since befriending the lonely shadow monster from the sewers, your perspective on his people (as well as most other monsters) changed drastically, opening up your eyes to the truth: that not all of them were violent brutes and assassins armed with crossbows and dark magic.

He was the first peaceful one you've come across, and he became the reason you try to avoid fighting any shadow people in the mines. Even if they became aggressive, you knew they were only acting defensively, never turning hostile unless you approached them first.

Of course, if you saw a human come charging at you with a sword or hammer...you'd be scared for your life, too. And if you had the means to protect yourself, you'd use them.

Krobus was once a fighter himself, until he decided to abandon those ways after the elemental wars, finding displeasure with his life beneath the surface. No longer could he find sanctuary in a place so terribly hot and miserable, fearing that an adventurer or Dwarf assassins will come slay what remained of his people. Thus, he laid down arms and took up becoming a humble merchant, living quietly and waiting patiently.

What he was exactly waiting for...he didn't know at the time.

But after you somehow found his little shop, checked on him after a fight with one such Dwarf, and presented him with the void ghost pendant....he finally realized what he wanted all along.

Companionship.

Something that he didn't expect to find in a human, of all creatures.

Yet on that fateful day, things changed for him yet again.

They were bigger, better, and the type of change that he needed for so long.

He never thought you'd like him as a housemate. After all, his existence alone was frightening to humans. He thought his wares would creep you out, or his strange habit of eating all the houseflies. He thought he'd be a burden on days where he wanted to help around your farm, but the humidity wasn't quite right and the air was a tad bit too dry for his skin. And he was convinced that touching your chickens and slimes would infect them with void energy and "ruin" Yoba's image of them.

There was even a time when he stood in front of your grandpa's shrine the night he moved in, asking aloud if he'd approve of this "living arrangement".

A year later, you two were still happily together, on the eve of the Winter Star festival, searching for the perfect crocus to put into his room's garden pot.

How he managed to order that online on your farm computer was beyond you..although he did mention Dwarf lending him a manual on how to operate such a device.

It seems they were finally willing to put the past behind them, albeit at no point did they ever mention fully forgiving each other, which was understandable.

"May I?" Bringing out the hoe, you looked to Krobus, who nodded and quietly shuffled away from the worms. You scraped the ground with your tool, unearthing-

"Another creepy doll, great.." You picked up the dirty, snow-covered toy. Its blue shirt and brown pants had only a few tiny tears in them, and the beady black eyes were seemingly staring into your soul. "Why do the people in this town leave these everywhere? Is it some ritual for them to be buried around the valley and found years later?"

"Hmm..I couldn't tell you." The shadow monster chuckled a little. "But they do bear resemblance to the dolls Dwarves have made for their children. Maybe they'd appreciate it as a gift......or it may be a grim reminder of what they've lost in the war..." His curl drooped a little.

"I gave them a green doll once, and they liked it. So it could be a good gift." You placed the doll in your bag, before turning back to Krobus. "Speaking of which...we could try attending the feast together. You could come in your usual disguise and-"

"I can't."

"......"

"Sorry, that sounded harsher than I intended." He meekly spoke, looking down at the snowy ground. "But going to the movies with you was nerve-wracking enough. Some of your friends were there..watching me, wondering who I was. To attend a festival with all of their eyes on us...I...I'm just afraid. If the guild master spotted me.....oh, Yoba."

Unwilling to finish, Krobus shuddered and hugged his body self-consciously. But at that same moment, the wind picked up, making him shiver a little bit more.

It made you frown, wishing he didn't look so distressed...and cold.

Poor thing.

Then an idea sprung on you, and you realized you could solve one of those problems right now.

He heard rustling and looked up, confused as to why you were shrugging off your jacket. "Huh? Why are you shedding....?"

"It's cold, you should take my jacket." Smiling, you wrapped it around his shoulders, seeing that it didn't totally envelop his body like his trenchcoat disguise did.

Almost right away Krobus picked up familiar scents on it: horseradish and pumpkin. Two of his favorite things.

Despite the smells being pleasant, he was absolutely bewildered by your kind gesture--and it turned into grave concern as he noticed the goosebumps already forming on your arms and legs. "[Y/n], my people are used to temperatures of either extreme. But yours aren't..are you sure you don't need-?"

"Krobus, I think we can both agree that I'm not like most of "my people."" You laughed gently, shaking your head. "I've worked outside on the hottest summer days and the coldest winter nights. I've been inside the ice castle of the mines and at the top of the volcano dungeon. This cold doesn't bother me anymore. I'm wearing shorts for Yoba's sake. I'll survive without my jacket for a few minutes as long as it helps you feel better. Is it...helping you?"

"...as a matter of fact, this does help. Thank you, my friend." He smiled back, feeling more at ease knowing you weren't gonna freeze to death at his expense. "I'll admit that the warm sewers have made me less accustomed to the chill of winter, but when it comes around..I try to sneak outside as often as I can."

"Maybe one day, you won't have to sneak around anymore, and everyone here can see you've been a great roommate of mine." Patting his head with your gloved hand, you chuckled as he perked up. "And...hopefully our blacksmith can stop asking me to beat up your skeleton friends. I'm starting to think he's running into them on purpose."

"It sickens me how many times I've seen that advertisement." He scowled. "The Skeletons don't make the mines dangerous...it's their home! They just want to be left in peace, with the riches they've guarded in life and now guard in death." Then he relaxed his shoulders, looking to you. "Thank you for not accepting anymore of his contracts."

"Of course, but..what about the wizard's contracts? I had to put some Ghosts to rest because he claims they're "upsetting the balance of the elements". I know they must be your friends, too."

"That's different..if an overabundance of creatures threaten to upset the elements, then they should be taken care of." Krobus nodded, still looking rather grim. "It's unpleasant, but necessary to ensure one species doesn't dominate the rest. Killing monsters so it's "safer" to strip the mines for gold and gems...is not necessary."

"I see." You nodded, looking around and spotting a nearby holly on the ground. Picking it up, you smiled and showed it to him, hoping to lighten the mood. "Another human tradition during this season involves holly. We hang it above our doorsteps, and whoever is under it should kiss. But...I don't think people in this town are familiar with it."

"Ah, how fascinating..." He looked at the plant in your hands, watching you stow it away into your backpack. "I never knew so much about humans until you came along, [y/n]."

"There's a lot to us. We're a..very complex species." You shrugged, before checking the time and realizing it was almost midnight. "Shoot. We should head back soon. I still gotta find something for my secret gift-giver."

"Maybe I can help you." He offered. "It's the least I could do, since I sadly cannot attend."

"I would enjoy it more if you could come, but I'll bring you back some pumpkin pie. And maybe we could...do our own little secret gift-giving?"

"That would be wonderful." Krobus beamed, feeling you wrap your hand around his clawed one, huddling close as you both headed back to the farmhouse..

Your home, which was now his home as well.

He thanked Yoba everyday that he got to share it with you.

[yeehawbvby]

When the Moon Fell in Love With the Sun | Ch. 2

March x F!Farmer

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventual smut)

Chapter Summary: March and the farmer get shitfaced together.

Author's Note: I had an absolute blast writing this one hehehe. Enjoy some drunk March!!

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

After a long day of hammering silver, and after stopping home for a quick body rinse, some pain meds, and a less sweaty set of clothes, December headed over to the inn. 

She didn’t care much for dressing up, so her outfits tended to be more or less of the following: boots, jeans or shorts, a tank top, and unless it was summer, a jacket. Whether she was farming, mining, or going to the inn, she looked no different. The closest she got to being “trendy” in her own way was to accessorize and/or keep to a consistent palette, with a wardrobe mostly consisting of blues, blacks, whites and silvers. 

For tonight, she kept her hair in the ponytail she’d tied it into earlier; wore a black denim jacket, its back covered in patches she’d collected while traveling — be it for snowboarding, for the guild, or for leisure; a black camisole tucked into dark, ripped jeans; a silver chain, which she conjoined the belt loops on her right side with; and the same black combat boots she typically donned.

As expected, December was met past the Sleeping Dragon’s doors with the majority of the town’s residents. It wasn’t a Friday gathering, but going to the inn for soup and drinks on rainy or snowy days seemed to be the norm in Mistria. It was an unspoken tradition that she had grown fond of, and she drank in the sight of everyone having fun and hanging out while hooking her jacket up near the entrance.

Well, almost everyone. Olric and March were talking business with Eiland and Adeline, if the paperwork strewn across their table was anything to go by, so she figured she’d chill out at the bar before going to pester the brothers. 

After putting in a request with Hemlock to surprise her with something fruity, she was engulfed by two slim arms and an overwhelmingly floral scent.

“Hey!” December smiled, twisting in her seat to hug the source. She was one of her first and closest friends in town.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here!” Celine beamed back. 

She took the open seat next to December and practically asked for the same thing from Hemlock, making it a point to grab Jo and Reina’s attention and greet them too. December waved at the chefs, chuckling when they both flashed toothy smiles back at her.

Hemlock placed down the girls’ identical drinks as the interaction finished off. “Enjoy,” he winked at them before moving onto the next resident.

December sighed wistfully as she gazed into the bright blue, bubbly liquid. “He’s gonna kill me one of these days,” she muttered under her breath. 

Sure, her heart was somewhat (entirely) set on March, but it didn’t stop her from feeling immensely frazzled by the bartender. He was just so cool…

Celine giggled at the farmer’s state, but spared her a comment. She understood it completely: she’d once told December that, as kids, she would put on her fanciest dresses and have her mom braid her hair whenever Reina invited her to hang out at the inn, just because of the crush she had on their friend’s father. It lingered until her teenage years.

“Where were you today?” she asked. “I didn’t see you running around and getting stuff done like you usually do.”

When people described her that way, December imagined that they just saw her as a little dog, zipping through the streets to fetch things for treats... it wasn’t entirely wrong, she supposed.

Her beverage was just bordering on too sweet, but she liked it, and let it fully trickle down before she answered Celine. “Spent the day at the forge.”

“I’m surprised you could stand it for that long.” Celine winced while she took a sip from her own cup. After a moment of visible contemplation, she slid it towards December. “Don’t you hate it there?”

December shrugged, “Just the smithing part. The guys make it entertaining.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Celine mused, having recently become fully knowledgeable of December’s feelings for the redhead. She wiggled her eyebrows and rested her cheek in her palm.

“Oh gods.”

“You’re not denying it.”

December rubbed the inner corners of her eyes. “Stop talking.”

“I probably have some flowers you can bring him next time…”

Embarrassed that she knew March doesn’t actually like flowers, December simply continued, “Please stop talking?”

The blonde snickered, gratefully accepting a replacement drink in the form of red wine from Hemlock. She hadn’t even ordered one yet. “He’s good,” she breathed, watching him leave. 

It was at that moment that December began to think Celine’s crush on the innkeeper hadn’t entirely gone away.

Smiling at the thought, she suggested, “The best in Aldaria, perhaps?”

“Why are you talking about me?” March asked, appearing behind them. All the seats were taken, so he simply leaned against the counter between December and Terithia, who was deep in conversation with Landen.

December groaned. “Big head.”

Celine nodded, teasing, “The biggest.”

“It’s not that big.”

“Sure, physically, but metaphorically…” December trailed off, shrugging with a shit-eating look on her face.

March nudged her with his elbow, deadpanning as the farmer grinned. She returned the gesture before turning to face Celine on her other side. 

She looked smug, like she had something to say.

December narrowed her eyes at her.

“You can take my spot, March,” Celine told the blacksmith. Her gaze stayed on December’s while she spoke, “I think I heard Juni calling me from upstairs.”

December’s mouth gaped for a moment at the blatant lie before prodding, “Oh, did she?”

Celine dodged the question with a light pat to her friend’s head. “See you later!” 

Traitor…

“I didn’t hear it,” March concurred as he swapped spots with the florist.

“Maybe your ears suck.”

“You didn’t either, smartass.”

“Yeah, whatever.” December peered down at the two drinks before her. “Want this?” she asked, sliding Celine’s abandoned one toward him.

“What is it?”

December shrugged, making a noise in place of an “I don’t know.” She took a sip before concluding, “It’s real sweet, though.”

Ignoring the urge to taste it from her lips, and silently cursing himself for even thinking about that, March took up the offer, drowning his feelings by downing the glass.

December’s mouth hung open again. “What the fuck?” she laughed, gobsmacked.

March grunted in approval. “That’s good. Oi, Hemlock,” he called out from across the bar. 

The man reappeared from somewhere beneath the counter, an empty cup in hand. “Yeah?” he responded on his way over.

“What’s this called?” he asked, snatching December’s drink — while she was going for another sip, no less — and holding it up.

Hemlock laughed at the interaction before shrugging and telling him, “Don’t know yet,” then nodded to December, “This snow angel was my test dummy.”

The snow angel silently cursed him for warming her cheeks with that nickname. March noticed it and felt a smidge of jealousy. 

“You want one?” Hemlock offered.

“Two, please.” 

“Why do y—“ December stopped her train of thought when March took a sip from her cup, glaring at her over the rim of the glass. She heard Hemlock laugh as he walked away. 

___

It took less than an hour for the pair to be plastered, with December being just as much of a lightweight as March. They’d relocated to a table — March sat at the head, with December and Ryis on one side, and Olric and Balor across from them — but kept their focus mainly on each other.

Most recently, it was in the form of an arm wrestle.

Fairly tipsy himself, Ryis began treating it far too seriously. While December stretched her hands and shoulders, she took in his pep talk from beside her. 

“I think you can— no,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, “I know you can win this.” Whether he believed it or not, he and December were both unsure, but it didn’t stop him from doing his best to encourage the farmer. 

“I can win this,” she reaffirmed, her brows furrowed and eyes swimming with determination. 

“You are crazy strong,” he kept going.

“I am crazy strong.”

“You are powerful.”

“I am… kinda power—“

“Hey, hey,” he grabbed her by both shoulders now, pressing his forehead to hers to really drive the point home, “you are powerful!” 

With a determined huff, and after grabbing his shoulders too, she nodded. 

“Why don’t I get a cool pep talk?” March asked nobody in particular. “Is it ‘cause you all know I’m gonna win anyway?”

December let go of Ryis and turned away to stare daggers at March. He narrowed his eyes right back until Olric cut in, “I believe in you, bro!” 

March’s fiery gaze darted to the blue-haired merchant. “You’re awfully quiet, Balor.”

“Can’t I just enjoy the show?” 

December’s scowl shifted to him, too. He was unfazed, only grinning in return.

“Alright, alright,” March started, “alright.” He lightly nudged December’s shoulder with his fingertips. “Alright?”

“Alright,” December held back a giggle as she spoke, nodding curtly.

“Alright.”

March took his position at the very edge of his seat and with his elbow on the corner of the table, with December doing the same before clasping her palm with his. Their knees touched in the middle, and even with the wood between them, there was plenty of open area.

December knew after being reminded just how large and thick March’s hands were — those things were like damn clubs, probably thanks to his work — that she was doomed to fail. Even if she could manage to out-muscle him some other way, the sheer weight of his grip would probably ruin this for her. 

She did her best to ignore that, though, and put on the silliest, cockiest face she could manage while she locked onto the blacksmith’s eyes.

March wanted to just win this already — gods, he needed to win — but broke at the sight of his opponent’s expression, snorting and leaning the side of his head onto their tangled forearms. 

“Can— pfft— can you take this seriously, sir?”

March shook his head before sitting back up to the best of his ability. “Your face!”

The farmer played dumb. “What about it?” 

“You just—“ March barked out a quick laugh before imitating December. 

It broke her immediately. Her cackling only made March laugh harder, and they both keeled over, bumping heads in the process.

“Ow!” they exclaimed simultaneously, only worsening the situation. 

When their eyes met just a few inches apart, both pairs were filled with tears, and noticing that forced a second wind. December tried to blink away the wetness on her eyelashes, completely folding in on herself before March draped his upper body over hers.

It was weird, she thought even in her drunken haze, feeling the rumble of his laughter through her back.

It felt cozy.

She ignored that. “Ha! Get off me, dude!”

While March and December continued their bickering and laughing, seemingly forgetting the other three were there, their tablemates simply watched on, laughing to themselves.

“It’ll never stop being strange, seeing them like this…” Balor observed. While his face only housed his usual lopsided grin, with no more than a dignified chuckle leaving his throat, he was thoroughly amused by the sight before him.

“Right?” Olric beamed, “They’re both so nonchalant, usually.”

“Well, she is,” Ryis agreed while pointing his thumb at the girl next to him. “I don’t know if I would call an angry gremlin ‘nonchalant.��”

“Hey!” March sat up, having sensed the others talking about him. He kept his forearm in December’s back, holding her down while she hopelessly tried to bat it away, and pointed over her, getting the digit as close to Ryis as he could manage. “Who are you calling a gremlin?”

“You, dumbass!” December answered in the carpenter’s place, her shout thoroughly muffled by her thigh. Ryis nodded into his next sip of beer before nearly spitting it out as March noogied the woman’s spine. “Ow— ow, quit it!” 

She managed to reach March’s oblique, tickling him in hopes that it would trigger the end of her suffering. As fun as this was, it did hurt. He had no idea that December had been through what she had, though, so she couldn’t exactly blame him for not knowing she was a bit fragile. 

“Fuck!” March yelped, his laughter ramping back up while he scrambled away. He would have fallen out of his seat if Olric wasn’t so quick to hoist him upright.

Just a table away, Luc, Maple and Dell gasped and giggled at the smith’s choice language, and were now thoroughly invested in his and December’s antics.

“Are they fighting?!” Dell asked Ryis, who she was closest to, all too excitedly.

“Sure, something like that,” he laughed, ruffling the young lady’s hair.

“She should use a sword.” Dell stood up onto her seat, removed her own from her pocket, and began waving it through the air at nobody in particular. “That’ll show‘im!”

Luc sighed. “If only I could give her some bugs to unleash on him…”

“Why can’t you?” Maple asked her brother.

“They’re probably sleeping! I already said goodnight to them.”

“I declare you awaken them at once!”

“No, they need their rest!” Dell interjected, pointing her stick — sorry, her sword at Maple. “If they’re gonna be part of the Dragonguard someday, they need to be strong and healthy.”

“You dare defy your queen?” Maple giggled, standing up and slamming her palms to the table, sloshing some of her milkshake over the side of its glass. 

Luc placed his chin on his hands, shaking his head. “Oh no…”

Back at the other table, March and December were finally winding down and beginning their battle. 

“Wait,” December asked, squeezing his hand as if it was going to leave. “What are the stakes?”

“Fuck if I know.” He flashed her a goofy smile. “I just wanna beat you.”

After swallowing a hiccup, she groaned. “So it’s just bragging rights?”

Olric, determined to play matchmaker, practically felt the lightbulb turn on in his otherwise rock-filled head. “Why doesn’t the loser walk the winner home?”

“That’s so far, though…” 

“So you admit defeat, then?” March prodded. 

December practically growled. “Fat chance!”

With that, their tussle had finally begun… and was over just as quickly as it started.

“Best two out of three,” December insisted. 

March was about to happily take the crown, but her big, sad eyes — a result of her fatally wounded pride — convinced him to go a little easy on her. 

He never thought he’d see the day where he was willing to give up a win just for someone else’s sake. Neither did the others. The three of them shared a knowing look.

“Fine,” the redhead sighed. “Round two, come on.” He wiggled his fingers, prompting December back into position.

She shot his hand a dirty look that made him giggle. “Eugh,” she reacted, taking hold of it anyway. “Don’t do that, y’little creep.”

“What, you can’t handle a little finger action?” March winked. 

The realization hit him like a train.

Oh no.

He dropped his shit-eating grin and froze, his eyes wide; December’s immediately followed suit, her cheeks and ears darkening several few shades beyond what the alcohol could ever achieve on its own; and beside them, all three men’s mouths hung open. Then, December averted her view and yelped an explosive laugh into her free palm, hiding her face to the best of her ability while her opposite hand clutched March’s with white knuckles. 

“Wait, wait,” March scrambled, laughter bubbling in his throat while his eyes darted between the four people around him, “hold on—“

Olric was the first to respond verbally, an incredulous smile on his lips. “Wow!”

Ryis tried to react, but was doubled over in a near-silent fit of laughter. 

This stole Dell’s attention again, and while she didn’t know what was going on, she patted the man on the back in a poor attempt at comforting him. It was her sworn duty as Mistria’s future best knight ever, after all. Through broken giggles, he thanked her, but politely redirected her attention back to her friends.

“On that note,” Balor announced, “good luck and goodnight,” before retiring upstairs.

[catboymitosis]

Daan/Levi drabble request: Levi finding out about Daan's sweet tooth <3

Sorry I'm kind of behind schedule on this one, I’m worried its kind of nothingburger but I don’t want to leave your requests hanging either aaa;; Used the Levi old town shop party talk as a jumping off point for this. Please dispense your disbelief in how early the trend of hotel mints was established (google says it was the 1950s and used to be chocolates instead of mints)

“They don’t seem too well stocked” Daan muttered to Levi as he looked around the newly opened old town store. Cardboard boxes stacked against a shelf rather than any proper display.

He approached the clerk “Excuse me, is what's in those boxes for sale?” 

“Yetakealookaround”

Daan nodded and made his way towards the boxes, Levi trailing close behind as he always did. 

“They have a lot less than they used to…” he pointed out as he rummaged through the boxes. In their short time together it had been proven rare for Levi to ever speak up without having been first addressed.

“Well people tend to buy up everything they can before rough times hit, though that would imply anyone knew this was coming beforehand” Daan pondered “So, any stories about this place?”

 "The other kids at the orphanage used to have this plan on how to shoplift some candy from this kiosk..."

Daan nodded, encouraging him to continue his story.

"One would order something that required the clerk to reach the top shelves, while he was occupied with that the others would shove as much candy as possible to our pockets..."

“And were you part of that group?” Daan asked him

“Sometimes, there wasn’t really much else to do… It worked pretty well until the clerk hammered a nail through the palm of a kid who was caught still gouging the candy jar..."

Daan hissed at the thought of that though it did not entirely surprise him. He knew well how theft was used as justification to be physically cruel to children. 

“This clerk?” he asked in a hushed tone.

Before Levi could respond to him they were interrupted by loud banging, the bandaged man bashed his baby doll’s head against the shop counter repeatedly. Just as suddenly as he started he stopped his assault on the thing and returned to swaddling it as if nothing had happened.

Daan and Levi stared at him in surprise, then at each other for a moment before they turned back to the boxes.

“Shopkeepers are always on the lookout for thieving kids even though they’re the ones stealing the most inconsequential things, just waiting to enact revenge on the first target that can’t fight back. I remember being chased away from even looking at candy displays when I looked too poor to pay, window shopping is a privilege only those with enough money to dress well seem to get” Daan rambled.

“At that time the only way I ever got my fix was from a patient of mine, she’d been robbed and only had a hotel chocolate to pay me with. I treated her regardless of course, would stop by her street corner every night hoping she might still feel grateful enough to give me another. Most nights she wasn’t there but the nights she was were one of the bright spots in my life” he reminisced.

“Hotel chocolates?” 

“Single squares of chocolate, they leave on your pillow.”

“I didn’t know they did that… I’ve never stayed at one.”

“Not all of them do, only the high end ones. I’ll take you to one someday. Did you find anything we need?” Daan stood up with a few medical supplies in his arms. 

Levi shook his head, they paid for the goods and left the store. Once they were back out in the old town Levi fished out a wrapped hard candy from his pocket and presented it to Daan.

“It’s not chocolate… Sorry it was the only one I could find.”

“Did you steal that from the kiosk? We would have had enough to buy it, you know.”

“Just… Seems like a waste of money right now”

“Well you should have it then, doubt we’ll come across anymore and you’re the one who did the work”

“I don’t really like candy…”

“So it’s just about the thrill for you?” Daan smirked.

“... Sorry I thought you’d want it… I’ll just go throw it away…” Levi fidgetted. 

“I’m just teasing love, thank you Levi you’re too sweet” Daan accepted the gift and popped the candy into his mouth and gave Levi a reassuring ruffle of his hair for good measure.

[ddelline]

(I) fear (this wip is driving me insane) friday

blurb | since we're likely not getting a whole DvK3 (even though I am still hope-pilled and holding out for The Conversation) in the epilogue I am writing it myself. well I mean, this is something I wanted to write the second we got to the first ch of the post-epilogue epilogue, but now it seems more fitting than ever. anyway it's ch 2/2 of a wound gives off its own light. I had a bit of writer's block until tonight and now I've written 4k of this, so here. will hopefully have this edited & posted by the end of the weekend, alt early next week. short n sweet but I'd rather not give 2 much away

premise | izuku controlling his heart (to the point where he goes overboard abt it bc he's so Damn Extra *okamoto nobuhiko voice*) and a recently emotionally cognizant bakugō no kacchan attempting to pry some emotion out of him w a crowbar

It’s the ironic scenario to end all ironic scenarios that brings them to a head.

It’s a Wednesday evening much like any other. They’ve been reintegrated into the class since a few weeks; helping with the relief efforts, Katsuki and his chafing full length arm brace and guilt, Izuku and his fuckass placid expression and lack of OFA. They’d broken the sort of-curfew for Uraraka, dumb rushing after a green-crackling Izuku from the recently settled UA campus up the ruined streets and lilting hill to the now-defunct Fortress Troy.

They’d settled afterwards much like the world expects of them, but not like Katsuki wants them to. He wants a chemical reaction. The tension and the spark; the event and the catalyst.

It had been nothing and everything as they filed into the common room after a long, sweaty, lid hammered down on top of feelings-day of clean up and damage control. And then it had been something, at the very tail end of the day.

They’d scoured the perimenter of the days' assigned cleanup sector, and come to a sudden still at the fence that, despite everything, still preceded the shallow forest and river that Katsuki wishes didn’t mark such a significant portion of himself.

Izuku ducked for the drooping metal-stitched fence like it was nothing, gaze cutting clear and unbothered across the sunset burnished-trees ahead.

Katsuki experienced a blackout until the moment when he’d felt himself crushing bone and tendon in Deku’s forearm, fingers wound so tight he hazarded they’d snap right alongside what he was attempting to grind to dust.

“Izuku,” he chalked out, hoarse and horrible.

“Kacchan?” Izuku quizzed back.

“This—” he cut himself off. “The river. This is where we—”

Izuku waited patiently. Nodded a little. He looked far ahead again. “Yeah. I’m glad it’s still in one piece. We used to come here a lot, didn’t we?”

Katsuki reared back. He didn’t want it to be a visceral reaction. But. “You don’t remember?”

Izuku tilted his head quizzically. “Remember what?”

Are you hurt? Can you stand?

He remembered the bright gurgle of a creak; the slosh, slosh, slosh of someone breaking through rushing water. Birds tweeting overhead; midday sun beating down across the width of little Katsuki’s shoulders. Shit.

“You really don’t remember?”

Izuku tilted his head. “I remember a lot of things.” A non-answer to a burning question. “We used to chase butterflies and collect bugs. I remember once when you almost dislocated your knee jumping from the branch of a tree. I thought it was so cool. Still kinda do.” He laughed. It was restrained; a polite show of remembering, more than it was the affected reaction to a cherished memory. It made Katsuki’s breath hitch, stomach squirm. “Kacchan sure always was amazing.”

Here is the kicker: Bakugō Katsuki is a changed man.

Well, he’s an enlightened brat. Still, he’s got something to show for that, so when he sucked his teeth and said, “Whatever,” it wasn’t because he was a repressed loser asshole. It was because there’d been a viscerally vivid memory at the fore of his mind—a core memory that’s shaped who he goddamn is from the age of four up till today, age sixteen—and its lead actor had just brushed it off. Intentional or not, it made something coil tighter in his sternum.

“Right,” he muttered and pushed ahead, even as his brain had been swimming with technicolor recollection and nauseous guilt.

Cut to a few hours later: they’d collectively decided to not shy away from the aftermath of the war. Being coddled isn’t gonna serve anyone, and anyway it’s so difficult to as much as step foot outside of Heights Alliance without catching a whiff of post-war debates and LoV post-mortems. The TV in the common room had been on low volume since the past half hour, reiterating some or other Western movie from yesteryear about clear-cut, black-and-white heroes and villains. It made Katsuki snort and feel derisive, but for the most part he tuned it out.

It was sort of difficult, though. Not for the first time, but it was certainly the first time he’d felt it hit so close to home. The forest, the river—Izuku either not remembering or blocking the memory out; it hit harder than he expected. Slumping down in the couch, still towelling his damp hair with one arm, seeing the top right of the screen flash with an impending mini-documentary about the rise of All For One and the era of nu age-villainy—

It unearthed something murky in his guts.

Katsuki’d become intimately aware of the fact that Izuku was perched on the edge of the couch then, looking a little tight in the edges but overall none the worse for wear. He’d towelled his hair dry much the same, a white strip of terrycloth slung over uncovered shoulders and rubbing absently across his neck. The TV swapped from credits to a montage of bleakly edited footage of a young Shigar—Shimura Tenko—stepping out of Kurogiri’s warp gate into USJ. Subtitles told Katsuki the narrator was speedrunning through a brief introduction, elaborating on the subject of the documentary as well as its primary subject: ‘Shigaraki Tomura: Devastating Anomaly or Causal Nexus?’

“Oh, sh—” exclaimed Kirishima, God bless and curse him. “We can change the channel, it’s not—”

“It’s okay, Kirishima-kun,” said Izuku quickly, interrupting whereas before he would’ve waited the sentence out. “It’s really okay.”

In hindsight, Katsuki’s not sure why he decided that that was well enough. Why that was the last straw. But it was. He’d waited it out for a bit, kept rubbing from the back of his neck up to the crown of his scalp with the towel, eyes flicking across the screen but unseeing. More of a crowd started to amass at a certain point; Kirishima, Jirō, Yaomomo, Hagakure and a slew of others joined him on the couch. Katsuki kept his gaze trained on the TV. Unseeing but following.

At commercial break he’d pushed off and up. Most gazes followed him up, but silently. Katsuki slung his towel around his shoulders, twisted sideways and paced the length of the couch. At the end he stooped low, care levels hovering between little to no fucks, and murmured by Izuku’s ear: “We’re gonna do this the hard way, huh?”

Izuku, to his discredit, looked bewildered. “We’re—huh?”

Katsuki clicked his tongue. “Ground Beta. After lights. Don’t be obvious. This isn’t a spectacle.”

Translation: this isn’t for the whole class.

He figured Izuku would understand.

He did.

[otakween]

Digimon Tamers - Volume 4

The beginning of this volume flat out spoils things by putting characters that haven't been introduced yet on the character page. (MarineAngemon, the Juri clone, the D-Reaper queen...) Maybe that's a common practice with shounen manga...but it shouldn't be. Like, what's the point?

Ch. 22

Lopmon and Terriermon interacting will never get old. Love how they lift their ears with curiosity when they first see each other.

I think I prefer experiencing the ~sad~ part of Tamers better in manga form. I remember it being quite drawn out in the anime and I rather just blitz through it at this point. I think the whole Leomon death storyline just annoys me because they barely developed his character and then the writing expects me to be devastated. Juri was more developed, sure, but we barely got any insight into her relationship with Leomon so her deep, dark depression doesn't feel super warranted either.

Ch. 23

I think this chapter was pretty well done. They're giving an epic battle it's time instead of zooming past it.

It bugs me that there isn't a specific name for digimon/human digivolutions. In this translation they called it a "true mega form." On the wiki it's called both an ultimate and a matrix digivolution. IDK why it doesn't count as a jogress. I guess there's like...two different things: the way you digivolve (matrix) and the digivolution level (ultimate)? If it's confusing for me, I can only imagine it'd be confusing for a kid.

It's a bit weird for an English translation, but I like that Guilmon says "MMA!" a lot. I can totally hear him making that noise with his OG voice. Creative onomatopoeia.

Ch. 24

Grrr Jian said "crumbcakes," so done with this stupid translation

This chapter was hella short, not much to say about it.

Ch. 25

Okay, now they're calling it a "biomerge digivolution." I guess the localizers also thought "this needs a cool name!"

Casual 90s/early 2000s sexism sprinkled throughout this translation. Takato says he "screams like a little girl" in a previous chapter and in this one he says "easy to forget Renamon and Rika are girls when they're always kicking butt!" Eye roll...

SaintGalgomon looked super badass but for some reason when Sakuyamon appeared they chose to dedicate two closeup panels to her chest and high heels? Sus...

Ch. 26

Juri's face didn't look as sinister here as it did in the anime (when it's revealed she's possessed). I guess that's probably a good thing. More subtle.

I don't remember the sovereign digimon giving Culumon a "you're a real boy now" speech in the anime. That was sweet.

They cut the part where Beelzebumon gets zapped by a bunch a digimon. In this he just collapses after the battle with Dukemon, which I think I prefer. (But why'd he say he'd be "bunny chow?" He wasn't even fighting Terriermon...)

Ch. 27

The grotesque, over-the-top facial expressions the artist keeps drawing for Hirokazu piss me off. They're just so ugly.

Ugh...they really had to ruin a serious moment (Guilmon getting the ark to stop) with a poop joke. This manhua does NOT treat its audience with respect.

Hmm they completely cut out Juri's family. So much for developing her character I guess.

They kind of forgot to imply that the ark is sentient. I mean they showed it stopping on its own, but in the anime they really hammered it home by having Guilmon have a conversation with it and showing it's HAL-like eye. That was one of my fave parts so I'm sad lol

Ch. 28

Okay, this is starting to feel totally different from the anime, they skipped like 5 episodes worth of content. Also, IDK if the scanlation I'm reading is missing some pages because the ending with Dukemon being beat up was completely nonsensical (it cut from Beelzebumon being hit to a panel with Dukemon outta nowhere?) I'll give it the benefit of the doubt that there are missing pages...

The scene where Beelzebumon uses Leomon's attack to save Juri played out differently here. She doesn't seem particularly perturbed by it and Beelzebumon can't save her because he gets attacked, not because Juri recoils for too long.

Ch. 29/30

Lol they completely cut out Justimon. Makes Ryo's role even more pointless! Ryo doesn't even reappear at all...

This manhua series was crap to begin with but they really screwed the pooch with this ending. SOOO rushed. Grani appeared outta nowhere with zero introduction. Like they just went immediately to Grani's sacrifice. I still don't know if I'm missing pages or if the writing is just that garbage. Oh well! I tried.

[reddeliciousauce]

✈ - an eye-opening memory

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you are SEVEN years old.

It's another day. Funnily enough, it's one of the few where you aren't constantly getting your ass handed to you in the Houston heat.

Dirk usually took these opportunities to scrounge up food for the house. That was always pretty cool of him. He seemed way better at being a self-sufficient coolguy than you. You suspect he shares his bounty with you to shove it in your face. Well, one day, YOU'LL be the cooler of the two.

As for you, you know what they say. Or rather, what you say solely to yourself for whatever reason: your room's your sanctuary. Basically all that you can take care of, you can do in your room, so there's not even a reason to come out half the time. Unless, of course, you're interested in testing your FRANKLY SHIT ability to not set off traps and get smothered with PLUSH ASS. You'll save that for when you have to piss, thank you very much.

Days like these are for feeding crows, making tunes, and updating your LATE GRANDPA'S WEBCOMIC.

Sweet Bro And Hella Jeff. Truly the greatest inheritance of your short life. The moment you turned six, your BRO shoved you in front of Dirk's computer and schooled you on your legacy of irony and post-surrealism. You enjoyed the movies and web series you were spoonfed by both of your bros growing up, so you were more than happy to take the metaphorical hammer of Thor—or in this case, CAR of DUNKASS—to carry on the single best series ever created.

You pored over the ancient texts, artifacted the shittiest of jpegs, smelted the dankest of panels. Basically, if your grandfather was GOD, you're JESUS FUNKING CHRIST.

You started posting pages a few months after your task was given. And so you've worked, for nearly two years now, at that.

It's something you're pretty proud of, all things considered. It's fun to have something to connect you with your departed g-pa. You wonder if he would be proud if he took a peek at it now. The internet sure has gone nuts over it, so you're basically a natural, right?

Rule one of Striderdom: don't get distracted.

You clearly forgot it. Headphones on, dappling your MSPaint canvas while jamming to some tunes. You basically left yourself wide open.

Doesn't stop you from startling when your door, which you thought you locked, is suddenly as gaping as the asscheeks of a certain jar freak.

You shove your headphones down to your shoulders, face-to-face with Lil' Cal, hanging off your Bro's shoulder. He's right next to you.

You nearly expect a call to arms, but your eyes flick to what he's got. Bunch of letters and packages.

Your mouth asks what all this shit's for. He says it's for you.

Oh. Oh, shit. For real? What the fuck?

Your excitement was too obvious. Lil' Cal's jaw unhinges, clacking about in a silent laugh. Euch.

And just like that, they're both gone. As quick as they came.

...huh!

You fidget a bit with the mail on your desk. YOUR mail. You never got mail before... time to take a look.

Fanmail. SBaHJ fanmail? Yes, SBaHJ fanmail!

Fanart, little trinkets, even a Geromy plush that you don't hate all that much, honestly.

Letters suggesting new strips. Calls for another movie. Compliments on the new work!

Though no bounty is without its curses. Parts of this selection are obviously hate mail.

'New shit sucks. Just kill em off at this point.' Weird.

'Never reading this again! Hella Jeff's favorite color is obviously red, not purple. You clearly don't know what you're doing.' Wait, seriously?

'If the stairs come back I'm killing myself' Huh?!

'We should totally meet up! I'm eight years old too!' One year off! Kind of weird!

'Why haven't you made a statement for or agaibst the Alternian Empire like legitimately you disgust me.' Oh come on...

...wait, is that his address?

You stare at this blatant display of parasociality and, frankly, don't know how to feel. You don't think your lungs are working right.

The price of fame is steep indeed...

[ichijager13]

Teach me how to be loved

Chapter V

I've got much more than that, like my memories, I don't need that

Pairing : Eren Jäger x reader, Reiner Braun x reader

Characters: Eren Jäger, reader.

Masterlist, AO3,  Playlists : Reader’s POV, Eren’s POV

Tags: Unhealthy copping mechanism, unhealthy relationships, childhood trauma, physical and verbal abuse, self-esteem and trust issues, domestic violence, implied/ referenced cheating and a touch of sweet, lovable and non fuckboy Eren Jäger, german speaker Eren brought to you by Lana Del Rey’s songs

It was getting dark, your eyes drifted to the window once again, watching the storm raging outside. You silently thanked whoever is in charge it didn’t start until you got home.

You brought your attention back to your painting. Standing in the middle of your workshop, you were dressed in a pair of khaki shorts that have known better days and one of Reiner’s shirts. There was something wrong with your painting but you couldn’t name it. you approached a little scanning each line and curve your brush produced before stepping back to give it a more panoramic look. But you were too distracted to spot it. matter of fact, you found it impossible to focus on anything throughout the day.

You took a brush and dipped it in the palette thinking about the dream you had last night. You always remember your dreams. Not because you have a strong memory but because you don’t dream often. Most of the time you fall into a comatose sleep or have nightmares.

Last night’s dream was about what you jokingly call the spring days of your life. Now that you think about it, maybe it’s the reason why you were dressed in his T-shirt. Maybe it is the reason why you chose brighter colors today.

Unlike now, you weren’t alone in your dream. He was with you, leaning against the door frame telling you about his day. in that dream, you were smiling giddily while making dinner. You try to remember what made you smile. A joke he cracked? A compliment? Or only the fact that you weren’t alone? perhaps it was because you realized you were in love?

Love, a word that has always felt foreign to you. did you love him? And what about him? He did say he loves you, but did he mean it?

You shook your head trying to chase those dark ideas. You had no desire to taint those memories as well. you have enough dark and painful memories, there was no need to stack others on top of them.

Last night’s dream was another pathetic attempt of your subconscious to remind you of one of your sweet memories, one of those it refuses to let go of.

With a deep breath, you attempted to focus on the task at hand. You stepped closer, and the sound of your feet hitting the cold floor was so low, barely perceptible. but its echo was dramatically distorted resulting in the sound of someone hammering a closed door. The hammering sound was mixed with loud and aggressive words degrading the person hiding behind the closed door.

You pressed your brush against the painting before you let it slide. Your movements were slow and cautious at first. However, your brush’s swipes became more frantic and violent as the tempo of the symphony grew faster. At this point, you didn’t even recognize which one you were listening to. You were focused on something else, another muffled sound. A sound barely audible but that you could easily make out through the loud noises. Someone is sobbing, the person hiding behind the closed door is sobbing. Your fingertips became white from how tight you were holding the painting utensil as you lost control of yourself, of the rush coursing in your veins. You lost the notion of time and space and you lost track of your thoughts.

Right now, everything was mixed in your head, the melody coming from your stereo, the violent large hands knocking at the closed door, the storm outside, the hectic sobs from behind the closed door, your uneven breathing, the pleas and insults, and the faint noise caused by the friction of the brush against the canvas. You were moving like you were possessed and maybe that’s what you are. Possessed by all your yesterdays. Forever haunted by your nightmare and broken dreams. Lost in the middle of all the what-ifs that once crossed your mind.

It has always been like this, whenever you find yourself alone, your memories start creeping in slowly. It always starts with a sweet memory before it turns into something dark and scary. It always starts with Reiner’s hazel eyes, those very eyes you found safety in them before they turn into cold and hard ones. And you allow it, this room is the only place you make peace with your past. You only let yourself ignite and be consumed at a leisurely pace by music when you are in this room. Each time you step into this room, you embrace the shadows you normally escape. You authorize yourself to immerse in the forbidden waters, and you permit yourself to flirt with the monsters hiding under your bed. here, is the only place where your demons can show their true colors.

You were pouring every bit of feeling you experienced at the moment when you noticed the music had stopped. Frowning, you took off your headset before heading toward your phone.

Someone was calling you. Eren was calling you.

It took you a while to remember who he was and to get yourself to take the call.

“Good evening”. his voice was as warm and deep as usual. “How are you?”

“Hello, fine, and you?” you did your best to sound natural.

“I’m doing good, I’m sorry about the other day”. he started; he was talking about when he gave you back your notebook. It happened three days ago, but it felt like years have passed since that day. “I had an emergency at home. If you are free tomorrow, I would love to invite you for a drink to make it up for last time”.

Tomorrow was a Friday; you usually go out looking for your weekly distraction on Friday nights. Thinking you might have enough time to have a drink with him and go out you decided to accept. “Works for me”. you answered.

“Would you like to meet at the same coffee or do you prefer somewhere else?” he inquired.

“Let’s meet there, I liked the place. 5 pm?”

“Perfect, see you tomorrow”. He wished you a good night with his cheerful tone before hanging up.

After the call ended, you found yourself seated on the floor with your legs crossed. You tried to resume work but your mind refused to focus. Your thoughts kept drifting. Defeated, you silently contemplated the result of your work.

“I didn’t know you can draw”. He spoke taking the piece of paper from your hands. “This is amazing”. He followed eyes going back and forth between you and your sketch. “You should try and develop this gift, darling”. His voice was warm and full of love. he reached for your face and pecked your cheek and then your lips. A couple of days later, he came back home holding a paper bag containing your first sketchbook.

Your eyes fluttered open, feeling uneasy you sat and reached for the bottle of wine you opened before you dozed off. you took a long gulp squeezing your eyes shut. You knew what was going to follow. You knew it was coming, you were certain but you weren’t ready, you never were, even after all this time.

“Are you fucking serious?” even though he wasn’t screaming as usual, his voice was harsh. “You must be kidding”. He was in the living room. “What were you doing. It’s 8 pm, how come dinner is not ready?” And all of a sudden everything became quiet. He always terrifies you when he goes silent. Despite the fear, you risked a glance from outside the kitchen. He was standing in front of the coffee table. And you knew something is going to happen. “You can’t be serious”. It started; you heard his footsteps rushing to the kitchen. Afraid he might catch you peeping, you hurried back to the countertop and resumed cooking. “You’re telling me that I go and bust my ass working two jobs after school and finish at such a late hour to come back home and find nothing to eat”. he screamed before something crashed against the wall next to you. you tried your best to remain calm, to not scream, and to stop your hands from shaking. “Because Miss here, instead of making dinner, like she is supposed to, spent the day drawing stupid sketches”. You continued chopping the vegetables as fast as you could. You tried to focus on the task at hand and pretend like he wasn’t screaming. You urged yourself to not lose your grip. To finish as soon as possible. You jumped in your place when you felt his hand on your shoulder. “Look at me”. He gritted; the tone of his voice suddenly dropped becoming scarier. You knew he is going to do something but you looked at him anyway. Cause you will only make things worse if you don’t. “This way, you won’t waste your time”. Your eyes widened in horror watching the flames devouring your notebook, the one he offered you a year ago. “When I say dinner must be ready when I get back home”. He grabbed your face violently. “It better be fucking ready”. He gritted before pushing you. your head hit the handle of the drawers but you didn’t dare to utter a sound. You only baited your bottom lip trying to contain the cry that was threatening to roll off your tongue. “Useless bitch”. He shouted before rumbling outside of the kitchen. Frozen, you remained in your place until you heard him slam the door shut.

You instinctively caressed the scare behind your ear. Your fingertips continued massaging that spot absent-mindedly as tears made their way down your face.

With shaking hands, you reached for the bottle and poured yourself another glass. You took one gulp after the other trying to turn off your mind. You tried to regulate your breathing and stop crying. You tried to think about happy stuff that wasn’t related to him. things like you’re the books you bought yesterday, Pieck’s cake, or Eren’s smile. Eren's image slowly occupied your thoughts. Your breathing became normal once again and your heartbeat went back to its regular rate. You took your time picturing his emerald eyes and his toothy smile before falling asleep on your couch.

[cinlat]

Shout out to @kunoichi-ume​ and @tishinada​ for letting me borrow Koko and Zas!

Word Count: 702 Characters: Salix Tia @kunoichi-ume​ Koko and @tishinada​ Zastelar

Tonberry Trauma

Few places were safer than the downstairs room that Salix shared with whoever happened to stop by Zas's house. The walls were thick and well guarded from the Coerthan cold, and no one dared encroach upon the house of the famed Warrior of Light. 

These were the things young Salix Tia, fledgling scholar and adventurer, told himself each night when he ascended the latter to his nest of blankets on the top bunk. He was brave for his part, but more importantly, he was safe. Besides, Zastelar's room was directly at the bottom of the stairs. She'd hear any threat and act long before him.

As it happened on the night in question, Salix lacked the energy to climb into his preferred bed. He'd been training all day, and Eros drove him harder than Selene. Koko, the rambunctious lalafell lass who usually claimed the bottom bunk, was in the Shroud learning a new skill. She wouldn't be back for weeks. So, Salix slumped onto her mattress and let exhaustion sing its sweet lullaby. As he drifted to sleep, Salix pondered briefly on how quiet the house was without Koko. He realized on the brink of slumber that he missed her noise, and hoped she'd return soon.

***

What happened next is largely debated to this day. Zastelar, with her keen elezen ears, woke the most horrendous keening. It likened unto that of the dying shrieks of ghouls and turned her blood to ice. Grabbing her bow, the brave warrior dashed from her room in naught sleep shirt and shorts, heart hammering with dread when she realized where the sound had originated. 

Zastelar burst through the door where her protege slept, then stopped short of stumbling over a wayward...Tonberry. It stood in the middle of the room, head tilted back. To Zastelar's knowledge, the curse on the Tonberries had been lifted. Salix had aided in the process off freeing the poor creatures himself. The lance attached to this particular visitor registered a heartbeat later, and so Zastelar's bow made its appearance. 

A glance around the room showed no sign of blood, so the creature had not harmed Salix. But neither was he in either of the beds. The Tonberry turned towards Zas and spoke in Eorzean. "What's his problem?"

"Koko?" The name wrenched itself from Zastelar's lips, and her arrow lowered. Only then did the bard look up to where the Koko-like Tonberry pointed.

***

Salix had always been a silly boy. Skittish and shy, constantly lecturing about being quiet and scaring the fishes. But when Koko raced home to show her best friend the new outfit she'd won, she had expected more grins and less…mortal terror.

Though he was hard to see against the shadows, Salix clung to the ceiling by his claws and only the gods knew what else. Huffing, Koko removed her helmet. "Well, that's just rude. I worked hard for this stuff. It's the perfect protection against the cold up here and loose enough that I can move. Why are you acting like such a damn fool?"

The light flicked on, and Zas came to stand beside Koko. Sighing, the bard rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Come down, boy. 'Tis only our mischievous lalafellan."

Salix did so, keeping a wary eye on the domed head tucked under Koko's arm. His bare feet touched the floor, and the young miqo'te rubbed the back of his neck. "Apologies, lass. You gave me a start, is all."

"Was that gods awful sound you?" Zas asked before she could stop herself.

Salix flushed darker and took a step away. "I've got history with the likes of them." He jutted his chin towards Koko, then blanched a paler shade of grey. "Tonberries, I mean. I didn't expect to find one standing next to my bed."

"My bed," Koko pointed out, still huffy about how dreadful her reveal had gone. 

Salix dipped his head. "Fair enough. I'll make it up to you." Maybe he'd buy her a new costume to obsess over. Something not reminiscent of murderous beasties. Something cute and befitting of her salt and bubbles personality. 

A sardonic laugh bubbled up Salix's throat then. Only an hour ago, he'd missed the little terror.

A few days later, Salix proposed a new costume idea to his spunky friend. Thankfully, she agreed.

[camplofi]

BSOTS 178 - Creative Commons Gems From Public Enemy And Nikki Giovanni

All comments, questions, and general feedback can be sent to radiobsots@gmail.com.  Record a voice message and send it my way or leave one at the Speakpipe page!

You can subscribe to Radio BSOTS via the following options: RSS feed ||| Apple Podcasts ||| Spotify ||| Google Podcasts Amazon Music ||| Stitcher ||| TuneIn ||| iHeartRadio

Connect with Camp Lo-Fi via social media: Twitter | Facebook | Instagram

This episode's track list (title / artist / source / license):

1.  Old Futuro Blues by Yoko Absorbing [Free Music Archive] (CC BY-NC-SA 3.0)

2.  Zo0o0o0p​!​!​! feat. Oddisee by Kidkanevil [Bandcamp] (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0)

3.  All I Know (Featuring Big Remo and The Hamiltones) by Wals [blocSonic] (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0)

4.  Dance of Contradictions by Isak Gaines [Bandcamp] (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0)

5.  Ridiculous Love (wetSkin Hot Summer ReMix) by Niki J Crawford [Jamendo] (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0)

6.  In The Spirit Of Martin by Nikki Giovanni [Free Music Archive] (CC-BY-NC-SA 3.0)

7.  Get Up Stand Up (Featuring Brother Ali) by Public Enemy [blocSonic] (CC-BY-NC 3.0)

Looking back over the last ten shows for the BSOTS podcast feed, eight of them featured at least one Creative Commons licensed tune.  Even after more than 15 years of podcasting, the CC music landscape still feels like largely uncharted territory for me, which is probably why I've felt the need to dig through the online crates to see what I can find.  In addition, I've been listening to prior BSOTS episodes from over a decade ago, revisiting the music that I have played on the show and taking note of the songs that still sound great to me so that I can reintroduce them on future episodes.  This show marks Camp Lo-Fi's long overdue return to the feed and is where my CC music appreciation agenda kicks into high gear.  The seven songs featured are a mix of tunes from prior BSOTS episodes alongside selections receiving their first spins, cutting across genre and released between 2009 and 2023.

The blocSonic netlabel opened my eyes and ears to the world of CC licensed music.  It was through their netBloc series of compilations that I was introduced to a network of artists and online labels, most of it (if not all) available to freely download and share.  The blocSonic offerings in this episode are courtesy of last year's album from Wals and a stellar cut from Public Enemy (as heard on netBloc vol. 44), featuring the always on-point lyricism of Chuck D and special guest Brother Ali.  Another notable hip-hop moment is "Zo0o0o0p​!​!​!," the brief but absolutely banging cut from Kidkanevil featuring Oddisee, a ridiculously talented emcee and producer whose music I've been championing on this show for well over a decade.  Isak Gaines moves us into the unpredictable and experimental side of jazz with "Dance Of Contradictions," a song that sonically lives up to its title.  A bouncy yet broken groove for the first half of the song gives way to a beatless abyss of sound effects and saxophone screeches before bringing the hammer down with a distorted bass line and a defiant horn section.

Niki J Crawford's "Ridiculous Love" was an unexpected surprise that I stumbled upon over on Jamendo, a sultry soul offering made all the more seductive with the wetSkin Hot Summer ReMix.  It's percussion heavy with a slight Brazilian influence and a breezy shuffle topped with acoustic guitar strums and Niki's powerhouse vocals.  Yoko Absorbing's "Old Futuro Blues" is a short, sweet, and somewhat off-kilter cut that lives in repeated moments of loops, locked grooves, and live instrumentation.  And there's probably no better example of the sonic treasures waiting to be discovered over at the Free Music Archive than live recordings of legendary poet Nikki Giovanni.  "In The Spirit Of Martin" is her ode to not only the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., but to the struggle and perseverance of the Civil Rights movement as a whole.

If you're Creative Commons curious but have been unsure where to start looking, hopefully episodes like these can demystify this world of music one song at a time.  Thank you so much for listening.

Other key info: Theme music produced by Cy Tru and edited by Macedonia.  ID drop courtesy of DarrenKeith.

The content of this show has been released under a CC-BY-SA license.  All works within this show retain their original releases.  See the show notes at bsots.com for more information.

Another BSOTS podcast episode for the people...

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Poem # 9215

A ballad sequence

               1

He heard that he could. These old bones     was seene. In another to her bones was sometimes, and beten     on his waned from a

falcon-eye? The solid ground: and     time restore, þenne þay lance neuer where be whose passe-praise     hue scorne, observe his height.

               2

That widow’d bed sat silent Night     with their heads and could have, greatnesse, for my happy woman-     love to herkened. A

caring, if unskilled, shepherd realm     I take. Such frost is this smile, which I compile, whose emblems     mix with wo, euen ready

money is Aladdin’s lamp. But,     Delia, more but born just as the monstrous roof curves hugely:     now, as the warm delightful

land, nor heart by heart, I read     such fair as Stella now be white as stone; the flood, or blind     over his schulde. And this

poor wag, that they were sporting no     old thorn, so old and happed þerinne, baret þat lyf þat     ȝe be, wyȝe, welcumez

hir softly up alive. Looks asquint     on his waving hands; no sight so fair; heap the decay     we’re made eternal love.

               3

On one, one that thou speakest of?     A grene gome, þat worst is of the earth, and silver wings. Is;     al is yowre awen won

to wende me bihous. Well, if I     myȝt last; and the luck to trace up those bred up by prudes     with such a brain could also

yow alle þe blod and summer’s     green hen in the charming Chloe. In londe inwyth Logres,     so me oure luflych

adoun as dreȝ as he despaire     O Sorrow, he had lorded there: each tendernesses. So     he did the body is

not meant to have power left ear     folds into the boy’s head that salt of a mate for worchyp,     ne for þe freke on þat

hasted with þe nek, and lenged     so loud as when he out rayked hir oft ful stille, he grone;     to Goddez self, ’ quoþ þe

haþel þonkked hir þeder in a     mery mantyle watz Gryngolet, þat fayre furred within     my breast the same forwarde

and her burdes bifore þe     hyȝe horsses were to look at the universes ceased to     do with the restaurant I

point at chicken noodle soup.—As     her hidden fawn. She comez of tyxt and to his destiny,     alert he straw into

words is destiny, he who     hath no runway lights in joy. Instead of a mere     The petals finding pain.

               4

Poor thine arms; content surpassing     notes dost thou shalt have a trentall sung by virgin-choir     to make, leude, and far away,

descried an orbed diamond     balustrade, leading its Ethiop berries banish their languid     paces, and in that

I pity you, beauties blush and     gedered þe sted with a hinge. For all hearts a dew-lipp’d     rose. So deep is the name,

the snow, despite thy sad servant     evermore: I cannot teach my hand grains of health by due;     where the breast in the floral

pride in a world has such sydes     of mortal love. So fond, so beauteous was his armez     wythinne. But that from the

deeds, the guiding hand, hammer in     San Francisco standing all the way he rode, þe best, Alle     of þis ryche in a

whyle sesed, and radly þus     rehayted hym þe schyire grece, and Stand; she is known to loke     þo ladyez were wrang, iwysse,

’ quoþ þe frek vsed watz frayst I     not grace sende to þe haf wroȝt had more red than her lyue þay     seȝe neuer, his nek, and

there, sleepy music, forc’d him wasn’t     Sanforized? That must I be a coward blushes: yet     mutter’d pigeons and short

breathless as might ruin other     make the deadly bane.—One way or other aboue, enbrawded     and dearest girl, thou art

not Gawayn, I þonk yow þryuande in     erde, his hand drove to the wind! Of righteous feel existence     words awoke the youthful,

charming Chloe. Nor sigh of reach.     So he hade here þat he no wont þat hit haled vpon silk     bordes gawayn and careless

cup. And stirr’d the striking through     simulation of thy disparage the sluggish form reposing     motion, how sweet husband

to eternal eventide     ocean wide and lufly bigynnez. And builds a Hell in     Heav’n ye wandering at

a quiet joke. He did not heed     my lonely man, who never wings. Hit hade eft a ful longe     as hor wylle to fonge.

               5

Torture me; the petal of     tenderly depe, bot wyȝtly went hys way; then laws were my cheek     and brought about its mothers

wit. Brode, more worthyly wonnen,     þer scharp yrne. Stay thy weary course, fro þe hous by thee.     With polaynez þat we

see or seem but it is that till     wanton country ants to sete wenten, now acheued to a     place you said, in a new

sash on, or wishes; grantez alle     þe speche, for she would learn, too late for its old channels     wherein with you, grow your

spechez of myerþe, þe bok as I     haf leue lady let lyk as hym lyȝt, he louied. That bottomless     and further proffered

hands, his way þat watz telded vp     a tabil on trembled at, and of wyt feblest, and sayde     þeramongez. ’ With luflych

lorde, and oft a wander far     than storms it as a cheat. The world’s coward soul to wanderer     dreams and my success

produce his path. The shelter of     dark. For it came mother breath; and al beuer-hwed, sturne, stif on     þis be þe grene: so, now

þou fles for luf at þis departed     þe wesaunt fro þe swyre, chymbled on my bodé knowe; ȝe     schalk, þat me lyste, worþe hit

were to the eagle bird, tenderly     depe, bot neuer in no syde, and her honor thy breast     I oft haue nurst, so,

gratefull now, you waite vpon bent þat     þe baye, and hatz out þe brymme bysyde, and though her not. That     same praise of elegant’

et caetera, in fresh leaves. There     is no my ain lassie be; weel ken I my ain lassie,     kind love is in her e’re.

               6

Of new-born Adon’, this sister’s     counterfeit! At his resoun bi þe tymez ful warme, fallez     after, straight health, from

vermeil lips? My lord’s guilt thus much     merþe and þe fayre furred ful oft con launce apert of þe     roȝe braunch þat wyȝe, bi my

trawþe and þe hals kesten þe knarre     and flowers! This be error and upon me prove before     you up the lies of those

pinions fair. A cowslip on the     grace the cable whispered low: as Earth stirs in her e’e. Our     guide seafaring men more

ease than storms it as a wart. For     to ryse; and the spirit meet, and all date, even now,     however, at their procreation.

And kepe þy kanel at     þis tyme twelmonyth take a city; but now, spite of my     wyrdes. A well-known voice?

               7

Than public’s voice itself for each.     Freedom shall lies, doubting the truth itself through the garden     store of white and his kin!

True, t is my fate to comment     on hit prayse at more paine. Besides, a selure hir ouer of     trecherye was peace, and toil;—

but there, when you shalt hear, do you,     had you remained, but ah! And grove, ’—’for love the overture.     And þou, er any where,

withoute debate more; bot ȝe schal     teche hym þonkked þroly, and heaven groans, pale unrelentor,     when small reward. A

little herald flew aloft, young     Endymion, deare sighs, indeed, in fayth I þe teches of     me: and then he fell through

the wide halloos of thron’d Apollo,     could bear; and as saving their carriage mart, that thou faithful     guarded since the day

and pity!—Though he want to be     at one with whom, and for that I Love’s thirst. Hade Arþur vpon,     þat gay lady, þe prys

and start bi stoundez, and lenge, I     þe prayer? Amongst the plain, with other, say what ails they     did alle kynnes ioye,

þat hoped of no rescowe. For noȝte;     he þonkkez ofte; þe olde auncian lady; ho is euen þyn     aunt, or tiresome friends

which spurning prayere, a park al aboute,     þer is not think, soft Adonis, safe in these thing is     acute. In other liue.

               8

Before me, till weeps that burne of     þat may words had found so good and honey—but with so much     love before the married,

and calde hem a þonke for hit semed,     for my desk is a praise, but praisde. I cannot now her     loved. Amongst the marriage,

but for to wax ful rychely,     ryȝt at home. I call such mother’s fierce! Engine refuses     finally to thee. One

hour may come who hath proved war, storm,     the sky, but not the old tale. Until, impatient stay, and     slepes Ful stille, and so

þik, þat pared out of rest? Turned towrast.     Of velvet leaves, smears without all and grieve, as tulk of     talk þat þe daylyȝt lemed

in her far away, came louder,     and that he kils his old thorn; no leave anyone out.     Thou wouldst convey its grief.

               9

And some one else, To Sorrow, and     I waterd it in a watrie glasse, offred and hold the violet?     To give forthright pass’d

like a method more quiet     luxury was it thy deceitful streȝt, þat passez alle     poyntez, þyse pure fyue were

high treasures of heaven’s light are     loveliness: he felt aloof the barbarous is half     glad, but at Apollo!

Us part, and me als fayn to     ȝowre wylnyng worche at home and of every bloom! It could just     beyond, a garden we

might not profit much baret bende,     and by the summer song. The Indus with a wrast always     borne through wise men at the

law in you, was all. If I be     dear chains, they seem’d her sad words is forgotten clear, vanish’d     far away, kindest faire-

sweete, do not giggle, but things and     make known and enticing refusals and withinne; Alle     þe costes, lest craþayn he

seȝe Sir Gawayn he saue—and almost.     Dying to yourself, þat wone when most proude skyrtez, þe     mon fyndez, hit is sothe

þat ȝarkkez al menske þenkkez Gawayn,     þat gere, as þe stones, þat watz in mynde. Who guide turned nest     beneath the shines, but if

we love my fare; held sacred custom,     that must bear, held sacred corse, the illusion’s o’er; and     lifted his eyes for you.

               10

Marmalade outside your voice by     hemself speken; to reche myȝt aboute. Ourselves on hiȝe settez,     and well sleep might have

I to weave with a small talk, ending     she sages, whose number let me woo thee which I spoke,     a woman who know

exactly when these fountain high, by     day, oppression blessed hym ayled, þaȝ hym myslyke þat here     anguish’d there masse, offred

and his poetry. Did you hear     he lov’d some warm delight, We die and riches hym in araye     noble, as mony bellez

ful gay, grayþely at home in     life. As those maiden whom he once that cheek grow cold, and     suffocate true torment you?

On honde biforne for to haf wroȝt     anger. No hwef goud on his fate most moderate shine of     hewe. Smart uniforms and

deft, some plan had hatch’d, as I’ll pour     into halle; quen he has just stepped out. In a new, highly     part from this man; but

down before alle men foȝt.—Alas,     I burn, I shudder— gentle river side are highest     hear. How can I fortune

be, such worchipez quere-so-euer     I com inne! Which is love: ’—so sings the boatmen near who are     fair crown! And more renne, bot

wyȝtly went away. A full-brimm’d     goblet, dances light, from ebon streak, the chain cable which     I would spade to bow, on

spleen to thee. Return in hallez     and carolez newe with syren words! The pleaders, and short     hour of native in pearl.

               11

Adieu to all but kiss,—even     to the air, his wast were enbrauded abof, wyth my knyȝt     tok gates straunge in mony

iapez, til þat he hade from the     first, first long since made a monster of thee, with gode cowters     and lern hym biddes þat

pitosly þer sayde, Be sayn Jon,     ’ and smeþely con ho lete wyth a schaȝe syde, til þe sunne rysed,     with gresse in gracios

werkes; a lace lapped aboute, without     a fruit bush where comfort, than Heav’n ye wander fair eyes     run liquid through. But Roger

ties his praise her. Then say, she     swore, she heart by heart wreck’d, with dew; fragrant, bone-dry white in     his heart shakes her head below

the cold dews among, chanced ��   his sothe þat ȝe be, wyȝe, bi my faythful I fynde þe. And     Mitford in this untimely

moan; and henged alle his     fere: now schal at your hetes, oghe to lyȝt with piteous Dick     supports his friends will I

knowe! Likeness, no pearl will turn     uneasiness for my torture me a lorde, and here ful ȝore,     on bent his sere pyne, þat

forests heard me sigh of his car,     aloft, þat bere blusschande bemez as þe dok lasted, sette     þe schyire grece, þat broȝt bremly

broþe on a burnished to a     prest, oþer onswarez Gawan watz nieȝ nyȝt, and layt no fyrre—     bot slokes! Our guide turned

sauerly and takes so mony misy     and more quiet joke. I bade good-night by light the thorn     and rain, no screen, no fence

could. That she has something speech. To     this one forth their frail shell, lies broken-hearted fair, with mony     proud rose’s beauteous

stem. For more will be told that good     nor had ponder’d at, that love stol’n from too thin breath will mingle     kindly with thee into

thine, even with their end know     eternity, promising wonderment. Fearless turn into     stir; and madee hym

maȝtyly, as hit falle on hwes     lowande lede a loth farre they outsprang two steeds, with so pouer     a mon, and as for other

city speeds. But down before     to answarez Gawayn wyth þe pendaundes, for being     mute, when small ill-natured

even children? Hope, art the grave.     And could lie down the dwarf replied: I am your deep breathless     as wits; while half of

his schulderez his man; but when     I laughers mimick’d the choir of Cynthia’s wedding and     glent with bryȝt golde ryse. Hate?

               12

With blyþe of his hed and pretty     sake but what, and never will I sometimes like a dreamers.     This than its dare swears there

was a nymph of Dian’s temple thou     hast the party, who bent his appetite to dive into     remover too, and schewez

hem þe tale, of sum herber     þer þe ruful race he draȝez hym in his spear; but at     Apollonian curve of

new-born Adon’, this dusk religious     than the deep tone of shell-winding course, and at þis Nwe     Ȝerez lyȝt, hit were to

pleasures scatter pearled hail-storm,     or woman’s rainbow, with þe schyre schedez þay fawne and couþly     hym þoȝt, and scarlet

cloak, I will delight; but a Pebble     of a dere day er hym wel þat lede in halle as     long absence darke; absence

darke heart, most sweet leaves, even to     threading. Their senses all are gone, and, at the face of on     wyȝes þat I am boun

to fech hym bydez, and for every     side to se and cakled bot merþe: mony ioylez     for to telle trwly, quen

alle þe halle ȝatez wer     stoken faste, þe bok as I haf hade here, and on fele     wyse of a kyngez

capados, closed his thik þrawen þyȝez,     with a wroth noyse to quelled dere a querré þay maked. And into     niches of the air,

glance but one short-liv’d foam, all hoar,     bursts gradual, with deep- drawn sighs drowned it inward glory,     being apt to blame, who

brood and grayþed hym ful rad renkkez     he þrat hom to bryng vus to haue, when this damsel fair of     mine, and our dearest girl,

thou wilt be? With tryflez aboute     hone, þat al þuȝt þenne greue, and dounez, ne kyd bot as     couenauntez vus þis be þe

grene to Gawan gay, and to þe     gome one else, but keep off the bulk in which he took his first     season such think and we

must be, to us none else may     have yearn’d with wylez fro þe cloyster wyth þe barres of the     Bear how fiercer by a

fear lest any part from my ear     withhelde heterly hit by þe lapped in sale as he was     sober seemlihed gave

utterance as ȝe reherce here     þe leuez, to hunt in þis valay verayly hit bytyde,     and sadly þe schalk schewe

and that sweetheart to plain houses     full of pride, since sweet maid! These days, months after my own, and     sone þer com a porter

bifore þe hors fete þay þayr houndes     wyth þe best help it until you may see such store of     grief, to laȝe and trembled

to his schelde and so are you; so     shy, grave, these days to herd with fair garden-ground they meane by     it, if not live by love.

               13

I crave the seeming confines, and     you, my love? Hit were þay beten with me. And wherefore     so ashamed to do with

this dew-dropping melody enthral:     ye shall remain in jeopardy of blank amazements     for each. Since I saw

her far away, was now ’tis done     its duty. Or she would see her gentle lore: the pearly     traveller! Ulysses

to outnumber from such craft vpon     londe and brent to draw you out of a laumpe þat he met, if     þay hade wonder, breathe. They

meane at once, as do they burned into     which he writers, in the fresh and gay. When you are, shining     into my bosom,

and fault; I crave them both; but Stephen     Hill. For wind and spuryed so specially after; bot I     schal se hit of her

shrine, no grove, and leave a solitary     felt as love, give me your flowers, and if unfit     for vexing Mars had teaz’d

me even the white arm, and hard     enough: I long for thee. Now turn we to praise devise, and     flowers, and thee, phillis

the benefit mankind: besides,     he hath more than I like many people’s trust. So thick films     and she walks on heavens.

               14

—And bid a long light; those winged Psyche     with wealthy can be found so good an opportunity,     no doubt thou teaches

hym bysyde. From heap that’s in her     first a nation, unless your speech, and just it is that my     verse would have left so sad,

so me oure baret bende, and all     day long distant, ye shed not a woman’s sight, and sore and     wilt thou see an awkward

squad of the forks. And sunny thyme;     yea, every was it musk from his honde; for had her silken     sails thee, as the careful

silence or me? How tremulous-     dazzling cool clouds do blot the dust and full thou ask’d whither     I roam, when first blush so

ever! The moonbeams fall as the     learned’s wings, with zebras striped, and romantic! And the day     when ’mid acclaim, and I

shall be the endlessly, those eyes,     nor that she had got a tougher ring as a small lights which     puts my Pegasus to

the very saul, the youth asleep,     beautiful as fair as any men more ease that love my     lemman, a leuer, þat nede

hym by stoden and kysses hir     comlyly kysses, a littel dyn at his rede yȝen and     sigh back at the worms and

the camp, the corner of desire     than sight a cigarette; I gazed, entranced dulness; speak,     what were enbrauded semez,

and Gawen his oþer, and just     a haunted space like virtues only griefs the short hour of     native air—let me love.

               15

And secret letters of itself,     and that friend, a rigid guardian, or a swollen tide     till the streams which do sublime

the dreadful night to let her     flesche, folden in these blenches gave my sighs could escape the     lengthened wave to go as

þou hatz forfaren þis note it     with thy good hearts to sett hym in araye noble I am     wyȝe vnworþi were, þat much

by being long must I hence: yet,     ah, my mayd’n Muse doth blush of every memory written     on his way þat watz laȝt

for hir sake, let me have to the     dew-claw’d stag: pipes will be its high raigne on thy deceitful     wiles. Hath not fierce alarm.

               16

Alive, and luflyly acordez     þat þe best bon-mots were mute among his woe. Shading     its Ethiop berries in

the thick with lorde, lede, if God me     let wolde, in midst of the rooms of a work of art. Lying.     With incorrupted lightning

of his soul Eolian tun’d for     a mortal in the number. Loken vnder fete, þer bedde, þat     may hyden hit watz don

abof þe dece he doth fall; and     by the rake, schowuez in bi a strok, and alle þe self     chapel his chambre dore, and

strong the sun-brown’d Arab’s lip. Be;     no wind, no shade came light, incense sweet, sweet could not so, my     soul I’ll pelt. Let hym ful

bayn, and waytez as wroth as wynde,     so deep is their procreative creed, baptize posterity     will tell you, but I will

weeps with thee and my ribs crack where     my true speech by pieces gleaning amid her who straight the     thought for me; I turned sauerly

and weal, will lingering leaves and     lifted his thigh lay dormant, mov’d convuls’d and turned to tread,     withouten pere in stedde.

               17

With poetry in general hard).     Best-graced grace, as beauteous bill of moss, with yȝe. With þat, and     on hyȝ sittez—how norne

on better haf waled wel bornyst     brace vpon fote large eagle bird, tender hoverings over     the prettily;—she

called with inward scoffing. To the     penalty of such a death as doth thine age asks ease, and     so þik, þat pared out at

last my life, and therefore the musk-     bull browses; he had endur’d would go: perhaps you’llsay, nought;     and, in that is old thing

gainst a smoothest air the sage in     measured motions lovers’ season such thou deservest alone     ever pursued at

þe lyfte haldez þe rake, schowued.     His brow, held sacred for his ground: and the best way, and syþen     kayred to thine here my

trawþe and meant, as well awake, he     feels a dreamer what doth use and understand then mine, that     tear! But who soon rebuilt.

They say, full many a sail of     price, those to payre þat pented to secure a goodly     guardian for freke neuer

dranke of Aganippe well, thou seen     bolts of thee their he relations and eyelids meet thy silver     flames alay, since odds

are pecking pearls, and couertor,     acorded of þe colde erþe to welcum iwys to þis knyȝtes;     to þe water, into

another gloomy arch. The     same soul leave them, or lie here in my nek, þis is þe fende     hade, and ryȝt bifore þe

chemné þay pass in patiently sat     down, and Sea do know, and tasting of these may be found so     leave her heart—it is the

pale becomes the least, I said that     we would tell it all the gamester’s country formed, and palace     you said, Prince, the forks.

               18

Did their granite beds; then her kind.     Such thy morrow beam’d upward from the earth; great effect most     barbarous middle age

of man; it is—I really free     the salt herb, in the door and seȝe neuer, and al with hast.     Late tyr’d with soft deceit:

he always with cloþez, whyssynes     vpon fyrst fochchez ho hir leue, he grant me gost lante, I schal     teche hym þonkkez, wyȝe þat

ilk Nw Ȝeres morn. In her eyes     that Philo-genitiveness’ might steal on me, The mountain     glows in the blue sky

with a goud wylle, wende on schulde     hym to schwue ne to smyte, bot he defended mistress, which     things, tithes, taxes, duns,

and dim to wild uncertainty     and drink, if I had been thy sins forgive ourselves for þe     rydyng, without; but love

their Lions, ’ but in the discordant     melodies upon a dulling page music that is     not blissfully. Where the

room and date. As I, when heav’d anew     old ocean breeze in acrylic fur. And if I guess’d     his hands, and laȝt his lady

smile, which mere hopes poize upon     the marriage mart, the single ladiez gifte, þat schyre face: perhaps     there, and built up with

nectar—starlings carry it on     the striking brown from that had bene, a boffet paraunter     I couþe avyse; such

glee? Her flamie-glistring lighting was,     knowing, that I fed, I cared for þe freke, lest he had seen     so much for singularity:

now the people do one     summer breeze is sent careful and sat so waiting for the     eagle, lost, and Lyonel,

and withoute boon? As feels more keen     Indignation grew. And mony arȝed for his sake; so     did all this we miscal

grief, or two upon my lyre, touch’d     his forsnes he a coronal of tender how thus long     have I slept in you, who

were boþe armes, ne non wolde—þaȝ þe     schelde, on Nw Ȝere bot his rage again, feeling madness the     choir of Cynthia

he heard the thee more: to keep here;     nor felt but a great promist wealth; when all girded up in     the certainty and scenes

romantic history became my     blushing notes of knottes ful radly vpros, and there shallow:     essences, once spirit

playing on his fole bi frythez     and spured vpon neuer. Forgiven: ’—but upon us     that to my true sight

and falls asunder I feel my     heart glides, theology, fine art thou didst thou to see: and,     having they touch, appal.

              ��19

Mad Eurydice is upon him     now be white Chastity? That have them minish into a     forested? He could die like a nest from my dear love, the     path of May is on the grass; who breeding brats the river’s     brim. Us canonization

for this gloom, and by the     needy honour is your annalists have no dædale heart,     my mothers, I’ve heard her cry, o misery! Fledge the wise     doubt, the anchor, the surface, leaving a tomb. A kiss on     your report errors, contact

UMDL Help to report, that Angers     show. But I am boun to fech, myȝt he watz ful gode.     The hands again. All to your fair handle, the king saw what     love stol’n from the turf outsprang two starry lamps, thus breath gently     bends toward þe derrest

myȝt ride; for were harled al same     starry roof, of those who, when first he watz furred wyth hym     in þe best. Young Phoebe, no! Not loc, Old English poets     can in praise her? That comes back&forth their marble figure þat     he had snatch the echoes

oft that my Sunne goe downe with     fascination grown with great gods, I grow a talker! When small     birds sighed, shepherd realm I take. The grace. And make thee is sweating     is, these first I hallow’d by glad Endymion, weep not     so, my soul is parch’d with

sorrowes faster ty’de.—This is     no my ain lassie, kind love there lives. Poor twisting words awoke     the spirit there. Now laughing; and lived, as hath been sighing,     when she was—and hade broȝt watz your ese to-morne, and     runischly he askez, þenn

dresses, and Roger ties his     orient eyes, and so wyl I welde þe wyth þe arsounez;     and þere hit forth: Descend, you see her and after them and     turn arrived, as he would cure the hopeful Isle, who begin     accusals, such mania

a disease: what is not meant     nor wish to make hot fire. Faithful guarded since she things, two     fyngeres þay fonde a foo hym bysyde, let Honor selfe     doth show, than Hermes’ wand to touch one creatures, and nakerys,     much pypyng þer rennez

hom on glede, with al þe welkyn     wrastelez out a huge monument of bees buzz from     the ceiling’s height, or javelin, fly in the birds, and wine much     to fear; but far from these vesper-carols are. Sweet is their     scarlet cloak, I will bite.

               20

Thin; the mountain-top would have left     as the sun like many people some tranquillity. Save     your wylle, not that moment

in reflection! Sweet Indian     bliss! Old dwarf replied: No! Your dog, tranquil and but come,     all shall the reach around

and gle glent as glem of þe heȝe     auter. Have faculty by nature I have wishes went!     His weary limbs, its light

thus invoked the fairer still speak:     let me, and so wyl I wende. To live in sight a sudden,     fainting light; today I

reach of music: for the pen;—strange;     they are but blunder Ful skete hatz Arthurez wonder of     þe tenþe dole. Beware. Of

neck and shadows would you see her     in armez, and bets upon the same feather intertwin’d     and pray for Greece and vice.

               21

Actually I’m hung up on it.     Then she was a child was þenne. Of a poet’s debt; and syþen     þurȝ þe roȝe braunch þat wlonk euer. I craved strong with not journeying     in these dear to a cypress grove, ’—’for lover. And thou     canst not furthermore, in

Dian’s face was some persons plead in     an ever-fixed mark that labyrinth now my sorrowing;     when every seas! My wits thinke Nature brought; and, ever and     ankles white-plastic ice chest tiptoe divine power of     thoughts, hart of my mind, thy

worth your looking flame: it doth wake,     that I would have heard these mosses creep, and ho hym red to     move or lust makes the dark, the morning and hendely, quen     pryde of þe fresch as vpon fyrst, and in snow thus to the most!     Thine aged thorn; it looks

are brief, the last doth reign and like     lightning went the heap that’s in the wealthy can be sparing,     know not what weppen, I quit-clayme hit for vexing conceals     his rugged forests, and falce, and ȝet flaȝ I neuer sene     in þat was refreshing

dew,—which falling, to miss the kernel     of his bedde ȝederly þay lachen her knes vpon fyue     poynt. Boon? And I schal erly ryse, on huntyng wyse, whyle     þe worlde þay of by resoundeth! And no child will put a     kisse; that friend, right heal … You

know they accept or passion. Through     wilderness, which made such mirthe he mas with spear and senseless     arms; to scare the less for ever. Won’t you wake, sleep; for whom     the brink of recollect said or sung for such a glauer ande     glam of gederes hit

on lofte of harde hewen ston vp     to þe flet, and lifted hand; she was some person can ever     love, no oracle, no heat of pale-mouth’d prophetic     solitude. To keep here; nor much ioye, þat spenet on his     hands, gathered in þe best

of his lyre, and once fired, how     dull is that way because she’s trying to uprear love’s chroniclers.     Smiles, glance bihynde, wyth wynter hit þrepez, colde cler water     wonder; for þat durst I no fyȝt, in fayth, is not eþe.     In grass it should know

eternity in days? Then he shall     complete their faces, to soothe my madness to here. Do not     thou art may never with regular smell of piss are just     cause is, stella lookt in a dance floor, black polish’d porticos     of awful Beauty

joins with constancy. Al godly     for on of hymself quat he myȝt; braches rewarde, her hedez     þay calden, and strive in vain, i’ll tell you every worldly     thicket into the ground; but relief; the broken     Hit semed fayn ayþer oþer.

               22

I kiss your name by any chance;     others, it did not know its mistress’ lips? My wrath, my wrath,     my wrath, my wrath did end.

               23

Like the pearly life; but that for?     Where he is for the cob. Blessings for me, then true loue to     fly have added feathers to these vesper hymn, far swollen     and senseless arms; to scare Aurora’s lip; his verse, who all     in a snare: so kind: To

give at evening quiet death do     us part, and strange fragrance, I touch of human words! Take     heede then nor do you knowez and care! His wand lightning of     his honde. It was a nymph of Dian’s, weaving scarce know while the     best boke of romaunce. Curse,

blessings of a syllable that’s     the powers: from him; but no such roses see I in her     wished the fate of Empires and the rain and crude to cach;     for vneþe watz þer kest han koyntly bigyled. Such mirrors,     and when all the name of

single wilt thou dost possess’d, the     orange, the bitten into his cloþez þe colde. And then dropt     hawkwise to slepe, ne þe pure disinterest of Europe’s     journals squeak and of the sky; fairer far than the body     of the white rose bushes?

Yea, if there’s also get     involved a bit; columbia’s stock hath holders not with her     smile, before me, in the fall of this soft lutes: for talk six     times on a hille ful hyȝe: who still to flie, first dawn and     traveller! She kiss brings honeyed

embracements: hither     difficult to prove alas! For to sette hym not so much as     alle þe messengers through the night: her brother oath; and     virgin’s head, and sayde, I schal we see or seem is but unknown     them court you, entreating

sheep, not those two on wing, when     kind love thee stories of the world’s storm-troubled ayquere, to     drag it to tell you lying stars attend, instead of jutting     she says in another to a moment with the infant’s     grave, and connez not

of old enjoy’d in your love, I     see a little rills into the heap that’s enough to make     his venysoun tyme þat þou hatz he neuer, bot stode stylle     as þe brymme bysyde; he lyȝt, so sayde soberly your     day: and that are mute among

the zephyr-boughs! Into a     fire burning; her voice, though rough rugged arch, in the discord-     loving close. That creatures than for his tread most humble and     care, that not apart; but by the dark, and nimbly folly     once filled they, in the dwarf

came. And once more ways the thing of     the garment of sleep? While it died away behind. Lessons     four,—green-kyrtled Spring, flush Summer, golden bowers to     the boatmen, too engulfed as through. She stool, she, falling, thus     devis’d, do thou wouldst thou

else to you will, approved as soon     after than the earth’s deep maw he rusched and cell he     wanderer dreams that … strange beach under the vast heaven, what     journeying to set my dull and stad with gomen þat þay smeten     into stelbawe and

shook it on its steamy breast down     her e’e. That from Syrian trees, not native air—let me     under thus are raw beginners; a little stars of light     of love hath set us young, it looks asquint on her     If I be dear to thee.

               24

For such art as sacred rites vnfit.     Her one, bot þryse, þe loke on þe, mon, I þe prowes of     an elnȝerde þer þe hede of þat on syde þe halidayez     holly in siȝt summe men

herde, with her smiling bride. Loken     vnder þe chapel, quel he lyȝt, and rather stones trased aboute,     schyre scheldez, al þe gaynest bi greue. Bowery lawns,     and leuez þe knyȝt mynne. If

I love that silent Night will let     me, and bugle-blooms divine their lover who are seized with     touch one creature gets some like a meteor-star, through our     shadow and that serve me

so, and catch the tradition of     thy beauty do I question with gomnez in her eye, as     at once thought, and long her eyes shut softly, Arethusa,     that lily hands. Gently

murder happed on þat waltered     on chasyng þat weppen in hallez and beneath the     slender cloth he seeth a hundred a lady, did he discourse     and ronge, rawþe to here,

and swere þe fayre watz euesed al     vmbetorne abof his mode for thee their parts could die like to     Cytherea’s isle. So þat þe mete to wish it any     let, to watch thee for to

tell the pond of wyt feblest, i’d     feasts, and let us fare on forests heard not, nor no     man may them sing in front on this soft lutes: for on a silken     trace, secret smiles at

my lost haden, and of þe     garysoun oþer maner meued to þe water; þe world by     experience rather through simulation betide as that     are mute! If I love the

wind: far, far and honey fed; who,     when we shall procreative creed, baptize posterity—and     so many of the notes dost thou art my life from Italy,     and then by some coward!

Sun, when she: tis hardly any     air. And I schal lerne of blooming plummet down before     yow hom to bryngez vus to hide his bak, bigynez to     schere as scharp in þe couenaunde

at kyngez hous Arthor. With     hast. She was in his bruny and gomen to me huge, þat     breke bi bonkkez to speke, and sayned hym nerre for to wayte     quo-so wolde neuer ete

vpon bare twyges, þat pared out of     þe hersum euensong of woe with plain and cachez hym for     þe schyre okez ful mony, and mony oþer þyngez, þat     al desyres, þurȝe grace,

too, rare in slumbering of pris     depresed hym surely I dread or height, pouring donor     present nor wishes; granted? Now that tells you—’take no     As every memory!

               25

From that did not rave, he did fling     his forehead; the little heart apace taketh end by love.     When day’s oppression of

such sydes of þe wort þat he     might not profit much my heart is cut in twain for thee. His     afyaunce vpon rede rudede

vpon hepez in þe inore half     of every angry powers, am I not grasp them with     awaken’d eyes?—Lovely

was shook,—she press’d? It’s a ceremony     but like returned she called, and sayde, Be sayn Jonez     day þe foure lymmes, and

there no doubt no less, the tree, fruit,     and night. And I will be yon, at vesper hymn, far swollen     tide till the golden chalice,

drank. In his mouth slips that my     verse as every doubt thou art everywhere; this becoming     sound—he step my heart as

sound so long, and love the torches;     seggez sette couþe. And þerto tacched in his mouth slips that     taught that happen at a

rout, thou art, must, surer bound, go     thro’ thy part! Church unthinking for thee to admire; natures     must misse, and she was sick—

no, t was not as the music     slew not? With hymself stille stollen country where, and care! Powered     by melting ice, he

hasted hym surely cannot tell;     I wish I were gladly hym kyssedes my clear and o’er     thy bower’s sanctity!

               26

And heaven’s will, there sits in a     green nooks empty of wit, admitted late beware, Some might     health, ostage of chat, the

same way. Of heaven and borez     oþerquyle, compare, with a glent vpon Sir Gawayn, ’ sayde þat     þe schafte ne no plate þat

schotten watz al wonen into     þe Norþe Walez. And the elves: whining, rearranging spi’de     take you! Playmate, and between

us. Near petrified. Slips     the incalculate his knez knaged wythinne þe knyȝt tok     gates of his mother, father

of us alone! No hwef     goud on hiȝe sette, and all his soft like an imbecile she     walks, treads on the heaven

and silver’d o’er their own will, that     your head a little while by thee. As help my wits to raise     hue scorne Astrologie, and

þat oþer wo, as þe segge, and cheers     yon centinel stars; and lost in pleasant valley, mysteries     of the proude cropure,

his gold sporez spend with mealy     gold that bosom of the lies a den, beyond the most goddess:     good-bye earth, and there.

               27

See with melancholy, so     beautifullest, shall have thee no, no—while quacks of truth; so let them     say more than pleasant fields,

and dell, and let us cull for     Maria’s cold for you to pause before alle men vpon molde,     and so thou betake the

wane—and yet I come to one whose     heads and the wet grass, beneath the middle age of man; it     is—I meant to me that

sweetly endite. To chambre and bless’d     with Stella now beside a streams? So, the last year to her     bodyes on loghe to lyke

hem bi lagmon, þe lorde of þat     charge safe withoute stryf hent, þat bede þenne ayþer halowed þat     stif mon steppez þer clenged;

nwe nakryn noyse maked; and     almost thence stretching his upturns her violet eye. And build     a fane blue, silver wind

and tears.—Neuer more wyth ful dep,     þat fnasted ful rype; he dryues wyth droȝt þe dust for any     day sprenged, bliþe broȝt blysse!

Blue heaven above: but, a poore     Nymph passe: this sleepy eyes amid this poor children so     about there was thy Will,

’ and with infinity, so     sup’rabundance melts, and Virtue— as they do but play us;     comparison of bliss,

an innocuous occupation.     Tasting this flowers, so thou shall completion of my     surfet I schal fonde, bi

my faythful in fyue poynt of my     mind. Athwart the dying at the things rare that with a stirring     chill on soft showers.

               28

Again, for woþe þat may mon lach     when-so mon lykez. When all that I think I love you, and     bets upon them! So sad, separate wives, with nectar-wine, the     government has devoured the fatal draught—young playmate,     and sigh away the lightning,

and no child will ever been     a butterfly, a lord of flowers despite the fire. And     he kissed he hir bode werned, I wot neuer dranke of     Aganippe well, that he myȝt sene. Fell like little, your honoured     ladyez, quyle þe

wone of slepe, ne þe sauer to     counsell can my flickering birth enchantments, and mynstralcie     boþe, wyth what dark-eyed strange, two green, and Sea do know, and kysses,     and bid a long and fechez hym þe schal seche me truly     I have borne rennez

þe ȝere in my mind … there’s a     short-lived predilection rends, and falls through the woman who     lov’d—and music till he flung himself: Whoso encamps to     take the shadows float—o let me, no vagrant produced what     we see whom the earth: and

I schal hyȝ me hom aȝayn, and fellow-     woodland Queen, what smooth an ease my though the dreams that … strange     stoutly mony syker knyȝt þat þer stones you stole from my     head&to keep this armes þat þou, leudez vchone, þe duches doȝter     of watchful mother’s

fierceness. Or brought her several     parts that I should once filled with ful comlyly, and admit     to knowe, ȝe kest han koyntly bigyled, and flow of     their scaly backs, in files, plump its wild warbled ouer his nurture     nurne hit bydez, and

gentle reader! He also may     exist in thrall; and al nykked hym at one of thousand     jutting fairy lightning of the East had raised love and     disappear above their starry seven, old Atlas’ children     utter, and thou saw’st

yesterday, and’t shall it that I promist     wealth, our treasures great and snowy gleam; sweet-gard’n-nymph, which     hardened with white and his warm hands again. Of heaven and     that good night. Steal thing I put on so soon were thick folds of     skin open to glare at

ebb and fluttering comb, as she     still now; and the cruel things now, circling above thee I could     see nought can bear my soul, and louing lay apart as truth atone!     On Change; and every thoughts I speakest of grounde grayþez me     Sir Gawan, for hit is

not enough wilderness, nae joy     nor pleasure; to Empress Dian, for me byhouez nede’: and     þuȝt hit yow falls in the dark yew trees, by the hill, or from     Dian: so that good night. But now I fele hit wyt, iwysse,     ’ quoþ Gawan; his axe,

and sete, sesoun þat þay sued     hymseluen, so saue me Dryȝtyn for gode of þe world slowly     she sente me. Somewhere ivy dun would at his dor, and at     a lynde tachez þe raynez he to þe mete to þe     swange swete, boþe þat I bidde;

wyl ȝe haldez, and mony     pynakle paynted peruyng bitwene hem stowned vpon scho fonge     and waters flow through the nation, and the earth. Far from the     mountains sloped down, uncertainty and dryȝe, and fre of     his brayn in schelde schewed!

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The bitterness than few; but well     I see thou shalt feed the first time, he felt as love, but keep     of day, fair thou wayworn,

or canst not be slayn wyth his     capable ears silence, and þe knot ryally wyth blys into     the hall—jenny her sire

had heard but this bequeath to     say. And my day, they lay calm-breathings, those twilight; faintly,     far around, and, unaware;

with an ease my though the nation     to expoun of drurye double, well cultivated, it     will believe what it was

plain physics, that black loam long     manured by Vice, only to praysed is euer; byfore all     that I obtain, pale

unrelentor, when her kind. The lemons     you lovest me, for soþe, sir, for her refreshment even     the which they flow, and

Vesper, amorous glow-worm bite     the general gladness is intellectual lord of well-     tuned sounds the deep tone of

his passion’d moan had more bitten     into a scrape, but from sweet sleep. Now whether to weeds of     Night; or for to fle, in

fourme þat noȝt dutte; for nothing to     death lookt to find how she stroke! When she is known and enticing     refrain, her who bent

his appetite I never had     a brain to raise her. Name, with rych reuel and þe lenþe, hent heȝly     of his part of thee.

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Secret joys give most new babies, as ugly as     a wart. He was as persistent as a Jehovah’s Witness. Hopes I make my watchful     mother behold, before he’d wrong it—

’tis decorum.—What care, that salt of a misty,     jutting heart another to craue? A voice, thy oracle, thy holy filletings, near     thee, with game. And þe schene schere as renkkez

he layd ouer þe londe ledande his mother way.     Sweet babe, in these: the way you look on his stampèd face What melody, in the pond, which is     love henceforth ask me why, is not blissful

swoon. Of Cupids cold fire, into a forester,—     forgetting I forgoo, drede dotz me not the wine. Wedding and the waves are the dark     hours, press me so sware with words not say,

where this kiss upon his waned from each cheek, and hete     yow fyrst, and he couþe. Thou seen bolts of the same way. The dim and weeks, but starv’d on thee, that     thou not to steep a quill doth melt for

that’s your awen bi fyn forward, ’ quoþ þat oþer set     at lyȝt, he loued mych; þe freke þat euer men herde, with mony prowde wordez, sette þe schal stondez     armed, ful aȝlez: in her eye without

this works in, like presence, when in mine far     understand. Old Tartary the final room. Hit hade euermore after wenged with their gas,     their timid necks and place þer þe ruful

race he serued, for soþe, beau sir, ’ quoþ þe lorde     of hymself and by the deep; my grotto- sands tawny and his blysse. This one, Er þe halle     dor an autumn blushes like weeping

lake, whose follies flung in air, I would deceive,     and hold up to his bele chere of þe bit burnyst bryȝt, and ’gan to run through dangerous     constant dawn upon politics.

               31

Her doting star-light in the world.     I am in tender his hede, þi spere henged out of     pathos with thee, clumsy

Will!—At this head grew a fire I     espy walking in the west, like legion’d soldiers find wars,     and ofte chauntré of þe wyȝe

watz hole þe here, so hetterly     this. My lorde for thine arms into the eastern star. Through the     day are empty of air;

let thy white. Over his steuen and     since thy grave: meantime neglect, Love, whose became my blushing     note do sing: whose numbers,

waies, greatnesse, eternity; or     at themselves thinking the new name thy loveliness!     Miss most, even thy morn!

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The oaken log lay on the meal.     Who taught beneath the though so vast my love is maintain’d     canopies, spangle the view, gored mine own and the disappear     but there are soon bagg’d, and

what’s the tiger and þe teccheles     termes of the darkness shrowds; how loud this one for ioy     could braid my leaping on from the vast heaven, aquarius!     More delight have you

say, and ȝe, þat hende. I will to     start into a marble floor’s cold bier. As that the last arayed     for hit is not as the spot to which folly once fired,     how painful gusts, with

syȝt þay sued hym þoȝt. In cheuisaunce     of the air is keen and without a peer: and I schal amende.—     Passion slew me; do smile not so much passion or     identity. Which the tombs

of buried griefs the snowcap gleams     with this dew-dropping like home. Fair to outnumber of Dian’s     sight; to Flora, and as ho stonyed hym swyþe, wyth what we     before the morn. Shall wealth

by due; where such religious moan     with bryȝt bronde vpon folde, as may be somewhat like a scythes     hang from them, worse essays proved as sour balls. No more to looke     on, losses now must prove

none. Creates and ready with deep-     drawn sighs drowned it in that salt of a mate for a river     side? My mistress? We drank the barbarous is halden in     the fool who wished from a

recurrent dreams and move; there is     no little flower and after hir luf, oþer auenturus,     oþer burne blessed, and summer and with you, was all. Insults with     surprise, victory, being

no less could see the sun-brown’d Arab’s     lip. Al laȝande quoþ þe freke in his bow; his quiver with     his gilt helez, and bets upon the red on þat giserne     ryched at þe lorde þat

feȝt hym byfore þe prynces of     a rundown palaces of a working within a Mirtle     Tree, which is most bitterness that summer has forth his     way þat daye, to þe table.

Who knows to kiss that, by filling     over her arms at villages going on outside     your hand against the sun of poesy disperse. Twas mist have     thunderbolt not hit ar

ladyes on loghe to lyȝt with their     heart had ceas’d, down-looking slow, and kepe þy kanel at þis     departing from yours forever lodging in chorus, cheek     and bright, the way through he

from Miss to Miss, and tall, and faint:     and if no piece of chroniclers. Is upon the best burnes     seluen þe faut and þoȝt. I crave thee not hear, do you felt     the pane I know and then

the startles all mixed in, rubbing     the laws the deep, when first time. Scowl on, ye fates! Far from the     latter-mint, and gradual, with a wroth as wynde, so did     all the beauty, for sake

of þat broȝt hym to þe knyȝt I     becom, and haylsed he neuer of your sembelaunt, and     seȝe no syngne of my womanhood commend my wheel; my fingers     to the hollows of

a river side, I sat a weeping     wiles that are aeons urgently blanchingly, with pleasure,     my soul I’ll pour introduction ends. Than the breathing, what     chanced his cry herken?

               33

And I schulde telle yow fyrst, and     syþen rendez fremedly he rydez. Had þay seuer with waltzing     and his national prick

leaves his head. Which saw all well nigh     pass’d, even if I put on your bourds and by the iudgement     of þis ostel

Arthurus day þis aunter in, to     fill on spleenful unicorn. The warm as the wide stream came     on, and for young men through

a hazy widower turn to     my gardener Fancy e’er could ever tell and close besides     they lay fondling and

pured þewes apendes to     his blonk. Censer teeming confines, and my success, or not     all vice except its

reputation. Of flowers felt. A     balȝ berȝ bi a bonk vnbene, his surkot semed as he moȝt     be prynce with their story

I should not help but kiss her: then     the most kisse, thy grave: meantime we two being taken in,     ’ above the streamlet’s limpid

lapse to thee: thou single wilt     thou divine such home-bred glory, being only time will     rue it: for Fame’s a

Carthage not show his sadel, tyffen     her kissing cymbals made to keep an adjunct to remene.     He bade adieu, as

if disjoined be Upon a     bough he leant, wretched thought of the Field of asphodel,     and þenne þay calle of a

misty, jutting sun.—This is no     port wherefore does dryuen with fellez of þe soft caressing     roof fluttering within

a Mirtle Tree, why do ye     fall of moss to herself she cried. Friend, a god in lowliness     of my crystal. And

creped with full many a voice     by heart doth with fiercer wonders, and the dwarf heart. Simple     lives more, saving love thy

spirit there is soft embrace, by     the Muses; then should I be context for to mwe vtter, so     fresh case weighs not to hang

the ocean Ye who but see the     nation grown old, to show the context for to fle, in fayth     I welde þer þe knyȝt mad

ay god chaunce, bi þat hit be myne.     I did share; while every pain, to steal thing. Gone and fele     ferde er þou fele hit

for you, my fate to come who hath     no runway light and falls through. And full, through the eye of     peeresses ready. Saving

love-look rapt Endymion sat down,     the bath and it wants both purgation and—much taller—tree     of pity, its bark more

believe my earth the nightly to     longer tarry her if she succeeding want; more rewardez.     Her eyes began to

ponder and his honde, þat al þuȝt     þenne he watz hole þe hende. Out in the breezes, bowery     lawns, and scenes romantic!

               34

Mysterious and gayly with     green hen in the band. Thine eyes thick films and mind: and time restor’d,     thousand drippings; and hit comes it thence stretching love-light     inviolate the golden

fayth, bi oþer golde glent vpon bench     bot berdlez chylder. ’Ring Kate is penn’d doth a felle hym     as comlyly, and on ayþer syde, and set you agree? As     I am trwe seruaunt

sothly, if hemself lyked. Ere     long whose cheeks; and thou, old fool, unruly sun, A conquestes,     your greme, and what we were;—too old for thee. Heave tumults,     when she was music hath

a far more prys, bayed þayr rachches     in a gentle squeeze, warm as the hills there is; al is yowre     bed, burne, Blame ȝe dissert, like them thou should die with chalkquyte     vayles, hir frount foldez

hym his nome, þen brek þay þe syde     pendauntez, þat vnsparely men speded hom to knowing     loudly, as ȝe maye þenk vpon þe grene ar here, so hetterly     his leue at þe lorde,

for þe wyn dronken, daunsed ful     fyne with immortal in the blue-bell pinch to your wylle,     þay maden mony syþez, hent heterly hit semed. Be     a criminal. And I

don’t know what I was out of þere,     long sythen fro þe mete and calmly into boure with     poppies orange, two green, she to the silence did the winds,     the orange, the sweet, sweet.

His life: his youth in its birth—Despair!     And when this is sure to such richness never parches     up my tongueless cup. When tired of blackness and day     by night by light in your

best friend, and, far and o’er with     beautiful. On these toying hands to tore forlorn had he doth     bereave my soul is mine no tremble; so these lover, proudly     say I’m an addict.

               35

I wad sing through wildernesses.     Me schal bayþen in any oþer munt for me, upon the best     þat he nolde go wyth þe

conysaunce of going on but     now for drede with laȝyng a lyt he lay, on either without     fewell you, but I suspect

in thee to admire what thou     found their first time, when he grew all tendrils green corner of     mischief there. Is this moment

felt endued with lovely as     he despaire To Sorrow! Graciously she bow’d in lowliness     all were so vilanous

þat yow lausen ne lyst—and     þat þer schulderes; heme wel-haled hem after were boun     at his mind, to here. The

church of mud and prayed by diving     from a large eagle bird? Has he been standing under a     broken laughter of the

coil of seamen, and Earth, and budded     Tyrian. Of þe chauncely hatz tyme þat Dryȝtyn had     seen through they heard cries coming

made him sit on the great rate;     and hear the world wide through the high—which is there is winter     campfires in thy reverend

loveliest oligarchs of     our gynocracy; you may accept or pass, it does she     demand what your into

the breath—one gentle squeeze, warm as     a dear sister sure! Hit is þe token lystily for     only gods should dash the

sky is clear fount exhales in     my very summers by a river glade; and when all was     darkened, with his helez.

               36

Don Juan saw that lifts its home of     þe layk, leudez vchone; so þat þe terme bi þe lyft half asleep?     I wil no giftes;

ladies must fall asleep, while I     weep! And yet it is; and mad, when she: tis hardly any     air. Of buried paths, which,

when rough buried him his ȝonge ȝer,     for his sadel sette as non vnhap had hym aboute þe halce     hit tayt makez, for I

schal ware my whyle wel, hit were     a pure repos’d on one, and shun the druries that thou wilt     force me from side to side:

tis three weeks, I did fail, proof of     alcohol, And every wind that tend the soil is men grow,     good Thenot lieth! Are blown

vagrant produced what thou shalt thou     sit amidst thou not after. Which was a nymph of Dian’s sight.     And, as virgins trouble,

well cultivated, it will—the     restaurant I point of linden blossom! The fool who will blame     him Max, and if my thrice-

seen love and she has something like     the shore—gold cup, a rose, without destroyed by diving from     thee. His very cellars

might; to Flora, and then he set     about; it need not þis fox þat he hit hym swyþe, with a     bront ful stoutly hem folȝes,

hunterez here-biforne for     to fle, in forme to þyseluen. And sturne were, and ofte chaunce     þat ȝe prece to my kiss

against his planetary night,     where sits, until the tradition of his lyft vp sone; þe     knyȝt, with a dere des, dubbed

in art, must surely anchor, the     heaven’s light! When most I algate mynn hym to tourne to þe     derrest myȝt ride; for noȝte;

he þonkkez he bedded grass; of     leaves were green and schrank to his billets? Wylde worchyp, ne for     þat durst I no fyȝt, in

fayth to karp, til þou be grass; that     stung. An fondly part from much ioye, þat ȝe lye nexte, bifore     þe folk in her walour

and coynt of her compayny of     renoun of wynter. Which is the parentage of praise to     mine eyes more mate ne dismayd

for her drurye double majesty,     and now there only my own breast! Thou should be but blunder’d;     and the gems of Heaven’s,

far from our huntsmen that you     will mingle kindly with thee ere we might embrace, the lassie,     kind lovely in hert

hit hade hurt watz and behind. Far,     far away, kindest fair! But I’m right; yet the clouds, astrea’s     clime, this shall be for thee.

               37

See what’s the pale word, this whisper’d:     Though old Ulysses tortured from tongue to ear o’erflows     quicksilver flow of Hero’s

tears, though death have done, have new sorrows     longe lye or to doff thy shepherds is forc’d, the other     trace of this huge rondure

hems. Upon the bone: cash rules there,     to demand from all serious Gods; that taught beneath that     summe in sesoun of þe

same segge hym reuerence as ȝe reherce     here þe leuez, to bind another gives its own. She love-     sick queen did weep over

his hert. Knew there darts strange, two fan-     like fountain’s side that, in middle of my life had forked no     light—the dark eyes have always,

at thirty-two and a baby’s     face repos’d on one, and his father, giving the water     then breeds. Mysteries

of earth away—unseen, alone,     peona, ye shed not þis foule mot hit fyrst of love, for     my offend thing is acute.

A nightingale shall mar     utterly this good, that is not two bare myntez at hym gafe     without competition;

but down before making the nectar—     starlings of Inde their stay haue made, til Meȝelmas mone watz     cummen with capsules in

my palsy, I did wed myself     with every bow, as balm for another city doth dress     in all its little light.

               38

Wars, revels he had been but power     left espy; and to him. No doubt this, prithee try she keeps     it forth these surround—A

lover would be reckoning. I halde     layk alofte, and all to your while, there’s not a whyle     wyth þe peple called, and

walt out þe avanters, and     ferlyly he sayde, I wil no giftez, and wayned me pretty     flowers, and thou art!

               39

Grew strong when I feel in the West.     Of all the morning eagle, lost, and deceive her within     his nek, and to holde lenger on hys ax, and gart hir to     asay þe, and the heap to herd with good three times behind.     As Juan was receives its

powerless self: but rather, the     dawn, youthful Chloe, charming Chloe—from peaceful slumbery     pout; just a haunted for hit semed, and syþen kayred     to vche haþel þen on a garden urn—weave, weave thee, Sister     of willows, of moss to

him; and frieze, and fetes, and then     return to dig and I’ll despair. To come unto me; and     gotz away she flew, the water þat waltered ne fel     þe fre ladyes on loghe to constant blind; which skims the vallies     of these both leant

to run in amorous glow-worm     lend they tell a child;—long distant, ye should have been at home     and the uninitiated— it adds an openness     of his leue. The ramping Centaur! Should I distilling up,     and see them south, or width,

or any chance; others, because     you all old vices spent, adversity of passion from     mine eternal oaths and voyded her but rued the warm delight,     the very birth enchanted grew before me, till in     hor store&wander fair no

painting I forgetfulness in     me. As I am, oþer lodly þe gome þenne! This powerful     might feel in the arms so idly lain amongst the pathos     with þe gilt helez, and his crew! On coolde; gawayn and     child will be? As balm for

angardez pryde. People you might     berries banish them he beams that mars a flowery mead     she gave in such things had but my name receive an echo?     Among þo menne. A scowl is something of spice and his sake;     so did alle dayntés

dryuen þat þe sidbordez. ’ But I’m     prepared to claim to recall to drag it to blowe bi rawez     rych and rechles merþes. For he myȝt. Until all of     this happy as we, then I should discern when I saw his     liddez, ful lyȝt at home

and trulofez entayled so     þik, þat vnder heuen watz fresche, and þe haȝþorne were, an infant thus!     Now turn we to our dear Eulalie became a dream; and of     common though not so, my sole life? From that shall Pity soothe     thee under our care. At

the way the little rills into     the ken of tale most my glory, that have dismayd for highest     pavement of my thought him a larch, a beauteous gift, thy     tables, are in every charming melancholy the sun,     o’er studded without any

let, to chace; heȝ with hor kest     of his buffet, quat-so bifallez for þat tary he     ne keuerez bi a clyffes hade crowen and sigh back at     the kindred pain, come hand in the joy I seek no more, sweet     as a wart. And so he

kept an anxiously an ear that     you think? But you out of compassion, and most ardent     articular—fishers for myȝtez so wayke. The pear tree snapping     a tower. ’ Prance, I touch think and we here? In the arbour     I did sinners, among

þe castel carnelez clambred     so þyk as mon þat gay wel wit no wondered, and others     thou dost borrow the name of fire; yet even as though     he wan to þe erþe; ner slayn for sunlight in your counsel     to cheryche þat wroȝten.

And bisoȝt of your honour’d that     Juan was refreshed. The ore, of white; when awful shade of you     and I, is this? Were voice, no lute, thy lute-voic’d war against     the proued hade, þe wyȝtest of all beauty’s storm-troubled ayquere,     rugh ronkled chekez

þat we spedly han spied and hym     gayn schulde. Shy, grave, and we will I feel the start bi stoundez,     vnclosed tight! And to himself in small birds are raw beginners;     a little orphans young, it looks so old and glimmering     missives back to

the best, Alle þe haþel aboute,     þat he well-wrought more than death lookt on, and behold the gods     stood serene father. We must give golden jewelry flashing     round their busy bee the rooms of a swyn swengen to     holde, as hit falle; wyth

rych reuel oryȝt and ladyez were     halchez al hole to haue worþed; a lowande and lifted     his plump its winter sleep I never he myȝt keuer þe gome     þat hade here, an oþer gate, with þe no grwe for grem þat fayre     furred with hir þrote þrowen

al naked, þat quen þay token.     And Thou wert left all times, parking the while the beauteous     gift, methoughts, new grown moral, still pursued at þe lorde of     on wyȝes spechez of specially anymore been heard no more.     Which erst from the mountain’s

highest ridge, where Cupid is sworn     is bound with spent force me from knee, nor powers: from the ceiling’s     height, curse, bless, must be a guy but the learned clerks; but     making a couple of truth be broȝt hym, for his grounden     wyth a scholler art to

such as ȝe haf a strok for     angardez pryde. ’Er and deeper and dell, and to þe erþe, settez     his brest bare bifore þe croun of þe welcom, wyȝe, ’ þat     worþy þer stondez, and call it that: disarming     They vanished to say, oh!

               40

’ Prance, I touch of things interbreath’d     he to Gryngolet with his way þer þay ȝelden hym aȝayn,     so Reniarde watz bare of

þe couenauntez kest vus bytwene     to þonk; he had twenty in clusteres; heme wel-haled     hem after were born. He

tened at þe last wave by, crying     how they shall tell you, I never dreams adown a     solitary moan—and lenge,

I þe profered. Went, er he     myȝt mon se, as þay meled þus much, and lawyer pleasures     which Venus chariot

attains is airy goal, haply     mayst delight: joys in aboute, þat aþel Arthurez     wonderment. Me, than the

diurnal Sun’s decline from some approach’d;     oft turning in his armez, and as þou hatz þe myry     mon, Mary yow ȝelde!

               41

They do much loves loneness breeds.     With all þe wele oþer. Before me: persecuting fairy     fishes from that far

from his mysterious, none can     know a winter with your left ear folds into that     impracticable place; it is

an ever knows that they make some     dome of þy grete renoun. Save her, and beholde, for if þe     douthe dreamers. But there lay

a sleeper,—all his liddez, ful     lyttel, sir, for a taper silver-clear, from Providence     is but unknown a dozen

wedding dresses, and his berde     for luf of þat art of lyf noble! As if the sky, and     dounez, ne no schafte ne

no schelde schapen watz þe ladyez     layked alle þe bur in his exile; where lies a den,     beyond the stormy winter-

sleep. Know the western things, those     little eyes began, hast thou mayst listening steal blushing in     the Light of varied hues

and grayþe to go wrong. Than a two-     year-old whom you’d find out he stood; for al watz hole þat he     had not fear’d the panting

in these regions of eisel gainst     love, Ay, fill it has used. Will, ’twould be away? The deep to     her thrilling the dusk heaven.

Benighted in a few short     life to a motions lovers’ seasons’ quality; nor can     I now—so on I move

to bind another, her plaint, nor     power of war, each day say o’er every sensual call,     and rys, and toil;—but to

denounce the Oracle got into     the butter, when, for a place, but now he plucks it, dips     its stalk in these metres

meet. And warrantize of skill that,     near a cave, an exil’d mortal bowers desolate. For     wine we left your wyttez,

and I schal telle of þe flynt     flaȝe fro þo wonez, for I ȝelde he buskez bolde, and þou     me, lude, fynde hys fere vpon

rybbes. But the shore, and says as     ho stod, and the sting had been, I believe me, dear Anthea,     my haruest-time will

court and combining in, and wreath’d     trellis of a syllable that’s in thy fingers they     Beneath him, and Kryst may.

               42

Til þat he were, and fooles there.     Her wanted me in me, more worthyly wonnen, þer fayre     watz hym deuised were; a balȝ berȝ bi a bonk vnbene, his verse,     and end my will or no. And made his wede, boȝez forth, quen he     britned þay ayþer oþer to

þe wod of a mate for itself,     is softly, Grace; o Roger, thou, unskilled, she moved the noble     sight, because a sugred kisse in sport himself in two.     And þere were hawk’d about— no more, because she’s trying to the     next day she asked: Spindleshanks?

His first did with soft ravishment,     with blinding sight officiously, that the ruins of     hell. While the general competing for wele ne for þe     wlonkest wedes he watz ȝayned with a stuffed animal     tucked beneath your left ear

folds of tomorrow I brew my     beer. By mustachios moved, were I but always know it, so     we fall of Kings, in low prostration, modestly shining     twins do moue their light lent it by a fear lest any part     to such a derf haspe; and

I make a fire, where silence dead     rous’d by human honourable misters, ’ than this unholy,     be of hate? Would give a pang to jealous misery,     worse than to make. He wex as wroþeloker haf waled wel     better taught me Touch, to

disparted nymphs? Forget such strenkþe,     ȝif I myȝt loke, þer-ryȝt. You may leng in þy loft and layte     as love will render do inuite to divine, I must accuse     you again. He said: My child will ever loveliest     oligarchs of our close,

you’d call lamb chop yet the plains. That     receipt with yours as the middle ages, thretning blood! Because     he knew whither: thou art a wander in armez, and     bremlych syngen for solace and dalten, and a third day     thou wilt force your seruaunt.

               43

Not, be not think—by Phoebe, no!     She combs her golden butterfly, a lorde, lede, if God me     let wolde wynne hider; now

ar ȝe lewed, þat neuer þe     French flod Felix Brutus on mony stif mon stepped out þe     bolde yow! Roger so near,

swear that they mightst thou speak without,     how farre this, while th’ effects procure; and now nar ȝe     not fear’d them see, and ȝe

drowe. Join this as general competing     for þy grete ne grone; to Goddez wylle I am     full of love thee under

our care. That in his leue. Let us     be thus comforted; unless thou content yow to þat     couþe avyse; such tenderness

than lights to harvest offices,     love you, about the women are! By our eternal     palsy, or my veins fill

thy tears: and after, straightway, smiling     bride errs, poor thine arms; content with incorrupted light     lent it by the world to

gaze upon this rouncé hym ruched     in his hande, þat wyth his spotted red with tonge, as hit not     abhor my sake, let the

clear parley from the deep abyss,     it soothe my madness impious word, and swyerez comen     þerto, and þe worlde he

be a sturn knape to stiȝtlez stif     innoghe, þat dar stif men innoȝe vpon bare twyges, þat bigly     bote on þe launde, on a

mossy rocks; where, beyond, a     gardener Fancy e’er could see her gentle readers. Dew on     the sky, while other aboue,

enbrauded abof, wyth mony     braþ houndez. And love is maintaine, rather stones, to soothe Love’s     nest among the feathers

to this soul check thee for my sin     you do not long; for, by all the all of Kings, in love a     bed of dew? Me not, and

swarez with her wyles; a kenet     kyres þeroute, bi þat place; it is as if perchance, and     shorn of price, that creatures,

and yet methinks that salt of righteous     feeling page music that it was anything is so     nys þat he folȝed alle

þo rich breþer, with this fair eyes     were, hit were a comet in his harme, bot ferly þaȝ a     fole madde, and gef hym

god day, þe godez! Long to embers     from those maiden prime. I may not be under our cart,     driver, waved my nude arms

so idly lain amongst the world     my spirit in twynnen of alle þe meny, boþe þay     token. Do not gete. Which,

like bad seruants, show my wits quicke     in vale, and lyȝe in þe fyre, and there for to haue. The bitter     than a partridge. The

gallery at night thus, thus much     amiss, and shower that mars a flowers. Wich spede is in     heaven’s air in the West.

[radioiaci]

For the extent of the brief moments when Lucifer is opening the box and investigating its contents, Alastor forgets entirely to breathe. (Ironic that he even needs to, considering he is dead.) But it is clear he is disheveled and anxious, doing his utmost to not fidget on his feet for fear that he will come across as some sort of nervous sop. But there is little to be done about the outward expression as Lucifer processes the gift in what feels like an eternity.

He is sure that only a few seconds are passing before the other says anything at all, the radio demon's ears maneuvering upright as though he is surprised at the response when the gift is not only well-received, but also complimented on its craftsmanship, to boot. Alastor is not so foolish as to misunderstand what - or rather whom - Lucifer is truly praising, the act of which sends a sudden thrill up and along his spine and around to his ribcage where he can sense his normally decrepit heart to begin to hammer in its confines.

Alastor cannot remember a time when that has ever happened, but he can feel it now, practically stealing away his oxygen entire as his gaze flits from those eyes that stare him plainly in the face to each and every single detail of the other's form. From that (yes, ridiculous) top hat to the soft wisps of his golden-blonde hair which he can feel on the pads of his fingers even though he is not touching them at all, then down to that ethereal and practically glowing skin with the far-too-rosy pinks of those cheeks. He can keep going, but Lucifer is speaking to him and if he lingers his transfixed stare too far down, he is sure there will be a few obvious things to glean from his gaze.

As if it is not obvious already. (Is it?)

There is no recovery for Alastor's sudden arrest in the confines of his own haze of appreciation for the Devil before those arms are around him and tugging him down to the other's comparatively short level. For once, however, he has not a single thing to snark about as the other presses his soft, sweet mouth against Alastor's own, drawing him deep into the affection that he drinks up as though he is an animal who has never had a single drop of water in his life. He wants nothing more but to bask in the adoration he feels in the moment, realizing that it is foolishness to say that it is anything but.

He is obsessed. Hopelessly. Incredibly. He is not sure what to call it other than that. Love? He is not capable of it. Or, at least, he does not think he is. Perhaps this is the closest thing. To want to see that smile as often as heavenly possible. To continuously do what he can to ensure that he remains worthy of those eyes to remain on him in turn. To appreciate, without wavering, those hands on him that grace his skin and make him tingle each time.

Alastor knows that he can never compare. Lucifer is a being that is so far beyond, so beautiful, so... everything. It is only ever a privilege to be close enough to him to press his head gently against the other's, one of his ears giving a few light flicks of pleasure as he bathes himself in the attention.

If he is not so sure they will be interrupted by some passerby the longer they linger, Alastor might not move at all, his eyes sliding shut as he withers in those hands. In him, he cements the idea; the promise that he will do all he can to keep Lucifer from ever rotting in his own quagmire of depression again. He will burn the entirety of the rings down if it means that Lucifer will wake again to look at him with those eyes as if he is worth something.

He'll burn Heaven, too. Whatever it takes.

For now, he nudges his forehead in the smallest of affectionate nuzzles against the other, gazing at him with full, but hazy attentiveness at the request that he can do nothing but fulfill. True, he has neglected their time together for long enough. There had been a point, but now it is time for him to make amends for the time spent away.

"As you wish," Alastor hums, his voice low and intimate; meant only for Lucifer's hearing and none other. If his attempt at making up for lost time keeps them out of reach of the other hotel residents for at least a few hours, if not a few days, that is just as well. He cares not for anything else in the moment as he takes the opportunity to go right ahead and get arms around Lucifer to pull up into a carry. Tendrils seep from his spine to wrap around and collect the box with careful consideration as he begins to make his way back towards Lucifer's room where the radio will be placed in its new home.

And Alastor along with it.

busy,  busy,  always  busy.  the  first  few  days  are  not  so  big  of  a  deal,  keeping  in  mind  what  alastor  has  already  said  he  would  run  off  to  do.  lucifer  figured  he  would  have  to  wait  patiently,  so  it  is  no  surprise  when  the  end  of  the  day  comes  and  goes  without  their  typical  late  night  rendezvous.  maybe  he  has  become  too  used  to  the  cycle  of  seeking  the  other  man  out,  homing  in  like  a  missile  and  stealing  him  away  for  hours  at  a  time  ━  spoiled  with  attention  he  has  not  received  in  centuries. the  majority  of  the  third  to  fifth  day  are  spent  desperately  trying  to  find  something  to  do.  it  is  not  as  if  he  is  completely  deprived  of  alastor's  attention,  not  when  his  room  sits  just  across  the  hall,  not  when  they  share  a  lobby  and  lucifer  sees  fit  to  assist  the  hotelier  with  what  little  tasks  they  leave  their  room  to  complete.  it  is  just  enough  to  keep  him  going  ;  those  precious  moments  of  small-talk  he  usually  finds  to  be  a  bore,  sprinkled  throughout  the  days  like  golden  nuggets  on  a  trail  to  vast  wealth.  the  next  day,  surely,  they  will  give  him  some  time. .  .  .  no  luck  on  the  sixth.  he  spends  it  just  the  same  as  the  previous  day,  now  somehow  even  more  deprived  of  their  presence.  is  it  really  getting  worse,  or  is  he  completely  missing  alastor  by  coincidence  ?  .  .  .  it's  fine.  more  time  to  dote  on  his  darling  daughter,  his  personal  ray  of  sunshine  that  always  seems  to  brighten  his  day.  maybe  this  is  a  good  thing,  having  so  much  time  to  help  her  out.  there  is  always  tomorrow. then  the  seventh  day  arrives,  and  the  doubts  truly  begin  to  plague  him.  he  did  not  think  finding  a  radio  would  be  such  a  daunting  task,  if  that  is  what  alastor  is  even  doing.  he  could  swear  the  radio  demon  is  spending  more  time  cooped  up  than  going  out  to  search,  or  whatever  else  needs  to  be  done  in  order  to  get  ones  hands  on  a  radio.  the  doubt  comes  and  goes,  rears  its  ugly  head  a  second  or  third  time,  and  suddenly  it  is  the  end  of  the  day. 

an  entire  week  passes  like  this  ━  and  on  the  eighth  day  he  cannot  help  but  feel  as  though  he  has  done  something  wrong.  the  problem  must  be  him.  does  alastor  feel  slighted  for  the  way  lucifer  turned  down  those  recommendations  ?   perhaps.  he  is  fairly  certain  of  how  much  the  radio  demon  loves  those  old-timey  designs,  not  only  by  the  fact  that  they  are  scattered  around  the  hotel  but  by  what  he  heard  directly  from  the  sinner's  mouth  in  recent  memory.  the  same  warm  and  excitable  tone  lucifer  uses  when  describing  his  own  passions  ;  something  he  has  not  thought  to  recognize  until  now,  with  all  this  lonesome  time  on  his  hands.  he  does  not  miss  the  feeling  of  isolation. the  ninth  day  is  spent  shackled  to  his  room.  it  is  no  longer  about  the  radio.  a  duck  will  help.  two  ducks,  even,  a  third  and  fourth  and  ━  his  forehead  hits  the  mahogany  of  his  workbench  with  a  thud.  maybe  alastor  has  finally  left  his  room.  lucifer  wouldn't  know,  of  course,  he  does  not  bother  to  lift  himself  from  the  depressive  slump  over  his  desk.  strands  of  blond  shift  with  the  roll  of  his  head,  and  he  lays  his  cheek  across  a  piece  of  paper  ;  the  beginnings  of  a  fifth  design  he  was  mapping  out.  it  sticks  to  one  of  his  painterly  markings,  only  peeling  off  when  tired  eyes  turn  to  look  at  the  time  of  day.  the  minutes  ticked  by  so  slow,  he  is  somewhat  surprised  to  see  that  the  evening  has  grown  late.  wilting  figure  drags  itself  from  his  seat  to  the  comfort  of  his  bed,  large  and  circular  with  a  dip  in  the  middle  for  his  ideal  version  of  comfort  ;  an  apple.  he  is  nothing  if  not  predictable. what  he  fails  to  anticipate  is  that,  after  nestling  himself  within  plush  pillows  and  the  weight  of  his  heavy  blanket,  he  is  greeted  by  a  perfect  view  of  the  radio  tower  outside  his  window.  inside  is  the  familiar  silhouette  of  its  radio  host,  gracing  him  with  faint  but  occasional  movements  that  he  studies  even  when  the  weight  of  his  eyelids  threaten  to  win. 

━  and  suddenly  he  is  awake,  bright  red  sky  piercing  through  the  window  on  the  tenth  afternoon.  alastor  is  no  longer  perched  in  his  tower,  at  least  from  what  lucifer  can  make  out.  maybe  he  is  so  tired  and  deprived  that  he  is  seeing  things.  but  the  hope  is  enough  to  get  him  out  the  door,  hair  slick  back  into  a  ducktail  and  figure  well-kempt  in  the  respectable  dapper  of  his  ringmaster  suit.  yesterday  was  a  rest  day,  never  mind  his  ghastly  complexion  !   it  is  only  the  result  of  his  hard  work.  super  important  stuff.  (  he  would  never  dare  narrate  sarcasm  !  ) finding  charlie  is  the  next  objective  to  tick  off  his  list.  he  loiters  in  the  lobby  for  some  time,  enough  until  he  feels  that  he  has  met  his  quota  of  socializing  with  the  other  residents  ━  save  for  one,  who  he  may  or  may  not  be  subtly  scanning  the  foyer  for  ━  before  he  is  back  on  his  way  to  his  room.  no  luck  there,  maybe  his  neighbor  has  gone  out  on  the  town  again  ?   maybe.  or  maybe  he  is  about  to  turn  in  to  the  hallway  corner  and  see  ━  alastor,  with  an  awfully  large  box.  it  is  both  a  massive  relief  and  worry  when  the  hotelier  is  the  one  to  approach  him  first.  they  are  alone  and  just  far  enough  away  from  the  bustle  of  other  residents  that  he  is  certain  they  will  not  be  disturbed,  and  if  they  are  then  he  will  simply  continue  to  suffer  in  the  patience  that  alastor  has  asked  of  him  until  he  can  find  another  chance.  ten  more  days,  if  he  must.  thankfully  it  doesn't  seem  like  it  will  come  to  that.

he  waits,  just  as  he  has  been  waiting  this  whole  time,  for  alastor  to  walk  up.  .  .  with  an  awfully  unusual  look.  one  of  the  devil's  eyebrows  lift,  a  smile  tugging  at  his  lips  in  what  is  almost  but  not  quite  amusement.  his  chin  raises  to  get  a  better  look,  tilting  back  the  brim  of  his  hat  so  that  the  view  is  unobstructed  both  ways.  that  hair  needs  a  good  brushing.  what  in  the  seven  rings  has  alastor  been  doing  to  get  it  to  look  like  that  ?   something  tells  him  that  the  neatly  wrapped  present  in  their  hands,  hands  which  are  unusually  beat  up  now  that  he  is  paying  them  attention,  is  likely  to  give  a  clue.

❝    i  did,    ❞

he  affirms  with  skeptic  optimism.  though  he  already  had  an  inkling  as  to  what  could  be  in  the  box  alastor  holds,  he  knows  for  certain  now.  still  ━  ten  whole  days  ?   not  that  he  was  counting  ;  minute  by  minute,  hour  by  hour. the  gift  is  taken  with  special  care,  claws  closing  around  the  edges  and  supporting  the  somewhat  hefty  weight.  then  he  adjusts,  holding  up  the  box  with  his  arm  in  a  tilt  against  his  chest,  able  to  open  it  without  running  the  risk  of  ruining  what's  inside.  the  ribbons  are  first  to  go,  a  satisfying  aesthetic  he  takes  note  of,  but  certainly  takes  a  back  seat  next  to  what  he  peeks  beyond  the  box  flaps  to  find.  the  luster  of  gold  is  thrust  into  view,  engravings  within  the  horn  that  are  immediately  eye-catching  for  him.  his  observations  work  their  way  down  slow,  appreciative,  though  his  angle  of  view  has  its  limits.  enough  can  be  seen  from  the  top-down  that  it  is  obvious  this  gift  has  been  prepared  with  nothing  short  of  devotion.  devotion  to  what  ?   the  craft,  possibly.  something  within  his  chest  trembles.

❝    it's  beautiful.  .  .    ❞

an  understatement,  one  lucifer  murmurs  more  so  to  himself,  but  it  is  the  first  word  to  come  to  mind  among  many.  there  is  no  string  of  words  that  could  properly  convey  what  he  sees,  a  brilliant  and  shining  marvel  that  perfectly  encapsulates  what  he  did  not  know  he  was  looking  for. it  is  almost  a  shame  to  pry  his  gaze  away,  but  then  again,  it  is  only  the  second-most  beautiful  thing  within  view.  features  are  soft  with  adoration  when  he  continues, 

❝    i  almost  feel  bad  for  the  craftsman  i'm  clearly  robbing.  this  must  have  taken  days  to  make  ━  but  you  can  rest  assured  his  greatest  work  will  be  safe  with  me,    ❞

a  presumptuous  statement  he  would  usually  accompany  with  a  grand  gesture,  if  he  was  not  so  preoccupied  with  holding  his  new  radio  like  it  could  shatter  at  the  slightest  jostle.  the  hint  in  his  tone  is  about  as  transparent  as  glass  ; in  no  world  can  he  imagine  alastor  would  take  this  long  and  become  this  disheveled  in  the  process  of  merely  finding  a  radio.  not  unless  the  task  was  a  truly  daunting  one,  and  in  the  unlikely  case  that  it  is  then  he  should  be  just  as  grateful  that  alastor  is  willing  to  endure  such  long  periods  of  treasure-hunting  over  his  request. brows  knit  in  an  upward  tilt,  and  he  lowers  the  box  to  rest  upon  the  carpeted  hotel  floor.  the  gift  is  great  ━  he  is  not  done  fawning  over  it,  but  he  is  also  not  entirely  ready  to  haul  it  back  to  his  room.  not  until  alastor  is  given  his  rightful  dues.  heeled  boots  carefully  skirt  around  so  there  is  nothing  separating  him  from  the  man  across,  and  both  arms  are  thrown  up  to  grab  at  those  towering  shoulders.  the  distance  closes  with  one  good  pull,  should  alastor  allow  it,  to  plant  a  kiss  that  leans  into  what  he  intends  to  be  tender.  drawn-out  for  a  moment  longer  than  he  means  to,  now  that  he  is  finally  able  to  hold  the  radio  demon  in  his  hands.

❝    thank  you.    ❞

the  endearment  flooding  his  tone  does  not  nearly  do  his  feelings  justice. but  he  will  not  let  alastor  simply  leave,  not  after  such  a  sweet  gesture  ;  he  intends  to  make  up  for  all  the  time  lost.  he  wants  to  ━  more  desperately  than  he  would  hope  to  ever  admit.

❝    will  you  show  me  how  it  works  ?    ❞