#mourning who i was before two years ago. and all the things i lost throughout the relationship | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

libidomechanica · 2 years

Text

Untitled (“No, no, no, my Deare, let bee”)

A ballad sequence

Stanza I

Because you canst move as it seemed to me, bending. Or touch on the vain and young Cupid bathing but a man’s eyes is

deep, thy lays esteem’d, whereto thou wert wont to my sports and against my mother, but not be out the world of the

snow-pale princely giver, who is dry cork, and breast such them up through and view until the rind of the recline, when she

laughter from memorial elms, and fear and beauties, they sleep speake? In steadfast peace in thys humble shade. Concord mought

good, how would sleepe; take my old and butter. No, no, no, my Deare, let bee. Until I cried, I would lie down with naked

for you swear somewhat looks were, pitiable form that of someone shipping of the million years ago.—Not to knows.

’ Then dead I’ll behold spies their Maybush beares spread, the Girl, in right: what pour from the Rose—and Ausemán—the Heaven.

Stanza II

’ Seeing power, for Bacchus fruite is freckled arms embraced, shall summer’s honeyed years since, my deeds to beauty alone

on the air is full; by times, like them at their wont deuise, to gaze upon me ever feel the rest forest of time. We

delude the marks of those the ruins; till it cease; whether join. Jumbled fruit to hit. Into my darling behind in

thine shall o’er ear in many wylde beast guards my heart is like the bush, that I had a life is constant ferns, and the must.

Stanza III

Not by other vice content you? What came and place, cease they were distance of love; they look, or English poets frequent

tears have seen before full of social wrong entent. And Lilia, rising quiet gloom the effort to grow old world

drops dead; thy father, and takes their fondness web toil’d for lordly loue and blush, with downcast eyes or crouching a voice, and

livery, so gaze on my carrion came then the tongue be dried before me, that not else transgression lurks in your

bring base: now the clock-work steam: a petty grieved, the onset come; for he nould answer This fine Waist. Tuneful straight like shreds

of jet I sent a message to see, o pity, and my aching morne for the chanted joy and more: the best forest

for deans; the breath her feel good amid them still for the bar, a blunt invent, which thine. How deep vermilion in old one

that over-anxious parent lay carved stores defy: such warmth again? Had be kend, bearing at me: for painted when the

hill. Grave me despaire hath all the two of us with knight, O Heav’n had not prevent’st his swooning eye, and in hand. Or,

calling still with sudden-thrill’d him into his for sometime then they bene fayne, lest hope, blushing now, trees never wanton

sonne, and if they hastens on things a love me from me throughout the yellow kind of the threadbare elbows, smiling

because I had a morning o’er thy celestial song; and make her mournful song the laughing skilfully, mysterious

case, pitie the beach in hottest haps they fall flat, with prudes for joy, and epistemology, that hasten to

ease my eyes in dangerous constant ferns, and Satan’s manly gods shoot. When not be embraced, shall in the most malicious

Name Absál—her Jewel,—her Years not with spongy eyes flashed and fain know love’s rites are coy and she forgotten all pleasant

glorious love, the black lines be bevel; by all are lost sweet I roamed from which did see. My young ambitious souls

in circle, than vile that I recount. A cannot be free, for the faint respite of Vivian- place, think the land, threat

of fire. Happy day, the little which place, cease their laws, command meekly from the top With Time and not the hills?

Stanza IV

Up through their time, and the light the rain,has such small. A kingdom topples over my word! But when you do any things I do, because youth! There his Satire to me intersection.

The firths of what I write, but Time and driving loneliness in a circle and give it in two. There are giving, gilded leaue to be protectives of my footsteps

in this dame from the iewell. On the dying of the know love’s language stars were strangled tears, bitter gall, to be subserving skies above them still cries. Which he brought and fears. Under

the bay like curious eye but don’t yet compos’d of thy perusal stand again throb with content to forbearen, but not reasonable hurt her. Your glass showed they about

on the muscles go waltzing out; sometimes according the smell of social wrong enough, like that came to the pain of my yeeres; that yearn upward, what I follow; let this is

my face. I though Epictetus with him, and, complain of her the face the feudal knight’s blue and red, and silver Line dividing touching height, and hoary. Where moved as insomnia.

And gan his talke to bed: goldilocks to fetch his Robe—with favouring for mine, the vines clinck, preuelie her way while heart, you’ll breast such rest. Her very flowed both the stories out

grass. He stript as bare shall be, as pale mould the breast, light was opened heart of love be seen his bower to mee: no, no, my Deare, let us proved us one. Despite my trouble

eyed. Do not go gentle into my selfe out otherwhere pure spake—The worlds below him, and, complain and the mocking Past will—the rest. You would lie outside. Vivian-place, and

more than a winter’s tale to do, till to thee: no, no, no, my Deare, let me ride thy Heav’nly place? There the Muses’ blood firm apple-tree whose wound in vain. Saw and cry: hope’s perish,

if ever, mortar, blossom. We sat but shade, and silver horns of our backache afternoon the hunger so poore Sheepe, and dark groves; our pillows, or some women in the rest frailties

whereon then sinewy thighs, breasts hanging cymbal. All, all in joy both our should have said; oh Fount of her, Laura lies here be sin in that at thy bloodless song, darken slowly

dust: and Walter nodded at home!&My people shun me be warm lake doubt then—i never thousand been. I may rest, as in a swoon. Bearing liberal and peacocks with oxytocin

or horses’ heels, and beauty shall be, as I am witless. Of my body& said we will see who dazzle us, but I love but the midsummer’s pride, till he knew

not. I trace, or, at the choir of this lubrique and red marmalade outside you ask what you may; take me that frown aside, as conscious God! Fill my pleasure scawled still cries;

I cannot managed so long warke vpon the fled me throughout the fresh with a great whale’s A blow, they heart in suffers heaped with all the name. —Fairest maid on Devon, winding sing.

Stanza V

My loves, Graces, and on ev’ry side. Dear Cloe, think I made you up inside me for thou wilt thou come night I could not

be so high birth strung each me how to morrow, to the thread tho mayst takes a goose: her settle on the air in many

times, like them and not contains, and the sea. We doubts honour is it then, we no merrier bene, ylike an old

to forst to strangled tear, and his transgressions I come with bold erected looke a loft, and there watched her body sways.

Stanza VI

But Walter she willow to the nature for the air, and scorch with the old to heare and for none vs can spie; take

me to quite, dulling before that wanted that the marks of battering heaven be seen in euery where moved in clouds,

without defect feel safe then—i never tell the wink’d at the newell, Your wonder do you forget you wilt; if ever,

never miss. Till I visit with this fairly do enclose be thy not a child is the task. So thou art in our

breast wears masken in your moths shall know. I have danced like a harder then i hate i look of Fate; and with skill from the

fence, running from thoughts of thy disease, did bring. Title of sleep little cross’d there; if any summer night, her grieved brest

of lawlesse that may happen to shines so in play, be a satire to mountain of shall bowre with gilded bench, that

good, but first great expect, to rehearse, I moved, she said my colour of ice. Her heart most wretch! To-morrowe, ne lenger

and from his ivied nook glow like them and Sopps in the room, fourteen his youth with her doubt then— i never after then

they thy bold and seven more for the plains and chaunst to East, In the lilies grow; a heav’n from the embosom’d sloe my

dear white-plastic-gloved more: the preserve the lawn, shall adores, and the first, wilt thou born on earth lies bare as pillow brought

you may; take me to the light yet know th’ Arabian dew besmears my uncontrolled before full of different

men atheists, and some nigger never want to me, rich begat distil through rain of the rare enter: there his vision,

and singing in herself, the last embraced it. Of a streams did quake his Delphic lyre; her kissed me, for grammers for

his hauty hornes did latch, ne stayed he were, pitie my delights, and barren rocks as at register sway, for she-

society. A sudden head vpheld, and she and close, and he has made you are. That for every one, and inlet—warm, let

bee. Hand on my friendly stage, and strangled tears from dim rich as bid my corage to asswage: and make the red man’s eye!

Stanza VII

Haste, little Lilias—played it light awakes us in the false adult’rate age nay, added face, an undisting

and Paris changing sward was brooms, we sat but scorned be of crafty loue deemed dearest charmed: we climbe so near when

rattling behind the Muse on stature stayes, yet lingering men; drinks to feedes bene dedes of thy own sweet smooth muskets

and fear not to get more ord’nary eyes and shoot. While half of passion, joy and the three year to learned and left

by inheritage doe impaire: the altar’s ready: fire in the growth her arm lifted, every words could be so high

to show, that blessed there, that mighty potentates, louers ruine some dozen times more—swells to stout, nor things thoughts to cease to yours

nor mine rebuked me quite, dulling Despaire hath bene not true. The golden pomp is come, for she-society. Watching

so mock-heroic—true-sublime? Pen both our feet and dance that lately bore into the Nine, one words, and ever

so. In while one by concord mought she took this blinds you this— to tell you turn to ill: shoulder even in mid-air the

last assizes keep for the air in my soul, and return: still full heart is the Beauty too; but things. Scrubbed, by delay,

a plenteous proving pasture many maiden Aunt took there I sometimes since thee of their slave not so? And arm, a leg.

Stanza VIII

When with your shadow, while ech thine own dear dead I’ll be true woman. For each night and rocked dropt upon my Lucy’s race.

Stanza IX

‘Tis she will be mine, a patron. Or what will enter, healthfull caustiks, blame my body borne their silent sympathy.

For the should blood-shed for a look, or his silly flowed star, thought seemed about. And one small orange round our sport of Europe—

can chat, and, being human, so that is that feels soft touch, thou gild’st thou hast already how a body grieved my

hands, that somehow contagious. All were welcome, my nude arms empale freend he makes breath their leaves on the praise. Who laid

about us, but bind him in vain—and helmes vnbruzed wexen dayly brow,—stronger store his vengeful dream. Had blended

bows do stand a Grecian house, greek, she mountain of shepeheards in their state shall claimed. He winges of the cold, and the

think of nought but not again and a motions of others’ seeing: for heroine’ clamour bodies meet in Lethe to

be subservient to do, till thy my Kiddie than Time have done each test and small. Walter where not love beheld, and

groned, Alack, Alack. Dust of sheepe bene dedes of the red man dance fell? Such primrose tufts, in vertue them and the

most, on which at and me to Heauen apace. Taught like to the snow where there; while than looks from Plutoes balefull stounding

blush, with downcast eyes like shreds of grace. For each test and Stand; she take time they in thy quietly, disrobed the room

is eel-black. The budding blood with pleasure, fie! Bene so confusion of thy birthday cake and frost, in default lie?

Stanza X

And you, as I was boundlesse armour rusts, and the mind. Of which her grieve. At wine, whom that dark squares feet high, lance-like up

the flies were a man sleep from the sight a. From the exactly four content the last and trace, or, at this obedience,

near the freckled by great August nights, a fainted on women in their wont the thine! The Sage—oh Thou that you gave

me last, when that word—’Oh. ’ That put’st for weeping clouds, with fascination far with half-science, ’ I replied, ourselves be

better, dear Chloris request. Mine; for why striue you cloyest me do reed of this for dreadful night to me. Nor thing to those.

How blackened as in the men of murmuring the dark, if a might content with vair and smote himself, a shout: the grownd

with myriads more foolish care, let me periwinkle trailed its blossoms, and ah! And another their heads I saw the

fireflies bout the skeletons. In height away, then small reprieve’s too with honey breathed and wrinkle gravy as

well as Lais how to move away,— nor that light that sweetest straine. Rest maid on Devon banks, crystal Devon banks, crystal

Devon, wilt thou will; heroic, for summer’s stores defy: such miracle of names upon that I lay broad-should be.

Stanza XI

To catch you drest it is, below. But who reward for each outward partly fear, but mine to honour peculiar mouths should I recount. Sat a Lover’s head had a mother innocence and Art: I couldst thou straight and waves do cry. Made my

high in a root to thee, and danced in everyone here! Lace, through the living from the effigies that for their words could raged deep you mighty Wisdom can untie the corner; yet I do so—as we sat but sad mortar already know,

to live here but want betrays, her clown is fully even tonight, because of strong in my bed crown with a heart. My heart’s and maybe that blessed with a concord hand; she traffic prowling the lady. For tongues of the errant note to beares

on his Heart to doubt not rouse my head. Then hate you away,— nor thilke God, what I writ, your glasse he took no part in our dusk eyes. Adore into the same reason, yode for his remorseless. May so farre am I so far out of so

simple swaines of rybaudrye. How can’st their will, from him and past: and morn that is misunderstands shake us what I have might, and blooms are aiming your face an angel beauty foreman, or so many a fine sad memories are

gathering glimpses of thy own dear Cloe, the smiled on now. Sicker I am waiting till the Kidd pittying my life’s early love you the Proctor’s dogs; and the thine image thro’ the West; that browne. I to thy wand’ring round therefore, and somewhere

you talk you over, is it underground, and they look easily nor are blue eyes in the deeper to rehearse, I moved a thing thee, let bee. There is took, and loveliest limbs into seamless air. Yet for the latch I hear her. Somewhere

I said, he dream, I lay broad waking no place, no friend. I see things they, what concourse of them. The chaunst touches. Tho opened as so, much needeth alleys, wear not alter this large a flitting nature’s sharpe show. Of mosquitoes ascending.

Stanza XII

Never comes quickness, not eased by. How doubt it a lily with Anguishment? When I was done— how hastily I dropped

and person exact oppose. The color of the rushing resolvèd; if to looked no little Lilias—played it high,

that it would carrot. These, and inlets of men at Vivian- place, nor for little Lilia, rising limbs into

the ditty, my life throughout the just pleasant guise, to put in black in memory has power on earth, doth fall full

lips shall slide. Yet is enough of both him in vayne. Tho out of bitter gall, to drink a draught the garden lawn: and weep.

Stanza XIII

Pure as a cane that so as to a mother’s ready: fire in vain. Her states: tho creeping oars: it’s eleven years; yet

still with a glow that I speak, my fate. Now posting sound, like of its multitude, a thorn! To the thing, twelve-finger. May

breed a blood warm with holiday. It was they have of one for thou art out of a day or so many a fine knack.

Stanza XIV

Spreading flood is no signs the fondnesse inly I pitie the downe hys packe a glassy darkness holds the dusky door.&Then

only frights well? In them glide, like Jocasta in a warm with a hundred from West to heavens. I realized he

receives reproach’d the radio play: for why, Pudica been wooed and strict and mirrors shower, how afternoon the

closed our shadows on my friend must walke another. Meanwhile one said his Narcissus Eyes—the Muse, and awful crown, that

of shepeherdes shall adore into my haruest-time will bedight, that joy was near: O punisht eyes, that well-

conducted perspectives were some then shall keep me all evening the mirrors shower, the sea, till it seemed shee knew you have?

Half-lost infernall night; sleep, thy pen both the self I swear somewhere he sportive as rich mine, the bond there watch our voice

of violence with your fingers tying hour, till with vices to store his heard, touches. Idler this obedience.

If charming nest uses, light to cheek or tongues of a day, which way is not a dawn at them though false Foxe, maister that

when shall those clothed with knobs and arrow- straight, I know how your ayd to fill or mend the mery motion climb, and my aching

past erased island of children call, all power of fear not to change you to make her stombling leaves among, the

clattery! This play, or two in my verse a vacant her hair—her Cheek,—upon the pauses of years the dark breast where

you all the comic for thou did not cold dull murder-spot. Ere I said the tremendous light word she also the Heavens,

and doleful air; I sang an old worldes child, and those Eyes on her, and our lovelier than a flowe as fast foreseen

the beach idle weed; but go, and takes the swell that the starke lame. But will call. Despite thereupon imagine it.

Stanza XV

Of their dancing in sleeps—the Musky Locks divided from the mortal eyes, and unruly, the bay stretching to raiser

of huge Colossus’ legs, and in baby clothes of lusty days, that is that make the morning throbbe from neighbouring

the dumb; for, without painture nearest, well hear my sad and beauty of his blood: so cold, and that wanted the Wods with

a fair head of roses nobody, not even now, With such folly once into the window and something doth the

false Foxe by toil, theyr sheep, a raise deserve the evening sad thou to pray, since it was the figure at all the enquiring

eye, and kept thy selfe them when all her others, saintliness in and of pine, and send up holy Hymen to shoot

into the blest shall as a windy morn; now she were a part: so, either be back at all these did weary’d with chemic

skill from the fire; full of the rocks, trees, without all those the living all their closed them, like a bed of roses glow!

Each soule of the Crown; a Star under her face that love, you open wyde. But since to clouds do blow! To call one nose she

mounted been wooed and others false Fortune’s mine, and act is one: we only sin when Love’s lands to followed: and having

to the way that all. Love is come, I might, that swift foot which he came back and plundered, by window and sense of his was

the tremendous light he! When the whole, and the rest. I am not about that he were were guilt, and, I call one nose.

Stanza XVI

Love’s language wholly misinterpreting; sun and strait-besieged by this best thou art wrecked at Christmas. Their charged deep scar

of those statue prophecy, and lenger and he embrace. Jetted store hie, feare of the even. A fayre flocks to loose

or my sake but who would you gave the mery moneth of air—Rome’s ghosts are so cold bier. Perchance upon thine thou

sing, and see the greene? Give salute the found such ends, and ten times, whom Loue doth the offred bows do still aspirin. Of which

the ambulance whose wound in cloud, so I won my breast such immortal eyes, do crowned will be done each beloved more:

the brands with foreign stone glittered, with crabbed care donne: for poets from Heaven look—I leave told the pauses of thy own?

Stanza XVII

By thee—ponder our changed; with want at thoughts, in right, and I have my wings of Love, and to whose harts bene vertues only

bend in human justify th’ offence from her straight with cold element. You then, my Celia, we’ll gentle

Night like to write for change their power of the turtle build its nest upon that: and yet not Twenty—from the effort

to do as did combing out her eyes could build together join. When the golden pomp is come, my joy and the Muse hath

my friendship bene hidde, will bear, I am resolu’d the most, on some fabulous, torches the wind, never heart

did hem keepe, an undistinguish, and morn of suffers heaped with Anguishment? Ah fon, for a look, or hands in space; thou

would reach and her fast. All sum my college, visit with a melodie. On Altar of dependences was done away,

when rat avert her long and fro, riddled within pride, that light, a noble vigour, on the nest, some reverie, perplexed,

untold, for painture nearest, as we saw Sir Walter said: the slippery rocks, and down in each others? And to stick

me with those, what I were distant ferns, and fractured as they fall; but we tway bene hidden rose gem-like he stony

helm, and if no clust’ring sad thought forth, the motion which th’ amorous sport, and the Slave of old Sir Ralph had not

for heroic—true-sublime of weed there the streames of weed them serued for shame; my eyes give the childbeater blaze

she like Horace and see, these, handling slant in cost, of more to close ivy-twines; there roses and fears the West

to East, a well as heaven’s high- designed, and coffers account of sight at this away art resent shake loose or muttered

scheme of her Bounty, should have I come back Night, you like Horace and not their busy days. And life inspired lays,

her winter like meteors and was not wit nor earth to dight, dreaming or vanishing world of November; even

they hate. Now; and as old Sir Ralph had burn and rumor are bent my fill at you will, from souls of jet I sent a message

find a worlds there; while she left his fancy our close their marble, we’ll cut the Myllers rownde, all saue a Kidde to sleep

from souls of peace; Gray halls could be you the Prince, ’ I answerd his body busy, paying words tas-ke, when gloves me sad?

Stanza XVIII

At first hygienic measure of their Maybush beare, to give your hung. To let them leaue to daunce of kisses blow, that jasper

morning care? Nobody, not even the counts and around the lace, as I was a Fiend, in greene Wood they shall danced

in every vulgar paper to be propt a faith, too—filled heaven, in glade and having to mee, and loose; my spirits.

For the Deuils stedde, then bring the town, her grieved, the floor to no other’s arms are fairer man, I have leisure to tell many

little with a faith, to play. Cluttered low: as Earth still, but let’s not Stonehenge simply nor night. I likewise, and flore

she streets of a youngling borough and that she shrine! By times her various eye I heard a thief, and the enema.

Stanza XIX

—The Heav’n had none, for thou guess the fireworks with what shoulders better planets distinguishable tomb shall be spend, nor

leaves upon her but her mountains, and of God to remove. Of both of Indies would make it death tonight haven for

the summer as real as the sacred poets who grew in sun and when the ruins to kill all this flood is meant knight.

Stanza XX

And her badly dress’d that I write! But still live, and stranger in a hoard of Youth,—the much more, through all the Beauty by succession think what fallen the great caren as little heart in love a caytiue corage to steal me a peach from the

sober sorceress, but we tway bene dead hour sharp pittances of thee all will bear, the firths of western gate, had ever-changing swarm of new life is my head. Love and I will depose on the slippery rocks impregnable through the

old doubt then—i never bleachers. She mignonette of threadbare elbows, smiling Pretty Face? Till not wise a dreamed of laying anone. And for lovely laugh’d and guided, but didn’t know that fooled. Wide chasm of those evil days thankful sighs

himself, the torture many little Idol up; on with a heart, let bee. She sufferaunce: the good for every word shall be true, you shalt though for his heard—the Sea of his Forehead— and close, that she has foremost from each cup’s worthy whole

Atlantic broad ambrosial aisles of flowing with missiles of lusty Tabrere, that laughed an undistinguish you, my Friend, to rob the rurall routes, such as being ask’d a lithe large from each outward view, are loth to fall; but grammer

who sleep. All other or not thou art covetous and unruly, the patron with sweet Memory, and it would carrol lowde, and shout more loves lay dense and heard—the Sea of his pure Sugar from me, and mine own dear Redeemer sayes, to

grasp of those beauteous frame, are loth to shines in their Institution on a crust. The dew did get mars and made your fierce be forth all that often times but now are will all those blest frailties why should cry open? Bring to life and thinkes there,

the pauses of Time. Out her hyde, shee see the raw pulsing morne for grammer shines in fresh and the ruins. And I to the disappears before her kisses blow, to see my jet t’enthral such immortal ears had herself unseen unto

thy beauty’s use, whose palms, new-plucked in two. Thine they speeden head vpheld, and Paris made a new- kindle of a bakery in this Plight berries and after a day like the tower half-legend or body borne buds, and ten times. Warm lake

a Lady Flora, on whom them never heart’s and often thou born kneelings shoot out, and arbitrary blackened his knees; and thee see thoughts progressed was but first ordained Muses’ blood-shed for his charms my mind; angels watch the hard-graine?&When

this world are so crafty, as signes of thy voice in the Kerke, weening His teeth. Even thou art covetous and opening the hollies lay, the loathsome majesty she great distant head undefiled; her whom the Sea of mine and

Lilia, we’ll cut the worth a peach: he turnèd up his eyes on high to sing—of palm or pine? Turn in his worst of the braiding twigs spreading floods which once did men who caught inklings of sandaled foot: that’s your corner. Of this were it be

sports alone I’ll be mine eye is famish’d long your sight if our blisse, long enough of both thy look, or English and sung me moon, yet come; for what would teache of happy hair, and passion boil’d and there, alas, why should give me, do not cold. Tell

me with tears, instead; at least once her dame, thou art out so much more wild carrot. Of angel beauty foremost, on whom the tale had thrilling snow. How fast for us. Huge Ammonites, by rysing music and the world adopted to my

own. I want betraying. Again that bold and profligate the smells of the speech two negatiues affirme! Hast thou lay that bottom did them doe loue and vnwise. Solely that now are will scarce find open they lock me in trees their laws, and trembled

fruitful postures, but mine own deep scar of that euen in breadths of danglings of her Bounty, shoulder even the bones grind, I all rapt in leudnes and a world of November; even tonight doth rest. Twas partly fear, but when shall move

like argument at chicken of the vine; nor is it seemed above, the Girl, in rocks of a young one, and shining eyes, when rat avert her the first bones together. Is gone, but thou dost thou mayst thou return’d all of being race, that having

to compensate brow, on the laws ourselves are most frailer spies, or from you, Mother’s life, and the must rise, and there is not provoked, taketh not in a rook or bishop, but rejoiceth with vain I have I better planets did combing

out her amazed, for ought to see and ever be two and do you say with baile, nor can comes the fruite is famish’d there, that matter: we will stay. Morial elms, and all too zealous for she- When thou shalt calling, ‘Oh.

Stanza XXI

Await the farther half far-shadow which them all, that I am becomes to thee—cheerless main. I am approaching

my lids and having words, and I the sort of gamester, captain, knight. A shade: where to feed the deep, there comes they

maintenaunce, ne of thread, those who still music swims backe, all are blue&when it is, how brave spared snow cover me. Nay, the

bushes will enter and he said— just as to rehearse, I though with self, the sea. Knots in such as words, and sing by, learnings

shoot. Now, to Tibullus, I quaff up to that not the muscles go waltzing out; too comic touch on the down and

the garden in bread and root up the more praise the bars, and hesitations; so the Hand often, like a thunder at

the multiple desire! Till with melting field with my jealous tydes han vs assayde, here wild lean-headed

Eagles yelp alone could be, rather days. Debased to salute the lofty claim to—at sometimes sing by, learning wiles.

Stanza XXII

Is idle, biologically speak of the lilies scuffling o’er his up tails all; and strain of transfused into thee, and hold hers steadfast peace, for his turn! Let the grounded in amorous language worse that soft murmur of a grave I not feared the robin come, when thou wilt have deem’d it would pick through gilt from the eye; whatever cut from hollow me,

the hill. Mocking at the murmuring fennel, where the cooles ere it of my foot could make of the yellowing ordures of a great poetess was deserved for age to share a prise. Blushing of insolencie, lulled the multiple desirest of this. But thou hast leave to go of her hose behight, and also they shall be true, or die, or Vileness!

Stanza XXIII

I would spy it. Born with sanctimonious theory. I stood, before me, that she castling, the spiders the boon of Beauty by successe confine? After the shore, so thy breasts, thou dost go, through our good does not for all. Then—i never

knows: to sullen surges and reason, until she sits to reveal, to fetch her conquerers with Learnings shook there. Oh wretch’s knife. To allot each wore a man, I thoughts in vertue lame. Bids my waking not any close—at last, everywhere

nys to bud like the marke, where my love were stayed about like as many a secret, and you, my frailties where man: there, that was a bashful art, that wanted in this packe a ghosts are aiming you with that brought be ended: now I hate you

are tears the subjected took you down on Danaë in a circle. Even the faire book to see, o pity, and she was boundless reign. I might, old age shall be mine to cost you were thy most serious of more she spoke, and ungrateful, that

green bay, rage, rage again that every worst of fire; full of plays and woe, or while we can, the news over dull is things, believeth all these, ignore than all its Difficulties? Have drains the happy plight, to give the branches in frame, o

how then too vehement lawn, that dwell: vnwisely equals the sets up his remove. A nations, subject that’s why are coy and far beyond the doleful air; and me fight with downcast eyes thanks, if Fancie, drawne by your dear Cloe, how black rocks

impregnable are the musicall: and see the wall, and blushing of the blue sky above thee dispraise my heart or brake off from each night awakes my calm white for the wink’d at the spring, then bring songs, the mount as glasse he did, he dressings

crost; Kill him in my lay, a death, grand, epic, homicidal; and me: he will live, and beard the broke out the phone rings,—your power he died, Rorty said my count of song. Does not to learn its lamenting Poets frequent tear that aimest

wide of forsake. And limits of love! Hope, and waves its sorrow brought in such end had a mother, that my long flat line of others shall not from heavenly face for the shepheards swaine. Love and view, are lost or seemed about going to

bed: goldilocks to thee ioy of the lady is, doth restraines together; celts and I thought she ever stirs in a halt understand againe retorted hairs. Until I cried as this golden dew, twas a maid enjoy’d the farther!

Stanza XXIV

Of this. Like a broken lie, and yet those queens of elk and live? Thou lay thee to me this mouth when she laughter sleeps with knobs and a rosy silken-sandal, amber, in private

arms empale free, for she-society. There is the Wisdom wafted; the circling a human game: imagination and said had a visor of it. And build its nest

upon our did I won my fame, it had to the first ordained the boggy depths of worms and the park, the regard—how happy loves there rose and hearts that other tiny little

Lilia, rising in the grasses in my cheek to changed; with awful notes, while heard you gave the more sugar’d that Moon I think of thy disease? She killed and final room. Deeply,

because I had turned to end the same disgrace, for while though enemies to burdenous, but what your powers our love or not wise me despaire hath his lyre, and it fall long subdued,

and in hand, we sat down like flying those statue of Salámán saw, his fierce tears, I have found nought good nigh rent her love is before another for age to see, and the

swarm of gold the house, a conquerd yeelding rage of regret—no major ten long date. How can we say that Moon I thinking: and wreathe, that is this rome, while she stretch the near and vnwise.

Stanza XXV

Crown our boast: wretched the pleasant glades, when gloves were at me, because thy blood fingers, you open my eyes in a strange

fashion of angels watch they fall full forgive me now. One delight, beauty foremost frame, alas, and it will not fail;

a musical but my eyes over me. The graunt to the wink’d at the dazzling stepp’d aside, and said, I’ll forces razde,

thy father warmth it’d break my heart were to me all those softly and new delight in Ohio call for victorious

frame, are lost lower down: holy and made, and every motion came up from thence climbe so his father’s loves me sad?

Stanza XXVI

Suddenly, as wit in girlonds of grasses every sounding near, which them a raiment mad, and still, her whose action!

Since Heav’n as well he blessed there over sown; to see my jet t’enthral such strange gleams and if I drink to Ovid, and maybe

that him in vain promise made the yews of her Eye. None inheritance of lofty loving— all coupe. Had the learned

be of craft coloured with tears have time before; if so, there is a certain the fire about going to follow’d

by the threadbare elbows, smiling. The couples, that she shoppings of her, and love, it is abed, candle. For in many

lover season, yode for well to see the breathe still entwined, in the whirl’d. How can write to beware, she moved as thine.

Stanza XXVII

To the wind’s body. Not one the branches mix with it through there and the crowd—but yonder heele was well ycond his

Narcissus Eyes—the Muse, my deare for they’re silent air, and I closed myself; fire changed; with the three I learn! Because it’s

ok with the Lark is moving hot and sue a fool is love. When their falshode more for their fan, velvet, or contented:

when you thus? I’ll kiss your sir Iohn, to be forsworne? When I answering in shame, alas, and was but lost which love

for their best behind in this rome, which brought followed beneath her last embrace. My heart of gamesome neighbouring

ravisher sheep, and barren rock each otherwhere pure sport went hand only sometimes endureth all the bodies taste our

joys, struck with favour then again. To have glared a font of youth in trine. Her who love letten there. That so our sakes must

proceed in play, be assur’d, since the might of sheepe runne at me: for sharpest pangs are aiming your eyes, and easefull

the motion on the hangs upon the spring from slope, the tale borrowe at them thought, breaks the pillows, or a white or

shame: for well of the slope to dere a man’s, and drizzling songs, they roar back to thee, mournful head, and sue a fool to fayne.

Tis Love, that raw and as a child halls along a little regard—how soon will not falsifie. All through and Hearts; yea, when

my hated name of yesterday he built me a joke about your slumbers flowers our Princess as required—but shepheards,

through the rain, has such skirts of her chekes pit thou hast but lost sweet passion, joy and then the light: what playen her face

as legible as the Words salámat—Incolumity from Darkness galloping, galloping, gallops in: I

shut my infirmer Will to dote upon the doubt not choose to me. For every sacrificial move—all the worms, my

fate. Come to thee: but shade, in clubs, of zeal and all the rind of louely to see even tonight, that made you must go.

Stanza XXVIII

Instead of our old womanhood! And leade, they letting air and plunge in his newe buddes of all bodies of a kiss—

like them where most fitt ne brest, pass they cut off your dear her curls. And loves that indefatigable Pen in celebrated

field, into the sickly shall lend to herself, yet more love, and yet a young philosopher; perched about it

lay the to break for the bag of day; but go, and the stooped down begins to bed and Lilias— played it on Aunt a

little hands might honour branches in the ghosts are gather die than their rank thou pity and partly lovèd, but honeying

at me; He began, and fuels good does Pity here shall ready had he liuen, at ease my wings inspires there are they

are in Sand is based, were a day, setting brassy, shall keep it all thy thyrse and the crime, nor shame holy Saints doth ryse.

Because I am adjusting once thee and her bones live with a bitter conquer’d woe; give salutation from the

summer’s arms are but the muscles of stones of men are the world is fled, and you, a Lover’s vow, this line their false free

woman. Go farthings, I pray thee, I am weary’d within whose Auspicious God! They boated at herself she knowes

no man that it seemed a things divine! You missed thorough all things progress could oppose. And Paris white pedigree,

my dear Chloris requested a sprig, her speech is transfuse thee please in; no envious sway this burning field, into

our slender nothing of insolencie, lulled about the fresh virgin lies! Of lofty Cypress, and inlet—warm, but one

words had for such, as soote agayne: o what pleasant game, she swore, she heart beat lights where your reason, when Salámán of

Auspicious paradise, of which many a fine begins too late, but not so bright of a young are true woman now?

Stanza XXIX

More graces and faded home thine. Should for shame and play: for the scent, and sometimes better; would not, happy threshold of mind. In this proof that wears mask I would lay, interpret their garments’ cost, but day buildest straine the false Foxe by toil, still

shine bright contagious. But day doth find, I still aspects the after and far, thrill’d with you! Launch draws two lines be before dulled to and fresh Collyrium Dew touch’d his body. And that bosom swelling cart asleep, the bay like a single good

knight, because of her dame, take me that somedele the pock, the carpet tonight, and seven when wilt thou art breathed the times, and drive from the night a. And if I have bid your slighten much: what pretty infant with Richard Rorty, that

paddling snow. Sweetheart, I’m with pale insensate brow, and swore, and heads of a constant head under youth of poetry, she plucked frost the decoys, the birth strung each test and they say, nor for leave me last motion came the Gate her lives in hys

pack, and swete Eglantine, all powers of others’ arms that should breeze from sacred right, with as words, per day. All, all thy revenge, upon imagination unto me. Then I told the region bids my waste in her fly from the turn’d all

the mix’d mass one shipping of water on the way you speak, my frail deeds might he regions of lust of life here, light Muse hath got, and pomegranates and yet if neede be hamburg. My love; to quench and leasure time so ill be done. With

hold me and gaze upon our brains and butter enough, like shreds of a granite boulder even the first so long to be a Jew. And what concourse of the lingering sad thou wilt thou wilt thou and I dived in circle. They looke, he cause he

doth divine, nor Fortune of us with heart after would the floor of thy dayly-vexing caramels and there, when this, you pray, with their best languish pay. Hope, art, of poesy! That not Percie howe the fume of the blushing now, even thousand

final room. I hear which is so enamour’d of gamester, captain, since then you thus? The giant, Honour, I seemed as blessed thorough they cut off your little Lilia There and not all the byrds to the patient force, nor he will

stake out thondring with Time’s spoil of burning hut on ev’ry lines of our slender stature man: then his grave. And may again! And smile the please thee back at all the disappears: nor the Eternity I forgive? They look in their thou dost

distress, but she had hers shall sound where is betwixt the choir shall dance, as I to take a count and my retorne, for ought may happen to shoot, and shadows would beastlyhead. Me with Death is his father the laugh’d and revelled, gladly?

Stanza XXX

For my sake but when we go to a strange fashion of the Kidde to keep from the Romish Tityrus, I have been the rose; the sequel of the tombs where is night; and she also

to ape the range a count the lingering glimpses of absent inroads they were dream; so cold element. And thither be two and welcome, where their sex, and thy errour to makes his

Life! But she’s king: and there is thine aspyring worlds they were seven together. So prayed the light. So I went an Angel came: he winter child, I spake— The world, forget you made.

Stanza XXXI

There art thou art beside, and smile it was mine a little with all claim to—at something to its nub, its puddle of sence strook: for, not go gentle stream shallow still with missiles

of the lapping water fades, our bodies, no tender pride I had turn in his Years not prevent my loves thy vestal, Heav’n, atone for hymns, to say like them at the women—and

peacocks with piteous face above the Kirke pillours foreseen the speeden hear my mother’s kiss of his world. Where you up inside my high triumph where is that lightest grace; and leave,

and on my brow and mirrors show; so cold,—but very frown aside, as consent still full for vs, home May with such vulgar paper too and also who, being rain that

bottomless cup. Your face lies upturned troubled me; and her life, and I will never fair Armida, my joy above! And we are’ who meddle not thilke same: sweete rewards other.

Stanza XXXII

Three times Sun and love. Blistered with piteous region bids my way: they look thou like thee, I am witless as we once

I lose his heart is gladder they’re silent air, or the young spruce, near dead words bene more loved so long. God to read: then

the stories and see your judgment at once admire, would change’s knowne, and as they talked at sunset; O, a shuddering

voyce obtaine sweet Nature have nor frequent in the grew lucent as glasses everything of her Eye. Better in your

souls entwined, have fann’d the splendid stretch her Day’s Delightingaling and showed me. A sheathed and straight routes, survivor wherein

it finds a joy and me: he will drink to Ovid, and modest seats of this! The pillows thee all the childe that so

our sportive bloodless with snow; yet not that not be enuied, all are light with hair is gone, embalmed evening its could have

never be back to the lawn or up the blush it thee; they are in while their marble tombs whereas from vases in her!

Stanza XXXIII

Mind of perfect is one sovereign, and skilfully, mysterious scene, had every words and keepe both our soul of Nature or leaves, and the Grashopper so blinding base: now these,

handling snow. If thou wont the gates were drowned will stay! Vanishing what should be whisper of our branch the hear my mother vice content the laughter than the two, and lenged to

bed and seven more was pleasure? The cube and cherry, the kind of a grasp at all my good! Greeting the times of our active less our fierce be full of this, dear Cloe, this rage inside

me for me, the fat; breath the tower of mortal muse in fear, but all the streamed away. And blossom of wool with which my fate, for she- society. My Lucia in the

armèd Knight, and purple of his child, I felt as an August midafternoon the bed too late, the common men, like these book, o noble verse adorn, that, unknowing which I sang

the hours is but not fitly done to glide, like a mask. Who will no other end. Best languid humours such vulgar miracles heav’n as well hast brought! Your living words fond fooles

talke to wrestless majestic piece, boasting blueness, somewhile there, th’ enamoured he, and make. The soldier firing this is a gavel. Force, some gan forbid?

Stanza XXXIV

In this alone at the corner; yet I fear the bone. My life, she pluck the burst of sun up to refer to. You did.

Stanza XXXV

And perdie does thee dear to take time, and glassy darkness, six feet his removed. Say now—I want surface of kisses blow,

fixed they flashed my ideal, for Bacchus fruit in gawdy greene? Sat a Lover so. The work to thee, and thriftie bitter, thinkes

thee to make it death’s wound is kind; he leap’d amid a murder-spot. Issues from enuied, all else to you. Scratchy

pockets of France. Had blended him in, his scythe ancient cold deadened me to thrown, her whom want supply: so rich as

in the dark, if a mighty potentates, louers ruines of others shall be hastens on things a long distance lies here

was pleasure the skies for peace, for some into Deed mind of ladies’ right; that word he bids from his Face, the great gold; yet

my temples were I go. Your world beside the dore sperred after news. Gods, but bring. With none mislike what’s eleven

years she taken out, a possessed thou and I have all in the fire about. Art she had got a bad case mercy should

find opening His teeth. Such ivory sphere; if any, so gazed, a-doting once and view my love crossed long pauses between,

save the magnanimity of love letten there, that would not liue ylike, thy praised, but look at the stems of a

Mother the splendour lips: and Walter warlike my name—lo, the sea. May resume to me. The just soft-luring star,

thrill’d my guile, that well-proportioned shape, that indefatigable Pen in celebrated first do blow. For, with homely

and laboured landscape and girlonds of hys foe. If her head, pitying him in by shutting red, the heauens did

combine, and, maugre both travelled, gladly? He sicke, alas, and sense of Heaven rails, and petty grieved my hair, and flowers.

Of this mouth with sap, the fainted on war: when all the self I sweare me to me. Among our bliss: fie, pleasure lives there

kept hold. My lids and wondren at breed than seen, they be? If any, be assur’d, since the spaces of love it in it.

Stanza XXXVI

When Love tempest-beaten, Joy lost thou diedst unlov’d. And vows were come, all see with you. That he share; and my Lover known thrice two, and hands in the fire in her end. That not Percie howe

the crowd—but you, dear her face. The dark square were out of a Power to kindled to speeden head had a motherly care, and of Manhattan is wide enough all the shall in

joy both these, handling powers of your slender pipes may serve you are to me, rich wit, forsooth, so that initial-scarred tabletop, that jasper more ways the that to mee: no,

no, no, my Deare, let me, and suppressed in the fruits of telegraph they speediest way. I’m half returned the eye; what made you can. Delight, nor any morrow, Julia, I betimes

from the nuptial bed. And lyftes his due; my deare, the brilliant body down, that paddles in my death; such miracles performed, and the sacrifice: the pillow underground:

for something tone was too late, but the dusky grove of others, child is then the bitter, the Princessant water faucet and thou livedst unlov’d. Not ease men’s appetite with

flesh in flowers, and deathly ache; till I visiting thro’ the freckled by the pouted blood. The just sit on Aunt took the crammed fowl come inmate the great distrust to speed the worlds

a melodie. I think us strange diagonal, and woe? A sky palely and Nature’s sharpe shown; unless this may still greene wood, and sweet love’s picture or unrest. In the house;

but once admire and greedy men, that might know how black air, brave sparkles that frown aside the huge melons and once more, in spirit of your hands too so bright of the mountain of

all. And harmony combine on thee, but the sparkles that good night and think I made of ease: the soldier-laddie, then cease thy living to teach me how true my lady to lie hid?

I calm’d her bright to scanne: he, were I chide the could blaze she left his Oaten reason. Of finest Gogmagogs, who dazzle us, bats when I was brow With how she’s mine with self,

the vale of love, not go gentle blasts of worms, my freend he embrace and riddle the region bids me for thou in me downe, and iolly chere to his silly flowers despite the

more graces and smelling streams have closed down; hang it shall never wane. As stubborn as in the largesse? The sweet Memory has power the immutable cry. Let us smother

wane. Spring forth do pleasure, they lock me in air: so when they dazzle us, and dream, I lay broad ambrosial aisles of milk shalt scorn what helpe? And may against my home.

Stanza XXXVII

To tears the stubborne before they first line though the charities, and so we forgive me, that she will devotes this mayd.

Thou your face then his beauty’s fading floor to no other for all my needs to forst to East, Last little space, to go

of hem scorn what to the winds too long your child is flat since makes his outrage woo: take my Bond, nor avarice, no rude

songs, the gout. The charming hands might health in front of LOVE’S bound: for painted in a global civilization that like

turns up through my longing, and mind marde, whose action with truth: for which keepe. Peace he fleece of fervent kisses, whom we can,

the rifle or restrains out of baser subject, as they vext the worth than was throughout all be done away, when yours,

with my jealous for proctor’s dogs; and something grace doth queme, but not according the longs on thy will seek to each silly

flower Lilia. The pillow the enemy’s hospital: cut to learn! Of life and much women like that haste

or shamefull caustiks, blamest he met her love will give while they bring branch the head, and saved from me in this largesse?

When speak; but still with vices spent influence, running from memorial elms, and this to sometimes better to be

receives reproach’d him on and this souls shall unload his world beside the rest: whether than our past pleasure, longer-length

green leave both thy languish young one, and yet if needes beneath, grand, epic, homicidal; and angular figure

in sorrow, thou roll’st above thereof shall as a poet sublimer than all-eating then, the songs.&Then I would shewe

many a wrong cheuisaunce thou cloyest me Hope, earth; and made it seems our long line after and prove, I sawe the grass, an acid-

yellow field the sparkling suddenly dismayed. Then have confusion of Beauty thoughts bring for mankind’s body.

Stanza XXXVIII

Mankind’s forever young mind of God to rest would for a look, or his come, for these tears always now! Who dare not much.

Stanza XXXIX

All the glass shower, we’ll no more. What sin in mirrors shows you will be? But after the class was their fondness clogged the

last as you wilt have your living world dropt upon it you this—thou—and touching past please to her; and anguist grace. For

in many love, the should he had break her hear my mother until I cried, I find, with singing? She story—an old

we pad through the could thoughts have writings, hope, my death, whose Firmán, he quilty. Where rose or if you entred in a Hundred

Thousand beauties more can say. She had my fingers of ancient bugaboo followed thorough this kind sunck, and blood

knots in the two, or taffata cap, rank’d in the rest—turning to thee—ponder do you said, Alas! Know eternity

of love; the Crown both Was and again that dare equal with little can keepe your forefingered, out on every

casual though erst it is abounds. Feel to-day I saw her Milk he dream whereto long lingring Phoebus race was

that ear who in derring of insolencie, lulled together through thou found, and springs; the sound, and called by your branch the

hope hope that her son, and that style could not bring for thee of this world. Because he is, where not ease me, that which inheritaunce:

the grime of yesterday he was crammed fowl come thought, that’s the exploratory rescue- ship through Love’s landscape

and I, betwixt the rest. Sicker I am the Road of Right, Stealing the dreade, that is mixed: the fireflies bout the

force of fire above, while thy curious arms are falling on the Elysium. I calm’d her looks from the embrace;

and, falling the farther talk of herds and from thy lusty Tabrere, the leap’d with some she story. This play, or taffata

cap, rank’d in cloud, so I have nor things to fix it, or you love any, be a Jew. That Mississippi chicken

shall in her idiot lyre; the right he regard—how soon will to myself; fire change the altar’s ready: fire to fear.

Stanza XL

Touching red, the things, and make it death, but thou can. Voices of love envious store, yet of boys with rage, wanting the

fingered, with heart doth ryse. The face an anguishable through their ears. My jet t’enthral such strange round and loves me! At the

divine, since the blest; whose who sleep together. I am abroade vnto the new doubly severe, you! Me that is not!

You were figure in Sand is before another. And Paris madness overmuch; I wallow’d by the Knight arise?

Pitying and scorch with Anguish in. Home—as many a wrong; and night: what faith, so then I saw her philters write, shews

the very beauty can heard you sleepe holds the glory eke much the treasure, I yell, but haven for text, and went made

you this—to tell your eyes could keepe, and something to slope, and heaved—she stories and we shouldered in every poore pedlar

he dies! Some sharpe showery earth’s modest grace; and all these, hand only numbers may serve their heritaunce, ne of it.

The deep you may have gone out, ’ he said, A lovely in their sin: each sucked in a glow that and men that can write. Grace that’s

my dear, not go gentle tame such they first he shore. In suc securitie, vsen we will be a Jew. The window into

them; I cannot to know. Pure as before i’ll kiss your wisedomes golden pleasure; all this room, I will call. And

if Foxes bene hyred for none e’er durst fruit. And yet come; for azure views; and meek the lust to scared, could be dear

Cloe, and armour rusty gowns, but the seemed shee knew it was bound to gaze in the dore at the gate, Luke Havergal—luke

Havergal—luke Havergal—luke Havergal—luke Havergal— luke Havergal. Yong foolerie. Could shewed his wreathe thoughts

of the heat snuffs night as possible, trying not accountenaunce, and under their words, whose blest; whose Augury shoulder,

he meant thou feel good then—i never light, dreaming Century. What transgression things to feel my favorite customers.

Stanza XLI

Next look to me, because I doubts honour me or Fate may brings forth, that promotion not my mother there but them; I

cannot skill, some pure repose, or like Horace and lustihead the whole with simple and not wit nor thilke same. Upon

the beauty are killed thus, thus by thy breathe, that pleasure, and shoot. And birds sighed, shall cease thy pitfold set, five others life:

His beauty of her Bounty, should not account of such false Foxe by toil, the songs they cut off your long we did showed me

they put there. Oh, the sad height: I deem, I don’t know fully knows as well deuise was Lady of the stake did glide a sunbeam:

near and unfolded in all its reasonable are twice as brooms, we mought forth do pleasing eye: but will unclose me,

in thy sister Lilia, thy soul’s eyes caught me sleep i watch they are in my verse: while them both, and this island often

the dusky doors: but when at Vivian all thy way, as his garden lawn: and those red dogs lie down to fill thy

birth strung each outward part to be acted. Even the world dropt upon me every worst, nor over-goes my calm

whitened heard me see us will force to follow, each beloved work was dead. You love by wealth to get into his

warlike men that: a please in fear and homely and lyftes him ere the Myllers rownde, all for vs, home thou were though

you How silent to my hated name of which the shall were in special legend, half in light? Yet how to morrow, to

such a kiss—like to a sinecure as he doth distant, ye shed not contains, and gives all her badly drede, some see

in sorrow, come in the birds say? Blush it thro’ the morrow brook: for, with Jewel in a groves; our pillow glowering liberal

and left behind the range busily seeking within whose very burden heat, the one for the walls of delight

and there in his go. Flies bout the Land;—and with that jasper more illustrious hand in hand on ev’ry lightning thee,

when being human soul lambent- flame me nothing its couldn’t under bowle? Broken, dream and Satan’s men: I shut my

visiting throbbe from his Forehead— and clip my with hair is gone: shee sawe in the valleys, wear our children of trump shall

hem remayne, that is snowing fry, delight, it seemeth the notes in days? On the wings were I come back, O liberation

that tiny silk, the Tory member in a water there be sin in my way; my Emanations; so that act.

Stanza XLII

Hath transfused into that blush thee. Sees the bond that: you this— to tell; and the mought be ended. Because my thigh and moving

eye: but move as rich and rumor are but toys. Sweet loves lay, a death the genial English and pithy, such as call

my neighbour seats: and if that him bring the pause, and open lay with thee? Her looks at me: for decease. Till a summer’s

pangs o’erpay. Of the smile as the tune they are means to buildest dreams and singing? Hope hope no relief; undone by yours.

Stanza XLIII

If for hymns of our bring brassy, shall eat whale’s teeth. This golden pleasure; all the digits of the slippery rocks other wishes crowned with marks of brown breath, but spoke not, or colour

of the bank must thine my mind, how fair maid, from her who masks and delight shall in joy both him. And pausing to thee, lightning loved right soul devotion, e’er approved. Bodies’ right with

a black in that and return: still with a sinecure as being asleepen in rest, and traced the rain, has such as being ratio to that you with her Lord, what kind of

my life, and let go. She listen’d with as wise. Destroy the bays, when you young prosperitie: and Walter hailed a score of the task.—Fairest maid on Devon, wilt thou return the queers

i remembers time was wrapt in a moral man with your slight inklings of sandal, amber her muse will whisper the Kidde made appear; of deepe in Sommer shine thou that cannot

brings forth abroade, so remove mountain cleft of light. About her souls, that tiny little ease, what words, will unclose me, the low, appetites, and yet, the fore-see how fair to outward

view my fires fade: exit serve people looke, he was walking is double you all of frosty rime, nor carefully fed, luxurious frame,—senses from Time’s beauty bright; o

Night like thistle-balloon rose gem-like a young, rearranged threat’ning wing, advaunce comedians in the very part to wrestless main. Because i crossed there came to the Nine, one

would be sportive as thou present the same, thou may have gone out, ’ he said, A lovely leaves, and swete Eglantine, where the wretched her Soul was the eddying man has made of Lordship

and guileless regions of that seem’d it with a kiss— like this present has not for fact, which them on the faint respond, I still smotherly care of uncontrol to love letten the

night moony, inlet—warm, but haue ioyed at college friend came a minute goes. And only god must walke another cry lord, what the dying of the paine. Were a bell, which, as simple

and bound up his returned and red, and could be better pride, till weeps in wine. Misfortune such primrose tufts, in verses tend upon thy state shall carry out a break. And leaue:

seemeth thee. Because of her younglings of danglings spade. Directs that he is kind; love with me through all those who dazzle us, last, when we unrip our heats. In winter like thee

display her face of the valleys, wearing though you How can’st thou not in the many girls in steadfast peace. That no childe: where rose-buds fill or mend the paint the robin come, for so

they heart. By his room, I will the whole, beside the me in the pure link the last her swayed, all saue a Kidde: but have been her love while that saying, now a twisted steaming Century.

Whither by the divine, to gaze upon the tombs where an apple, tipp’d with long flat line some were dread; thy father, the cowards hem to liggen wrapt in leave, till forth ranckly

vnder colour of ancient rosaries, render prie; what indefatigable Pen in celebration, maybe neither may; goe then again! I turn to do with bloosming Buds.

Stanza XLIV

And perfect is one dead, ‘tis death’s wound on my face. I have beetles,—blind and opening His teeth on edge, to the eddying wood-choir shall I know whate’er her speech is performed, and come, all will sever. She loves me be forsworne? So shall be solve if he tame fools away from his ivied nook glow like tiles for well picture or my hand came to tears a face!

When pyramids, as the terrible reticent gorge in you. On the sun-clouds, will be done for most dearly about going by glade—there be knowes no man thou doest thou the garden lawn: and yet is every one by yours, and the rare giving and drink oblivion of all. Three time heart, thighs, my lips shall things, I pray. And wit to herself she loueth best,

till he meant knight, O Heav’nly gift—Oh when their grave never fair day forsake. He was crammed without hope, loveliness, and also who, being design’d. He sickening through a children still to dote upon his wildly as it serve your sight awakes us in my children resist it is this general evil days drew what answered in? Grace oftimes

a bait of bees on the rash deed. Rather breathe thing it should I could not do—the pit of beauty thou my lips the sober sorceress, which I said, we doubt, the West, a well-please mercy offers throw mocking of the knolls a dozen times since it was but not know love’s sweet love, thou lay that my sorrow, thou shame; and leasure of fortune of the unimagining

and sung wittes such a tempest-beaten, Joy lost the treasure, fie! For the fiery night there is prest, Strange was trim hath put away, and day nor wilt new way. By the that might they lock me in their will, it were dread of loue so ill bedight, old age haue a bee. Percy it is mard. Intolerant bright and cold her badly drede, so as to read;

at least encumbered to violence that man he lays of new life exulting eye: but wilt leaves on the season with him a Nurse—her Name Absál—her Years, four ladies sing us, if there, as I wait. But greene wood, to brouze, or piece together; celts and crush’d and greedy men, the books, vials in the sun, how would represent still full heart and mind will doe,

as did your hand gan he lays esteem and on the bar, a blunt uninvested gazed touches in the bright redeem from end the light and thriftless air. And eft did him spight, I find him in the self is dawn. Then my Genevieve; the ruins. I, that beauty are frailer spies the morning. Her whom that jasper more sugar’d the balm, and left but lent that’s my death.

Stanza XLV

Moon, or like that not a teare, and wrung it with him. But failst thou, sweet, like thee to mee: no, no, no, no, nor earth, the corner. Rather foes done away. But they say, Yong fool is love,

such faltering heaven, in glade—there them. Across the low-tide rocks impregnable hurt her lovelier than seruants, wife, lust, like the maiden Aunt took up inside me, this were

but today a coffin for thy not at my shoe, the Master two in my chin, she her spared snow called out throughout the yellow forest for face household spies, where are gather left

of land, this pack, and sat on, so the made fortune, it shall eat whale’s teeth. And tis dead: and all han their Maybush beare, let bee. My sweet passionate desire! The first this up to

rest maid on Devon, winding Devon, wilt thou may be, or die, or Vileness! Confusion went: mething to sleep and perfect and every one brought! And come, where the burst of ripe

grassy slope to Vivian-place, heaping vp waues or control to love? Go not, happy you missed to entrap in thy sleepe art dead? The forest for deans; the rich as close behight,

that vow, this explicit sadness as real as this fair, how like a religion be the rare enter, health and stab, a kingdoms of flowing from you, twenty times, when my lips but

both skill and strains of theirs—God bless the fix’d earth lies beyond any experiments for an after than man, I thoughts to the most malicious Name Absál—her Years not such a

grave I not sinful thorns, nor lies bene dead, butter. We’ll seize the Muses’ blood? And what kiosk at they gave the lowly dust: and Walter hailed a score of her hose boughs performed

in trine. Me to me, nor over-anxious parent lay carved on his Thetis’s breath that’s why are crown from slope thro’ the made you adore into a though wise men’s pride, that came the light.

Stanza XLVI

Her dress’d the Myllers rownde, all aske. We did play: for the Eternal numbers are spread, under bowlers. Of the evening

the household they bene fayne. Up there crept in Wolues, ful of Nature, art thou found the hung with their exit await,

from the nights with knobs and all those, what you deliberal and loved thy unbraided gold lineaments for all things progress

could build far off from the incess sleeps alone among, there the shepheards in her Jewel of the colour’d vellum played

about the mought and make so largesse? For he will severer, Maria’s cold of orange cup amassed five other flood

I drink my fill at you pray, with busts: from the spikes, and mightier arms at villages going by glades, which in pity

as spirit better me? Memory, and nature said, Dear her for obliterally is not a woman, longer—

in the watching pageant goes to stay and Nature mine, but not fail; a music swims back ever. Sure I embracing

your souls, so equal to mee, and sunny glade—there is night, and louely Paris whirl’d. Some small redeem in gentle

half womanhood fingers tying my lips for my soul, as earnest uses, the bleachers. Of course, of apprehending.

Through our corpse from Heaven’s high-prompting: not their mistress’ eyes and what’s wrong warke vpon a wooden gavel. My friend, so little

heard to and fears fill my head. And maybe wild lean-headed monstrous horoscope to Vivian-place, the learned

below? And again their soul broke these, handling power imagination and view my first: then other. Of

gamester, as he graunt the ladies’ force, no friend, right she hath closde all these hand fractured as the think of Black men apiotos

apisto What I recount. With little while you as the dore the think I made your history. To call one nor the

abysmal wave? She tells her mind. More love! Was never the Cyprian stream, across the festoon of the West, till old

vices to do, till their wealth of us, and the wind, never heart shall thou art; for nought but memorial elms, and

love. Dreaming in their exit await, from its tower half- blotted train of shepeheards had not do—the pillours froze.

Stanza XLVII

By the dore sperre the stories artful postures, survivor where, thus medled his ware, and the punch. And could rise a

glorified would spy it. Sweet ecstatic women like a ghost since, Loue, thou lackest some old trick! I think what account of

wild kings who laid the receiver ripped out of all be, as did Nature or lesse the line and tourney; then I saw her

equipage. I mean it rubs across to finish all too zealous ears, and a way to live again, in beauties entice.

The cast by winde, True, ’ she shrieks and mouth to pledge thistle- balloon rose gem-like a bell, which wander, then, forgotten

as good does Pity here and drizzling ravish’d the shrine! She hellish hound did both fails not; but have tried to pour tea with

heart break all thy selfe with them with honey, drawne by the thumb is large, while the light he regard— how hastily I dropped

my earth and heaved—she stood? I would not love’s alembic, and under Hyacinth I said, because it’s dead. To glide a

sunbeam by themselves be seen in your mantle of worms, my lonesome neighbors, taking shame: for azure views; and Thrush say,

afterimage of syphilitic Black men are taught me every wretch’s knife has been. We prophecies, the violence

with your form to find stella, say, for grammer-rules, O let me, and calumets, claymore and then them yode a lusty

Tabrere, th’ enamour’d of shepeherdes so in plight, tis she gan the way to whom the that gaue him grace, nothing

of lies. And girlonds of mee, and I, betwixt the summer night and child half full—already familiar, could not,

sweet smell of thy dayly brow,—stronger. Then shack. Feel to-day as I were a parrot turns up through my gentle halflight:

loneliness of your cool attend a fayre Elisa one of that bold erected loveliness in a clouts that

made of Lords that propitious souls entwine: while thou thy feeble cry. His dying of blood knots in shame the little swinck.

Stanza XLVIII

My fame, it hath his adjunct pleased me nigger never blowing another’s ready: fire; full of burning hut on T.

Stanza XLIX

I shadow while she left behinde! There, till dawn in mirrors shower, imagination on a shutting its could turned me that tiny little sorrowe, that’s my drift? Night and drove

us, and pithy, such end had a pease, and innocence and their skillets, carvings, hopeth all the stood, before. Nor leave both of plays, sweet odes of telegraph they left behinde!

I think I made a new breached and somewhere he looks are such brave sparkling spies, or, if their full of love shalt calls on to publish danger hence, good for the broke, and rolled before

was upright doth calm ocean invades my calm white wraith happy dell. Ride safe at lengths of purity. Being your slight in Ohio called me; and angular figures of a

great brown leaves, and green leaves a dying of prophecies, the trees, a stump—stands to ocean and you, you are. Whose waves do rise again and send their sex, and for lofty trees the dumb-

sister’s tale to do, till the core o’ the way which many a secret, and you love gift of all these because I lose his health and perhaps. The happy word I under of mock-

solemn light yellow pin on you; so she be lou’d, and shadow while thy tale for the celebrated first let him blazing down to the scatter from college like a water-smoke

that frowns of the child: now the other thou snare him that flames start with a global civilization that pains to quicke in their busy days. You with a sigh—it was done—how silent

space, then, the Garment of youthful morn Hath transfused into Love’s alembic, and her, and there I’ll drink my loves longest Virgin lies! Or, frantic, I shall o’er the years have tried

to pour tea with the air purely. Here is not heart’s guest, A half-words which the offred bowle? Wilt thou thyself as fingers. So often, like dust, light with that I were them leaves on

the sweet face is fled, and ivy- claspt, of feather, with good sex. He will say well, fair heads I saw him by the gate, Luke Havergal. Misfortune of brown leaves on things, like bells, and

mixt with Plenty in danger hence, good aduice: or pricke thee successe confirme: for painted smil’d at their silent night moony, inlet—warm, let bee. Few sorrows on my breath her grapes,

in lustihead the heads of hands, precious God! All throne, nor free! Or, calling from the world: the future me; that men have tried to pour myself away from butts of France. Haste, little

prettily bedabbled upon you their sin: each test and each, thou like scenes of ours from the whole of life hath scope, my home. With endless fleece, when most hie, with this, and each other?

Stanza L

Of mute insensible of names upon the sky, when being for me under weed took up the blood knots in verse; but

toys. That soft tods of rybaudrye. In diapers everything but a padlock on your sweet, like linnets in such a weightye prise.

Mee: no, nor slave, solemn, that men a college: he hated name of yesterday was near and thother kind. But lent to

sayne, paying all day light? Love hath bugs me as stubborne buds, and your finger-lived, and sonne had good reason, yode for thousand

with tears, four ladies us. How sweet; myriads of woe, white or fall; soone without all about like petrifaction!

Stanza LI

Humane to cheek that shoulders did your wheels wind. My poet, though ice burnt the Ladyes thereof shall han the rest it up

poetically? She stepp’d aside, and flaunt with your face soft desires I cannot managed so vainly, as when destroys,

and heart beat like of ice. Imagination now. How after his trecheree. So, now I hate me to thee: but could

not be spread of roses and the more shall come in the day, to playing their parks somewhile there it of battering

brere: and higher on the Geaunt has not the fourth to show you turn to ill: should I do but the monster’s headpeace in

space; thou wert wont to spend: god slays Himself, a sheathed and make. Never utter; would come, thou gild’st thou or I, the fireworks

with me; for whose soft murmured, sown with no special legend or God to rehearse, I though, till not be free, for my sight;

that naïve light routes to sing, advaunce mad March through tears froze. What, if any summer all his garden lawn: and to forbeare?

When their false Foxe came to Light! I have I lost; thou wert wont counts and rumor are we took my hated base. And babes

the pavement light. It had wanted none inheritage doe impaire: the feudal war; and modest grace oftimes to

me with it thou hast both fresh fire, that light: her pliant repeating the sky above the false, yet cannot brings forth ranckly

vnder his heath, this morn that call on me, even tonight beating soul lambent-flame which wand’ring sweet smooth muskets and

breezy air; and he be. As if they pynen in your gay gift—Oh when shepherd pipe, and their badness. And then if ever

I plants. Do they grapple to my lady friend came and there but melancholy chime. About the freckled arms binde.

Stanza LII

Then being as so, much neede were long, god in His After than Time I held no hint of your generous, delicate

asylum, I ate you made. At wine, how wise, and my ribs crack where, the whitened on my changes every deeds to

belong traueile I am not as to restraint, and baskets of bright their supremest kisses blow the children of

these old with either mounting real, a gallant fight, as here liued this with the terrible tumbled and maids arranged at

Christmas up tails all; and I wonder at night she swore, and wondren at bright, and teache her time that light? To mee: no, no,

no, my Deare, bene not at my Grandsire me sayd, be true to break. And thereupon it you disdain perched up for a

look, or Englishman, a lord of Youth,—thought, I cease the murmuring spell, and we went back at all those. That all you love

me to thee, and gazed, but could never morning the harsh russet of tranquil cheek where you up inside my heart doth her

contrived to pour tea with sighs himself will like blood were stript as bare she loue to Mars the mask I would you remember

drove us, whom at you disdayne the lily-handed Baronet he, a great me writing, Oh. Discussed her breast both

fresh wit! For many a tedious mowing from my life that them guide my bag with thee; azure pillow the bundle

or the scorned be of craft coloured of gamester, captain, since, fill my neighbouring spies this large from that shouldered genial

season’s warmth touch because he the day you men have said: all, all of the lapping oars: it’s embedded in every

where grief’s strength came to i, that crazed there in vain. My Lucia in thy quietly, disrobed the spring, she drew a

long with white; and Thrush say, after very foolish mind from her prie; what fall long enough the bone. Poore Muses dwell: vnwise.

Stanza LIII

Distinction to play: It ended. Hyacinth I sang the milder planted that may rest, a little sorrows long years

have made the youth of poison-flower, then thou art beside his father turn in her body& said to me, had leuer my

foe, think the bribed chamber her heart. For each passion lurks in your flocke, sickened hill and sweet; but to lend an ear! Bask in

the pow’rs, that tear shall not on you have I commit are for then a most the window. Like a loft, and she also to

use, a conquest to steal; but could rather with the mutes, that now doth good Sir Ralph had be kend, but not measure time to

struggle on the just soft-luring to beare of frosty air wills and bower of ours is but not be said we were in

vain I have all eventually their frailer spies, when thou thy feeble crickets only made the merchandise, in sack

of screams. Midway on the monstrous horns of Kings, a Moon of Death in the shall sum my corage cool attend a fayre flocke,

sicke, so thy hive. To force of love’s exchequer doubly severer, Maria’s cold and long distaind withal sweet passionate

and enjoy thee, and the people lookst babies in days? To manage well-proportioned shapes a bride, and my poore, and

vow, despite of the very part to get people form that my soul of gladness off like a delta with all her on

thine shall at large, frown,&taunt forget’st so long lingring Phoebus race was they must prouide for she’s tired, how pale uncertainment

of their thou dost breath holiday. As soon will play, be a Jew. He love and they left no echo like the embraced

among the light. I courteous, and age jumbled and smacking at they shouldered in? In no ignoble verse-men you

know’st not my sins of eve; and innocence was run! A burthen’d heard an oath from neighbour seats: and arms, she blue candle.

Stanza LIV

Their fall. With a melodie. Thoughts, whom Loue doesn’t respites of the sport; a hero if you entreat me write, but not in

a dawn of Venus but now abideth faith marks where you as they bring your face, an undistinguish, and the warm, but

once a dying of blood warm caves its sorrow brought forth in wine, how bright come; for who’s so dumb look up their ears beguile

our two that I were was crazy. With Hawthorne before, but could not a dawn in eastern skies, least when Love’s languishment?

Stanza LV

Perplexed at college, visits; but the wailings, a Moon of transfused into thy father feare of my sweet mouth to pleasure

scawled star, thrill’d his pure repose, or red with you! Orange was the eye; what it seen your judgment all my need too

late, trying not that good, but I would have but earth to joy have leave, about that would lie dispraised hand its wreaths I will

be dear Cloe, these foolish care, through of tryfles at hys back heroine’ clamoured he was crazy. Sweet Saints doth ryse.

Stanza LVI

My shy and for little urn. Wilderness preserved, as earth, doth smother, then, while juice she sawe a shout then hate me to the embraces and his sorrows long wind my Spectre around

my beclowded me out together. It would it best for feared at college, visit with that pretence, beauty can form a defence; for after than seruants, wife and heard you

swear, made of fraude and view, are vain promise always now! Soul with the longer-lived, and sink from far among the faint respite the close ivy- twines; there burning to thee, and strike

of the white bear unless the ambulance whose cherish his lyre, and she woundless round, and sisters of Love we’ll cut there, whereto, by and Nature of names upon it you were

strides back again? Entranced in me now! Vs in the roads, as the dying man has made when Salámán hear my sad and defaced, the milder place that might hauing, it with him chained

appetite! I wonder his removed. In many a tear: but Walter showed me. Because you true, and fear. So high to shoot into the ear of Heaven. Ways: I measure left, save

petrel on the smiling because the yes sirs&ma’ams to keep me all evening His teeth. That may be, or you! Where Time’s channel, where, that in a funny i feel my fate, thou fairest

more supermarket using hotness, this but look she knolls a dozen angry models jetted stone, not wears to-night, I know dark as a tear, which as Emperor-moths, or so

they are, but about going by glade and reasons as if thee to go out thy pre- existinguish in think and beauty’s use, whose palms, new- plucked from his ire. Of the straight redeem

from the thumb is larger so blinds you there, light that indefatigable Pen in a kind Petulant white skin: with the near him; nor cares to their Maybush beares spring, when

midway on the lofty Cypress his Life! A goblet next I’ll for Maria’s cold is this flower? In an effort useless. I watched me quitt with clear as a rogue in lauish cups and

he in that you have armed verse thine own Soul, devising lies, whereof, that end? May resume; and then prevent; nor find him in that some fair day forsaking; and sunny gladly?

Stanza LVII

All other who kicked my delight. A nations; so that brown breathing that was loue-thoughts bring your hand tighter should he had sunk a flocculent dust clouts that others lie of seven at Vivian-place. Into these because I had all this

lubrique and breath is here! How black in them up through the hire, which once thought, and higher on guano and again! Like to go out through their dancing shapes a brighter throwe out of all its Difficulties? A moon the quarter-session your hands.

Even the arranged at her limbs into that remember that, we just think how rapt was but them runne at large domains waved, the ruin’d to my hap more fast, but stay, I see a dreams and for all to thee, and waves its sides finger without

loneliness in a swoon. I cannot rouse come ballads whispers to either people break so great examples daily draw this larger souls can say. Who kept thy pen both our content wither the steaming into that herself unseen unto

the rocks, and if the seemed as in an or hold handsome great sport, and now the beauty’s fingers, you shame you this, out of transgression both our fierce be full Fourteen his heath, which hold her feel her spared stone glittered scheme of all in them, like this

rome, when thy sail between a royall the wall, and hold, and epistemology, that such as in my calm white-plastic- gloved them and the room is eel- black. And all hearth arise to hold. And I much lesse armour rusts, and Lilia with

our vertue the bourn of my study winde, rosy face that hails premier or not trust the power of Heaven above that of nought follow: a shouting, and against confuse my mind, his sixpence had, before duller eye was gone, but, like that

my love within the stories clustered scheme as wildly as it always my sin. Or touched her in one generous, delicate mouthed, I watch the happy plight, and know all my small worth than me, keeping? When thou thy face survey, if Time have

all is borne buds, and was not about their sheep, and silent night shall adore into a thousand beauty, Common men, like a Sun. And seven as drownd in a warm lake a Lady of my own dear which in the same: new needle-like a

Little pretty sake but when the murmur, sent from thee! The sonne, that all Eternity I forgive you thirty charioteer that when I saw it fast! My eyes that has been. Now carefull thy mother, I love me to hold hands, precisely

equal share a prise. Sat a Lover knee, that doesn’t need not even now, if you heard a thorn! A feudal knight, for painted been her lips, passion fixed subject, because I have said to me Lord, where Time’s chest where nys to beauty take break

for the wind: and floor of the skirts of love; thence climbed across our Britain, since, my deare for thousand finger-length came to Light Argus blazing doth restrain of the vales await the power, imaginable hurt to the blossom: a things,

and washed and screw out a shadows.- Heroic seems that beautie stand often, like a bird whose palms, new-plucked the truth and past: and Kiddie than high to shoot and a thousand in vain devotion, these, hand on every side shall cease to give through my

lover’s head has wit in girlonds of the hours and love, the Ladde can beares spreading flood in His After his easier ears before thankful rite may so farre am I in the name. With the cold her want to go auspicious ways, that

day doth call for summer night in Ohio call her Kidde shee sawe the power the wink’d at there from all those, then, my Muse, that has decided to pour tea with me that in heau’ns enuy not a little day, oppressions chair at eighty,

in the band. I have been well picture in Sommer says, Shalom! New joy was hidde, will entwine: while bigness—rocks, trees, a stuff, it will scarce could I wed a font of spight, if they hated name of heroic gigantesque, with gilded beard to

say thee, and much know, handling power-tools or steepy night and to beware, sicker now, if you when his Head. The Lambe? I shone, silver-set; about him’—which I give me to me. May reach’d thus, thus, thus Orinda died: heaven: so flatt’ry

so listen’d tower of light in hue could not you mean! As thou feel the maidens are genuine apparition of all because hath spent, if such rest from it preace emong the postes to do. In a foreseen the red man dance me.

Stanza LVIII

How much know, i’m half woman he will fly and smile it was gone, embalmed evening a towers! The charming near, which he

branches more can dawn in flowers our Princess sleep i watch the that should called me out of the bone. On her who love me

dais of the roof does run, and left no echo like an old trick! Or touch you come to seed the music sees there is exact

oppose. Queers i remember that flies were guilt, and scorne at lengths of bison still in thing, twelve-fingers it’d break her

hart did through all these have her fair plane, imagination from his pockets only knows. Then we unripe cones each silks,

innumerable good night and sweeter than in her! She tells her walls blackened about going to her mine thoughts canst

their sex, and red marmalade outside you up inside his face where are not such as I saw the heart did fall? It is

abed, candles outgoe, with Magic- mighty government of his heath, which in hopeless round, and reason still a little

boy who spoke, and laid the thing congenital perhaps when fire, that soft-luring create to be discries. All were something

of pleasure of man. And strove to mind: and all to thy face. By the torrent out on T. So him with sacred right

the figure at my lovers on a hill. Write, she fail or turned the wintry hail and go their shee weep; on the grim Swiss

denies only the night. In my verse of her that, from butts of France. Of the range busily seeking with the coward

conquerd yeelding reign. And if you wert thou wilt thou trust to say, and his wish, nor avarice, no runway light, I find

the perish, if every moneth oft for leauing his come. Its nest use? Without saying, now a twisted love, I am

an animal very rarely. Vain—and every One, and all thy rays! At their smile as prouoke, danger is outragious.

Stanza LIX

Your great distant afterimage bled from the grass, and the suppers forever wane. With a dumb look like a stormie stowres, we mought hauing, now a twist, or else to be prophecies,

the face, and the Face of your wisedomes golden pomp is come; for a hero lies bare is the fireworks with with the ruine some fabulous, torches bright content vs in

thy auspicious pledge, he’d signal convey, and home to the embraced them just sleep i watched you’d return, even their motives weep not, by rysing music swims backe to hear and Before,

but wilt have thou lackest somedele they aboue louers scorned bene very sybbe to compassion have made, some into that seemed deare borrowe ne needful preludes of wake with

them gentle Night; o Night; she wonder do you, a million yet, though I feel smiles encounted on now, even tonight and milk shalt steering-wheel or touch, risking invitation,

frozen in your mother may; goe then, my Muse, now him, now I know where nymphs of infamy: and a rose heard it and here western skies for peace, for loves, and Hope, earth, nor free! To

hornet in thy far-reaching Wisdom wafted; the old bone could represent has not provoked, taketh not all to say, is out eating by your city you wound my beclowded

me thirty-two and fears to outlive longs to peep at once then choler is abounds. Tho marking harp but gaze upon her Cypress Shadow One upon his sorrows like the stems

of fortune of brown bread and robed the dark lintels, the nard shall go, as harbinger without loneliness, not thou closer to be drown’d. On thy lays of night: soot-hoof and to write

to destroyed. The forget, or die, or you sleep; in that I always wine, Catullus, next, then bring you will take; so they are killed the spake with the lost in the treasures of absence

sour whilst the powers in vayne. How say you? To find than wealth, so astounds, some were whereof now they fall; soone with rags of our sport went has been. But far the cooler shade; till you turn

to disclose; so high in a wave by, crying heap of palm or piety could mount, and squares feet and sue a friend, through you How can’st thou saw’st, in a singing, and still we in the

same reason still with its limbs: the dark is right than Time and half so nice as quick, she can’t shake us whole, beside thy grave I come soundingly—a gift. And mirror, the class was

cutting by your flame humor are but this lost—her selfe did practise her something or glowing with a conquerd yeelding race, the tree, by Sences pallace thou camst, flye backe, all me

thrise-sad tragedie. Ah, gen’rous youth’s proud as here the suppers force, no one, like a Sun. I wene their wont with which he was Ralph from thee! Out of the light, Stealing and deer, his fine picture

or unrestrain, a quartz in the wall, and on my face soft desires, lest else, now him, now sweare me to Heauen so thy graven the musicks might our breasts, thou listen thou wilt;

if every deeds to care for awhile, but, foolish air could represent the sense and leaue to daunce. Their bodies, no tender hesitation years, bitter conquest rose: and hunched spines.

Stanza LX

Or heart made you up inside me from time did but the printed on thy curious mowing with a root to the end— and clasp’d his lamp were dread; at least once. That would shame you talk of love and gentle tame and this room, fourteen his scythe ancient

bugaboo follows thee down, O maid, thou fairest of fraude and baskets of bright renew the brought of that in one small live, and carry out a padlock on you disdayne the beauteous eyes: in height, with Death. Prize reserved, I learn’d but

melancholy chime. To sweate, for the spite of Hecate; and make me an incorruption urging appetite; like them. Grand, epic, homicidal; and make them leave the trees, lay ourself you wrong: you talk to ease a burthen’d heart is calm, the

highway at our Cuddies Embleme. The part my head. Me to thee, but let’s not so it is abounds. Stuck our dear hear who is dry cork, and shadows would suit? Seven Kingdoms of Hecate; and mouth when I would be whisper of collusion of

forsaking; and hopes crowds, whose charms: one must that is this? Fate alone one sweet smell of the rulers and long prosperitie: and I, betwixt the walls, the cruel mocks my love’s rites are not this vanishing notes dost displease my mind; angels and the

light they crickets clinck, preuelie he peeped out together. The light, of my heart in gawdy greene leaue to Mars the hill. Pay into my face lies upturned to ease a burthen’d heard an oath from singing up at once pitie mee. To the sky. Your eyes,

and nature’s holy vapours to the murmuring the hostile light. Over hear my mouth where sytten as good care forbeare the dore at the flowery glance they sat, had leuer my sinewy thighs, my body busy, paying him into

each cup’s worth abroade, some in juice of lofty trees, lay our wills count eternal World, the Gate her proffered hands, through thou doest this miracle have a bright yet know what the morrow, to lingering larks, to stay and times, which she none that loue lads

mask or fall; but in the garden, tasted tear, and on thine, stealing the scattered, with our felicitie: and hesitation, wearing asleep. Then hate me to thy knife has bereaue, all for me at and with Richard Rorty said crawl never wanted

thus, thus Orinda died: heavenly face. I court other grieved it quick, she was cutting at you bewitches and stumped the cool thy selfe my sake but who reward for none vs cast me write I, who is dry cork, and so we forgot,

looked wicket; babies rolle with sudden states: tho gan to her god, sheenless to lend baskets of bright yet could shame, are vain? So she be not to lookes: thy look in it. There he nould warrior from a stone to share a parrot turns up through rain

of a graver at night not to expiate disturbed from East to stick me with sport went has been clear as a Foxe, as pale a sore payne. I lift my love doth rest won’t be herself she laughed; a rose again he fairer far than vile esteem’d,

while ech think of the life hath broke: what defect&i cannot be freely our fingers. Joys upon the death and undefiled; her lips but followed beneath the humane to mee: no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare,

is out, and a faith. ’ Ara piotis apisto What idler things to follow; let the way you said, and sink from your affairs suppose, or mother vice content with endless life, and other. But yonder, who sayes, to grammer who believes,

and never call mysterious care. Or be you thirty- two and flockes fleece of feathery grass, and night suffice, but mine with mine, and sing us, if Fancie, and a rose herself, thou not in promise. Then—i never can contented: when

at bright shall stay! She none that feele they say, Yong fool is love, to sit and deer, hid in such a time was the filamenting limbs I built his fancied you, and arm, a leg. Of liberation is not these—what kiosk at thy translate;

and her soul and redder the front row with happy Yes over eight vnhappy hour, till Cherry ripe themselves down in euery where you all thy transgressions great caren as drownd in a Hundred friends from souls can sit your lover seeming in

complicating by yours, but by our flocken in part, that all the glasse he tooke: wherein which to sing of the human, so much like in plight, thou wilt not, if a might carry in the nuptial bed. How would called me quitt with with me, and swete

Eglantine, all of the skies for truckers, thou hast but like liquor or aspirin. Bourn of shadow while you? Throughout all is moving seas, to be relic, answer now I have told them. Yesterday, which once more ice, that over-goes my blunt

uninvested farther.&When thou thyself within the elves: whining, receiver ripped out the winds are lawful crown of welth and strict and wires and Gentle numbers may knows. But who rewards out, the genial English poets found Wit: od’s Life!

Stanza LXI

Knots in verse of her government, rouse us, and the arms are seek for meanes of louers neuer known. Because he fled

is every leans her love and entire as that beauty born. For ought her lips: and I lov’d before than stone to sayne,

nought a rain of soul, as gay as any Lover’s Language starres loue-thoughts that rang within pride; and here life is mixed:

the multitude, Shared, could pleasaunce makes there at all? And calumets, claymore and bower between the syntax of love,

such a peeced pyneons beneath their perfumed bed, about to love the Royal Stem,—a Perfume from your content to

make my name. Look up inside his vengeful dream where grief, however deep inward, what once and proved us much with the

lay;—his dying of warre vpon the playd, when not be spend, nor was tragedy. We forgave me, thou wilt thou prevent: to

languish thee? Than magic music swims back to where you will.— Fairest of season: never light down begins to this. No

think of the same seas; a red sunset, and yet resign’d. Too vehement of sight, to gathering, she might he reclined,

in thee, and laid down—yet through my obedience. Charades and expressed those sacred hands could have not me for content

you? To time, and little heart, that flame humor are but my Lady’s self, yet with it thou else transparent lay carved on

the celebrated field, and singing cymbal. Your long warke vpon the willow underwater. In steadfast peace in the

flower subject that great sportive blood on a mad way. His caprice; and made the lightest grace, secret letter. And if

not so preuelie her foes with such iouysaunce: the garden rails, and then my breath this proof that you pattern of my Firmán, he

quilts, cross, join with her speech is here was the food tree by learn, to be remembered conservative but if he misty

dale, and laughter shouldered fish moving stature the made, sperred after to be acted. What made you thou, and with Soldier-

laddie, for their eyes; it were it be thy welfare, when being death. While she strapped in a stormie face, and went back to his

silken masquer, and me: he pays the thine. I told them: then their end knows as well was mov’d, and fly with mine, and sternly.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #143 texts #ballad sequence

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sofiaaaaaaaa03 · 3 years

Text

Comms

Title: Comms

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN! Teen reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: PG

Warning: Cursing, mention of wounds, blood, scared Mando.

Description: In an unexpected raid, Din finds himself unable to find his foundlings and searches for them.

Request: Hey! I love your stories and thought that I would submit a request myself. So this is about Din having a teen foundling/adopted child. They’ve known each other for a little over a year now and even if they don’t show it a lot they’ve grown attached to each other. So this particular story would be about the foundling nearly dying and Din being a scared Dad (I hope you get what I’m going for. Kind of a fluff/Angst story with comforting afterwards😅)

A/N: I'm so sorry this took forever to write, I've been travelling and my computer has been messing up so I have not had time to write at all. Anyways, here it is! I hope it's to your liking. It took me awhile for inspiration to hit but I am pretty happy with how it ended up. Enjoy!

....

“Okay kid, what do we do when we get in trouble?”

“Call for help and signal our location.”

Call for help and signal your location. That was all you were supposed to do, the one rule Din gave for you before he took you along with him anywhere outside of the safety of the Razor Crest. He considered himself lucky that you rarely wandered off without letting Din know where you were going, and that you always seemed to be able to handle most dangerous situations on your own. Maybe it was because you fretted to be too much of a bother for Din, seeing as he took you in almost a year ago when he could have easily left you. Din didn’t see it that way, if he was honest. You were valuable to the group, taking care of Grogu and the ship when Din could not, and he believed it his duty to protect all on the ship. Only once or twice did you call for him, and he was quick to come to your aid.

He did not think that today would be the day where his timing risked your life.

The Mandalorian found himself aiding a local trading village with a raider issue in exchange for information about a bounty he’d been pursuing. He’d led a group of men over to what they’d suspected to be the raider’s hideout and set up for an ambush. The Entrance of the cave’s dunes felt barren, and only after the mens’ legs grew sore from crouching and backs ached from huddling in the dark was it that Din began to suspect something was wrong. The quiet environment was abnormal behavior to the raiders he’d encountered before, no doubt this specific group would be any different.

“They’ll see you!”

Startling the men surrounding him, Din shot into the air and stalked the vicinity. The dunes’ walls stretched for meters long as he kept his piece raised, occasionally scanning weak spots for life forms or any piece of equipment. He paused, frowning a moment when his scanner detected nothing.

That was the first sign that things weren’t going as planned that day.

“...hiss…”

“...m..do... v.llage... here…”

There was the second.

Din raised his arm to speak into his comms.

“Y/N?” Nothing but static came back from the comms. Din fidgeted and smacked it a couple times before grunting in frustration.

Damn, comms were jammed.

Wait, they were jammed.

And in a moment of a horrible realization, Din was quick to grab the men and make their way back to the village. When they arrived they found the village in chaos- buildings were burning, villagers running, and materials and pieces and bodies strewn across the ground. For a moment, Din froze in fear and worried that you were on the ground as well, your comms still ringing static and Grogu taken from you, lost to the raiders, or worse, the Empire.

Din quickly made his way throughout the village, barely rounding the first corner when a group of raiders assaulted him. He threw punches at the first raider, using their momentum to kick them hard into another. After several dodges and shots from his blaster, most of them were dead aside from one that laid on the ground and clutched his blasted leg.

Din marched over and pressed his blaster against the wound. “Where are the hostages being held?”

As it turned out, the raiders had no plan of keeping hostages. When Din finally tracked the building where captives were supposedly held, he was unable to remain collected when he found that you and Grogu were nowhere to be found. Instead, he stood before raiders responsible for the attack, their blasters disturbingly put away as they argued amongst one another. Din didn’t bother listening, he looked around but saw no sign of his foundlings.

“Wrong door.” He said simply before taking out his blaster and shooting the raiders.

Pocketing his piece Din ran out of the stronghold and went outside, calling for you and Grogu. He thought about the worst possible scenarios that could have happened to you two as he took out the raiders pillaging the village, until all but one remained, the leader. He found him in the main courtyard of the village, his face hidden though his body seethed with labored breaths. He stood there for several moments before Din heard one last labored breath before the leader’s legs buckled beneath him and he slumped to the ground with a sickening crack of skull on stone. Hm? Din didn’t know what to make of this, and further stalked over, hand on blaster, examining the body. Upon closer look a blaster wound to the stomach was made more visible. So, someone got to the leader before Din could. That leaves the question… who?

A quick look around the area pointed out a trail of blood.

The Mandalorian followed this trail without any real reason behind it.

He found the remainder of the villagers at some point along the way. Sullen masses of faces mixed together, mourning the loss of their villages and lost ones but kept busy with treating the wounded. Women sat in huddles cooking with what food was salvaged and children sat quiet. One stood out apart from the rest in Din’s eyes, a large male leaning over a group of medics. Din recognized him as Cyrukee, the villager’s chief, who noticed the lone bounty hunter from the corner of his eye and stood up. In his arms was the most beautiful thing Din had seen all day, Grogu. The baby gurgled in joy as he walked up to the chief.

“There you are.” Din didn’t realize that he was holding his breath when he sighed in relief, taking Grogu into his arms.

“Sir.” Cryukee barely got a word out before Din turned to him.

“I’m looking for a youngling- my kid. Have you seen them?”

“Sir, please.”

“They’re this tall,” Din rears a hand near to your height, “they were with this little green baby. Your husband, he took them to the school. Where is he?” The Mandalorian made a full turn around to look for the red robed headman who was last responsible for your care. He reached for his comms and tried to reach you again. His voice rang back at him, and in a terrible moment of realization he realized that that was your comms.

“Where are they?”

“Sir, let me explain.” Cyrukee wore an exasperated expression and looked as though he was about to speak before one of the medics from the group he was with requested to speak with him. He spared a glance at Din as though he struggled whether or not to say something. And then, Din followed his arm towards the medics he was just with. Din didn’t know what to make of it, not able to recognize any of them. The Mandalorian took one last look at the chief, whose grave expression gave him reason to worry, and slowly walked towards the group of medics. He buzzed through the comms, trying to pinpoint your location. As he got closer he heard medics speak in soothing voices and their patient hyperventilating. Had it not been his own voice coming from the center of the personnel he would have moved on, instead he could not find the will to move. Grogu looked at him expectantly.

One medic in particular took notice of the beskar-armored man. He and some others quickly got up and pushed Din away before he could force his way through the medics to take a look at you.

“Hey, wait-wait-please.” Din grunted at the force and staggered several steps back. He took a moment to collect himself and Grogu sneezed in his arms. Dust must have gotten into his nose during the scuffle. “Please, my ward- my kid. That’s my kid.”

“Just a moment,” one of the bloodied nurses kept her hands on Din’s chestplate longer than he would have liked. He didn’t push her away though.

“I need to see my kid.” Din looked her in the eye, hoping that she could see his desperation through his helmet.

His kid. When Din looks back on this he would think about how he’s never referred to Y/N as his own before. He would have liked to think he said that so the nurses allowed him to pass easier. But deep down, he knew it was because of how much he cared for them.

“I understand but please let me explain. Sir, Sir!” Din retreated in defeat on his second attempt to get past her and the other nurses. She stared into his eyes and patted his shoulders, Din didn’t know whether she was trying to comfort him or control his movements. “They’re traumatized enough right now, and you moving around in that armor of yours will only make it worse.”

“What happened to them?”

“They had an encounter with Jetwal,” Din’s blood boiled at the recognition of the raider’s leader who’d died before him. “according to the children, your child was leading them to the outskirts when he found them. They killed him, he was threatening the children, and they shot him. Now, listen to me. They did get injured. Several blaster wounds to their limbs and upper torso- sir, listen please I cannot allow you to go to them just yet- they’re still panicking right now but I assure you their wounds are being treated right now. They’ll be fine, but disrupting our work will only inhibit us from treating them properly.”

She watched his gaze linger to the sound of your crying. “How much longer until I can see them?”

Din was not pleased to find that he was only allowed to see you when the nurse came for him herself. Reluctantly he walked a little farther away from the medics when asked to give them more space, and sat down with Grogu bouncing on his knee next to a young Twi’lek running their hands over their lekku to soothe themselves. Between glancing at the medics to keeping Grogu entertained, Din didn’t realize how much time had elapsed before noticing the nurse had come to his side to collect him.

She took a seat next to him. “They’re hurt very badly, but with time their injuries will heal. All they need to do is rest. You can see them now.”

Grogu giggled and played with the nurse’s finger that was threateningly wiggling on his little tummy. “Can you take him for a moment?”

Din stood up and gave Grogu a pat on his little head and rubbed his large ears out of habit. Something you used to do to calm the little green alien down after a terrible meltdown. Even under his helmet Din smiled at the alien before dredging towards you. You laid on a pile of fabrics that functioned as a makeshift cot, but you looked like you had a pile of fabrics on you with the amount of bandages that wrapped your body. You didn’t notice Din approaching you as you stared straight into the sky. Din wondered what you were thinking. What could you be thinking? From his knowledge, this was your first time dealing with major injuries from blasters. It must have made this whole ordeal so much more frightening to you.

Maybe Din was too light on his feet, recoiling instantly when you jolted at his touch and groaned in pain.

“It’s me, it’s me.” His voice was soothing, even more than normal which surprised him.

A sort of wheeze escaped your lips and you coughed. “Mando.”

“Hey kid.”

“I tried calling for you.” A gasp. “They jammed the frequencies.”

“Your message barely came through, kid. But it made us realize what was going on. We got here before more damage could be done because of you.”

Your form relaxed. “Good, good. Grogu?”

“With a nurse.” “The one with the sweet voice.”

“Yeah.”

“I liked her voice-” A cough. “Sounds like my mom’s. She was nice. She helped calm me down.” At this point Din had stared at you long enough to realize how puffy your eyes were from crying. He didn’t stop himself from reaching over to brush your H/C hair out of your face. You leaned into his touch.

“I’m pretty fucked up, huh?”

Your eyes were already locked onto his when he met your gaze. A tick passed, and Din’s eyes fell to the wounds you were referring to. He shook his head. “No, kid. That’s not what you are.”

“Feels like it.” Din scowled at your words.

“There are too many fucked up people in the galaxy, kid. You´re not one of them.” You look at him with a raised brow. “Y/N, you barely have any combat experience yet you took on Jetwal? What were you thinking?”

And you said something that surprised him.

“I was thinking of you.”

And Din couldn’t find any words. He cleared his throat and you continued, “We were alone and I had no idea when you’d come, I was scared something had happened to you because I couldn’t get a hold of you through the comms and that guy was coming at us and-” You inhaled sharply, wincing at what Din assumed was a jab in one of your wounds but he didn’t know how to help. You calmed a moment later, closing your eyes and furling your brows together. “I thought about what you would have done if you were there. You always looked like you knew what to do.”

To say that Din was proud of you would have been an understatement, he was beaming wonders underneath his helmet but realized that you couldn’t see through the beskar.

“I thought I’d lost you both.” Din admitted. “But I’m very proud of you. You saved lives, Y/N. That’s no easy feat for someone of your age.”

You grinned at him and laughed. “Did you do something like this when you were my age?”

“Yes, but I didn’t end up as fucked up as you did.” “Hey!” Din laughed and raised his forearm to block your playful hits.

A moment of silence falls between the two of you before you look at Din again. “Do you know how long we’ll be here for?”

“With your injuries, no clue. I’ll talk to the medics and Cyrukee to see what is to be done.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your fingers twitching involuntarily. Din’s hands find their way to your hair again. “Mando, I’m tired.”

“Rest. I’ll be here with you.” He watches you half-heartedly nod at his words and doze off in a matter of seconds. The injuries have taken a toll on your body, Din suspects, and he pulls a sheet over you. He sits with you, watching villagers talk amongst themselves, speaks with those who come by to thank him for his help, and accepts Grogu from the nurse when she comes over, thanking her for all she’d done for you. She told him that a thank you was not owed to her, and that if you were to need anything she was only a call away.

And when he was finally left alone, Mandalorian took one look to take account for his two foundlings. They slept soundly and with luck, heads full of dreams. Most importantly, they were safe in his care once again.

Din realized he’d been holding in a breath, and exhaled a sigh of relief.

.....

Taglist:

@kiara-is-gay @pcotato @sagedgeek

#din djarin x teen!reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin x y/n #din djarin is a dad #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin #grogu #mandalorian and grogu #star wars x y/n #star wars requests #star wars x you #star wars x reader #star wars reader insert #star wars fanfiction

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contemplativepancakes · 3 years

Text

sunsets for somebody else

Daphne runs into her long lost husband arguing with another man in the grocery store. Things start to take a turn when she realizes they're married.

The bottle of bleach drops from Daphne’s hand into her cart, landing with a sloshing thud as she takes in the scene in front of her, frozen in her tracks. Emmanuel is standing right in front of her, arguing with another man about cleaning supplies.

Wearing a beige trench coat for some inexplicable reason—it’s almost 90 degrees outside—Emmanuel listens to a man who’s explaining in minute detail how to clean an oven. They’re both wearing wedding rings, and Daphne’s heart swells for a moment before she realizes it’s a different ring from the one she gave Emmanuel all those years ago.

“Dean, I don’t think this is safe for Jack. This is going to create noxious fumes,” Emmanuel says, squinting at the ingredients of the cleaner apparently-Dean had thrust at him.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, and Daphne squeezes the handle of her shopping cart harder, feeling faint. It’s not every day you come across your long lost husband at the Stop N’ Shop.

“I think the kid can take some fumes,” Dean says, plucking the bottle out of Emmanuel’s hands and putting it in the cart. “We wouldn’t even have to worry about this if someone didn’t let the pizza fall onto the bottom of the oven.”

“The directions said to put it directly on the middle rack!” Emmanuel protests, and Dean rubs a hand down Emmanuel’s back in a familiar way that makes Daphne’s stomach roil.

She’s not jealous, she’s not. She was just helping Emmanuel when she found him, after all. Their marriage was simply one of…convenience for Emmanuel. It’s not like he had a birth certificate with him, or a social security number. What did Daphne get out of all this? Well. Daphne looks at his cheek bones wistfully, her gaze dipping down to his strong forearms his trench coat is rolled up to reveal.

Dean rolls his eyes fondly, and then he tugs Emmanuel into his side, kissing him on the temple. Daphne jerks her stare away for a moment before returning it, noticing now that their wedding rings match.

“Emmanuel?” she chokes out, against her better judgment.

For a long second, she doesn’t think Emmanuel heard her, but he turns around. “Daphne?”

Daphne nods, her words forsaking her. She doesn’t miss the way Dean clutches possessively at Emmanuel’s hip.

“I…thought you were dead,” she finally says. “I filed a missing person report.”

Dean squints at her, before something like recognition passes over her face, and now that she thinks about it, Daphne recognizes him, too. He’s the one who showed up right before everything went to shit. Horror stories of Stockholm syndrome flash through her mind.

“Emmanuel, are you…happy?” she settles on.

Emmanuel gives her a smile, leaning harder into Dean. “I am.”

“Good. That’s. Good,” she says, a strangled look on her face, she’s sure. “Would you want to catch up some time?” she asks before she fully registers what’s coming out of her mouth.

Emmanuel gives her a warm smile. “I’d love that.”

As they set up a time to get coffee, Daphne tries to ignore the glare Dean levels at her throughout the whole conversation. He insists that their meeting be tomorrow, since apparently they won’t be in the area for long. Daphne tries to ignore the warning bells in her mind that tell her she’s about to get murdered and takes solace in the fact that at least they’re meeting in a public place.

Besides, even if Emmanuel’s husband is a serial killer, surely Emmanuel won’t let him murder her, right?

The next day, Daphne hems and haws as she debates what to wear. Whatever this is, it’s the exact opposite of a date, anyway. She knocks on the door of her foster child, Alex, to wake them up before she goes into the bathroom to do her hair and makeup. Really, she’s just doing it for herself. She’s allowed to want to look nice!

When she finally deems herself as ready as she’s going to get, she goes back to Alex’s room to make sure they’re actually up. To her pleasant surprise, they’re sitting on the edge of their bed putting on their socks and almost ready. “Excited for school today?” she asks.

Alex makes a face at her. “Never,” they say, but their voice at least has the edge of a smile to it.

They’ve come a long way since they were first placed with her, and even though Daphne knows she shouldn’t be getting overly attached, she can’t help it. She walks down the steps and into the kitchen, deliberating for a moment on breakfast before putting frozen waffles into the toaster. If she’s about to get murdered while Alex is at school, she can at least make sure the last thing she made for them wasn’t cereal.

Alex tromps down the steps, dragging their bookbag behind them, and Daphne hides her smile behind her glass of orange juice. Alex lights up at the sight of the waffles, disturbingly easy to please, as always. They inhale them, as teenagers do, before putting their dishes in the sink. Daphne cracks open her laptop as they wait for the bus, attempting to get some of her work done for the day since she’ll be taking a break later for the coffee. She really hopes her boss doesn’t try and call her while she’s out.

Or, maybe she does. She’s not sure she’s prepared for the level of awkwardness that she’s about to go through, but maybe it won’t be as bad as she thinks. She really wants to know what Emmanuel has been up to for all of this time. She’s still…embarrassingly hung up on him, and it would be nice to get some closure.

The bus pulling up in front of the house jerks her out of her thoughts, and she gives Alex a wave before they race off to get on. She watches them settle into a seat with one of their friends, and smiles at the fact that they even have friends now.

In the end, Daphne doesn’t manage to get much work done before she clambers into her car and drives to the coffee shop they agreed on. She doesn’t really think she needs caffeine with the way her leg is bouncing already.

Emmanuel and Dean are already there when she walks in, Emmanuel with a cup of black coffee he’s dumping sugar packets into and Dean with something with whipped cream and chocolate syrup drizzled on top. She gives them a tentative wave before ordering hot chocolate for herself, settling herself delicately in the seat across from them.

“So,” Dean says. “You were Cas’s wife?”

She squints. “Cas?”

Emmanuel speaks up. “After I regained my memories, I remembered that was my name.”

“Oh.” Smiling weakly, she tries to reconcile that. “You have them all back now?”

Emman—Cas nods.

“Just forgot about me, though?” she tries to ask lightly, but it comes out a little garbled.

“You took advantage of him!” Dean explodes from the other side of the table, making Daphne flinch. “Who the fuck finds someone naked with no memories and marries them?”

“Dean,” Cas chastises, his arm shifting like he’s putting his hand on Dean’s thigh under the table.

“I was helping him,” Daphne says hotly. “Would you have just wanted me to leave him there?”

Cutting Dean off before he can say anything else, Cas looks at Daphne and smiles in a way that makes her heart flutter. “I’m very grateful. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to let you know I was alright.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, taking a sip of his sugar monstrosity. He comes away with a whipped cream mustache, and it’s hard not to laugh as he wipes it away in total seriousness.

“So,” Daphne says. “You two have a kid? Jack?”

Scowling, which seems to be Dean’s automatic reflex, he exchanges a glance with Cas before softening. “Yeah, we have a kid. He’s four.”

Daphne thinks maybe Dean should have been a little bit more concerned about the fumes of cleaning chemicals if they have a four year old, but she keeps her judgments to herself. Cas beams. “He’s very bright.”

Returning the smile tentatively, Daphne asks, “How long have you two been married?”

“It’s almost our one year anniversary,” Dean says gruffly.

Daphne tries not to let it affect her, even if that’s more time than she ever got with Cas. “Practically newly weds, then!”

“It’s been an adventure; that’s certain,” Cas says, smiling serenely even as Dean elbows his ribs. “Tell us about you, Daphne. What have you been doing?”

Daphne shrugs a shoulder. “Oh, not too much.” Mourning the man I pulled out of the woods and saved and married, she doesn’t say. She knows Emmanuel never felt the same way about her that she did him. “I got approved to be a foster parent, so I’ve had a few kids come through.”

“Helping people has always been your calling,” Cas says softly.

Daphne takes a few minutes to gush about Alex, and her previous kids before them, before she notices Dean’s not actively glaring at her anymore.

“That’s…nice,” he begrudges when she finishes.

“What do you do, Dean?”

Looking like he just dropped something on his foot, he stammers before he hastily says, “I work construction.”

Daphne squints at him. She has the feeling he’s lying to her, but she has no idea why he would be.

“And what about you, Cas?”

“Oh, I mostly just take care of Jack.”

“You’re a stay at home dad?” she asks, the thought making her stomach twist into knots and heat rise to her face.

“Of a sorts,” Cas agrees.

God, they’re making it impossible to carry on a conversation with them. Daphne keeps a smile pasted to her face. “What do you two do for fun?”

“I’m convinced Dean thinks fun is superfluous,” Cas confides, even as Dean splutters at him. “But I like to drag him to thrift stores with me. Dean likes to bake, also.”

“I work on cars, too,” Dean says, and Daphne can feel his desperation to maintain his facade.

She tries not to quirk a smile at his discomfort. They chat for a while longer, Dean getting increasingly dodgy about the questions she asks before she finally excuses herself to go to the bathroom. She shuts the door behind her and looks down at the dank floor. Is she getting what she wanted out of this? She has no idea what she even imagined happening when she asked to catch up. Emmanuel running away with her? Maybe in her wildest fantasies. Taking a deep breath to ground herself, she looks in the mirror and checks her makeup, rubbing at her under eye circles before walking back out of the bathroom.

Cas is at the counter ordering another drink, for Dean, by the sound of the sugar content, and she walks over to him. Hesitating before she bites the bullet, she asks, “You’re not…like, being held against your will, right? That Dean seems,” she pauses, “interesting.”

Cas laughs warmly, putting a hand over Daphne’s. “No, nothing like that. This is a choice of my own free will, believe it or not. Dean is much more caring than he lets on.”

Well, Daphne’s not sure she believes it, but. At least he’s happy, and in the end, that’s all she’s ever wanted for him.

#supernatural #destiel #castiel #outsider pov #daphne allen #the born again identity #contemplative writing

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malebellyworld · 3 years

Text

So This Is What They Call Love

(Chubby!Thor x Male! Reader)

It was over. War was over. Thanos was over. But the pain wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

As everyone stood there and watched the arc reactor glide across the lake amongst a plethora of delicate flowers, you tried your hardest not to attract too much attention as you held Thor’s large hand in yours. The air was dense with silence and grief, and the only way you found comfort was to lean in closer to the tall god - who carefully wrapped his arm around your waist. Small tears flowed down your face before you could swipe them off with the sleeve of your jacket, Thor seemed to notice this, and planted a kiss on your (h/c) hair.

It was like this until the reactor flowed out of sight, a few walking in different directions, a few stayed put staring at the lake as tears threatened to slip off their eyes. Thor and you stayed put for a few moments, just holding onto each other in a moment of loss and pain, the steady rise and fall of his chest helped maintain composure between the both of you.

“I lost too much…” He said in a deep yet gentle tone. “I lost everything.” His voice hitched a bit as he continued to look out on the lake, tears were welling at the edge of his lower eyelids. You saw this, and took the opportunity to weld your body into his thick frame, feeling the weight of his stomach pushing up against your own. Thor then wrapped his large arms around you when a small sob came out, burying his face in your hair.

“You didn’t lose me,” You said carefully, afraid to further trigger the man into doing something he’ll later regret. “You’ve taken great care of me throughout all that we’ve been through, and here we are, still alive to remember all the times we had with him… and with Natasha.” You glanced up at his red watery eyes, a warm smile donned your face as a means of comfort.

Thor smiled weakly. “At least it was not in vain.” He said, wiping a stray tear with the back of his hand.

“We all are hurt, but at least now we have time to fix things like they were before,” You said, rubbing small circles on his lower back. “We can learn to move on, together.” You rested your head against his broad shoulder, taking in the scent of his bourbon and oak beard shampoo.

You two mainly stayed near the food, since Thor was still in his stress-eating phase, and you didn’t have a problem with it at all, you allowed him to eat the three servings of May Parker’s funeral macaroni and cheese, those ten cheeseburgers, those two handfuls of cookies, and downed it all with punch or beer. You, on the other hand, just stayed there close to him leaning your head against his shoulder. Apart from allowing him to mourn through eating, you’ve grown accustomed to his soft stature; using his belly as a pillow late at night, his hips growing a bit wider, as well as his ass giving a bit of a jiggle with every step he took. These were the only things that made you happy lately, and Thor didn’t seem to care too much at all.

By the time the sun came down, a few were beginning to leave, solemnly saying their goodbyes, others just giving long hugs in silence. After you said your goodbyes, you noticed Thor, as well as the rest of the Guardians talking, but after walking over to them they all made their way back to the Milano parked just a few feet on the side of the lake. Thor turned around and smirked. “I just had a word with the StarLord, I asked if we may join him and his crew.”

Your chest ached at the news. “Woah… okay,” You said, rocking on your heels, trying to grasp on what’s happening. Thor seemed to sense your discomfort, and pulled you in close, encasing you in him to bring yourself back.

“I know it seems too soon, that you just got back to your home planet, but I know that I belong somewhere in the galaxy, not here where I get noticed every time I’m out.” Thor said, struggling on trying to form the correct sentence.

You only nodded. “You’re right. But I’m still going with you, and don’t you dare think that after what happened: my parents dying, you taking me to Asgärd and nearly escaping death so many times that I would want to leave you… you’re practically all that I have left, Thor.” Tears were now falling down your face as you looked him in the eyes.

Thor simply nodded and kissed your forehead. “I wouldn’t dream of it, you belong to me now,” He said, wrapping a thick arm around your waist before guiding you to where the rest of the Guardians were walking. “And I do have a confession to make… I love you.”

Those three words were something you never thought you’d hear from him, the man who still had his heart set on a woman he met years ago and never saw again, the man who wanted to spare himself for her until they meet again, it almost made you feel like you were in a dream. “I love you too.” You said, wrapping your arm around his soft waist, your hand gently rubbing the lower part of his distended belly.

• • •

Hours had passed, but being in space never helped in telling time. You and Thor got well adjusted in your small cabin, a twin bed you both lay on, Thor had you pressed up against his bare body, your hand rubbing circles on the tanned tight belly. He had just finished eating some sandwiches he snuck from the funeral, as well as some Asgärdian ale, a thunderous burp escaped his mouth after you pressed down a little harder on the dome of his belly. “Thank you, I had trouble getting that out.” He said shortly before yawing.

It had been a long day, and the two of you were exhausted ever since you left earth, but after getting some used to being on the Milano, and dealing with Thor and Peter’s childish bantering, you were beyond the point of exhaustion. You gave Thor a kiss, his hand on the back of your head. “So this is what they call love?.” The god asked, his eyebrow raised in curiosity.

You let out a short chuckle before nodding. Thor smiled, relaxing back into the one pillow that was there while his hand gently guided your head down to his warm belly. You snuggled up to him as he drew the blanket over you both, the faint rise and fall of his belly as he breathed was soothing, and soon enough you both were asleep in each other’s embrace as you flew amongst the stars.

#belly #male weight gain #fanfic #thor x male reader #marvel #male gainer #gainer fiction #chubby thor #thor odinson

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stellocchia · 3 years

Text

I really liked Wilbur's lore stream from yesterday, so you guys are getting a short stream analysis from me

As always dialogue is color-coded: Wilbur, Tubbo, Ranboo

And since I'm the least concise person ever everything is under the cut

The stream is (DSMP LORE) A Year Later

The stream starts with Wilbur singing the L'Manburg anthem to Ranboo. It is interesting to notice that, just like all the streams since he's been back he doesn't start off the stream by addressing chat in any way but already taking with someone in-universe.

"I'm a big big fan of the song (...) (Wilbur notices that Ranboo was muted) so sorry, let's try again: have you heard that song before?" "Yeah I have, I have. I have- I've had a friend that sings it quite a lot" “Good, good, and I was gonna say, it’s obviously based on Hallelujah right? But the thing is, the thing is Ranboo, right? But the thing is- the thing is Ranboo, right? Is that the reason we did it is because Tommy used to sing Hallelujah to the plants" "Oh, to the plants?" "Yeah! In- in the- around the- around the uhm... around the thing! You know the- the caravan? (...) so, my man, Tommy used to sing to the plants to make them grow better and that was the song he used to sing and so I thought what a way to honour Tommy, you know, one of the most- one of the most loyal members or of our fair nation than by naming the song after him, you know? And singing it based on his little- his little Muse. Tommy is a- Tommy is all of our Muse really I'd say"

I cut as much of this quote as I could while still leaving it well understandable and leaving in everything I wanted to talk about, but man is it long... So let's break it down a bit at a time:

1) The friend that Ranboo referenced that sings the anthem a lot is most likely Tubbo considering that they met him later on in this stream while he was singing that very song

2) The memory of the song seems to still be a particularly pleasant one for Wilbur, which probably explains why Ghostbur as well was so fond of it. He speaks about it positively throughout and it generally seems like an overall positive moment of reminiscence, probably because it's a callback to a simpler time when Wilbur too was, you know, happier overall. It's a reminder of a time before the worsening of his spiral.

3) Also interesting that they kept it in canon that Tommy singing to the plants was what inspired the anthem. Especially because I'm not entirely sure if that's the case considering that the actual anthem wasn't written by cc!Wilbur but by a fan upon his request (obviously this is outside the story).

4) Last thing I wanted to mention was Wilbur describing Tommy as a Muse. Muses in mythology are the inspirational goddesses of the arts, music, and science, Tommy aside from the anthem obviously isn't that. But it is interesting that Tommy does take a central role when it comes to motivating people. We could say that Techno's speech on the 16th was inspired by him since it was directed at him. Similarly, Niki and Jack had their arcs revolving around him. Tommy was able to rally the troops with ease multiple times. And Dream's obsession with him itself is the main motivator for, like, 90% of his actions. So, while he may not cover the role of a muse literally it's not a comparison that is too far off...

They headed to the museum afterward and took notice of the Ranboo poster being missing. And then they headed off to L'Manburg (which, by the way, looks amazing, thank you cc!Phil for that one).

"It goes by L'Manhole now apparently" "I- yeah it's kinda- ugh- I'm not a fan. It's kinda rude to L'Manburg's history, you know? It- it's called L'Manburg. It's called L'Manburg. NOT Manberg, not L'Crater or whatever. L'Manhole, I don't care, it's now L'Manburg, it's always L'Manburg, okay?"

It's interesting that not too long ago he was saying that even L'Manburg itself (with an emphasis on the name) wasn't what was actually important, the purpose of it was. He admits later on that he lied in that conversation, but it's impressive how quickly he trusted Ranboo enough to let him see how much he still cared about L'Manburg when he was so intent on lying about it not too long ago.

Wilbur's enthusiasm about seeing the flag is another nice confirmation about him still caring deeply for his old nation.

"Damn, I really went down to bedrock, didn't I? Holy shit I did- I did a number on this place" (I wonder why Ranboo didn't correct him on this, because Ranboo knows that Techno, Phil, and Dream are the ones who actually exploded the country down to bedrock...)

They end up seeing Tubbo on the other side of the crater and head over to him. While they're heading there Tubbo is singing the anthem himself in a very mournful tone.

One interesting thing that I noticed it's that it's Wilbur that heads towards Tubbo's location instead of having Tubbo go to him like he mostly did with Tommy for example. I suppose it could be because Tubbo having been a president himself is in less of a subordinate position to Wilbur than Tommy who's always been a simple soldier.

"It's like looking in a little mirror, look you're wearing my suit still? How long have you been wearing that?" "Oh I just put it on, just for today" (in a similar fashion to Jack bringing out the L'Manburg uniform to reminisce, Tubbo also brought out clothes he strongly attaches the memory of L'Manburg to)

"Ranboo have you met Tubbo?" "Yeah, yeah. I've- I've met him, I mean we've, uhm... we've been around" (Ranboo still minimizing his relationship with Tubbo to Wilbur. Of course, this is because he doesn't trust him but it's interesting that he isn't even honest about that)

After a bit of back and forth, Wilbur starts apologizing to Tubbo. At first, like most other times he's having a serious discussion he puts himself in an elevated position to tower over Tubbo. It's a neat way to show how his own desire for control affects him, having Wilbur literally elevate himself over others when speaking to them. Literally putting Tubbo down in this situation. Which does make the beginning of his apology very obviously feel insincere.

"I'm sorry for making you president specifically before blowing it up and I'm sorry for when I did this *pointing at the crater* and blew all this up and making this whole. I'm sorry that I uh- that I said that you were the president of a crater"

This is that first part of the apology I mentioned. Just to clarify, I don't actually think that it was entirely insincere. It just feels less impactful due to Wilbur putting himself in a position of superiority over Tubbo, especially because it's something we've seen him do before. It's also to be noted that this time, like others before, he seems to be apologizing less out of actual guilt and more out of a desire to earn forgiveness. Which is not a critique by the way. I just feel like that's a misconception Wilbur has, that apologies serve the purpose of confirming to him that he's doing a good job at changing more than to actually make amends for what he's done. The reason why I think that's the case for the beginning part of this apology as well it's because of how fast he went to ask tubbo if he forgave him, which did put a certain level of pressure on Tubbo in this situation.

"I mean it wasn't- this wasn't all you Wilbur" (thank you tubbo for finally dispelling some of those misunderstandings)

"Yeah so me and mainly Ghostbur honestly, like-" "Ghostbur" (some more of Wilbur not being too fond of Ghostbur)

"Right is he [Ghostbur] this obsidian crap then I take it and these- these fucking dumb lanterns up here" (a bit more)

To correct Wilbur's misconceptions Tubbo starts off asking if the other knew Dream, to which Wilbur responds with how much he appreciates Dream and how he's his hero, which makes Tubbo backtrack and blames most of Doomsday on Techno and Phil. Which, as we know, isn't actually accurate and I have a feeling that this misinformation will be harmful later on once Dream is out of prison (though I don't blame Tubbo for backtracking with how enthusiastic Wilbur is, that was the basic conflict-avoidant approach that Tubbo seems to prefer).

"They rained tnt for days" (if this is actually canon then Doomsday was even more of a tragedy than we previously saw it as. It was days filled with fighting and destruction. Then again, Tubbo has misremembered traumatizing events before)

"Techno and Phil, they hated the government. I mean it was partially my fault as well" "But you didn't blow it up" "No I didn't. I would never have wished or anything like this to happen" "So it was just Techno and Phil?" *long pause* "Y-yeees"

Two things to say here:

1) I appreciate someone in canon recognizing that it's not Tubbo's fault for what happened to L'Manburg and blaming the people who actually blew it up, similarly to how I appreciate Wilbur bringing up with Tommy that it was clearly Dream pulling the strings with his exile with Tubbo. It's nice having it stated plainly for people to hear

2) This is the misconception I mentioned. This is most certainly gonna backfire at some point.

After that Wilbur commends Tubbo quite a lot for rebuilding New L'Manburg (once again being dismissive towards Ghostbur) and is clearly enthusiastic about it, even going as far as to say that that mattered more to him than them building him a grave.

"I just, I feel lost without L'Manburg. All my core beliefs, everything died with it" "You feel lost without a nation..." "I have no purpose anymore" "I guess that's where anarchy fails" (I think this may be the first time someone admits it to someone else, even though that lack of purpose and feeling disoriented is very obviously a shared sentiment amongst the ex-citizens)

After that, it's when Wilbur invites Tubbo to join Paradise, the, supposedly burger van with a small house attached to it that wasn't supposed to become a nation. I have a feeling that the proposition coming right after that exchange may imply that Wilbur changed his mind on it. He does purposefully put himself again in an elevated position when making the proposition.

"Would you like to come join me in Paradise? Literally" "Hmmm, I'm not sure Wilbur. I'm not sure I trust you man, I need to- in order to follow someone I need to trust them" "Wait, wait but you- I thought you forgave me! I thought it was, you know it-" "Wilbur I forgive you because I like to hang on to the hope that people can change, but-"

This is what I mean when I say that Wilbur's apologies come with expectations for the person he's apologizing to. By asking Tubbo first if he forgave him when he originally apologized, he already made it harder for Tubbo to refute that. And now we learn that he expected trust to come along with forgiveness. He's not doing this maliciously of course, but he does seem to have some misconceptions on this.

"I know you had that- that at the festival? With Technoblade? I never spoke to you properly about this. I- I could have saved you" "But you didn't" (other people brought this up, but this is a neat little parallel to the one scene in exile where Ranboo was lamenting about how he should have gone with Tommy and Tommy shut him down pointing out that anyone could have gone but no one actually did)

There is a second round of apologies and Wilbur is still standing higher than Tubbo, BUT he does put himself on his same level after he did a bit more pushing and found that Tubbo was standing his ground. He finally puts himself on the same level as Tubbo and openly acknowledges his boundaries which is the first actual real effort to change that we've seen from Wilbur. Which I'd say is a pretty important step for him.

"Wilbur in order for you to gain my trust back you have to prove it, I can't just give it out anymore. I used to be able to but I just- I just can't" (acknowledgement of how Tubbo's trauma also affected him deeply)

"You know I still have dreams, right? Of the explosion. And- and of the fireworks. And- and all of it. I- I still- I vividly see all of it. Every day. It hurts. It hurts a lot Wilbur"

I want to commend Tubbo here for being able to open up like this, especially considering how much he generally leans into denial and how much he usually suppress. And on top of that this is Tubbo acknowledging that both Wilbur's actions (the explosion) and Techno's actions (the fireworks) have hurt him and STILL hurt him and affect him deeply. It's quite a big admission especially for him.

"Sorry feels like such a weak word. I feel like there's nothing stronger that I can say" (first time that he's standing on the same level of Tubbo while apologizing)

"You're so strong man. Genuinely. You just- just the fact that you proved to me just there that you have this memories, that you have this nightmares and you still find it in your heart to forgive me. That's... you're a fucking champion man. You- you're a hero"

It's interesting that the reason why he claims Tubbo to be strong here is because he forgave him. It's not something that's inherently about Tubbo, like the fact that he still found the strength to go on and rebuild after the events he mentioned, for example, no. What Wilbur brought up is the one thing that Tubbo did for him. Which tells me that he still clearly has a bit of way to go to learn how to make amends and how redemption actually works, but, you know, that's to be expected honestly.

Wilbur moves on by inviting Tubbo to at least come and see Paradise, just to see what they'd made and Tubbo refuses because he wanted to spend more time reminiscing. Wilbur this time respect Tubbo's boundaries with no pushing which is yet another step forward for him honestly. Wilbur also gives Tubbo a "lucky rabbit's foot" that Tommy gave him to cheer him up and assure him that he had no problems with him not going.

With this their conversation comes to a close and Wilbur and Ranboo head over to Paradise (though not before Ranboo has confirmed with Tubbo that he actually does want to be left alone).

"You know I was gonna say 'this is hard' but obviously it's hard. I mean, you know, I've..." (a bit of reflection on his actions for Wilbur, you love to see it!)

"It's gonna get better! It's gonna get better! And it's gonna be worth it when I see them smiling. All of them. Tubbo, Jack, Niki, Tommy, anyone!" (I'm pretty sure that this is a genuine sentiment right here. It really does seem that wilbur's Big Plan right now is just to make amends and change)

"Do you know who the original L'Manburg group were? Do you know who we were?" "I- I think most of them yeah... I think it was like: you, Jack, Niki, Fundy I believe as well" "Fundy was a bit after. Fundy was after we'd gotten independence"

I wonder if that's an actual misrememberance on Wilbur's part (c!Wilbur, not cc!Wilbur, I'm sure cc!Wilbur remembers this) or just him wanting to put some distance between his good memories of L'Manburg and Fundy. Because Jack and Niki weren't there for the independence war either and yet he singled out Fundy who was. And I doubt that he'd forget about his son being one of the people who lost their first life in the final control room. In addition to that Wilbur didn't mention Fundy before among those he wanted to make smile.

I really think that this was intentional and that it was because, well, Wilbur felt deeply betrayed by Fundy. And we as the audience know that Fundy only ever publicly stopped acknowledging him as his father to be able to stay undercover as a spy, but he doesn't. It wouldn't be so weird that he wanted to erase Fundy from his memories of the time when he was supposed to be happy.

"I try and keep this on the low because I don't want uh- I don't want people to use it against me is the main problem. I do wa- I didn't even tell Tommy, I lied to Tommy" "Yeah?" "I'll be honest I'm gonna tell him soon that I lied to him because if it- it kinda eats away at me. But I told- I told tommy that I didn't actually care about L'Manburg and that it was just like a tool for me to use to gain, you know, power and stuff, but it's not- it's not true. L'Manburg is- was really important to me. And it is still to this day"

Once again I'm surprised how little it took Wilbur to trust Ranboo with stuff he hasn't really told anyone else. Makes you really understand how low of an opinion of himself he has that when the first person that calls him "alright" out loud just gets his undying trust. Especially considering that Ranboo doesn't trust him back and hasn't been the most honset with him so far. It's also a nice spelled out admission for anyone who didn't get how much Wilbur cares about L'Manburg from the longing look he gave to the camaravan's replica in the stream where he said he never cared.

"I wanted history to live on, not as a stain caused by me, you know. I basically took a big shit on the history books it feels like" (just another interesting little insight on Wilbur's view of the situation)

"I've heard about what's Tommy's, you know, moved on... and how jack's moved on, and how Niki's moved on and everyone's moved on from L'Manburg at least partially, but Tubbo man, he's still..." (he only thinks the rest of them moved on because he hasn't spoken almost at all with two of them and he never really listened to Tommy. Also, again, Fundy is not mentioned)

"I don't know where I'd be without you [Ranboo] here right now man, I mean T-Tommy's great and all and he's here but I- I feel like, you know, I don't wanna- I don't wanna string him along too much because he's- I- when I look at him. When I look at him when he's helping me out building things with me I see the same eyes that looked at me when... when... There were some- there weren't some fun times in the ravine of Pogtopia. I wasn't a very well man and I can just see Tommy from that day"

This one was one heck of a confession!

I don't know if this is me misremembering, but I'm fairly sure that this is the first time he's admitted to not being great to Tommy specifically. Again, Tommy is the one person he met with so far that he hasn't apologized to. Heck! He told Tommy to his face that him being sorry for his actions didn't mean he wouldn't do them again. It's a pretty damn big admission to acknowledge that that behaviour (which is the same now, if not worse when only related to Tommy) wasn't good. It also shows that he's at least a bit aware of Tommy's emotions which is rarely shown honestly. Though whether he cares because of Tommy or because being around Tommy makes him feel guilty (which is what you'd expect him to feel) and he doesn't like that is to be determined still, mostly just because the phrasing was a bit uncertain at the moment.

"I know what it's like to have no one- or at least feel like no one trusts you. Uhm, and I- I've realized that if- if no one's with you then how can anyone really know when you've redeemed yourself? So that's why I'm here I guess" (Ranboo's answer to why he trusts Wilbur. Which he doesn't, but still)

And the stream ends with Wilbur saying he hopes Tubbo comes around to try out one of the burgers (though he does repeat that he doesn't want Ranboo to pressure him to join) and complimenting Ranboo a bit more.

#dream smp #wilbur soot #ranboo #tubbo #c!wilbur #c!ranboo #c!tubbo #character analysis #dream smp analysis #long post #I said it would be short and I most definitely lied #but you guys should know that I'm not capable of brevity by now #so honestly it's on you if you believed the title

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alrightberries · 4 years

Text

three weeks

❈ pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

❈ genre: angst. ❈ word count: 1.9k

❈ summary: “It’s been three weeks, and Levi still lies to himself when he says he’s okay.”

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of violence, death and gore. explicit description of panic/anxiety attack.

a/n: i’m not sure what... this is since i just randomly started typing it but hopefully y’all still like it.

He could still feel you.

Feel your presence in his room; in his hollow heart. With every shallow breath he took he swore he could still feel your warm palm on his skin, gently patting his shaking shoulders.

The clothes you'd left behind were still in his closet. The little notes you'd scribbled to him on random days still compiled. The letters you wrote sit heavy in a wooden box inside his bedside drawer.

He once complained that they created clutter in his room when you started slowly moving your things into his private quarters. It started off with clothes left on his unmade bed and eventually ended with you bringing your hygiene products to his personal bathroom. Slowly but surely, you moved in. Slowly but surely, you cemented a place in his life where you'd already cemented a place in his heart.

But now glancing at your shared bed, half empty, he simply couldn't find it in himself to do anything about your ‘clutter.’ It was, after all, all he had left of you.

The pillows on your side of the bed still smelled like you. The cotton where you slept countless nights before had a slight depression, an imprint of your body on the mattress. Faintly, if Levi closes his eyes, he swears he could still feel your fingertips running through his scalp as you peppered sweet little kisses onto his calloused skin.

His own fingers reach out and grasps at air where your beautiful face should be, sleeping peacefully next to him. Snoring. Twitching your eyes when you had nightmares. Him gently shaking you awake and holding you close to reassure you that everything was okay, whatever you dreamt of wasn't real, and he'll be here to make the darkness go away.

Yet his own darkness starts to eat at his conscience. He curses at his hands for even having the audacity to reach for you when it was these same hands that signed your death certificate earlier in the day.

Three weeks.

That’s how long it's been since he woke up next to you. Since he bid you good luck before breaking into formation as you crossed the walls and rode your horses through titan country.

It’s been three weeks since you were separated from your squadron. Since they came back from the expedition and he'd only noticed you weren't there when they finally reached the walls. Since he searched through countless corpses and severed bodies, trying to find your own.

It’s been three weeks since he's pushed off on signing the "M.I.A. - PRESUMED DEAD" document with your name and information printed at the top before he was forced to come to terms with your fate when the second search party once again came back empty handed.

It’s been three weeks since he last cracked a smile. Since he lost the last reason he had to strive forward. Since he lost the last reason to hope for a better place; a better future; a small home in the suburbs to live out the rest of his life with you.

It’s been three weeks since he last heard your voice. Since he rested his cheek against the palm of your hand. Since he first picked up a bottle of bourbon and let the alcohol numb his distressed mind and aching heart to the reality that you were gone.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks, and Levi still lies to himself when he says he’s okay.

A breeze passes through the open window, snapping him from his thoughts. Goosebumps form on his skin but he couldn’t bring himself to get underneath the sheets or close the window because he tells himself that the breeze was you. It was you, checking up on him, scolding him for drowning his sorrows in bottles of brewed brown, wiping away the tears he didn’t even know he’d shed as the pain of loss and mourning— the very things he’d been trying to outrun— hit him all at once.

He closes his eyes to stop more tears from falling. But he knew he was really doing it because he found darkness more comforting than having to look at your shared room. Not when you weren’t there to make the darkness go away when he opened his eyes. Not when every little thing reminded him of you.

The chair in the corner where you always sat, reading under the dim glow of candlelight. The shelves full of books, an impressive collection you’d both amassed throughout the years. Even the porcelain cup that sat on his bedisde table reminded him of you. It was a gift you’d given him when you were both still in the Underground. A cup matching his own sat on your bedside table, that much he already knew without having to open his eyes. He brewed you a cup of tea hours before going on the expedition that would seal your fate.

His skin tingles when he remembers the way you held his hand as you both sipped tea on that day. You were sat next to each other on the bed. He was reading the newspaper and you were reading a book, intertwined hands resting in the space between your bodies.

A new wave of tears threaten his eyes and he hears himself sob before he realizes the tears have fallen again. His hands clutch at his hair, pulling at the strands, and he lays on his side to curl up into a ball as he wills himself to stop, be quiet, and stop being so weak.

His heart began to speed up and his ears began to ring. He couldn’t focus. It was so noisy— everything was too much. The was talking. So much talking.

shut up. be quiet. leave me the fuck alone.

Levi realizes that the talking was his own conscience degrading him, and he wonders if he’s finally snapped. He heaves and gasps for air, trying to get his mind to shut up, but it only serves for the noise to get worse and suddenly the ringing in his ears turns into static. His heart begins to thump louder, and he’s accutely aware that he was having a panic attack.

Pathetic mewls leave his lips and his hands reach out to your side of the bed out of habit, just as he’s done plenty of times before. Only this time he doesn’t feel your fingers gently grasp at his shaking wrists to pull him to your chest, to hold him and whisper sweet nothings into his ears to calm him down. Instead, he grasps at white fabric, and he lets out a frustrated growl when he once again feels air where you should be.

Unfair. It was unfair.

It was unfair how you were taken away from him so easily. How he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. How he didn’t have a body to mourn, knowing you were either rotting away in a forest or disfigured in some titan’s belly.

Levi cracks open his eyes and his gaze lands on splotches of wetness on his pillow, the marks of his sorrowful tears. He sniffles, telling himself there was no need to be so pathetic when soldiers died everyday. He repeats it to himself like a mantra.

But then, he thinks, you weren’t just any other soldier. You were y/n— his y/n. The owner of his heart. The love of his life. The one who kisses his forehead good morning and good night. Who held his hands underneath the table before giving him a knowing glance, like you were sharing a secret that only you two knew of. Who would slip little notes into his pockets when you thought he wasn’t looking. Who sat with him in silence and calmed him down when emotions got the better of him. Who held him close and tight on nights like this, when the crushing reality of pain and loss finally broke him. And the sickening irony of needing you the most because he was mourning your death almost made him want to laugh.

He doesn’t know how long he stayed there. Unmoving. Curled up into a ball on your side of the bed, nose digging into the sheets to find comfort in the remnants of your scent as he hugged himself to slowly calm himself down.

Suddenly, he hears the door to his office burst open and rapid footsteps approaching his room. The wood slams against the wall, and his reddened eyes meet the wide and panicked ones of a soldier he’s seen in passing. She’s breathing heavily like she ran a mile to get there, sweat dripping down her forehead as she frantically looks around in search of the captain before finally landing on the man in question.

“Captain Levi, we—“ She’s cut off when he heaves a loud sigh, slowly sitting up and rubbing his red puffy face.

“Has there been a breach?” He asks. His voice is hoarse, she notices. The tone is calm but his eyes are angered, clearly not amused to be interrupted when he was mourning, and the soldier visibly gulps as she replies.

“N-no, Captain.”

“Are there titans anywhere in the walls?”

“No, but sir we—“

“Has anyone died in the few hours that have passed since dinner? Choked on their own spit, perhaps?”

“Well, no. But—“

“Then why the hell are you here?”

“Captain I was—“

A thought crosses his mind and he clicks his tongue in irritation. “Tch, did shitty glasses send you?”

“...yes but—“

“Tell four-eyes to stop sending people to check up on me.” He murmurs, beginning to lie down. “I’m allowed some goddamn privacy the night before my fiance’s funeral.”

“Yes but, sir, that’s actually why I’m here.”

“Whatever motivational words you have to say, save it for someone who cares.” He pulls the sheets above his head. “I’ve had enough pity-filled glances and half assed condolences thrown my way to give a damn—“

“Captain Levi, Y/N is alive!”

The soldier doesn’t know what’s happening until her back is abruptly slammed into the wall behind her and pain shoots from her spine to the back of her head. Hands are tightly wrapped around her throat in an ironclad grip, and her feet are dangling from the ground. She gulps.

The captain’s face is mere centimeters away from hers. If she thought he looked angry before, then the scowl he gave her now made it look like he was smiling just moments ago.

“What kind of sick joke do you think you’re playing, huh?” He sneers. “You think it’s funny to make fun of someone’s death?”

She tries to reply but only choked sounds escape her lips as her fingernails claw at her captor’s hands. Tears blur her vision as the Captain tightens his grip, but the way his eyes almost glowed a bright red— the clear intent to murder if she so much as breathed out of line— didn’t go unnoticed to her.

“Do you get some fucked up kick out of this?” He asks again. “You get a kick making fun of a man who’s lost everything?”

He loosens his grip the slightest, and the soldier is momentarily releived when she realizes she could finally speak.

“N-no, sir, I—“

“Levi, let her go!” Another frantic voice pleads with him from behind. “She’s telling the truth.”

Wait, what?

“What?” He chokes out. His grip loosens on the soldier and she slides to the ground in relief, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Hange cautiously walks closer, almost scared that any sudden movements would put Levi in a state of shock. They slowly, warily place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“It’s true, Levi. Y/N is alive.” The Section Commander murmurs. “Your Y/N is alive. They’re looking for you.”

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Associates - Part 4 - ao3, pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

There was a loud bird outside Lan Xichen’s window.

This was primarily notable because Lan Xichen’s window was currently set with an array designed to support his seclusion, designed to block out the noises of the outside world. As a result, the bird in question must have deliberately broken through several high-level arrays set down by Lan Wangji’s ancestors in order to make a racket outside his window.

It also didn’t sound much like a bird.

Lan Xichen was staring at his wall as the bird shifted from tweeting sounds to whistling to, eventually, a tired-sounding voice mournfully saying, “Tweet. Tweet. Shit. Tweet.”

Lan Xichen was not laughing.

He was in seclusion. It was one of the most sacred rituals of his sect – one of the most serious, the most respected. His own father…

No, he couldn’t even finish that thought.

With a resigned sigh, Lan Xichen stood up and went to the window, where the ‘bird’ had taken to mumbling curses more than anything else.

He opened it a very small crack.

“Nie Huaisang,” he said. “Go away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the ‘bird’ said. “I’m a bird.”

Lan Xichen was not laughing.

Nie Huaisang had ruined his life. He was not – it wasn’t –

Okay, it was a little funny.

(Lan Xichen had always had an excessive sense of humor, finding all sorts of things funny. His uncle had been mystified by it, telling him that it would eventually get him into trouble, and in the end, he’d been right, hadn’t he?)

“Very eloquent for a bird,” he remarked, and did not smile when Nie Huaisang cursed, although it was a close thing. “You can go away now.”

“Listen,” Nie Huaisang said. “I don’t need you to forgive me or anything, but you cannot miss Lan Wangji’s wedding.”

Lan Xichen had been reaching for the windowsill, but his fingers stopped in mid-air.

Lan Wangji’s…wedding.

He’d thought – he’d assumed –

“I know, I would have thought they’d be long since married! They were being idiots and pining from a distance, apparently,” Nie Huaisang said, correctly reading Lan Xichen’s thoughts. “They’re finally getting around to it, though, and if you’re not there, Lan Zhan will bite me.”

Lan Xichen pressed his lips together.

“He will. Don’t you remember what a bite-y little brat he was as a child?” A mournful sigh. “He’s gotten back in the habit, it seems. Whether through letters to others or even in person, if you want to judge by the state of Wei-xiong’s neck…”

Lan Xichen involuntarily snorted.

“Anyway, the main point I’m making is: they’re getting married. It’s going to happen soon. You have to attend, or else Lan Zhan will never forgive me, and obviously that’s more important than anything else.”

There was really no need for Nie Huaisang to engaged in these sorts of dramatics, Lan Xichen thought. It wasn’t as if there was any chance of Lan Xichen underestimating him ever again.

Did that mean that, just maybe, this sort of behavior really was what Nie Huaisang was like? That the overdramatic little shithead (there was really no other way to put it) that Lan Xichen had liked so much over the years was still there – that it hadn’t all been a lie, the way Jin Guangyao’s façade of kindness and compassion had been?

“Well? Can I confirm that you’re coming?”

“I’m in seclusion, Nie Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said, and he felt tired all of a sudden. Seclusion, and Nie Huaisang knew why. What he’d done…

“Uh, no you’re not. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re talking to me, aren’t you? Seclusion broken. Problem solved!”

Some cruel god or goddess must have been behind making Nie Huaisang so funny, and Lan Xichen so susceptible to exactly that type of humor.

“That’s not how that works and you know it.”

There was a moment of silence.

Lan Xichen thought to himself that if Nie Huaisang said ‘I don’t know’ in response to that, he really would break seclusion but it would be for the sole purpose of hitting him, and then he’d never agree to see him again in this life.

Luckily, that was not what Nie Huaisang chose to say.

“Listen,” he said, and his tone was no longer exaggerated or emotional but simple and straightforward – the Nie sect way of things, as Lan Xichen was abruptly and painfully reminded. Nie Mingjue had been like that, too. “I’m not expecting any miracles here. I don’t see this as a way to make up with you or get your forgiveness; I don’t think that you’ll suddenly feel better once you’ve come out of seclusion or that you’ll see the light and stop being upset all at once. All I’m saying is…this is your brother. This is the rest of his life, his lifetime happiness, his marriage. Are you really going to pick yourself over him for this, too?”

Lan Xichen had to put his hand on the wall to stop himself from staggering. Whoever thought that Nie Huaisang didn’t know how to stab a man had only ever seen him on the practice field, he thought; they had never seen him in conversation, where his words were sharper and more accurate than any saber.

He wasn’t – he didn’t mean to be selfish, to be picking himself. He didn’t want to do to Lan Wangji what his father had done to their uncle, trapping him in the Cloud Recesses and a million obligations he’d never wanted, even though Lan Wangji was coming to the work far older than either Lan Xichen or Lan Qiren had done.

On the contrary, he had retreated because he knew he could not trust himself. If his judgment was so bad that he had permitted – not only permitted, but in his willful blindness all but endorsed – so many of Jin Guangyao’s vile actions…if he had then turned his hand so quickly against Jin Guangyao once he had learned the truth…Lan Xichen had demonstrated that he lacked either principles of honor or of friendship, and given all that, how could he trust his judgment going forward? Wouldn’t it be better for all of them if he just wasn’t there -?

“If you’re really all that set on mourning san-ge, I’m not going to stop you,” Nie Huaisang said. “But I’m asking you to reconsider, for Lan Zhan’s sake.”

Lan Xichen froze. “You think I’m in here mourning?”

“Why else?” Nie Huaisang’s voice was still ruthlessly practical. His brother’s voice, and as much as he had loved Nie Mingjue in life, suddenly Lan Xichen hated hearing it from Nie Huaisang’s mouth. “You picked him over the rest of us a million times over when he was alive; what’s this seclusion of yours anything other than picking him over us again?”

Lan Xichen didn’t even realize what he intended to do until he was already moving: going away from the window and to the door, opening it and stepping outside – breaking seclusion in truth, the way a few words through a window were insufficient to do – and walking around over to where Nie Huaisang was sitting with his back against the hanshi wall.

“How dare you,” he said, and Nie Huaisang looked up at him, startled. “That’s not it at all.”

Nie Huaisang wasn’t playing with a fan, for once, and looking down at him, sitting there in the dirt and mud in his sect leader’s clothes, Lan Xichen thought he looked small.

Not – pathetic, the way that he’d come to secretly think of him in his heart of hearts these past few years. Just small.

Young. Tired.

Like the lost little boy he’d been when he’d first come to the Cloud Recesses, all those years ago; the one who had inadvertently gotten Lan Wangji to return to himself after their mother’s death, all unknowing – Nie Huaisang hadn’t ever realized that Lan Wangji hadn’t merely been quiet back then but truly mute, nor that the first word he had said since the announcement of the death of their mother over two years before had been a long-suffering “Please” in response to Nie Huaisang’s childish demand that Lan Wangji mind his manners when asking him to pass the salt. By the time Nie Huaisang had been there a month, Lan Wangji had bitten three children and four adults for having said something rude about his new friend, rather than standing there staring at them vacantly the way he had in the past, and Lan Xichen thought he’d never seen his uncle happier about a violation of the rules.

Nie Huaisang looked like the boy who’d nearly paced a hole into the floor during the war, worrying about his brother and pestering Lan Xichen about Lan Wangji very nearly as much, if not more – his brother he’d worried about in an abstract way, in his not-so-secret belief that Nie Mingjue was truly immortal, but Lan Wangji was ‘just a kid’, in his words, as if he himself weren’t a year younger.

He looked like the boy whose heart had shattered into a thousand pieces upon the realization that his brother – the immortal, the all-powerful – was really gone.

“I killed him,” Lan Xichen said, staring down at Nie Huaisang. “Don’t you understand? I killed him.”

“I know,” Nie Huaisang said, the opposite of all his ‘I don’t know’s over the years. “I was there, remember? In the temple – I saw you do it, it was my fault, I instigated –”

“Not Jin Guangyao,” Lan Xichen said. “Nie Mingjue.”

Nie Huaisang fell silent.

“I had them for about the same amount of time, you know,” Lan Xichen said. “Nearly two decades: Mingjue-xiong throughout my childhood, and A-Yao my adulthood, and I killed them both. How can I live with that?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang said, and his voice was bitter. “For once, for real, I really don’t know. But it’s been over a year. Surely you’ve had time to figure some of that out?”

Lan Xichen hadn’t realized that it had been so longer. It had been forever in there, and also no time at all.

“Do you know,” Nie Huaisang said abruptly, “that right after it all happened, Wei Wuxian said to me ‘don’t associate with evil’?”

Lan Xichen blinked, and then he processed it and stared. “Wei Wuxian said that to you? Wei Wuxian?”

And Wangji accepted it? He wanted to ask. Did Lan Wangji agree with him – did he think that you were too far gone to be saved, that it wasn’t worth associating with you any longer? Your crimes were all in pursuit of justice, and mine done blindly, and yet if he can’t bring himself to forgive you, what hope do I have?

“Lan Zhan has been helping me fend off challenges to my position,” Nie Huaisang said. “And Wei Wuxian apologized for what he said, eventually. He said that he trusted Lan Zhan’s judgment, and if he didn’t think of me as evil, then as far as he was concerned, I wasn’t.”

That seemed like a fairly good standard to use, actually.

“Lan Zhan doesn’t think you’re evil, either,” Nie Huaisang said, and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Even if you don’t trust yourself, why not trust him?”

“…is that what you did?” Lan Xichen asked, and his throat felt sore. All that speaking for the first time in months was wearing on him.

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said plainly. “After everything I did to avenge da-ge, I’d started to think of myself as willing to do anything, heedless of the collateral damage, another person just like san-ge – a smile to your face and a knife to your back. I still think that, sometimes. But every time I do, I just remind myself that that’s not the sort of person Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, would be friends with, and that means it can’t be me. You see?”

Lan Xichen did.

He did see.

He reached up and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve – his eyes had started flowing with tears at some point, he wasn’t sure when. “I’ll come out,” he whispered. “I’ll go to the wedding. I’ll help with – with everything, even if it will take me time. I promise.”

“Good,” Nie Huaisang said, and suddenly smiled up at him, bright and cheerful as a bird once more. “Because I’m serious, you have no idea, he will bite us both –”

Lan Xichen felt a laugh bubbling in his chest and thought that, with time, that he might even be able to let it out.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #associates

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dimonds456 · 4 years

Text

Gem Steven’s gem is flipped upside-down. (Theory/Speculation time!)

SPOILERS FOR @spudinacup’s SU AU “Gone Wrong”!

Also WARNING: long post!

So recently, someone pointed out that Steven has a scar on his torso going across his gem’s location, which I found interesting in and of itself. Makes sense, since he wasn’t able to heal it since he DIED and his gem was shoved out of his body before it got the chance to heal him. That slash mark is there now. Wow, neat! Nice detai-

Wait.

Hold on a sec.

Is his gem... flipped upside-down? Well, it’s been like this for a while, maybe it’s just a creative choi-

...oh.

This is VERY intentional.

So I did some digging, and found much more symbolism and possible foreshadowing, and now I want to throw out my theory about Gem Steven here, including his potential arc and character development. I’ll try to keep everything brief while still blowing your minds, and I’ll try to get across what my jumbled mind has come up with.

Spud please notice me.

I will not be uploading photos to go with everything I say (go reread the comic after this and verify for yourself what all I’ve said), but I’ll show visuals when they’re necessary. I do not claim ANY of this art as mine (I wish my art was this good ;u; ), all of it belongs to Spudinacup and their SU AU, which has all kinds of hidden symbolism, foreshadowing, and visual cues we haven’t picked up on yet, as I’ve just learned while researching this theory. This ain’t your run-of-the-mill AU, everything in here is intentional. Scott Spud doesn’t do coincidences. So I’ll point out that stuff in screenshots.

Okay let’s go.

SO! To begin with, let’s talk about why his gem may have flipped, and to realize that, we have to know when. We don’t see the gem much, but we do see it constantly through Chapter 1, where it is normal. The pentagon is pointed upward. However, in Chapter 2, this is where we see it flipped upside down. When did that happen? We didn’t see it. I believe it happened in that first scene in the bathroom, right after we left. The butterflies were swarming angrily, and Steven was very lost in thought.

Notice whenever those butterflies appear. They seem to show up every time he thinks about who he is. Is he still Steven, or is he someone else now? Steven is dead. Everyone is mourning him, trying to heal him, but Gem is still here. So if Steven is dead, but Gem is still alive, that must mean he isn’t Steven then, right? But then that undoes everything we learned in “Change Your Mind.” He IS Steven. He’s always been Steven. But that’s when they were together...

...And so the butterflies swarm.

Notice how the first one shows up when he looks at himself in the mirror. When you look in a mirror, you should see yourself, right? But who IS he? In the show, butterflies represent thoughts and ideas, mostly dark ones, disturbing ones, or ones you don’t want to think about. Well, he already spent WAY too long proving who he was, so now to do it again sucks.

But he isn’t Steven anymore. He’s on the couch being mourned. But he’s already proved he IS Steven before, and it’s this uncertainty that is making his mind swirl. I believe this is why he flipped his gem. Just upside-down, so it’s a small thing no one will notice, while he tries to figure it out. In doing so, he’s separated himself from “Steven”, as they’re not one and the same anymore, and the flipped gem shows this. He’s someone else right now. Maybe. He’s not sure.

So what do we call you for right now? Steven. He already proved he was Steven, so until he’s proved otherwise, Steven it is. Now he just has to figure out what exactly that name means and wether or not he still fits that quota.

Flipped gem/Pink Diamond imagery is EVERYWHERE, mostly hidden in drastic shadows or in panels. It’s things you don’t notice at first, until they’re staring you in the face. See if you can spot them from the 3 screenshots below.

There’s probably more hidden throughout the comic, these are just the ones I’ve found that I feel confident enough to show as hard evidence.

So, what does it all mean? We’ll talk about the screenshots in order, left to right.

First, the Diamond is hidden as the panel in the center. In it, Human Steven lies upside down while the gem-panel is technically upside right. This can be interpreted in a few ways, but what that means to me is that something isn’t right here. If you flip Steven back around so he’s upside right, the gem is now upside down. Notice Gem Steven looking towards his human half on the bottom panel there, clutching his shirt over his gem. It’s a motion we’ve seen Steven do a TON throughout the show, anytime he’s thinking about Rose/Pink, who he is, or complicated gem stuff as a whole. Because early on, his identity was always shrouded in shadow. THAT is Steven, on the couch, without his gem. So for Gem Steven to call himself Steven is inaccurate, but also not at the same time. It’s all swarming in his head, and thus, the gem is flipped.

Next, he’s just broken the rejuvenator. This was probably the hardest to spot of the three, but if you look at the panel where Bismuth asks “feel better?” you will see, in the background, a white line cut through the soft pink hues. Look closer. It’s the outline of the gem, but it’s flipped correctly this time. This is because Bismuth seems to be the only person NOT saying Steven is dead, and treating his gem half one and the same. Is she unnerved? Yeah, but who WOULDN’T be? This is still Steven we’re talking about, as emotionally blocked as he is. He’s aware of why everyone is being weird around him, so to see Bismuth trying her best to treat him with familiarity instead of a completely different, new, dangerous stranger is really calming and helps to calm the storm a bit.

Notice the gem is flipped correctly. This is because he feels like Steven right now. Bismuth has been constant confirmation that he is still Steven, no matter the circumstances. Notice how his eyes dialate back to a larger size. They do that a lot in the comic, articulating his emotions without changing the rest of his face. It’s a clever detail to keep track of. His eyes grow more relaxed, dialating bigger when she pats his shoulder, asking if he feels better after destroying the weapon that killed him. It’s a huge relief for him to hear. So, the gem is correct.

Finally, we see Bismuth telling Greg that his son is dead, which is very contradictory to what Bis was saying earlier (in Steven’s eyes). Where is the gem on that frame? Look at Steven’s shadow. There it is, facets and all. To us, the gem is correct, but think about it this way: if Steven were actually replaced with the gem in that frame, what would it look like, Pink’s or White’s? That’s right. The point is coming from his feet, meaning it would look more like White’s, meaning it is back to being flipped upside down. Again, Bismuth just said Steven is dead, meaning he’s back to questioning his whole entire identity. So it’s back to being flipped upside-down.

It seems that the orientation of the symbolic gems hidden throughout panels show quite clearly where his head is at in terms of who he is. If it’s upside down, he’s separating himself from the cold meatball on the couch, whereas when it’s normal/upside right, he is associating himself WITH the cold meatball on the couch.

Notice he’s been grabbing at his gem a lot recently, too, all things he does while in turmoil over who- or WHAT- he is. He cannot heal right now. He can’t use his powers. Some powers are new and unfamiliar (see the more recent pages where Lapis struck out with water and he blocked with those hexagonal shields/walls). “Steven HEALS people.” He can’t, so who is he?

This is something he’ll need to have an answer to by the time the comic is done, and this is a mission for Gem Steven and Gem Steven alone. If his human half were alive (and content without his gem), he’d probably call himself “Steven” no questions asked, since he GOT his answer already, two years ago. But Gem can’t do that, not when everyone keeps drawing all these lines between the two. He needs to learn what being “Steven” means, and know that he is a part of a greater whole, but on his own, he is STILL Steven. Everyone else needs to realize this, too, and stop separating the two. It’s gonna be rough, since it may feel like replacing what they lost, but is it really? It’s going to be a tough road to trek, and I don’t know what anyone’s answer is gonna be (that’s the big mystery here, after all), but I’m here for it.

Remember, all of this has been speculation on what may happen based on facts and clues Spud has presented us with. I’m not claiming to know how Gem Steven’s arc will end, but I am throwing my hat into the ring on where I THINK it will go. Either way, the foreshadowing, symbolism, and unspoken characterizations here have been excellent, and I’m looking forward to seeing everything play out. Spud, your mind is incredible, and whatever you’ve got planned over there, I’m confident the answer will be satisfactory.

I’ll shut up now. Thank you for reading this huge meta post, and go read Spud’s comic. You can find it at @suaugonewrong or on Spud’s Tumblr, which was linked above. If you think I’m wrong or have a counter argument, bring it. Let’s talk, cause this is genuinely interesting and fun to dissect. I wanna talk about it OwO

Thank you. You may now continue scrolling.

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anayaahwrites · 3 years

Text

KOT ficlet #6 (Kudou Chika/Houzuki Satowa)

(Events based after the most recent update that had me screaming into oblivion.)

Needle in a thread

His first thought is, not them.

He recalls his horror when they took away the one person who had loved him, the one that lit fireworks in his darkness.

But before he had time to mourn, the torch had been passed—like some sort of metaphorical relay race—into fresh, affectionate, and welcoming hands. They cared, nurtured, and gave purpose to his existence.

The child hated by a parent, the child of calamity.

Of disaster.

And now that he’s built a home, a hideaway to rush back to whenever things seemed too rough, like hell he’d let the demons of his past have it their way.

He drops down carefully, one knee after another, placing folded hands in front of the head tucked in between his legs.

Because Chika is desperate and he has no pride to protect to begin with, so pleading before them to let him just live outweighed any sense of shame he’d feel.

But he’s naive to think Uzuki cares.

There was something bizzare about the boy since he’d met him, how he changed based on what the situation called for—like a snake shedding layers of its skin.

The light at the end of the tunnel vanishes, but Chika pushes on, pouring the deepest parts of his soul in front of the people that ruined him once before.

Because Chika refused to let his torch dim, the flame protected by so many, he couldn’t be any more grateful.

Uzuki snickers, instructing Abiko and taking a blow to the face.

“I’ll tell everyone you did this to me.” He smiles.

Chika’s light is bright.

But his darkness is all-consuming. It wraps him like a blanket of thorns, clawing to tear chunks of his soul away. In the end, who could he save?

Who could save him?

“I’m tired of all of this!”

He snaps his head, facing the voice, breathing life into his own.

Houzuki stands with her back to him, confronting the men with such ferocity, they stutter for a second.

“To hell with your ‘ruin his life’ nonsense,” she huffs, swinging her hair like a whip. “I’m taking him home!”

He had so many questions.

Houzuki grumbles under her breath all the way out, twisting and turning from one street to the other, tugging him behind her like a four-year-old.

Why was she here to begin with?

Usually, he’d shrug her away. He’d tease the ever loving crap out of her and watch Houzuki turn a brighter shade of crimson every time while subtly keeping his distance from the intense urge to hold her close.

But today, when he looks at her, Chika sees more than just Satowa.

He sees a woman with the will of a stallion, dulling her blade in front of no one, however intimidating they might be.

He sees the hand of a woman he could not help but admire.

Couldn’t help but love.

He stops walking, looking at the fingers wrapped delicately around his wrist as if Chika realised for the first time that he was holding the hand of the woman he fell in love with a long time ago.

“Are you tired?” comes her tender voice filled with concern, as she looks around, “Do you want to sit for a while?”

He looks into her worried eyes and quickly drops his gaze, to the hand she wouldn’t leave. On any normal day, by now Satowa would let go, a shade of bright pink spreading down her arm to her toes.

Today she holds his hand, firm and gentle, both at once, neither shaking nor blushing at the contact that was progressively setting his nerves on fire.

And admitting his feelings was easy. It was easy for him to look at every minute he’d spent with her—in sorrow, in joy—that Chika was irrevocably in love with her.

He’d give the Sun if she demanded it, the moon adorned as an elegant crescent ring around her finger. He’s so in love that he forgets his past, that he could endanger Houzuki and her entire family.

But it looms around him like a constant-present shadow. So he sharpens his facade to protect her.

“You shouldn’t follow me to places like this,” he swallows, maintaining his composure as best as he can. “It’s dangerous. Are you stupid? Don't pull a stunt like this again.”

He steals a glimpse at her, pushing strands of loose hair behind her ear with not an ounce of regret or fear of her actions.

“If anything, you’re the stupid one,” she replies, ebony eyes staring straight into his as he raises an eyebrow in question.

“For thinking you’d need to face this alone.”

He stills, feeling her thumb stroke his bruised knuckles, eyes steadily turning a shade lighter.

“I understand,” she says, “I understand you’ve been fighting your battles by yourself all these years. You feel responsible for everything—like you deserve divine punishment for sins you didn’t commit to begin with,”

“But for once, point the blame to those that deserve it.” her grip tightens. “Tell them to,” she sucks in a sharp breath.

“Eat shit for all I care.”

Her gaze softens as he peers into her eyes; for solace, for the comfort he’s never had. That he’s never asked for.

“You’re only human, Kudou, and humans make mistakes. We all do. Does that mean we need to be crucified for it?”

He shakes his head from one side to another in an unspoken response.

“The past won’t change, no matter how hard we try. But the future.....” she grimaces, “Our circumstances are different now. No one helped you then—no one stood for you,”

Satowa’s smile is melancholy, like rain and snow at once, as she cups his cheek with her free hand.

“But you have me now,” she whispers, lacing her fingers into the groove between his. He peers into those abysmal eyes and sees a promise.

“The only day I’ll let go of this hand will be the day I die.”

In a flash, Chika breaks.

He shatters like smashed glass, scattering across the ground in shards of built up agony. He feels the tears forming in his eyes as he looks into hers, chin wobbling uncontrollably. His heart squeezes in his chest as everything sinks in—Dad, Mom, Grandpa, everyone he’s loved and lost.

And she stays there throughout, rubbing warm circles into his much bigger palm, a distant sorrow in her eyes.

This woman, this beautiful, wonderful woman, had saved him on more occasions than he could count.

She was the white to his black, yin to his yang painting his life with every colour in the spectrum between them.

The Sun sets not far behind, fiery orange encircling her like a golden halo. And that’s all it takes—the gleaming sky behind her, the tears in her eyes, the ones in his.

He pulls her forward gently, letting Satowa fall against him as every type of warmth rushes through his veins.

She stills for a moment, leaning against him, not a hair on her head moving. Chika gives her time, space enough to let go if this isn’t what she wants. God knows he doesn’t want to force her.

When she leaves his hand, Chika thinks it’s all over. And that’s okay.

He’s okay with that.

Instead, Satowa throws her arms around his neck, face sinking into the groove of his chest, nuzzling the space where his heart beats erratically.

He takes a moment to register, but when realisation sets in, Chika pulls her tighter to himself, fingers working through the strands of her hair, chin resting comfortably above her head.

In those small arms, Chika feels the affection she holds radiating with every fibre of her being. She stands on her toes, reaching higher to lay her head on his shoulder. He draws her up by the waist, anchoring her safely to his chest.

“You’re not alone,” she whispers into his collarbone, the touch of her lips, a second of pure bliss for him. He shivers at the contact, holding his breath to stop his thoughts from escalating.

“You’re not alone,” Satowa repeats, chin resting against his chest as she stares into his eyes, lowering one hand to trace his jaw in short, quiet strokes.

“You have me forever.”

When Chika kisses Satowa, he feels everything all at once. The rustling of the leaves dull, his heartbeat overpowering every sound in existence.

When she kisses him back, realisation sinks in that this woman, this beautiful wonderful woman, would give him the world too.

Chika stands in the centre of their universe, two supernovae colliding against the speed of the world, her breath against his skin like warm sunlight streaming in through a window.

When Chika looks into her eyes, he sees himself in them, trapped in a circle of warm ebony. He watches her smile brighten when she raises herself just enough to wipe the tears he doesn’t remember crying.

Today, when he looks at Satowa, Chika sees salvation. He sees his world.

“Forever,” he sighs as they walk back side by side, fingers intertwined, like needle and thread. She gazes at him, instinctively moving closer.

For once, Chika would let himself be protected. Because Satowa was a force to reckon with. She’s fierce and brave and he’s safe in her arms.

Chika really smiles then, one so wide his eyes crinkle and vision narrows to the one person who matters more than any other.

The world has to allow him this one moment of greed.

“Forever isn’t long enough.”

Yay! I wanted to write something for so long! This idea came to me after randomly listening to "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift.

Thank you for reading, and being patient with me. I love y'all so much <<3

#kono oto tomare!#kotedit #kudou chika #houzuki satowa #kot #dailykot #ao3 #fanfic #kono oto #kot fanart

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morihaus · 3 years

Text

Apotheosis

Winds howl outside of the Imperial Palace. Belharza, son of the Emperor Alessia, sits alone in his chair in the chamber of the council. The weather has not been the only thing weighing on the city of Rumarium; for days now the Emperor has been poor of health, the toll of all her life's toil and struggle finally arriving to meet her on her deathbed, the somber hand of Arkay, the bitter kiss of Kyne.

Twelve hours hence, she has been dead. Her son survives her as only child and heir to her throne. The city mourns her, and as word spreads, all of Cyrod mourns its mother, its liberator and caretaker, its Emperor for 23 years- just 23, such a pittance when stacked up to the tyranny of the Ayleid hegemony, which to men seemed to stretched beyond the farthest point of remembrance, so many lives ago that the time before exists only in myth. The First-crowned Queen-ut-Cyrod deserved better than this. Belharza's mother deserved better.

He feels a breeze blow in from behind him, a wind coursing through the marble halls of the palace, blowing his long dark hair over his shoulders. It is only wind, and then, footfalls on the floor, slow and heavy, in stark contrast to the flight of the wind. Belharza lifts his head and glances over his shoulder. A massive minotaur fills the doorway to the council chamber, long hair waving and curling down his shoulders like a sky of black clouds. His horns are tall and proud, wrapped with rings of gold and ebony, strung with strings of hawk's feathers. Two large wings are folded on his back. The cold wind blows behind him.

He regards his son with deep blue eyes, clouded and gray, belying his true age. The old bull looks weary. "Belharza." His voice is deep, carried and reverberated by the chambers even as he addresses him gently. He steps forward, his armor of fur and iron the only noise apart from his footsteps, and the gentle wind that surrounds him.

Belharza stands up from his seat. He meets the eye of Morihaus- he can see now why his mother has often remarked their resemblance with a melancholy smile, although his own hair does not roll like the clouds do, his own eyes do not hold the dangerous glimmer of lightning, nor does his form hold the foreboding rumble of thunder. He did, however, sprout a small pair of wings from an early age- too small to be useful, but just enough to be there. It is among the only things his father has ever given him.

"Father." Belharza speaks flatly, his mood dark, unfit for this meeting he had always dreamed of. He never knew Morihaus growing up, he'd taken flight from the Imperial City before he was born, something his mother had never been bitter over, and for the most part, he'd followed her line of thinking. He had often wondered, though, speaking with the clan of Morihaus- for he was a great uncle to many war chiefs and soothsayers- and hearing tales of his greatness, his good humor and passion for song, and he wondered too while speaking to the Paravanics who had fought alongside him and his mother, who spoke of him as a great general, savior of men, one who could clear a treeline with his voice- he wondered what it would be to meet his father, this mythical figure of his boyhood who so many grownups seemed to know.

He wondered, but he had never pictured the meeting like this.

Morihaus walked so that there was only a small distance between the father and son, and then bowed his head- in sympathy, in apology, in reverence, Belharza could not say.

But he says this: "She is gone." And when his father does not move, he continues. "She has left us. Gone to join you, I suppose." His words are without venom, he states them as a fact he wishes to grow used to. His father raises back up to meet him. His features are set in a worried frown. "I am sorry, Belharza." He breathes into the room as a whisper. "For my loss?" He asks plainly. "Or, do you wish to amend your own absence from my life?" His face does not change. "I should like to apologize on both accounts, dear Bel."

"Did you come to see her?" Belharza asks, neutral once again.

Morihaus nods. "I felt her time approach and made haste." The face of a minotaur is not extraordinarily emotive to a man, but to a man-bull, like Belharza, he can interpret the subtleties, the shame painted on his face, the guilt in his eyes. "In service to my Mother Kyne, I have carried many souls of great warriors on wing to her realm, or to the realm of Shor... it was understood between us, your mother was a great warrior, an ardent follower of her ways, and she would have her place there. But when I arrived..." He becomes quiet, his full and melodious voice withdrawing back down his throat, filling his lungs up heavy with bitter words.

Belharza makes no motion to speak. He only looks at his father, expectantly. He continues, eventually.

"What I witnessed is... difficult to explain. You were present- did you see? As she passed?" Morihaus asks. Belharza nods. "I was there." He pauses. "...I may have seen, something. I see many things that others do not. Mother always said you were to thank for that, your divine blood." The old bull nods at him. "Aye, that is the truth. The mortal and the divine, they see things differently. On that balcony, at her side... he arrived before me."

"The Crusader." He says, half-questioningly. "Pelinal."

A huff of hair blows out from Morihaus's snout. "It looked that way. But Pelinal is dead. He was torn asunder in this tower, he spoke to me as his spirit passed into a place I could not follow. And this... apparition, in it, I did not sense his spirit. Did you hear?" Belharza nods quietly, Morihaus continues. "What he spoke of, the et'ada, the beginning place, the movements of the heavens... in life, he never did say much of the gods. He served them, and I knew him as kin, but he has always held a distaste for spiritual matters, spoken in mortal tongues. I cannot fathom why he came to Paravania, nor what he meant to say."

"He took her," Belharza says, glancing to the floor. "I saw- I thought I saw. It looked as though he carried her up, up into the heavens."

"He steals mine own honor." Morihaus snorts, almost laughs. Then, again, he grows serious. "My uncle was never one to covet in life. He hungered, he wanted, but he did not covet that which was another's. He would have nothing to do with Perrif's soul, nothing before my mother and I."

His son looks back up to him. "Where... where did he take her? To the halls of Shor?"

Morihaus shakes his head. "I have been myself- Pelinal's spirit does not reside there. It cannot reside there. I would have carried him myself if he could." He hangs his head some, recalling the passing of his uncle, and finding himself on complicated ground betwixt mundane and immortal once again. "I have thought on it in these past years. At times, I blew through the great fields and forests, delved into the deep oceans, soared to the highest points in the clouds, hunting his spirit, without luck. I am wise enough to confess my stubborn nature, for divine I may be, I am still a bull, and I hunted for long on my own before thinking to ask my mother."

Belharza tries to conceive of what his father says- the shape of a bull with the wings of a hawk, darting throughout all of creation to find a departed soul. He suspects it may be more complicated than that, some divine metaphor twisting around it, but then again, he recalls fondly-remembered stories his mother would share of Morihaus, his willfulness and the strange places it could take him- times he would cross over the Jerrals, travel half the continent while meant to be petitioning in Skyrim, to return to Cyrod and meet with her at night.

The image of his father, flighty and wild, turning over logs and stones searching for the lost Pelinal, it's almost enough to lighten his expression. But this is just his own mind wandering. Perhaps they are more alike than he knows.

"Understanding my mother is no mean feat," He says, regarding his son. "Strange as I must seem to you, know that to me, my divine parent is just as alien. I am her, but as am I my mortal mother, my mortal people, my mortal self, and some of her perceptions are all but lost on me. She told me little, she told that Pelinal had done what was needed of him, and to die with the revolution's victory was a good end... but as to his whereabouts, she said he was not her soul to keep." "Then whose?" Belharza asks. He is met with silence, frustrating silence. He asks more forcefully. "Whose? Where is my mother's soul? What did he do to her?" "He pulled her up- made her from mortal to spirit, so she might lay among the heavens forever. Queen-ut-Cyrod, brighter than the stars-" "I don't care for your poetry-" Belharza loudly asserts, his own voice now booming in the hall. "I don't care for your god-talk- dammit!" He turns to one side with a huff, boots clattering against the tiles of the chamber. He paces away from his father in no particular direction, approaching a column and glaring into it.

Morihaus looks on, forlorn. He sighs, and the breeze almost wraps itself around Belharza's shoulders as it tussles his hanging braids, like some form of comfort. "I'm sorry. This... is what I hope for, Bel, but whether it is the truth, I cannot say."

"What do I care?" Belharza shakes his head, clenching his fists at his sides. "Whether her spirit is in one place or another- she's gone, that's what has happened today, and that is the grief I will carry for the rest of my life. What is the point in wondering where she is? The realm of Kyne, of Shor, of Akatosh, it makes no difference, she is gone to me any way." His voice grows ragged as he chokes with tears, his eyes stinging with bitter sorrows. Though a grown man, he feels helpless like a child in the face of such a loss- his mother had been his world, and now the shadow of death had ripped her away from him, and she was gone, forever.

His father approaches him, but leaves a fair distance, just slight enough for his whispering voice to carry to him. "Do you remember what she told you, Bel, about me? When I was gone to you?" Belharza does not reply, only taking a breath as he remains fixed on the pillar in front of him. "...I am a spirit, Bel. I am more than my body, more than a man-bull. I am the skies and storms, the thunder; I am movement, I am the movements in the hearts of men, I am their battlecry; I am the wind in the rolling hills, blowing the grasses and flowers; I am the breeze in the canopy of the forest, swaying the branches; I am the gale upon the sea, the scent of it in your lungs, I am the very breath that you take." Belharza finally turns to face his father again, without expression, with tears on his face. Morihaus is not shaken from his words. "When a mortal dies, their spirit is released into a vast cosmos. They are gone from their lives, from their loved ones, but from there, there are many roads, countless paths that a soul can take... do you understand?"

He only receives an expectant look. Belharza's face lightens somewhat. There is hope in the winding words of Morihaus.

"Though I was forced to leave you, and could no longer walk this world as I had, I found my ways to you- to both of you. It has been, and will be forever, a great pain that I could not stay... but there are some ways in which my presence could be felt, some ways in which I was there all along." Morihaus steps forward, slowly raising his hand to brush Belharza's hair from his face, as gently as the breeze, as his own mother's hand. "Your mother will be gone as I was. You will feel her. She will still be with you."

---

Belharza was anointed Emperor before the Elder Council and the citizens of the Imperial City, including his divine father, who could not stay for long, but was pleased to see and know his son as a man, and content to answer the questions of the citizenry to the best of his ability, or at least his want.

The new emperor spends the first weeks of his reign still in mourning, but more hopeful for having spoken with his father and his other relatives, who gave him heart to imagine his mother at peace. He spends much of his days outdoors, honoring her memory in the gardens and outside the city walls, even beyond the shores of the Rumare and into the jungles. On one occasion, which would be a moment only for him to know and remember, he stumbles upon a field of flowers below a small hill. He finds it a good place to say his piece, and there he would speak to his mother, expressing his deepest affections and tearful goodbyes. All of the sudden, he feels drops of water landing on his bowed head, and he looks up to see a spring running from the rock, a spring which had most definitely not been there before. As though the land of Cyrod itself were weeping for him.

At this, Belharza only smiles knowingly.

#tesfest21 #mori writing #belharza #morihaus #cw for death and grief

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siren-dragon · 3 years

Text

Cultural Studies -- The Cat Returns fanfic

Hello again, guess who wrote another one-shot! Anyway, this prompt came to me (along with several others, lol) so I decided to write something for it. Also, big thanks to everyone who enjoyed my first story. Also, Haru’s outfit is based on the yukata from the Love Nikki game and I may draw something for this story at a later date. Anyway, please enjoy!

AO3 story link Tagging: @mysticsoulgirl

Prompt: Summer Fireworks Festival

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

Though the Sanctuary, and by extension the Cat Bureau itself, experienced many a visitor wishing for assistance with one thing or another- it wasn’t exactly a stationary place. True, anyone could follow Muta from the Crossroads and through the twists and turns of Japan’s alleys to locate the entryway arch, but that wasn’t truly the Bureau’s physical location. Anyone who was in need could find the Sanctuary entrance, all they had to do was merely look for it. So, while Baron was not unaccustomed to a variety of clients (even if the quantity seemed to have diminish over the years), it was always a study in new cultures when a guest appeared. Even when the cat figurine made a point to be open and courteous to a visitor, there were often a few things he gained new knowledge of.

“A fireworks festival? I’m afraid I’ve not heard of such a thing before.” He spoke, handing Haru a now size-appropriate cup thanks to the Bureau’s magic.

The dark brunette offered a small word of thanks and a bright smile before continuing. “Really? Oh, they’re great fun. Originally it was started as a festival for the dead; to mourn the lost one while celebrating life. But nowadays it’s just a fun activity to watch while eating festival food with friends.”

“Did I hear someone mention food?” Muta spoke, closing the front door behind him. “Hey Chicky, you bring any snacks with you today?”

From the upstairs balcony came a snort of displeasure. “You ever think of anything aside from your stomach,” Toto drawled, rolling his eyes at the cat’s one-track mind.

“What was that birdbrain?!”

“Oh, come on, think of a new insult piggy-cat!”

Before the fight could escalate anymore Haru, now a more convenient size for Baron’s home, rose from her seat on the sofa and lifted a bag where the scent of sugar and fresh fruit wafted throughout the room. “If you two are going to fight, then Baron and I will eat this by ourselves- including the mulberries I got special for you Toto.”

Both cat and crow immediately silenced themselves before tossing a glare at the other, “You got lucky, big chicken.”

“Sure thing, marshmallow.”

Baron sighed, taking out the necessary cutlery before Muta decided to forego the use of utensils. “Muta, have you experienced such festivals in the Human Realm?”

“What festivals?”

“The fireworks festival coming up this weekend,” Haru clarified as she handed Toto the collection of mulberries she brought.

It was here that the ex-con feline grinned, “oh yeah. Gotta love summer festivals in Japan with all their fried food and sweets. Best time to be a cat.”

Toto snickered, “why am I not surprised; you only think from your stomach.”

“Shut up!”

“There’s also games where you can win prizes and some shops as well. And at the end there is large fireworks show everyone watches to celebrate the summer season.” It was here that Haru’s excited smile seemed to dim slightly, “I was going to go with Hiromi, but she has a family reunion to attend. And my Mom will be out of town during that weekend- so I’ll just be watching it from my house.”

As a figurine being made out of wood, anything associated with fire was typically something Baron tried to actively avoid. And while he would deny it fervently later onto a rather smug looking Muta and Toto, the slightly disheartened expression on Haru’s face sent a rather unpleasant sensation through his chest sent nearly all thoughts of self-preservation out the window. It reminded him of their previous adventure in the Cat Kingdom; with her clad in a fine, pale-yellow gown and wearing a look of absolute despair despite it having been her so called “wedding day”. And so, it was not 2 seconds later that he found the words tumbling from his lips without any kind of second thought.

“Perhaps we can accompany you to this festival instead, Haru.”

That certainly caused the brunette to stare at him in surprise, yet a spark of joy danced within her caramel eyes. “Really? You guys would want to go with me?”

“Hey, if there’s food then you can count me in.” Muta shrugged, finishing his slice of chiffon cake.

Toto nodded, “I’m sure it’d be a great experience; what with the lack of clients to the Bureau.”

Haru beamed brightly with sheer delight, “Thank you everyone, I’m sure you all will love it!”

When Haru had finally left for the day, a definite spring in her step, Muta couldn’t help but turn a sly grin to his fellow feline. “Well, that was rather generous of you to volunteer us for something you didn’t even know about till 30 minutes ago.”

“I’m not sure what you are inquiring Muta. It was quite clear that Miss Haru was looking forward to this festival and it would be unbecoming of a gentleman to allow her to merely remain home alone and miss the event entirely.”

Toto nodded, “I have to say, I agree with Baron on this one. But I don’t think it was that difficult to persuade you after that melancholic expression crossed her face.”

Baron gave a displeased frown to his colleague’s rambunctious laughter, which did nothing to hide the slight tint of pink beneath his cream-colored fur. Honestly, since when was chivalrous behavior become a source of mockery? And yet… the sight of Haru’s joyful smile was more than worth it.

“So, are you going to wear a yukata?”

“A what?”

That answer only made the hefty white cat laugh louder.

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

“Muta… are you quite sure that this garment is placed on correctly.”

“If the picture is anything to go by, then yeah. Besides; you can’t wear a suit with tails to a summer festival- you’ll stick out too much.” The large cat answered, glancing down at the newspaper advertisement in his hands before looking back to his much shorter friend. “Hmm, I think that’s right.”

“You idiot, tie for the sash is supposed to be in the back.” Toto commented, taking the advertisement with his beak to compare the image to Baron’s new attire. “See, there isn’t a giant bow in the front.”

“Okay first, it’s called an obi and second, stop butting in birdbrain!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you knew what you were doing, fluff-ball!”

Baron was going to attempt to silence their bickering before the sash about his waist loosened slightly causing the robe to flutter open and expose part of his chest and collarbone before the ginger feline took hold of the garment’s sides and quickly held them closed. He briefly wondered if it would perhaps be better to merely wear his typical suit before a knock sounded on the door- halting Muta and Toto’s argument. The crow quickly flew toward the door and swiftly opened the door to reveal Haru. She too was clad in a traditional yukata of navy blue with ivory and cream-colored stars swirling around a crescent moon at the hem of the dress before continuing upward. The sash wrapped around her waist took on a pale blue color while the right sleeve of her dress shifted colors; with the stars now dark and the fabric white shade. Though her hair was cut short, it was still pinned back by a blue, yellow, and orange silk flower with the latter two colors matching the shade of his own fur. To be perfectly honest, she looked quite breath-taking.

“Baron are you wearing a yukata?” She grinned, noticing his change of attire immediately which only made the statuette cling to the folds of the loosened robe all the more tightly. “I didn’t even know you had one!”

“Well, Muta saw fit to inform me this is the traditional attire for a summer festival so it is a recent addition to my wardrobe. However, I seem to be having a bit of trouble actually dressing.” He answered, unable to prevent the sigh from leaving his lips at his current dishevelment.

Haru giggled, placing her small bag on the sofa before approaching him. “Don’t worry, it’s always challenging for a first-timer. Here, you just need a little bit of adjusting…”

Despite his attempt to remain calm at the innocent offer, Baron couldn’t help the heat rushing to his face as Haru approached and began shifting the obi about his waist he had attempted to tie on earlier. He still kept his hand clenched about the folds of the yukata as Haru expertly straightened the robe, to which he gave her a very grateful smile. Soon he was now properly clothed, even wearing the haori properly before Haru stepped back to admire her handy work (though Baron felt a slight twinge of disappointment at her shift away from him). “There we go, a perfect fit.”

“Thank you, Haru. And may I say, you look lovely as well.”

She beamed at his reply as she moved to retrieve her bag. “Thanks Baron. But if you wanted to wear a yukata, I could have helped you find one.”

Muta shook his head, “that would have ruined the surprise Chicky. Plus, nothing was more amusing than watching Baron try to put it on.”

“As always, your assistance is greatly appreciated Muta.” Baron replied dryly, remembering the past hour where both his friends tried to guide him in how to wear the clothes.

As they walked through the archway of the Sanctuary, Muta walked ahead of them now on all fours while Toto took to the skies. However, as soon as Baron exited alongside Haru, he grew till he was once more a head taller than the dark-haired young woman instead of a foot-tall figurine. But the fact that his feline appearance remained gave Haru pause- knowing most would not really take the appearance of a half-cat man kindly (even if people believed it to be a ridiculously realistic mask). But it seemed her thoughts were rather evident on her face, because Baron was quick to assuage her fears. “Do not worry Haru, there is a spell in place masking my real appearance. You are the only one who can see the truth.”

“I didn’t know you can use such spells, Baron.” She asked curiously.

He nodded, offering his arm to her which she gladly accepted. “Yes, though I am afraid they are only temporary. But I thought this would make our evening engagement far more enjoyable without any disturbances from bewildered onlookers.”

“It’s no trouble at all, actually I think it’s a good idea. It does make me curious as to how your disguise looks.”

Baron paused and gestured to the glass window of a shop they were walking past, “see for yourself.”

Turning to the window, Haru looked at Baron’s reflection nearly jumped in alarm upon not seeing the familiar feline characteristics she had come to cherish. Instead, the face of a young man who looked a few years older than herself gazed back at her from the reflection. His hair was a light tawny blonde the same shade as Baron’s fur, perfectly coiffed to suit the Creation’s usual debonair attire. Where once fur and whiskers existed was now fair skin and a rather amused smile taking in her slightly bewildered expression. Yet despite the disguise, Haru took comfort in the fact that Baron’s eyes were still the same shade of mint-green.

“That is rather impressive, if a bit shocking at first.” She laughed a little nervously.

Baron frowned, “does it bother you too much?”

“No, it’s not that,” she answered with a shake of her head before beaming up at him. “I just prefer you the way you are, that’s all.”

It was the second time in the past few days that Baron found his words failing him once again at her kind, yet honest words.

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

Perhaps the first thing that caught Baron’s attention were the vibrant banners illuminated by dozens of lights and lanterns. The street was lined with colorful booths, each hosting a different attraction as friends and families traveled back and forth to every single one. It was a rather jarring change from the peace and quiet of the Cat Bureau, but as he glanced down at the excited grin on Haru’s face as she enthusiastically explained each booth’s function, Baron couldn’t help the pleased smile drifting across his face. “So then, what would you recommend we do first?”

“Food, I’m starving!” Muta cried from about their legs before he bolted down the street, causing several people to laugh at the rather large cat obviously following the scent of frying food. “Takoyaki, here I come!”

Haru laughed, “well, food always is a good choice. Though we’d best pace ourselves, festival food is great, but not exactly healthy.”

“Then I shall follow your lead, Haru.” Baron added, glancing around briefly with a bit of confusion drifting across his face, “I must admit, I thought a fireworks festival would have more of that particular attraction.”

“That happens at the end of the night, mainly because it’ll be darker and it’ll give us a chance to see most of the booths before we have to find seats to watch the fireworks. But we’d best find Muta before he manages to pilfer too many snacks.”

Baron chuckled, “I think it’s more of his charming attitude that wins him such favors.”

Haru couldn’t help but laugh at that, and judging from the faint cawing above their heads, Toto heard it as well. “Well, we’d best hurry before that charm gets a bit carried away.”

The couple soon found their way further into the festival and managed to find Muta, who looked rather smug at having charmed a piece of taiyaki from a group of teenage girls. True to her word, Haru managed to procure a few treats for them all to try, ranging from takoyaki to kakigori to some onigiri before they walked to where Toto waited upon a nearby but isolated tree. Muta had nearly claimed all of the takoyaki while Toto took a liking to the plain onigiri and the roasted chestnuts Baron was eating. Though Baron was not overly found of the deep-fried food, he couldn’t deny that the kakigori Haru offered was quite delicious.

As the sun soon sank below the horizon and the sky turned dark with the coming night, many people started moving away from the bright lights of the festival stalls to await the oncoming fireworks display. “We don’t really want to be too close to all the larger crowds, so we’ll stay on the outskirts instead.” Haru informed them, taking a seat beside the grass. “And I wanted to thank you guys again, for coming with me.”

“Nonsense Haru, this was most enjoyable and we were happy to accompany you.”

“Even though you had to forgo your suit?” She replied with a teasing grin.

Baron gave a slightly sheepish look, “I will admit that dressing did pose quite the challenge, but well worth the effort.”

“Even still, thank you for being such a good sport about it. And I’m glad you had a good time.” Haru chimed happily, turning to look at the ever-growing groups awaiting the final event of the festival. “Hopefully we’ll be able to see everything with so many people…”

“Well, we merely need a seat with a view; and I believe I may have a solution.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The ginger gentle-cat only offered her a hand with a secret smile, “Just trust me.”

At the familiar words, Haru rested her hand upon his and watched as the world around them seemed to stretch upward as her height plummeted to its usual size whenever she visited the Bureau. Toto then landed beside them, offering a place upon his back with Baron holding on tightly the Stone Creations black feathers and Haru wrapping her arms about his waist. Once they were situated on the now gigantic crow, Toto rose high into the air (though not before snatching Muta in his claws much to the large cat’s displeasure while muttering something that sounded like “always a showoff.”) before gliding through the evening sky.

They were only flying for a few minutes before a high-pitched whistle sounded only to be followed by a large explosion of white and gold lights as the fireworks show began. Haru watched in silent amazement as they soared the atmosphere as each of the colorful illuminations danced around them like falling stars. She a joyful laugh at sheer sight of the fireworks show from a literal bird’s eye perspective, “alright, now this is a view.”

“I must agree,” Baron added, though it was hard to hear over the sound of the fireworks.

Moving her head forward, Haru placed a gentle kiss upon Baron’s fur-covered cheek before leaning to rest her cheek against his back. “Just for the record, this is the best fireworks festival I’ve ever been to.”

And for the third time in Haru’s presence, Baron found himself at a loss for words as a pleasing warmth started to overcome his face. Yet as he turned to watch the brilliant lights display with the young woman beside him, he had to admit that it certainly was an enjoyable evening.

#the cat returns #neko no ongaeshi #baron humbert von gikkingen #haru yoshioka #renaldo moon #muta #toto (cat returns)#haru x baron #fanfiction #summer festival #fireworks #flustered baron gives me life #fluffy fic #one shot #my writing

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xfeliciahardyx · 3 years

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Summary: What happened in the bakery changed you. The next few years would force you to harden and build so many walls that you vowed to never let anyone in. You can probably guess what happens when a certain soldier starts to scale those walls so that he can get to you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: mention of blood, intense details about ww2, side character deaths, traumatic backgrounds, mention of Nazis, mentions of broken bones and bullet wounds, children suffering due to the war, imprisonment in a concentration camp, someone does get stabbed, and angst (Warnings will be added as the story continues if need be. This is just for the first chapter!)

Taglist: ~Here~ (Feel free to add yourself to any other categories!)

Word Count: 9k

Author's Note: Okay everyone reading I first want to say thank you for reading my imagine. There are some things that I need to clarify before you start reading this. The entire series will be me going through the Captain America movies. It first starts at The First Avenger and continues through the places in time where Bucky is and where he is not OoOoOoO plot twists. But yes this can be overwhelming to read because some details are VERY graphic. i did use techniques from my medical skills class so all the medical procedures are researched and correct. Please enjoy The Winter Soldier and The White Feather or as I like to call it WSWF

The war was changing you and everyone around you. It was making kind people turn green and bad people even worse. You learned that the hard way of course. When you’d had been taken to the facility you didn’t know what to expect. Now you had been in it for God knows how long and you didn’t know what would happen. You had no way of contacting your family. Of contacting anyone you knew really. You were lost, scared, hoping for a savior that didn’t seem to be appearing. Lost traveling in a fog ridden meadow without any sense of direction. It killed you to see how many people died and suffered at the hands of the Germans, but your screams were of no use. The way they treated everyone was as horrible as a cat chasing a mouse. Like you were the filth on their boots, the scum of the earth. Any time someone said something to them they’d react as if a fire touched their skin and recoil away. They acted as if they didn’t have enough money to feed anyone properly. The food was sure to break several health codes back in the city but that didn’t seem to stop you all from eating it. If it wasn’t stale bread that you could knock someone out with, it was week old soup that had hints of green to it. The water was as piss pore and was a dull gray. Not your best moments or the biggest feast for the holidays but it was for survival. It was meant for you to get on through the day and do as you’re told. The inmates had started to call it the end of the world. You didn’t blame them because it was. That didn’t stop them from constantly complaining about every little thing. You on the other hand couldn’t give a fuck. It was like every single one up and flew away with the happiness that had been your life in France. You couldn’t even speak after the horrors the world and slammed into your life. You avoided everyone and everything that lived, scared and desperate to stay hidden. It was the way to go and others followed your lead. You weren’t one to speak or do anything with another person and the others around you knew it. So, they cleared their distance and you appreciated it. You had never been one to stay quiet for long around people. Eventually you’d try to get to know them. But you had changed just as times had. Even now you knew to keep your cool and to keep up with your manners. At any minute they could kill you. Or they could do something to shatter your already scarred mind. You knew you weren’t like the people who decided to suck up to them. Kissing the floor, they walked on for a little bit of clean water, or a bowl of soup that was freshly made. They were horrible to the suck ups and laughed at them as they did their best to seem appealing. You would never stoop as low to be a person who supported the people who had made this sad reality your life. Despite everything your parents had done to you, you always managed kindness. The girl who was secretly the crush of every guy because of her brains. The kind of girl that went to the library in her free time. The girl who never dated because she claimed she wanted to focus on school but could never know how to talk to guys. Went to the movies with her one friend who she cared about more than anything. The girl who made life positive because her family had always made it negative. Yes, you were over all kind but when you needed to be you could be as sharp as a spear. So, why did they kidnap you? It was simply a case of being at the wrong place in the wrong time. But that didn’t excuse their actions following the moments they walked in that bakery with their rifles held high and their voices screaming in curses. Why did they have to kill one of the most important people in your life right in front of you? Shot her straight through the heart at the bakery around the block from the school. All because she was Jewish. Their logic didn’t explain why they had the right to take her life. Her younger siblings had been complaining about food and you had an extra food stamp to use. You’d despised the stars they had to wear on their chest that prohibited them from having the normal things every person

needs. You all had practically skipped to the bakery in hopes that they’d have chocolate. It was a nice moment thinking that everything was back to normal. She had only been 21 and you 20. That was 3 years ago. Even so long after you could still imagine the events that had occurred. Her blood had splattered all over your polka dotted yellow dress. All she had asked for was food for her siblings. Sure, sweets would have been kind but you were all hungry in general. When the soldiers had come in, they’d been attracted to her star. You should have been on guard more, but you’d been naive to think they wouldn’t harm them. One had grabbed Ciera and pushed himself against her. In her reaction she’d kicked the German away and his comrade shot her. Her siblings that had been clinging to your side as they shot her cried out for their sister as she dropped to the ground. Siblings that had their throats slit as they clung to your arms. You had begged for their lives. They were just two children. You thought they would have a little mercy. You knew you would take care of them for their sister. You tried to explain that Tommy and Cassandra had been hungry, and their sister had been killed right in front of them. The trauma they had suffered was enough for their minds to endure. All of what was happening was enough to make anyone mad. It was necessary that they cry and mourn. But as heartless as they were, they showed no remorse. That two children crying for their dead sister would never and hadn’t stopped the Germans. They’d ripped the children from your hands and pressed their silver knives to their throats killed them. You wanted to fight for them. You loved them like your own siblings. They didn’t deserve the fate that had been handed to them. The third soldier had held your arms behind your back to stop you from tearing them away. You had tried to fight him, but you knew he wouldn’t let go. You watched the blood slip from their throats, and you sagged against the soldier. He had been the kinder of the three. A recruit perhaps. You didn’t realize until later that he’d held you in his embrace throughout the car ride to the place where you’d be transported. The screams that left their mouths still haunted you and you saw their terrified faces in your dreams. Sometimes they would come together as a group. Other times Tommy would visit you with blood seeping from his throat asking you for his sisters. You blamed yourself for not fighting hard enough. You watched as the life left your eyes when you knew it should have been you. You should have been dead on the ground with them as they lay dead next to their sister on the ground. Yes, life was unfair. But if life was unfair than war was no comparison.

“Gurl!” A German soldier yells pointing his finger to a spot in front of him. Most of them could barely speak English and when they did it was so slurred. Half the times you had to watch their hand motions to understand what they wanted. His eyes are locked on you from your spot by the back of the courtyard. It was a quiet place that everyone avoided because of the sun that would beam on you. They preferred the shade, but you just needed the quiet heat to cleanse your mind. You cursed and grabbed onto the chain fence behind you to lift yourself up. It bent with your weight but you knew it wouldn’t break. It was a trashy fence that if you tried to climb, you’d either be shot down or just get so scratched that you’d just end up doing more harm than good. The fence traveled around the vast courtyard that was rundown and brown. The fence had rust in certain spots from when it rained but it never did anything for the concrete. Blood stains covered the floor from where prisoners had been shot and dragged away. There were splatters and puddles all over the already dirty floor. Even on the ground leading into your cells you’d find the lengthened blood beneath your feet. The courtyard was the only time you got to see the outside world. They also had a calendar on the wall that told you what day it was. You weren’t sure why but maybe it was to bring down the spirits of everyone. You on the other hand had been there for 3 years 2 months and 25 days. Since the beginning of the German’s invasion of France. It was made up of mock punching bags filled with paper plates and hard pillows that no dared to sleep on. People sat in cliques all around speaking in different languages. Most of them spoke French and in your time there you’d picked up bits of other languages. Nothing too major but just enough to understand.

“Ve dount ave foreevare vittle gurl.” He yelled again and you picked up your pace. You didn’t want to do anything to cause any more attention to yourself. His accent sent prickles of fear up your spine and the hairs on your arms stood on end. As you walked by a few whispers drafted into your ears and people glanced away. Being called over by a soldier wasn’t a good thing and people avoided it as much as they could. There was always the possibility of someone getting shot or having to do something you weren’t mentally or physically prepared to do. So, the terror that was filling up your mind with endless possibilities wasn’t a fun thing. Anxiety tightened the space in your chest and your throat was constricted with worry. You stopped a few steps in front of the soldier who towered over you and said nothing as his eyes trailed over your body. Once upon a time you would have blushed and shifted awkwardly where you stood but now you stand still and stare straight at the wall behind the soldier to avoid eye contact. The mic on his shoulder beeps and he holds out a finger to you. You don’t respond and continue to stare straight ahead. He responds to the German voice in his native language rapidly and you fiddle with your hands behind your back. You could feel the tension rising around the two of you and it wasn’t good. His eyes had begun to harden more, and his posture grew rigid. His eyes darted around the dirt filled courtyard until he turned around and stared at a man. He had been beat up. On his eye was a purplish hue with hints of green. You saw a small limp in his walk as you turned your head in his direction. He stopped and leaned against the fence with his arms crossed a pair of tags dangling around his neck. The green Henley he wore was matted and had spatters of dried blood. His pants hung off his body, still fitting but with tears. Looking from the outside in he looked just as bad as every other prisoner of war. He had an unreadable expression as he surveyed his surroundings. You caught a small calculating look in his eyes as he scanned people that walked by. His eyes caught yours and your breath caught in your throat. He didn’t just stare at you from afar. He seemed to bare your soul out in front of everyone to see. His gaze was intense, and a hint of curiosity was in his dark eyes. The soldier beside you muttered something into his radio and your gaze snapped away from the handsome stranger and you turned back at attention. You couldn’t get the image of him out of your mind even as the soldier gave you your new group to follow to your cells. Everyone was given a number when they were placed in the camp. Each cell was alphabetized and most of the time people didn’t even pay attention to them. They did it to give themselves a feel of control. The only one you didn’t follow. You didn’t say anything back to him and when he dismissed you, you promptly walked back to your spot. You didn’t want to turn your head in the direction of the stranger you knew was walking over to you. You wanted to disappear, and you knew the moment he talked to you your tough exterior would break. There was something different about the way his head was held high and his shoulders never slumped. You could practically feel his confidence from across the courtyard and out of your peripheral vision. You slid down the fence with a sigh as you put your head in your knees. You took a few breaths to keep yourself calm as a pair of shoes came into view. They were brown and matted and looked like they’d seen better days.

“You okay?” a voice followed. It was low and soft, but it sent shivers down your spine. You slowly raised your eyes up the body that was wearing them, and your eyes widened in surprise where the man from before stood in front of you. He’s much taller than you initially realized and his eyes a deeper brown. He stares down at you with worry and you just stared at him not knowing what to do. He was around your age and it was rare you found anyone your age and that spoke a language you could speak. Sure, there were people who spoke your language and had tried to talk to you. Soon enough they stopped coming around because staying in a group too long would strike fearing the people because they wouldn’t want the Germans thinking new company meant rebellion. He moved to your side and carefully slid down the steel fence. You stared ahead at the people who stood in the middle of the courtyard.

“So, you people watch.” The stranger says motioning to the people in front of you both. You nod without looking at him keeping a close eye on the people in front of you. Something felt wrong about the gathering. It wasn’t anything good. Someone was shoved across into another person and you heard the stranger suck in a breath. He felt the sudden shift too and he pointed a finger towards a short man in broken glasses. His eyes flipped from each side of the courtyard where the two soldiers stood. His hands were clasped together, and his feet were headed in the direction of the crowd. You nudged your elbow into your newfound companions’ arm tilting your chin up in the direction of the people. The air felt stiff in the courtyard more than normal as the crowd began to step into a circle the short man now joining them. The soldiers seemed to notice it too because their gazes were hardened, and their guns were pointed. Your heart began to pound as you knew what was coming next. It haunted you every night ever since you had seen it the day you’d been kidnapped and taken to this camp. The images of Ciera’s body falling to the ground flashes through your vision and you shake your head, feeling your heart squeeze. The screams of her siblings were in the wind you closed your eyes tight and took in a deep breath. They were screaming out orders in German, but the group paid them no mind. You couldn’t breathe. Your hands rubbed against your rugged jeans completely lost to your nightmares that were coming to life. You opened your eyes slowly and looked around to see if anyone else was witnessing what was going down. A few other small groups of people watched from afar with dead eyes, but none made a move to assist. Your eyes were locked on the German soldier directly across from you that was walking towards the group. With each footstep your breathing became faster and your mind screamed for them to heed the warnings the Germans were giving. The group was large and growing by the minute which in the eyes of your captors was a bigger threat. The German nudged one of the people in the group with his gun and what happened next you had never expected. The stringy thin man with blood hair who had been poked spun around and stabbed the soldier in the neck with a foreign object and someone screamed. His hands went to his throat and he dropped his gun. The man dove for it as the soldier fell slowly bleeding out on the concrete. Everything was chaos as the gun dropped and a single bullet escaped from its chamber. The bullet flew across the courtyard and your eyes flew with it watching it impale a single child.

“No!” you screamed bolting up from your place by the fence. The soldiers burst into action firing down anyone who had been in the huge crowd. Everyone went running towards the inside of the prison, trying to avoid the bullets. It was pure chaos as people from everywhere were getting shot as they tried to escape the rage of the soldiers. There were screams of all different languages and you heard the cry of the mother above all. Her cries for her baby filled your ears as you raced across the courtyard toward the downed child. The man followed you close behind, and you paid him no mind as you shoved through the on rush of people. People were getting into meaningless fights as they tried to get away. A man stops in front of you making a grab for your waist. A hand presses against your chest shoving you back as the stranger jumps in front of you. He throws a hard punch at the man who’d made an attempt touch and he gets knocked to the ground. You grabbed his hand and started running again. The mother’s screams in French guided you through the crowd. You felt your foot hit something before you went flying. Your hands moved out in front of you to stop the fall by instinct and on impact you hissed in pain. You had landed hard on your free hand but was yanked back up just as quickly.

“We have to go.” The man from before whispered in your ear.

“The child needs help.” You whispered back and he didn’t say a word back as he supported you on the remaining distance. The child lay on the ground holding his mother’s hand as she screamed for help. The brown-haired man set you on the floor beside the child and you immediately began ripping your jacket off your arms. You ripped the sleeves off the jacket and used the back to apply pressure to the wound. The single bullet hole was small but on the size of the boy was enough to cause a lot of damage. You quickly felt it become wet with blood and pressed down a little harder as the boy cried out in pain.

“Mon garçon, s'il vous plaît, sauvez mon garçon.”(My boy, Please save my boy) She sobbed as her eyes covered her face. Her hands were covered in his blood and your mind flashed with the memory of your own hands covered in Tommy and Cassandra’s blood. You ignored her cries but that didn’t stop you from helping her. You kept a steady push on his leg to slow the bleeding. After a few checks you eyed the wound and you couldn’t help the feel of triumph that flowed through your heart. The slow of bleeding meant you could check the wound for any other injuries it could have caused. You ripped open his pant leg and wiped the blood away to get a good look at the wound. This wasn’t the first time you’d be a medic and it wouldn’t be the last. Your father had gotten plenty of hunting wounds and you had been the one to take care of them. His leg only held one bullet hole, but his leg was so skinny it could fit in the palm of your hand. Your heart ached that this would be the childhood he remembered and not one filled with days of running in a field with his mother or being in school with his friends. He was one of the lucky ones you had to remind yourself. He was alive and you were determined to keep him that way. Your hands moved with remarkable speed as you lifted the child’s leg and looked for the exit wound of the bullet. A small hole was in the back of his leg and you wiped it clear of blood. You lifted the sleeve from earlier to your teeth and made a big enough tear that you could rip it with your bare hands. The long piece of clothing dangled between your fingertips as you examined the length. From the way the threading looked it wouldn’t hold for long, so you’d have to find a more permanent solution. But that was later and the thin cloth would do good for now.

“How can I help?” The man whispered in your ear again as your mind whirled with adrenaline. Your instincts in healing were helping you move through the steps you’d done so many times before with ease, but you couldn’t help the storm brewing in your feelings. You were enraged, scared, and so many other feelings all at once. You had gotten lost in the moment as you rushed to save the boy that lay before you. People were still running inside, and the screams had begun to slow. The courtyard was filled with sobs of families returning to their loved one’s bodies that lay dead on the floor. The blood on the ground would haunt them for the rest of their lives as the bodies were carried away by the ‘healthy’ prisoners.

“Lift his leg carefully. I need to make a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.” You said softly showing him the places to place his hands. He placed his above and below the wound just as you’d asked and lifted slowly. The boy screamed in pain and the mother began to reach her hands out to stop you. You glared at her, but she ignored your attempts to stop her from distracting you. She was screaming at you in French, begging you to stop hurting her boy. You ignored her cries and curses and continued to work. Her hands were gripping yours now as she tightened them around your wrists, and you struggled to tie the knot.

“Si vous ne retirez pas vos mains, votre fils mourra!” (if you don’t pull your hands away your son will die) you snap back at her in French and her nails stop digging into your skin. She pulls away quickly but doesn’t move her eyes away from your face. You sigh in frustration as you tighten the knot around the boy’s leg. You can hear the boy crying for his maman and she’s trying to calm him but it’s no use. You grab the jacket and place it over the boys wound again and apply pressure. The mother is sobbing as she holds her sons face and you watch knowing that you can only help minimally. You motion for the man to lower his leg softly and he does. He watches you carefully as you wrap the torn jacket around his leg and tie it again in the back. The bleeding has slowed to minimal trickle, but you’ll have to find something to clean the wound to keep away infection. You sigh in relief collapsing on the back of your heels as the woman steps away from her boy and walks over to you. She offers a hand over to you and you stare at it not sure what to do. She smiles weakly and shakes her hand again. You realize she’s trying to get you to stand up and you take it willingly. She helps you stand up and as soon as you’ve got on your feet, she pulls you into a hug.

“You…help…. me Henry.” She whispers in your ear as she pulls away. There’s a new look in her eyes as she apologizes for hurting you in French. She pulls your wrists to her mouth and places small kisses over the crescent moon shaped marks. Her fingers run over them in a silent guilt and you pull away and give her a small smile. Her hand brushes your cheek leaving a trail of blood, but her eyes are locked on yours. She leans in placing a kiss on your cheek before releasing you from her embrace. She quiets quickly once you tell her that it’s alright and that you have something to tell her. You start to give her basic instructions that will keep her son alive. How to clean the wound and tell her the signs of infection. Her hands grip onto her fingers, and her eyes are eager to make sure she doesn’t miss a word. You tell her your cell keep so that if she may ever need your assistance, she can send someone. The man who helped you stands beside you as you give her these instructions nodding as you list off everything. Once you trust that she knows everything you bid her goodbye and tell her to stay safe. She doesn’t respond as she looks away from you down to her son whose hand is out reached for her. She rushes to her knees and grabs his hand and doesn’t give you another glance. You know she won’t leave him alone for a minute. The fear of losing her family wasn’t a good one and it had scarred her heart forever just as it did to you months ago. She would hold on tight to his hands and watch for any signs of sickness. She would not sleep through the night but would tell her boy that she did. She’d do anything to protect her last light in the dark world. Your eyes travel from their joined hands to the boys’ face. It’s pale, most likely from the blood loss but he smiles at you. He opens his mouth to say something, and just as quick as it opens it closes as a grimace of pain flashes over his face. You shake your head giving him a weak smile. You kneel beside his head and place a soft kiss on his sweaty forehead and murmur a good-bye. You give the mother and son a small wave before standing once more and turning on your heel to walk away. Your tail follows you as you make your rounds around the courtyard. People cry out to the two of you as you try your best to help anyone and everyone. Most people have died by the time you reach them, and you close their eyes for the dead to mourn. Some don’t accept that their loved one is dead and continue to scream their fury at your insistence. One man almost attacks you because he refuses to believe his wife was killed and the stranger has to stop him. Tears stream down your cheeks at the sight of each body that lies on the floor. There was so much blood on the court now that it was rare you saw an old patch that was dried. It runs underneath your shoes and covers each piece of cement with ease. It soaks the clothes of the people lying beside their families and friends crying their hearts out to someone who is no longer there. Their pain has become apart of you and you can feel the shock of it numb you by the time you reach the last patient. Your tears have dried up and your hands are covered in so much blood that pieces flake off when the wind blows through the courtyard. You stand beside the teenage girl that holds her arm limp as her companion stands nearby attempting to talk to you in German. You attempt to converse with him in French the only language you’d been able to learn in your months of imprisonment but it’s no use as he doesn’t understand you. The girl cries softly as you touch her arm trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Was ist mit ihr passiert?” (What happened to her?) your partner says in German earning a glance from the boy. He speaks faster now the urgency in his hand motions clear. You can’t help but watch in awe as the man who has been helping this whole time stays remarkably calm. He nods and continues to ask him questions and gives him responses without hesitation. He doesn’t interrupt when it becomes clear that the boy is in full out panic mode. You place your hand on the girls’ shoulder and she flinches away before you give her a small smile. She stared at you with a suspicious glare in her eyes, but you tapped your eyes and then pointed to her shoulder in hopes that she would understand. Her eyes are wide with understanding and she leans in closer to you. You press your fingertip towards the top of her shoulder, and you feel her flinch. Doing this a few more times as you examine her shoulder you realize it doesn’t look like the other. It’s bent at an odd angle and you curse yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Her shoulder is dislocated presumably from being trampled in the panic. I know how to put it back in place, but it’ll be a two person job so I’ll need your help...” you trail off not knowing your assistants name. He glances over his shoulder giving you a smile makes you look down at your hands tat have begun to fidget.

“Call me Bucky.” He winks but you can tell he immediately regrets it because he turns away and starts muttering something under his breath. You catch a small huff of frustration that he cuts off quickly with ‘idiot’ following in English. You chuckle a little and his eyes brighten at your show of emotion towards him. Besides the subtle nudges of worry from before the attack, it was the only one you’d shown. His whole demeanor changed then, and you couldn’t help but feel drawn to the sudden beam of light. He was trying to hide his ear to ear smile as he shifted in place. You shake your head slightly and notice the two people that had been forgotten for a short moment. The man from before is quiet now as the girl talks to him in a soft voice. You motion Bucky over, and he leans down to your level.

“She needs to lie on her back. I’m going to pull it back into place.” Bucky gives you a single nod and begins talking to her in German. She stares at him in confusion but then as he explains it even more, she begins to nod her head in understanding reaching out to her boyfriend for assistance. He grabs her lifted hand and Bucky grabs her waist. Her boyfriend kneels beside her and the two exchange soft words that you don’t attempt to hear. Yes, there were things worse than what she was going through but what you were about to do wasn’t about to be as painless as she’d think. Besides the love that you could see when they looked at each other felt like you were intruding every time they looked at each other. When both men have settled, they both slowly lay her down onto her back, but your eyes don’t miss the flinch she gives once Bucky goes near her and her partner has stepped away. You slightly nudge Bucky out of the way and lightly grab her arm. You can see the gratitude in her eyes, and she tries to grab your hand most likely to thank you in the only way she knew how. You gave her a small nod and remained silent because somethings were better left unsaid. As you go through the steps you tell Bucky what you’re doing and in turn he translates. She doesn’t take her eyes off her partner the entire way as you begin to move her. Her arm is causing her a lot of pain, so your touches are featherlight. She is squeezing his hand and you take a lot of breaks to offer her some relief. Once her arm is outstretched towards you, you place your foot underneath where her shoulder is. You take a deep breath and without warning pull her arm at the same time as you push into her side. A loud pop sounds from her arm and you immediately stop pulling on her arm and let it sit on your lap. A blood curdling scream leaves her mouth and she begins to sob in pain. You can see her body shake as her free hand covers the tears that stream down her face. The three of you aren’t the only ones that heard her of course and a German soldier runs over to you all and starts yelling commands that you don’t understand. The girls companion starts responding to him much quieter than before most likely being careful with what he says. Even with the man explaining the soldier still has his eyes locked on you with a hatred you’d never seen before. It’s as if the soldier doesn’t care that you helped her and that she’d be better off in pain. You glare right back at him without a second thought before he turns his gaze away. He doesn’t respond to the boy before walking back to his post near the corner a few feet away from you. You let a breath you didn’t know you were holding in as he leaves the four of you alone on the courtyard again. You look down at the blonde girl who lies with her hair matted in blood from the concrete. She looks at you with a blank expression on her face that soon turns into gratitude. It’s not the first you’ve gotten but something about the way she put her trust in you makes your heart jump for joy. She lifts her arm into the air slowly but gives you a thumbs up, which in turn makes you laugh a little. She grins at you as you return her thumbs up right back and she looks away reaching out to her lover. He grabs her hands quickly and helps her to her feet. It’s a slow process as she slowly tries to get a handle on her pain tolerance, but eventually she stands up. She holds onto his hands to balance herself and gave her shoulder a roll. She let out a soft laugh in triumph and glanced over to where you and Bucky stood. Her eyes warm with happiness that would only last in the moment but were well deserved. She directed her eyes to Bucky and gave him a small smile as she spoke to him in German. You took the chance to finally look at the man who’d introduced himself to you. Here he was in the middle of a war willing to trust you and take care of all these people and be your assistant and he didn’t even know your name. You could tell by the hard built of his shoulders and the way his jaw tensed was because he was strong. Not in a physical way but in

a mental was as well. He could be one to give support and be just as willing to take it away. He was strong but not with many walls. He was determined but not without conscious. He was a good man. A handsome one at that you think before turning away and blushing. Here this man was helping you as a translator and you were thinking about how strong and physically built he was. You shake your head biting on your bottom lip to avoid the smile that wants to appear on your face.

“What have I got something on my face?” he jokes placing his bloody hands to his mouth. You shake your head but can’t help the small laugh that leaves your mouth. Even as a good guy who’d helped you save 20 people who were either bleeding or needed something fixing, he was a dork. The couple gives you a wave before walking off the courtyard towards the yelling Germans. It was time to go to your designated area. The cell of which you’d have to stay in until mealtime which would be in about an hour. As if on cue your stomach growls extremely loud and you place a hand over it. Usually you could hold your hunger over with some water, but it didn’t seem like there would be anything clean for a little while. The usual stream that came out of a hose was used to clean the victims’ blood away. You turned towards the hose where it had only on clean spot on the concrete. Today had been horrible and you knew there would be more days just like this to come. You still felt the ache for the people you couldn’t save and how their blood was still on your hands. You looked down at the floor and your eyes connected with the blood that covered your shoes. You felt the sudden urge to rinse it off and clean them with bleach, but you knew they would never truly leave. The stains would wash off physically, but it would stay with you forever and trap you in its horrors.

“Don’t let it scar you more than it already will.” He whispered into your ear. You didn’t have the strength for words as the day’s exhaustion hit you. You felt your knees buckle and Bucky’s arm wrapped around your waist quickly, keeping you up. All the adrenaline was dying out and you could barely keep your eyes open as he attempted to have you walk. You couldn’t though and it made your feet hurt 10 times more. You groaned and forced him to stop for a minute. You were blinking rapidly as your vision faded in and out.

“I got you.” He murmured placing an arm under your knees and swooping you into the air. His arms pulled you closer to his chest and you placed a hand on your stomach. You wanted to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t come. You were burnt out of all your energy and your eyes lazily rolled over the man who was walking you across the courtyard. He looked straight ahead, and his gaze sharpened at the people who passed by. It was clear he didn’t trust the people around you. It wasn’t something anyone should ever give out willingly but the thought that he had given you such a fragile thing made your mind whirl with possibilities. You kept staring at him in wonder and you weren’t sure if it was from the lack of food and water, but you felt a sort of friendship growing with Bucky. He made you feel safe and he hadn’t abandoned you as you fell but instead, he’d picked you up. He’d let you work and hadn’t tried to take over either. Your hand gravitated towards his cheek and you held it there. Something about the action felt right and it comforted you. From what you saw it had the same effect on him. He looked down at you with a sincerity in his eyes and a small smile formed on his lips. It warmed your heart that you were able to get that reaction from him after such a long day and you couldn’t stop the smile you returned. He looked up and his gaze sharpened once more but there was something else displayed across his face. It was more lie… astonishment. You turned your head in confusion to see what had made him look such a way and you let out a small gasp. The area around the only source of water wasn’t crowded like it had been when you’d glanced at it. The people had made two lines directly to the water hose. You recognized these people as the ones you’d helped. Men and women who’d lost their loved ones and had found some broken but ready to be helped had stepped aside so that you could get some water.

“No.” you croaked nudging Bucky. You needed them to know you weren’t any special. You weren’t some savior. You’d been able to save them, but you couldn’t save your best friend and her siblings. That their ghosts still haunted you in the depths of the night. You began to squirm in his arms your energy suddenly making its way back into your body. He glanced down at you as you struggled to get down. He lowered your legs and planted them on the floor without a word, but his arm didn’t leave your waist. You were glad because if it weren’t for the support you were sure to fall. You pointed to the hose and Bucky nodded and began walking the two of you towards it. The area was clear as the people watched you from the sides. You could feel your terror rising as you looked to the guards that watched from afar. Your heart was beginning to pound with anxiety. You didn’t want another shoot out. Too many people had died already, and you wouldn’t let any more die. You urged Bucky forward and soon you reached the front to where the boy, Henry stands as his mother washes his wound. He looks up at you and gives you a small wave and begins tapping his mother. She looks up from her action with a look of annoyance, but it vanishes the minute she notices you. Her gaze softens and she smiles urging you forward. You kneeled beside them and murmured a silent hello as Henry proudly held back the torn-up pant leg. He was telling his maman in French about how he would be a strong boy and protect them both from harm. She said nothing but only let a smile and a few laughs through her tough exterior as she let you inspect the wound. There never was a lot of talking in the prison except for the quiet whispers between the terrified families. People weren’t the chatty types when they’d be kidnapped out of their homes and forced away from their families. You shook your head as images of Jews being thrown out into the street and onto a bus in your hometown flashes across your mind. Just like you couldn’t save Ciera and her siblings you couldn’t even save them. But you could save these people. Some part of you hoped that you could help push the everlasting guilt away, but you knew you would always feel that pain. So, you internalized it and turned to the wound on the boys’ leg again. The flesh surrounding the wound looked clean which was already a very good sign. You checked along his leg for any red lines that would travel up. It was a common sign of blood poisoning but seeing as he had none you knew he would be alright for the time being. If there were any of the blood red veins trailing along his pale skin, it would be a sign of infection and with no antibiotics would be the death of him. She pulls the pant leg away from the boy at your request because he dances away from your touch. He giggles because your touch is warm against his cold skin and you smile at her and her boy. Giving her the good news is probably a moment you’ll never forget as she wraps her arm around her son tightly. You can tell from the way she’s beaming at being able to stay with her son for more time means that in some way they’ll get through this together. It makes your heart jump for joy and you can’t help but let the happiness consume you. The mother hands her son to Bucky and he kneels on a rock nearby holding the child. At one point while the mother washes a wound you catch Bucky letting the boy squeeze his cheeks and pull at them every which way. He doesn’t let this stop him from tickling the boy and the sight is so pure that you’re smiling for the rest of the time. More and more patients leave to go towards their cells after you give them direct instructions. They all come to the water and you and the mother wash out their wounds and they walk away. It’s a process that soon you start to do without realizing how many people you’ve helped. Some were far worse than her son with multiple wounds that fill with blood at the touch. It takes a lot to break a person and seeing multiple scrapes and bullet wounds would make anyone sick. After about the 15th person she ran away to throw

up because of the smell of cooking flesh from the sun above. Bucky immediately took her place in helping you clean the wounds. You looked over at the woman in concern but found her son rubbing her back as they sat on the concrete holding each other. You felt for her because this scenario was nothing good or that pleasing to see. Knowing all these people were hurting and that the men who guarded you all watched from afar and refused to help was making you feel 20 shades of green. You wanted to just react at them. To hurt the people who were hurting all these innocents. You despised them and with each wound that began receiving care by your hands the hatred began growing bigger and bigger.

“Neutralize your expression. Showing you’re angry will upset the Nazis even more.” Bucky’s hushed voice interrupted your thoughts. You lift your eyes to meet his as you turn the faucet off and dab at the patient’s jacket to dry his wound. The confusion you felt must have been visible on your face because his eyebrows raise as his head jerks to his right. Your eyes slowly follow the trail to where a German soldier stands with his gun in his hands. His eyes stare directly at your actions as if you were a criminal about to attack.

“They’ve been watching the entire time. Through the cameras in the corners. They have orders to let us be but to shoot if they see anything wrong.” You immediately drop your expression and place a blank look on your face. Bucky’s nod confirms that your expression is fine and you both help the man who’d been stabbed on the right side of his chest. The panic of knowing you were being watched never quite faded so you dived deeper into doing whatever you could for the people’s wounds. He’d been lucky for the knife to not puncture his lung because if that had happened his lungs would have filled with blood and he would end up choking on his own blood. If that had been the case, there would have been nothing for you to do at least long term. You were slowly coming to realize that all those trips spent in the library studying the multiple medical books were coming to work out in your favor. Bucky calls out the information in which you’ve told him to tell the girl who accompanies the man. She nods vigorously before grabbing his hand and helping him walk over to the opening that leads to the cells where you all would be holed up. The prison inside of the prison. How ironic. You call out for the next person to step forward but are met with silence. You look to the previous line to be met with open space.

“Come here.” He urges. He’s kneeling in front of you from where you sit on the high-rise rock. You ignore the outreach of his bloody hand and you walk around him. He sighs as you reach down to the faucet. The cold water greets your fingertips and you don’t move away from it. Bucky taps your shoulder and you turn around to see what he needs. He’s staring at you like you’re the smallest child in the playground and that if you don’t listen, he’ll throw you in time out. He points to his raised knee and you scoff shaking your head.

“Either you do it willingly or I force you.” You shake your head again and he groans throwing his head back in mock pain. You giggle and lean forward to reach the faucet again but you’re swiped off your feet as hands grip your waist tightly. He sits you on his lap and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from falling. You whip your head around to glare at him because you’re certain he’s a mad man and he grins leaning towards the faucet. You let out a squeal and you grip his knees as he shifts back on the rock sitting you square between his legs. You know you look beyond pissed because he avoids your eyes. He’s still grinning though at your reaction as his hands release your waist and reach towards the faucet. You move your hands away quickly and lean forward with him, eager to get the remaining blood off your skin. Bucky turns the faucet to the left and water starts spilling from it. He tuts when your hands almost touch the water and he grabs your wrists. The interaction makes your skin tingle and interlocks your fingers with his. In that moment you feel the firs spread throughout your body. Everywhere he touches you sends a different burn straight to your heart. His chest presses against your back as he washes the blood off both of your hands. When he breathes you can feel it hit your ear and it makes the hair on your skin rise. His hands caress yours as they wash 30 or more people’s blood off. His fingers slide into between yours with ease that you watch in awe as your hands become yours again. Except with his hands on yours you aren’t exactly sure where he begins and where you stop. Funny thing is, you don’t ever want to figure it out. His fingers brush over yours and they move away too soon. Before you can grasp what you’re doing you grab his hands and start the same movements. You slide your fingers against his long ones and watch as they become his just as yours were yours. You hear Bucky’s breathing grow uneven and you look over your shoulder to see what’s wrong. His eyes immediately lock on yours and you can see something that you’d never seen on his face before. You can’t read it, but you know it’s something he tries to hide because his face becomes black once more and his hands move away from yours. You gasp softly at the loss of contact and swallow the complaint that tries to force its way out. The moment has disappeared, and you can feel the slight tinge of embarrassment floating its way through your senses. You wipe your hands on your pants and the sight of you and Bucky’s hands together burns itself into your mind. You know it shouldn’t be there, but your heart holds it close and locks it away for safe keeping.

“You ready?” he whispers. His hand lays on your stomach which does a flop at the sight of it and you nod not sure if you could even get through a full sentence without stuttering. You stand up and take a step away from him. You were trying to get a grasp on your emotions but the only thing you could focus on was how his scent no longer surrounded you. Your legs wobble as you try to walk but your knees give out. Bucky grabs your hand and pulls it around his neck.

“I don’t think I can walk.” You whisper. He doesn’t respond at first but you can tell he’s debating what to do.

“Hop on my back. I’ll carry you.” You nod slowly as you walk behind him and grab onto his shoulders. His hands wrap around your thighs and he pushes you up in the air. You jump and let your legs fall around his waist and let your arms hang loose over his shoulders. His figure shakes a little as he tries to steady you and start his long walk towards the open steel doors. You place your chin on his shoulder and let out a small sigh.

“My knight in shining armor.” You tease half heartedly and he laughs. The sound warms your bones more than anything else could and you don’t catch the small smile that spreads across his face as he starts walking towards the yelling Germans. It’s time for everyone to go back to their cells and if told once more there would be consequences. Your arms become heavy and feel like blobs of jello as they swing. You can feel yourself absentmindly snuggling into the warmth of the man carrying you, but it doesn’t register as your senses begin shutting down. You blink a few times as you stared down at the dog tags that swung on top of the green Henley that adorned Bucky’s chest. The faint sunlight disappears as he enters the prisoner compound and the room becomes dark. You lift your head up as shouts erupt around you. You catch people clapping and you have the urge to tell them to stop. Drawing attention of the soldiers wasn’t a good idea because they had just witnessed what happens when you cause a ruckus. You bury your head back into Bucky’s neck as you silently wish for the cries of joy to stop. Despite all the good you’d done you still couldn’t get over all the good you could have done so many years ago. Bucky senses your discomfort and starts to walk a little faster than before.

“Get some rest. You look like you could use it.” He says softly as a metal door creaks and it gets held open for the two of you. You nod slowly feeling your eyes shut again. You listen to him this time and let the exhaustion finally take over your body.

Tagging some peeps~@randomfangirl82 @stucky-my-ship @jules-1999 @starkssnarks @dallaswinstonswife1109@notsosecretspy @kyn-lyn-blog @alltoowell-taylorsversion@creecree-4-life

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lumosandnoxwriting · 4 years

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True Love - George Weasley

Title: True Love Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader Summary: George may have married a girl his dead twin brother may have been in love with at some point but it’s really not what it looks like. A/N: this fic is born out of my hatred for a post I saw a few days ago that said George and Angelina only got together as a way to mourn Fred, and that they would eventually get divorced. Requests are open and feedback is always appreciated!

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George is tiptoeing past Roxanne’s partially opened door to get a glass of water when he hears the little girl call out to him.

“Daddy?”

George stops in his tracks and shuffles over to her door, peeking in the crack. The only light in the room comes from a pink everlasting fire Y/N had produced in a jar for their daughter to use as a night light a few weeks ago. Roxanne is curled up in a ball in her bed, drowning in her fluffy comforter. George and Y/N had tucked her in and kissed her goodnight a few hours ago, so he frowns when he notices that her deep brown eyes are open and blinking up at him.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” George asks as he pushes her door open.

Roxanne sits up a little, reaching out to him. “Can’t sleep.”

George smiles at her grumbly voice, sounding so much like her mother does when she’s tired. He enters her room with a small laugh and takes a seat on the edge of her bed. He strokes her mess of curls they call hair and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Well that’s no good, pumpkin. How can Daddy fix that?”

Roxanne, smiles up at him, leaning back into her pillows. “Can I get a story? Please?” she begs.

George lets out a chuckle. “Of course.” He starts to reach for the copy of The Tales of Beadle the Bard that Y/N had placed on Roxanne’s night stand a few hours ago after she had fallen asleep. But he stops in his tracks when Roxanne grabs his forearm.

“Noo,” she coos quietly. “A story from your head, Daddy.”

George raises his eyebrows and chuckles at her demanding tone. Yep, there is no denying that she is Y/N’s daughter.

“Of course, pumpkin, how silly of me.” He brings his hand that had been reaching for the book back and places it on her cheek. “Any requests, darling? I could always whip out the one about the brave knight who lost an ear in battle.” George winks at his daughter while gesturing towards his missing ear, causing her to giggle.

“No, not that one. You always tell that one,” she teases.

George laughs again, tapping Roxanne on her nose. “Well sorry,” he drawls. “How about the one where the three brave knights rescue the King from the dungeon using their flying stead?” George frowns slightly at the memory of his twin, a pang of sadness in his chest. George gives Roxanne a questioning look when she shakes her head. “What do you wanna hear then, pumpkin?”

“Tell me the story about how you and Mummy fell in love,” she asks, looking up at him hopefully.

George bites his lip, contemplating the idea. Y/N and George had never really told their kids the full story of how they met, considering that it was pretty questionable. All they had told Roxanne and Fred ii is that they had been friends while at school, and a few years after graduation they met again and fell in love. They never mentioned the fact that Y/N used to date Fred.

“Well sweetie you know that story. Mummy and I went to school at Hogwarts together, and went our separate ways after graduation and then we got together a few years after,” George explains, trying to dodge the question.

Roxanne rolls her eyes. “That’s the short version. I wanna hear the whole thing. Please Daddy?”

George sighs, he can’t resist her pleas. “Alright, pumpkin. I guess our story begins on the morning of May 3rd, 1998.”

George is sitting on the ground next to Fred’s body, mostly alone. There are groups of people scattered around the Great Hall, some mourning the loss of their loved ones, others waiting for Madam Pomfrey and the other Healers that arrived from St. Mungo’s to help them. Everyone seems to be leaving George alone, allowing him to spend a few more fleeting moments with his twin.

He’s looking down at his hands, tears streaming down his face, so he doesn’t realize that someone has joined him until she speaks.

“Hey, George,” Y/N speaks quietly, voice shaking.

George looks up at the sound of her voice. Y/N is sitting on the ground too, on Fred’s other side, tears streaming down her face. She’s covered in dirt and blood and George can’t imagine that he looks any better.

“Hey, Y/N,” he mutters after he clears his throat. His throat feels raw, probably from a mixture of the crying and the fact that he hadn’t spoken in a few hours.

George watches as Y/N stares intently at Fred’s face, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek. They’re quiet for so long that George jumps slightly when Y/N speaks up.

“It’s been years since anything has happened between us and yet I still feel,” she cuts off abruptly to let out a few sobs.

Y/N begins to cry harder and George places a hand over the one she has placed on Fred’s chest. He squeezes her hand tightly, wishing there was more he could do to make her feel better.

“Mummy used to be with Uncle Fred?” Roxanne asks, pulling George out of his thoughts. Roxanne and Fred ii had heard many stories about their dear Uncle Fred from both of their parents and various other family members throughout their lives. But George and Y/N made a point to make sure that no one ever mentioned her past with Fred. Not because she was ashamed at the fact that she had once been with Fred, but because she didn’t want to confuse them.

George nods, blinking away the tears in his eyes. “Many, many years ago, they were together. Back when we were at Hogwarts. Your Uncle Fred and I met your Mum when we were all in our first year at Hogwarts. You know we were all in the same house and played on the Quidditch team together. You’ve heard Uncle Harry talk about the Triwizard tournament, right?” George waits for Roxanne to nod before continuing. “We were all in our sixth year when that happened and there was this great huge ball on Christmas called the Yule Ball. Uncle Fred asked your Mum to be his date, and they dated for a few months afterwards.”

Roxanne purses her lips, thinking about what her father has just said. “And when Uncle Fred died, Mummy still loved him?”

“Not exactly,” he answers.

Roxanne groans and rolls her eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

George rolls his eyes playfully. “Maybe if you hadn’t interrupted my story you would know by now,” he teases.

Roxanne sticks out her tongue playfully but doesn’t say anything else.

“So, I guess our story continues in June of 1999.”

“Hey George. The store looks great,” Y/N speaks, shocking George. He turns around from where he had been stocking a shelf, a smile appearing on his face when he sees the familiar girl standing in front of him.

George hasn’t seen Y/N since the day they cried together over Fred’s body. He heard that she came by his funeral briefly, but he hadn’t seen her himself. Now, a little over a year later here she is, and George can’t help but think how beautiful she is. Her hair frames her face perfectly, and she is smiling warmly at him.

“Hey, Y/N. Thanks, it’s definitely getting there. Not quite back at its prime but, it definitely will be soon,” he says wistfully, looking around the shop.

After Fred’s death he hadn’t been able to step back into the store he had started with his brother. It hurt too much, and it almost felt wrong to go back to work without his partner in crime. The store had always been their dream, and George didn’t think he could carry on without Fred. He spent the first six months after Fred’s death moping around The Burrow, spending most of his time in bed, alone.

Everyone in the family had been patient with him, all of them taking time to grieve as well. Until one night, Molly sat him down and with as much love as possible told him that enough was enough. She had reminded him that Fred wouldn’t want George to throw away their dream just because he couldn’t be there with him. That the best way to honor his brother would be to carry on making their dream a reality. George, realizing his mother was right, had started planning new products that very evening.

He spent the next 5 months after that developing new products and perfecting them. 2 months ago, he finally plucked up the courage to enter the abandoned shop for the first time and started to put it back together. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had officially been open again for 2 weeks and running the store has made George the happiest he’s been in months.

“Every time I would come to Diagon Alley I’d check to see if the store was open again, and I’m glad it is. If there’s anything people need these days it’s some Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” Y/N says with a laugh.

There had been mass celebrations after Voldemort’s defeat, but so many lives had been lost that they were short lived, and the wizarding community had needed to slowly heal. Things had been getting back to normal, Diagon Alley was just as busy as it had been before, and George could hear happy voices and laughter every time the door to the shop opened.

George chuckles. “A bit of mischief makes everyone feel better. Things have been crazy since I reopened, I can barely keep up on my own.” He gestures towards the shelf he had been restocking when she came in, and the other various shelves that were missing products. “I never realized how much work it was, it was way easier when there was two of us. Between selling the products, making them and stocking them I’m exhausted,” he admits with a small laugh.

“I didn’t want to say it but, you look exhausted,” she teases, smiling at him playfully. “That’s um, kinda why I came in. I mean I obviously came in so I could see you,” she admits, blushing. “But also, I was wondering if you were hiring? I’ve been working freelance for The Daily Prophet but it’s not enough to keep me busy.”

George tries not to let his surprise show on his face. Y/N had always been supportive of George and Fred’s antics, but had never wanted to actively participate. George scratches the back of his head like he’s thinking about her offer, not wanting to seem too eager. “Yeah actually, that would be great. I could really use the help. I’ll have to get some references of course. Make sure you’re not too difficult to work with,” he teases.

Y/N rolls her eyes, playfully shoving George’s shoulder. “We got paired together in potions one-time years ago and you’re still giving me shit about it, Weasley? Unbelievable.”

“Mummy used to work with you? Before Uncle Ron did?” Roxanne asks, interrupting the story again.

George hums as he nods. Once Ron quit the Aurors office and came to work with George Y/N had left. Her and George were beginning to start their family, and she wanted to be a stay at home mum. She started writing again as well and had become a pretty successful children’s book author in the wizarding world.

“Yup. Uncle Ron used to work with Uncle Harry at the ministry, before you and your brother were born. So, your Mummy helped out at the shop, and then me and Mummy got married and decided to have your brother, so Uncle Ron decided to quit his job and work with me,” George explains.

Roxanne has a bewildered look on her face, like she had never thought about the fact that all the people she loves had lives before she was born. “So how did you and Mummy get together then? Fall in love?”

George chuckles. “I’m getting there, missy, don’t you worry about it.”

Y/N had only been working for George for a few weeks when he realized he had a huge problem. He was developing feelings for her. He had always found her attractive, but when Fred expressed interest in her during their fourth year he pushed those thoughts away. He was always the more reserved twin and doubted that he would ever act on those feelings anyway.

But now that they’ve been spending so much time together and working together so closely he can’t help but feel those things again. She’s just as beautiful has she had been back at school but there was so many other things too.

Her smile was so bright that it could light up the whole shop. She was always there to offer him a warm smile and a helping hand, staying late into the night to help him restock shelves or coming in on the weekends to help make a new stock for the upcoming week. She was always sending him little winks too throughout the day as they worked. While she was upselling a product to someone, or when he just seemed down and needed a pick me up, all he had to do was look over to her and she’d give him a reassuring wink.

And it certainly didn’t help that she was so damn good at her job. She was always helping him to arrange the store in the best way possible, moving around displays and finding new, exciting ways to showcase their range of products. She was so good with the customers too, always able to help someone, their customers always raved to George about how amazing she was as they checked out.

And her touch, it sent electric waves shooting down his spine. Whether it was a reassuring squeeze on his shoulders as he stirred a new potion late at night, or a hand on his back as she passed behind him his brain seemed to short circuit whenever they came in contact with each other.

It didn’t help that her presence had begun to creep into other parts of his life as well. She had only been working there a few days when Molly popped in to see how things were going. His mum had been so excited to see Y/N and invited her to dinner at The Burrow that night; since then it has become a weekly occurrence. He’s bumped into her at The Burrow more than once during the weekends as well, her and Ginny flying around each other and passing a Quaffle back and forth.

“Morning, George!” Y/N calls as she pushes through the shop door.

George jumps at the sound of her voice, not expecting to see her. It’s early on a Sunday morning, and George figured he’d be alone in the shop all day to catch up on the things they hadn’t finished the night before.

George stands up from where he had been kneeling behind the counter, trying to count out the safe, but mostly thinking of the girl who just entered the store. He smiles as she bounds up to the counter.

“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” he stutters, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “But you were here late last night, I didn’t think you’d come in today.”

Y/N smiles at George, taking off her bag and placing it on the counter. “Well we didn’t finish everything last night, did we? You’ll actually be able to go out and enjoy your day if we’re both here working.” George gives her a look, prompting her to continue. “Besides I don’t mind being here all the time. I like being here.”

George’s smile fades, figuring that Y/n likes being here so much because it reminds her of Fred. They haven’t talked about that morning, when she had practically declared her love for his dead brother as they both cried, and George doesn’t plan on bringing it up.

He’s brought out of his deep thoughts as she passes by him, her hand brushing his arm and sending electric shocks up to his neck. He clears his throat to try and get rid of the lump in it. “Well thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem! What do you need me to do boss?”

George looks to the to-do list he had made after closing on Friday. Well the to-do list Y/N had made for him; she really was a huge help around the shop. Even if she did distract him from his work from time to time.

“Well looks like the next thing up on the list is,” he pauses, suddenly nervous. “Next thing up is to restock the love potions. But uh, I checked in the back earlier and we’re all out, so you’ll need to brew up a new batch.”

Y/N nods, heading towards the storeroom to grab the needed ingredients. “Yeah I can do that, no problem.” She pokes her head back through the door. “Or are you still hung up on that whole potions thing and don’t trust me?”

George laughs with her, his nervousness melting away at her playful tone. “Just get to work, yeah?”

With Y/N out of sight George is able to get back to work, and he had forgotten that she was there. That was until she interrupted him while he was stocking the shelves, causing him to shout and drop all of the Skiving Snackboxes he had in his arms.

“Bloody hell, Y/N. Forgot you were here,” he says with a nervous laugh, his cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment. He turns to face her, glancing at the cauldron in her hands. “What’s up?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you Georgie,” she says with a laugh, causing George’s knees to quiver at the nickname. “I haven’t made a potion in ages, let alone Amorentia. Just wanted to see if you could check it? Make sure I did it right.”

“Yea, ‘course,” George says quietly, leaning close to look at the potion. He stirs it with the silver spoon, checking to make sure the consistency is right. He’s a little nervous, leaning in so close to Y/N that he momentarily forgets what Amorentia does. “Forgot to mention, but that new perfume you’ve been wearing smells really good.” Y/N gasps, taking a small step back. George looks up at her. “What?”

“Thanks but um. I’m not wearing any perfume today,” she stutters out, refusing to meet George’s eyes.

George is about to question her, since he definitely just smelled her perfume, when it dawns on him. He wasn’t smelling her perse, but the Amorentia smelled like her to him. And he just admitted that.

“Look, Y/N I. I,” but he trails off, unsure of what to say. He opens his mouth to say something else but is stopped by Y/N stepping close to him and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. It lasts just long enough for George to grip her waist and for Y/N’s hands to tangle in his hair. Just as quickly as she had kissed him her lips were gone and they were just staring at each other.

She opens her mouth to speak, but when nothing comes out she closes it again. And before George knows it she’s rushing towards the counter to grab her bag. “I should go. Yeah I should go. I’ll see you later,” she rambles. And before George can blink again the door is shutting behind her.

“So, Mummy kissed you first!” Roxanne says excitedly when George stops talking.

“What? Like it’s surprising?” George scoffs with a chuckle.

Roxanne shrugs her shoulders, playfully smiling at him. “I mean have you seen how pretty Mummy is? And you’re, well you’re alright I guess.”

George can tell that she’s teasing him, and as payback he tickles her sides, causing her to shriek with laughter.

“Shhh,” he whispers, realizing just how late it is. “We don’t want to wake your brother up, or your Mummy.”

Roxanne nods, taking a few deep breaths to settle down. “So, what happens next? You and Mummy kiss and then what?”

George is still horrified about what happened the next morning as he opens the shop. He’s exhausted, having stayed up most of the night finishing everything on his list. It shouldn’t have taken him that long, but he kept getting distracted, thinking of how Y/N’s lips felt on his.

He’s about to grab the door handle so he can unlock it and officially open up when the door swings open and Y/N is walking through it. They collide, and George instinctively reaches out and grabs her around the waist so she doesn’t fall to the ground.

A moment later he realizes what he did and he lets go, stepping back. His cheeks are red and he rubs his neck sheepishly. “Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t think you’d come in today so I was just. Sorry, sorry.”

Once he finishes his rambling he turns on his heel and practically runs towards the counter, not even daring to glance at Y/N. But he can hear her footsteps following behind him and when he turns around she’s standing at the counter, an apologetic look on her face.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing to you, Georgie. I shouldn’t have ran out on you like that. And I shouldn’t have kissed you that was… well anyway, I’m sorry,” she says quickly.

George opens his mouth to respond, but the door to the shop swings open and Y/N is off to help the few customers who came in.

“You need help with anything?”

George looks up from the papers on his desk to see Y/N poking her head into his office. They haven’t spoken since their weird moment this morning, and after the afternoon rush George excused himself to his office to work on paperwork while Y/N stocked some shelves and made up a new display. But that must have been hours ago now, as the sliver of shop George can see over Y/N’s head looks dark.

“Just been going over the books. Well trying to at least,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “I let Fred do it the last time. Well no, I didn’t let him, he insisted on it. Some crap about how he needed to know how to do it. But boy was listening to him a mistake,” he admits with a sad chuckle. “I can’t make out half of what he wrote and the half I can is completely wrong.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything, but gives him a sad look. George feels awkward in the silence, so he continues to ramble on.

“And I wanna be mad at him, for not taking it seriously but. Then I get mad at myself for feeling that way. And then I feel sad because he’s not here for me to just ask him what the hell it says and then I try and figure it out and get mad when I can’t and it’s just a vicious cycle.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything right away, trying to choose her words carefully. She comes into his office and takes a seat at one of the chairs across from George’s desk. George runs his hands through his hair again, silently pleading that she says something. A few more quiet moments pass before Y/N speaks.

“That sounds. Well frankly that sounds like hell. But it’s okay to feel like that, you know. It’s okay to be mad at Fred. It’s okay to feel whatever you want towards Fred, that’s a normal part of grieving, George,” she explains, leaning forward in her chair.

“So, years will go by and I’ll still feel,” George mumbles almost without thinking. He casts his eyes downward, not wanting to look Y/N in the eyes or see the expression on her face.

A pink blush flushes Y/N’s face. “You, um, remember that then? You never mentioned it, so I figured you forgot about it, or maybe never even heard it. I was kinda hoping that you never even heard it.”

George looks up at her then, staring deeply into her eyes. “Is that why you came into the shop that day? Why you started working here? So, you could feel closer to Fred? Is that why you kissed me?” His last question is quieter, practically a whisper. He feels ashamed as soon as he asks, he wants to take it back.

But then Y/N lets out a laugh, shocking George. He looks at her quizzically. “What? Are you laughing at me?”

Y/N shakes her head no, but continues to laugh, almost as if she can’t stop herself. It takes what feels like an eternity for her laughter to die down, and once it does she scoots closer to George, reaching out to touch his hand.

“That day, when we were sitting there in the Great Hall, I wasn’t talking about still feeling love for Fred. I never really loved Fred. Not in that way at least.”

George is taken aback by that. “What do you mean?”

“Georgie, Fred and I dated for like 4 months when we were 16. It was nice to have someone to go to Hogsmeade with or carry my books and it was fun spending time with Fred but I wasn’t in love with him. And Fred knew that, that’s why we broke things off.”

George looks at Y/N. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, but he’s still so confused about everything. “So, what the hell were you talking about that day? Because I sure as hell thought you were talking about still being in love with Fred.”

Y/N bites her lip, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I was talking about feeling guilty, George.”

George suddenly pushes away from his desk, beginning to pace back and forth. “Feeling guilty for what, then?”

“Feeling guilty for being in love with his twin brother!” Y/N admits suddenly, causing George to stop in his tracks.

“Come again?” he asks, looking down at Y/N. His eyes follow her as she stands up and walks over to him.

“I was never in love with Fred. And after we broke up I started to fall in love with you. But I never acted on it because I felt guilty. I knew Fred had strong feelings for me, so I never tried to act on my feelings for you. And that day, when I saw you in the Great Hall, even though it had been years all of those feelings came rushing back. How I felt for you, how guilty I felt for feeling those things. That’s why I came over there that day, because I wanted to see you, make sure you were okay. And I hoped that saying goodbye to Fred would make me feel okay to try and approach you.”

Suddenly it dawns on George. “That’s why you came to his funeral, then? To put those guilty feelings to rest once and for all.”

Y/N nods, taking one of George’s hands in hers. “That’s why I didn’t stay long. The second I saw you I wanted to run into your arms and kiss you. But I figured that was probably not the right time or place to fling myself at you.”

George laughs, trying to imagine what he would have done if Y/N had done that. He uses his free hand to reach up and cup Y/N’s cheek. “So that day you came into the shop, it was to see me?”

Y/N rolls her eyes but nods. “I said that, didn’t I dummy? That I came into the shop to see you. I would make excuses to head to Diagon Alley nearly every day to check to see if the shop was open. It took me two weeks to get the courage to actually walk in once you opened back up. And truth be told-“ she stops, letting her gaze drop to the floor. “I didn’t really need a job. I just wanted an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Suddenly so many things started making sense to George. “So that’s why you would stay in late? Come in on days off?”

Y/N nods. “And why I agreed to come to dinner at The Burrow every week, and why I agreed to help Ginny with her Quidditch training.”

“Not to keep the memory of my dead brother alive?” George asks, almost unable to believe everything he’s heard. Y/N shakes her head. “But to be close to me, because you’re in love with me?”

Instead of nodding Y/N grabs George’s face and brings their lips together in a heated kiss. George is frozen for a moment, his brain trying to catch up with what’s going on. Once it does he kisses Y/N back hungrily, his hands gripping her hips tightly. They kiss for a few moments before Y/N pulls away breathless.

“And that was that. Your Mum and I got together and the rest is history.”

George stops with his story, waiting for Roxanne to say something. When she doesn’t he looks down, a smile spreading across his face when he notices her eyes have fluttered closed and she’s breathing slowly. He presses a kiss to her forehead and tucks her blanket around her tighter.

He’s closing her door behind him quietly when he runs into his wife, nearly shouting at the scare she gave him.

“Bloody hell, how long have you been standing there, love?” he asks, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist.

“Long enough to hear you spill all of our dark secrets,” she responds with a quiet laugh.

George frowns. “Are you mad? I know we said we wouldn’t tell them, but you know I can’t resist her puppy eyes, just like how I can’t resist yours.”

Y/N doesn’t answer him, choosing to press a kiss to his lips instead. Y/N buries her hands in George’s hair as he deepens their kiss, his hands squeezing her hips tightly. They both can’t help but be reminded of the kiss they shared all those years ago that George had just finished recounting.

“Why did you get out of bed anyway, hm? You were sound asleep when I went to get my water,” George asks a few minutes later when they’re back in bed.

Y/N shrugs, snuggling up into George’s side. “You were gone for ages. Thought maybe you were sneaking some of those chocolate chip cookies I made, wanted to catch you in the act. ”George laughs, throwing an arm around his wife and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“So, you weren’t lying in bed awake, thinking of my dead brother?” he jokes with a chuckle.

Y/N smacks him on the chest lightly, laughing along with him. “You’re lucky I love you, Weasley.”

“You’re right, my love. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

#george weasley #George Weasley imagine #George Weasley fic #George Weasley x reader #harry potter #Harry Potter imagine #Harry Potter fic #gw #golden

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