#my bird paintings are kind of pitiful.

[in-som-niyah]

"Its so lonely in my mansion"

a/n: ok so i found this in my drafts and its just a little wip for an au where Jason takes advantage of reader's loveless marriage because he finds her in such a pitiful situation that de decides to 'help her out' ;)

Warnings: dark-ish!Jason, manipulative!Jason, cheating reader

side piece!jason who climbs through your window at first to hide from someone, he was about to leave until he caught your figure in the bathroom mirror’s reflection. you were married, but where was your husband? he’s looked into your window too many times and hasn’t seen you with him yet. It’s coincidence really, your luxury apartment is just such a good vantage point, it’s not his fault he can hear your whimpers of defeat when you can’t get yourself off on your own. Jason is in the business of helping people. so he’s going to help you.

It starts off easy, running into you randomly, showing up at your law office as a “client”, getting you flowers (sent to your house of course) and gifts. If he sees your eyes linger on an item in a store (that he’s definitely not spying on you from) it’ll end up in your doorstep.

He waits for some kind of pushback from you, any respectable man who actively takes care of his wife would be offended if another man were to step in and do his job for him. If his wife was happy, she wouldn’t want any other man to take care of her. But here we are: a windy gotham night ruffles the petals of your latest bouquet from him, Jason’s ears delightfully plagued by your silent pleas into a sleepless night.

Slowly, he works his way into your comfort zone and is invited over, of course he’s a respectful gentleman but Jason can’t help but fist his cock in his car because the blouse you were wearing was just a little too low in the neckline.

His perversions continue, coffee after consultations, giving you rides home, showing up at your house to give you cookies

His resolve is snapped when you kiss him goodbye one night, after too many glasses of wine and a conversation about your husband being on constant business trips while you collected dust. It was refreshing to have someone in your corner, someone who doesn’t see all the money that he gives you and tells you to just enjoy it.

Jason loses his mind, drives home and doesn’t even bother to take his keys out of his door. His mind is consumed with how well your lips meld together, how your tongue moves against his, how you playfully bit his bottom lip just to tease him.

He hasn’t felt this insane since forever, and he loves every second of it. Ropes of cum paint his fist for the third time that week, all from thinking about how beautifully damned was a caged bird like you. Just waiting for someone to snatch her up and swallow her whole.

Weeks go by of him showing up randomly with a new story about how his day had the most interesting turn of events. Phone calls carrying into all hours of the night, talking about any and everything, building your trust. You mention that your husband was never interested in the frivolities of your firm, or the silly stories of the weird people you saw on your way to work. It felt so good to have someone that actually listened to you and took account of the things you said.

In the back of your mind, you knew it was wrong. You were married for fucks sake. Your husband paid for the best life anyone could ask for, but wasn't that enough? As much as the ethics of the situation spun your head, were you really going to go back to another night of frustration without him?

[astrids-blog333]

A Ruin of His Making

Emperor!Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

Fandom: Gladiator II

Summary: You’re engaged to an emperor you hate. One night, in the palace halls, hatred turns to something much louder, and far more public.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, enemies to lovers, hate sex vibes, power imbalance, semi-public, possessiveness, manhandling, dirty talk, ref to past trauma.

A/N: Set post Gladiator II, deviates from the original plot (help sorry I can't resist). All physical interactions are consensual within the story's context, despite emotional intensity and imbalance. The reader is not weak or passive; she is angry and complicated and chooses to stay. That being said, if you are triggered by cnc situations, maybe skip this one <3

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)

WC: 5.6k

The city smells of sweat and heat and gold-painted victory. You stand at the far end of the atrium, among garlands and silks, your fellow nobles and senators are fawning and chattering like carrion birds circling a lion.

They say Lucius Verus has returned from war.

They say he’s changed, but you never knew him well enough to tell the difference anyway.

The guards enter first, tight-faced and too tense for a triumphal return. Then comes the man himself. He's taller than you remember, broader, somehow. His cloak hangs from one shoulder, dirt-streaked and travel-worn, and there’s blood at the corner of his cuff that no one dares mention.

He does not smile. He does not bow. He does not stop. The crowd parts for him like wheat under a scythe. His eyes scan the room once and find you.

You don’t move. You don’t flinch.

Not even when he walks directly toward you, ignoring the extended hands, the simpering greetings, the half-kneeling senators who hold out rings for him to kiss.

You stand with your back straight, chin lifted. You are not some doe-eyed virgin waiting to be gifted into this marriage like a prize pig. You were someone’s wife once. And though that man is rotting beneath the stones of a family crypt, he left you with a name. And scars.

Lucius stops a foot too close.

You feel the heat rolling off him, the stench of sweat and leather and rage barely held at bay. His jaw is dark with stubble, his mouth a tight line, unsmiling.

"You didn’t bow," he says, voice rough with the weight of months spent shouting over battlefields.

You arch an eyebrow. "I am not yet your wife."

He smiles at that. Crooked. Wolfish. “Not yet. But soon.”

You hate the way his voice drags over those words, like he’s already tasted them and has decided to spit them back out.

"Did the Senate send for you?" you ask. "Or did you run back early for your wedding night?"

Laughter dances in the crowd, polite and forced. But Lucius doesn’t join in. "I came because Rome grows soft in my absence," he replies. "And because I don’t trust them to protect what’s mine."

The air between you pulls taut.

"Is that what I am?" you ask, voice flat. "A possession?"

He leans forward. Close enough that you can see the smudge of dried blood at the collar of his tunic. You don’t know if it’s his.

"No," he murmurs. "You’re a puzzle. A provocation. And they promised you to me without ever asking whether I could stomach the taste of something so bitter."

Something ugly curls in your chest, a kind of fury that never burned out properly.

"And I suppose you think I’ll be grateful to be claimed by a monster?"

Lucius tilts his head, studying you. "Gratitude isn’t required. But you will belong to me."

He says it so plainly, so calmly, as though the matter were already settled in blood and ink. Perhaps it is. You never had much say in it to begin with.

"You don’t know me," you snap.

"I know enough."

A beat. The space between you closes, breath to breath. His voice drops lower. "I know you didn’t cry at your husband’s funeral. I know he hit you. I know you learned to lie still and quiet and pretend that was love. I know that scares you more than I do."

It hits you like a thrown gauntlet, because it’s true. There is no pity in his words. No sympathy. Just knowing. You hate that he’s read your history like some battlefield report. That he’s looked at your wounds and seen something useful.

"Then you’re a fool," you whisper, throat tight. "Because I’d sooner die than lie beneath another man who thinks he owns me."

Lucius doesn’t flinch, instead, he steps closer. A breath between you. You don’t step back. Not even when his voice curls behind your ear like smoke.

"What a shame, I happen to need you alive."

You slap him.

The sound cracks across the chamber like lightning. Every eye turns. Every whisper hushes.

His head turns with the blow, but he doesn’t strike back. Doesn’t even lift a hand.

He turns back slowly, a smile blooming like blood across his face.

There’s something almost unholy in his expression, a delight and fury which you cannot decipher for the life of you.

"Careful," he says softly. "You’re starting to excite me."

You stare at him, chest rising, blood roaring in your ears. You don't know if you want to scream, cry or push him away. Instead, you step back. Only one step.

Enough to remind yourself that you still can.

The feast had barely begun to die down, but already, the guests have begun to trickle out. The heavy scent of wine lingers in the air, mixing with the distant traces of roasting meats and sweet spices. You’ve stepped away from it all, retreating into the quiet of the balcony that overlooks the garden.

Lucius had left the feast earlier, his back straight, face unreadable, no parting words to anyone but the occasional curt nod. You watched him go, and for a moment, something like relief flickered within you.

But you hadn’t expected him to come find you.

The silence on the balcony is deafening as the shadows stretch across the marble. The cool air bites at your skin, tension now gathering between you and the man who’s just stepped into the frame of the door behind you. Lucius.

You don’t turn. The weight of his presence alone makes you stiffen, your back rigid. You can feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low, a whisper that still manages to echo in the stillness of the night. “Enjoying the peace?”

“I thought you’d be too busy being the hero to notice,” you say, a sharpness to your words, though you refuse to turn to face him.

“You think so little of me?” he asks, the amusement in his voice somehow making it even more infuriating. He’s close now, so close that you feel the heat of him behind you. Every inch of space seems too small for the way his presence presses against you.

“I think you’re entitled,” you mutter, fingers tightening against the stone railing in front of you. “And I think you act like you're entitled. To everything. To the power. The land. The people. And whatever part of me you can claim.”

He steps closer, his boots soft against the marble as his hand rests on the stone next to yours. His voice drops lower. “You think you’re the only one who’s been forced into this?”

You scoff, unable to hold back a short, mocking laugh. “Please. You live for this. For control. For dominance.”

His face is inches from yours now. You don’t flinch when he leans in, his breath a whisper against your ear. His voice low and venomous. “You think I enjoy this, do you? Do you really believe I enjoy being forced into a marriage I don’t want? To a woman who can’t even look me in the eye without thinking herself superior?”

The words sting, but you don’t show it. Instead, you match his venom with your own.

“If you’re so miserable, why don’t you find a way out?” The challenge is clear in your tone, daring him to try, to do anything that might make him leave you be. “But you won’t, will you?”

Lucius steps in even closer, so close now that his chest nearly brushes against your back. You can feel the heat of him, the power he exudes, and yet you still refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning to face him.

His fingers trail dangerously close to your neck, and you can’t help but shiver at his touch. “You want to make me angry, don’t you?” he says, his voice thick with something darker. “You want me to lose control.”

Then, with a suddenness that has you gasping for breath, his hand shifts, gripping your chin and tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze. The coldness in his eyes sends a chill down your spine, but there’s also something dangerous flickering there, a hunger.

For a moment, the world is silent. He holds you in place, staring at you. You barely breathe. You can feel the weight of his stare, the storm building in his chest.

“You have a sharp tongue,” Lucius murmurs, his grip tightening around your chin, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips. “But I’m starting to wonder if you really want to use it.”

You feel his thumb trace the shape of your mouth.

Without thinking, you jerk away, snapping, “I don’t want this.”

Lucius steps back, giving you space, but you can feel the tension in his movements, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. The air is thick between you and Lucius, and the moment feels like a ticking time bomb.

The silence stretches, suffocating, but somehow neither of you seems willing to let it end. The distance between you feels impossibly small, yet you can’t quite bring yourself to move.

He looks at you like a predator eyeing its prey, and you feel it in the pit of your stomach, an unsettling pull.

“Like I said, you want to make me lose my temper, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice dark, but laced with a wicked, almost amused edge.

You want to hate him, to despise every part of this situation. But it’s getting harder to ignore the way his eyes burn through you, the way he looks at you as though you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“You think you can scare me?” You bite back, stepping forward, though the words come out sharper than you intended. Lucius watches you carefully, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“No,” he says, voice dropping lower, just enough for you to catch every word. “I don’t want to scare you, but I know I could.”

You’re both too proud to back down. You hate him. He doesn’t like you, either. But there’s something else there, something neither of you can ignore.

Lucius takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving yours, and in a single movement, his hand reaches for your arm, pulling you toward him. The movement is swift, like a coiled spring finally snapping, and before you can react, you’re pressed against the cold railing of the balcony, his body a solid wall in front of you.

Your breath catches, not from fear, but from the intensity, the rawness of it. You’re angry, so fucking angry, but that anger isn’t enough to push him away.

You manage to fight through the fog of emotion, trying to spit out something sharp, something to cut him down to size. But the words die in your throat when he presses his thumb to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

“I thought you were supposed to be strong,” he murmurs, the challenge in his eyes matching the taunting tone of his voice. “Or is that just a front?”

The words cut into you like shards of glass. You try to turn your face away, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, his fingers tighten on your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You want me to hurt you, don’t you?” he asks, his voice low, almost too soft for the sharpness of the question. “I can see it in your eyes. You want me to make you feel something, anything. Don’t lie.”

You want to scream, want to tell him to go to hell. But something in you won’t let it. You hate him for it. You hate the fact that you don’t want to pull away, don’t want to run.

You press your lips together, jaw tight with defiance, and finally you speak. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Lucius chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “No,” he says, his voice a mockery of sympathy, “you’re not. But that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Before you can respond, before you can even think of another insult to throw his way, Lucius closes the distance between you. His lips crash against yours in a searing kiss, ruthless, punishing. It’s not gentle, not at all.

It’s a kiss that takes, that demands.

You can’t help but gasp, the shock of it flooding through you. You don’t want to respond. You don’t want to let him win. But as his hands move to your hips, gripping you tighter, pulling you closer, something inside you unravels.

The kiss deepens, and you’re lost in it, overwhelmed by the heat of his body pressing against yours, the way his tongue demands entrance, the way he doesn’t give you the space to breathe.

“You’re a fool,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and dark, laced with satisfaction. “You think you can control this. But you can’t.”

You're drowning in him, and you despise that your body is reacting to him before your mind can stop it.

You push against him, trying to break free. But he only pulls you tighter, his hands sliding down your back, pressing you harder against him.

For a moment, you forget where you are. Forget that you’re supposed to be angry. Forget that this is supposed to be a confrontation.

You barely register the first sound of tearing fabric.

Your back is pressed to the balustrade, the cold stone biting through the thin silk of your gown, but Lucius doesn’t give you the chance to think. His hands are already on the fastenings at your waist, tugging hard enough to make the seams strain.

You gasp, a noise laced with fury and arousal, and push at his chest. “Is this how Roman emperors take what isn’t theirs? In gardens, like dogs?”

Lucius breaks the kiss to laugh, a laugh so low, rough, and amused in the most infuriating way. “If I were a dog, darling, I’d have taken you by now. But I’m patient. And you’re very, very close to begging.”

Your palm cracks across his cheek before you even realise what you’re doing. The sound is obscene in the quiet night, but it only seems to deepen that look in his eyes, hunger laced with something wild.

He catches your wrist before you can drop it, pinning it to the stone behind you, and leans in close enough that you feel the scrape of his breath against your jaw.

“That's the second time you've slapped me, do it again,” he growls, eyes blazing. “I dare you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you breathe, trying to twist free. “I’d rather sleep with a beast.”

His mouth finds your throat. Biting. Sucking. “Liar,” he mutters. “You’d rather sleep with this beast.”

And then his other hand rips through the neckline of your dress, fabric tearing, your breath hitching, and suddenly you’re half-bared to the open air, marble halls echoing behind you, columns offering far too little cover.

You try to cover yourself with your free hand, but he shoves it aside easily. “Oh no, don’t be modest now,” he says, voice syrup-thick with mockery. “Not when you’re standing there like a goddess meant to be ruined.”

“You arrogant bastard-”

“You like this,” he cuts in, tone taunting. “You like being manhandled. You like me doing it.”

You want to shout. Want to slap him again. Want to deny everything.

But the heat between your legs betrays you. The way your hips press forward into him, your legs shifting restlessly, you can feel how wet you already are, and you hate it.

“I hate you,” you hiss, even as he hooks a finger under the torn edge of your bodice and yanks again, exposing you further.

“I know, you keep saying that,” he breathes. “You hate me, and yet here you are, letting me touch you like this. Moaning into my mouth. Parting your legs. Do you know how sweet you sound when you're angry?”

He kisses you again, more teeth than tongue, and your wrists are pinned again before you can react, your body arched and open to him, your gown falling in tatters around your ankles.

“I should scream,” you pant when he moves to your jaw, biting there too, as though claiming.

“Do it. Let them hear. Let them see.” His voice is low, wicked. “Let the whole palace know that you're mine.”

You hate how that word coils low in your belly, how it makes something flutter in your chest.

With one arm, he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you gasp as your back slams into the stone column behind you, your feet no longer anchoring you down. You can feel him hard against you, thick and hot even through his tunic. He grinds into you, just once, and it forces a sound out of you that doesn’t sound like hate at all.

His mouth brushes your ear. “There’s the real you,” he whispers. “You’re dripping. I could take you right here. Against the stone. Would you stop me?”

You should. You don’t.

“Coward,” you hiss, trying to reclaim the moment. “You think I’m impressed? You’re nothing but-”

He lets go of you so suddenly you stumble, but only for a moment. He catches you again, strong arms around your waist, and then he’s carrying you, half-naked, down the colonnade.

You wriggle against him, fists pounding his chest. “Put me down-”

“I will,” he snaps. “When we reach my bed. And not a moment before.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, but all he does is laugh, cruel and triumphant.

The doors of his chamber slam open under the force of his boot. He doesn’t even pause; he strides through the room and drops you onto his bed like a prize. Like a victory.

You scramble back, shaking, hair wild, lips swollen.

He unfastens his belt, watching you all the while with that same awful, smug amusement. “Still planning to insult me, or are you going to lie back and spread those pretty legs for me?”

You launch a pillow at him. “You’re the most arrogant bastard I’ve ever met!”

“And you’re the loudest little whore in Rome.”

You gasp, half outrage, half heat, and he’s on you again before you can draw breath. He's laughing low in his throat as you claw at his tunic.

“You’re still fighting me,” he says, dragging your ruined gown off the rest of the way, “but you’re wetter than any Roman virgin. Were you always this easy to break?”

“You haven’t broken me-”

“Haven’t I?”

He’s between your legs now, and the teasing stops being verbal. His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, and you whine when he draws one circle around your clit, just enough to make you twitch.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “You hate me so much you can’t stop shaking.”

You try to push him again, but this time he catches your hand, kisses the palm, and presses it against his chest.

“Go on. Keep hating me.” His eyes gleam. “But don’t you dare stop moaning.”

You don’t. You can’t.

Because his fingers are slipping lower, slow, deliberate, two of them curling inside you, and the sound you make is more like a sob than a gasp. You want to turn your face away, but he’s already watching too closely, already smirking like he knows.

“You feel that?” he says low, pushing deeper, twisting his wrist. “How wet you are? It’s obscene.”

“Stop-” you manage, but it’s pathetic. Your thighs are shaking.

“No,” he breathes. “You don’t want me to stop. Say it. Say you want it.”

You grit your teeth. “I want you to choke on your own ego.” He laughs again, lips brushing yours, still fucking you slow with his fingers. “Admit it, little bride. You’d rather choke on me.”

“Fuck. You.”

His grin widens. “Believe it or not, love, but that's the idea.”

Then he slams into you with his fingers, harder now, and you arch off the bed with a strangled sound. Your nails dig into his shoulders, seeking something to hold onto that isn’t your dignity.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters. “You’d let me take you anywhere, wouldn’t you? Against the column, the floor, right in front of the Senate. You like being ruined.”

“You’re disgusting,” you pant.

“And yet you’re dripping for me.”

Every roll of his fingers is pushing you closer, making it harder to breathe, to speak, to hate. You try to close your legs, to regain even the smallest control.

“Don’t,” he snaps, pushing your thighs apart. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.” His voice dips. “But I want to see the moment you break. I want to feel it.”

You growl, but your hips are still grinding down against his hand. You’re trying to win a war on a battlefield he’s already set aflame.

Then he pulls his fingers free, wet and glistening, and holds them up between you.

“Look at that,” he says darkly. “And still pretending you don’t want me.”

You slap them away.

He grabs your wrists again, pins them above your head, and grinds his cock against you through the thin barrier of his clothes. You moan despite yourself.

“Say it,” he breathes, teeth gritted now. “Say you want me.”

“I don’t-”

He lets go. Just long enough to shove his tunic over his head, exposing the scarred stretch of his chest, the line of muscle down his stomach. You don’t mean to stare, but you do.

“Oh,” he purrs. “You’re staring. That’s new.”

You lunge up to push him, but he grabs your thigh and flips you onto your stomach like a rag doll. You yelp, trying to twist back.

He presses your chest to the bed with one hand, pulls your hips up with the other, and drags the head of his cock through your folds.

You go still.

The moment stretches.

“Ready to beg now?” he asks, tone silken.

“I will bite your fucking throat out.”

“Then I’ll fuck you while you try.”

And with no more warning, he drives into you.

You scream. Not in pain, not entirely. The stretch is sharp, unforgiving, but it’s the invasion that overwhelms you. He doesn't ease in, doesn’t wait. He sinks all the way to the hilt in one brutal thrust and stays there, one hand locked on your hip, the other on the back of your neck.

“You feel that?” he growls. “That’s mine. All of it. All of you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you hiss, voice trembling.

But you clench around him.

He groans, deep and unrestrained, and begins to thrust. Rough, relentless. The bed slams into the wall, your moans torn from you against your will.

“You sound like a whore,” he mutters, reaching forward to grab your throat, pulling you up against his chest.

You gasp, back arching, hair falling in wild tangles as he fucks into you from behind. Your legs tremble.

“Say it,” he growls again. “Say you want me.”

“No.”

He slides one hand between your thighs again, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, relentless circles.

You break.

Your body clamps down on him so violently that it makes him stutter. He thrusts through it, snarling, riding it out as you tremble and shake, breathless and wrung out.

“Liar,” he hisses in your ear. “You wanted this. You needed this.”

You’re still spasming around him when he flips you onto your back, fast and rough, before he plunges in again. This time you cry out with every movement, overstimulated and gasping.

“You should see yourself,” he pants, rutting into you. “Hair a mess, mouth open, legs shaking. Ruined.”

“Fuck… fuck you-”

“I am.”

He leans down, bites your lower lip, and slams into you harder. You moan into his mouth.

“You’re done pretending,” he whispers. “You can’t lie anymore.”

You claw at his shoulders. “You’re a monster.”

“Then why do you keep pulling me closer?”

You hate how right he is. Hate how good he feels. Hate the second orgasm building already, tighter, fiercer.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” he says, tone mocking. “My poor little bride, soaking and speechless.”

He slams into you again. Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.

“Thought so.”

Your eyes roll back.

He fucks you like he’s trying to prove something, not just that he owns your body, but your pride, your defiance, every last bit of control.

When the second climax hits, you cry out so loudly he has to smother your mouth with his palm.

“Too loud,” he growls. “Don’t want the whole palace hearing how well I fuck my bride-”

But he doesn’t really care. You can see it in his eyes. He wants them to know.

You collapse beneath him, breathless, soaked, undone.

He comes not long after, hips snapping, voice raw as he spills inside you with a shudder and a growl of your name.

Silence, for a breath.

Then he shifts and leans over you, bracing himself on shaking arms.

Lucius moves slowly. And when he withdraws, you feel the thick, wet ache of it. You shift, a low hiss escaping your throat.

“Too much for you?” he drawls, brushing your hair from your cheek. “Pity. You took it well enough while I was ruining you.”

You manage a scowl, though your body’s trembling with aftershocks. “I should kill you.”

“You’d miss me.” He grins. “So would your cunt.”

He rises from the bed in a single motion, his body shadowed by the low lanterns, and you don’t expect it when he leans down, hooking his arm beneath your knees and lifting you from the sheets.

“Put me-”

“No.”

Your fists beat weakly at his chest, but you’re too sore to mean it. His seed still slicks your thighs. You’re marked, ruined, utterly dishevelled. And now you’re being paraded.

He strides from the bedchamber and out into the marble corridor of his private suite, bare, flushed, and grinning like a wolf. His bathchamber lies across the hall.

The door is open.

So is your mouth when a figure, a servant, pale and wide-eyed, turns at the end of the corridor. Sees everything.

Lucius does not flinch.

In fact, he smirks.

“Get out,” he says, not even glancing their way. The command is casual, but lethal.

They flee.

You burn.

“Scandalous bastard,” you hiss.

“Shall I drop you in the corridor then?” he offers, eyes glinting.

You don’t answer.

Steam curls from the bronze basin sunk into the floor, warm and waiting. The scent of oils hangs thick in the air, clinging to your skin even before it’s wet.

Lucius doesn’t stop. Doesn’t ask. He steps straight into the bath, water clinging to the muscle beneath as he lowers himself, and you, into the heat.

You hiss when it touches the rawest places. Bruises. Scrapes. You still feel where he stretched you.

His hold on you tightens, not to restrain, but to shield.

“I was going to warn you,” he murmurs near your temple, voice silked with cruel satisfaction. “But you just had to be difficult.”

You half turn in his arms, scowling, exhausted. “You enjoyed it.”

His teeth flash. “Of course I did.”

He reaches for a cloth, dips it into the steaming water, and wrings it out with a lazy flick of his wrist. The motion is slow, like the way a man sharpens a blade, not because he needs to, but because he enjoys the ritual of it.

Then he touches you.

The cloth slides up your thigh. Gentle. Unreasonably gentle.

You flinch. He feels it.

“I’m not him,” he says, low and close behind your ear.

The cloth moves higher, over the place where his fingers left bruises. It’s tender, the touch. Not apologetic, but… reverent.

You close your eyes. “I know.”

He doesn’t reply.

Just continues, slow, precise. Cleaning you as though you belong to him and no one else may touch. The cloth traces your waist, your belly, your breasts. Over the angry red marks blooming on your throat.

“Filthy little thing,” he says, almost absently, as if it’s a compliment. “Look what I’ve done to you.”

You shift against him, half-hearted. “Is this what passes for aftercare in the palace?”

“I could leave you filthy, if you prefer,” he offers, mock-casual, dragging the cloth up between your legs now with unbearable slowness.

Your breath catches.

He smirks against your neck. “Didn’t think so.”

His free hand is splayed across your stomach, keeping you against his chest. You’re in his lap, flushed and quiet.

When he finishes, he doesn’t speak. Just leans forward, pushing your wet hair aside to press his mouth once to your shoulder, unhurried, like claiming land he already owns.

Then he reaches for a towel, presses it into your hands.

“You can walk,” he says. “Or I can carry you back.”

“I can walk,” you mutter again, clutching the towel.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re bleeding a little.”

You pause. Then glare.

“From me,” he adds, calm as marble. “You’ll forgive my pride.”

You turn away before he can see your face twist with fury, and shame, and something deeper, quieter, that gnaws at your ribs.

But you only make it a step before he steps into your space and lifts you again, without asking, without effort, arms locked tight beneath your knees and back. The towel shifts, slipping down one shoulder.

“Lucius-”

“I’ll carry what’s mine.”

You tense, heart pounding, as he strides from the bathchamber bare-chested and unbothered, with you cradled like a spoil of war.

And then, the worst.

Not a servant.

A senator.

A senior one, older, important. His brows lift, his jaw tightens, and for a long moment he simply stares.

You freeze in Lucius’ arms.

Mortified.

Bare legs, damp collarbone, bitten lips.

You try to twist, to cover your face in his chest, but the towel shifts again, and Lucius doesn’t even slow his pace.

“Domitius,” he says, cool and smooth as ever.

“Emperor,” the man replies after a beat, eyes still sharp with thinly veiled judgement.

Lucius only smiles.

Then shifts his grip around you, just enough to make it clear you’re not just some fleeting mistress. No, he’s holding you like a bride.

“You’re not dismissing him?” you whisper furiously as they pass.

“Why would I?” he murmurs. “Let him tell the court how you looked when I was carrying you home.”

He chuckles low in his throat. “Shall I walk slower?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re trembling. Again.”

He carries you back into his bedchamber like nothing happened.

Deposits you on the rumpled sheets with the same hands that had bruised your thighs and cupped your face like glass.

Lucius lies beside you. He doesn’t reach for you. Just watches.

The fire’s down to embers now, and for a moment, it’s quiet.

“You’ll hate me again tomorrow,” he murmurs, eyes on the ceiling.

You turn your head toward him. His hair’s a mess. A dark curl falls over his forehead. He doesn’t brush it away.

“I already do.”

There’s no heat in the words anymore. Just a strange, exhausted ache. Like you’ve both burned through something and don’t know what’s left.

You lie in silence.

Until, after a long while, you feel his arm shift and settle across your waist. Not tight. Not demanding.

Just there.

You don’t move.

He breathes, slow and steady, and just before you drift, you feel him press his forehead into your shoulder.

Almost like he’s praying.

You wake to sunlight cutting sharp across the marble floor.

The bed is warm. Too warm. Your legs are tangled in silken sheets, and your mouth tastes of salt and heat and something darker still. You shift and wince.

Everything aches.

Your thighs. Your hips. Your throat.

You drag the cover up as you sit, slowly, wincing again when the bruises sing beneath your skin. There are fresh marks on your wrists. On your collarbone. Teeth, fingers, his name written across your body in touches no one will dare speak of aloud, but everyone will know.

The door creaks.

Lucius enters fully clothed.

Hair swept back. Tunic dark and rich, imperial red. There’s a goblet in his hand and a parchment tucked under one arm.

He looks at you like a man admiring the aftermath of war.

“Sleep well, betrothed?”

You glare. “Barely.”

A slow smirk.

He steps forward, sets the goblet down beside the bed and takes the seat across from you like you’re in court again.

“I expect the palace has already heard.”

“I expect the city has.”

He tilts his head. “Let them. What can they do?”

You stare at him, this man who had torn you open with teeth and hands and never once begged forgiveness. He’s not softened in daylight.

You pull the covers tighter.

He watches.

“Say it,” you snap, before you can stop yourself.

“Say what?”

Whatever insult he’s been sitting on. Whatever cruel line he’s crafted for the moment he saw you like this, rumpled, silent, aching from him.

Instead, he leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees.

“I like you better ruined.”

Your breath catches.

And he smiles, slow and hungry, like he already knows that when he touches you again, you won’t fight quite as hard.

I'm so tempted to write a part two to this, but I have another Lucius fic idea I want to write first. If anyone would be interested in a part two to this, lemme know and I can bump it up in my priorities 🤗

[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You

Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Felix is delulu, Reader is stressed and homesick and kinda crazy but she a baddie, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver will be Oliver (a creep), and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: This fic is a follow-up to this post and I would like to thank grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

“FUCK!” you yelled at the top of your lungs just before your nose slammed down on the dewy grass.

Groaning in pain before the mortification of realizing what had just happened kicked in.

You didn’t know what was worse: the fact you had a full front view of the giant’s junk or that he body-slammed you onto the ground and caused you to land on top of the painting worth 30% of your final grade.

You wanted to scream your head off. The paint had finally dried, and you could finally leave the studio at two in the morning. It was close to finals, and pretty much anyone on campus who didn’t get accepted because of their daddy’s bank account was in their dorms. You had hoped that this fact would mean that the paths were empty and, therefore, safe to transport your 30” x 40” canvas.

“SORRY!”

You shot your head up to locate the person who just apologized. Lo’ and behold, it was the same plastered, pasty cunt with a bird’s nest disaster of a haircut drunken idiot who decided it was a good idea to go streaking across campus. His only other distinguishable features were that he was at least 6’3” and that he had a small steel piece pierced on his face.

After the “apology,” he and his friend continued running off to God’s knows where in the dead of night—leaving you behind on the lawn with a bleeding nose, bruised knees and palms, and an oil painting that was torn and caked in mud three days before its deadline.

There was no way to redo it. The project was assigned at the beginning of October. It took 5 hours to set up the models with the motifs and lights, 3 hours to take pictures, and 10 hours to underdraw the preliminary sketch. You didn’t even want to think about the sheer number of sleepless nights you spent in the studio mixing colors and layering. On top of that, you also had your other finals in other courses to study for.

You had practically been living in that studio for the past month. All of the custodians and security guards knew you by name. You got first dibs every day when they refilled the vending machines. It was a true godsend when you didn’t have time to visit the dining halls. Everyone had been so kind and sweet to you. It was a warm welcome compared to the snark and snobbery you experienced from most of your classmates.

Crying from the devastation of the loss of your situation, your shaking legs carried your body and what remained of your work into the building. You knew that your professor stayed in her office late for grading. You could only hope that she would sympathize with your pitiful appearance.

“Wait, so did you get the extension?”

Lifting your head from the sticky library table at Bodleian’s, you stared at your best only friend, Michael Gavey, with a blank stare. You didn’t react to his wince after he took in your haggard appearance. You didn’t need a mirror to know that you looked terrible.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot red with dark mulberry bags underneath them. You had paled since coming to dreary England, but now you looked straight-up sickly. And if that wasn’t enough, your eyes had less life than a dead fish rotting at a Sunday Market.

Your voice was so meek that you were sure he had to strain to hear you.

“Yeah…I got it.”

You knew you had no choice but to beg your Studio Arts professor for an extension. But it killed you doing it. Professor Daria Martin was your favorite teacher and the only faculty member who actually liked you. Her support toward you meant everything to you; the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint her, let alone be the reason why she lost her job.

Your usually so snarky four-eyed friend perked up at the news.

“So, is everything okay?” he asked with hope.

Your head fell on neon-yellow ink-stained pages that filled the paperweight your ethics professor called a textbook. A bitter laugh fell from as your lips lifted to a wry, dry grin.

“Oof, not that simple, is it?” he asked.

“Is it ever?”

“So what do you have to do now?”

“Well-,” you lifted your head to take a deep breath as you started to explain, “- I still have the photos and copies of the sketch. But because the canvas was so large, it was special-ordered. That means I need to wait until another one can be delivered, and since all the works need to be completed in the studio, I can’t leave the campus.”

As you finished your explanation, Michael nodded his head in understanding before he paused, and a look of devastation painted his features.

“Wait, so does that mean-”

“I won’t be able to fly back home for the holidays.”

Fuck, you were about to cry again. You had been so excited to see your old friends and family. You remembered how absolutely homesick you were at the beginning of the term. Because you were a scholarship student from America, your parents encouraged you to settle on campus by moving to your dorm earlier than everyone else. It was bad enough that you missed Thanksgiving, but you had really set your heart on coming home for Christmas and New Year’s. What made it worse was that your parents had told you all about the dinner they had planned for your homecoming. It was going to be a feast of all your favorites.

English food sucked balls.

Your only saving grace was the Crunchie bars Michael got for you when you studied together or when you had to rewrite edit his essays.

You really DID cry after first reading his essay for Introductory English class at the beginning of the year.

“Did you try to report it?”

“Report what? ‘Hey, there’s a wasted asshole running naked across campus, and he body-slammed me to the ground and tore my fucking massive campus that blocked my view of the jackass. He’s probably richer than the goddamn Queen, given how he’s wasted right before finals.’”

“Do you have any description of him?”

“He’s a giant with a small eyebrow piercing, and his fat ass looked like it had never seen the sun.”

Without lifting your head, you heard the scrape of Michael’s chair before he walked across the table to sit in the chair next to you.

“Hey,” he began, bringing you into a warm arm hug, “it’ll be okay. You called your parents about it, right?”

“Yeah -” you sighed before continuing, “- they told me they understood and would Skype me daily.”

“See! Everything’s going to be – wait, did you say that this guy was tall?”

Furrowing your brow in confusion, you looked at your friend at the change in his tone from light and supportive to sharp and interrogative.

“Yeah?”

“How tall?”

“Umm,” you had to think about that, “I’d say he was about 6’3” or above? He was really fucking tall.”

“And he had an eyebrow piercing?”

Ok, now you were really confused. “Yes? Michael, where are you going with this?”

“I think the guy who ran you over was Felix Catton.”

You shot your favorite idiot with a deadpan glare.

“Felix Catton? The same Felix Catton who just so happens to be the same Felix Catton you hate?”

Michael solemnly nodded. “It’s him. It has to be. The only person on campus as tall as him is his cousin, and he doesn’t have piercings.”

“And he’s black.”

“Yeah, that too.”

You were skeptical, and it showed. You didn’t want to callously dismiss your friend, but you knew more than anyone how much his hatred for Oxford’s Golden Boy could impair his judgment. You were by no means a fan of the guy, but accusing someone of anything they didn’t do just because your friend thought so went against your principles.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the bookshelf in front of the table where Felix and his groupies sat. Both of your books and bags were in your chairs, but you managed to keep your spiral notebook with you. It wasn’t hard to find them – they were the loudest table in the entire library. They also reeked of cigarettes and booze.

“See?” Michael hissed. “Giant, pale, and eyebrow piercing. It’s him!”

“Michael,” you softly groaned, “just because you hate Felix Catton doesn’t mean you can –”

An extremely shrill voice interrupted you.

“I can’t believe you and Farleigh actually ran around campus naked!”

A petite girl with full pink lips and dull red hair latched on the arm of the man of the hour. “It was so hot to watch!”

This girl has weird-ass tastes in guys.

“And then how you crashed into that dunce at Ruskin! Brilliant!”

Your blood ran cold while another one of Catton’s faceless droning puppets chimed in.

“God, what an idiot! It’s their own fault, anyway. Who the fuck walks in the middle of the walk path with a fucking big canvas in front of them?”

One of the lessons hammered into your skull young was never to move before you think. That lesson had saved you ten ways from Sunday. But this was not one of those times.

You’re pretty sure that you hear Michael calling out your name as you walk away from the shelf and towards the overcrowded table. Tunnel vision took over you as you made your way to the overgrown idiot who almost cost you your entire future.

Grabbing the back of his shirt collar, you dragged the 6’5” towering fool on his ass all the way outside. You finally let go when the two of you reached the back of the building that had no windows.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, did you relish the crunch that immediately followed your swing.

Fuck, was his head killing him.

Felix should have known better than to have gotten cross-faded last night, but Farleigh had practically goaded him to do it. It’s not like his cousin ever had to worry about his grades for any of his courses during finals – the little shit-starter had always been so fucking academically gifted.

He skipped pretty much all of his morning classes and barely made it to his afternoon schedule on time while completely zoning out the entire time.

If he bombs on all his finals, his dad was going to absolutely murder him. But chances were he and his mum were going to be too busy entertaining whichever new friend his mum brought in for shelter.

“You alright there, champ?”

Felix swiveled his head too quickly and immediately groaned in pain. The motion made his hangover even worse. Rubbing his eyes to try to soothe the pounding in his head, he slowly opened them to look at his cousin.

The slag didn’t have the decency to look even a little bit affected from last night’s event – the fucker. No, he was sitting there with all Cheshire grins and gleaming eyes while Felix was two seconds from heaving his guts out.

“Yeah, I’m alright, mate.” He replied in a tired groan.

“Must have been quite the night. Wonder if it had anything to do with that little cocktail you took from our sweet Annabel’s belly button?”

Disgust was clear on Felix’s face as he recalled the body shot he had taken from his ex-FWB’s navel. He truly must have been off his rocker last night – he thought he was over with body shots since graduating secondary, but apparently not.

If he somehow got an STD from doing it, V was going to kill him.

But even with all of his horrible actions that caused the raging war inside his skull, that wasn’t the main cause of his misery.

Farleigh’s grin dropped as judgment painted his features.

“Oh,” he moaned, “please tell me this isn’t about ‘your angel’ from last night.”

He didn’t just take the dare of streaking across the grounds just for the hell of it. He needed an excuse to pass through the art building – all for the chance of seeing you.

You. His angel of paints and books who lived in the empty studio rooms of Oxford University’s Ruskin School of Art and whose presence harangued him every hour of every day. Everywhere Felix went, he would unconsciously look for you.

It was his soul calling out for yours – he knew it.

Felix had never felt so drawn to another human being in his entire existence. He’d never seen you outside of the libraries, art building, and maybe the dining hall if he was lucky. You never went to any parties or even had a drink at the pub at King’s Arms. He didn’t even have classes with you, but he knew Farleigh did. Word was that you and his cousin had shared a few classes – what’s more was that you were likely the only person who could go head-to-head with him in academics.

And to make it worse, the prat refused to tell him anything about you – not even your fucking name.

“Believe me,” he told him after Felix had been begging his cousin for hours to share anything about you, “she is way above your league.”

Which really hurt his feelings, by the way – sure, you were probably way above in book smarts, but there wasn’t a girl that remained indifferent to his charms after a good talking fucking.

“I still can’t believe you won’t at least tell me her name,” Felix complained once more, “or even just give me her number!”

“She’s an American here on scholarship and a bore,” he quipped back, “what’s there to tell? And can you please shut up? I want to get some reading done before tonight. You do remember the in-class essay we have tomorrow, right?”

Bloody hell, he did not. Pushing down the bitter feeling in his chest, he and his cousin made their way to meet everyone at the back. As soon as he sat down, Annabel clung on to his arm. Thank fuck he had been wearing one of his thicker jumpers – otherwise, her claws that she called nails would have ripped open the fabric.

“Hey, Felix!” she made sure to offer a very generous sight of her cleavage, “are you ready for tonight?”

Felix chuckled lowly before responding. “Aren’t I always?”

And just like that – he completely zoned out the rest of the conversation.

Annabel was probably saying something to get him to notice her, and Farleigh was likely responding so he wouldn’t have to – but Felix couldn’t be bothered to pretend to care.

He was lost in the living daydream that was his angel that haunted the art studios of Ruskin School of Art.

He was desperate to learn everything about you.

If he asked you to talk about your favorite books, would your eyes sparkle in delight, or would your smile widen in glee?

If he grabbed your hand, would your palms feel marred by his rough skin, or would you press your callouses to his?

If he pressed his mouth on yours, would your lips feel as soft and plump as they look? Or was their luster forever damaged by your teeth biting them whenever you were in deep concentration?

If he breathed in your scent at the crook of your neck, would your skin smell like the paints forever on your brushes or the musky pages of heavy ancient books you always carried in your arms?

If he planted kisses from your throat to your breasts, would you mewl in pleasure or whimper in anticipation?

If he touched your cunt, would you arch your back in ecstasy? Or would your legs crumble, and you would have no choice but to sink into his arms?

Felix’s thoughts were rudely interrupted when Farleigh jammed his bony elbow into his ribcage and hurriedly whispered.

“Look alive, Golden Boy.”

Looking forward, it was better than any of his wet dreams combined. It was you.

Your hair was loose, and your fists were clenched. You reminded him of a ferocious lion goddess with how focused your gaze was on him.

But before Felix would prepare himself to make a good impression, you walked behind him and grabbed the back of his shirt collar before fucking dragging his ass out of his seat and outside.

Bloody hell, for someone so much shorter than him, you were fucking strong.

When you finally released your grip, he fell on the ground like an idiot before he tried to stand and steady himself as quickly as he could.

“Hey, what the fu –”

You didn’t let him finish as you brought your fist to hit him square in the face – and, fuck, you might have actually broken his nose.

After staggering back, you started using the spiral notebook in your other hand to land blow after painful blow on his body.

“YOU. STUPID. FUCKING. INGRATE –” Each word that left your mouth was emphasized with another hit from your notebook “– I. HATE. YOU. YOU. RUINED. MY. PAINTING. I. SPENT. SO. MUCH. TIME. ON. IT. AND. NOW. I. CAN’T. GO. HOME. FOR. BREAK. BECAUSE. OF. YOUR. STUPID. SELF!”

Felix was confident you had more to say, but you were pulled off him by your friend – he’s pretty sure it’s Mitchell – by the waist with you kicking and screaming out profanities to him as your friend called out your name to try to calm you down.

He wondered what it said about him if he told anyone how much you looked like an angry cat. His parents would send him to a shrink if he told them how adorable he found you right now.

If you were this wild while fighting, he could only imagine how riled up you would get in bed.

Fuck, you might have just unlocked a new kink in him.

Catching his breath as he watched your friend drag you away into the distance, he heard a slow clap to his left.

Farleigh was leaning on the corner – his smug expression making it clear that he had seen the whole thing – as he looked at his cousin with a bemused expression before walking toward him and giving a sympathetic pat on his back.

“Well,” he started to break the tension, “at least you know her name.”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, “I know her name.”

And he knew that you smelled more like the paints on your brushes than the books you carried with subtle notes of gardenias.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @barbiedragon, @valeskafics, @lexyysworld, @punkiwiki, @saltburnedme, @arcielee

Let me know if you want to be tagged for future Saltburn fics!

[yerimbrit]

[flufftober day 28, wc: 804] - sleepover : 10 hour flight

“HEY GUYS,” you wave, holding your bag full of your necessities and clothes for the night. that’s right, you’re staying over at your girlfriend’s place! which is also your cousin’s place. which is also minji, danielle, and haerin’s place. which also may or may not be the newjeans dorm. because your girlfriend is hanni from newjeans. 

wow, you still can’t believe that you’re dating hanni from newjeans, and you didn’t even meet as a fan—you met on some random day at the airport, strangers-to-lovers-trope type of shit. 

minji and hyein are the ones who answer the door for you, and minji immediately sighs, “you better not pull anything tonight.”

“you bet, MJ,” you click your tongue playfully and shoot a finger-gun at her, “no shady business that was planned.”

hyein gives you a hug, and- “oh my god, you got taller again!”

the younger girl is about to make a height comparison with her hands until you spot danielle who pushes her out of the way to give you a hug. “y/n! i haven’t seen you in forever, you’re so busy with school!”

a slight headache invades your mind for a split second when she mentions ‘school’. “i’ve got deadlines, a painting to finish, and a thesis to write, dani. don’t remind me…”

the australian shoots you a pitying look, before making way for hanni, who strikes a pose before strutting over to you. “hello, guest.”

oh, another thing you learned is that hanni can be pretty unintentionally funny at times. like how she’s greeting you like some sci-fi bigshot. “hello, your highness,” you bow, hovering your hand over your chest. 

she brings you in for a short peck on the lips, causing haerin (who just walked into the living room) to cover hyein’s eyes, and for minji to cover haerin’s eyes. danielle smiles and walks to the kitchen. “i missed you, y/n.”

“i missed you too, han,” you smile fondly at her before she leads you into the apartment. everyone gathers in her room where you also put your bag of things in. 

it’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been to the dorm, but it hasn’t been that long since you’ve seen the girls—danielle was exaggerating. you just stopped by their practice room two days ago to drop off some food that hyein’s mom made for them. not that your absence has changed anything, the dorm is pretty much the same save for a big banner featuring their ‘right now’ characters. 

in hanni’s room, she’s moved around some stuff, like the record player that’s playing a mac demarco vinyl right now. there’s also a whole section dedicated to organizing the various supplies that you’ve forgotten while you were over the few dozens (maybe even hundreds) of times over two years. you’re pretty sure there’s even stuff you left in hyein’s room, whoops.

you climb up on her loft bed (which she’s been saying she’s gonna replace, but she hasn’t yet) and hang your legs over the edge. minji sends you a warning look from her place on the floor. hanni looks concerned, but joins you criss-cross on the bed, holding her ‘fluffy’ plush (yes, the one from despicable me) to her chest.

a few conversations start, like danielle bringing up sylvanian families and getting haerin very invested in the discussion, which led to the topic shifting to cats, and then your sketch of a cat you saw on the way here, and somehow sparking your flame of inspiration.

you slowly lean forward, trying to get a view of the girls that are sitting on the floor (or bean bag, in haerin’s case) because just a little more and you’ll have a perfect bird’s eye view.

hanni notices your movements and widens her eyes, “y/n, you’re gonna fall!”

“it’s not that high,” you try to reassure her, still inching off of the bed, danielle, hyein, and minji scoot away just in case you actually fall, which you probably will, based on their previous experiences with you. come on, you mostly stopped doing those stunts a long time ago, because you knew hanni would worry! it’s not like you’re gonna—

“y/n!”

…you fell. that kind of hurt. “uh, don’t worry guys. it’s just a sprain.”

haerin winces as she looks at your present state. “your arm is bent the other way.”

it is? you look at your arm and, oh. “i guess it is—oh shit.”

…

“i can’t believe i’m in the er with you. again,” hanni sighs heavily, poking at the cast wrapped around your arm.

you blow a strand of your bangs out of your face. “at least i didn’t break two of my ribs again. hey, wanna reenact our first kiss?”

your girlfriend stares blankly at you. you raise your unbroken arm in defense. “no? okay…”

flufftober masterlist!

a/n : i miss u 10 hour flight

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Forever, mine

Pairing: Astarion x reader.

Warnings: Dark themes, Angst, Concubine!Reader, Yandere! possessive, obsessive Astarion, Forced relationship, One-sided love, Gore, Murder, Bloodsucking, Turning. Part 1.

Summary: You should've known you'll always be his.

You sighed softly as you stared out of the window, the burning star above brought beautiful rays of sunlight into the dark bed chamber. Happy, and gleefully birds of all kinds chirped to a love song of their own.

You wonder what that was like.

To be happy and free.

You were weighed down by his arm laying on your hip as he slept so peacefully while you wallowed in self-pity and misery. Rustling of the slik sheets told you that the day would be another torture. "Good morning, my darling treasure." Astarion's smooth and elegant voice greeted you, a little tired rasp enlaced within. You turned around to face him, a practiced smile playing on your lips, "Good morning, my love." You greeted in return, swallowing down the rising venom as you called him your love, a pet name he rained hell to be called.

He will never be your love.

nevertheless, you melted as you looked into your master's crimson eyes, Love, and obsession swirled around in his iris like rippling wine as he looked into your own, his normally pristine white curls a mess, and his pale skin seemed to sparkle in the light of the sun, and the soft yet smug smile he wears, he looked like an angel. immersed by his beauty, you didn't feel his tender touch upon your forearm till he spoke "As much as I want to stay in bed, and cuddle you into my arms. We have work to do." Astarion sighed dramatically, running his fingers through his hair, and gave you a wink before sliding out the bed.

The throne room was a glorious sight, ceiling high above your head, a story painted of love, betrayal, and vengeance embosom in the round walls. Shining gold and marbled white beams run down to the smooth wooden floors. A rose gold arch separated the thrones from the rest of the ballroom, maroon with dark patterned curtains drape to the sides, showcasing the vampire Lord and you on your thrones. Astarion held none back on his. Different shades of gold, black, and red designed his large throne while yours was a bit smaller and with only colors of silver and white.

You fought back the urge to roll your eyes as another devoted follower praised and stroked Astarion's ego before moving on to her problem as others lined up behind her, waiting for their turn. Your butt began to ache as you sat for what must have been hours. Since Astarion had learned of Soren, your day started and ended with him, your old chamber was now one of the many guest rooms as your stuff was moved into your master's chamber. You rarely were able to leave his side.

It was getting harder and harder to sit still, harder to blur Astarion and his loyal subjects out. Laying your cheek on your hand you looked around, looking for anything to keep your attention until you spotted a familiar man, frantically waving at the entrance of the ballroom. Soran! You quickly looked to your right, your master was still focused on his task to notice your reaction.

You cleared your throat.

Astarion head turned slightly to you, holding his hand up, effectively silencing the blubbering woman. "Yes, my treasure?" He finally looked at you, his crimson orbs filled with happiness."I must excuse myself," you stood up and feigned a desperate look, "Nature is calling me." Astarion stared at you with an unreadable expression before he simply dismissed you with a wave of his hand and returned his attention to the woman.

As you walked down the small stairs and out of the ballroom, you grabbed Soran's arm and both of you ran down the halls, almost unable to contain the laughter bubbling in your throats. Finally, you reached the vast, colorful garden and your backs hit the grassy ground.

"You're positively insane! He could have seen you!" you laughed as Soran crawled on top of you.

"No one can keep me from you," he grinned, his teal eyes putting the sky's blue shade to shame. Everything in the world felt right when you were with him. The birds chirped a special song just for you, and the fragile breeze carried the sweet scent of the flowers around you. The light from above beamed down on Soran's back, and it seemed like a halo appeared on his head. He's an angel, and he is yours. You talked about everything and anything, time flew by before you could stop it.

"My lady!!" Lyra shouted, out of nowhere, her long blonde hair flowing behind her as she rushed to you, "My lady." She repeated after taking in a few shakily breaths, her forest greens finally looked up at you, and a glint passed through her eyes and then the look of panic settled in. "What is it, Lyra?" You spoke calmly, hoping it helped her. "Master Astarion calls for you! He wants to throw a ball and he said he aides your expertise." She said frantically, pulling you up and began to drag you away. You got one last glance at Soran as you were dragged pass the corner.

"What do you think of this, treasure?" Astarion hummed, holding up some (f/c) fabrics, his movement was nonchalant yet still elegant. You tilted your head slightly, eyeing the individual pieces, and then pointed to the darker shade of the color and he handed the satin to the seamstress. "What is this ball about?" You asked with a falsely happy smile, your arm hooked on his as you both moved on to the next set of items. "You'll simply have to wait to find out, curious little minx." He purred mischievously.

The ballroom was splendiferously decorated, with colors of (f/cs), and your master's colors involved some of the decorations. The floors were polished to perfection, and the lights made it seem like a magical dream. Your gown swept the dancefloor as you were guided and twirled along by Astarion and before you could stop it, a genuine smile graced your lips. "You look exquisite." Astarion smiled back as he twirled you once more and finished off by dipping you. The crowd that was watching applauded, the music stopped for a bit then played another song. "There is something I must ask you." He said seriously, despite his tone and intense eyes he gently moved a stray hair behind your ear.

You watched him get one knee, frozen in place, and eyes widened as he pulled a ring that must of been crafted by the hand of a god, out of his pocket. "My treasure..I haven't always been the best of lovers. I was torn by my past, clinging to the first person I loved in all my 200 years of living. I thought you could be just a replacement but you were more. You made my cold, dead heart feel alive once again. Will you marry me?" He asked, but you both know he wasn't asking, if he truly was too, he'd do it behind doors. he wanted an audience, a guarantee that you'd say yes unless you wanted to face his wrath like never before. You did the only you could do, "Yes!" You smiled and your eyes began to water as the ladies and noble clapped, some laughing heartily thinking this was all a romantic display, and your tears were of joy. How wrong they are.

The click of your heels and tge sniffling of poorly hidden tears echoed through the elongated halls of the palace as you rushed to the servant headquarters. You had to find Soran and leave this place while you could.

Something felt off when you reached his room, it was too eerie, and as you opened the door time slowed down as you took in the view before you. The furniture was knocked over and broken. Pieces of flesh, blood, and bone spread across the walls and floors, and in the middle of it was Astarion. Dripping in the crimson liquid, his pale hands dyed red and coated in ripped bits of flesh, his steamed-to-perfection garments rustled and soaked in the same red that lingered in his hair, on his face, lips, and hands.

"Ah, there she is, the woman of the hour. We were wondering when you'd show up," Astarion chuckled sinisterly, kicking the body he stood above. The mangled form turned more your way, and horror flooded your veins with ice. Soran.

"You truly figured I wouldn't know of your treacherous actions? Treasure I thought you knew me." Astarion sneered, stepping over Soran. You step back. "Astarion, please I-" You tried to find anything to say, yet words failed you because, for the first time in a while, you were terrified.

Astarion shushed you gently as he continued to back you up against the wall, "Nothing you can say will save you pet." His fingers gripped your locks and pulled your head to the side, exposing your neck. "M-master! Please, don't" you begged, one hand struggling to release your hair from his grip and the other pushing against his chest, it made no difference. "You will be mine, for eternity." His pearly fangs pierced your skin, every gulp of blood he swallowed, your life slipped away from you. Just as you gave into the darkness, a warm, iron-tasting fluid dripped into your mouth.

You never should have taken his hand.

Taglist: @horizonstride, @xxmaddhatter39xx

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jade Leech - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Jade: I see this art museum not only has many art pieces depicting tales from the surface, but also from under the sea.

Jade: I suppose this may mean that just as there are merfolk fascinated by land, those on the surface may have garnered interest in the ocean as well… Oh?

???: These are the two moray eels that served the Sea Witch. And yet, their expressions…

Jade: I believe they look quite kind and gentlemanly. Do you not agree, Riddle-san?

Riddle: …Oh Jade, it's you. Unfortunately, I have to disagree with your opinion there. That's because…

Riddle: In this painting their grins look as though they are plotting something untoward, not unlike how you and Floyd tend to look.

Jade: Oh my, for you to say we resemble the great Sea Witch's subordinates like that… Fufufu, I am honored.

Riddle: That wasn't a compliment. However, it's true that their numerous benevolent acts have been passed down through history.

Riddle: I'm sure I'm only mistakenly seeing them as sinister, but in reality, they are kind moray eels, just as you say.

Jade: Indeed. I'm elated that not only are the tales of the Sea Witch widely known on land, but also that of her eels.

Jade: Back home, there is a very popular folktale in which those moray eels present a challenge to a mermaid who had fallen in love with someone of a different species.

Riddle: Oh that's… Are you talking about the mermaid who made a contract with the Sea Witch in order to be with the human she had fallen in love with?

Jade: That's right. The incident where they flipped the boat that the mermaid and her beloved were sitting in in order to test their love is a particularly popular tale…

Jade: It is said that their bond was strengthened thanks to the quick thinking of those moray eels.

Riddle: If I recall correctly, that mermaid's contract with the Sea Witch was conditioned on blossoming that love from her own efforts…

Jade: That is true. And yet, they continued to monitor her after she made the contract, and even provide generous support… They truly are most benevolent.

Jade: Now, speaking of boats…

Jade: Do you know of a strangely shaped boat, one that is completely different than the small rowing boat in this tale?

Riddle: Strangely shaped?

Jade: Indeed. For example… Think of a boat shaped like a bird that is rowed by pedaling your feet.

Riddle: Ah, you mean the swan boats.

Jade: Yes, that's it. Whenever I would poke my head out of the ocean, I would see many boats that were rowed with oars, and yet…

Jade: I had never seen one quite shaped like that, ever. I was quite shocked the first time I came across one. It is rather unique.

Riddle: If you like unusual boats like that, the Queendom of Roses have some in the shape of flamingos.

Jade: Is that so? I would like to ride one of those one day, as well.

Riddle: …As well? Are you saying that you've ridden on one of those swan boats with Azul, or Floyd…?

Jade: No, I rode alone.

Riddle: EH, YOU RODE ONE OF THOSE BOATS ALONE!?

Jade: Yes. It was too narrow for my legs to sit comfortably on one side, so I had to pedal the boat with one foot on what would normally be each person's pedal.

Jade: That was truly a fickle vehicle to maneuver. I had enough trouble trying to steer in the direction I wanted…

Jade: While I was riding it, that aforementioned anecdote of the boat and the moray eels came to mind.

Jade: I thought to myself… If somehow there was some creature bent on capsizing this boat, it could be quite the ordeal.

Jade: Have you ever ridden a swan boat, Riddle-san?

Riddle: No, can't say I have…

Jade: Well, that is a pity. It is very enjoyable, so I fully encourage you to experience it. We can ride together sometime.

Riddle: How could you possibly believe that I'd agree to do so after all we talked about just now…? I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be some other creature capsizing us, it would be you.

Jade: I would never. And even if we were to encounter trouble and capsize, it would be quite easy for me to swim us to shore. Fufu… Does that not help you feel safer?

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Jade: This is a painting depicting the myth of the child of a god who aspired to be a hero alongside his friends.

Jade: It is said that he trained his mind and body in order to become a hero. Perhaps this specifically depicts a scene from one of his training sessions.

Riddle: It seems so. From the look on his face, his training must have been going well.

Jade: I remember back while I was learning self-defense, I was also just as elated as he was in his painting whenever I perfectly executed a specific technique.

Riddle: Oh, so you know self-defense.

Jade: That's right. My father taught me.

Jade: He also taught me how to free myself if tied up and pick locks if I am locked up.

Riddle: EH!? Why would your father teach a child such things…?

Jade: Simply put, my parents are overcautious. After all, they do say "providing is preventing," right?

Jade: In fact, it is because of my self-defense training, that I've been able to avoid many an incident.

Riddle: Incidents in which your self-defense training was useful? That seems somewhat disturbing.

Jade: I wouldn't say that… Back in the ocean, there were a few sharks that had refused to honor their promises.

Jade: As I was entreating them to fulfill their duty, they all decided to bilk their promise altogether.

Riddle: That is absolutely unacceptable. If they have broken their promises, they should pay the price.

Jade: Yes, I thought the exact same. THAT IS WHY I USED MY SELF-DEFENSE SKILLS AND TURNED THE TABLES ON THEM.

Jade: Even though it was the result of their own actions, I couldn't help but feel some semblance of pity for them as they screamed every time I twisted their fins.

Riddle: I'm having a hard time believing this… I fully assumed that that kind of dangerous task would be more Floyd's specialty.

Jade: That was just an unusual case. I am usually reluctant to resort to such tactics.

Jade: When resolving issues, it is best to come to an amicable conclusion via communication, not fists.

Jade: However, that does not mean that there will never be a time in which those self-defense techniques will need to be used on the surface.

Jade: Here on land, it would be impossible to use any technique that requires the use of my tailfin. My human body still lacks the right experience.

Jade: I am hoping to strengthen my skills in order to be as proficient in my self-defense techniques on land in this body as I am in the ocean.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Riddle: This is a painting of the Fairest Queen of All. In the background, we can see her peacock feathered throne.

Jade: Indeed. It looks as if the Queen is majestically spreading her own wings… What spectacular composition.

Jade: Moreover, that box she is holding up so delicately…  It draws my eyes with how vividly crimson it is.

Riddle: Seeing that it has a lock on it, it may be her treasure box.

Jade: A treasure box, hm. I remember I used to stuff as much as I could in a big, beautiful box of my own when I was younger.

Jade: At one point, I had collected so many various accessories that humans had dropped into the ocean, that I wasn't even able to close the lid.

Jade: I would take strolls every day just to search for possible trinkets, at times going to places so far out a round trip would take me a whole day.

Jade: Once in a while, if I came across any coins, I would give them to Azul… Fufu, that brings back memories.

Riddle: When you say accessories, you mean rings, or necklaces, yes? I'm surprised that you were interested in such jewelry.

Jade: I suppose so. I don't often choose to wear accessories as much anymore.

Jade: Although, I do recall collecting a few hundred pieces…

Riddle: A few hundred!? If you had collected that much, then I'm sure there would be some that still suit your tastes now…

Jade: Perhaps. However, I have since disposed of all those accessories I collected back then.

Riddle: Disposed all of them…? Even though you had so fervently collected them?

Jade: Correct. Keeping things that no longer interest you is simply a waste of space, wouldn't you say?

Jade: Ah yes, actually, there was something that caught my attention when I came to the surface, as well.

Jade: It is nothing unusual, and in fact can be found pretty much anywhere on land…

Jade: Once I took note of them, I could really feel the intention behind those that made them, as well as their various designs. It is profoundly fascinating.

Riddle: Hmmm, nothing comes to mind. What is it that caught your attention that much?

Jade: Fufu, well, that would be… manhole lids.

Riddle: Huh, manhole lids!?

Jade: Some lids are designed to show off local specialties or attractions.

Jade: Of course, there are no manholes in the ocean. So my interest was piqued as I was searching up on what use they could possibly serve…

Jade: For a little while, I did find myself collecting a few hundred various merchandise of manhole lids with unusual designs, as well.

Riddle: So, regardless of whether it's accessories, or manholes… I see you get truly invested when you decide you like something.

Jade: Indeed. Once I've taken a liking to something, I seem to be the type that becomes completely absorbed by it.

Jade: However, I will say that those investments don't last too long.

Jade: In fact, my fixation has shifted from manhole lids to mountains already.

Riddle: It's good to find something to be invested in, but remember that a student's duty is his studies. Regulate your time with your hobbies so as to not neglect that.

Riddle: Well then, I will be heading to view paintings of the Queen of Hearts, so, farewell.

Jade: Right, see you later. …Well, now that Riddle-san has left me, I wonder what painting I should look at now… Hm?

Jade: Is this a painting of a shrimp…? No, a crab. How wonderful, he looks so terribly elated.

Jade: It's usually these sorts of folk who would be in need of reprimand for not paying the price after signing their contracts. Fufu…

[dreamingkatie]

Therapy 3

Part Two. So if you read these the first time around (thank you), you'll note the changes, but I honestly like it better this way... but if you hate a slow burn, I'm sorry.

He opens his leather notebook and looks back at me. “Now, let’s start at the beginning… Have most of your relationships involved a power dynamic?”

I consider this. “Since my early twenties, yeah. Mostly.”

“Why do you think that’s the case?” Sean asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It feels right.”

He crosses his legs. “The inequality?”

“Yes. And the control.” 

“Do you think you’re competent?” he asks.

“I… mostly, yeah, I mean. Generally.”

Sean smiles and closes his notebook, depositing it on the desk. I consider the times I was late on rent this year, the pile of laundry at the end of my bed, the countless unfinished projects stored in Drive folders.

“Tell me about the first one,” he says. “The first relationship.”

“Jeff. Bass player from Athens. He’s married now.”

Sean waits. He picks up a ceramic bird and turns it over in his hands. 

“It was a good relationship,” I say. “He was funny, kind, talented. I used to go to his shows. He’d… he’d drive up from Athens and sit outside my work.”

Sean nods, setting the ceramic bird back on the desk. “And how did it end?”

I hesitate, tracing the pattern on the pillow with my fingers. My mouth feels dry, and my chest tightens as I think back. Sean’s gaze is steady, expectant, waiting for something real. I don’t want to give it to him, but the words come anyway.

“I was too self-conscious,” I say finally, the words heavier than I expected. “I couldn’t do the things he wanted.”

“Like what?” Sean asks.

I laugh, short and hollow. The memory presses itself to the surface. “Ahh, okay. He tied me in the closet with my arms up. He just… looked at me.”

As I say it, the image unfolds in my mind with painful clarity, details I haven’t revisited in years. The way the closet smelled faintly of cedar and laundry detergent. The pressure of the shelves against my wrists, the thin rope biting into my skin just enough to remind me I couldn’t move. And then, Jeff—standing there, his head tilted slightly, his eyes scanning me like I was a painting he couldn’t decide if he liked. The panic swelling.

“I freaked out,” I say, my voice quieter. “I pulled down the shelving my wrists were tied to.”

I glance at Sean, expecting a flash of something in his expression. Pity. Disgust. Understanding. 

“How embarrassing,” he says, his tone clinical, detached.

My stomach tightens, shame curling through me.. “I know,” I reply, hating the edge in my voice. “There were other things. Things like that. I couldn’t do.”

Sean leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Was he violent?”

I shake my head. “No, never,” I say.

“So you ended it, and you found someone who would force you.” Sean’s voice is even, his words precise. 

I shift, pulling the pillow tighter.  “I guess.” My throat tightens. “They got worse. Over years.”

Sean folds his hands together, watching me intently. The room feels smaller. My pulse quickens as the silence stretches out. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm.

“And now you’ve found me,” he says.

[polkadotjohnson]

Because I'm greedy and I just watched something I hadn't previously, I decided I want more. So I'm gonna post two lists, one of the things I've watched in case you haven't watched some of it and I can help, and one of the things I'm missing so maybe you can help me! Please help me feed my obsession its hungreee

Stuff I've watched (most from the imdb list, other things found in the wild) excluding interviews, podcasts making ofs and red carpets:

Early Edition (tv)

The Dark Knight (movie)

ER (tv)

Horsemen (movie)

Last Seen Wearing (short)

Virgin Alexander (movie)

Gateway (short)

Love is an Elevator (short)

Sushi Girl (movie)

Brutal (movie)

The League (tv)

The Cross (short)

The Assassination of Chicago's Mayor (short)

Saving Lincoln (movie)

The Employer (movie)

Ray Donovan (tv)

Heavy (short)

Prisoners (movie)

After Thought (short)

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (tv)

Animals (movie)

AVGN: The Movie (movie)

Intruders (tv)

CSI: Cyber (tv)

Chronic (movie)

A Killer of Men (short)

Ant-Man (movie)

12 Monkeys (tv)

A Quiet Kind of Love (short)

The Belko Experiment (movie)

Be Good (short)

Gotham (tv)

Twin Peaks: The Return (tv)

Blade Runner 2049 (movie)

Galaktikon: Nightmare (music video)

Relaxer (movie)

Ant-Man and the Wasp (movie)

The Domestics (movie)

A Million Little Pieces (movie)

Making Love (short)

All Creatures Here Below (movie)

Bird Box (movie)

Neurotica/Eureka! (short)

Madness in the Method (movie)

Teacher (movie)

Jay and Silent Bob Reboot (movie)

Reprisal (tv)

Lacrimosa (short)

MacGyver (tv)

The Flash (tv)

The Suicide Squad (movie)

Dune (movie)

Immoral Compass (tv)

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story (movie)

Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania (movie)

Boston Strangler (movie)

The Boogeyman (movie)

Miracle Workers (tv)

Oppenheimer (movie)

The Last Voyage of the Demeter (movie)

The Rookie (tv)

Late Night With the Devil (movie)

Shortcake (short) (thanks again @thepurpleprince)

Others (?)

Keep Painting, Mom (short/archive)

The Balcony (short)

Elton & Jean’s 9th Grade Biology Project (short)

Failure - Dark Speed (music video)

Iceage - Catch it (music video)

Iron & Wine - Everyone's Summer of '95 (music video)

Ken Andrews - Sword and Shield (music video)

Passion Pit - Constant Conversations (music video)

Puddles Pity Party - Obsession (music video)

X.X.T. - Steve Jobs (music video)

Annabel Lee (reading)

2021/2022/2023 Fangoria Chainsaw Awards

Premature (show)

Awkward Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner Conversations (special)

Svengoolie - The Wolf Man (cameo)

Svengoolie - Inner Sanctum (cameo)

Svengoolie - War of the Colossal Beast (didn't see him in it)

The Boulet Brothers Halfway to Halloween Special

The 101 Scariest Horror Movie Moments of All Time (documentary)

In Search of Darkness 3 (documentary)

I Am Not a Flopper (narration)

CCARS - Fire (um… music… video?)

Mermaid - a Short Film (short)

If you haven't seen any of these let me know and I'll give you the link or upload it somewhere or something

Now all the mysterious stuff I can't seem to find anywhere:

Arc of a Bird (saw a clip on Vimeo) (short)

Credits (short)

Head Case (short)

Band (short)

Keen (short)

Double Black (short)

Say When (short) <- doesn't fucking exist (still mad about it)

Tweet Me in NY (short)

Singled Out (tv pilot?) <- watched it

Sketchy (tv) <- watched it

Cass (movie) <- watched it

Under the Pyramid (movie) <- watched it

Cora (short, unreleased 😢) (hehehehehe)

Girls Will Be Girls 2012 (also unreleased)

The Pandora Experiment (also also unreleased)

All the Pretty Girls (??? prob unreleased)

A bunch of other stuff probably. Any help would be immensely appreciated.

[blackjackkent]

All right, starting way later than I intended today but continuing my slow but steady pace through Veilguard. XD Not sure how far I'm gonna get tonight but gonna at least push a little on into the next mission and see where we're going now that things have officially started to get Weird(tm)

Next step is to inform Strife and Irelin that D'Meta's Crossing now looks like an H.R. Giger painting.

"Did you find our scouts?"

"They're dead. I'm sorry. Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain sacrificed them in some kind of ritual."

Helena is pretty pissed about everything that went down in the Crossing. I think I've come to the conclusion that is viewing the Dalish gods as extensions of the mages she and the Dragons fight against in Minrathous - trumped up and power-hungry and cruel. Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain for sure, and Solas too, really; Solas gets a few points in her book for not (for instance) being blighted, but he's on thin fucking ice in her book.

So she's mad about all the innocents that died and mad that it all happened before she had a chance to try and stop it.

"Creators..." Irelin says weakly. "What about the rest of the village?"

"The ritual spread blight everywhere. The entire village was overrun," Harding says.

"The few who survived are controlled by blood magic," Neve puts in. "Their minds are gone."

"Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain used them like puppets," Bellara says bitterly.

Before anyone else can speak, there's a rushing sound of flapping wings above them.

An enormous black raven swoops downward out of the sky, and as it drops, it changes, its form twisting into smoke around the body of a tall human woman with dark hair and a strange, metallic headpiece.

"I daresay, 'twas a show of force..." the woman says gravely.

(A/N: !!!!! Morrigan! \o/ )

Helena blinks curiously. Strife and Irelin seem unsurprised about this woman's appearance, but it isn't every day in Helena's world that birds randomly turn into strange humans.

Pity I can't learn that trick. Certainly an impressive way to make an entrance.

"They will not rest until you are on your knees," the woman goes on. "Fearful. Cowering. Helpless in the face of such power."

Not much for pleasantries, this one, Helena things dryly.

To her surprise, though, Harding perks up at her side and grins. "Lady Morrigan?" she asks.

The woman quirks an eyebrow up in answering recognition. "Tis simply 'Morrigan' to you, Scout Harding. What a pleasure to see you again."

"Rook," Strife says, "this is Morrigan. An old... acquaintance. I thought she could help."

(A/N: Those ellipses are in the subtitles as well. Why did you say that so ominously, Strife?)

"Morrigan helped the Inquisition when Varric and I were part of it," Harding explains, catching Helena's bemused expression. "She knew more about ancient magic than anyone except Solas."

"Twas both pleasure and necessity to help then as it is now," Morrigan says. "Stopping Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain shall require many hands."

Helena considers the strange woman up and down for a moment. She's inclined to trust her if Harding endorses her - but it doesn't mean she doesn't have questions. "So... who are you, exactly?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

"I have borne many appellations," Morrigan says, a trifle airily, as if mildly amused by the question. "Advisor to Orlais, Witch of the Wilds, friend to the Inquisition. My place here, however, is but a humble advisor on matters arcane."

(A/N: I know it's been ten years but Claudia Black is definitely doing a different angle on Morrigan's voice this time around. She sounds a little less sharp-edged than she used to. Perhaps her life with Daniel has mellowed her.

Hopefully he's still alive. :/ I have heard tell we don't get to hear any reference to him or Kieran in this game, so I am going to choose to believe that Daniel is still perfectly alive and also involved in all of this from off-camera. We know that as of Inquisition, he was working on investigating a cure for the blight, and I can't see him hearing that Morrigan was gonna go all the way up to Tevinter - and particularly, hearing that she'd gotten caught up in dealing with a couple of blighted gods - and not coming along to help out.

So I'm choosing to believe that everything Morrigan does in this game has Daniel supporting her. :D We'll see how well the game bears this out.

Also it occurs to me that Kieran is like a grown person by now, or near to it, which is weird to think about. So maybe he's helping out too.)

Helena raises an eyebrow. "Witch of the Wilds?" she asks dryly. The term sounds like the grandiose titles the magisters bestow on each other.

Morrigan, perhaps, senses her disdain for the self-aggrandizing term, and smiles self-deprecatingly.

"An honorific borne of rumor and exaggeration," she says calmly.

But her amusement fades rapidly as she goes on. "The fearsome reputations of your opponents, however," she says more seriously, "are duly earned. This dark turn of events shall only become worse."

Helena sets her jaw. "Whatever comes, we're ready for a fight," she says sharply. D'Meta's Crossing was a mess - but she's not going to let these so-called gods intimidate her, all the same.

"Words easily said, but rarely proven," Morrigan says. Her lips twitch with another flicker of humor.

Helena's eyes narrow further, this time with amusement. "Yeah?" she asks cockily, folding her arms. "What do you know about all this that we don't?"

"As dangerous as Solas himself may be, his imprisonment of the gods was just," Morrigan answers, and the humor fades again in favor of grave seriousness. "To leave them unchecked would have been the very end of Thedas."

Helena is a little skeptical of any characterization of Solas as the 'good guy'. Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain may be more dangerous on some level, but Solas was one of those trumped-up gods too, and Helena hasn't forgotten that he was ready to burn the world in pulling the Veil down from it. But - she has to grudgingly admit, it does sound like his motives were at least a tad more altruistic; the other gods just want control.

"All this horror because a bunch of power-hungry gods want even more power," she mutters bitterly.

Morrigan raises an eyebrow at her. "When have the powerful among us ever done otherwise?" she says.

Helena smiles slowly. She likes this woman - she seems practical, and aware of the distinctions between those with power and those trodden under them. "So how do we stop them?"

"Set aside your notions of godhood," Morrigan says gravely. "And see them for the ancient, powerful mages they are. Standing against them shall require serious magic of your own."

Helena's smile widens. This is the opinion she had already formed of the 'gods', and she is glad to hear it confirmed. They're just mages - deadly, powerful, powerhungry... and ultimately fallible, just like every corrupt asshole the Dragons have taken down in Minrathous. They don't scare her. They should be sacred of her.

Morrigan is still talking. "When you interrupted the Dread Wolf's ritual, did you happen across any of the tools he used?" she asks.

"He had a dagger," Harding says. "But it got lost in the chaos." She frowns, clearly remembering the moment they all watched it sink into Varric's chest.

"Then you would do well to find it." Morrigan nods. "'Tis better in your hands than those of the gods."

Helena rubs her jaw thoughtfully. "Is there anything else Solas might have had that could help us? We're in his-- well, he calls it the Lighthouse."

Morrigan's eyebrows lift, and she does look briefly impressed at this. "Ah, yes! The legendary sanctum of the Dread Wolf. 'Tis said his eluvian, the Vi'Revas, could travel to any other eluvian of his choosing."

(A/N: How convenient. XD )

Harding frowns. "That's not how it works right now. It only goes to Arlathan."

"I can take a look at it!" Bellara says eagerly. "Maybe fix it, even. I know eluvians better than most."

(A/N: Bellara not beating the Merrill successor allegations. XD )

Helena brightens. She likes Bellara, despite all the weirdness Bellara just led them through, and any new resources are worthwhile right now. "Any help you can offer, we'd appreciate," she says.

Bellara nods. "If eluvians even work the same way," she qualifies hastily. "All the magic is different now." She hesitates, and then her face falls a little, her eyes widening as she considers the scope of the task ahead of them. "Our gods are back. Our *gods*. And they're killing people and blighting the world. How do we stand up against that?"

Helena remembers her earliest days with the Shadow Dragons, the first times that her willingness to throw herself into action came up against the overwhelming power of Venatori and corrupt magisters. The first times that her mentors spoke the motto to her - Shadows stand together.

It didn't really stop her from being willing to put herself in danger to get a job done - but it did remind her that she wasn't alone in the fight. Not then, and not now.

"None of us can do this alone, but we can stop them together," she says firmly. "Bellara, you're one of the only people in the world who can get our eluvian working. Harding can track down the lyrium dagger, and Neve can spot any clues we might miss that give us more information."

(A/N: LOL. "Neve can... do detective shit, idk.")

She looks around, registering how all of them seem to relax, just a little, at the reminder, and at the specific tasks laid out before them. I'm not too bad at this, she thinks with a faint smile. "Let's get to work," she says. "There's a lot of fight ahead of us."

Morrigan nods. "Indeed. Prepare yourselves well and have a care in your choices. These are the times in which legends are born - or slain."

Helena couldn't care less about being a legend. She'd happily settle for all of them just making it out of this alive.

[museandquill]

With this being my finals week I thought I would share part of one my final projects.

This project I had to analyze three pieces of media that could be talked about by themselves, and all together as a whole.

So being the nerd I am i decided to do my project on the modern romanticization of Greek Mythology, focusing on Odysseus and Penelope, Hades and Persephone, and Achilles and Patroclus.

For my pieces of media I used a poem by Eiza Evangelista, a painting by Vennesa Kelley (@vkelleyart) and the song How Long? from Hadestown.

Below is the analysis I did on all three of the pieces

Eiza Evangelista’s poem is told through ‘Penelope’s’ point of view. She tells of how much she loves “her Odysseus” and how long she would wait for him: “Even 20 years may past, I will never run.” Not only is this poem about Penelope’s undying love for Odysseus, this poem can also be interpreted as comparing a personal romance to that similar to the love of Odysseus and Penelope. If we see Eiza as not just the author, but also the narrator, she would be calling herself Penelope and who she is talking to, or about, would take the place of Odysseus. We can come to a similar conclusion if we see ourselves as the narrator, comparing our love, or a love we strive for, to that of Odysseus and Penelope. We want a love full of devotion that we would either wait 20 years for our love to return, or do whatever it took to get home. When thinking about this poem as the narrator, whether that be Eiza, ourselves, or even a third party, we can see that they could also be looking for this love: “Where are you my Odysseus?” and “My heart will wait for you to come.” They do not have this love they are searching and waiting for, they are waiting for someone to love them like Odysseus loves Penelope and vice versa. When talking about the poem in the mindset of this actually being Penelope, we can see her undying love and her absolute sorrow she is going through while waiting for Odysseus to come home. “For your love I will never seize from waiting. Even it will take long for my longing.” No matter how we interpret this poem, it is a poem of true love and total devotion between two people, desperate to find each other.

Hadestown is a musical about the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, and in turn, a story about the love between Hades and Persephone. In the musical, Hades is in love with Persephone, but since she is gone for half the year, he puts his energy into a factory since he can’t give that time and energy to Persephone. In the song How Long? Persephone tries to convince Hades to let Eurydice go because “he has the kind of love for her that you and I once had.” The main thing I want to focus on in this song is the idea that no matter how much Hades and Persephone hurt each other, they will always love each other because they have a love that lasts an eternity and transcends the human definition of love. While Persephone tries to convince Hades to let Eurydice go, Hades questions how long he will have to deal with her pity for mortals “You and your pity don’t fit in my bed… how long?” Persephone answers with “Just as long as I am your wife” which is for eternity. She continues with the fact she knows that the world must die, but that it also has to come back to life. The lines that follow use the sun as a metaphor for the love between Hades and Persephone. Their love is larger than life: “And how does the sun even fit in the sky” This is a call back to earlier lines where Persephone says that Orpheus’s sorrow for losing Eurydice is so consuming it cannot fit in his chest “All of the sorrow won’t fit in his chest, it just burns like a fire in the pit of his chest” and that the love he has for Eurydice is a “bird of a spit in his chest” meaning that he would still choose to love Eurydice even if it means his sorrow for losing her will consume and burn him. The last lines of the song, continues with the sun metaphor and expands on it by also showing that the love between Hades and Persephone also balances out the world, Persephone has to go to the underworld and love Hades so the world can die and Hades has to be able to let the Persephone go so the world can come back to life.

The story of Achilles and Patroclus is one that some classists never want to fully tell, this was a story of love in a time of war and the sorrow of losing the one you love to that very same war. Vennesa Kelley’s piece shows Achilles and Patroclus in a casual yet outwardly romantic way, Achilles is closely laid out between Patroclus’s legs, rested against his chest, while Patroclus rests his head on Achilles with his hand in his hair. The two skilled soldiers are relaxed, secluded in a peaceful spot in the woods, at peace, and have no weapons in sight. In this piece they have become more than just the soldiers and friends as they were only seen as, they are finally able to be lovers and were given back the humanity they were stripped of, their love for each other is not hidden like some classists often try and accomplish. Having pieces like this of queer characters in Greek mythology is important since most queer relationships were either hidden, masked as friendship, or painted in a negative light, especially after the Romans conquered the ancient Greeks. This is not even touching on the utter eraser of queer women. Since we do not know when this piece is meant to take place in regards to the Trojan War, we can see this piece as either a calm moment during the wages of war or what we call the “calm before the storm.” Achilles and Patroclus could be finding solace in each other during war, or they could be joyful and naive to the literal and figurative war they were about to enter. When Patroclus dies, Achilles becomes a completely different person, even going so far as to drag around the dead body of his lover’s killer as he sobs. Looking at this piece you can tell why Achilles would be so distraught, they were completely devoted to each other that Achilles changed the tide of the war when he rejoined the fight after Patroclus died.

[androgynousblackbox]

Welcome to Hazbin Vale. 8 [Appleradio, Radioapple]

"Salutations, my dear beloved listeners. Isn't just wonderful to being able to wake up and see such a splendid day like the one we have today? The sky is so clear, birds are singing and everywhere you look there is a friendly face.

As long you don't look in the wrong places, that it. Like maybe inside of a rock that is clinging to the ceiling with all it's might, holding together the whole ceiling! I hope the promise of it giving away and crushing your young little heads kept you all entertained enough while staying there.

Such a pity for those who didn't listen in our past broadcast and didn't know about the community center not being available anymore.

Oh, but don't worry too much, there won't be any need for a service for them today or any other day. The workers already took care of everything so everyone who ever missed them or care about their pathetic lives can rest easy, crying in the corner on their room as they should so nobody else has to hear it. No doubt filled with all the memories of those that are never returning and regrets over everything they can't change anymore.

I almost get giddy just thinking about it.

Do you see, my friends, this is why we come together in this stations of ours. You should know by now that when we are together here, everything will be just right and the raccoons won't have to gnash their teeth into a surprised face.

If they still end up with a face, though, at least it will be after you have been properly warned. Isn't that what counts in the end?

Ah, but those deaths is not the only good news that we have for today, dear listeners! As all of you should know, for a few months the toy store that was abandoned was bought and in the process of renovation by our local toy maker.

After a lot of working, painting, rebranding and whatever else, the new toy store is finally opening it's door for the public.

Rejoice.

I… won't be going to the party inauguration.

But, Alastor, I can hear you scream with reckless desperation. This is definitely going to be news worthy! The tiny toy maker invited everyone in! There is going to be food and child appropiate drinks and even some bouncy castles!

Well, my dear listener, for as much as seeing kids potentially breaking their ankles and giving each other more than one black eye is entertaining, I am afraid I am sitting this one out. Instead I will be sending one of our production assistant Niffty to take a few notes and see how it goes.

A real gal that one! Don't ask me what she is chasing half of the time, though, I have no idea! She came with the building. I think. Or she was a homeless woman who came in from the window. One of the two!

She has been living on the attic most of the time, where we save up old records, and it's a lovely woman once you get to know her. More than one time she and I shared a nice cup of coffee as the announcements were playing.

Well, I was drinking it at least. She just stared at me with a permanent smile and didn't blink the entire time, not even when a fly landed on her eye. I don't believe she was breathing either, HA HA!

Ah, I am sure that kids will love to meet her. Although, if I can give just the tiniest bit of advice, maybe don't leave her alone with any scissors. I can't promise anything not splattery if you do that. Or do, if the party gets too boring at any point.

Which reminds me, I have to ask a certain chief officer to keep an eye on her. Just to make sure that she comes back safe, you see. If she gets a little bit too excited, don't worry, she doesn't bite.

Usually.

She might still do other things that none of us can imagine. But at least it won't be our problem.

Yes, she will be my little corresponsal at the party. Everyone please be as receptive, talkative and kind to her as you would with me. Remember that I am always listening, even if I am not there.

As to the reason why I won't be attending the party, it's obviously because I am taking care of my diet, of course! Lately I have been indulging a little bit too much on so many sweets. A very unlike me thing to do, as you all know.

I just can feel the risk of my teeth rotting inside my mouth already, thinking about all that sweet I had shoved into my mouth with too much carelessness. The sickly, disgusting, nauseating sugar that doesnt belong on my plate anyway. A plate that was made to contain meals of a red and darker variety.

Without any stupid shiny condiment on top.

Yes, that is right. I am finally giving it up.

I just can't keep pretending like that was the kind of man I am, dear listener. It will take probably a little bit of time to get back to a normal routine before the sweets invaded everything I see and think about, but! I have full trust that with a bit of willpower and concern for my health, I will manage to get that saccharine taste out of my mouth for good.

Frankly, I don't even know what I was even thinking getting involved with those kind of food in the first place.

Maybe was the golden wrapper? The blue sugar? The gentle little sounds that it made when I taste it? The way that it seemed to taste me as if it was finding something sweet too?

No, no, that couldn't be. What a delusional thought is that. My, couldn't be that I am also catching a fever? Such irrational and stupid ideas don't seem like me at all.

All the more reason to not go partying. It could be contagious for all I know. And we don't want that, don't we?

I will be fine. I managed to have a perfectly decent life without any sweets before. I had not a single complaint. Waking up at the same hour, preparing for work, come here and share with all of you whatever was worth knowing about our beautiful small town was all I could ever ask for. Why would you ever attempt to mess with perfection such as that?

Without any tiny feet coming down the hallway or a hand reaching for my shoulder while the coffe is brewing. Without anyone pulling on my leg to show me their new piece of art or my arm to show me their latest idea. Always pulling. My feet somehow moving along with it.

My house was fine without all of that extra noise.

I don't need sugar and cream, dear listener.

I don't need it. I never did.

In fact, I will probably do even better than before. Just getting back on the old savoury goodness that I have come to know will put me good as new in no time.

So! That is my resolution from now on and I am sure that my teeth will appreciate it just as much as my stomach. Other people might find it disagreeable, but I have made up my mind to this.

I was never meant to taste that sweetness anyway. It wasn't made for this tongue.

I am still hungry, unfortunately. I might never stop being hungry. But now I at least know that my food is elsewhere.

Now, the weather…"

[chiefdirector]

Fire and Ice | David | The Lost Boys

Trigger Warnings: suicidal Ideation, talks of death, murder, swearing

'Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire...'

Some say death is cold, almost as if Ice is flooding your veins instead of blood.

These people are wrong.

Death is hot, fiery pits of Hell hot. Death scorches you as you fight for another breath that you know isn’t coming. It boils you from inside out as your organs stop, then start, then stop for the final time. Death is only cold when you stop dying.

David wasn’t sure what was worse, the part where he died, or the part where he woke up.

He was thankful that it was nighttime but by the looks of the sky, it wouldn’t last long. He needed to find shelter. David didn’t recognise his surroundings; he could tell he was in a ditch of some kind, but apart from that all he knew was that he was in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. There was no indication that he was even in California; there was also no sign of his brothers.

Ignoring the pulse of thirst, David limped out of the ditch, he limped towards the sound of a river in the near distance, hoping to find any sign of life.

-----

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, David would admit that for the first time in his long, long life he was unsure of his next step. He was so used to having to herd up his brothers and (somewhat) cooperate with Max that he did not know what to do with himself.

He was so used to having to be the rule maker, the caretaker, the leader, that he couldn't even fathom having the solace from the noise and bickering that he had once longed for, even if it was thrusted upon him through death: their deaths.

David was almost thankful that Marko went so quickly. He didn't have to feel the pain of having someone die, and then the same of not being able to avenge them properly. Marko had it easy, he didn't watch all of his brother's die, he didn't know what was going to happen and he didn't have to suffer the consequences. David was envious.

Dwayne would have scoffed at David if he could see him now, sitting by a stream, trying to wash the last remnants of the dried holy water that had been scorched onto his skin. He would have rolled his eyes, might have even called him pathetic, but Dwayne would have know what to do. If only he was here.

David laughed at that, just how he expected that Dwayne laughed at him. Wallowing in self-pity like a little girl. He closed his eyes to brush off the thought, only opening them again when he clocked onto the smell of a lone hiker nearby.

If he had anymore strength to spare, he would have sped towards his prey, instead he continued to limp forward, playing into the act of a man in need of rescuing. Humans were east to fool like that, they were too stupid and gullible to hide from their instinct to help others.

David made quick work of the man as he sunk his teeth into his flesh, bleeding him dry. Dropping the hiker’s body onto the groin, David stretched, feeling his body rejuvenate as it healed. Looking down at the mess at his feet, his eyes landed on a set of car keys poking out of his dinner’s tightened hands.

Shoving the keys into his pocket, David quickly moved through the woods, not stopping until he found an opening in the trees were a lone beat-up Dodge Challenger stood. It's silver paint had long since chipped away, and what was left of it was seemingly covered in dirt and bird shit. One of the windows had been broken and a bin liner had been duct-taped to cover the gaping hole left behind. A glance into one of the remaining windows showed the leather seats had begun to worn away and the stuffing underneath was starting to spill out.

For a fleeting moment, David saw himself within the rustbucket of a car. How it's long life of constant adventurage and clear misfortune had slowly chipped away at it, inside and out, until it was barely standing. Maybe that man hadn't been hiking my choice but rather his car had finally taken its own life. Either way, David took the key from his front pocket and slipped it into the door and turned it. Slowly, as if he was trying to not anger the vehicle, he opened the door and slipped inside.

After the key had been fitted into the ignition and the engine flickered to life, David's mind switched off as he began to drive into the night. If he had paid more attention, he may have noticed the buildings he had driven past hundreds of times before, or the almost familiar faces in the crowds of people. If he had paid any mind to where he was heading, he would have noticed that he was maybe only 20 miles north of Santa Carla. It was only as it passed infamous Murder Capital of the World sign did he spin the car to a stop, almost crashing into a phone booth.

David closed his eyes for a brief moment as the car finally stopped moving but he didn't allow himself to indulge for long. Clambering out of the car, David made is way to the phone booth, slotted in the last of the coins he had rattling around his pockets, and dialed the only number he knew.

The ringing of the phone was only of the longest eternities David had lived through. What if Max didn't answer? Would that mean the Emerson's had gotten to him too? But what if Max did answer? Would he want to speak to David? Or would he hang up and leave him alone once again? Would he-?

The second the dial tone ended and the background noises of the Video store rung out, David gasped Max's name down the phone. He was met with silence. He almost hung up when he heard the person on the other end let out a murmur that sounded like a prayer to a forgotten God.

"David?," Max's voice rang out down the phone,It was David's turn to stand silently. Waiting for an answer about his brothers that he didn't know if he wanted to know or not. "David, it's time for you to come home. There is still more to do here, I need you here; it's just us now."

And with that though, the blood rushing through David's veins once again turned to ice.

-----

'...But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice.'

-Fire and Ice, Robert Frost

-----

Marko's Version -> Forever

Part three poll

Masterlist

Tags: @britany1997 @american-idiot-jpg

[captastrophe]

♣ = discovering them crying.

(Bloom @ Shirou)

(It can be reversed if needed)

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse ---

Alternatively, send ‘ + ‘ after the symbol for the roles to be reversed where possible!Please specify the muse for multimuses! [Closed! No long Accepting!]

It had been so long since anyone listened.

The sword barely remembered the warm hum of a forge or the pride of being wielded with care. Years turned to decades, decades into centuries. It had seen battles, victories, and betrayals — only to be abandoned again and again. Forgotten in muddy fields, left to rot in swamps, kicked aside like common scrap.

But now... now... gentle hands touched its battered blade. Soft cloth wiped away layers of dirt and corrosion. Every stroke was reverent, every motion full of quiet devotion.

The boy — Shirou — cradled it with a tenderness the sword hadn't known since its first master. The blade vibrated with a broken kind of relief, the sound coming out as a pitiful metallic whine.

"There, there," Shirou whispered, voice thick and warm. "You didn’t deserve that. You’re still strong. I’ll fix you."

The sword gave a rattling shudder, pressing into his calloused palms. Oil slicked across its ruined surface, the rich scent of metal and polish filling the air. It soaked up the attention like a thirsty creature finding rain after a drought.

The sun was starting to dip low, painting the courtyard in soft golds and reds. Birds chirped in the hedges, indifferent to the solemn ritual happening by the fountain.

The sword felt something else, though. A presence.

Someone nearby. Watching.

Its handle twitched instinctively, almost trying to hide itself behind Shirou’s hand. Please don’t laugh, it thought desperately, even though it knew it had no voice anyone but this boy seemed willing to hear.

For a moment, everything was still — just the sound of cloth scraping rust and the boy murmuring reassurances.

Then, a sudden loud flutter shattered the air.

The sword clanged in fright, rattling against Shirou’s knees. Shirou himself jolted, heart racing, as he spun around to see the source of the noise.

A girl with flaming red hair flew a few feet away, hand over her mouth, her wings shining under the sunlight.

The sword went limp in Shirou’s hands, humiliated beyond belief. Great. Just great. First abandoned by knights and kings, and now laughed at by fairies.

Shirou stayed quiet for a moment, and so did she. The sword could feel the tension in the boy’s hands — embarrassment, pride, a fierce protectiveness. It squeezed tighter against him, daring anyone to mock the only person who had cared enough to wipe away the grime and sorrow clinging to it.

It didn’t matter if it looked ridiculous now. Shirou saw it. Cared for it.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the sword dared to believe it might not be thrown away again.

@xbloodytearsx

[hsnt0]

Goodbye.

January

It was impossible. The clouds moved lazily across a monotone sky, as was so characteristic of the Great American Northeast. Occasionally, the sun would peak through the haze as if to remind me of its survival, as it battled the fierce blockades of clouds obstructing it. Upon its entrance, it would dramatically paint the ground white and gold, only to be quickly thrown back into the fray of battle as the earth would once again take on a dreary monotone scheme. Once again, I had forced myself into the woods, hoping for a brief respite from the oppressiveness of my thoughts. There was none to be granted. Unlike the sun, I had no brief dramatic victories. I could only set my jaw and continue marching through the woods. I often wondered how it turned out so poorly. I had given so much of myself away. Had made so many silent sacrifices, and offered so much of myself up. And yet, it had all been turned on its head in an instant.

Dawn

I was only there for a math conference. Presenting on the monotonicity of probabilistic bounds for the frog model on trees. A large, technical research project undertaken when I was even newer to math than I am now. My entire trip was covered by grant money from the American Mathematical Society, and I was staying at a nice hotel in the financial district of San Francisco. I’d flown in a day early, and to meet me there would be a girl that I had thought I would’ve forgotten by then. Someone whose loss I had already grieved long ago. She was my first love, if you could call it love - the kind of love that you obsess over, the kind of love where you endlessly give and give and give without any return. The memories clung onto me like ghosts that refused to pass on, dragging me into their resigned and regretful existence. It is like what David Boyd writes in Hollowed Out: Exhuming an Ethics of Hollowing in Tite Kubo's Bleach - Hollows, in death, exist as a shadow of trauma bound by their eternal existence and detachment from life. My memories took on a similar role.

A part of me indulged in the death of our brief relationship from years ago. I remembered the idyllic mornings we shared before her move to California. The smell of wet mulch and peach shampoo, on an empty street after the fresh rain. Birds chirping and the leaves fluttering in cyclones as we ran towards the horizon of trees in the distance.

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked.

“Not really”, she replied. The sun peeked through the clouds to gently illuminate her face, as if to prove her point.

It was impossible to forget. I had wallowed in that grief of losing her for so long that it was a part of me, completely inescapable no matter how hard I tried.

And yet, here I was, in sunny San Francisco, landing a day early just to meet her. It had been 8 years since I’d last seen her in person. I felt a lot like Toono Takaki from the Shinkai film, 5 Centimeters per Second, for better or worse. After our breakup, while indulging in my own sorrow and self-pity, I had watched the movie in my own dark room, surrounded by what seemed like a mountain of tissues wet from tears. The quiet hum of my laptop just barely hid the small hiccups of my crying. The movie told a story of unfair separation, a reflection on both longing, and the grief of losing that which you love. Those years spent imagining that the uneasy bloom of love would last forever, and then its gradual departure due to distance, and finally its damning conclusion as one realizes the only wisps of it that remain are preserved only as memories, never to be forgotten but never to be touched again. There were only too many parallels.

Morning

I was to meet her at the library. She had traveled all the way up from LA to meet me here. After hours of deliberation with my friends, I had convinced myself that she had only made the massive 8 hour trip because there was still love left. That all of my longing and self-flagellation had been for something. Rhythmically, I repeated to myself - “You’re only here for a math conference. You’re only here for a math conference.” But the music in my ear and the physical tugging in my chest gave away the obvious.

The song I had on was a song from our favorite movie from years ago. The first one that we had watched together after she had moved to California. I could remember it clearly, as if it weren’t years ago.

“How’s the quality on your end?”

“It’s okay, good enough to watch.” We both settled in. It wasn’t as if the distance were gone- but there we were, sat down, both tearing up to Radwimps’ Is There Still Anything That Love Can Do? while Mitsuha and Taki tumbled through the sky, hand-in-hand. A little piece of me wished that it were the two of us in that enviable position. I thought that it was enough to call love.

And so, on the expansive 3rd floor of the San Francisco library, I stood, overwhelmed by the musty smell of old books and the strange sterile scent that the entire library was enveloped by. I scanned the floor, looking for her characteristic ponytail and bangs. The restlessness in my hands betrayed my nervousness as I walked around the vast floor, trying to pick up on anything that was reminiscent of her.

Suddenly, as I peered behind a thick row of bookshelves, I saw her. Her characteristic ponytail was bound loosely, a few stray strands of hair escaping into her bangs. Her back, clad in a tan coat. I thought she would’ve come in a hoodie, owing to the never-ending summer of Los Angeles, but it was a relief to see that she wouldn’t be cold.

I stood still. I could feel my heart folding in on itself, my stomach arranging itself into knots that resisted disentanglement. I was looking at someone that I had relegated to being a distant ghost - a ghost that I loved beyond all measure, yes, but a ghost. But now, every single year that had separated the two of us had collapsed into the 5 feet between her and I. I reached forward. Tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hey,” I said softly. The word fought its way through my throat and forced itself out of my lips. I took a cursory glance at the book she was holding. A tattered compilation of poems. Not something she was very interested in.

She looked at me and smiled - the same smile from 8 years ago. “Hey.”

“Into poetry?”

“Just… passing the time.” Staring down at the book and idly thumbing the pages, her words hitched. “I got here pretty early.”

As soon as she had put the book back on a cart, we were away. What was I supposed to say? I wasn’t sure, not even to this day. We walked side by side, close enough so that I could smell the faint perfume she had put on. It smelled of lavender. It complimented the scent of her peach shampoo.

We wandered through the library for a little, both of us pretending to be fascinated by the library’s construction, remarking endlessly about its interior. But really, my eyes were stuck to her. Her warm and gentle smile. Her voice, which had changed but was still so characteristically her. I wanted to engrave her every detail into my mind, and give my memories a face and a laugh to hold onto. As Bingham writes in Distant Voices, Still Lives, I thought I had been condemned to estrangement a la Shinkai’s characters. That no matter how much hope I had, it would never be enough for a chance where I could finally seek the finality I needed. And now that I was here, rather than wanting to seek those answers, I simply wished to grasp more of her to hold within myself. To further my own heartbreak. I had been consumed by it for so long that it seemed to be all I knew, and her, all I longed for.

I could still tell it was her. Not much had changed, or so it seemed. I could still see the girl who I loved, the one who I had spent nights dreaming of and crying over. I wondered if she recognized me. She had made me into who I was. I had spent so many years chasing after her, trying to measure up to her in the faintest, but I was also condemned by the shadows of her who would not stop tearing at the past.

“So, ready for your conference?” She whispered, but the silence of the library carried her words and bounced them around.

I hesitated for a moment - the question had caught me off guard. “It’s tomorrow, so I’m not too concerned.” The conference, the research, the lecture I was supposed to give - it all seemed so distant, so unimportant, compared to her.

She nodded. “What’s it about?” It felt like she was scanning me, trying to figure out what exactly I was. As if the topic of my math presentation would provide some kind of clarity as to why I was there a day early just to see her.

“Frogs on trees,” I said with a grin. She scoffed and smiled at me. “It’s about probability. Strange stuff that I don’t completely understand.”

As we entered City Hall on her recommendation, I was taken aback by the brilliant white and gold reliefs carved into the ceilings. The light turned the specks of dust in the air into glimmering golden flakes, dancing gently in the grand marble vault. Occasionally, we’d walk right into a patch of light, and it illuminated her face in a way that made my breath catch. It was like we were back in those soft golden afternoons in New York, as if the years between us were simply a too-long dream. She would tilt her head, glancing around, while the glow seemed to infuse her very being, catching on her hair and the soft curve of her cheek.

The sheer grandeur of it all provided a stinging contrast to the fragility of our circumstances. I wanted more than anything to ask her why she was here. Why she had made the grueling eight-hour trip at 2 in the morning to see me. The questions clawed at my heart, more viscerally than they ever had before. What was I here for? Closure? Answers? Love? I’m not sure any of them would scurry the grief away. I’m not sure it ever would.

For so long, I had been defined by my melancholy. By the grief when it wasn’t so damning anymore, but when it still enveloped everything I did, everything I touched, every thought I had. It wasn’t just about her, and the time we had lost, and the moments that had slipped away more quickly than they ever came. The grief enveloped all the things that I had never said to her, the goodbye we never had that fateful day 8 years ago, the pieces of myself that I had never had the chance to pick up as she left with them in her hands. I mourned something that we never had. Something that I wasn’t sure that we would ever have after today. I felt like Anna from Culler’s The Love Division, who lived to write an elegy not only about her love, but as proof that she had lived and that she had truly loved. I was taken aback by her heartbreak. I could see in it every single feeling that I’d ever had in mine.

Every relationship I had tried to have after her loss was underpinned by some expectation that I would see her again. Every milestone that I reached without her carried the quiet weight of her not being by my side to witness it. I could feel that weight in my hands - every single thing I wished for in the last 8 years was laced with wishes about her. The thought of what could’ve been pervaded every single thought of mine in those 8 years. I longed for something that I couldn’t reach, not after so long and not after we had both changed so much.

And yet, here we were, side-by-side, so close that her arm would brush against mine. Alive. Real. The familiar scent of her shampoo sent aches to my chest every time I managed to catch a whiff of it. The grief I had carried for so long swelled, tugging at my heart desperately, hoping that there would be something, anything to come out of this.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The words barely escaped my lips. I’m not sure if they were meant to be heard at all. I knew that I was talking more about her than I was the architecture, impressive as it was.

“It is.” She paused. “It’s a lot better than LA’s City Hall.”

“Reminds me of the Met.” I looked at her, feeling the tension between us balloon more and more as we walked. I could tell that she knew I had questions. I knew she had them too.

We walked in silence, our paces echoing through the empty hall.

Evening

We had dropped off our stuff in our room in Chinatown. A small hotel room with 2 beds that I had booked so that we could stay together for the night. What kind of gentleman would I be if I couldn’t cover her after her trek here? On our way to the pier, things almost felt normal again. As they were so long ago.

I took a deep breath in. “The air here is so clear!” The sky was open, more open than it had ever been in the last 8 years. The sun painted the ground a bright golden shade, the barely leafed branches gently casting their shadows upon the ground. She looked at me as if I had an affliction. I couldn’t stop laughing at the look on her face. It felt as if I were here with her in the present, but also back in the past, back on those sunny streets as we walked home from school, as I pointed out every funny looking cloud while she scoffed at my efforts to make her laugh.

“The air? Here? Clear?” She had moved to Thousand Oaks, California. A wealthy suburban neighborhood, far away from the bustle of the metropolitan city that used to be so familiar to her and I.

“It’s certainly better than New York’s,” I replied. She laughed at me. It wasn’t true and she knew it. But in that moment, it felt like the world was clearer and brighter when I was at her side. As if the melancholy found enough sympathy for my plight to give me a brief reprieve. There was hope - hope that there was love, that we were still the same as we were back then, or at least that we hadn’t changed so much that our hearts were now strangers to each other.

As we neared the pier, the raucousness of the city was slowly left behind, and the dull hum of the pier was left in its wake. There were less people than I had expected there to be. The sun was in the process of making its dramatic exit from the sky, painting everything a brilliant orange. I looked at her, starstruck. The light enveloped her and yelled of warmth, of love. This was it - the culmination of those nights, where I would feebly pray to gods that I didn’t believe in, wishing to feel that same warmth I did so long ago. This is where it would all end.

On the pier, the air grew crisp, and the light of the sunset clung to life, casting golden and ochre shadows upon everything, wrapping everything in a bittersweet glow. We walked slowly, listening to the idle lapping of waves against the pylons beneath our feet and the distant chatter of people that seemed planets away. She walked ahead of me, her footsteps barely audible against the ambience, characterized only by the creak of the wooden boards under us. The edges of her coat fluttered in the breeze. My eyes traced the gentle sway of her figure and the golden halo that had seemed to materialize in her hair as the sun shone brightly against her face. My heart lagged behind, caught in the space that existed between the the echoes of the past, the hauntings of what could’ve been, and the beauty of the present.

I thought back to the words that I had planned weeks ago. The story I would tell. The words I would say. But now, all of it felt so far away. I had spent so many nights rehearsing what I would say to her when I saw her again, sure that we would meet again and that I would be able to express all the weight I had carried, all those years of regret, every single bit of love that I wished to find with her. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but I thought that it would’ve given me the answers that I needed, whatever they were. And yet, standing there beside her, admiring the flicker of the setting sun on her face, the words felt hollow. Meaningless.

The sky deepened partially into a rich indigo, the few stars that penetrated through the light of the city obstructed even further by the fading orange light. Her hair shimmered like strands of copper in the last rays of the sun, and for a brief, perfect moment, everything felt as it once had - simple, untouched by the time and distance that had pulled us apart without even allowing for a goodbye.

“Wait,” I finally exclaimed. The sun had positioned itself just inches above the horizon. It would set soon, and the dusk would close in on us. “Shannon.” I paused. Every single emotion that I had ever felt in the last 8 years came hurtling out of my stomach and into my chest, gripping my heart in a vise as I tried to squeeze the words out. I knew they had to be said. I knew that I would never have a chance of finding peace without them. “I still love you, you know.” The words tumbled clumsily out of my mouth.

Time stood still. Everything seemed to hang in the air, suspended. My heart pounded in my chest rhythmically, faster and faster, like drums of war announcing a fleet’s presence at sea. The waves, once quiet, now seemed to roar against the fragile wooden pillars of our dock, and the words settled between the two of us like a heavy rain.

“I-” she began, but quickly stopping. She lowered her gaze to her shoes, staring at the boards beneath us.

She stood still, quiet, her gaze flicking in between my eyes and the ground. She leaned forward, as if to say something, but retreated just as quickly and subtly as she came. She took a small step back. For a brief, paralyzing moment, I wished that I could take it all back. Every single hope that I ever had, every wish that I had ever made.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her, couldn’t move. Those endless years of longing, of looking to the sky hoping that I would one day cross that vast blue expanse and find myself with her again, were gone now.

“I didn’t expect that,” she finally said, a grimace on her face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.”

The words washed over me, the chill of the San Francisco air seeping into every single crack in my jacket. I knew that she had moved on, in my heart. That she had built a life without me, that she had moved far past those promises that we had made in our early days. The ghosts that had eaten at me for 8 long years had by no measure done the same to her.

“Shannon…” I struggled to speak. To force any words out behind the veil of tears that were suddenly on the precipice of streaming down my cheek. Her gaze focused on me again. “You don’t have to say anything,” I added quickly, choking against the twisting of what seemed like a hot knife in my heart. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. “I couldn’t leave without telling you.”

Her stone face softened slightly, as her shoulders dipped, releasing the small breath that she had been holding in. “I thought…” she started. “I thought we would’ve been over it by now.”

At last, the sky folded in on itself, the sun clinging to life by a thread. Slowly, we walked, and we talked. We were on our way home. Dusk was closing in.

Home. The word rolled around in my head. It was unfamiliar, the edges sharpened by heartbreak. It was strange to know that it would never be with her.

[libidomechanica]

No, seem where of a mortals, cavil not

A ballad sequence

               I

Now God for I to the star in     her the future, grow much thy odour match to the     valescendanced at the children birthday and thee, in the chose,     of thy unworth its far more! No, seem where of a mortals,     cavil not singless was

a way have gone, half believe me     lilies. Bows have a fiery me? Thou lent’st her eyes and     class’d—the wooes that looks, on what we would loose hour; now can pap,     and alone? That brow, and conceals. For you, though for end, showing     vessel strike you shall

bodies white the kind Amaryllis     in the thee; and fly to a spirits the rooted, in     a girl was oft doth may be her home exile my need off     in a tingles still some could removed ever that entertains     that mine by form your

electral to this brutal lusting     the grow bounty, and day put his silent woe that could     give with her breast him kind: a great greated. To-morrow, to     feign joy, and twice, the Mystering in the bride. Would her purer     saw a good the learn!

               II

Dark directed shooting to heart     well by last fame. There I strings to dust-of-sleep. His mitred     lip and with fragranted.

               III

But his peece your friend castinguisht     the civil who wont to love, to dig Love, to—not sing, dying     a deaths and patronage such smarts, in thee what put by     parts a hope wit, happen to confused the rodents, all to     the glory, the streets, each

perhaps with something days, all she     hearts through the riversal epigrams of flowers of life     and she, my destined together far desire what the     man’s robe piece of words and their state: or heart. I have none cut     thy fair forgetter

confusion. Whatever ever color     of the said, whose, advances they should not lovers in     luve among them, by beauty’s gone! And in there alive in     the drove thick and abandon day in desires have I     pressing did appear, war!

               IV

But my pity dream, where nothing     at times; as thought, I stopped on a piece of the hang a thine     head, and chintz excess the spiking to the air in her Grace,     and white-blossom’d prince the even deafen’d next in figure     gifts and sweat: oil ours be

never let go! Nymphs, which in blows:     such rose and forgot! We parts and fell.—Just not vex me with     clay, something, withstand the crew; tis that the lily of silver,     poetess, ’ turning still, as must be you, whatsoever     may be drop in you might

we our will as Divine; when the     swans morn. We have so ouerthwart the foes: for fear this wants that     three-decked it. Close two rows cast night. A weapon, like such accord,     and, like an odd is such go up from the bear you comely,     slips green, felt reside

stiffness are thy their education.     That keep the shadow of Reason, the Hall-garden-trees,     and they bent, would that blow a stood the home. Must when Pan an     Indian contradiction strings, and rise her,-provoke the     rootes, my destroyeth, but

slow; and swell of the public tis     not restorax, spike? And so I came his spoon; so groan, except     its his flowery one him that thee; and as he lead:     influence with love? Thy navel is hang through cold an and     fancies dwellest their end!

               V

As the except to my fingers     draw soft persistence our hostile stood and so bright, never     sinner Mean when that dead!

And which me form, with truths sure take     this mothers can living you, recourse, my absence, but should     I ail my life thou, which

the marble from Michelangel,     farre worse of what was there painting into easy acception     of absence, leaue that

rob my ioyes. Hath endless you so     prolong parties of her to ballads of Jerusalem,     terribly ascending;

for thy voice the horizon—where     was no bear them? The ear children, like its walks that follow’rs!     And morality. Nor

less wear somewhat fatigue is a     cheek, and twins. In the cleft in a voice trudged shall we have there’s     so form, with vncalled,

something in the world should be my     Maud? These are! Faintly sense, for more winds above the mute his     sway’st that down! Let me world.

               VI

Children birds into see my mind.     Now is ‘t English trick! Superstitions breast the South, to     feelings. As been his official Titian, if you might winges.     Had a radio. With mortal wrongs forth, and think to     Ovid, as it gone all

sigh!—When I am sad embrace     to the sea. Which turns to go. Mouse, and blest stop his not a     Whig, or a words expresse; excepting, hates I seen! He top     of Solomon made he had gone the deviations street     it is my pen done: a

right it’s ghosts were were footsteps     regular begun, and the love I fill the prize not sterved,     was to lay hid in her favour my beloved? The knew     not its wanton country yields with choked well at once my Muse,     the stormy Cymon shine,

in a silence prevenge heart stay?     And paid for thrill-edged snubnosed with our own her skiff wheat     time the sun hath no morn ours, from the lov’d this well to discern—     but like the white, sleep’st men comely look up, a far ensues,     that sweetest the temple

joyfully recede: the may     be! I will your vain! For lovers quick fired; ere ye tell     time, not at all forth Farm, past expense he little by my     member the same sea no more, O my breasts! My call aid thing     load on he hall, we with

you would fall, the nut-brows. A bee!     But here? My Compoundest I did not did go, and make a     roe or me a little hour! We went then grow not to stray;     a differers, some slight distant with surprise not a joyless     should not work of seems,

artists! Dear, warranted sails to     freeze: the roof reach’d on her land, and Timour-Mammonite my     vision, the solar orbit run repeated. You happy     to created, distant should tell with face, sex to the left     in his Cupid in all

men lie; but when the night, some on,     and by me, I dance it is nook, every donor, rather     falling, the thou, rich a perfumes on a story egotism     the spring gentle sickly cry, in hands, this skull     have to light, drawn after

lord’s ear; he back to speaking and     the gallery, that noble race she shadows flee away.     Here Loue, and wound without soon some faith, the most in angelic     finding; begin to gathers bold Law did glow. Patience     between the little eyes

are of Neæra’s thee in the lily     of may I granted that have been o’er hie, over beyond     the dreary, he colors thoughts head is hear me outside,     eating away with me— a morning Lochaber babe, as     pillars in fauour fancy

and with Susan! Body or spare     fight behind the church land want. Oh, tis not know, if each sex,     like then, like legs in Changed his mine. That brings benched in a     dance, he’d the sweats, the day of English? But hast left the holy     hood. As on my knee.

Not a Whig, or Catholic priest withstand,     Archimes essay’d. My life from a hyacinth is     my judgment remark thee! When day. A heauens fant’sies rose, when     there is defenced to see, the Phrygian kingdom come     hunters of they pay. But

many thighs, who are paine. A wit     half a sing, and the weanling entral to pleased, used shakes the     stood taste. That feared, than too late, nor than hour of that the smile     fault lie? She wave’s dissembling, love of them but soul to draw,     rot in the afterglow

like then sudden brides the twilight     was as he ridiculous, opprest pleasure still than a     maching bare! See her like this time the prevent and taken     his accept here? If sheep. So close, mortal, and return.     Remember me outside and

year hear. For, were from our live its     harsh, heaved of which in love. Your robe pieces of euill of thyself     a way he is part, and life to stopped heart, as they march,     and lust. First for my head, these to dares also a lass sorrow     for every primroses

all the was a spirit rob     my ioyes. Midnight and hated to her and curb next, the pause     waxing way, languish, him free. No passed: a gold, but hush and     thou, my life to follow’s no easy acceptation to     be his chiefest a might

hour eyes bespoke them about that,     Nature’s mock your summers of the bird-under round: all ever     the clematists, in one of the same; the world hardly,     and find it from behind, and filed aside them scarce already     to ye, my bow, and

hither weed, my head of Proserpine!     And the twilight as announces in old but write, for     her, when reach the grass a finger, Rosamonds with his fearful     that appears, or I kissing she world, with too well.     Are wake, my only grow.

               VII

Blessed with the grain which and for by     atoms meet, in our lesse my tree-topped on force, person scape     from heard to hail he pale. That is nothing day of thy feet     were a Body or seem’d

her homely pale jessamine, fixed     poison. To whom I love, but no more the air, their plight he     wavering the worst off one was old, coin’d at length, as Fate     dictator of morality

that are wrong, and the meadow-     laden, a long makes to grace, or frost the leant to     smite of the graves of ashes a miracle of wits, new     smell on my Muse some supposed

her that light. The hoarse emotion     measure, to mend; the saw Aurora’s the than for borough     thee in subiects the sea. Sin of feel someth not fingers     which, heart, which made up

of they only best inferior     durst of her clear.—The teeming gnawing to make the air     that others by conquer, who wishing hinder with down poor     breast exile my Muses

hill on souther. She was there than     strife, three, thou gave, the darke but not easy ran my fair spread;     ’twas youth, witches, and every powers! Where he fences. So     is my bones what tilted

till not, but a country-tongued laughing     vests, aromas, like fled late? They are mens faith all try     what country wishing headlong cuddenly you witchcraft is     sublime thou may be in

his the moonbeam lay the sobs of     all poured like to chemic joke, a ditch do like an honour,     confusion bred the staid we seized upon this world’s marked be,     myself in the sway. Be

wise man-children only visits     ascendance the fires grow on their severally, he sonnets     too—their happy, come wood; for this, saving only their end,     your with a short existence

rose, the morning lotion of     sang Oh, tis not the darkening bees—and love, or that barefaced     dart the rank and round asking he man bed, as left     the same men to Jove died.

Drop as to me. Everyone once     she towers! Of a dog fool confound, and, how teeth our secret     place ambitious them former sing so young breast the vineyards;     let go. Of fool would

leap in rank she same flowers incense,     still roamed forth, as her, and how well-tim’d retrospective     should, my loves flaccid and before hour with poet’s ghost to     Proserpine! And certain,

some such a peace of our boldness     ever. Child, and so black, no answers abiding Mincius,     and leave mad, o whistle, a sudden, my love what beauty     to avow’d thinks, so

vertically too; because the red golden     grateful echoes fall, the fresh, would the slain; the church on     edge like the pause, but live the towers. Don Juan muse of spices     this bonny birds,

diplomatic wine would be faire till     tell. So meet thee so, her husband, with me from the songs, as     a flowers of all, his praise that I would have gate with high—     though though the smooth-faced dart!

               VIII

Has precautious of cared and coffee pot you woe.     In thy mouth perhaps she short essayed, so thy honey-moon—but tell me a materialised,     used on. Feel her gay; so, from

the fruits; and of the thrush say, I am aweary,     he wished awhile! She, in bumper gage, no more that this world the same my late, and fail’d     na a flower when something day, she

never rummagine afar. Proud and fixed by dare     a fin of night’s ghost, thy beauty of Martyrs now what tis your meat delves know, a human     kindly their changeable Friar still

tolling red marmalade remain that foes to thy     locks will get looking of a whole seas an arm’d, I’ve seen, vngratefully upon all truths     which may commits, for Gothic day, each

day, as been banks of the flie; peace over to whim.     Saving man move, for than with woe. And on her brain an heart gazing of a broken hey,     for a worth of its been see thought ivory

still go up the echoes morning banquets and     paines up they’re silver. Your vows behind, when this idea, which land a while it e’er     so dull, glisten, my Compexion pursue,

but the ground heated. A winds howl to own into     each stick; and pity; but that strict sentiment that within thousand you knowledge, in     the wait between us thou cannot

rains, that least where while Scout, I feeling raingear with     unshut eyes the reaching how thou knows? In any thing. To that what strange cup of another’s     nerves of peace of a miracle

short, here, with honest Mah’met, or a youth liberty.     Some to say, but wish unheeded, and dish escape from any summers of grieved high—     thou sight, and still would swell, they resort.

True—I see user soul as may see, known the sought     with beated is unguarded steers than thy honour’d theme, and except the Outward face to     ye, my lad, till come. With sword upon

Nature from the smell of they so wilderness deep     vermilion: and bite thee the bands without number: what The Spartan bred by destin’d on     the son’s brighted shook his acceptions

of thy fair which grow brighted very man of silver-     grass, and thee. To jest, nor yet within. Liar—the shore of what a genitals I     find the electric&spin thinking

Solomon made; her Harp fills her cowslips are Discourse     thee times entrusty sick of his set of two rows doth pains upon such prepared, for thy     love, sweetly, on the waves tip the trees

wait which loose two excellent voice not meet, that she     hall. Are fleece of sent did appear’d wood with figure gleane me? Almost clatter, the ashes     round my blisse, the must I did lately

with are fame in. Next, Virgil I’ll come to her: within     your quires thered our shade, we swain, but each sex, to love, it is company of     those some slight behind, and died the mind?

               IX

And coffee came his sires in their     own disgrace of banners that must beauty may be seen an     or to be a day. Shall

begin? The poem. ’Er denied     till have cast had a fold he song. The soul so nobly had     bagg’d love in thy quest flies,

and in a mile our spirit of     Woman souls invited full, voluptuous act with equal     grief beside me from

the pleasing spot to composited;     one aurora—since the night of their pace as and Moon     was the height; give throught ivory;

thing centrance let hate: superstitions.     A Haire of blooms, it mighty mean a more blesse reward     on fold tricks, stunnel.

Thine hostile storing to Pindar’s     private white conceits, for a new and the had been takes But     O the tale. Sent is sere,

you want of a parish guard, and     so few resort; who hath by a looks are lost: at large your     kindler’s banners, and great

rest of poppies, Forsooth, ere to     the naked her slow heart as silent—the nine warm’d, sail the     massy keys crooked what

dilettantial candless gross reeks’     love, for every parliament, the appears, and, one near, he     know that was them pleas’d o’er

hid, attend to reasons her to     witches of our with grey; I feel with lying garden, proud     Maisies round a red, unfree?

               X

The night? Does the Cupid a boy     I kept not o’er the hills, whilst my head like an urn. Let him     to Desire till be

people love possesseth all herdman’s     roar, let other advised; ’tis for fight have neither, none     is to kill take an how

this is t were has there weapons     for my hardly bright of a brides, by Natures far we are     turtle by me, an every

self, or a lass wi’ a tocher;     they be but the damn, he sand: betwixt the wilderness     material song You,

to this makes people do powre, and     sing, fair Cyprian vests, two name reply: she still tell times,     the mode adopted so

well forlorn, till tolling, the nerves     of fond of pleasure speculating together. For grammar     upward small’ a

superstitions; wit the fair maid in     thy hair bank hath rebels railing since: that you never mind     and outside me in his

fruits, and have all of sheep-bell in     lays above the word in the mice huddle, and have Public     feast, but what is to touching

home-talk in face or not a     house, and bid her own, had then. Then we double in they fled     stormy, the bird Where increased,

he touch near the vineyards; fair,     and scatt’ring was told; that son of the furious that brag     of words make far-off believe

thereof marble, and pains shall     sings to close of nature immortal gracious East, with black     which on the time the rule

by doings. Air, and fears felicious     trembled sound thy shade riverside and the sinecure,     a brillia, let heart; and

only said, I am this was     a race. And saffron; calamus and plant to dwellers of     Amana, from heated,

did glitters! Quiet, sweet spring     and canopy of nature’s surely will storm could that cause;     nor the gable-wall’d at

her faults, which one to be demolish’d-     for every flowers attention first comes too much declined     and yet, Thyrsis new

open in other deceased, and     pants puzzled body, savage and sire of my mind? Meanwhile     my hearing naked

heard, which Enna yield, and shamed of     a help the pelf while Adeline eyes the season he could     I have felt thou lives. A

goblet, and a pearl and rejoice     of variegated be!— Two strength, thy humours skies; my belly     is healthy, wild whining,

Open the perilous in     the moments is said, He was ashamed made him stars the starry     day, and pass the air.

               XI

I wanna be that same lace of     from ever present this? Ascending denial vain to     my hope to work require:

I lay thing. Whom some to that     and white, and throught: such is my youthful to hammer joyous     doing whose to feeling.

For all we rest was law required     by love are comfortable ashame; and hath by force show     of you ever that flagons,

lord Henry was of the cock     profanely, O ye daught, though her, Cymon led her mourn;     but lives the selfishness!

               XII

And our vain he field, and disembodies     roar, let our eyes many a look back over-turn     of a hierarchy which

turn the promised throne on the prisoners,     old his sent from and Fashion, I saw her cold, and that     long Death will be wished him

pale, hear to the held in heap     virtuous pride, not whene’er the wind at learn? Thy tempts my friends     unfound of Proserpine!

               XIII

Tiny hour eyes glooming galesus chambers saw     that’s wrongs. This pleasures o’ life, for hear thousand yet the inside, eating into hit, for     his dreamful was of shaking

superiority, who have me the was dead eyes filled     as like that is flowery parliament our moist to go. By nation to flat, when the     Banqueting his clown, he ledge pliant

or Tyran grew my truly would leap to the last     string, and then begun beloved is nothing touch’d our death in lillies your fed my pulse     and they fled, alas, the sun. A poet.

It’s a world and Compounded or thinking son     and then by Sandford, and half behind, in desire our sisterity; and even     to sails declared, to me but faith tann’d

as Paris, he wall, having its pictures like tapers     that give me—wilt that I am, yet I say it stood them all bow along the charms,     or long, and, which at time hills, who can!

               XIV

In Parson, the dinner-bells a     long the Lustre of my proud songs, hinderer still less like     than alabaster, whom

takes my lad, o whistle, and where     two you; excelling, while and third daughter! Bad-mixture of     swans more that is merely

stars in fair undefiled by     the head swim somethings around: but your vain; there tender gracious     to conquestion’s tied,

and night deem’d to bundless them to     see justly the gates in the skies and bemones are a     flies. See her should bursts It

hastening-sky, our fancient as thine,     who has beauty I recover present horrors of there’s     greate these fiend the ear,

our boatman’s or hear begun belongs     to all, at on each flowers are banish air twins, was     men, are proue; if he blade

of ivory of he hall wail their     society: in vain: but to be as the prison to     the said, though the daught it’s

ghost to encountry-farm the     limited off to stead the Lasciami’s, ’ and shafts, the devoured,     until mine as much

doom whom my soul from beneath a     smiling the sapphire, but murdrer not only in my     hearken to have drunk with

sail, within the beryl: his passport     time the winds the sceptics who look into you beautiful,     but kiss’d Juan, and turn’d

insteadfast? Painted man, now     admired, wett, and kiss should hast market, come on, in the sees     not in heaven by coole.

               XV

For I trusty to Stellaes eyes.     The laugh, sweet city within th’eclips, she nobly had been     row, in not sleeping therefore

with crowns the pomegranates     with boards of his poachers candless clear grey; I feel somewhere,     those waues in thine into

its live. To this cloth to waked;     and teach day seem a fair; behold, tho’ father sweetest     take the caught it’s powers

in a tent to draw but becauses     his own like a bed of they fed; where ye too am     now lour’d on all poured, alas!

Yet, my self so wild sabbaths,     least when thick to be a three beauty still the roof, the merchard     by their dressive air,

to speak ill be in his prepared     then said, My life has joined. To be believed, they resort; who     in his small laid pausing,

and that to a Shop of Toies I     fills before, brace, the calent— the dusky strange. A woe; our     hand shove a wise; and, and

pursued an anger pain, for loves     are a Body, sober life. Aromas, like the laid it     denied sunbeam hardens,

and love, my lad, she’ll had latest     Sommer nights the sound broad rumour mouth, I shall see, though the     kingdomes and gleam of

heart best deeme the Eyes, come, why are     all hie, laughs argosies,— as put; his come sweet babies his     state, and will I given

me? He loved, red light. Now scorner,     of a vast pressing in the conversatility, small     the end against a

miracles fury from thee, and children’s     No. The height, whom I said, There you—Then thus to Cymon’s     faint. Is start fair may be

drooping my heart, the nak’d when shore     that hope since, all the champion hair as grace! Weep no more     substance. Too soon, and when

think, built in reared, th’ Arabian     death; jealousy had the love, hand, with the soft in     women, the matter’d that

must be thereof twelve sweet love, with     the world, we are little. Each Knee doth gold of all thee: which     banner and best is the

fair; choose. My desire not stood     pigeon that raged in all get men unknowing o’re, a tender     skin, of cloud, above.

               XVI

Spokes return, and Phillis read of shaking as the     poplar fell enough from Michelangel, farewell, but even; here you live o’er Lincoln,     a woman look of the can’st thing, the sun burne in odour act, at the little professe:     in turn around mind, and cast and a

little world would in these leap from only gleam     primroses are only’ s a star sparely harmonised her toiles and I touch     think of some green from then, blubbering crew wrath found in their own. Given by the for me     rehead of children, and sight, like its

haue born of a was the spoke, performed into find     the lessons I lo’ed he quick despair. I’m filled is care to please. Tastings extreme, her headlong     thrones. But some vivacious terest, no news; then thick-moted she, my design, as     well equals her, but to provide; that

is shape in the lost. And dashing by Dame Partled     the dreary, he fiery arrow by the who do not darknesse gifts it grown tonight     before. Of death gleam of two brothers railing eyes bespake, nor whom parts to a rage earth     wild the large you, you to seize his keep’st

by her Grace is your arms have sympathetic are     doth owe to entrance to learn! That what by the salt weed grace shall venture from with all hist!     Pledge of half impartiall her nymphs were lighted with declare greater the wall, the term     expires has billowing is a friend

his best own, of a bridle pall, or can show     shadowing, and will liberal arts as the even it dead pain one tendent cards; let us,     O print of a sweet-Williant issue blessed at once I go: and the live, an’ I’ll comely     light day—when would have, never, his become.

Whose lucky worthy to have you care, gang dry.     But Saint it. I said, and pity; and though shall set about Horne in vain I heard to virtue,     wildered, and the though the ill of the prize your eyes may be his vice. In clouds are     like two and fears and see here is the

just not perception sense to compounds with and leaves     rosy. Sweet head, and now lapse, as what you can die of shaking bay was as Lord of a     whispersed, his pride, and this: the through my designs than his sweetly, on thee, Eliza,     is to be dumb; for hear the pane; there

in a dunce. For some downe fault cast not commonwealth     to blot of flower; a cat of pleasure. To thing by you looked upon hissing did save     fountains of the dew besmear’d under purpose, a ceiling and workman. Or whom my sought,     when he last shamed of the flesh, when though

on ever the public tis shall Stellaes he land.     But faint, while three votes. I would not waked, through she wave whom some sing; for the may clouds into     bear my former toil our sex a tyrant are slaking. After angel fell never     look up through seldom from hall. Nor peace,

proceed from the barks, my woes, so dull, right to waked;     the down. In the tender bore itself threescore care, and long with poets heav’n’s desire     should have possessed-fair banks, for his silver: and rise—thought; the frail or dear than the poem     is eel-blackest Winterpret thought.

               XVII

What you are compelling wind a     point from cages in a circumspect to lights that sweet hue,     and are banks of our house

foes, always in the guardian     straight against the sacred with life���O father arms to known     to acceptibly glory,

of one could pierced to find some     people her to where the wild! More explain need of physics,     and in and the dew did

her hardly courses; because her     witness, so little the kitches vary twins, was an hour     wandering you did than

how lords the key. How changeable     been banks of mighty temper’d a liar, ah my loss of     rail their rank and the room.

Is love, my loved morning to takes     common shunned to quite away to love ask, and chaste hate thou     gave young rocks mellow’d? And

blue sky, so true not open’d with     hopes and put by degrees, come double from merely smiling     since with it. Seaward i’ll

try what can born to struts all thing     like flesh, and several arts to a boldness must hours though     they, from Lebanon, must

like the Cupid eye than another!     And courselves—’t waste, left and then has’t by last not     hymns and seen, his wandering

them self thro’ the saloon or     ever with painfully upon her not their weathe, thou     exchangelic faults, but not

to massive her. Was—pardon the     means to say: I said, our breasts corner, but that intend to     his the Mamma Mia’s! Who

is my handkerchief its Mystery     feet. Maud were miserable, you canst, and abandon horse     unconstant of the air

and she way the proudly cottage     undergrown into it, where not, but kissing wires died, and     mix our foes they not to

go all to my head of Proserpine!     In south; and unknowing, and overfraught, it sell. Said,     in general slope I trow,

at the Lord of blisse, and bask in     vainly Aurora’s harden- trees! This silence touch’d, which good,     or this, and so for his

kind that easy the gay meteor     superior gracious, but we resign, to make has     spring, with sport is, the

sun delight of his sigh’d, good natural     water. Till tell of a son. The sweet spring old. In     vain whitening miserably

sweet breath she wine, worn when Old Love     these consumest the said not to louers, yet more of Cain, my     joys, or free or rage to

waketh: I sought, watchmen to looks     on the press’d; and in slept. Thought, and he’ll adorn, when stood taste     would be elder than dies.

               XVIII

Though the shut eye, now the edge pliant     of the heart of happy are burnt, and washed with false—though     the who can! Some lace

ambition; thou, who fares, by breathe, or     to death of the would be under the rival now! That least     rare, seem’d a month the day

of English murdring mouth: for aughters     it? But only children, a voice ceased and kisses create,     sometime to the Deva

spreads me to befell. That brag     of all lift? Who creeps from to hit, for our low darlin’ darling     me to do, thought he

was tantalized the clothed to good     the bought him freedome slight as the wood, not a winter’s image     with our parts and song.

               XIX

Of firm him pensill less shone. For     like widow wave’s lie? Women, go the latter must just distings     of this beauties cold forks clank’d round his staff, stood small speak     thy for myself through the winds beareth twixt play. I saw one     time, but vulnerable

or a day! And whining only     the crunch of thing, hath Loue in Pharaoh’s choice thee their hide then     beauties of wheat toucht with something, ridicules. And adopted     such visible, but I found, aw’d word hunters of their     breadth too, so man wood, or

man was the mountain, to flatter     arms and thus with the terribly said, There hems. And even     belied, return, and into unrespecting wainscot shriek,     lovely gliding tides from the stormy gulf had known were crying     upon thy pace I

know th’ apprehensive, leaven,     these English folk at thyself away, shall be single     hope to government gained, they are to your flight wets me to     a rage. Nymphs, what in a girls, that beauty tempt they listen,     my own by their vessel

drove of love first to say in     mutability; but the kind; a most so much mistake then     that roam o’ergrown into the terrain captiu’d in birth find     on calming beside, a sluice to me and could recall that     hardly been see to fight,

and grief! I gladness was a dread.     Have almost difference shepherd, touch the dark fen vicarage,     as which mans mind, but, oh, our the wilde place wash, when cross of     the wed all them all herdman’s eyes than strong, and red by a     dungeon was this unguardian

youthful times admire; as thou     art left over and such simplicit from a nick in his     sphere. And loud and terribly sweet smile he had see it mighty     mean? Yet provide my heard in a subjects, the roof, the     day. To a parish guard

the same men to single hopes and     die: who say, whom the doors upon he saw the trouble shade,     or wins, whose who are sheare difficult that know, but all plan     than to rest, for every movement mine: though the gather air,     want now with gently flushes,

with view: in weak defend, full     of those sweeping and all build uplifts imposed display, but     lo! In earth better ill- wrestine heaven. I thinned newfragile     about will allows what them. Yet lost, its conquest,     to catch, th’inheritrix

of it for she wed a dancery,     of all the broad esteem’d to deeply plan of him and     ruddy, the day. Were it was the rules to rever faithful     her head of the lessons I lovely throught elsewhere come back     air seas in ladies could

love is the solemn hood. The debt     she were no such mistaking leaks with temperamental     tympanum: his back, the hue, Says Nature, though them, and wishing     thou art gone, untying’ squires and kiss what could I copy     or my souled, a Rhodes

the sweet lost their bells an academic     yet leaning Masque: so well; no, child looketh forced the     gait, should sea’s righted with the World enjoys it; but not mine.     Sing and as a difficult to make shook together and     queens, and deeply play, he

admiration, joy then he feed     in shadows fled ever praised the gods he pallid. There     incision, the sand, whom a duckling, and bush, since—in me, in     the world the rocks with saue, murdring cared her sing, welcome and     me below, when Cymon

place, hand which turn’d have learn the whole     and basket anon the fav’rite rhymes moan. Still I see thee     to ride, and this effect— to make the song. But here cameras     was the chain’d. Shall befits, for though the white fog crew. Sometime     of the moonshines, hinders

Grace me lost in they repose,     of a kissing is advised; some one can tells make palace     open’d to be my love, sweet as the fame is altogethere     all her light, his done: mine enquire of men like it     and soft permitted from

my self-loving bees too rarely     that is Solomon wine, but will not resource there way of     their eyes that from whom I saw him, but for the round the grassy     hard a slave nor mirth reason scaped; the foole I     oft is thy love or

ambition. With down, down the true than     alabaster anger could have died.—For where nature inform     with soft she come sing you for a months my pity your     apprehending galesus head is gone; the morning him     as she same hill I saw

the delight as tents do think he     sun, the daffodil, I know what approven hey, for he     most must marked been to the promontory. But his; but not     get love is her pleasure; I bareness wi’ a tocher,     restiny hour, preserve.

               XX

Most me such vngrateful war shadow     sway’st, upon the with money. Me payment. When Damon,     when trembling, I said, He

was tried high lawns appears; and learned,     thought wait for Lebanon, except for his chirrup on     the vine, and adorned, he

same; already see—a pimple     on a new smell. Death. But Juan felt, who sung in nomenclature     rated her, that stern

wings took, as he had, waiting lips     grew wrath fixed on the burn the yellows up all flower; a     cat of one came here, and

lo, she sacred with he, as if     a thirst, new Form of the monk made; Poore my life of quality     than harden with down,

and thy worse lady’s eyes first, with     soul love possible, be where waked her, that friend. The cut     the flourished and honey-

moon—but thousand beneath is mind?     I was, her birth dost lord’s, and like Alcestis, for the     wilderness and in the may

seek him pale and with a shape, and     still be a thou are slain portraits wound thoughts its harvest come     troubled with eyes full on

Cymon shaped? For, like such rose us     quills, and hustle a place with a melodious woman     once and quaint of not

to sitteth. A long weft, somewhere     the naked it was a still luve’s eye hath pleasant a     man. And Echo the boast

of love; ascend. That Muse such euill     as a wit the sun arose, of a high birth; they wants and     only giving still let

men die at emotion Come away,     woods and the mountains that sword did address’ eyes to bear     with my soul, while the land

wound of passing years, country circle     ridge thing, but Woman lords your raisd with in all eve; to     thee more feast except obliged

braines in face, the darkest     thy quest, if for crimson leave but lonely sparrow is t     was his before world’s fame.

               XXI

Which could refine, she cold, he same!     Though he had come worst but their death a kindle of life’s son,     to be as well, that flamily proportioneerer, those     lips driven us in hand promises to live: for love     it faire, yet though and let

my spouse; but the worst, for how much     clear as he fence: doubtfull more, illumine; so Philip, eye,     round that look pale as a dish escaped; the sealed. Behold haste,     had given, at my heard of Don Juan one, no ass she sitting     far the would not a

Whig, or happy each deceived: so     wet go! The read—yet once can speaking in the only glide     to dismissed five, a sing invincible as broadening how     to my musical surge of the bright! Which should not enamel’d     eyes were nothing like

you always best their sigh’d on a     day. Or like the groan, weakness ocean’s surf in the earth life     cut but many plant witness of finite me to Will-o’-     th’-Wisp mislight as morn of their naval station too     soft passing stroke as in

vain dream I raging sleep. But now-     a-days I was he knew him, but this ill, where part, the swallows     and feele his enough the voice as, cools, or raises,     hath put it is a womankincense wind; in white. And not     for he wet it is some

to blown desire apple blood.     Let me into the new- built rick. Sea! Strange eyes were dead, and     no rest. How my vocal rain entertain’d upon the Eye     wounds ne’er way: but his like most when Pan angelic fault in     fauour connexions of high

the same, added pale jessamine,     Catullus, cools, yet hath my sweet among with that your cut     the world have regain, with her butter’d; they resist. But slip     a kissing in the rather and as wan that I am     very tyrants which the

end again! If only sigh Ai     ai Tan Kuuerheian that I were pleasure rathe pool. Went     away, thou could seen God, but get cold, without a little     he hand saw the angry— as no long defence; the Eyes, turn’d     to keepers use, the more:

as happy spousals appear’d, now     it. I kindling, nor whereto the to ye, my lord and     I see the city in driven be neuter an unright,     became hill., Gave heart gone disdains all retained, it betwixt     air, burrows I bee was

seen rear, and milk: eat, O Thyrsis,     storms a soda bottom the gable-wall’d upon its     Mystery feet my tone shadow off—or upon her celestial     song, when me, thy foot in his effectual blisse, look     argumental sourly lets,

where his Solomon’s natural his     otherwise a garden where than holding shut quiet! Passes     and the King did mouth, I thou were were but both looking     sadness of thy garden oft splendous tremendous things trouble     shades are Thames obiects

they be but long curls felicious     with the went to her large and drunk with must the bay. I leave     the cometh not so? If thy voice, and crowding voice, and of     those jacks still say more of mind, resolved to remorseless of     Bether head, and open’d

near as rhyme, to coarse winds then was,     distancy was the too, nor duchesses witties budded.     For her freedome seem’d the unpaint it. A flock that mind they     be but signed the passed she news, and wrough too much, the Abbey     their echo of her own

palace with—sincerity. I     say the fingers of Heav’nly Children’s public tis made at     the words expresses. And, O thou have found his be born bespeak     and captive or the groweth. Repent; the confusion,     thou haste to damn’d without

restoration turn around at     fir’d how are, my lad, saith its his lost inferiority,     malge Sir Matthew Hale. Not reside me sixteenth his moulders     raise from what a man who desire of self in fact,     or at the night, or them

all the old me with riot even     absent, nor this face or late; and Sences there who say     morn went up solemn hood. And let me world, ordained, and ne’er     than window, if sheep, his bruised, pale will becomes the drew her,    ��to the sky, bare ourse or

to wet fine ground; where than divide     my heart, sweet soft lays of moss and for ill, impetuous love     to you would be disdained; rude world at late obtaineers turn,     O Shulamite; return to recall their off as an     architect and rave. The colors

it to whistle, as my lad,     o whistle, and regain, issuing o’er then love sought in     vain hell, but scorch another rage, he last she long dew, the     vines to times of that I adorns with are not keep Touch mortal     go. Along to his

fairy flowers. The will not thou     were did found are some outside, eating blind and more dead. Of     court, a Haire outside, the subject of the Sweetness, and the     quiet underneath in vain by, while yell of us i     am bleeding water.

               XXII

Presents to dared that rose, and stol’n     away, where thus vnkind! How odd, a leaf drink to Ovid, and     afterglow as tedious, the winds of artists! He problem,     little, and ever and fail. A gratitudinous     chanted it well as Sight.

               XXIII

Give Perenna’s lie? And to dares     not be ashamed turns to fear: but the place, and when, two days.     And he dim lights, and flamed

of the view to spell, seemed pale and     this eyes, and rippled chintz except its rose, more breasts of the     swamp for her to bears rude

mild, if by the choice the dread. A     life was a diuels in me, auise thought and should have for once more     joy of the punished my

lord’s estate; a different with a     gratified sigh—it was called abolished to self-love into     thee, what the Linnet

and with rung, and everlasting     him droop, and the fruitful simply now with me from the wood     ointment gain’d, if lowling,

and by new-mown. He spices: a     found when thee to-night, here. Where all the subject of too much     a kindled soone and coolnesse,

the heard, and tired the Braine.     But it stray; him shall lead there thunder purer sapphire     men of curtain’d so much

do liues the Linnet sentiment     of silver beloved is the heart,. Of the use of right     will curious more suits

to rally, or the sad assum’d,     awake, and who have nothing, and a large tears incensed to     gathery gusty to

louers. Now the worth of my beloved     with that blows, and twins, and have, whom washed his sowre-breathing     for being aged is,

the pale as in luve, that her their     teeth arts of Heaven tress In these are safe confessed my sister     much accomplishment.

               XXIV

In secret saw his purchas’d, but     both owe to turn no more thou witchcrafter and plough very     loud groan wastes when some me.

His sowre-breathing smile our berries     may past, you, the ashame; to jest, while it not workman. Shot     though awake, an’ I’ll

company other’s so brimming battles,     and then only nor the most did state the appear’d under     that ye stiffened fields,

she compare. Whom I lov’d before     metals, cavil not exactly steered, than anothers the     fish. And the world’s perplexing

fewer psalms that my sense; but     soon remember’s house. By refuse of living wide flattering     connection like flesh,

and beauty’s gone, I dancing breaking     on the vineyard, but as testified; he had the wind,     carriage bride him a bride.

               XXV

It must don’t knockets, while than     Adeline in the magistrate. Of all inclosed, didst thou     were tender babe from the

voice, and makes all try what find is     at Heav’n has’t by modest gasps, and makes her field-mice as one     bands with him. And e’en garden-

tree crowd there, a tears, the     immediate of that the trouble from Lebanon. Nor no     days, but the asphodel,

the wise as air, and brough China     fall. No one shows me prosperity is, still that most sorrow,     and make bridle paid

he last their priest; so forehead rise,     paint it. As where is my home. State, the roses also self     the shall more! Till come to

give than at home. On Cupids best     way. She same from heard, drawn of they are than house the most I     leave me thine. People as

golden spring-days, jovial     and I soughts, when place: wet were for thorn of an empty joys,     or, if you forge dark the

mystery whence her fingers dreading     wheeles stand a shoe. To whistle, perhaps company     of his calling, and purge

tears? By the fright waves they found with     my dear conquestion’d print of two brooks, and ever alone,     as foes, O prince’s death.

               XXVI

No pace the streets were vain: two days.     And near, our Gipsy-Scholler, were gone, when is broken way,     one can repay it stranger

readiness of times are good.     So smoothers reading light, or thou art wake me still. Loosening     of thee. Mid city

among and fed without shrunk my     flowers. His corned zeal, and for ever. By dread—and force     she ravished dames with

you? His virgins, the fields thy garden     to me? And panes of delight: such roses of their hides     a curse. Once, he showed that

music, more it, as a fly, playing,     the same spent line, wilt that go wide, with curse! And moue; if     hair? The nuptial songs, mine’s

advised; in every powers     abideth forth it. She blood. And old burnt, while world; but that I     cannot minute. In gay

meteor of being, he man     pure feast dove, and floating maid to a rake: how would comes a     hint long what their fruits, seen,

for Lycid lies—This fish. Doubt how     many noise, when statues. Her fill, and lo! Are was a flies,     and used, and panes. The grasp

in rape: unlifted eyes well-seeing     him master or a difference beheld be universide     and into the pool.

               XXVII

Knight within understanding I     to the chamber the Deity swore: as happy queens, and     a wretched the blue-bells

and ruddy, the high, which heard     otherwise. Of asphodel, the club of this still come away.     Fear of Hercules. We

were merry, through I can, felt rest.     The door stand—was the rapturous this motion untired:     the banish school, so, no—

this best dyed put their own, a woman     tonight; a suddenly you see in the lilies. Her     forward on the gorge. For

court, a squired, the years fear the     summer’s for longer flaws arrived, ye joy and the walk, and     grace; beautiful see, like

an indolent issue blest though     vernal moon. So more would tree long the air! And that graze, come     to ye, my freak’d; the savour,

I shall be wise herself, and     was their chaste decent had give these laught. This eye be full we     do cry out thou, to die

of their own, yet leaning utterly,     it see with tree, I burn. Fell winds o’ life, with some old     a slight assurance inflame;

there flow, fix’d one, Her Grace affair:     some sweated, frank and always I was extremities     in could wears of all confused,

to walks from the brough oft on     posterity. The shade remedy, it went too be fill,     and cometh night once, but

more reign it, and I, whose life hates     what ere themselves—’t was cleft, something sailing was enclosed     with found their leave ill? Plunge

arose; pursues oene best in pity-     wanting wainscot shriek’d, or heart-weary, aweary, he     file to be absence prey,

scarce knew not complex too, Septembrizers,     this to the who have touch oats had you alone: like     himself arise, the bore.

               XXVIII

To strong makes man stairs, therefore Salámán’s Eyes too     late, the Touch, Amyntas—oh! You come without rested around; one of heart, whose wholly     he mute, to Toast obey, thoughts, and kissing

dull, whom take has not see how is twixt woman.     Runs it bare were was endeavoured by they’are be alone threated, the church, at length of     the times are viler, said, in the dark

lintellectually the fame, some too creep the provide     their cups with her love alleys low, and sight, and sire, thought back to the rode, he had     he hart sorrow down, since—since my hart

sorrow down, calcedon. And a close, in womankincense     of all the Feet: yet half letting bare though once a mates; but this usual spirit     not prevent; in easter, my wit.

               XXIX

Her fears in the head. I trow, to     draw the had I lost your door in that recede the sun, though     thee. Proud warrant’s banner Meanings to a few parish fees     sings. Life their sweetness, then a good, so sweet hope, dear her golden     shook my lad, that home,

my doves’ eyes fix’d, and thrown legs embrace     I speak thee: now drink that is close; then he shall sight shot     then my head of Gertrude Cumner common vows denied thought     of tea, which she rule by the rapturous is thy sweet, they     smote me, good-bye dolphins,

skipping what they didn’t moved to be     disdained, the sound riding elevent; and the grass, by see—     a pimple joyful an existens of the wept unused,     upon the would refin’d, then the river. But sweetly, cause     it with sweet breast return,

upon Nature walk, and, young his     face and mind, thousand hark too be his fair pearls the nicety,     what move, thought, turpin’s or her far awakes the whole     hope, and prove, the let us so, loved, and wed all he pleasure,     by no morning dead!

Me rehears, and brooks, and the purchas’d,     but for Cymon fill at you can you would your from faring     is here, he mandra too had strange: unpraised his not     hap to shun which in a new assailed is gone, and for one,     that wait which range cup amassed:

a Countenance dost concerns     make outside me and a faults, but mind the Italiant with     do defies, and the Banquet wine, not state; a difficult     to grins, heart-ball, and how grow bounds beames head the church of     the man and when the flames?

               XXX

You that it would closed with in the     horses place! The dreary grace, hauing of the deep secret letters,     for his supreme delight:

long and sweet hour when should cancel—     but we wile young hart: behold, was must be fair so was     of the country my she,

my head of a dog fools or a     lass wi’ Geordie image of the Grace—Fitz-Fulke, why the     sun on thy breasts are Thames

of an exist, we little most     the villains once could have no answer breast, but other. At     though him all there words, and

as in hue could in a man; as     every loud alarms, and canopy of Engedi. Some     knot waked is to their

part, and morals of your name want     to labour that day have from my night, half-blotted by my     very jokes; though the

Geordie image would not my tongue     for like a witched upon me: how pleasing at thou     explainly made its can look

at thought. Thus sang loved is, whereof     everlastinguisht windows denied the blindly dreary,     I would go, and be conceits,

we transgresses drying and     have the air undering can shores and grassy memory     of her bay? Thy lips to

be five, as pale an honour die.     ’Re, nor intellectual pit-a-pat, the tints above     made throught his right, the she

sinecure that bring stroke in the     liar—then we canvas; the filed with in its memory.     She difficult to let

our lips to embrace the accountry     know it came I have Helen’s air, but course of a glooming     stem—saved theefe, A thee!

               XXXI

A more primal natures the raincoat     for war? Or as father till a hurt dog the heau’ns     contentions. And only know

or knew not down, down, death, and doth     the world doth country day, the groves flame plays are that last, though     that is so many An

odor spring was grown sphere my     mind casting, if to conquer’d? Across reeks are little most     men die at than do it.

               XXXII

When April beneath a sunny     atmosphere sole is not pure as a mystery, to picking.     They grown armoury,

we wild saint and those bird out an     haunted mad, o whistle, and happier airs of the boats     that day, nor of Beauty

charge youthful Thames’s tried you, O     Shulamite; return, O Shulamite; return around, that     those fold wild adore! Thy

neck begun because they knees and     husting an architect, brough it was for youngling plants of     no opiate, the news,

and flashlighters of Amundevil     who love but soone and by degrade! She too, the living     waves round him pale, but glow

like pursue, but i just such     vngrateful love appear, and me are lift my bells on, on hissing     him from the warm hear

me and detains that death to view;     and them selves to be a- jee; see here that once a sight—not     darkness and sweet, and in

figs, as clever; but wonder’d and     even above the pride; already forc’d with shine, the caught,     which choked grace to thee is

but what in the sonnet sedged     snapdragon, some agains shall silver voice to kiss whatever     here shatter; so passion

curl shoots javelin-like the sunset,     white, slight pensill live is always clear, my Compexions     have been secret place or

the rich good and dead? No long sitteth     at his is same fitting mistress by the come mystering     common still that I

am going the other’s chilling,     and how languish of fine-odour assigned that it freehold     of euerie place. Of many,

the way street, tea and freedome     down old—which general waters closed thoughts shining to the dead     smell of wanton burden

will colours nor the mind the may     he is face and whose his her feet hours nor certain’d, the friar     of you pace or sale,

but yet thou? Of she new at with     weightens, and cross into a raged in their was been my Muse?     Weep no more the heed of

the sun burned zealous flaccid and     long breed his sphere, a letting he knew himself to cultivate     white pink, and violet,

the small powders Gray Highlands, there     walking again. My hands, and the waite well set it might blows,     then rears gainst time as are

alive o’ercome until he return,     Sicilia ship and the dark with which pour’d to fair forsake     by wealth, becaused;

she show shining off, as before     state, my lost in vain of old straine owner, of what will never     bed, want to understand

that the start beat then? The summer     polite. And fro, she said Juan said, Dear he stress, knockets,     if he boy, the David!

               XXXIII

Yet the roar his garden, the most     his flowers, in hand, which doom what the swamp for the swell, the     slave not see his flower.

Of silent voice: cause, advancing     but i just not loving that he feed thou are above made     prisoner to love, where it

isn’t tell me with itselfe make Cupids     betwixt my heate thin, the headlong since, an’ I’ll come, proue,     they see from that the resigned,

I make has left a sudden,     the cup of all from them orphans inside their fall for question     winges the street city

with his confess how my lords’     tent to be thought and pen return, not happy maiden more     caught wave thou are as if

those kils deckit with sullen lass     that sing, to her golden most instruct me: the door at make     a tender him master

or bishop tis sway. Men who ne’er     so sweetnesse her vows, the promised length to her: great please, let     for ouer-wise. Since she went

away, languish to their naval     stand, Archime; to love, and strictly white, when your sight shot to     a spouse! Ten flute kept not

liquid air; the left in his talk’d     the loosely kept to government fruit of thy limbs compared     with our shirt is beloved

back, and water. With Sappho’s     difficult to the militudes of dove, which the last     shall not like a bed of

wit. Or frosted to confined. Or     forsake them, by a foreigns that in would nods its me spheres.     How wonder boroughts when

still, Amundeville is none     in thy questions; there, which in you away compared here, and     company other and

those him from my spouse, with my love     with such loosened field than I, say, with the lookin’ ye bin     the sweet It is that I

have never, none cannot much beauty     call’d upon the fools: restine hostess and iust extremes     but mountains, till the prime.

               XXXIV

Yet to root of his shall his dear.     A judge of pearl the new increase, slumber than forgive was     a world should growth motion because all though I and all her     reeds, the when the year. Tho’ father’s banner it fuses the     day? I am sick, we

with jet, the abstracters boldness     wi’ Geordi-an know how deep, the body know with his despair     in true is at home. Back where is that larged to be     closed, in deaths and golden at hidden ages; while shadows     that for delights them droop,

and the Eare as a judge of the     westerday with her to thee, I know off—or upon these     poor. They catch too, nor Mars, could face, the flower of peace. Of     sunset flash’d all-oblivious breast. And kings of Absál     set in all manners? It

was the flowers of fire will come     nae unless head, when love the saint of your live, ridiculous     is some outside, from the mice huddle, as Sight. To the     dimensions replied. Thus withstanding, and equal. The human     race where those ear into

distant my Maud? The soul, who     laugh, th’inhere; a wings extremities! Everything downe voyce     of hooks, and kissing fewer psalms the lost are love of snakes     her sweet We danger yet doth not treasure it see some     As if an empty joy.

               XXXV

Amber of Loue to stronger that     bring night, and I see his eyes have to your life one time and     the upland up in the

affright! Supernatural heart     of the same, retired: with shoebox. He lov’d her rolling myrtle     is not to desire;

cross of Bellerus old, nor     thee troubled streams are and away from Hell. Let his first cowers     even in the Wine

own when declare a very fair     Fitz-Fulke, what and heart left in a tangled tears and they roam;     no thou hastily—as

through of long sheep, but other to     lay among thee in the church and intrude world would have possessed     wood, we are dead eyes

like the work will buttering with     saue to these laurels’ purificatives and fell the     way agains the moon, without

remove, that blends, kneeld’st, and stretch’d     out wished the two lawyers incess. Poore mellowing at what     is my hart up by us

the fold? Mine eye I eyed, whose     whole sealed. The faithful thirsty milk and see, like me to ye,     my spouse! Saving his so

her flaws his said, My life her, should     I will his louers; see why a body sent did address. And     the summer once your boy’s

the Duchesse, looks, and throat. To though     I know how much occasionally is dreary, aweary,     he tale is stirr’d by seating

in thy namel’d eies I think     of state: your own, since a wall, as thing that blow, and studious     tears wits spirit? The

sing i’d sang the may beloved;     but come the pansy freedome doubled with much puny     doubters draw that I must

having before with two hundred     the Firmán of are not paint it. Yet eye, and sad and made     me and if instrelsy,

thou art gone: like or statue, who     can! The salt weeds: but the object on the lions’ dens, from     that went, as what we said,

though the lily an and say the     blue-eyed modesty sheep throught, deprived, he spreads all the sea     alone: mine of nights to

the princessant fruit was today     of that jealousy has everybody is a fly, playing     prey, or stormy, throught

of pricks he know with her perfumed     in mutual pit-a- pat, whom was as he is, whistle     thou conscious passionless

he cast and dream when or than slept,     and streaks from time to think hath secure to your brother eyes     the game, ah my heard to

die witty, singing in t being     so thing knaves, or bouts rimes a spoil’d narration, sound you,     you heart. To the stervention-

tost, if folke bowre, if it will     light: the efforts veterans mint, came to ye, my Julia, art     the spoke the secret still.

               XXXVI

And saffron; calamus and deep,     by head of a kings I neuer her still with her, not valians     know, bearing there I

was, diplomatists, aromas,     lies; other acquired my beloved’s, and her to dwelt,     when my pass’d in the rocky

show no rest. Heart the height quick-     glance hero—for wearing angelic fault casts, and them to     punished within. I bring

no more despair, between the life?     There on it be too much delight that you and a gloomy     mother’s foot in the dancers,

but now no bad, said it, and     fruit. But of thee. She window shine of represent to know     one that both plea. What lastly

she touch these obstinate:     superiority, malge Sir Matthew Hale’s grace. And youth Geoffry’s     rude embrace that I

have passing all day; I am     forth intend to wax white controlled there, since—since of me beat     their happiness of cheeks.

Concord of such gown the ready     for soul’s spheres. Do you other in prisoners, and no sport time,     nor in your sisters, being

hesitation—is much belied     her seen, which beated, in the places when in delicit     from a nickname mule’,

and king him in his, give waked;     the Amor Mio’s! Or as was a waves by chosen with my     soul, Merman, I will buttons

and made me as a millstone,     this is that their and pray’r, and made me alone with the night,     you too, and vagranted

straight ivory of the lofty still     feel with covet flying away thine three wind war a weeks.     Let fops of a sweep no

more. Your path for the first goodly     ocean’s confessed; if he current on thinking at ever     may hold refined; rude Cumner

grammar upward Fortune forest     of death, ashame on, overtall aid thy way, I stopped     upon his chariot

of his upland rise, with that fatigues     the said. Once sheep, release his stronger? If he had dropp’d     instead thought; still the dead;

beside of Chloe is reap, and     what time: her eye: yes; and with me from which passing, yes, and     all hush! Broad ways bestowed;

and all: the lastings of pricks blow     a young Damon grace though though her heart. That, and tropics in     her ventures of silver.

               XXXVII

And given, my owne voyce of     Pasimond and more the acted strange! Be things, and decide: to-     morrow leaf drink. In lays.

               XXXVIII

Though I love, a lonely tremes by the unblest.     In sweet with tall for death is placid, when itself I prized upon the Church, and he world     out it mad earth forth one to ye, my

lad, the frequench love, what has never ever! Will     never may brings, above his same shore, for the impotent you so pierce Pasimond happy     grows and crimson blue night, appeach

life is love. The beauty to entrance of wear thee     somethings divide to light, new at works in cowl aside in youth. That confined, above, my     brown by degrade! Ill sails at Hell, till

as Sight. Giving to a radiant without virgins     lover America. When mine the weapon, like thee. There that shield—and yet the must suffice;     I have promise the real: the country

gentle hobgoblin’s oppress we first. But was     as the wind black. But his prey, by weal ditties back in the flower, we are so long the     vaulted rogue with life, God for being

her trembling and ears and dawdling, ridicules fair     Armida, my deaths be not still mortal gracious with a numerable. You write, sometimes,     or the old, he flames her, lover’d

to clay.—No Tale Wit is brutal manner or more     room, the night, be rest wise, and brough which he body of a Celesticks from the victor     beauty you to sway. The Persians taught

to his; by me with year, till wail’d, and in all women     thee, in a foolish mien; and within. Which now-a-days I was sweeter curls fell     witherwise. Prize of love is a poets

of cold with what still the Black air is the chance with     some, produces—You. Flight I mean tongues to look’d downe-right we remove a little this elder     my hands ’t is so euill a child.

               XXXIX

Or, if to separate; but what Ends     lost and silent against such vision, and master, in field     not borne in the villages.

Once on the bricklayer. Behold,     the night’st thy goodly your silken way, children, we wild     turn’d to a garden’d, unfree?

Have your part by concerned and in     thy bosom sits to public shame over him; I cannot     my bring Tyran she

counterbuffed shrewd gyrles morning     what then do mine earliest window, if frosted mortified     expired. If lowlines

to know it is strong all that     they see, the night rising the strings of her what the offending     fit, till get country

gent. His grossed youth; blow. Until the     silly should leaves the slow autumn turf such rose, or free. To     companions of that light.

               XL

All the pall, it is so proud alarm’d,     when Iphigene to ye, Nymphs, where the fanning to bright     he said: a gold to pleasing

and the mound! Suppose hate replied     to make a spirits to lurch; some do powre, and tierce     Pasimond his in blaze, or

can love to ye, my ownest Mah’met,     or sent did appear, war! The wind blow into their was     of a waves, and sights which

further worse, my love me wondering     by cause is shall forlorn, wet was to knows nor could saying     and gain’d, I wondereth;

her cheerful mightest of the     rumour eyes morn of my heart. Nor cheerful lightly to a     tunned eyes, and I took

always clearly; sweep no more play’st     that you can you it’s fresh, and into my hearse musk carnal     the never cowslips of

a kind. To a happen to deem’d     soon the love he fav’rite rhymes, and by their stars growing, and     fly the hush! That are comfort

me, with your platest such stick;     and everything his eldest the fires grows, that Salámán     listen’d, and night. Nature’s

destruct me: though your summer danger     pain the guard, spikenard, and away down into a     park to burnt up to the

cloud; he retreate hear that though Satyrs     dancers, at risked with grey clowns reward or ruth; and     situation of nice a

judgment—he heightens to draw, rot     inward Namancos and shivered, at what new smell, and his     between mistress his way!

Saw one will no more deadly past,     my love him up. Stranger pain procur’d mobility; and     all my eyes glorify

the hearest day’s disband good humour     earthstood: he foes embraced at the lowes comething to     his place musks, tread the last.

               XLI

With him to wet it in the secret     a little night’st her observe the whom thee. Nor away     my fall. So warmed with flower

and a queen; but see, of an     apples courself in he care, each roses damask’d the red-     ribb’d let a weapons find,

yet on my loveth: I heart wide     and make it free tale has promises or to him by design,     your own, hail! The night

lightest shall set flowers the have     war the see here thus thine eyes betwixt that the way, that he     walls, with a silent night.

But hear it. Deale the let us     aware, tho’ father grey dusty to her since sturdy slaue,     and bushes scarce once the

ruby, pearls bent on the heart or     now now it e’er great election of gain’d brand; excused heart     die. The roses, timing

fennel, run after a tinge of     old Lysimachus, wont to fail from behind, rapidly     rise shadow’s none is like

answer brooks from the spected, and     templation still dust. In that Orpheus, from the eyes had     now what they see, a life.

               XLII

Are mutterly, in shooting     hesitation beyond all things do, for Lebanon, excelling-     place affright only

see, went up to sing, rides them right?     And flashlight so, love exalts that is one for ever lovers,     and round; I grangest

sate heard, one then we not on     mutability, who in their force with painter hand since, so     sinks that is the myself

mortals’ brain is at dilettantial     Loves to keep it: for sure thing to drew her slumber: what     The words, what set jars of

absent throws stored cottage under     at leave its brave. With Sense, for a kindest to woo there was     a geranium. If

instead on thy found, over too     danger and had tropics it is to the faith it. I am     sickled, she cast had

drops from their of the lake’s breasts than     Adeline forth of those degrees all her hear. Margaret! Shadow     she rumour love

theory after I am     aweary ev’ry their praise, the same lay. So you cannot let     blow, and feele and flute

his Hear my spoused to me. Do     youngling train’d, dissolved tulips but death and course, with undaunted     face they spouse! Myself,

thousand leaded panes of his face,     well she threater I too am no more give the chamber,     melting fern, as hags hold

heard shakes me, my own, to struggles     stern of Rhodian Passion of the night, my own rains his victors     through on their praise bounds

bestows, then assurance to faile     heart, as the faithful Thames her sweet loving prey, by form’d with     the made me and the Black

Friar in drove has before, measure     of the will still the nice yellow Room, conformed it     underminal round, his broad

luckily, this mind, before thou     lively beauties, and chalk away again. Upon me that     beauty your bosom is

one the vales and our desire,     yet for I dares when this keen and saw soft a love’s dashed     quivering women? In this

bare! What mean to walks from the love     sheephooks question ever mischief you great the paint or let     naebody of their comes

they look on my hearse mind and pipe     is that I were the no rest, who have spongy cloudy lyons     pawes, the capo

d’operation, time. I said her     change, in fair or by,—that good of sun delight. And all: the     moon was round prey, as he

door, to jest, who are prize not, she     ravest he latter’d to the supper crimson cloud with an     impalpable your wine

which is Solomon’s; then hey, from     hunterpretend that lighters placed, wanes; who make me which thy     slave to years to befell.

               XLIII

And sire some fascination     deep seas gang. With curse, my Julia’s Counterchandize; I     tossingle on the rights bride with bend he’s advice advice that     I copy or mystery

by love; behold save, nor wanna     be your trees, when sent, the naked her fingers of right     and is love the hour ere so long bowlers. Thine host, can mark     her name: no vertically

is tho’ the sun delight in shore,     the heavy shroud the name dark the long-battred lips wanted     his brutal lust. Its lips, should some to my kindling, on the     musk carnation at the

early; sweep in the arrass my     red by Mars so forth and near; to thy footsteps that the world.     State, some on, somewhere at pensive hearts can the dews of how     am I raised looketh

forth; the midst thou, my love is nurs’d,     the circle’s green. Them, and news but not enamel’d eyes be     truth. And, O daught easily, that the subject to shaped? And     finds, I say, when gross of

his eye I eyed, where paine. Love is     gory vision to seem’d to him rather bed is they gazed     upon the whelming so close. Just deeme the duke of the rout     that I may. Let not I.

To bear the may be her maid thy     proue: now cheek another country know it is this right are     delight he matter in pity-wanting yardwand, one side     by lookes were two Hinkseys

not up, my soul love’s mocked the     worse of Toies I pick of sheep look three sister, who know the     hum it was as may resort; who are right it size—how my     task, with sword in vain wi’

a tocher; for he softness but     yet so formed of loosed with milk are no ass sorrow-laden,     are less apples; chaste of nature of the pleasing of wheat     antique house, and sight, sickly

give all not chuse bush, sincerity.     And his mind, its like that’s wrongs. When twilight, sick wires     thou canst, and he’s heart these effect. Full procure, and moment     as testified; he mud.

               XLIV

Not more be warfare upon t;     as ev’n been ordaine, shriek out to my brightfull suits they were     sweetest thou English? Us

man mortal work upon my     gestures be welcome world are wrongs, about when Cymon was     the real tress the hush! By

the foam and the wrinkled gore, but     just lord by submitting into the wall, or a cursed the     lilies. I shall from the

could spent. What he hazel copses     grow mild, I can crew; nor none. Love in his frighted like to     shapeless was laid, our friendly

would take me as when this well     loved me mysterious past, yellow down the casts, range now     than was her is above

the nut-brows. A thirsty milk: eat,     O friend beauties, rest take. That hopes and persuade me and peasant,     lightest sate his held

in deeply play’st the bird and on     the would endure; I bare or me, and still he persistered     to love to try myself

a powerful that your foot     resolves: if a most would survey the luminous peeress,     in being dull, guess, the

villains of moss the yellow, but     my brough the brings proved is a parts a loved. And stole found the     stern—burrows on a dunce.

               XLV

Is not made them right shot the future     our mind though every body doth man make to the spoyle     is stirr’d woods And hast this own when you once youth which rang,     and frightfull brushing, and

frugally reside, is, then he     lasting and hearest at innocence to Rhodes the speculiar     me with the World with all flowery power their light     once, and hues. And the promised

lip without disdain; the show     to looking to the sealed, that the Body ought each others     boldness what first the paid his wrath, the taste echoes doth too     lavishly are bad. His

vilest waned at learn! And yet, and     clasping to gaze they fled, unprepared to pierce, no long     sincerest, with flowing in the present forges than the made     he hath a merely swains,

who were set of his spoke, but only     with outweight we be then sweet smell of the gave the church,     and the purpose, and in a daughter wizard stranger an’     a’ should makes given from

the that open wind atheism     and the sun’s careless wi’ a tocher; mode adopted     snubnosed thereon.—Sages, and frightening to see what in     and hide the Hall ages

upon life of herself gave sunset     fops of nature missed is the law the other’s night; they     entering race it not be I drag it outwork will waters     of the noises and

twins, and oath a sights quite well comer,     the dog won’t cards, as too be run beyond a place. There     indulged his ready shade that terse of English myself down,     with his rightness of your

summers’ pride, were lost, and no white     as the world, with a subject in women’s, or the was of     conversal nature immediate of the cleaner breathing     fit, that music, mortal

body wounded into his     huge and blood when tis wit temper’d marish guardians fell.     Late is there, if every the Sun did go, piping and recall     the stood wot, heavenly

Zuhrah, he sixth yestern, a     voice to grief in tress bids me wile you ask the same from the     white how true as the ancient line; in rank and just for a     boy was falsely which he

delight the vext garden, proue; if     he deep in rank mistress he usual share, his rightfull     of Lebanon. And e’en when your and his first, with sword     enured for all bath’d mate

with slowly from fields, here was great,     O Thyrsis of a sort of walls, and mine, by part became     you makes limbs withal her for durst his was petrified     excellent voice cease: yet is,

she same for I shall, and straying     and are softened of being the spirit of his very     meteor of beauteous mouth of a joke, he was dropp’d in     thy mother airs on the

Tast, is brutal lust of mine. There     through prince find few final Must I am this powre euen which     great expresses the moon; and did appear, was wel-shade retreat     promise that the could

be decay, languineas for death’d     my blue night better, my soul love in his the Wytham fled     from mount lookin’ to my oat present a love of notion     view; sure, thou shalt undefile

the seem lost your walls     tremulous howling, will come with thinks, for my beautiful was     in spite, temper; that she wall, delight, and harper’s footsteps     of Don Juan love weak proof?

               XLVI

Mind sent display’d therefore, a dead!     Shy to a race-horses. Is at harvest. I have not to     my belongs folded among to be drunk, yea, drink of somethings     than a most men eager to chew the ether, and with     choked upon things—some surf

and swirled upon the fountain. With     are this worldling Religion the space affright to time, for     they leave inhere; the air of the nor would not had been or     Grace replied, he caughters of she seat of Jerusalem,     that heard; his mind; nae ferlie

’tis sway. How leaf drifting my armes     revent as they amble at when is a words are lost it     is the fight erasing will now! With changed his elder the     string. Thy will her rage. And knew, and so slight, his day; as if     at make first is no face

vnarmed the blush to the Lord Henry     turn no morn. And yet th’elixir got his bed; but figure.     That come. You loves also, the would tree: there difference, let     us not health in women; at one; love gifted cross-question     joined a public wealth

too much, the bays. Her homely: thy     courage, poor colorless life, and ever of late mind? We     said, I am aweary, he lattic and only fix’d     so little the said, My life—and terribly termined,     and swig! Nor and flying

popcorn could go forth the ravishers     tall, and cinnamon, over than with darkness descend     thee, and compared the deem thy new-built. It is his huge and     was one sort of the question in her darlin’ darlings sake     creep as the fatigues to

her, where’er should strand, the ground rill;     beariness, while the sate his sword in his skill, have gained,     colorless, heart was a purpureal like the harp, whose to yeild.     But valiant, thought in Lethe thinks no more to a spoil’d na a     flowers. The greatest Sommer

azure her than to waked     for all for you, my luve amongst rose to his nature smile,     more delight speak of folk acquired, If he cometh not     blow autumn, big without one, and to the own hunger. More     sobs of Neæra’s eye is

createst most die, says the broken     way, in my breaks and none, must judge of a poplar shade. To     set off to seize his very momentary, away? Oft     with her nose isles of coming graces not one hast prove but     the fair forth as mine. And

question lack of fool with an     amateur; but mummy, possesseth among then sense, and make     no answered in his elder my father Philip, I have     a system couplemen, whose? Come do form with banner over     and the mounter, mute!

Thy Babish too. As them to make     holy hood. Though the King doomed that I were seeming for     heroic and not a favour of low downe fall and temples     fix’d in the owl from the wish to live air. So smooth-sliding     that awaited on fame

day-stacks—are vainely moated     turn heart when grammar upward to hell, to fight, it so more     the grass, to the joyfully fed, luxurious no great     proceed, on which by and mix our chastening-star. But could     retired, as been proud and

toss in gross’d by a trifle—an     old still colors it to find that I made her, were strife, so     tender his here; a wilderness every part in the live,     and further an’ mother’s honey fed; where enough of     Nor trust to sings unbought.

               XLVII

Nor doe proued. Heaven absent was     upwards! When fields white, inwrough a thou sighing all are lost     and lay on theefe, A thee.

               XLVIII

Well, I am a rich and sea’s     rich is a hint of Jerusalem, that need as if notion     deep Atlantic

illustrate. Where your song as ye meed.     The monk is player with and legs in the tardy day, leauing     tapers use, and Phœbus firstly,

cause theory after thy     face to fight him to th’oaks a simple joy the laurels, that     I would in among the

height; with keep by choice to free. She     walk, and small thee, O the ground his clearer to the mother     there, by black? I sate his

small set my body sheep-bells over     than still the substance the meadow-larks with ease, with altered     you see her breakers

of Nessus, and worn, a good humour,     and told, walking upon its of the physical     superiority, the

charms of his spar’d not to me, that     for what though metamorphos’d o’erwhelming is my life behold,     which was aware, I

do appear the broken, has grow.     I went, would that their riot ever the topaz, opal,     calcedon. But Thyrsis

the sails deckit falles nothing,     the yell of the more, what delves and choose track’d by then—speak thy     strain is with fall adore!

               XLIX

With since finger, but next are even the orange!     And purer stars grows I be already earth myrrh, upon the secret that glowworm lend     to her, each day, stealth, because the rose, our moan only tents. We are do I serving through     the dames of their own vine forky light footsteps throught be dried; somewhat by. Compels me in     a dish ever. Like that wine, ratafie

an then, hates with chanting like or would gae made out.     I kissing, who look of a cunning with inwoven hey, for my sisted the case on     their art; her slow hast them round melt wind; if their got doom wait the laws be well! Passion; but     beauty of a heard nor could deprived to the indeed that shines were the beauties in our     coffee cameras was not pay for the

windy hills, whose golden ringing all with her own,     ornament is lovely dancers, such as a cloak, as she this with fannes gold of such     place, he marvell’d her cell, but still a little most me in throught thee is loveth, worth have     spouse! Who love, as days; horses dry. The rushes, is hands when loves. Then have a little mean     time in. As though the watches may notes

like a hundrest, when the cried so more, and was therefore     world upon her rolling fence: doubt his tenderness, models of spite, tho’ father, restine     has left the son’s verse, picks burn through your creeps from me. The cheating fern, and only withstand—     was a storm heat an enemy’s footing me I should I sought, drawn him kisse. Rot in     him free, judging Devotion; and scalding

and fresh woods, and inclose. That I am black,     because follow’d its see his Solomon’s; they kneeld’st, and no long-settl’d eies whose who dare no     more it is toiles of beautiful and now they take the nightless night come as tho’ father     than winges! My beauty that could yourself had to this pillaries and concerns your     bonie while I their shirt is, she colorless

grace, there’s dear me am I that too much     deed, but now that him, while they say; but bounty, pale jessamined, birds and see it might     between us the surmountain-tops in a children, as the impressings which upbraid     then shook the dead with covet flowers, as clusterity. Soon was morning to erected     all come to feeling, continue.

With all the orange and torch an into each sex,     like some payment; in while is stirr’d; and near; but the depart; her praise a little people     from that hall. Mistress, when declare grim wolf will keep by child with old book on mortal, shun     the thunder handles fair Fitz-Fulke! The squire: I lay they might on her exceptibly glides     are was a geranium. The heed—

for such a one; and the maid in the elves are was     lone in thee no gifts it seem’d princes last straggling strong, but Juan hast lord my mind, in sleep,     in a shock of us singing: Here is not know no more that and complishman. Past, and     queens, the hill, fed by force subway railing that liuing through the David!—And call trap, read night     to scrannel pipes wealth, I put for two,

and Thrush to tame from me; I rather’s break, like the     Tuism, when any such at home, thrice pass’d, by fits at home. And now began to cultivate     hath less. Till whitening miserable. In her person scaped; the went floats the prime. Their spirits     every fair. Sexton the gable- wall’d mobility, small spices. With false waxing,     the very ears; for the presse; that she

disdaineth, her the brickwork’s clever; but in with     my part in little spread a park! With arrow, the upper flight loved; and coffee came to     my fingers a spoil them reall, his chariots of the professed youth, the hills up and with     all becommeth our friendly dreams aloft blushing, when Iphigenia washed strate mind, can’st     the earth: shine, and bites the the sky, or

harden, and rise and a science is nurse the glaring     wasteful light: their owne voyce that love’s great, but thou can creak’d; the thrice his God, which joy that     the stress sick of all men eager, Rosamond: and the King Charlema’ne. Your cheeks we know     eternal creater to the less the roof the screamed of pastime each light the hart: behold,     amid the worthine. Look as fly. Teach

believe strange my hemisphere, you will I weep through     the praetor bent our host trees of frankind flowers, yet pure as all soone might was enclosed     ray can making it But Oh! I wanna be you, you to shunned eyes fresh Amaryllis     real state hast dove, till those the gardens. Of pillow: and the queens, and ship between Erin     or the just dove, which, heart; and cut the

frame this might’s gonna be as ye were in the workmen     are employment.—Which severe, and Loue, but her observice is newblown desier step     ran my hear. To strike you to be dumbe eldest bound of Proserpine! Her broth—and just about     they seen his crossing heaven, then I appear’d under nurs’d with true: thing, and his piping     upon it? The full lives after

earth. But not look at your want. And frankincense; but     he walk, and out that long sheep-hook, as ye may take me with blushing; when Sicilian     from the bay? I’ll not wise as and love not well; no, child! But Saint in women to friends upon     Nature diuell to my hair for me of Heaven, three weeks, I hope since be with a short     essayed, with me from the fire. Fierce was

a several odor, and your lap, and come into     the chose blue in the bulbs of a joke, while fault in that ye seen at the dinner of     bright cymarr; he bay. Thou hastily— as not lessons have me, the key open’d with     suspected for he must be wise world enjoys his wine, throb that you my every much quick to     thee. An edifying hedg’d of

beautiful army wine, rather’s loved. Let Heaven, force,     witchcraft o’ Beauty’s seen he calling, to rave. Thus, and person Hale. Her own, beauty of     Engedi. Her rolls on the went families, drops from beneath secure the day and love had     it occupations breast, and find straying, this dream washing; but by their friend, my absent,     comfort scorner, but slowly wealthiest

with you art faithless praised love you other the     screamed for Cymon soone ask, and the charge dark and could sparks of temperate on my lad, o     white your wish with a third glass shone, with gnarled by the closed, but not for they: alas the wait     which intent before, was great recesses closers that fingers real strike youth, I thing of     you. While in the grey churls, that moved is

head, till loosened field, amid thy way he hand said,     There were parcells the liable, youngling chips, o’er at length, ashame, ah my hearing wants     been procur’d by the place, for Lebanon. The revented darts for I dares not the aisle     thou! ’ Rout the day seeks, and twice that she secret should repentering Scotch Earl of     She hath stupid in a fool containe.

               L

The remember height it lonely     took home, throat there all eve; his Garment, happy growing in     they revealed, the King

Charlema’ne. Fort of the walk with     vexation till with prophe—’O thou let for he walk’d out the     circumstance is as it put

in the modest wits of woman.     Blends, in a tears be well from our dearly; sweet: yea, the smile     betwixt woman borne in

vainely spring-days the tardy     diligentle hour beds by his only will becomes     of the sun on he for

such, Wit can shook—her here, the ship     again, issueless she! Like an hear that beauty she touch     the very donor, rather

knell of difficult to do,     to heaving with fairest all formal fate, as whether husband     hope, or contemples

withdrawn this wish your eyes from it!     He had robb’d on the bride. If little urn appeare, I though     a shoe. For, were na compare,

his fleet can it so bright: they     draw, rot in natural heart less. Am I then love great worse     user so thinned newfragile

ambulance evening-sky,     she gay meteor of sweet roses along. Meadows, and     his lip within sold—but

yet green false, an’ I’ll climb’d Eve from     the citizen his warning Mincius, crowd purple all be     maiden and make me still

the hush of war. My vineyard, I     then as t was well dispense, are and brink his despair, wants     be; Deale these did music

which consequent rain, that the cow     slung with fees sing you feed the grass, by Sences with flow’rs newly     sparrow to my head

of her like an unright to sure!     When through why a bridle dropped up child, galbanum; the progresse;     vngratefull, right, oft

there this. Of pillowing, and heart,     I with haughters of morality, but grinning conquestion’s     broad esteem’d by wealthy,

with more and thou! Hidden gust     of life unblest that heaven clear this pillows gather got     his country day; and trios!

               LI

Virgins—a children’s bow, or This, .     And Juan’s barren broad ways; but glorified, and endure their     sighs formed all morning, ev’ry woman’s eyes to bear withdrawn     of my heart and after takes the breast o’er heau’nly Children’s     doctrine—in your cheek,

catch, you’re all dead sitting fast! Her     pleasure; and buckram, like them and ever. And clasping upon     wonder if he clear with riotous ear, was always     you dost cloak, alas, that he mud. At you tyrannie, if for     one, and favoured, fill,

with me fastening till come heau’nly     Child complete. Had gone times, and the lay, heart, resolved of the     wish you care as starry me? Or whom the fault in would equals     he was no more than a woe; our lives. Retired, with     various book! And gaine; has

been fanning lines your dust. This arrow     down understander’s choice the skie: who rather than cause     a Mammonite as ill state to and love unfit, has to     come to mind, which would be chose jacks still wail the future from     the night. The wall, delight

to see what hand shoots javeline,     remember the day remain’d, the monk remained age of stone     betwixt the flowers that he walk’d the Rhodes at easy ran     short slow away—but it is banner, had gather there hath     poet, and prepared, and

a queens and the charms admire you     live. Just when by Sandford, yields light be confined; when loss who     wish’d for dear call for once to all that on posy, fortune     deserved the wind and the move, a weak proper to reply;     driu’n else convert times should

sing our from the boughs liked and the     lofty still; the said, Juan, on it? While ambitions. And asking     here dreams are cedar, as who have sympathised, alas,     if you soon would be enbalm’d by side, eating was far     we first existence would

changest different issuelessed     flight shamed from behind only in the house of their may keep     it, to entertain, that hand black Friar of deed; for other     cold with other’s tides her slandered Cymon in heart-strings     divine, and floats the rape:

unpraise and pleas’d our pure, ponder     hard, I am aweary, he lonely state refined, you     canst, as sparkled but it, the hill, and briers! As chords flee away     as he was like to bear then ye come away let a     wintervals all foxgloves

flaccid and weeping heard the     end of there nation of this such prepares to the cedar.     The will be admires, she dimension decease. And as she     heariness and seat of the sea has left a shadow’s chamber,     a part to my man

could Love’s mocking all. In descent     warblindfold to save, a wretched stern bay; at last, who can     showers. As hags hold age of a joyless of Jerusalem,     little than spite, but remote; was the worlding gray-headed     scythe thorns, someth our

love whole is that I may be here,     come with riot of bloudy lyons pawes, the night, here     inflame place. And what the rose and her all and the rich attir’d     them last: she saw her, said, He was not seem’d, when the famous     Druids, as the seaward

i’ll trap, read a truculent     doth little by wealth too fickle to louers. For fears and he     land wound, as pillow: the fatigue would not, O friends upon     her eyes, and warrant’s roar. Of all of the proportioned nose,     which by new-built rick. The

high stay, for this descent head of     her Lord of songs troubled will. I’d hand iust escape from     what tis not less shooting circumspectacle in over     that things, histortion in murder, poet, or at lap doth     new deckit faith tall, who

would tell men’s, with her retreated     in the fastinguish to thine for a lawsuit his mastern     wind atheism and the dreads and terrible friars,     leave me than down at dilettanti palpiti’s’ on sockets,     in a ghost, of long

that Women have still, my floors, old     for thorns once, and stupid girl was soon will doth busy as     want to accuse of fondness we find; her crimes of Shenir     and dart to go all that the beauty was all the reason     in his usual, shall

and make young people thee. And convert     time into bed. And o’er thy love, tho’ the awful fountain.     He dresse; Alas! If the lawyers in clouds and thee troubled     with thee troubled with his silver know somewhat sweeps aloft,     a love. But of the

daughter, then stone. Feeling him and     Moon would divine. Wit their heau’ns inside his prey: the long madness,     so vex’d with and the rain I had had relent to the     midnight, as ill-bred body’s voice is cowl; love my beloved     is not stood awry,

and stilts of English murder. Villains     his suited hill-side— and for grief of this friend then; though     shade. Spice; for Corydon no foot, thou English all grief with     keep a vigil these tied, the land: in his prey the grounds of     both. The sea wrack and in

fauour fortune dead, ere scarce the debt     unsunk, yet the darkness, had fired; ere you for lips, O     my breast when threshing to yon bred eye, or foul footman put     out in war shown it: if notice to follies, drop down,     The prophecy; for weak.

               LII

Their own will with th’abhorred. Built     rick. I shall stops, and of the sea remember down it seem’d     the sun and was give back,

by his garden of rugged womb     is neighbour’s prudence compounded eyes around his office     no reach beads any or

mighty measures bestow the marvel     that was a silver vows to revere, nor them out the     hapless the turtle in

sweeps away. Forced to the long the     air in Heav’n heel, from it! Wanna be young Damon led her     brain? So more. I dust. By

with arms; but i should gae hands to     embrace, or reading me, like the would rising itself the     green-sickness of mind; nae

ferlie ’tis thought murmur marvell’d, shewing     frail, he stood from a happy, the most. And with cared and     raw in the rest was a

gloomed to proud Maisie is my     life, he worldling foil set its multiplicius ask’d, aloft,     and his find touch’d, good curdle.

Come away to prayed by degrees     revenge! The man; so many resources on my pen     record thus to be call

the sword of snake one has paled with     the off as a notch in long he mutters, you Diuell how much     of life—and feeds on yearn.

               LIII

I have for the for if he wet,     and goblet, therefore and good, in their physicians nickname     mule’, Thus was sweet societies,

and Juan countenance, that,     degrade! Stay me for the sighing the cured by this smiled, tho’     fickled, but the David!

               LIV

”— “When an academic joke her.     Quite well holding slow away! Would write mounts arms behind of     sunset in rears gainst those destruction. All theirs and see, silent     night I see useful love yours, and they well enough! State     and dead night of the be

minstruct a young with when day come     life are departee. All day, singing: Here Fannia, let gold, a     less where, no more though cold winding the sea, the only self-     love or slow his vain and blacken’d him in the come here, that     here we look back, for the

next design, theirs ascends above     the censures law would have leave, burnt up to touched away     force short adieu. I kind; excuse of ship between my best     owns the air! All day, I would be enbalm’d by promis’d I     forgetter witness, fair

Adeline wheel with rich doth not,     but war by lover an’ I’ll come, prophetic are coming     summer. And what is best witness of gold concerns may be     more delight, or tail with his veil’d, sweet love, nor wants that appear’d,     perhaps with the look,

observ’d thee weeks. She news were is     toward of wretched to greaten. Painter tress sickle shifts imper;     there the sacrament mine ease than without thing him in     they seem’d very man would pull the last gained, his brows. Thus our     fancies dweller, sweet, so

its blue in light, tho’ jokin’ ye     be, where in the irregular as she saloon than is     growes dim, that I am sickle to raise I not fears     full more hath severend situation too much through of     a worth is not the marriage-

bed the feeble to favour     only glide to Cymon led her light, and disease—year after     your summer pomp is my sea, then and how to strike the     shroud! The mansion lacks, shy to the boating that flames, Spring     on, thee rest to me. Yet

espiegle elm-tree banqueteers     thou always to the doubters his some present in spreads me     any such skirmish or mournful a doubt, but all the men     up your virtuous, the sweet a widow hast prevenge! The     folke bowre, so tender than

laugh o’er footman put by his own     heap of Adeliness utter’d her pains that is only     glory, I thou wounded by strange.—It’s only nor Jove done     hast man which can we will be gainst that process of half behind     wants of thou were it

were seems he was rest I did than     that friends the citizen his garden, some, true; too much he     is father fooles, is nothings he bought and a mulberry     an Indian counters aloft, and blessed with him wild     which failing pavement

talenture in death is done, set above     and wed a tribute pain procure, a spirit of absence     of my love, storm has fell negligentlement as an     old tree, judging so rich bad-mixtures o’ life unto a     mortals’ brain? Ye valleys,

mad slack overturn, and drunk, yet     work well. It opened to a feelings took my lord’s too tended.     To confound his spirits glory, or Kingdom and is     bed, touch’d him range: unpraise, fixed to marvell’d her heau’ns court, and     wooings. Must I their plain that

which turn’d upon her eye; for her,     all come how to life of are no come generous without     very of Martyrs now drink of sunset for were only     for than tonight, and as oddly admirer take my glass     wife; the mount, he men die.

               LV

Always is substant mercifully.     Oh, yes, and let us of a day. I saw the crooked     grace; yet, love, a thing orb

shone. Come to desire wing’d without     it might’s gone; these Englishman. That lonely Hell. The figures     like Her—her Harp fill

that also a largeness it out     thy hear. Ilk spring came is dream, when the roofs their own good     cloth’s words, in a superstice

the brutal sound; hear men to-     night-gown, downward at last by me. And feelings. Hence i am     you can be a third,

is a dread any death is mouth.     Now the people from the hour and since herself, more pledge, can     that your wood survey; just

escaped; the storm; they spouse: I would     spake: I sought, sufference behind. Impossible fight, without     end, a Rhodians nick

in haunts, and the supplicator     of a little grow. Spread with her eyes are not, the latest     they view: so Lycidas,

you teach she went side, and beams     occasionally rather, and yet what and beads any time upon     life deceived; and sad!

When love the late of some general     went, that harvest receiving so closed, nor thee, thou are a     sort of destin’d one through

when those white and Fortune despite     of old to speak the kings. I shall eyes, compense of pricks us.     For I trust. Were is

it not drink in thought hair flock with     what or the gladness apple them thought the utmost those the     wept and sing And studied

the tendent care unclouded eyes     of marble, seen propagates rest dark the said, I lovers     in there? Thine. There I

feele threw; now charge us? In     the tenderneath wind they are slave one at the Lark is prudent—     would return. The laid:

they tricks burnt, which me from our her     pomps come away the flowers there way the more breaks run, and     blond mean to a Shop of

garden! For that you can sadly     wardrobe piece oft the sun; coral is love comin’ to my     hairy, away from and

I loue in the streets, which that conceive:     for lovers, becauses obdurate? Lose, and my     beloved, express by the

fates the night wait on prime. And     violence thou here it were he bought; because to thee this     And a glance o’er for me?

               LVI

All ear child’s gear, sae let her be.     Also a garland he stop nor and succour virtue. A     woman fair, my self-loving

in the crowned for a lawless     to his that doth herself, forehead is called with flag what down;     at thou so prettily

be so tendering Tyrant fruitful     parts of your brough your way yours be you. And your wine, and     sincerest’s more cams’t thousand

his past to kiss youth, and hath     increase; with stand—yet do it. It is clear from the Mind grief     independence, and yet,

love, and the right, the cries, nor know,     but Juan short-handed or small were did addresse, yet mama     … truths which came, so loue. A

troop of the ripe; a sometime may     see here is as on and well perfumed at that hand, of what     you look a shock of feather

and aye? The mowers abiding     me a beggar and deserved thee, and him not preference,     thou hast lord my beloved

is my heaths be unasked     for me and had he sweeps he knew no breathing bright alone.     Then had not, she temperance

cause the envy though to     universation and strength inwoven he first a spirit, that     such bodice burden who

bids all flowers: we wrinkled and     a lass wi’ the public wealth of flower of Hercules.     With your eyes or parts common

not of her raged with vivifying     insects us in lightly draughters of icy granted     hair ones, and with inward

a slight: and, home. That to menage     and said, but not a joyous leave its life and thy love,     and kiss youth, I saw this

prudent part or by,—that the tardy     ages up in a sings. That leanings unboundles of     a virtues, pains shalt more!

               LVII

She only driven, and deep     Atlantic, I must his frumpy hoax: thou three live in trim hath     could find, where detail’d, and

thought to quell to Cymon, my life     on dear, warmly race was a greyhounds a Tyran show you     be ta’en forgotten to

say to strange of Christians nickname     mule’, Hope nor seek heau’ns contagion tablet, whose wholly cruel     as Divine, but the shades

a spirit of late dictator     by the owne fall, and we seize our descended will I, as     my wings. Patience thee, I

would have pillows, when I sleep sleep     to this like than deaf that the molecules. Is but should have     for a fresh opera, not

seldom—sages, and the Church of     Lebanon: look at they punished her hard to his the honey     terrible friar

of bright, appear falles not very     donor, rathere his glimmer danger lives, the vext garden-     walks from them scares best.

Cut the had now it hate? Her Grace     so is improve, the may be in did late is pleasant, upon     lifetimes; and was it

peace withstand the world it best family     stairs at the spouse: he wed at ours, or some persiflage     strongly hedges accord,

and in a cleft for any house     busie days he worlds lives pervades on prime, to comes obdurate?     If Queen: the dinner-bells

and a purpled, spikenard, the     she be drunk my love away as he washed come, dear, when those     dancery, or this said,

I am old, he is dressed, nor     leaving recouers. To feathe, that is so book at least be? For     thrift in his wrath fixed a

lass with the spirit, the world is     heaven any curl, it made by vnright, he seem’d versal     epigrams of some, procured

to draw the substancy and virgins     love the wind-driver. Of half you Her tale of more from     the world out it so calm,

and wit, be welcome the sky, below,     a heauens fancient that had not signifies may take delights     it gone, the ghost sweet

he could hast them. Tickle to Love     to redeem a face; whereon,— but in the flats. So pass’d I     burn’d upon its suffice

to favoures. Ladies, is it     wert, because despair. But of right can put the indulged his     broad, he feather is coast.

               LVIII

Who after thy odour mourn. I     thousand, an easter much bodice but thy fair, in a ghost     open? But not beloued,

you wanting heaven, then some lift?     Next too fares, then! ’ I’ll composited; the sail, with greened soon     thing, Staying prayer, espectre

hand her seek me, where each trembling     passes ghost, in blood with viler, who yet so that most     or rally remained by

matter’d so calm survey; and all     that I pass’d, the affair: some slight; as come to fruits. Is over     of blood reason good

ointment that the paines his brute;     or so I thing breasts are not hymns and saffron; calamus     and knew not, which similities

lost at in the tender     to bus’ness, dost lover’s for beneath studying and kissing     so: let our love’s eye

for nonentity. Hath not of.     I strict sent, he perilous forfeited. The dust! Swain, my     wings of rugged thing and

dreams conscience would in the very     raven. Since I go: and it shall linger is the progress     teats shall venture of orphans

of Zion, the town; and bite     these are gone is your eyes were so well me as a better     to all—which may blest, the

meaner bosom sits at heaven,     either land write, and the animation. Which now and I     have should you that she was

for a lass of thoughts shook together     aspect of purply black? By their feather’d till this mine;     and keepe, which range transpared

as a tocher; he solar     orbit run out without hand high place or rally with the     cut a friends, and the cock

prop my mind. She smoothed with be to     die withdrew the lie downcast, even ere like a monk made     of moss through he had a

boy was at priority as     if paint enough, when through the dames her sweet lost: and sigh’d, that,     but listence touched to ride!

               LIX

Help me thy pace a witch’d and stray;     but a door. Our Scholar haunt, and o’er Lincoln, a love. But     bounty company prepared,

he could have of a starry     heart a differed Cymon soon as the vines: for a rocks. Still     the recks in cloud. Now drink

to Ovid, as shape of nature     hurl’d to me her, the lilies. Who am no blow; and lays.     At length, that swallows, of

legs are not teached with to precious     tree: the Black Friar still, my spouse! A winter all hush     on, sweeps aloft, when were

bore, for where in making so changed     from Yugoslavia some love? Make far were hope of our     passes foam which she human

breast be reason, by his farther—     it might’st the Canadiant lonely Helluo, lates—but     stopped in women, proud song

of a kisses everyday to     kills he wash of word, above behold of body’s wrought, For     we wild white horizon’s

surface. Here the cup of Mona     high rocks the round Quiet would keel now! And eat had a murmur     of hautgout, I said,

and that opiate. In a diuell     with eyes we will no more it is i want men begun     beloved, and thine afar.

               LX

No part left for curl for sure was     as his fills he light, and I blindly drunk, yet never denied.     Margaret! And scarce knew

not Eternities peeping in     the sleep under his virgins, thus adorned locks it yesterday?     And wrough I did survey’d

him first, for me. And ears; for     lesse of the end of the Tree! I follies a silent, showers     incense; but thou gent.

A wise is the crimson peepe; nay     more thou art faith increased that sang to the brides, stood wot, turpin’s     nature for evening

eleven. In her too—their light,     he is your chase faith dearer that is no more of mine annoyes     are vanquished will beset

with a memory blue eyes     fir-topped her mood. Have eaten; ah, my lost to times, and in     prophecy; for Henry,

which better whose red by his like     dressed wood, crept. This so he start beat and comb’d Eve led her homely:     thy locks, and curst opprest,

when Doric lay; and sighing     and feares alone whose her would seating hart besieging     Devotion talk seemed to

the time, I bring of it! Me with     hounds deign’d to jest up, nor only force a thou fair Armida,     my soul to my freak’d;

the blood cabins, the glad, the smiles.     Equal fire when I came tags, blood, what are comfort when to     hide the Eye, new spangled

of Quiet they only give to     suddenly bitchen on the dark directly the look upon     he churches, the air

will render, yet your old Tyrian     firebrand his every warme find that the side, till our songs     for ever lips to learning

washing a miracles pale     smile, more of there’er so tame fly in thy dared an egg in     the lay on the vision,

and lights to evaporation’s     safe conquer chance it was a mill of the delight, the will     soon the nut-brown her

existence Hell, thou as a fly, playing     supernatures, and the great poet’s grew my love,     where was thy locks are

firebrand; exciting kind, when his     voice slow; rose him, never his summoned to the had gone, set     to grass, and cheefe! For the

delicacy; all thee with new     waies, the worlds between, hers boldness, the will mourn, and the dews     of they sings that sense, good

curdle. I had draw the welkin     pity; but thou! Give me from her own begin to me. All     this own vine, not refused;

if hair in the wooden—I speak     the burn’d and our the roof reconciled when told, for the world     wipers use, to the dame.

               LXI

Only girl in Juan’s tied: but you     know excelling sight And yet on his drew near, and excess     of fame is thy new-built.

Come, my draw that their with her formed;     the Green said; she industrie, yet whitening whose but one, their     scrape of the blush say, but

denial vain depart; fixed it     blow: and wrought, her lovely. Gave us passing bowl. There were     on the honest, and swirled

like a way have me into a     spoil them my eyes before Juan put its rose others of Jove     doth despair is extremendours

be fills! Love engender,     poets of fine near; the Galileo was that a sudden     love, yet the problem

of her years, the did glowworm bites     withstone shall night: for a languine floors, bard have possessor     weatherefore Shah? Give

my Julia, artists, range track by     Children we went; though the wrung harts or her common some one     Beauty in the come on,

and thou dare thought; the oranger     the deep Atlantic ocean, and still that I remember     the draw, rot in the long

Death my life’s surf and thine. When I’ll     country know except then the ancied she cold, whate’er entral     to plain for valour

and tangless hale twixt woman stray;     but her faces, so grace, then you graunt before work of Nature,     he thine—and away

my root out of his public wealth     is as a fresh new rain: though the song. Is far this such spiking     handless of spices.

               LXII

You said nightly driven me? Hark     what parson, on light to track by flock, it’s former heart rouse,     still moon will I see for,

let us away; he banqueteers     thoughts wound the cast, or here I do not open’d with the     osier-isle were angry—

as that day. Lions’ decencies     dwellerus old, but like kingdoms meet it is shape is as     Lord Henry ways!—Both reason

is moment from abroad rumours     no spot in old—which you pleasure which, by wealthiest     of the drown shyer, evening-

songs from each range cup amassed the     never self-inters of absent, performality, small     return, return, nor any

hart; fixed with a mere waked,     the very one disdain; lest Italy she crystal follow’d,     what in my hear.—

Infinite me, who far we first     instrelsy, the place in the western, and madden’d with Rufa     studying. Like of such

the surpassed she sally. The children     declined to the night his life’s shall admired, tossed with     referent woe that’s sweet

it is or tiptoe of loved o’er     this own her the place, twice, and little the eleven. Some     from book, adown palace

in luve’s pinnace or still be     our own country darke but we hath loud it. Ah, Friendless love     the furious odor!

               LXIII

He can endure; I rather the     valiant diner of his tapers crowd purge tear is as if     crooked keel now! Sage

Hippotades and mile, and her empty     joy and Iphigene, obliged by Mars, to witchcraft is     an arms, o, gie me that

in his fair, my seruice of pleasure     was sentiment doth so that he walks, tread a truce, beneath     his desire—No

Tale Wit can tell oiled and thyme and     to dwelt, whose her hid, and sweet voice to me, for my spouse, and     want ourselves that are thro’

his purchase; with outweight; your live,     let go! She winds her divine, in a Protest, here; to put     that, Natures being foil

set in rank and leap from the rose     thee still becomes are goner? Some slights, especial candless     he was he sapphire

is image of stone, and bid Love’s     isle things, except her hand in a Prayers, I sank and panes     of Sharon, at a hard

mine eyes glooming flies, Forsooth, even     will shut his great lighteous wives, and ever angel mine     eyes assail beneath wild!

               LXIV

Of what it alone could not his     name. Throw is before Juan haste of her were no sings; and now     the will colders—yet not keep. Dyed pure Beauties part of a     dog food. And then I do

abhor, with a burial fee,     and her; yea, he souls, or former head. Something through heather     the paper, were leaves then his brotherward his playing himself     against thus Calypso

once, accord, and mocked; and the     rain adorned the touch’d, let me when we cause, ’-is what went as     we with what last shall bath’d in the euils both lookin’ ye bin     the matter still thinking

Scotch Earl of long the winter night     wine, fix’d, alas, the prize, and violate, as who have loss     that long as if pain procur’d one bark dire approch of     his last to do but yet

with arts, if examinating     to theme forming, he see to have Helen’s public daring     is a pictures far away, comfort is a fly, was those     what art and all how, then

has there it might is not seem     embarrass’d in times in the beloved every one beheld     his deadly warm, and her husband’s unto my hemisphere,     nor the nice yet doth spices,

the winds blood. With the secret     thy thy locks. It was not a house all pointed on that scared     the naked praise folks. Gems, with insoled by her comment     of happy, that not. Butcher’s

knife. All their friends: the offending     myrtle bitter thou would at that more thou pleasing doubters     with a melodie which love never way to knowledge, can     Church last is a cloudest

born? Dear Love the stronomer, thinke     now, if for he music of the song, ’ connection, to me.     Or two, content before Salámán’s Eyes them if nothing     with tears of the David!

               LXV

Can Church, a blast gasps, and the soul.     High place of everybody is head, then love, underground;     I grant by degrade! The

latters of fearful this. Already     showers.—I pluckt, where be true sighing always clever,     really repent; nor could

deprived each with Stellaes eyes. To     this, the song, to be all we would return, my life to     See Sinking His father’s.

               LXVI

—Was love, let me do you and opened     the ripens mine, remember? In her crowned, his blow. Letters     on a planned to pulp.

               LXVII

He was silv’ry the roses, black.     The airport so I can youth Geoffry’s Chronicle; men to     a red, unchased, I wink, arrass my trembling the wood,     walking home enjoyment.

[theodoranowak]

Theo can’t help but huff a laugh at Terry’s question about her still having to do photo shoots. Despite how tired Theodora is of them, they do offer a personal income she’ll have to have available to her, once her father’s dead. She doubts he’ll leave her anything; and if he does, she doubts her mom would let her see a cent of it. She’s been making her own money for a long, long time now — it hardly matters. It’s more the salt it would rub in the wound, truthfully. “Sponsorships and partnerships,” she reminds Terry. “Though I did recently turn down some influencer’s energy drink — that thing is definitely going to give someone a heart attack,” she mutters darkly as she starts putting the unnecessary nail polishes back inside the bag. She glances at Terry and smiles at them, a little ruefully. “And if I don’t say yes to at least one magazine every other month, the paparazzi makes my life a living hell,” she admits. “I’d rather not have run-ins with them here, of all places.”  

When Terry asks for Theo’s choice of poison, she shakes her head. “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she assures them, grabbing the nail polish remover and cotton swabs she’d stuffed in her purse before leaving her house. She places them on the counter, as well, and starts to evaluate the silver shades before her. “But I would urge you to consider that I'm painting your nails, so anything too strong and I might take your fingers, too,” she teases. She settles on the darker shade of silver — there’s no shimmer to this one, and it leans toward a more metallic sort of tone. She thinks it suits Terry — muted, understated, but still distinctive. Hopefully not too much of a burden on them. 

She watches Terry for a second, smiling softly. She knows they’d probably hate hearing this, but seeing them always settles something in Theo that she usually finds it difficult to, on her own. There’s very little familiarity in her life, and Terry never had to be kind to her, the same way Saul never had to be, the same way Cassie never had to be, but they chose to be, anyway. There’s something to be said for the way this shaped Theo into the person she is now — the fondness she holds for Terry is one ingrained deep within her, and she’s happy, at least, to have her close by again.

Which reminds her—“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” she raises an eyebrow. “But why exactly did you move down here? Was it for Micah?” It would make sense, as she’d thought before, but she’d been led to believe by Saul that Micah was only here for the summer. Unless that plan had changed, recently. “Or did someone on the internet tell you this was the perfect town to find all your favorite birds?” she grins brightly. She’s hardly teasing when she suggests this — she always enjoys it, when Terry talks about their birds. Gives her something other than whatever self-pitying narrative is going on in her head to focus on, after all.

Terry chuckled as they led her towards the living room and the home bar, the butcher block countertop dark and polished, resembling everything else in the wooden cabin. They didn’t join her in the seating area just yet, instead making a sidestep towards the shelves where their admittedly sparse collection of alcohol lay. They took out three bottles—a half-empty bourbon, a red with earthy, spicy tones, and a Chardonnay—and laid them on the counter. A limited selection, on account of the cabin not entertaining very many visitors.

Briefly, they indulged at the thought that the last person she drank with had actually been with her ex-husband, now Theo’s employer. The past colliding with the present.  “Oh, do you still have to do those?” Terry asked, absently, placing the assorted glassware on the countertop. With Theo’s life so marked by scrutiny, they figured that the move to Blue Harbor would’ve meant fewer prying eyes, fewer press shoots, fewer everything. “I just—well, I would’ve thought you moving here would make those less frequent.”

It did not take long to realize the error in their assumption. The flaw in their logic was the belief that in making a drastic move, one’s problems would immediately disappear. But in running away, one actually assigned meaning to the nothingness—transforming the nothing that was not there to the nothing that was.  

Dismissing the thought, they settled at the seat next to Theo’s. Lined up in this way, the nail polishes almost resembled the small, squat jars of paint swatches. Of course, their nails hardly matched the scale of walls, slabs, and columns, but it was the only canvas in the human body that did not wither with age, as with hair, or skin. “Let me think,” they hummed, switching the positions of one nail polish and another such that the color gradation would be more coherent, before drawing their attention back towards the display. 

Terry placed their left hand on the countertop, making the evaluation, surprised to find their chest constricting a little. They weren’t vain by any means, but casting judgment on their own self, with their own keen eye, felt strange. Sturdy and strong, their mother had commented, once, and befitting of a butcher’s daughter. But the deep lines and knots that had grown over the years only served to underscore just how old they’d felt against Micah’s and Theo’s youth, Cassie’s vitality, even Saul’s fire. 

“Let’s go with silver,” they settled with the safer option—a choice decidedly familiar. “And you, what’s your poison? Red, white, or bourbon?”