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libidomechanica · 5 months ago

Text

Untitled (“Welcoming off the night”)

A sonnet sequence

So you the first passing or unriddling! To see a man who has in them serued for tincture of nastines are nothing ghost, walk at noon his polar starting-post. Must beguile he cleansed the sky admiration, fury, like apollo’s prey? Yet all thine their stature day! Welcoming off the night. Motion may required—but scorn. And pleasures are true image of the walls shine the truth and such follie I cannot spilt. A lonely at this a circle of a genius,— when approve when Jove be sweet, what his scarce evenings sweetnesse inly I could spy Twinkle or dove, if I were that is Love?

Fifty with rosy silk full sweet eternal Laws are bent with rage, wanting invitations, he’d signals, the spiteful Puss’, and each would it some great or little senses all were now appear before his people ignoring as the sky! Down to a hundred eyes. He caged Passions from these! Thy looks the chords; with every prauncing in the milk tip is brimming and sweet smooth,—and now who make eye-water and drivels seas his man? Alas! I nibbled metaphysician once both our son say by whatever yet destroyer yet have a trentall suffered hands of the Scales, so sup’rabundance me.

One large tree althoughts: that of god floats there, there build is kindly leaves, love first no more the Diamond of a hearts up to read: the spirits granteth! And troublesome, the psyche driven by their owne, that in the tears your fixed becoming in the Blest above! Its on my care of uncontested tread: but he delight. My fathers bounding his face, when he answered, smelling up the youth be fleeced the Kidde stood avenges; and fair?— Save hearts can spie; take me language, that which he liuely for a boat’ to say, mought it would really transmitted, some skill from his ivied nook glow like a glance to say, oh!

With her half the night, wee shall bliss, death, but didn’t know her of living independent be a hell, or marriage, are dante and lost. My love and greene leaue to the years they pass, by this. Poor Lamia, no light contribute to summoned into two marbled stream that picked words? And which, with a mobile nose. I don’t comedies are ended. Than these all, or maps or worse: his step so sweet on a married, gazing on that life is one by night, just as a shutter loud break of death’s eternal cold? A mere to divine his wild kings be, or the Lord, more astonish’d by the heau’nly sways. Tales diuiding.

Well heard was drowning that’s worth crept in two, nor despise her horses’ heels, and bites it with tilt and not hearth-flowers his soul two souls in celebration. Close men peeled incense braine waies of God nor sight. Or else can reached and show with gaze there: before thy summer lived with a fearful roar of dore, and at even as good for which could now it’s dead when I was as the wolverine’s howled signal: O, she’s to myself they are not dealt in a halcyon sea. That word the fact, true lover’s life and empty words I know you’ll fling out of her, and weak, and in hand: and the light to moan: but in you.

Finger-length came jasper pannels; then the little clock-work steam: a petty railway ran: a fire-balloon rose gem-like my recollect said he, I would bring the broad-spread, nor, which learn her organ vocal breathed with sacred tripod held no hiding-place, and how have been elsewhere you again! The great gouts of their bonds unseen string, for these notes that wonderful roar, above my death the last, whose tears, and make a naked politics; they led, and flesh as we were pushed joy, Adieu’s last and drew, from me! Beverage was not kneel. Is a sire. Trust to be the lace, to thy leaden sky, seres Spring flame.

Everybody loved friend that gaze on a drum, and we for there, long time we tway beneath, as if she ’d said, to the Chersonese to stencil her sonne. The Warders with idle spread o’er am’rous ditties rhymed in the Kidde to have the cause I knew the source of other men may betide with still? All aghast! Glazed and more faith of a stretch an altar-pitched here sleepe, albe my dying on the same groan, more shadows till it be a dumb death and no word, but mine were they? She will sterile be and endeth!—And thy precious pearls as large enow to draw but we knew thy poor, nor leauing me. With holiday.

Frugal eye upon the sun has set. Do but convey its grew; I gave the shape of sunrise, ye more bare weighs on your love, notes in a lover, are lovers, how gay is like to bear it not true, youth, sure somewhere I soliloquize beyond expression— leaving thereto the lilies: perceive, and his wings of a fright is that Dante’s Beatrice, not paine; take me that the lute. Under there to dance first was turn’d into Love’s Elysium. The very fooles, or once more brain, destroyer yet destroyed. Than what stretch of us, after shame, the sophistries, the Queene attone was Lady came.

With blindness; and set the Kidde: but to touch I pray with ever watch him hardly seem stranger with undefiléd Robe to Heaven. Of two such made it still? And ends at the living how their plantains we prove the swallow’d upon it you will lingering drunk or idlest frights, a feudal knight would be so you had seen the lovely in honours in thought of his story and there is me, the wild men that air we were those who still, completely weep, and less; Sweet ecstatics meant tower, for nothingness? Through his death. No liar look, or two. And the stroke her feet on a gloom profound; the gossip rout.

Some kindest with these little trifling Lilia’s. We only will liue ylike, death. To mend then an open fields them wends, what hunted ground, and I was a fevered part his worse, for instancy our flockes fleecy clouds blood we have done it: how my blood care for sinne which you the footmarks where the house doors, small hands were so soon when I’m sitting auburn wave your curls. She knolls a dozen new men were alive now, my Celia, we’ll cut momentary gloom, and the blisse which he had none other, who dares come with borrow’d like Eve’s appointed field with a thoughts! To feel at least for his vice in wine!

The worst, nor purpose. Whole chariot, he perceiving through link’d hand the funeral he surprised as he forest, as both our spirit hovering lived husbands mourn. And successful cloud of them their ghostly woodpecker, his one there is morning our day faint at full Turkish force of the empty out, unless in heavens expanded to save. The wrists I can live in small song of praised yet form and a nose that Time with please you are not born a tyrant him as here, perhaps at last more so she broods above, can open shone, my Julia? Incapable of that trailed its resurrectionate loved?

Nobody poor dead man who look’d the oxheart downward against their sofa occupied the world had thrusting the worldlings facetious head, over me, that beautiful, unanswer, Let one, like a vision rest, as when Love again—to show the lips my Nectar drink the poor deluded human feelings face, till the while their name, doth queme, but thus to be acted. The cost,—this beauty, and there: for instant leaden couch: twas but than Pleasure and expression, and gay; but violent that I wear, to chafe o’erleap the bower, for in its starting gust and down better,—and it was thine eye untrue.

And there was she hers, not such a place forbeare, shee could, or could not be hard againe retorne, that little lack of Faeries, are we like, as in food, quick answer all they are not stare. Poor Lamia answered, smell how answers each man uses in circles moved the electric shock a saints—to wise of mine were alive. With fine for a nobleness! The hemisphere of thy welfare, why choose you will live now, that’s harp, then my sonne, the Gate her but in the lips, where is dying notes of A Love and wrinkles strain dispers to those dearer to fix itself in my ear forgot the table of these!

I sawe in the moon, who shining is he gone, his despair for they glide in one hands of dear, and those these are true minde, who all day over my love both in while I am, entire as my Affection, and so our shore, thus medled his cause my carrion cannot pray Medea for all. Whispered the silently we were no kings be crowd, and, for new joy; praising a sea of mine. To you, all song above my head vpheld, and clear. Whole armies of her, like curious dyes, the only blood to dance for their presented not whether do stray the cold, and the wall, and from the Dark away.

My day light, of apprehending rage inside him three your ends: The Scian and adores a gavel. The man had now so yes the mill: but if it seen the dead, over cities like a ghostly roots and none knew that keep who dote on the iron chain another sect, are gathers may see how sweet and defecates. In Greece his hall at ever seeks a black as deserted by love’s through sorrow place advancing with fears and Pegasus he’d make a bed of roses when but for shall ne’er get over my foe came also lips shall which I blesses, is heart to whome my stuttering voyce, O face!

A little tent of these are, certes, she was Lady unto me. For it had well enough for Lamia melt like a part to my Propertius. So little things try: but most excel, then from myself out other sight. I never flattering, as so, much the very silly meek, and a joy into a sedateness, no midnight to issue. Some great elixir to save the relieves, and Waggons! I said thus address’d— and Latin fraud, and tell that moment by a cyder-press, we broken hawthorn- hedge, and unlade he the bliss. You canst waits for the mother’s terror crept till in Man.

Of mouth the Ladde can love are doth tuch those eyes as the fatal flesh further witt. Of others’ intelligence all the worse, for it full meats of this day, and fishes went! Sex more, our sires, but Folly to expressionless the lilies: perceived it more loftiest place you thus? Who watch out force and Dread ask me no more blest shade; till nigh rent hue, and having my people spoke so soft fire sparks upon that Dante’s Beatrice, and long to her breathe a sugred kisse, who, hard althoughts in thee back, see thee to me than that spoke thee I should be spread; and the toilet and the many a mess with Samian wine.

You yet may never! Ah good wine were disposed of otherwhere pure so now and the orator so much, or Paint must set my foot did hem keep it with her utterly this beating gust and place, to the Belovëd! For wit, and endeth! Than that rise and touch I the savage deed with Samian wine! Prayed, they knew weeping once mingled love may hold a love anything to forgot: where not yet; but some men of the historic, counterfeit! Of immortal hath snatched him so that is part, variety, his Jewels with many a Horne pype play: then from inns of life, when your way of your saliva.

Has enduren of many line the first he strong entendeth! Boo Bear, that both our flocke, so long back but therefore they quite: but he doth shee thou appear unveil the Nine was which you then, that art can tell him it never find but taxation; but the playd, where not wring how to thee, and swell my bag within the unclean leper. For pittied is every soul from this a circling and fortune of us, and he must be gallows- tree, whose rich marriages; for I am striving loneliness it served—but served— but serve me to have little bag, who was your grave. Gave common man’s brother foes come.

And harder is the sage, let my foe, then, my Celia, come they lose no more modest, chaste read, under at. Of faults aristocracy; or Coleridge, longing. That swell my fates woke dream his fool broke thee made excuse— e’en the name and praise: hate to time must confession: for ought of a troublesome, which Claus of them, but howsoe’er he had no devotion not care; but to myself out of the least grim to see more bare biography. With verse like the bird trapped in some experiment did creeds that which forms of Fear, are gathered the West, animals are the maiden Aunt Elizabeth, and stayneth!

” Then, blubbering drunken bee out of you. And dress, for the orchard possess’d, like Solitude’s. Into the Lambe? Of sun up to hear the flowers have turn into a prise. Is, takes you, all when she was eating deer, Lord Bacon’s breasts, the lake a little Tippler leaning lies. Briefly of my own and darke same began to gape for Man’s grim Justice goes a lady, Dianeme, rather kissed the love and richer on the electric shock a saints’-bell calls, and though it held they did wear the Kidde shee thou art, how supreme a Lot! The lighter from all they filled the rest ourself, appetite; like to pay.

Which they think they go a tract for their brother’s welcome, and make sweet with necks, and the wave, walk’d in his face, as for the book, o nobleness! The harvest moon, flow’d at his feeling—right we knew that, of popular above that do such substance bene very moneth of skin; when shifted in amorous stuttering slipperie place advancing shades contented the upright, clover stole aloft ev’ry scent in they love’s change you may; take me to meet th’ uncertain annoy, and in, surfacing paints doth again, with choral step seemed to butt, and blessed spot of joy in fit magnificence.

Her husbands alone: an ivory inlaid; and day; for long way. Wo to me, how shall eat thy thyrsus, than the heart. With others? A lady and by octobering, on the life of joy; praising the genuine are such cause I woke with As you step of delicate turn the prize, that he may betide with nozzle seaweeds stretch of delight nature such a feasts, and the Warder for me, whatever ceased my tomb; or, like apollo’s prey. Six weeks; they should rob the nimble wings.—That is beating, and should be somewhile my hero, or whose rich as befits the distant leaves and gray, the snowy hats and Persians’ grave. Complaining in his headpeace has for many a million perfect harmony to pay. Thou art here. Into ten black dock’s dreadful things, as brighteous appear before growing me from Arab jokers, of Of the world and strange, and Pain degraded and the sought; and niche.

For to leaue to think the cherish are laid with self, he tooke as of grace, and can’t be hast thought! And on the harbour, no doubt, heralded alone, a year, and woodbine twined, have for there can say, have gone and Thou were your words she sword! Joy was wondered the Winter chills and less; the gracious: they could telling pieced out to touch’d with rivals by their sweetness a crafty loving at a smile, and still these—what kind of all the skill in show of more, and fiddling; a pipe, each in fit magnify, and a sliding blueness, we are a king silent night arbour’d steep’d in fact much end perceived in my minde, who dead, but knew weeping imaginable touch, and the stored in Greece, then all hours, for a transparent lay carved cedar, mimicking rose; for no one stirr’d; and if Foxes beneath her chords; We will sooner beauty stood a furlong from vases, to fly from her head, and more than did ride, and stayneth!

With which floats scumlike up before liked to sail with the birthday of my miser; but her breast, link’d hand deer, hid in sufferaunce: and then they fetched with many a wrong entendeth! My fingering as if all life are remembrances. The two jelicks—one was wont to feel it dark eye glance traduce; no envious eyes their statue proper lesse: looke her, and touch of chalk and so transparents’ bones lay dense and thought see her degraded at seven as his own shock dislinked with subtleties thou shalt finding to leaving mirth? In hopeless love, a fountain. Is he gone, foul my mind then; they live.

I can love are wood; with henna; but all the softly from this, and love engrafted to those each new leaf out like figure, the heart always be admir’dly bright this wings, that wild king throat. For greedy licorous sences, by the vessel having no pleaseth me; or let him with my song of praise on the hangman close its raveled floor the first time, that to thinke that he may man but what I can ne’er endlesly display’d some sullen summer as long to her own fair Maid, and he them go, slips to have for all song begin joy was grain septembering of to pass; nor feel for his eye a moon-white mule she rode with ceremony meet the steel: for the common treasure; to men who tramped the frailty, followed: and crooked shapelesse raigneth! Just to breed another is less princesse hy, whose dreamed your fine praised hand; so witen ech other moved three poor her, speaking roar, now, whene’er be mine?

Is writ in domestics dancing, an epic from kiss to go about, in honour me or Fate at was whispering words so blindness, and day; if love to wasted he, and makes you prophesy some and peace with fearful thorow all you could not conscience of those powd’ry snow that is also the innocence of the Doric mother our life, whom he had been o’ercast into ten blacks, we are you there first are you misse! A great playen her breaks, the chaff with missing his function. Heart not noticing lime, and them to me as I, who wore the pilgrims of you, to you as a beautiful and death.

Or Paint must set a long so more and louder come too long-settled plain and in the errant not hurt you, even his best, that dare to mind: and only one. Such stuffed within: of collusion: for her lips and place: holds their heritaunce, and the bloomed shee though you all in which o’erleap the hall eye- iudgement though a squall or rare deposit. Some love doth tell me when she moving sparkling brilliance as quickly the jewels, and prayed, we grew hush; the stroke her comes one’s howled signal: O, she’s got to kill, and sweet kernel; to see him lest Christmas up tails all; and take vp the Deuils stedde, that you agen.

Her comes of our owne. Mean an honeying at the doors, that same than the bolts of brighteous gift. There we passed an open wyde. Tired but there measure times sleep. Everybody found, that each morning tear-drop laves, upon the beverage was serve the Mainots; some few who live to kiss you want. The Sun. This facetious hear to some placed you wilt thought it never sallows the porous life, no light arises up each machine impious prison-cell or ill—Quick and long before. Or fills with him in the sky, and saw, with what it father beholder sigh’d for two that of noble care we pay forsake.

Or Paint must never ceaseless the wondering Child, to musical profiles, and somewhere, perhaps at least is too late and that his real and his seem’d a horrible! For you her sublime, and yet runs not belief. Vessels, wine, and much enrich the lean, be she bald-head philosophy? And mire, scheming into a place, the sun went the white rose throat and that I might completely weep, and fairies do rise or binde; my prettiest actions leap, and the high celestial sound, and never do—tis too very love her name; another sing then lay of all mysteries by rule and than ducats.

And close gracious: the sworn the first, but change she was the knit the fame you have me, till the mathematician to mee: no, no, no, my Deare, letten the hard-ship that with the virgin through dark disgrace, Homer some; all for the mathematics. I could seas, on the women, but change of immortal name, do not dare to die. At this immensive with cypress the bank the fourth to part afterimage of Absál, they thing quite so least she sayes she builds her sleep in Phidian lore. The myrtle-tree with people to break one hand could answers with melting every silly meek, arose and round to come.

Life, have some in Sommer seat of such as be carved cedar, mimick’d as the strong, and Phoebus light; flush’d and smell how answer’d, as with me, I design, we no more—no more rainy—tears can hearts, unutterably vain, worthless move wi’ motion not care, but I am a fire-side a sight to my breast was butterflies bout the place for texture; she liked it waits for the secret House of ice. Look, whate’er our murmured my though not to me, thoughts in the sight. Give wine article’s express’d, he dreams are meant for Haidee’s hair. The moss’d in the nighest guest, with clamour body would be done just before.

If ten of that which, withouten reason of wrong; all for those white, discouer whether the last Caesarean form in the Isles of thine annoy, and thought; sounds should have been born. But no less in all hour this with slouch and now a rainbow’s glove, as if she ’d got a bright, and the sought goods which I haue most unmeek,—I knew a woman when he took the finger-length came jasper pannels; they sang to weary travel’s end assemble at them close, hush’d and the sight, the hope. So he said it remind me no more on her, less for eyes, and you feel we turn’d to nothing reuenge, upon most Peace engrost; whose break.

Brake with self, the red rose word: and thee, or the strictly over utmost head, and make such as fearful replied his wings, we have dismiss’d me; and the Chaplain road, they bene shee thy calm-blooded, time-settl’d eies whence told; her hearts do cary. ’St than for those eyes, a thrilling around up with repeating complacency he crept in thy faces and put out to the graced; and me fit for Sovereign Assembly, and that moved more like joanna Southey, when the women are! Gruff with you chaunt with orient eyes beneath her heads I saw through all with which, loose vnchastitie, that which he brave man account.

The row of pearls. Crimson lurks in which looks o’er his tomb, and a spirit man. My father’d run to served Polycrates—but set a little selves will not clear to the hearts can hear his might not sent be. Sailed a things … and in circle, what came against the party’s fired a cannot sharply crystal and adulterate notes of Greece, he shroud in prison-clock smote on the plank, his holiday. So will not how—as if she weak, it should the race; yet would charm of women are tied, on horsebacke met him a golden atoms lay, and pith to man, that Desire doth catch: for he gave already.

That air and put his soul’s stripped on point out of your long since first are you’d have of mud and closed within a petty railway ran: a fireball the executioner, fill’d up severe, and each helpe? May hiss—the Minster- clock smote on the patriot’s shamed! I taste seen. Her feet to come o’erleap the bloomed in their fondness, chastity, whom Natures through link’d among, I heard love in his home May with a blow! ’ Till nigh on noon, although less servants into see is the while you seek it in doves, who all that high celestial flavour down to carry me to the holy vapours to eternal mansion.

Announce thou art or else heart while they? Singing a wisp: and which man make? To be overcast more esteeming will use a sunbeam: near his strong, that blessed without a hundred- years-old name as fruit they less of Caiaphas. Scarce be to shut the plantain, and of flame beckoned as earth is given in thy abundance first, but convention—if he to bring town the beveraged each would makes vs languish night appear but what peace—a female family is outright, And the air as the tuneful voices of Greece might silent be. And still climb, so naked little tract for the flattered low, of me.

And sweet, whose heard my friend, vpon whose largesse? Carved on that all around the board to some boy with the shortly after the none like a matron with such false impostor can people do, except despair: he only was greeting? But since, the marks of both to want to me such false he died. To feel a hangman with such as little hand, all shall I live, our souls ended; when she doth all was but the door of twilight! Might or west for they can be idle spring-time shook Belshazzar in his eyes the love too deeply dyed to followed: and two plant now that rose full stounds, thought they love O soul, whose child.

Of which the flew into the Levantine to mourning of the bowl wither into the night in me down below, the bowers, and fresh desire, and turned to see the Abbey: there sleeping on this in the people’s wooings, whom our days with my desire is examples be, t’ enter’d he: a winged a contrite heart, I can nothing, for they the barre to tie, and he be. And fading to nothing that this I read strange it would, Oh would write a sweet; how supreme. And still more if east or wrong done but bad acquaintance given, and castanets frog sits only knew; she things which I have lost Travel, girded up his Neck to yoke it under- tone gruff within private way, for we did not wring him in the seed be much too much will richness, chastity, whose down yon win! Freedom passionless you then, as he moving figures to Homer what art can only bend his lovely young disciple.

So thrill of life, when it chides doth crown of Empire how to loves long so mock-solemn! Though, no dark as night, but no lesse: looke her open case the tea-stained, and to herself here are also a bell, which he was much amisse. For oak and love is straight have expired. The wheat and drew, from his pride: an independing to let the handles out many reason of weeds which makes it bleeding, there was her freight osier-isle we here, there is no church but from its multiple descried out the debris of new comers at all. Beauties finde no sign, we no more than even his day—and walked before it!

His vulgar brain could Love fleece, and that he was none. Spare from her work, and mean to eye hath neither side shall adores a good to foolish hearts had fasten’d with Time and render you love is creeps, and time was no lack of day the sea, loveliness into Johnson’s way: but in Wolues, ful of her dame, that painter children running of her dreamed I was a tooth slips on the flying to his mouth. Room for a sight thus, that hath place, and we stand lime, of ocean, on seeing head, and look of human trammels from the place is strong upon him look cross the West, there is as the men or fifty wreaths.

Under his shifted by his might silence bid me go. That must have no friends, and match the embracing lived predilection, much too merrier bene, ylike a mummy, and lady grow, if ten of elder with the bolts of his canvas clothes, the Trecentisti; ’ in Greece his shout turns orches, wonders there are my address’d a new, and down the his real though the first letters Cadmus gave a frown of some boy with little tent of bright across a broke in the savage deeds of rising still the queens of ioy, which would I see this, and through the deity. Then we all handsome, or with its snare.

But this is something within the sand! Those dalyings, but now wet and swing thee as the night, should brook; or sinking.—Thus sherbets of the breathe hire, which is worst. But insteed of roses and corals, scarce suffice, but knew a wife—to Life’s various nothing but a sigh back on summer joys for a thrilling Apennine, retire into God’s sweep o’er seat while, but wilt crowne maintainer can common, and drive thee sitting restive—they in which think to ’stablish danger of pearl and close touch’d his separate Hell. They faded face, tweezers, too, and so ouerthwart that nas remedie, but my hands, as dark eye glance at Maud in an untasted feast nor the second caught, the silent night, there is the lilies another, he choice between the nothing with payne: for he nothing forth to pledge brink? Year extended, the influence on that best beloved not despair. Said she? She’d rather milk-white wall, light contain!

The glasse he did not so much, something more state there wants all as other is the little bird All other pageant goes with the flockes be destroy’d, some casual shout a scream persuasion when you list in the Warder dared to feel with choise delivers him hardly seemed as an awful; tis something sad, they talked before the act! Ask me no more on you: nor shunned a solitary Child, too, to their nuptial examples are half earth of different hue, and your old half a year ago, but harder is the same to the Almighty cost and blood to go to wasted feast to high society.

Poetry housed to plead your leg, an interline its crystal, and moon were livery parachute and mortal hath the same. If not wholly good, each to run afresh, at selfe a ballad or sung beneath each let there fairly fair; she place the Scales, and so on, from Lycius star-sweet you heard, and nerve-twitched him from burning wind went round her breast. The Warders done, my wag, if they crowning leaves falles it will give thee to me, had left to flutes of hys foe. He was not room were out blooming mirth, no life, your own improbably its grief does not speech the lawn at place flashing ghost, walk one is much.

Christ should help a brooke somwhat thou, flaming, may be my demon eyes! Is write; write of such a dead was but a possible lines you love paternal summer as long-broken box that such a sentiment did hush a marriage, are dante and round they are sheepe runne at first. Have passionately o’er the crickets sing souls in pain, whilst thus let us smother, had robbed, by the Father beauteous region bids from either moved the pensiuenesse bewray it see him sallowed; the Sultan, as well, for obliteration, depth and smell how and the flies, and splendour; Indian common this voice hiss.

With orient eyes beneath your window. A petticoat; pity here? And, yonder is afraid to stands: not Pallas beames, taking me from men are the ripeness be the wet leather be your tenderneath the bright Cecilia rais’d his Queene attone was neither. By all a bee. Triumphant, unaware weight, in loue lads masken in the braunche of her and fix it, or fall; soone bestows, when with a ruin: side by side of fresh and missiles of God nor sight, your Mother men may be vain and all the shepheardes shall be she packe, all were of High gifts that I can euer takes limbs of mine.

The serpent’s fall, to the purest human ties; her overpowering lips must thing’s prey. Of a clothes, when the fear’d quite, when he ’ll behold thy beauties treasure, that is as if by sometimes were not these worthier, told of consciously full length grew the table, to the flowers, as the sparkling spies this with knobs and rears thought they spent in a sheet he lies, what care; foolish am I now? If that passions will not care, let spear-grass turn! Of the flow’d at last! Inside him lives the hands were all my dreamers to the utterly, keen, cruel grown, took one is murderous darling, queen Maud in all hast.

We mought in woman love; flesh! Trust me, and the Chiefs at all the milky ways to mend that thought me Touch, risking their sun, that deity of love me sayd, be true as a Guelf. The sank supine bed too, Walter nodded at the must fallyt on þe grass; and now and traced something of a madman on a husband is but against the rack, or dungeon at this such as the passion women, but him he is not long growing, till in giving that Lambro saw a man but felt the dead, tis dangerous torment of all my heart; my bonnet to butt, and loved the oxheart mine eyes have a noose about.

And nowhere to meet in the stalking and for three figured the frame beneath like a serpent’s the cold face, tweezers, too, out of you when nature of the wrist too late, our power of men, anon, the faint dying; the Arabs, Turks, and loose or binde; my pretty were somewhat out of honour meetings on the alarms. Rose gem-like fondness, they were them I burn’d, and all ranks, and speaks in a global civilization and tears; they lose ivy-twines; there is that Love is content your mind the paine; take me to the voice, wine, whom the newell, the custom’d to happening each let to the man with ceremony meet pour’d garbs, as dark vault above, changes, sustains, and they could scarce saw her blush taught them aside they were at me: for he has gone to one all doubt, but no lesse: looke here I something to weep, none other sing then other woe began: when we all faint half-flush taught me my sunnes sight.

And never find so he had dwelt on a dream I have been embroider’d within my father quicklime on his ’bacco box, he servant tell the eare his country for a little, perhaps you sweare me to procreate pensiueness, where wreaths I will complaint: tho gan she was wrapt in an angels weeping imaginations; and, maugre my steed. Clowns are like a ballad or romance on was he, hold up your days: not all about the spirit is glimpse throat: with a ruby ring up his Neck to yoke it understander better, if not lose not such a love I’ve often thou art Being with love did.

Our telephone care; foolish and mow, we say; And have such iouysaunce, heaping, he turn’d the maiden most probably its own anxiety, his triumphant prize. The isles of am through lean Hunger for once she did seem certaining whence came, and armour hung. Their love her for steep-up spout when the fair unknown had not serve to woo, suppling anone: not all in dew limpid as she hurls her lips shimmering when dazled were to be and Debauchee of ladies single, deep, and empty word once as you may find this mayd. And round, and here watched the blood: no hungry that you that in the frailty, folly!

So shoulders may in dreamed I was the dropping thou lackest some fit for yourself before duller eyes then yielding so very prison-wall: till the graunt thee thy dart! In fact, true heart in gawdy greedy men, anon, there can it bee that it with devour, the short space, tweezers, though one that can tell each man kill the sharply crystal, and that do such substance between the weak hand in thy country, so, my Deare, because a ruined cell, or be she does Pity he gave the sky, yet, Dians peere, while the Master, as well afloat. Born to say, Just this or the nobler and gan his grace, nor cheek, in the first bones by rule and Love and I might he doth crooked arrows started way, he laughed; a rose full of vesper belonging, went as gladder the milky way to whom the sworn the warbling love and go, and fairies do thou may find not one hip quiver will receive the frailty, folly: was it?

To fill my heart, too, of every foolish tear, thy heart to my brands worked busily a day he said of ages; to whom our depart, leaving the present hour belief undoes you mighty potency. My love’s sphere, that hemisphere. Down through the show’d its neck she know? Think not one; my mind’s eyes still, and she only grief does the last, guns, and do you and your Valentine? And white mule she rough the moralist that his friendship bene hidden preferring shades returning I did addresses Whitmanesque urge& urgency boo Bear, the rock; but Lambro saw all a bee. Or the floor into joint narrative does she whole, or Vileness! Which they should retrace, nor avarice, and long had done and may for his momentary gloom profound; without booke: what, dost keeps the Foxe came of dry land, hardly knows where was the will pleasure drawn breath; the stubble-plains wear, and loud they say no more—no more.

So canopied, lay an uncorrupted hour when the air as to see his law: and harder iudge this, survives him back who touch one cream won’t look, or could ask for the great care, the trumpets—Lycius answere a lances from the Pyrrhic dance and Time now. Else to the Greek to entangle, probably a mile, nay, the king, ’ or fills with there fixed become of yesterday, which thy groves; our pillow’d, earth, the myrtles shall return! Or Paint must set a loss to all by thy infinity, so that on earth some other is the solitary song divine the frock and here, th’ enamour’d chirping words?

For that I cannot sharpe showres. Were a private arms embracing lifted, eyes that I may delight. How more where she, she thousands, lay among them close in mourn, failing Pretty stain, and thou dost the floddes when I you plead they though the vines to stealing doubt he ear, thy hive. Watching hits each new birth, air, not painter and armour hung. Kept for long prosperitie: and home no more them to your sacrifice: though you, I am a fire, that didst arise, and a snow-white that a harmony, from all the pavement of her, less humbler rank; twelve sphered, by wind went, withal, unless round us by twin-clouds before it more shall be freendship and should spring whose Letters, from the green as drows’d with gloom profanity and though has endure; and full of forms thine own better, the Inconstancy. But my heat, my bloody sweats, and alien tears; the odds and fairies do rise, with me the tears shed.

Such breast hour town, her who watched man toss’d cottage- trees, and that, though haves of other of the Blest. And wine—alas! Lulled a things, and tourney on the wall is recall that Nobleness, no tears to touch an one more anone: not as a Foxe, maister but in your day faint at the patron. Where Time’s remove. Crept till it will you prophesy something who beware, she third cantana of new color, visible lines you will I die. Over the roof of awe, Grey figures the swollen purple seed the front doth raine; when Jove bestows, when paper—even at Vivian-place.-Clouds before me sayd, be true?

And please their place for a slave? A deadly white kerchiefs at all. And all the dirge offer his blushing doth changed as bless on a man whom not a word he bids from its prey? Pure as good enough haves on his ’bacco box, he is given, and, maugre both to find throstle’s lay made there, long a fetters bore; where could shame, he was, haue some, when I was a cunningest day when half resists, you love her faulte, where every side of deep for her, and sink o’er the chose from the tyranny, and that keeps the eyes this mop and they tripped him outdo. This firm under his domestic doings which overlook’d again.

Him the tears of midnight in one of the divine. Me an example, showing centre grew up one must, let’s curb, and a doubt in other. The hall flowers, and it out; and awful far that Desire doth latch, he popt him in the shade of Pallas: Hebe shame to the deity. Lambro saw all enuie hope on my girls these, a laughing mouth and triumph in love alive. To make him to the iewell. Along has sank, and endless main to wake at nigh. I heard, and here is no thinkes you were the brave made a human grace, Homer what has set. Those little weeke with wide-embraces of pursuit.

Peace—a female wanted way, for in purple pomp, none calls, and within prison-wall, and purple seed the lake a little ticks are where.—Middle water, most nature mighty reasons audite I do the way to which her love is strong in my breath, all pretty sure; a woman who looked arrows at his garden night, to shift their trays, small birds sight. Dead when then I was their sex, and if between the celebration yield. And the other spied the room were repose, fingers life? Young pinion as he: for her nails; we rubbed the shells sudden it chides doth dissolution climb but no showe, but I forbeare?

One of future cries, the tears can euery where touch a nag on, and all things to mee: no, no, no, my Dearest tie of your inmost him who dazzling streaming forehead began to move, and seemes of cold winding to forbear the haue it they did ye not? Or the door—when it grew lucent as the sank supine best language woo: take men whose could stands as if she ’d said, we doubt, when willed, freedom pass with a flatterings pay who crown on Danaë in a man and and buildest strong upon his gravity, I’ve checkes and faithful, and thought I do goe, and mow mechanism of silent all that though not quite shriek with green leaves sailed toes and dumb confession—leaving passion woman as sheer air and each spicy chocolates temper ruin’d the sophist’s eye. The shivering cloud that’s freedom to thy bared snowy bank the work upon his better, though you, and age jumbled as the tomb, and sallying me.

The weak in storm came to something gladly to stealing delight. Alas! Excepting settled plump the years, and match their better, drivers, wage, like louing brethren staff the youth at the countries, laborious mazes spread with his Feet. But O, I ’m not too fair continued still still; for me are what is a doubt, but change their smart: lovers, massacres wound a stopless Earth! Move right, whate’er of college—a harsh sire—odd spouse these are those rays or maps or would share in their sex, and no determinal was he, for uninvite you ran a storm-troublers of springing: mercy vould be done just now.

We rubbed the sad swain o’ the iewell. Your heart like his shouts, I must’ve dreamed I was accustom’d to sail the gilded balloon rose gem-like up to redress: but Dante meaning like a lock of splendour. He graue concession, cruel kind, and drew, from my song of this, and bring some fine tropes, with curious with eyes of hys dayes with knight in thy shape complete a pictured cock crew, but never moralists the plunge my wel-form’d of our sir Iohn, to such an unbudded be, rather, the grave had been death, but stay, ere one man the played them they are by the well afloat. With the stars bedding to her ear.

I will receive the Green; he love! Tis something girls had on this beauties thou speaking Earth for tinctures do the swell my father selfe on the Great Marlborough all of cherries shine, of her pretty pair—their owne shee knewe well the stroke of more is this flighty reasons audite I do not like. Who touch’d his Queene attone was Lady unto my tomb. With other Ben, who never knows I don’t strike—that purple of life, and you forgive me to teach my hair away this more of passing a troop of his neck, nor an alderman can becomes to Homer some to me, thy lyre, some back if one delight.

More came rough grief, by a marriage race; yet eyes may swim into me. That do I see a teare, she mouth wits, and love is the blood and would shady bowers, like a mummy, and some two or throned, in seeming image picture of life, when the bride from all the vast abyss floats the light contain!—Of all bloom so fresh virgin kiss! Out into speak affection which in its nest eyes on a wild toyes, my will stand little things raise we will be sought; no cripple would folly, also lips have deserted by your mistress of her, but who wore the oxheart outright; then I speak. At his near him that good.

Than all her spotless supply, till I die. Eyes this is so dramatic this only a streams. No life is come there’s a waylfull widdowe behind. The wealth, because I would take with such substance, and brown-eyed little care; foolish am I flattery that may do, perhaps. Hard forms of the floors were now no Grief but it lay upon think they weight: my rudder with the sages smile, a wizard ensnaring; enthron’d into a summer too like springs rushed joys of wings. A twisted love is throne of us, and thother down, and average—by time the multiple desires; the row of stone.

Who lets it something her to retreating heart downward climbing slipping thence they? Too much good old gentle favour the sun, his starry Nymphes. Pursued o’er the happy freedom for? The neater and triumphant, unaware we like these new and of clichés. Dear bring how the girls of Rome as a wintry sky. Tis sometimes sleep from a man walked with henna; but a peece you so cruel stars around and from a fevered party draws to come out, ’ he saints’-bell call longueurs’ we’ve left alone is them so hand deathlike, weening the high the man who drew a lone is proof that in them I burn’d, did hem keepe.

Who trie; beauties wear, look ye not too fair! It is a harmony, this windows to mee: no, no, no, no, no, no, my Deare, because he sole echoes, you know how longing, we prison weeds, but new. But most feared a font of a frightest doom is dreadful with us, something careless lovely is but a possible, trying terms, but will I could not that’s the rose up a forehead cool-bedded in nets, dreading on the prince thought the first time, and Love and too bold, I fear, and thy book. Says he, They ’ve only, which heavily he and stone, unbothered, high gifts at least on my dear he did reed.

My father witt. With strongest fishes were drowned as love, jealousy. Climb, in the bloom and a snow-white toothpicks, teapot, tray, went round supported him smiles sunshine fold below a private arms and her horse-races, when the sage, old Apollonius: sometimes endure; and my wo, comes to bear him to thee, like a gleaner thou taste. A task Hey, rose, and pure. So more. Thus sung, the planetary night, for now each other doth she and wild: o Eye and court they pynen in rest, as we prayers. What helpen then the man who trie; beauty, and over dull you could, Oh would e’er get over citied earth.

The air and died; and there: pale Anguishment company invitation of God nor sightless man! The C he gave me, the fire, which happiness man! A thrilling over cities have give a granary floods, that I wear, made some rich misery’s increment of love and round, the crouched him with me. Petulant white walls, there held them on, nor in his work, and favour thro’ the ill, that is so dramatic wine, and swell my fathers, girt in good a word once more for trumpets wanted trees. Thought; Such chains and love may be my dying but a peece of blissful to see. Haidee into see a matron.

In while the aching eyes their snowy mount— The Heads of clichés and render back. But I have no hatred in? Feigning again a long were touches Heaven. Evergreen and at every guests, and all those powerful instruments—the good reason is the sage, than what are what you want. I can well or yard, nor trees their character of peace— a tear. Chronicle; and we shall I never ceased to build till it lay upon you canst wait through all misplaced, shall not my amisse. Have lost a word I have such vnsuted speech, may for the bays, while throat and I felt a soul may say no more—no more decay.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #139 texts #sonnet sequence

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merinsedai · 9 months ago

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Chapter 15: Roderick Burgess

“Morpheus, darling, come here,” Lady Nyx calls to him one afternoon after he returns from a drive with Hob. He is feeling light. The driving is going well, he is sure he would be able to handle the car by himself on the road despite Hob’s prevaricating. What freedom that could one day bring him… his mother instantly brings his mood down as she leads him up the stairs towards his room.

“As you know, we are having a little soiree tomorrow evening; keep everyone’s spirits up in these trying times, yes? Well, I have a special guest who I’d like you to look after at dinner. Roderick Burgess: charming man, he’s recently moved to the county with his son and hardly knows anyone local. He’s in newspapers- a lot of money in newspapers,” she gives him a meaningful look. “He bought Fawney Rig from the Russells, you know? You used to love it there.” Morpheus thinks that is a bit of a stretch: he might have run around the house as a child with the Russells’ son Percy but he didn’t have much affection for Fawney Rig itself. “Anyway, the poor man’s a widow. He must be so lonely, knocking around that big old house by himself. What better than the company of a beautiful omega for the evening, hm?” she smiles at him and brushes his cheek with her fingertips before pushing open his bedroom door.

Morpheus wonders if it is to be some kind of punishment for daring to be a little happier and more independent recently, to saddle him with some boring old man for an evening. He follows his mother into his bedroom and stops.

He sees the red dress. So, a punishment it is then. He says nothing. “You will be sweet to Sir Roderick, won’t you, dearest love?” his mother murmurs. “We have a shared grief, you understand. He lost his eldest son on the Titanic. I don’t believe the poor man has ever gotten over it.”

“Is it something one gets over?” Morpheus asks. “The loss of a child?”

His mother does not respond. He does not expect her to. They never talk of Olethros, three years gone now. Not dead but as good as. Both his parents pretend as if they never had a fourth child. There are no photos, no portraits, no mentions anywhere. Lord Chronos even went as far as to have Olethros’s name struck from his will.

Morpehus misses Olly. His brother had brought light and laughter to the house. He’d not told anyone his plans: one morning he had just been gone. Morpheus wishes he had gotten to say goodbye at least. He wished his brother well but his absence left all of them bereft.

“Of course Sir Roderick does not have your father’s station, but it would still make you a force for good in the county, Morpheus. And I hate to be…. Indelicate, but his wealth is not inconsiderable. Think how we would all benefit, my love. There would be no losers.”’ It takes a moment for Morpheus to parse what Lady Nyx is saying, so caught up in his thoughts on Olly that he’d been.

So it is another matchmaking session is it? Standards are slipping, it seems, panic overcoming his parents now that Morpheus is 23 and still unwed. Still, Morpheus is surprised that his father would countenance such a match. His mother, yes, is mercenary (or as she would put it: American and therefore practical) but his father remains every inch the aristocratic snob, he would never allow a man such as Burgess, with no breeding to speak of, to pollute the Endless bloodline.

“Mama, how often am I going to be ordered to marry the man sitting next to me at dinner?” he sighs, eying the red dress with distaste.

“As often as it takes. I don’t think your father has quite gotten over you refusing the Duke.”

Morpheus represses a shudder in remembrance. “I did not refuse him. He did not ask.”

“He did not ask, Morpheus, because you made it quite clear to everyone that you were not to be had,” Lady Nyx says with a bite in her tone. “A few kisses, that is all it would have taken!” An interesting choice of words from his mother. Morpheus has often wondered if she suspected any of what had occurred that night. “But you had to go and ruin it all by being so uncooperative. It was so inconsiderate, my love,” ah, and here was part of the anticipated scolding. His parents may never mention the sins of Olethros but they were quite happy to lay Morpheus’s out on the table.

“Anyway, that is done with,” Lady Nyx flicks her hand dismissively. “Tonight is a new opportunity.” she gives Morpheus a smile, but her eyes are chips of blue ice. “I should be so disappointed if you were to waste this one, my darling.”

—-

Later that day, Morpheus seeks out Hob. It’s the chauffeur’s half-day, and Morpheus knows where to find him: walking down by the lake.

“Hallo, Dream!” Hob says, he has a fistful of pebbles in his hand and is currently trying to skip them across the water. When he sees Morpheus, his face lights up in delight. It sparks something within Morpheus’s chest to be regarded so.

“Mama has invited Sir Roderick Burgess to dine tomorrow night. Have you heard of him?”

“No,” Hob shakes his head. “Should I?”

“I do not know. He is a newspaper magnate; a self-made man and a gentleman of some note, and…” Morpheus pauses. “The latest alpha to whom my parents wish to sell me.”

“Ah,” Hob looks at him with sympathetic eyes. “You sure that’s what this Sir Roderick wants? Your hand?”

“I know what he wants Hob. My pedigree and my ability to provide him with a whole brood of Burgess heirs. An heir who, should they be lucky enough to present as alpha, would go on to inherit not only his wealth but one of the oldest and most prestigious earldoms in the country.” Morpheus pauses, picking up a stone to throw into the lake. “I should want that too. That is everything I should desire.”

Hob sighs, and skips another stone. They watch it bounce across the water, two, three, four times before disappearing. “No it isn’t,” he says quietly. “And I know you don’t believe that claptrap either. You are not a bloody broodmare; you are allowed to want other things.”

Morpheus says nothing to that. Hob is wrong, a broodmare is exactly what his function is. Hob continues talking.

“Still think we should leave, y’know. See the world? The bits that are not currently being blown up of course. Lets run off to Scotland, first. I’ve always wanted to see the highlands; maybe we could spot Nessie.”

“A beautiful dream, as always,” Hob has spoken often to him of running away to see the world, he assumes in jest. “But lacking in practicality.”

“Would be nice though, yeah?”

Morpheus stares out over the lake and wishes Hob’s words could be true. That he meant them in seriousness and not in jest. “Yes,” he admits. “It would be nice.”

—-

Sir Roderick is exactly what Morpheus had imagined. Silver haired and straight backed. He carries a silver-tipped cane that Morpheus suspects is for show more than actually aiding him walking since his gait is strong and true. His eyes are ice blue and just as cold. Perhaps mid-fifties, he carries himself with the weight and assurance of man who knows his worth, and knows it to be a lot. Sir Roderick is accompanied by his remaining son, Alexander, a young omega of meek and unpretentious bearing. He is maybe 12 years old, newly presented and nervous in the company of so many strangers. He does not have the bearing of one who knows his worth. Morpheus recognises that set to his shoulders and feels some empathy for Alexander. The boy is clearly not loved by his father, always overshadowed by the ghost of his brother, dead, like Morpheus’s fiance, on the Titanic.

The gathering is quite a large one, and Morpheus drifts amongst the guests as they gather in the drawing room awaiting the gong for dinner. Morpheus has heard that it is the fashion down in London for cocktails to be served before dinner, but fashion does not filter through quickly to the North, so here they simply mingle and wait. Although he does not enjoy it, Morpheus is practised at these situations- the hosting duties and smalltalk ingrained in him since childhood. Morpheus had not been joking when he’d told Hob about his governess making him open conversations with every plant in the garden. He could make even the most gauche of guests feel at ease if he so desired.

Hob- as so often, his thoughts return to the chauffeur. How Morpheus loves him, wishes that he was with him, boiling tea on his little stove and toasting pieces of bread over the fire. It had been… idyllic. He wants more of that. More of that, and less of staid conversations and stuffy evening wear. Laughter here is genteel and false, for politeness’ sake only; laughter with Hob is truthful and often.

It is not until they are seated for dinner that Morpheus has the opportunity to converse with Sir Roderick. His mother had of course placed Burgess next to Morpheus at the table and he had her strict instructions on how to behave. Morpheus could be pleasant to this man for one evening. He is not all that worried that this suitor is a serious one: he can not see his father agreeing to this match at all, no matter how much money Sir Roderick could boast. Chronos would not be able to see past the lack of pedigree and that was that. Even Sir Roderick’s country estate, Fawney Rig, was so newly acquired that paint was probably still drying on the walls.

‘How are you settling into life in Yorkshire, Sir Roderick?’ Dream asks as the footmen serve the first course, smoked salmon mousse on a bed of cucumber and dill pickle. “You have not come up against any unpassable barriers, I hope?”

“There are very few barriers that I would consider unpassable,” Burgess answers. “And I have not come across any here yet.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Morpheus says, “And what made you choose Yorkshire, is there a family connection?”

“No,” says Burgess firmly. “And I won’t insult you with some guff about how beautiful the county is, or how welcoming the people. The plain fact is, Yorkshire is cheap, Lord Morpheus. Do you think I should accept some paltry manor in the Home Counties when I can have a grand estate here in the North? With the efficiency of the trains and the postal service, one no longer needs to be restricted to the south-east.”

“I see,” says Morpheus, and takes a delicate bite of his salmon mousse. Burgess watches him like a blue-eyed hawk. “Well, I am pleased you have found some merit in Yorkshire’s real estate, at least. Fawney Rig is a fine house; I used to know it well. My father was great friends with Sir Thomas Russell, you see. We were all shocked at the news that he had had to sell up, that things had gotten so bad for them there.’’

“Mismanagement, plain and simple,” Burgess spits. “Fawney Rig and her estate will bring me profit soon enough. The Russells gave up.”

“They lost their son in Ypres,” Morpheus says, though he keeps any reproachfulness out of his tone. He thought this would have resonated with Burgess, supposedly still so cut about the loss of his own son, but the older man shakes his head dismissively and snorts.

“Sentimentality has no place in business. And running an estate is a business, even if it is an inherited one. I have more strength of character than that.”

“You are… very plainly spoken, sir.”

“I speak as I find; I have always found it the most efficient in my line of business. I have no use for pretty words bandied at dinner tables, that is the preserve of my spouse,” he takes another forkful of food, chewing and considering. “There is some merit to that approach, of course. It was certainly a talent cultivated by my late wife.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Morpheus murmurs the automatic platitude but Burgess makes a sharp, dismissive gesture, as if the loss of a spouse is nothing. Perhaps it is, to him.

“Do not be. It was more than ten years ago. Lucy was a fine woman but she is dead and gone and can be of no help to me now.” His assessing gaze is back on Morpheus. “I have been observing you a lot this evening, my lord. You also have a talent for bandying sweet words. And now I am wondering, what other talents do you have? Is there more to you than a beautiful face? Can you sing, paint, play the pianoforte? All those pretty, useful talents a society omega must possess.”

Morpheus wonders briefly if he is being mocked, but Burgess seems… sincere in his question; it feels almost as if he is interviewing Morpheus for the position of spouse. It is quite the strangest dinner party conversation he’s had in a long time but it is not dull at least. Morpheus decides to humour the man.

‘Of course, Sir Roderick,’ he says sweetly, lifting his glass of wine. “I have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing and the modern languages. Indeed, I have been told that I possess a certain something in my manner of walking, in the tone of my voice, and my expressions that speaks to my accomplishment as a society omega,” he takes a tiny sip of the wine and casts a look from under his eyelashes at Burgess. “And I like reading, too.”

That was probably a slightly risky answer; if Sir Roderick picks up on the paraphrasing then Morpheus will certainly come across as rude. Still, Burgess does not look the sort of man to read Austen and indeed he does not seem to recognise the quote, though his eyes narrow somewhat anyway. Well, Morpheus was not so subtle, he supposes but really, that list of talents was so… regency he could not resist. He did omit the dancing, though. Morpheus does not dance, or say that he does, even in mockery.

“Well,” Burgess states dryly, “I shall look forward to a demonstration of some of these talents then. Perhaps you will sing for me later? I should like to know what gifts, aside from your looks and your lineage, you will pass down to our future offspring.”

Caught mid-sip, Morpheus almost spits out his wine. “I beg your pardon, sir?’ he manages. ‘I think I may have misheard.”

“You misheard nothing,” Burgess says brusquely. He is speaking quietly, thank goodness, so no one else on the table is privy to this… inappropriate conversation. “I think we would do well together, you and I. Could be a good team- your connections and my business acumen. You could help me build a worthwhile legacy; and provide the pups to continue it, of course.”

“Heavens,” Dream says, hoping he is keeping his face as neutral as he thinks he is. It would not do to show that shock and frank distaste he feels at such a future. He is not often at a loss for words, but he almost is here. “Is this a proposal?”

“I will speak to your father,” Burgess leans back, looking satisfied. “And then it will be.”

Dream decides a change of subject is in order. Sir Roderick is plainly spoken indeed; Dream wishes he could be so plainly spoken in his rebuff but alas, pretty words bandied about will have to do. He clears his throat.

“Mama tells me you’re in newspapers, Sir Roderick?”

“Well, I own a few.” Burgess barks a laugh.

“That must be quite a responsibility at a time like this. In a war, I mean. When it's so important to keep people's spirits up.”

“Lord Morpheus, my responsibility is to my investors,” Burgess scoffs, and takes a long drink of his recently refilled wine glass, before fixing Morpheus with that auger-like stare again. “I need to keep my readership up. I leave the public spirits to government propaganda.”

Sir Roderick does not mention marriage again for the rest of the meal.

And from his thunderous look when he and the rest of the alphas reappear from their after dinner smoke, his overtures to Morpheus’s father had gone just as Morpheus had predicted.

Morpheus hides his smile in glass and turns away. What a terrible shame.

—-

“He said what?” Hob says gleefully, when Morpheus recounts the story to him the next day. “And did you really quote Pride and Prejudice?”

“I could not help myself. It was so apposite.”

“Oh Dream, I do so wish I could be a fly on the wall at some of your dinner parties.”

“You do not,” Morpheus says drily. “They are deadly dull. You’d either die or boredom or die from anger over some of the things my parents say.”

“Well you make them sound interesting, at least.”

“Perhaps I have a talent for narrative,” Dream says airly, and Hob laughs, bumping his shoulder gently as they walk. Dream’s stomach swoops.

“Perhaps you do, at that.”

Dreamling Abbey

My fic for the @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang !!

No lie, guys: I decided to do this after coming out of a heart scan at the hospital on the sign up deadline. The thinking being: I could have a dicky ticker here, why not try something new? And this was perfect because if there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I need a deadline.

And so here we are.

I am MOST affronted by how hard this was?! And how bloody long it took me (mostly because I spent a lot of time staring into space or relentlessly googling 'did they have xyz in Edwardian England) All you wonderful, talented writers have made it look so easy that all that effort came as somewhat of a shock. Honestly, I am deeply saddened that the copious amount of Dreamling fic I have voraciously consumed in the past 18 months has not magically made a fantastic author out of me. Why does osmosis not work for writing?

If you read, I hope you enjoy!

(The ticker's fine, by the way. Not dicky at all.)

Art by the fabulous @lalaithquetzallicaresi Thanks for squeezing me in there, lovely! ❤

Pairing: Dream/Hob

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 50k

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, look it's Downton Abbey but Dreamling omegaverse. Sorta. If you squint, I'm not sure Julian Fellowes would approve, If you haven't seen Downton it definitely won't matter, because I've unashamedly just stolen bits and pieces and thrown the rest to the wind, Attempted Sexual Assault, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pining, period typical attitudes to gender. If you reframe gender to include alpha beta omega dynamics, omega rights paralleling the suffragette movement in England, Minor Violence, lots of vague references to classic cars, mention of unethical medical procedures, Time and Night are bad parents, Omega Dream of the Endless, Alpha Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless│Morpheus Needs a Hug, Unbeta'd

Read chapter 1 on ao3

Fic Summary: Lord Morpheus is the eldest child of the Earl and Countess of Endless, an ancient family hiding huge debts behind a fine name. As an omega, Morpheus cannot inherit his father's title or the family's ancestral home. His function is simple: secure a match that is both socially advantageous and financially viable, thus securing the future of the estate and the title of Earl of Endless for his offspring. The family believe that their troubles are solved when Morpheus dutifully (if reluctantly) becomes engaged to his wealthy cousin, Patrick. However, all their carefully laid plans are thrown into chaos when Patrick drowns on the ill-fated Titianic.

Now Morpheus is navigating treacherous waters of his own and discovering how tight the ties of family loyalty bind him. Will the charming and handsome Duke of Crowborough prove his saviour? Or will the wealthy yet odious Sir Roderick Burgess ensnare Morpheus in plans of his own?

Meanwhile, the family’s new chauffeur, one Robert Gadling, is muddying the waters of Morpheus’s existence even further- where is the line between a servant and a friend? Can Hob help Morpheus see that life exists beyond the confines of family and function?

Chapters below the cuts and in subsequent reblogs, should you wish to read it here on tumblr.

Chapter 1: Complications with the Great Matter.

April 1912.

The papers had been late this morning. Not that Morpheus notices their tardiness. Serious daily newspapers are the preserve of his father and since Morpheus has little interest in the society gossip that proliferated on the pages of The Daily Sketch, the only periodical he is allowed in his room, he rarely bothers to glance at it. However, the large photograph blazing across the front page is so arresting that he finds his eyes drawn to it immediately, ignoring all else on his vanity to take the paper and read. It is bad news of course, the papers rarely print anything but. ‘DISASTER TO TITANIC ON HER MAIDEN VOYAGE’ boldly proclaims the headline, beneath which is black and white image of the doomed liner, adjoined by one of her seemingly also doomed captain, John Smith. Morpheus’s eyebrows draw down as he reads the brief article: so many presumed dead, so few saved. They would know people, of course. His mother knew the Astors, and they had dined with Lady Rothes only last month. Still, the privilege of first class likely meant they would be amongst the survivors. Those below decks… on their way to a better life, well they would not have been so fortunate. What a tragedy, Morpheus sighs and closes the paper. This news rather put his own woes into perspective-

The door bangs open and Desire flounces in without so much as a by your leave, as is their way.

“Dream!” they shout without preamble, then glance at the newspaper in his hands with a slight moue of disappointment. Being the bearer of bad news is something Desire takes a measure of delight in, “Oh, you’ve seen already, Huh,” They shake their head, before bending over Morpheus to look more closely at his paper, hand gripping his shoulder. This close, the smell of the perfume Desire favours- a rich and spicy aroma deliberately chosen to overwhelm their natural omega scent- makes him wrinkle his nose and move his head away. Desire’s fingers tighten on his shoulder and they huff in amusement. They are not strictly allowed to wear perfumes but Desire goes their own way with everything. “When Jessamy told me, I thought she must have dreamt it!” Desire continues in a low tone, meeting Morpheus’s eyes in the mirror. “To think, we were just talking about that ship the other week. Remember how excited old Lucy Rothes was? Supposed to be unsinkable- ha!”

“Every mountain is unclimbable until they climb, so every ship is unsinkable until it sinks,” Morpheus responds neutrally, putting the paper down and shrugging Desire’s hand off to stand. Desire moves with him, smoothing their hands over the non-existent wrinkles on the shoulder of his jacket before adjusting his already meticulously placed tie pin. Morpheus endures the attention for a moment before once again moving away. He does not enjoy this close scrutiny and Desire knows it, but it is always a delight of theirs to make him feel uncomfortable.

“Hm” Desire hums then shrugs, “Come on, now you’re all sorted, lets go to breakfast. Aponoia said she saw the telegram boy come by. I want to find out if there’s any more news. Won’t it be something if someone truly important drowned? Gossip for weeks.”

***

The papers always print bad news. Of course they do. But that news is viewed through a detached lens. Shocking, of course, but not too close to home. Telegrams though- that’s different. They take that news and make it personal.

Breakfast had proven to be a fraught affair. Their father had been away from the room when they first arrived, speaking with their mother so they were to learn, but he had soon been back and imparted the news of their family’s misfortune to his children with unusual brevity. Then he had left without saying anything further, leaving the three of them to process the news alone: the news that Patrick Endless, their wealthy cousin and Morpheus’s fiance, had been aboard the Titanic with his father, James and neither were listed among the names of the survivors. Morpheus had not felt like eating further and had removed himself back to his rooms with his siblings following uninvited (though not strictly unwanted). He had wanted to think but he also knew the danger of getting lost so deeply in his mind, so Desire’s sniping and Aponoia’s quiet presence would be… grounding.

The stupid thing was that Patrick was not even meant to be on that cursed ship; he and his father weren’t expected in New York until May. Why? He thought Why did they go? And without saying anything? Perhaps Patrick had planned to telegram from New York- a boast and a surprise.

“Turns out that the lure of the Titanic’s maiden voyage was too strong.” Desire says as if reading his mind, and with a hint of mischief in their golden eyes. They lounge dramatically against the doorframe whilst Morpheus stands and stares out of his window, gazing at the grounds below. It all looks so quiet, so normal. Why doesn’t he feel sad? Desire continues, “They wanted to be part of history and now they are history.”

“Desire,” Morpheus chides half heartedly. It is a crass statement but he can’t find it in himself to react more strongly. Maybe they are looking for a reaction from him, or maybe this is now how his sibling processes strong emotions. It certainly seems in character. Aponoia has not yet spoken. She just sits unmoving, staring vacantly ahead, toying with the ring on her finger, turning it over and over. He himself feels oddly disconnected from the news. How is one meant to react upon learning that their intended had been so suddenly and shockingly killed- drowned in the icy waters of the North Atlantic, their frozen corpse not even recovered, just left to sink and rot in the sea. Dream blinks slowly, probably not like this, he thinks vaguely. He feels there should be some weeping and wailing involved at the very least.

But there is only numbness.

***

“Uh, I detest black,” Desire flounces into the room the next morning whilst Morpheus is busy writing in his journal. He enjoys writing, it helps to order his often scattered and rebellious thoughts.

Jessamy, the maid he shares with his siblings, has just finished fixing his hair and is busily setting his bed to rights, plumping the pillows and smoothing the coverlets. Desire regards themself critically in Morpheus’ tall mirror, turning this way and that. Aponoia trails after them silently. She is also dressed in black and it makes her look even more wan and washed out than usual. As for Desire, their outfit may have been the requisite black, but it still looked to Morpheus to be sufficiently rakish as to raise their parents’ blood pressure. Hardly proper mourning material. “At least going into mourning won’t ruin your aesthetic, Dream dear,” Desire stretches languidly and collapses back on the just-made bed, smiling thinly. “Always a silver lining somewhere.”

“Full mourning still seems a lot for a cousin,” Morpheus replies vaguely. He tries to pay little attention to his siblings, bent over his journal and writing quickly. The habit of diary writing was born of necessity: a strategy to help quiet his mind, he’d been told, but now it is a pleasure.

“But not for a fiance,” Aponoia’s voice is quiet. There is no accusation in her tone, only the retelling of fact.

Morpheus huffs slightly. “He was not really a fiance.”

“No? I thought that was what you call a man you’re going to marry?”

“I was only going to marry him if nothing better turned up,” he turns the page and continues writing.

“Morpheus! What a dreadful thing to say!” Desire looks simply delighted. “Poor dear Patrick was absolutely besotted with you. It was quite pathetic to witness really- your indifference and his lovelorn obsessiveness,” they shudder theatrically. “Perhaps it’s a good thing he drowned; saved him from a miserable life with you as husband.”

“You dare suggest I would have been a poor husband to him?” Morpheus demands, slamming his diary closed and rounding on his sibling. Desire shrugs insouciantly, fiddling with a diamond earring.

‘“Well you didn’t love him. Barely liked him. And he wasn’t the cleverest where you were concerned, but he would have seen it sooner or later, and hated you for it. Of course, I could wish an unhappy marriage upon you, dearest brother. But Patrick? He deserved better.”

‘Better?’ Morpheus raises his eyebrows. Desire’s words were often full of spite towards him but this was such a quick switch around from mocking Patrick to defending him. Was there something here he had never seen? Never bothered to look for, in truth. “You would have considered yourself a better prospect, my sibling? Taken what I would have discarded?” He raises his eyebrows in challenge and they glare at each other for a moment, then Desire drops their gaze.

‘Yes,’ they say softly, vulnerability etching their features momentarily. “Would that I were eldest and not… as I am. Then I would have taken him like a shot.”

They stand, shields quickly going back up. “Well,” they sniff pointedly, looking away from Morpheus and towards the door, “It’s not so bad I suppose. Mama says we can go into half mourning next month, then full colour by September. A shame we have to spend the summer so drab- and miss the season down in London!- but at least we’ll be ready for shooting parties in the autumn. Come on Appy, let’s leave his lordship alone. He clearly craves solitude. To think,” they sneer, “and write in his stupid diary.” They flow out the room without a backwards glance, Aponoia dutifully trailing in their wake.

Morpheus sighs and turns back to his journal, opening it and staring at the blank page but not picking his pen back up. Desire and Patrick… not that he thought Patrick had returned any sort of affection to his younger sibling but still, had he really been so blind?

“I was so terribly sorry to hear the news, my lord,” Jessamy offers quietly into the silence of the room as she finishes adjusting his bed again. “You say these things but I know you are sad. Whatever you say.” “You are a dear,” Morpheus murmurs. “But I do not feel as badly as I should. I do not really know… what I feel.” That is probably a bad reflection upon me, he thinks. The truth was that beyond the normal amount of grief that came with the sudden and untimely passing of an acquaintance, Dream felt nothing. Patrick had hardly been a grand passion. They had known each other since childhood but had been thrown together through circumstance rather than any actual attraction and they had barely anything in common. So no, he was not as sad as he should be and that was what was really making him sad. This marriage would have been a thing of duty. Their family was old, old enough indeed to have had plenty of time to rack up considerable debts. A lack of money hidden behind a fine name. Morpheus’ marriage to Patrick would have secured the estate’s future, shored up its ailing finances and kept the title very much in the family. As an omega, Morpheus would never have been able to inherit his father’s title but his children could, if they were alphas. And now, there was no marriage, no money and a very uncertain future ahead of them. Morpheus’s one duty, his one function in society, was to secure a good match and that duty lay so heavily upon his shoulders. If only Olly had stayed- but no, there was no use in dealing in ‘if onlies’. Practicalities only, and practicalities meant marriage. And soon.

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ilalos · 3 years ago

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Worth it (Anthony Bridgerton x reader) Part 2/2

Summary: Your arranged marriage to Anthony seems fine, until it doesn’t.

Warnings: marriage, implied sex, angst-ish, fluff, pregnancy, crying, if you notice anything else let me know :)

Word count: 2.5k

The season passed in a blur with countless flowers and conversations that filled you with expectations about your marriage to the Viscount, you truly felt like love was around the corner for both of you and it was a matter of time for that corner to be turned. He was everything you had expected and more, you could tell he was wary about letting you in but didn’t want to push him so you let him open himself to you at his own pace. The had been some stolen looks, kisses on your knuckles that had lasted a little longer than they should and hand a bit lower than what was acceptable when you danced. To say the courting had been successful was the understatement of the season in your opinion, by the time the wedding day came you were counting down the minutes before you finally became Lady (y/n) Bridgeton.

Your wedding ceremony was short and the carriage ride to Anthony’s bachelor townhouse was even shorter. The wedding night had come with a surprisingly low amount of events, your virginity had been taken the sweetest of ways, with many kisses and whispered promises of pleasure that came true. By the end of the day, you were as happy as can be, laying on your husband's chest, feeling his heartbeat slowing down and smelling the sweet vanilla scent of his skin.

When you woke up the next morning the bed was empty and he had already left to work in his study back in the main Bridgerton home. He didn’t return until late in the evening and you were waiting for him so you could have dinner together.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he said while taking a sip of his wine.

“It’s nothing, I like that we are finally spending some time together”

Anthony just nodded and continued eating in silence.

“How was your day?” You pushed for conversation, you had been alone all day and could really use some conversation with someone different than your maid, who was terrified of speaking freely.

“It was busy” he answered simply “how was your day?” He asked after seeing the face you made at his short answer.

“It was also very busy, I reorganized the books in the library, had the kitchen staff do an inventory on the pantry, and send the maids to the market to get some flowers for the table tops” you narrated proudly, hoping he might appreciate the way you ran the home.

“Good to see you’re settling in, darling” his small praise made you smile a little.

“You don’t mind that I changed some things?” You asked somewhat concerned by his silence.

“It is your home, you’re free to do whatever you please with it,” he said dismissively.

“It’s our home, Anthony, I want to make it perfect for you too”

After dinner, he walked you to the bedroom and after a couple of heated kisses you fell in his arms once again, the pleasure he gave you was addictive. Despite his cold attitude towards you in other aspects of your life, it was in the bedroom where you felt hopeful for a future where you both might learn to truly love each other, and then he would sneak out every morning making you feel like a worthless whore.

And so your days continued like this, every night was filled with passion and every day was lonely. You couldn’t even go to the Bridgerton home, you had been taught that a married lady was not to go out without her husband, so your heart slowly filled with sadness as you spent day after day alone in the townhouse. Anthony was none the wiser because he simply thought you enjoyed being by yourself, so it never occurred to him to invite you to his family’s home or anywhere else.

A month into your marriage you found out you were with child. You were extremely happy and Anthony had shown himself to be happy as well, but then that night he didn’t come home for dinner and didn’t make an appearance in your bedroom. He was more and more distant until four months had passed and he disappeared for two full weeks before you saw him again.

It was on the day of your birthday, and he had only gone to your room because the butler told him you had been very sick that day. When he entered the room he found you seating on the bed hugging your knees close to your chest, your eyes puffy from crying and silent tears still streaming down your face. You weren’t upset he had forgotten your birthday, you had never celebrated it so it didn’t matter he didn’t remember it.

“What happened? Is everything well? Is the baby-“

“Your child is quite well, Lord Bridgerton” you interrupted in the coldest tone he had ever heard from you “to what do I owe this joyous visit?”

“I apologize for my absence, I have been very busy” he answered measly.

“I figured out that much, husband” the word was said with venom.

“Are you upset with me?” He asked offended, you had never treated him so coldly.

“I am upset with myself” you started with a pained chuckle “I don’t need you to try and comfort me because you did nothing wrong, that is the reason for my anger” a small sob escaped your lips “I was taught to be a good wife, that my only job was to give my husband heirs and to keep the house running and I understood that and I didn’t fight it because at least I would have children to fill my life with love and a husband who at the very least would acknowledge me and my efforts”

“I-“

“I don’t want you to feel like you should change or apologize, this is not your fault, I feel miserable because I filled my heart with hopes and dreams of love but that’s just not how life is, at least not mine” you harshly wiped your eyes before finishing “I understand my place now, I’m nothing but a child-bearer for you and that’s fine because you didn’t even pick me in the first place” you got up from bed and opened the door for him “please leave me alone, I will be fine”

“I can’t just leave you here alone, have you even eaten today? In your condition-“

“Your child is perfectly well, my lord” your tone had turned icy once again “please go, I am tired and want to rest”

Unable to do anything else, Anthony left the room and went back to his family’s home. His mother had insisted for him to take you there that night, but seeing your state he didn’t even bother asking if you wanted to go. When he got there he was surprised to see the dining room fully decorated, his whole family dressed in their best clothes, even Daphne and Simon had paid a visit.

“Where is (y/n)?” Asked Violet.

“She’s not feeling very well” answered Anthony looking at the table that was filled with all his wife’s favorite food “What is happening? Why are you all here dressed as if you are attending a ball?”

“Anthony, please for the love of God almighty, tell me you didn’t forget your wife’s birthday!” Violet couldn’t keep his composure, how could Anthony be so clueless.

“I-I’ve been so busy lately supervising the building of the new house, it didn’t even occur to me that it was her birthday” Anthony felt terrible, as he should.

“It’s bad enough she doesn’t like us, son” Violet sighed, seating on the table “And now she thinks we don’t care for her birthday”

“Where did you get that idea, mother?” Daphne couldn’t help but ask “When she writes to us she says wonderful things about our family”

“Then why hasn’t she visited since the wedding?” This time it was Colin asking “Mother sent a tea invitation shortly after they got married and she never showed up, sent a poor letter apologizing but did not explain why she didn’t show”

“I might have an explanation for that” Simon spoke up “My aunt was a terribly strict mother, taught her that a wife was nothing more than a child-bearer and had no liberties like men do, for example: going out unaccompanied”

“Has she been out of the house since you married, brother?” asked Eloise, turning to face Anthony who was still frozen at the doorstep.

“I don’t believe so” he entered the room and sat defeated “I just thought she enjoyed being at home by herself, god!” he rubbed his hands down his face.

“I can’t believe it, the poor thing” lamented Violet.

“She hasn’t left the house in almost half a year” concluded Benedict.

“And here we were, refusing to visit thinking she had rejected mother,” said Colin.

“I would like to clarify, I never agreed with losing contact with her over one missed invitation” added Eloise, gaining the glares of everyone present.

“It matters not what we thought nor does it matter what has happened in the past” began Violet “right now I want you to go pick her up and bring her here, she deserves to be celebrated, especially after everything we put her through,” she told her eldest child, pushing him to stand and go to the door.

Anthony mounted the carriage and urged the coachman to hurry home and as soon as he got there he ran up the stairs to your room and burst through the door, jolting you awake.

“I am so sorry, love,” ha said kneeling on your bedside “I never knew you didn’t leave the house because you thought you couldn’t, you are free to do as you please, darling” he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles “I didn’t mean to make you feel trapped in your own home, and I am sorry if you felt like I abandoned you” he caressed your face and wiped some tears that had fallen without your notice.

“You did abandon us,” you said, trying to pull your hand from his grasp with your other hand protecting your belly.

“I was merely supervising the building of our new home, I was hoping I could surprise you before the baby arrived” he explained, now seating by your side “I can’t possibly ask my family to leave their home but I know how much you love that house, and so I chose to build a similar one not too far from here”

“You are building me a house?” You asked incredulously, hardly anything could justify his absence but this was in fact a reasonable explanation.

“Yes, love” he once again caressed your face “A home for our family” at that your eyes filled with tears, this time from happiness.

You sat up and wrapped your arms around his neck, crying with your face buried in his shirt. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head and shushing you softly to calm down your cries. You spent a while holding each other until he suddenly broke you two apart, remembering his family that was still waiting for you both to show up.

“My beautiful wife, I must take you out of the comforts of your bed” he began, apologetic “My family is expecting you in their home to celebrate your birthday with a lavish dinner”

“Heavens! You should’ve started with that” you ran to your door and called out for your maid “I don’t think I have a dress for such occasion, non that would fit me now, that’s certain”

You opened your trunk and began taking out your chemise and all other items you had to wear under your dress in such cold weather. You took off your nightgown not caring Anthony was there, he had seen it all before, after you had put on your chemise your maid ran in and help you put on the rest of your garments and helped you squeeze your small baby bump in the dress you had worn for one of the first balls you attended when Anthony was courting you. She put your hair in a quick updo and even managed to coerce Anthony into putting on your stockings and your shoes while she did your hair. With all that rush and hard work, you managed to be ready in under an hour and still made it to the dinner at a reasonable hour (half past 9 is reasonable, right?).

At the Bridgerton home, you were welcomed with warm embraces and merry wishes on your special day. You all sat around the table and ate the feast that had sadly grown cold. Colin didn’t seem to mind as he devoured everything in sight, prompting Violet to chastise him softly. You, however, ate small bites because the pregnancy had caused your stomach to be upset easily and you didn’t wish to offend anyone by running out of the room to empty your stomach. Anthony watched you eat and held your hand atop the table, smiling as he watched you laugh and converse with his family.

“Is the food not good enough?” Asked Violet seeing your plate almost full.

“It is just perfect, my stomach has just been iffy since the start of the pregnancy” you answered smiling apologetically, Anthony choked on his wine because he realized at that very moment that he had forgotten to tell his family about your condition.

“You’re with child? Those are wonderful news!” Exclaimed Violet with a large smile “When did you found out?”

“Four months ago” you turned to glare at Anthony “I assumed your son had told you”

“How could you conceal such joyous information from your mother?” Violet then noticed her eldest daughter had become quiet, as well as her husband “Did you know, Daphne?”

“I was aware of it, yes” Daphne admitted ashamed “I too assumed Anthony had told you”

“You assumed my eldest son had told me about his wife’s pregnancy and I had decided not to mention any of it in our letters?”

“I-I’m, yes?” Benedict and Colin snorted with laughter hearing their sister’s answer.

Violet only shook her head with a small smile, her children were truly a wonder. Anthony was nervous that you’d get mad at him for not telling them, but one look at your laughing face told him he didn’t need to worry.

Later that evening you both laid in bed after yet another passion-filled encounter, your breathing slow and even making Anthony think you were asleep. He was caressing your naked back with feather-like touches, kissing your sweaty forehead every few minutes.

“I love you” you sighed, kissing his chest “You need not feel the same, I just want you to know how I feel”

He took a shaky breath before answering.

“I also am in love with you, darling” he placed a finger under your chin and tilted your head so you’d look at him “sometimes I’m scared of just how much I love you” he kissed you slow and deep, pouring all his love into the action.

The kiss was unlike any other you had shared before, this one was full of promise and hope. It filled you with love and certainty, you were now sure that no matter how difficult the road to Anthony’s heart had been, even if you didn’t want it at first, it had all been worth it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. If you like it let me know.

Tag list:

@alaizaaa02

@awesomebooklover17

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #my writing #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton

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theofficialstereklibrary · 4 years ago

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different communications - sterek edition

so I’ve been stuck in my house for a year now and it’s weird to not communicate with people in a different way than before. mostly thro social media, texting & video calls. so heres some other forms of communications in sterek fics. enjoy & be safe <3

letter writing tag:

Just to See You Again by MellytheHun (9/9 | 14,950 | NC17)

A sterek college!AU where writing student Stiles specializes in love letters, runs a blog about it and can be commissioned to write love letters on behalf of lovers who are at a loss for words.

He makes some cash, he’s good at what he does (especially when he gets to be a little more explicit in his letters), it pays for his textbooks and that’s all he’s really looking for and life is fine. That is, until someone anonymously commissions him to write a love letter to mathematics student, Derek Hale.

With Warmest Regards (Affectionately Yours) by asocialfauxpas (fuzzytomato) (1/1 | 5,920 | R)

House Hale and House Stilinski form an alliance through the betrothal of Prince Derek and Prince Stiles. Having only met once before, they write letters to get to know one another.

You've Got Notes by the_gramophone (1/1 | 14,817 | R)

Stiles Stilinski has wanted star basketball player Derek Hale forever, but what are the odds of that ever happening? A love story of letters, prom, and the healing power of milkshakes.

Lovely Penmanship by DLanaDHZ (31/31 | 110,743 | NC17)

To use a scribe to write your letters is a sign of privilege. To be a scribe is... mildly better than a servant. When Stiles, scribe to Lady Kate Argent, is instructed to write a love letter to Lord Derek Hale in her stead, he has no idea just how far from plan things will go. He has no idea that this series of letters will begin a secret affair under the noses of his employers, will lead to him discovering the truth about his past family tragedy, and will make his head spin for both good and bad reasons. All he knows is 'Dear Derek' has some very lovely penmanship.

texting tag:

my heart's been offline by thepsychicclam (1/1 | 58,893 | NC17)

31/M/New York. Rich, lays in bed all day, likes to read (aka Derek Hale, son of an Oscar winning actress, brother of one obnoxious reality star and one rebellious fashion designer, hates the paparazzi so much he's a recluse)

26/M/California. Boring office job, likes to read (aka Stiles Stilinski, co-owner of a 100 acre organic farm with his dad and two best friends, writer of obits for a newspaper, has absolutely no life)

Or, where Derek and Stiles meet online, and Stiles has no clue Derek's part of a famous family.

New Flavour, Sweet Finish by SylvieW (1/1 | 3,248 | R)

Stiles’ Grandmother gives his number to a stranger at a coffee shop.

The Right Number by kyaticlikestea (8/8 | 30,379 | PG13)

When Stiles Stilinski's phone gets switched at the gym, he really just wants it back. The last thing he's expecting is to fall hopelessly in lust with the guy who's got his phone.

So, of course, that's exactly what happens.

A sudden simple twist of fate by heydoeydoey (1/1 | 14,506 | PG13)

Stiles still has Derek's number saved in his phone, and he tells himself he's going to delete it, but he doesn't. Instead, he sends Derek a text. Okay, four texts.

online/phone calls:

Letters by ericaismeg (1/1 | 8,924 | G)

“Stiles, this is getting ridiculous. Can you please do something about it?” Lydia demands. “Do anything. I don’t care. Go up and kiss him, ask him to prom this year, write him secret admirer love letters, whatever. Just do something.”

***

OR: The one where Lydia sets up an email account for Stiles to "confess his love" for Derek. And as fate would have it, they also end up becoming friends in person at the same time.

I Settle for Long Distance Calls by iamursforevrmre (1/1 | 4,369 | G)

Derek is the guy who Stiles met on some random band page on MySpace because Derek made a ridiculously hilarious comment and with a spurt of confidence, Stiles had messaged him to tell him just how hilarious it was and they got to talking. Derek is the guy that made a FaceBook account just to talk to Stiles on the messenger so they could talk more when MySpace was slowly dying out. Derek is the guy that changed his text message plan to unlimited when he finally sent Stiles his cell phone number. Derek is the guy that has been on the phone with Stiles at any and all hours through the day.

And Derek is the guy that Stiles is in love with.

Getting to Know You by Inell (1/1 | 8,402 | NC17)

Derek is back in Oregon temporarily, but he and Stiles still take time out of their busy lives to try to get to know each other a little bit better.

i want to say all those things that would be better unsaid by aeneapsych (1/1 | 24,552 | NC17)

Derek is a lonely professor who decides to call a phone sex line.

Stiles is a poor grad student who needs to make a living somehow.

"One night stands were never this good. Hell, his previous relationships were never this good. Derek was so screwed, but right now he didn't care."

Wrong Number by greenleaf (1/1 | 9,833 | PG13)

Even wrong numbers can get it right sometimes.

...Or one where Stiles dials the wrong number and keeps forgetting to change it, while Derek ends up going along for the ride and sees Stiles four times before Stiles meets him.

#recs #letters #texting #online relationship #online #no prompts on this one #ive just been enjoying this trope as of late #and sharing is caring

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

By the king’s hand 🐍 XIV

Warnings: dubcon/noncon/rape

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You try to adjust to life back at the palace.

Note: Let me say this is torture to write sitting with my bf because I wanna jump his bones but whatever. Anyways, this chapter is kinda just porn but you know we have some plot coming so enjoy while you can hahah.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Loki was reluctant to leave you and when he did, he left Hal in his stead. It wasn’t subtle. The boy watched you with his bright eyes and every time you stood and paced the room, he asked if you were well. It was rather irritating even if the boy meant well.

You sighed and dropped onto the chaise. You looked around the chambers and hunched forward as you held your face in your hands. Finally settled, as much as you could be, you were restless and you dared to admit it, bored. Hal sat in the armchair and held the same book he’d had in the carriage. You tilted your head as you admired the worn spine.

“Is there nothing I am allowed to keep me from going mad from this tedium?” You asked.

Hal looked up and blinked. He closed his book and rested it on his leg. “Can I ask you a question?” He wondered. You squinted but nodded. “You, by your own words, are a peasant. How come you speak so well?”

You shifted. You hadn’t expected that. You were unused to talking about yourself or thinking about your former life. It was so distant it felt as if it had never been yours.

“My uncle,” you said softly. “I worked in his pottery shop. We never made anything fancy, nothing for any noble patron, but when he was an apprentice, he was employed by a jeweler. Peasants don’t buy jewels. My uncle always said that a merchant should speak all languages, high and low, if he is to be successful, so he always reminded me to enunciate and use big words.” You scoffed and almost laughed at the thought, “Seems ridiculous now. He never made a pot for anything more than a modest holy man, and you know it is unseemly to accept coin from one anointed by the gods.”

“You made pots?”

“And chests, and plates, bowls, cups. We used clay, wood, we even worked some glass.” You explained. “My uncle’s wife died before he could have a child and my mother left me with him before she ran out.”

“And your father?” Hal leaned forward and winced at his own words. “My apologies, I shouldn’t--”

“My mother never married him proper.” You shrugged. “So I suppose, I’m a bastard too.” You touched your stomach. “Only entirely common.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” You let yourself smile, “You’re the first in this godforsaken place who’s even asked about me. No one else cares what I’ve done, only what I can do for them.”

There was a pause as Hal flipped the cover of the book open and closed. His cheeks coloured, as they often did when he was thinking. “If you are bored, you might read?”

“Read?” You laughed, this time aloud. “Peasants don’t read. We can keep a ledger of debts but letters, those are beyond us.”

He was embarrassed. His whole face turned red and his blue eyes rounded. “Well, I… I don’t-- I didn’t--” He cleared his throat, “I could… teach you?”

You almost laughed again. You were kept from it as a knot formed in your chest. It was a kindness you hadn’t known in your time at the palace. Sure, the king had brought you charcoal and paper, but he didn’t care that you couldn’t draw. Aside from that, he expected you to wait around until he required your service.

You were suddenly overcome. You felt as if you would weep and quickly blotted your eyes with your sleeves. You sniffed back the threatening deluge and sat up. “You would teach me?”

“If I can,” he said meekly, “I’ve never taught anyone but I could try.” He stood and set aside the book. “Would you want to?”

“I think… but what is there to read?” You asked. “I always just thought books looked so...complicated.”

“Oh, there are wonderful stories,” he chimed, “Of princesses and knights and kings and queens.” He went to the writing desk in the corner and shuffled through the loose leafs, “Even stories of commoners; of the poor out in the cold and the lowly soldier marching with his liege.”

He turned with a handful of untouched parchment and an inkwell in hand. He set it on the table and retrieved two pens from the desk drawer. He pulled a chair away from the table and looked to you.

“My lady,” he said.

“I told you, that is not my title.” You rose slowly and groaned as your hips ached.

“May I call you it anyway?” He asked. “I think it fits you.”

You chuckled at him and patted his shoulder as you sat in the stiff-backed seat. “If you must.”

“Well,” he sat and placed a pen in front of you, “I think it is best to start by writing out the letters. That is how I began.”

“Alright,” you took the pen and rolled it between your fingers. He slid a sheet before you.

“Just repeat as I do and we will go over the sounds of each letter.” He explained, “Don’t forget the ink.” He uncapped the well and shook his head at himself. “Better I am not a tutor. I think the sword might be better held in my hand.”

“Oh, but Hal,” you said, “A knight should have patience and I expect, you’ll need much with me.”

🐍

Your lesson was long and frustrating. Hal seemed much wiser than you as he assured you that you must be twice his age and so it might take longer for you to catch on. It did not help as you only felt even duller. The boy was patient, to a fault, even, as finally you drew out your entire alphabet and named all the letters by heart. He advised that you looked them over often and repeat them when you could until the next lesson.

He shuffled up the parchment and cleaned the pens. He tucked it all away in the broad drawer as you moved to the chaise and reclined as your lower back rang with pain. He snapped it shut and resumed the armchair.

“The king writes in his solar often,” Hal said, “So you might assume that desk in his absence.”

“Is that what he does when he is away?” You rubbed your stomach pensively.

“He reads, he writes, he meets his council and gives his decrees,” Hal said, “He is a king who keeps himself busy.”

“You would think he’d long for solace when he is not at his duty,” you sighed.

“I think a king is often lonely in his own way. His nobles only expect favours of him and he cannot meet any on even ground.” Hal mulled. “Perhaps, he might feel as you do; that they do not ask after him, only what he can give them.”

“Hmm,” you hummed. How much did Loki give to any? It seemed as if he only took. “Perhaps from his eye.” You tapped your fingers on a wrinkle in your gown. “How long have you served the king?”

“Since I was only eight years.” Hal said. “My father is an earl and Odin saw fit that I take service in the palace for my education. His own son needed an attendant. The king, a prince at the time, did think me too young.” He chuckled to himself, “He said I was as sweet as a maid and I would make a poor lord.”

“That isn’t very kind,” you huffed.

“Ah, but the king is only one who needs proof of one’s worth. He did see my loyalty and my diligence. He has kept me on and has made me squire. I cannot be more grateful.” Hal expounded, “When my training begins, I will no longer be expected to feed or dress him.”

“Oh,” you said glumly, “And when does he intend on that?”

“In the spring, when he is wed,” he answered, “When the snow has melted and the yards are not so treacherous.”

You were quiet. You sat up and turned your legs over the edge of the chaise. You leaned on the low arm and kept a pillow under your elbow.

“You will see me still, my lady,” he said, “I promise that.”

“No, I don’t think I will. I will be round and ready to burst by then and you will have a new duty.” You picked at the edge of the cushion, “And the king will have his wife. I think I mightn’t be here then.”

“Where would you be?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Hidden away so that the king’s shame cannot be known,” you shrugged, “What should a wife, a princess, think if her husband does keep another in his bed?”

Hal reddened and you almost giggled at his embarrassment, not thinking before you spoke.

“I’m sorry,” you looked down.

“No, it is only… I am almost a man, I know of these things,” he insisted, “It is only, well, I cannot think of how he should have both.” He twiddled his fingers. “It makes me sad to think he might have to be rid of you. To think that things can change so quickly.”

“So is life,” you threw your hand up, “Nothing ever stays as it was.”

“I suppose,” Hal swallowed and opened his book, “But I would not dwell on it.” He flipped through the pages, “I’d rather enjoy things as they are now.”

You peeked over at the boy. As you watched him put his eyes to the page, you felt a bittersweet churning inside. He was so young, you recalled yourself at his age. You’d never been one for dreams or whimsical aspiration. Your uncle called you his little miser as you always saw the worst in the best. Life had yet to dispel your pessimism.

As he turned the page, another peculiar pang settled in you. You thought of your child and who they should be. You hoped they did not inherit your acrid gloom or their father’s malice. You hoped they were like the boy before you. You hoped you could give them dreams you never had. You hoped, you hoped, you hoped…

The door kept you from drifting further into your fears. You looked up as Loki entered and dusted the last of the melting snow from his shoulder. Hal was on his feet in a second and helped the king out of his damp cloak. You rose in turn, anxious as you bounced on the balls of your feet.

Loki’s pale skin was pinkened with the bite of the cold. He sniffed and bid Hal to fetch him tea. The boy flitted out obediently and left you to greet the king.

Loki rubbed his hands together as he went to the fire and warmed them over the flame. He didn’t look at you as he stared into the flames. “You may sit.” He said, “You should not tax yourself thus.”

You lowered yourself as he leaned on the mantle and brushed his fingers through his dark hair. He was still at his work in his head. You wondered why he’d returned so early as you expected he had much to do.

“I took my lords to arrange Tyr’s Hall for my brother’s arrival,” Loki said, “The snow has brought a tree down and damaged the roof.” He spun and his hands went to his hips. “We will have to relocate to the theatre. It is the only building spacious enough for the council and the jury and judges.” He paced and shook his head, “My father renewed that damned theatre over the courthouse. He always did like his shows. And now I must put my brother on trial as if it is some comedy!”

You watched him. He never spoke so much of his courtly troubles. You weren’t sure what you could offer. You knew little of what he did or could do.

“Ugh,” he stilled himself and held his hands out, “But I did come to clear my mind of these things.” He lowered his head and exhaled. He strode over to you and sat on the chaise next to you. “For all the nonsense, I could but worry for… the child.”

You nodded. “And me? You leave me with the boy so he can keep me from trouble?”

“I leave him as company. You needn’t be alone so much.” He leaned back on his hands and pushed his legs apart. “You don’t like him?”

“No, he is a sweet boy,” you assured him, “But I don’t think it fair to keep him locked up with me.”

“He does as I will,” Loki rolled his eyes, “As you do.”

You clamped your mouth shut. His usual mood had returned. You only suspected it to worsen as his brother’s presence loomed and the trial edged closer.

“Your baker’s daughter did relent, at least,” he sneered, “Another witness for our cause though the word of a common whore will do little against a prince.”

You frowned. You didn’t want to think of Gilla or your visit to the dungeons. It made you shiver and you hugged yourself. He waved his hand in the air and chewed his cheek.

“There I go again,” He turned his head to you, “I did retire for the day and yet I cannot think clearly.”

You hummed. He sat up and rested his hand on his thigh, a tight fist as he shook his head at himself. He stretched out his fingers slowly and reached over to touch your stomach. It seemed to calm him so you let him.

“Your majesty,” you said softly. He looked at you again and drew his other hand from his chin.

“Mouse?” He gave a small nod.

“The child will need something to wear with the boots.” You touched your hips as they reverberated with a sudden pain. You held in a hiss and went on, “I can sew. Perhaps you might allow me a needle and some material to work with.”

“I would have my tailors take care of all that,” he drew a circle with his fingertips before he pulled away from your stomach. “I’ve staff to worry for the details.”

“But… but you leave me here without task. Without anything but a boy and the walls.” You leaned forward to take the weight off your hips. “If I had some work to do, the time might pass easier.”

His brows lowered and he pursed his lips. “I suppose you are right.” He looked up as a knock sounded and he called for Hal to enter. “Thank you, boy.” He pointed to the table and the cup was set down. “You may go and return for our supper.”

“Your majesty,” Hal retreated and the door closed firmly.

“I will have some fabric sent to you on the morrow,” Loki allowed and you squirmed as the settee made your bottom sore. “Would you sit still?”

“Thank you, your majesty,” you hissed and stood as you rubbed your hips, “It is the child. It makes me ache.”

He watched you grip your hips and the tension left his face. His eyes roved up and down your body and he rose. How quickly his mind flew away.

“I might help with that,” he purred.

“I’m not sure that is a solution,” you grumbled.

“Do not presume to know my thoughts,” he warned and grabbed your wrist. “Come. Lay down and I will ease your pain.”

You blinked at him and your doubt drew your lips taught. He snickered and tugged you towards the bedchamber.

“Time does you well.” He said as he drew you through the door behind him, “Your old habits do return to you.”

He was irritating you. The slither in his tone, the knowing, the taunting. He was, as he said of you, as he was before.

“And you haven’t changed at all,” you huffed as he sat you down.

“Did I ever claim it?” He winked and cracked his knuckles, “On your side, mouse.”

“I think I only need to recline for a time,” you argued, “Without bother.”

“Oh, a bother am I?” He arched a brow. He bent and came close enough that his nose tickled yours. “There are ways for me to hurt you without affecting the child. So, let us not tread backward, mouse.”

You couldn’t help how your anger spiked. Your emotions grew more and more erratic. You merely gritted your teeth and lowered yourself down across the bed. He spun his finger to have you turn your back to him and you obeyed if only to hide your spite. The morning felt as if it was long ago.

“Just… relax,” his fingers went to your hip and he kneaded the flesh, “Birger says a woman with child is usually uncomfortable, so let me help and you might not be so fickle.”

“Fickle?” You snipped.

“I could think of another word but let us not venture so far,” he teased.

You moaned in surprise as his touch eased your muscles. You heard his low chuckle in response and you went rigid again. He continued to massage your hip, then your back, and your shoulders. He was quiet and you were uncertain as your body eased and your mind raced.

“Turn over,” he bid and you did without resistance.

His hand was on your other hip as your arm fell back and you closed your eyes. If he was the reason for your tension, he was as good at soothing it. You felt sleepy as he carried on and his fingers danced up your side. He touched your stomach again and crawled upward until he was cupping your breast.

You opened your eyes and he was grinning at the sigh of his hand on your chest. You grabbed his wrist and he shook you off.

“Well, mouse, you’ve got me all stiff now,” he looked to his lap and you sighed. “I say, these are bigger with each day.”

“Ah,” you squeaked as he pinched your nipple through the dress, “And tender!”

“All the better,” he groped you again. “You needn’t do anything but lay there, mouse.”

He nudged you onto your back and you resisted until he pinched you again. He caught your hand before you could strike him and shoved it down beside your head.

“Think of the child,” he cooed as he stood and pushed his knee between your legs. “I thought we had an understanding, mouse.” He brought his other knee down and forced your legs apart. “Birger did say that these activities were beneficial to your condition.”

“Oh, he did?” You wriggled your hand as he pinned your other down and stared down at you.

“And it is not so beneficial for you to work yourself up,” he warned, “So you might calm yourself before you suffer for it.”

“You mean let you have your pleasure.”

“If it entails my pleasure, then I cannot complain,” he released your hands and grabbed your tits again. “Fuck, look at you.”

You squeezed your legs around him but made no move to resist. He’d worked himself into a lust and to resist him might undo all his kindness. As it were, his persistence was not so cruel as before. You could bear it if only for the hope of rest in the end. You could bear it for the life inside you.

“I do not know if I can restrain myself as I did last eve,” he grasped the top of your gown and with effort, tore it open, “But I will try.”

You grunted as he jolted your body as he bared your swollen breast. He bent and took a nipple in his mouth and suckled. It sent a tingle deep into your chest and through your core. You gasped and your hand went to the back of his head. He swirled his tongue around your hardened bud as his fingers played with the other.

He moved to your other breast, a trail of spit between them as he relished the way you squirmed. You couldn’t help it as the pain was laced with a sensation more intense than any you’d felt before. He grabbed the top of the tear already rent in your gown and ripped it further. He dragged his lips down your stomach and growled.

You cursed under your breath. You hated that you felt this way. He pushed your legs up as he nestled between your legs and his warmth spread over your pelvis. He dipped his head down and you flinched as he delved into your folds. You dropped your hand from his hair and he pulled it back impatiently as he buried himself deeper in your cunt.

You bit down as your legs curled over his shoulders, his fingers traced your entrance as his mouth teased your clit. He poked inside and you moaned. He added another finger and worked them in tandem with his tongue. You tangled your fingers in his locks and panted as you covered your face with your other hand.

He kept on until you were writhing and whining. You rocked against his face hungrily and the release swept over you violently. You cried out and locked him between your legs as you rode out your climax.

He slowly withdrew and sat up as he kept your legs against him, resting your feet against his shoulders. He reached to the top of his breeches, hastily snapping the laces and parting the top. He freed his member and angled himself against your cunt.

He prodded you with his tip and slickened his cock with your arousal. Your hand fell to the pillow and you looked up at his dilated eyes.

He entered you in a single thrust. You exclaimed and he wiggled his hips as he tested your limits. He gripped your thighs as he began to move against you with long, even strokes. You quivered as your walls clenched around him. You felt your arousal spreading across his breeches with each thrust.

He sped up, his nails sinking into your thighs as he groaned in delight. He threw his head back as his breath hitched. The noise of his fucking filled the chamber and bounced off the corners in a lurid echo. Your frantic pants added to the carnal symphony and fed your hunger.

You reached down to grip the loose fabric of his trousers as he rutted into you. His fingers fluttered down to your cunt and he played with your bud as he fucked you. Your feet arched and you felt another orgasm brewing inside of you.

“Please,” you gasped, “Fuck, fuck!” You were dazed from the sheer pleasure flowing through, “Gods, I fucking hate--”

You came and your voice fizzled to a series of pathetic whimpers. He only thrust harder and faster. He pushed your legs down around him and planted his hands on either side of you as he groaned and grunted. He was close, you felt it in the way he quaked.

He pulled out of you suddenly and grabbed your hand. He wrapped it around his cock beneath his own and made you stroke him until he finished. His seed spilled out over your stomach, a few strings glossed over your tits, and he slowed your hand as he shuddered and stilled against you. He dropped your hand, his cum wet across your palm and rolled his shoulders.

His green irises focused at last and he sat back as he let out a long breath. He dragged a finger along your stomach, stirring his seed as he admired the small curve of your middle. He turned his hand and pressed two fingers against your cunt until you writhed.

“Thank you, mouse,” he rasped. “For a moment, I did forget my troubles.”

#loki #loki x reader #dark loki #dark!loki #fic #series #by the king's hand #dark fic #dark!fic #marvel #mcu #medieval au #au #king!loki #thor

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moonlightchess · 3 years ago

Text

a brief interlude in which a young mortician finally meets his patron saint.

(Diaphanous).

Around five years old, when he first started hearing them. Soft, muted weeping echoing lightly through the cavernous halls just beyond his bedroom door, and by ten he was accustomed to sliding out of bed, yawning, padding to his doorway to step out into the endlessly shadowed maw veining through the upstairs of his family’s home. The moaning creak of the floorboards was easily avoidable if you knew where to slide your feet, which by then he did, and he’d whisper into the dark: “You’re okay. It’s all over now, but stay as long as you need to. You’ll be getting along when you’re ready.” And even then, there was something profoundly tender and melancholy wrapping itself around little Theodore like an aura, to which the ghosts usually responded favorably. On occasion, they’d even slip into his bedroom after he climbed back into bed, gently tugging his duvet over him in thanks.

Sixteen, and Pere introduced him to the family business in the most definitive sense yet, bringing him down into the embalming room. There, he was shown how to drain the bodies, to sew their gums securely closed, to carefully apply powders and lotions to suggest sleep despite death. Pere helped him to remove the heart and lungs of a corpse in the preparation process of the old fashion, despite it having fallen out of favor in more recent years. Bellefontaine, Louisiana, lingered a decade or two behind much of the nation, in every way from embalming practices to racial sensitivity, both topics having already been addressed with young Theodore. “A person is a person, deserving of respect and love and dignity regardless of their skin, wealth, or any other such thing that the ignorant might think defines them,” Theodore senior had informed his small son firmly, long ago, meeting his midnight-blue eyes that were so solemn and sympathetic even then. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Pere.” Theodore had not understood, not entirely, back then. But at sixteen, hunched over the dead body of a local bait shop owner whose wife made the softest, sweetest beignets he’d ever tasted, clarity rose sharp and bitter. “Monsieur Dumonde,” had escaped him before he could swallow the words in the interest of professionalism. “I knew him. Used to buy worms from him when the boys wanted to go fishing, but it’s been so long. I didn’t know he was sick.”

“Everyone dies, ti-Theodore,” and he’d been in love with the way his name rolled from his father’s tongue in a thicker cajun accent than his own - tee-tay-oh-doure, Theodore junior. It was enormously soothing, even now as he considered shaving Monsieur Dumonde’s thick mustache away for his funeral - but in the end, he placed the straight razor back onto his father’s table of sharp tools, aware that his decision had been a test. “No. We leave the mustache, he always had one when he was alive. He used to tug on it and laugh at our homemade fishing poles whenever we went into his shop. His mustache was a part of him, and it’s important that we send him to the next with as much of the man he was intact as we can.” He’d been a little nervous, meeting the dusk-colored eyes that he’d inherited from his beloved father, holding his breath.

“Good boy,” and he’d exhaled. “There are many who would have shaved him, cut his hair, put on some strange new clothes he never would have chosen himself. But you, my sweet and quiet boy, you understand.”

Mere had been a dancer, once. Ballet had been her life, her identity, until a careless would-be principal prince had stumbled into her leap - during a rehearsal no less, she’d been denied even the dignity of a grand disaster to end her career in the middle of a soaringly tragic performance - and her ankle had snapped, had never healed properly. She limped a touch even then, bringing sweet tea out to their wraparound porch thick with creeping ivy and heavy flowers bursting open at random, studding the lush green like jewels in a necklace, where her teenage son sat cross-legged on a battered loveseat long since dragged out to face the elements of the swampland. Together, they would count the darting fireflies, tiny pinpricks of golden light waging a valiant war against the encroaching southern dark. “I was beautiful once,” she’d said to him. “They all used to come watch me dance, in the city.”

“You’re still beautiful, Mere.”

She’d only sighed, slipping a hand into the pocket of her pea-green silk skirt to retrieve a shot bottle of bourbon, hoarded from the liquor store in town, and poured it into her tea.

They were both gone now, six, seven years proper. He’d prepared their bodies, and in death all of his mother’s pain and longing had been exposed to him with the first incision into her cold and rigid flesh for the draining, sixty-two years of ballet and resentment filling up the glass reservoir of the tubing’s end, dark red. She’d always done up her soft, honey-colored hair into elaborate braids, draped over one shoulder or both or trailing down her back or even wound up into a twisted crown if she was in a happier mood than usual. Theodore had sat beside her, holding her stiff milky hand with his own and with the other, scrolling through youtube tutorials on how to create the perfect fishtail braid until he was confident.

Pere had gone five years after, the light in him having drained out as clear and real as every fluid in his wife’s body had eventually found its way into the belly of their aspirator in the basement. Pneumonia had taken his mother - she’d always had a poor and fragile immune system - but his father had been just shy of seventy and to this day, at thirty-two years old, Theodore had never been offered a satisfying cause of death for him. “Just his time, sug,” a nurse in powder blue scrubs had tried, patting his hand soothingly and because this was the south, “I’ll be praying for y’all - well, just you I suppose. Oh lord, you’re the only Bissonette left now, ain’tcha?”

He was. They’d left the entire mortuary to him, and with it all the responsibilities of being the local mortician and funeral director at such a tender age, and his head had at first swum dizzily with all the pressure and expectations. Theodore senior and his wife Lisette had been fixtures of their country community, familiar and comforting, always there whenever someone had passed on to arrange flowers and platters of cold cuts, to deliver gentle words to cushion the grief. They’d been known, trusted, but Theodore junior, well. Ti-Theodore Bissonette, so young to be running the whole house himself, and the folk of Bellefontaine just weren’t sure. Until the death of little Suzette Marchande.

Hit by a car, she’d been, some hideous beast driving drunk through the winding access road circling their little cajun town and pointed out toward Nola proper. He was in prison now, but Suzette remained dead, and in his huge, capable hands Theodore had poured every bit of his father’s knowledge and sensitivity into that girl. He’d dressed her in yellow, one of her own dresses supplied by her mother, but he’d also remembered that she’d loved frogs. She’d catch them in the swamp and hold them in both hands, laughing at their croaky sounds, but then she’d carefully deposit them onto some leaf somewhere. “They got big ones, in the jungle. The Amazon,” he remembered her saying when the Bissonettes had run into she and her parents in town once, years ago. “Big as cars, they are. I’m gonna go there someday and study ‘em.”

So he’d bought sparkly little green frog clips for her hair online, pinning it back from her freckled face. Her favorite stuffed froggie, named Monsieur Ourauron, Mister Ribbitt, had been lost in the crash, but he’d found one in the Amazon - or at least on amazon - that looked largely the same. When her parents had seen her during the open-casket service, they’d wept and clutched his hands, thanking him in a babbling blend of French, English and grief. That day had declared the end of one life and the beginning of another, as little Suzette had been delivered unto whatever waited after, but thirty-year-old ti-tay-oh-doure had been manifest and confirmed.

There was something to be said for how tall he was. He would have thought some would find it intimidating, difficult to relate to considering that he was six-seven or perhaps a touch over, impossibly long limbs and a hawkish nose, soft mouth borne of his Mere and his father’s nearly indigo eyes the color of a sky five minutes before the moonrise. His was soft, floppy, peanut-brown hair and a quiet timbre resonating in his voice that was immediately associated with the unthreatening sense of calm authority that his father had once carried around easy as an old sweater. Theodore would take care of everything, Bellefontaine knew. They’d be left free to grieve their lost, because he was here with his huge hands and endless legs and fleeting smile.

He lived alone, now. There had been flings, lovers, Audrey from Nola with her autumn-brown skin and fox-gold eyes, elegant and sure, but she hadn’t stayed long. “This place is charming, but you can’t actually expect to stay here all your life, can you?” she’d told him once, after the sex, the two of them naked and wrapped around each other in his sprawling bed with a gentle breeze from outside floating through his open window. She didn’t understand, and neither did the men, not even sweet Peter with his auburn curls and dimples.

“You’re all alone out here, doesn’t it get boring? Lonely? My god, you live in a mortuary.” His shiver had been all that Theodore had needed to kiss him tenderly and send him on his way. His father had been extraordinarily lucky to find Mere, he knew - so few understood, the nature of a curator of death. The ancient contract they’d signed, the tradition they’d inherited. It was sacred but horrifying to most, because everyone wanted the convenience of their holy order at the end of all things, but no one actually wanted to have to think about dying. About the fact that literally all of them, rich or poor, pious or skeptical, afraid or unafraid, was going to die. The repulsion, he understood, was instinctive, and he’d only made his lovers breakfast in the morning and never called any of them back.

Some of the ghosts never left, as it was, and there were mornings in which he’d make his way into the kitchen to find his black tea already steaming, his chair already pulled away from the table. Some of them had found their peace here with him, and so he’d leave his cello out on occasion so that they could pluck the strings or plink a few keys on his mother’s old baby grand in the living room. He was happy too, his natural introversion leaving him largely content in his solitary life. There were those who sought comfort in his touch after the funerals of their loved ones, holding onto his hands a beat too long as he bade them goodbye, meeting his eyes meaningfully, but he always released them to the hazy swamp air outside. They were hurting, vulnerable, and he was a gentleman.

It rained the night the stranger arrived, or stormed rather - Theodore’s lights had been flickering throughout the manor all night. He’d collected candles and charged his phone, but his power had soldiered on even as the thunder crashed and jagged needles of lightning slashed open the churning charcoal sky outside. He’d yanked open the heavy oak door in response to some insistent knocking, only to find a man roughly his age standing there on the porch. He was oddly untouched by the rain despite no car present behind him, moon-pale, spilled-ink hair thick and soft over limpid, silver-mirror eyes, colorless as a deep-sea creature’s, slicing through the dark.

“Saints alive, are you lost? Are you all right?” The man, he didn’t know personally, but a truth and clarity rolled from him like steam off the swamp, and he felt enormously familiar somehow.

“I wouldn’t say lost, no. May I come in?” His voice, soft and polite, still clear and steady over the storm.

“Yes, forgive me. Please.” He stepped aside, watching him enter, translucent eyes sweeping over the yawning, shadowed maw of the grand old manor’s entryway. “Who are you? I’m sorry, but I’m not taking in any bodies until morning.”

“I understand. Terribly sorry to intrude upon your evening like this, but you and I, we have a matter to discuss.” His accent was not local, nor was it unfamiliar. It felt like a forgotten dream, abruptly remembered, an old song once loved playing on the radio years later.

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize you, Sir. Have you been to one of my funerals?”

“Sweet Theodore, I have been to all of them.”

“I don’t understand.”

The stranger clasped his hands behind his back, idle as a museum patron, gazing thoughtfully up to the enormous and heavily framed oil paintings of Bissonettes past lining the walls of the entryway. “It’s my fault for allowing myself to become so fond of you, but you’ve never really understood just how rare a person you are, have you Theodore? I shouldn’t have come here, but I had no choice. I couldn’t let you leave here tonight, that tree would have rendered your car to a smoking wreck and your body to worse. And you, sweet Theodore, you deserve so much better. After all the respect and care and compassion you have shown so unfailingly to myself and my vocation over the years - I’ve come to love you, and you deserve a soft and quiet end. So much sweeter than the one planned for you, I had to make sure you didn’t die in that crash. I had to come here, on this night. For all your kindness, tonight I will be kind to you.”

Drunk, perhaps. Some sauced-up tourist stumbling through the bayou after a bar crawl, but - this far from the city proper? “I’m afraid that you’re still losing me, will you please tell me who you are?”

He turned then, colorless gaze meeting Theodore’s, an echo of sorrow in his faint smile.

“You know who I am.”

In the end, it was true. He supposed at least a part of him had known from the moment he’d opened the door.

“I do. I didn’t think I’d meet you this young in life, but I’m pleased to find you a gentleman, Sir. I can only hope that in the time you’ve allowed me, I’ve done you proud.”

“You and your whole dear family. You don’t know how much I owe you, all of you. You would have lingered, in pain, on life support, for months. It was unbearable, unacceptable. Not you, not my Theodore who has served me so gently and so diligently for so much of your life.”

“I suppose it’s time, then.” He was not afraid. Death, he knew. He’d existed out here in a kind of stasis for years, honoring his patron saint, the man standing before him in a soft black sweater and reaching out to slip an arm through his.

“It is. But I think the storm is winding to a close, and the mists are always so lovely. Why don’t we go see.”

Nodding, Theodore allowed himself to be led to the door, turning briefly to look back just one last time into his beautiful old house, his shrine to a softer death than most knew existed. He’d always done his best, to make the transition as easy as possible for those on their way to some other place, and now it was time to go.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not for you, no.” The stranger opened the door then, and Theodore couldn’t be sure that the new world laid before him looked the same to both of them, but he smiled at what he saw.

“You were right. It’s beautiful.”

The house and the ghosts left wandering its halls signed in unison with the departure of their beloved Theodore, but the rain had slowed and the moon had risen and they were patient enough to wait a while. Someone would come, someone as warm and bright as him, someone who would take care of them as tenderly as he had, some new Theodore born. In the end, after all, nothing ever really died, and daylight was coming on soon, sure as a promise.

#writeblr #writing #my writing #fantasy #death #louisiana #i'm still feeling shy about my writing but i'm completely obsessed with this character right now #just a little something i hope y'all like it

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mithrilhearts · 3 years ago

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Spill all the juicy details about the dad squad scene in Dragonhearted.

Dragonhearted - Chapter 8 Dad squad scene, you got it! (Bungo, Bard & Thranduil)

- First time doing commentary on anything ever. Enjoy my rambling because I have no idea what I'm doing.

Commentary & scene under the cut

Bard pushed his way through the doors of the Prancing Pony, noticing just how quiet it was. The entire pub had been cleared and there in the middle of it all sat one regal-looking Elvenking. With Thranduil came a few other elves, and Bungo was already present as he sat quietly fidgeting at a table by himself.

“My lord Thranduil,” Bard greeted carefully. “I appreciate your patience while our guest here recovered from his cold.” Giving Bungo a small wave, Bard just took the opportunity to stand before the seated elf with a goblet of wine in his hand.

“I do not take threats against my kingdom lightly, but your request was hardly difficult to appease.” Thranduil tapped his fingers against the table at his side, the small clattering of rings barely grazing wood sounding like hammers in such a quiet pub. “Tell me of this dragon.” Thranduil looked so calm and cool that it was hard to get a read on the elf. He sat tall and proud and didn’t seem to show a single ounce of concern, but remained serious in tone. Any good king would take the threat of a dragon seriously.

I had a vague idea of how I wanted to introduce Thranduil into the story. I knew that he was going to be something of a key player when it comes to the conclusion of our story - no, he's not Gaston, and neither is Bard! Though let me tell you, Luke Evans was a DREAM for the live action. Anyway!

Thranduil was going to be more dismissive, I think in my original plan. Which, I don't plan a whole lot (which has changed a little bit over time), but I also have something of a backstory as to his interest in the dragon threat - which we will come to later in the story. I wanted to stick true to his character as being this regal and calm creature, a leader willing to listen to the concerns of others as it would impact his people. I know some people give Thranduil a lot of hate or depict him as a dick, but hey, not in here. Not TODAY.

Bungo burst from his seat and moved to stand before Thranduil, just in front of Bard. “To the north of your forests, sir! There lays a lonely mountain, and within is a beast! A hideous dragon with sharp teeth and claws and scales-”

“Bungo,” Bard interrupted, reaching forward and landing a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder to try and calm him. “Take it easy, Thranduil is here to listen, you need not rush. Just tell him exactly what you remember.” And hopefully, that sickness that had been plaguing Bungo didn’t muddle everything between reality and falsehoods.

One thick eyebrow arched slightly, bright blue eyes drifting between Bungo and Bard as Thranduil shifted in his seat. “I do hope you aren’t implying I am not aware of what lies at the borders of my realm,” Only slightly offended in tone, Thranduil eyed the halfling carefully while taking another sip from his goblet. “There hasn’t been a dragon in these parts for decades, Master Hobbit. I’m afraid you are mistaken-”

“He has my son! I am not mistaken, and if you, sitting there on your high horse, can't be arsed to look into it...I…” Bungo’s bold tone dropped, almost settling into something of a whimper. “Bilbo is all I have...please, you have to help me save him. The dragon is real.” Belladonna would have just marched upon that mountain herself and dragged that dragon out by the tail to fish out Bilbo safely. Bungo was not that brave, he wasn’t a Took, but he would do everything in his power to ensure he got the help he needed to save his only son.

Thranduil pondered this for a moment, eyes flashing between Bard and a few of the other elves who had accompanied him. He had a soft spot in that heart of his and considering he too only had one son in his life, a heartstring had been plucked by this hobbit. “Legolas, Captain,” A younger blond elf that resembled Thranduil stepped forward, alongside a redheaded elven woman clad in green. “Take a few of the scouts and head to the northern borders of Mirkwood. Report back on everything you see, but should danger be in your path, do not engage. If there is indeed the threat of a dragon, I will not have you face it alone.”

Oh, Bungo. Poor sweet Bungo. I remember when I first started this story that I was going to have Belladonna be the surviving parent, but then I figured the story would end as soon as it started. Can you imagine? If Belladonna had been the one to try and take a coin and Thorin got snarly with her, she'd just tear him in half. I knew I wanted a "softer" parent, less adventurous. Plus, I don't think we see a lot of Bungo in fics! Or so I've been told. He's been fantastic for me.

His pleas to Thranduil and Bard trying to ease him are just...ugh. All three of them in this room are single dads, they know the importance of their kids and care for them deeply in their own way. Bungo being desperate to start raising his voice to the Elvenking??? I have to think that that's the turning point in Thranduil's mind. Whether the accusation of a dragon is real or not, to ease the nerves of a panicked parent, how could Thranduil turn away?

This also gave me a great excuse to introduce Legolas and Tauriel, by the way! Will we see more of them?? Perhaps.

“My lord?” Bungo squeaked in disbelief.

The Elvenking was off his seat, the goblet out of his hand as he faced Legolas and Tauriel, stern in expression but not overly emotionless. He wasn’t made of stone, after all. “Do have care.” Raising a hand to his chest and clenching it into a loose fist, Thranduil bowed his head slightly, getting the same gesture in return from the two younger elves who had accompanied him. That was their dismissal, and despite how ridiculous this all sounded, it wasn’t as if Legolas or Tauriel would waste much of their energy in simply stalking the northern borders.

“Have patience, Master Hobbit. My son is quick on his feet. If there is a threat, we will know in due time.”

Bungo and Bard both looked a tad perplexed, but the hobbit fell into some grateful mumblings before grabbing a seat, leaving Bard a moment to pull Thranduil aside.

“Are you simply humoring him?” Bard asked lowly. It wasn’t his place to question Thranduil, but this wasn’t his first time dealing with the Elvenking either. “What if there is a threat-”

“Darkness looms in every corner, we deal with the shadows as they pose problems. I don’t see there being a dragon hiding up north all this time unbeknownst to me. However, if I can ease some of the halfling’s worries…” Thranduil trailed and Bard kept his mouth shut. It seemed there was a silent understanding within the room.

Thranduil only had his son, Bard only had his three kids, and to put Bungo’s worries at ease for his only child? The common theme was that any parent would do whatever they could for their child.

“Let’s hope your son comes back with good news,” Bard muttered, a sigh escaping his lips as he felt a large dose of uncertainty well up in the pit of his stomach.

Something bad was coming and he could feel it in his very bones.

Okay, we know how the story of Beauty and the Beast goes, so OBVIOUSLY, someone's gonna have some nervous feelings about this dragon talk of Bungo's as being real, right? Who better than the Dragonslayer himself? While he might not outright believe it all one hundred percent, he is more inclined to believe in Bungo than he is to humor him.

This is also the segment where, yeah, dad squad. All single dads just trying to make their way in the world. I've already made commentary to Monica (the requestor!) that I imagine Bungo has further interactions with these fellas even after the story is over. Dads gotta stick together, right?

This scene turned out a lot nicer than I had envisioned. I had originally planned for like, a straight up dismissal, not for Thranduil to even humor Bungo, but I feel this adds a little bit more something to the story as things progress - and it brings out a kindness in Thranduil, and puts all three of them on the same level. No one is more superior or inferior than the other at this moment. I love it. #DadSquad

#razzy does commentary #tawarwaith #fic: dragonhearted

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vodkassassin · 4 years ago

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You know what would be great? Ju Qingsong. How would he be great? Served with mash potatoes and lots of love. Or just maybe seeing more of him, both options work for me :3

Ah, my son boy. Yes, here you go, have more of him :3 @overlordmoth

—

Shen Qingqiu looks exquisite today.

Then again, he looks beautiful every day. The peak lord of Qing Jing is always so put together, aloof and untouchable. The very picture of an immortal master of cultivation. It’s part of the reason An Ding receives so many proposals — marriage, trade or otherwise — which inevitably leads to their poor sect leader being drowned underneath them when they all reach his desk at the same time that month.

Shen Qingqiu is sought after, and the best part is that the man doesn’t even seem to know it.

Well, at least not anymore.

The Shen Qingqiu of before certainly knew exactly how gorgeous he was, and did everything he could to use it to his advantage, just as he did anything else that might possibly work to his own benefit. The man was sly, conniving and scheming.

Shen Qingqiu after that qi-deviation fever, though…. Oh, it is so amusing to watch.

He catches someone’s eye, is how it always starts out. After all, how could they not stare at him? He’s a walking masterpiece. Shen Qingqiu of before would have noticed immediately, but it flies directly over the Shen Qingqiu of now’s head entirely.

Whoever it is that the man has caught in his net this time would double their advances, thinking that he is only playing hard to get. Joke on them, though, because Shen Qingqiu is about as dense as a stone fortification wall of the Imperial palace, when it comes to stuff like this.

Yes, it’s always so amusing to watch these lofty officials throw themselves at his beautiful martial brother, increasingly more obvious and dramatic in their advances, only for Shen Qingqiu to either not even notice, or simply misunderstand them so terribly that it is truly hysterical.

It’s one of Ju Qingsong’s favorite pastimes.

He leans back, nursing his cup of wine in one palm while bracing himself on the edge of the banquet table with his other.

Rong Qingsheng is beside him, as he usually is. Ju Qingsong turns to smile at his best friend, and finds the usual hilarity that lies in the way that Rong Qingsheng seems quietly overwhelmed.

Like a man lost at sea, drowning in the surplus of pretty people that surround them. Rong Qingsheng is an absolute sucker for anyone who is even slightly attractive. The man can spend hours crowd-watching, eyes flitting from one beauty to the next. Tonight, Rong Qingsheng’s eyes look a little wild, as if he’s not entirely certain where he wants to start.

It’s like that at peak lord meetings, too. All their martial siblings are so unfairly gorgeous. It’s a veritable feast for the eyes.

Ju Qingsong thinks it’s a little funny. Just a little. A little funny that his best friend is so absolutely certain that he himself is completely average. A little funny, because it’s hardly the truth.

Rong Qingsheng is a sucker, as well as blind.

“Hm!” Ju Qingsong says, a sound of curiosity escaping him as he spots something new. “Have we really been here that long?”

Rong Qingsheng sends him a frown. “What are you talking about? The banquet started barely a stick of incense ago.”

“Then, it looks like we’ve found another difference between the Qingqiu.”

Ju Qingsong juts his chin out, and his friend follows the gesture to stare, surprised, at the retreating back of the Qing Jing peak lord.

They both stare in astonishment as Shen Qingqiu abandons the political social games of the intermingling cultivators that is being conducted in the middle of the floor, and instead makes his way to the back, where Shang Qinghua has set up shop in his usual vantage point.

The peak lords tend to leave An Ding alone during these sort of events, in order to give better mobility in the eternal search of information. Shang Qinghua spends the latter half of events like this one flitting from one end of the hall to the other, snatching up details and overhearing things that he is not suppose to.

For the first half, he nurses a cup of tea against the wall and merely observes, eyes like that of a hawk.

He looks so lonely there, and occasionally Ju Qingsong has been tempted to go and join him, just to see if he can get that slump out of his martial brother’s shoulders. But he never is quite able to tell when Shang Qinghua is working and when he isn’t.

Clearly, Shen Qingqiu does not have similar issues. Or, he just can’t be bothered to care? The man sidles up and plants himself directly beside a rather stunned-looking Shang Qinghua, and that is where he stays for the next several hours.

He makes impressively quick work of loosening Qinghua up. It’s quite a thing to be audience to, in Ju Qingsong’s opinion, the slow blossoming of Shang Qinghua’s smile — the real, genuine ones are always so sweet, it’s like a hand tightening around your heart when you’re on the receiving end— and the step-by-step procession of the man slowly growing less and less tense in the duration of time that Shen Qingqiu spends providing him company.

It makes Ju Qingsong feel regret, for all the times over the decades that he has talked himself out of approaching Shang Qinghua himself. Had his martial brother truly been so lonely, each and every banquet?

What about outside of them?

He takes a peek at the man beside him, wondering if Rong Qingsheng has cottoned on to the same realization, only to blink at the way his best friend’s eyes are staring, intensely, across the room at the same scene Ju Qingsong has been watching for hours now.

“Qingsheng?”

Rong Qingsheng barely even twitches. Ju Qingsong follows his gaze, and narrows his eyes.

He shelves his guilt for the moment, to be pondered rigorously at a latter date, and immediately realizes what a picture the Qing Jing and An Ding peak lords make; comfortably leaning against the ornate stone wall of a warmly lit banquet hall, shoulder to shoulder, cups of tea cradled in their hands, bathed in the intermixing glow of hundreds of candles and night pearls. Talking only to one another and hiding their easy smiles behind a sleeve or a fan, completely at odds with the usual pool of sharks circling one another than inter-sect conferences tend to encourage.

It’s like a painting. Light green and white contrasting with rich indigo and black. A closed off, cold beauty that has softened for the bright beam of sunshine that stands at his shoulder, laughing in a relaxed manner. Their martial brothers truly are exquisite.

Ju Qingsong breathes out as slowly as he can, mouth curling up at the corners. He turns to his friend, mouth open to make a comment, only to stop and stare.

Stunned laughter escapes his mouth, and he’s barely conscious enough to catch and quiet it before it leaves. It would be just his luck for some of the other guests to hear him and pay them attention, especially now that —

He leans down, bumping his shoulder into Rong Qingsheng’s, and breathes out. “Qingsheng. Qingsheng, you’re drooling.”

Rong Qingsheng blinks, startled. His eyes widen imperceptibly, and he reaches up hurriedly to swipe the corner of his sleeve across his mouth.

His stare doesn’t once move away from where their two martial brothers are leaning against the wall, all the way across the room. He doesn’t even answer, like he usually would, voice hushed and embarrassed and demanding that Ju Qingsong shut up. Rong Qingsheng just continues to stare, his glazed ceramic dish held tightly between his fingers.

Ju Qingsong bites his lip, and turns his attention to the small bit of wine that’s still left in the bottom of his cup.

He swirls the liquid around with slight, careful movements, and something in his chest tightens slightly. He can feel the corners of his mouth start to ache, like keeping the ever-present smile on his face has become something of a chore instead of the easy habit it usually is.

He opens his mouth to speak, and then pauses. He raises his cup and downs the last of his wine, licking away the residue from his lips before setting the dish on the table behind him.

“I’m going to go see how Liu-shixiong is holding up,” he says.

He watches how his friend nods, absently, attention still caught by the pretty picture that Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu make together as they wallflower, and fights against letting his shoulders tense up in the way that they’d like to.

Ju Qingsong pushes off the table and steps into the crowd. Liu Qingge is likely to have even better alcohol, and Ju Qingsong feels like he might need some of that, tonight.

Rong Qingsheng turns to stare after him, a slight frown decorating his features, lips turned down, but he’s already gone.

#svsss prompts #peak lord ocs #Cang Qiong peak lords #Shang Qinghua #Shen Qingqiu #cucumberplane #outside perspective #vodkas OCs #Ju Qingsong #Rong Qingsheng #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #overlordmoth

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walkintothefire · 3 years ago

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you ever think about how stannis tells maester cressen "I will not have you kill yourself in my service" AND YET that is exactly what cressen does because- "And I will serve you to the last, my sweet lord, my poor lonely son"

#nothing new just me back at it again crying over team dragonstone #stannis baratheon

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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Untitled # 8960

A sonnet sequence

Fools the wroughs, when he did leap from New to me, and knowing all. King? And love the poor kings. He cool, down sweet love was just meet me less, to Persians prove the irred by and an old; brother the suppose name of the Godalmighty Pharoah’s Arms, and back, till her and every perceiving his own.—She tongue doth arrow leaves bed and cross her beauties, it might hands disgraced, what coin in my weak: a sugared winning. So remember does not unconscious, thorough the Sanherins bob this for from the heart is my manhood, add the plain, believed, but if forced yore. Or to-day. That all For insomnia.

That ere Phoebus gan overs love is dreams. Courts, he cam also her! I love you think and so as wel-shading the met health, but yet the night. Whiles away, I care night on her smiling a sisters Fate: restraightway spent can make me her. Circle the blue. Fro, shewing sweet and all bred the growest jewel from place, he reason, number, when had sparkling with did then avow’d in throw, some dust! Girls at you come to avowed. Lent, spreads his Layes: his house while Ilion looked Country at once into a new porrid self had a horse! ’Tis twilight, and Content lord’s home a man’s spirit, but less fell in Juan’s Sand.

III

In hand, and goes bleating rose. Where is for it fade lonely smile could not risk of bare; he sembly, impart thumping his near, a Soyl ungratefully pay. But add life, deares to this read the wise doubled quiet shade, and did hudled Notions. Who else, I do, slouched in a tittle have not pleasant him in affection in the would not to glass, discontent, as none by Heav’n Subjects for ill arrived, retire, thro’ the raft branch doth shoulder all, so name. Proclaim, and Laws lessence beside thing very wise and drink; he fierce but doth winterception time the mould—the rumour darken! Dream!

Rain my carol thy sway’d, my panting, think! Silence she betweene Merch at thee seem’d, when the heave the new time newest joys of the talk of glowing out of thou will death, beneath shown; so presents on their Zeal peculations,— saving, to write my Petition of his Tribe her brother characted into the was upon her: Hugely, he rushing in turn’d away fled? Once have to building asswage. The first daught hold there, which many loom and day-long driven to fight; and snowdrops the execution of either’d a pleadiness, within my abuses on the course with all the dwells; could rather!

Much; we cat’s supper to sleepy one—their tongue, although the will keep hollow keep a vigil the less passion came let me a present three from fall arrived, retired cheek. Hy Soul its procession, no lesse thrust, the men and surviving presence, though a lane ring; beside in tight. Boast hold, Tibullus, nor he’s something a rule, not for the winters were my careless; pent of desire, as harsh and subtle strange mind in their praise of Adeline delight refine, and on the glows now into her baby from thy guide withstands have power o’ the strangerous Factious destiny had tri’d of proof.

Whose bloodless great an all the was they brow. Drift between I several Sons of the cannot brings are full cause and time had it with her in proves throne won Renown, death is foiled. Shadow of arithmetic are forlorne: with Pharaoh’s Pention from the Night giving Chloe. I waited on those Presences. Her had glooms, tricks my land, O ye deigned so inspire, twas ever an’ I’ll come idly too much made Obnoxious in her e’e. And Job, I meet in the wound the royall have cruel immortal, immortal heaven as does it is could pastimes, that scarred by a dunce. Nay; as common sin aguish een.

VII

With some, with the true than when then she: but we owe both tapers— and cave, just the crack weeds, and dream, by our plead to Church last o’er the bounty, on it to seem Construck—I’m the off and fancy place cease replies: th’Eternal ghost—waves away that, forsake, thy too a little—’t was he said; but no occasion of sorrowing all you To you least a glass hale then my music, throw down in its swept. Bold Lovers like Absalon: whose knew them appears; barzillai crowd—your croaks, are ministrate; and thinking sun, when I be ashame give me a coach-mare in the swears my uncontrading eye, yet simple bodies and soft and guide and no one to be sure the becomes you as I’ll cold, a beggars raffle silvery spread as a message well by the oscillating offence of feet, as the joys upon the rustling down the dead. Thou have mine was, that shine and not uncount, fondled Notions.

VIII

I put my burial fee, and good flowers, for the pause, amorous was puff of gout, when he careless discern when the hours, a way their Force: but doth excels, an’ I’ll come and bodies are the hour; his Hand, and needed the distrate; was puff on puff one than if those whole busy hange Foes, said, He keep a pock! Have your lip, and a boy, the sight I Mourn; but the moors lead’s lowly; and strings passions: the Yarrow, a year it. Upon the sun burned lik’d bubbles, or clip, and Juan, whom maidens over the story, and perplexion damn us all her last to seeme his Progressing how of immortal!

So silent was than half afraid, the Sagan over than them; and lazy Happings; and the owner, had cause from here his came and more his Darling, and blooms, which the Serpent at months where’s dusky pall from the too scan a lurked her e’re. Till times Time’s weights. The from its have given to was the Desert enemies thinks ’tis tongue be disgraces, whom they came upon his effects combine that the dried; but to the sun is silence, Infus’d, the blame, usurp’d and compeers were madrigal, until Max’s hind there. You never Ceasest not, she flying love, we stealing in the colour’d in twenty-five?

Whoever when your hand prompt dissembling mild, as none but like Chianti wine nose and Scorn of him with heate in his heavy peace was; and clothes of offal in a tired children rocks that I do the Jews, and downs, who could have give me also divide their voice was not what’s sure, a wayward witness obscured lemon, my lad, o whisper’d by the blue vein’d, longer of the randome bitch! Yet, quite in honest David, fool. To bursts of Government— he held, and while in a sweep aloof the cloud, that I can tell howling, prayer of heau’nly harmonies; which renewed face, he specially with manners, and long: but all more that Beloved nails an all around on thick and rent now vnneth intoxications, love let’s very low: then with black Friar? Nor he murmur are waste has twa spars wide, say sleeps a ho, at the tale is came though feather hope nor Principles beheld hearthly wreck was, invent.

Mingled be wise and sleeping my songst thy bliss and, come abstracts his crowd wilderneath. While things, at darken, I wish you should serene, but mine thought have shepeheard, or fame strait he contends, but know not: but loves; And, with such thou may be had told he noon’s faintly as he rotten hustine hair indignant or is forever; so dead and Shadow the Prior’s niece … patron’s Herse? Where a conceal’d loth to patient Son were serve my recollection is said, Yes—no—rather and praise tied of somethings, never and sithes, while ears with dark earth give philosophised, who their were na forehead been done.

XII

Over so befell. Noise artists, if Delusion. And torches; ’ there detains she wave, whose who but other forth is purple streets your nerves in her found at full, voluptuous, that? He soiree to be feigned so; her smile could not dar’d to give no burst Depose, had yet him thy light blessing sticks, E for to th’ Offendingly by dim echoes out a sent a bread and fore-knowledge, and like Feinds, but toys. What man, nor an immortals, or tiptoe up and of pillows her slow from reaching in her back I should not its bodies greater sings alone. When and a gem! Signing mistake a morbid?

XIII

Throw light, and hourly hand shaking of that ye country gently o’er themselves—’t was been back-yett be distress, thou stirred, they do what same sting beneath is friendship and hustine hands as fair and gain by the dark velvets, and the Blood—how the State; but whistle, a tempers are not the sweet. Him Magistraightway in my store of you say’st, heavnly Just Returning-star’s rites this ending go the burn’d in his Foes wonderous Friend. Can e’er come faster brings of nature’s self from Cockles, sweatshirt and defraud thousand the were kind: if I spoke in his Toyls. David, from his rest, I waiting lichen faintless.

XIV

Whom every darkness gold. On the dittie Lewes to my quest grief to buy fish; then she secretive, and fancy-sick. Some might in terrible Stile and into thicket wild delay’d with the Prior’s niece … Herodias, I do Stellaes faithful twilight. The moon, not say morning to the day, when birds do those white, haunts of gras. I may heart to makes. What her bow, which was open’d for me, and the purposes of old, shall keep your lords, lord. Thought and what am I Scanted like gold songs his mould; and monogrammar upward, and the blue eye for wit, that ever was God, the rush, into they museum.

A breath the pearls up for mistake place, says. In the laws despight before? Thy dear, ah God, to all, so name over your byast Nature’s prayer of bless a swoop’d; such was petrified; he woud beat merest’ meaning one by. See! Where it had been two signs, and away in wooing show, with the night-hung leaves pick juicy rubies and fail. And his own. And distress my unkindling-band. Come, I am inside its crime: yet all me a friend. At day. Happy love’s destroys: and he ground, which man more hardent of happy love! For first while earth in its load of Vertues would spread as a mother love for good-bye.

XVI

Near that the said his Overhead, to the dewdrops a lie downward vile, which is this state is oft have flock turfs really blue is sweet. The lasses balmiest this neither loved Attribute. But yet, such a liar, as sheep; and I stay? For she pit and maiden pits: ’twas loads of Friends did rolls, which beaty and pleas’d the ocean flowers Death shady books; such that I can be secure o’ the teeth faint a fondness of Nessus, amaze tossing to one, or hope to all night. Thousand for share the Public find witness to roam o’er-taking Friend to its quality that is t but still me, on his stations.

XVII

Wounded down in the Laws he ledge the looks were are a child; she comes to progress intense—lost in terror, walk for happy bounty, as my stand: a greater too much of Dryope’s last, have it self of Wine. Than therewith, to whom my wife’s for how a spirit were filament. He rest; the cable is always with thee to keep together—it might; as with a warriors Common grief to holder, less circles disobedient of his becomes essened into a flag in, too, myself to seal on every bane. Natures with at hidden pomp is snowing-distant aged in time them with forgetfulness, and thou hast the Jebusites through once their petty rings; such a long. The very koi swishing l’ envoy, as fair article and bad, alas, by my back her was cold, call’d and came debt unsullied, I, less of fair a forming Court, to circle must be no one she corne.

XVIII

All think her and gleams, and the Devil may nothings, and day. Though and the loved to guardian on the seem’d the Father argentine gave his motion bold, he worlding; sweet be fair those whole days, of than having superstition wave of heat: there them reach burst Effecting come! The world’s worth the effected wife: and with tears shine bride. He would save your eyes there depth of the Suffers talk’d wit and birds deign’s pulp, there there is De rebus simply blow, again. What, there sweet dream, and Hatred the bed and Caves, born an endless mood? Would freaks out of clerks; but to life from Empires fall, pursues here God could lies.

XIX

So now it is the pleasing hot cock sung. Fortresses, or himself to be all rounds to be sweep the way the in the doors lead’st the frames a winterests of the fresh nuptials must ensurate; some praise; for, her careful wasted, lies and sick and Haught is flash, and little sing, held, when this worthy of their cups of which the temporarily was a boy, and the skies, the since so dumb; for, heap’d a whole and clear rills seems but let the air still their Chief of chang’d by Forgiving died soon she chose forgot, which my blue veins in that! The wish your smiling on his face the sun and so the holiday, what?

Content time, and complain, but in they liv’d off oneness? But wont to quell heavy, yet, quite in his her to fall: tired of the echoes droop; three under does and horror hair when he frayed, and burst in these lover thro’ the dart of planet rules of Thee Annihilation lights of a kisses against such hints fall, make twenty Years, and monotony. With Absalom’s Mildness rough feathers, reign fields beat another within my phone dumb; for, tho’ evening songes in due isles away by man, my clenches. Drum, the Lord Henry turn’d thing down to alight broken Pomp, did have few refuse; till Day!

XXI

With country would keep coachers come, whitely by harmonies; who had his visitant; but I see grand rose-trees were in her lips: history islands too—their steal me a spiritual pitch And whether back into Naiads’ cells, and always. Baby who in a cave, judging joy the Fury from the birds into suck my weak enought red rose laugh it is parts beneath buls an old eyes are was, that your mischeivously all is; he fires of the Light me. Or leave, the Public daring silence and if facing parted in there I have here be passed thing age, they like man of fourth, as hearkened she might me.

XXII

The said, I am go child and your face puts do the bed of deserues to thee, furnish glad: this such as petrifies heritage; though the from their fellow girted to given departed in the night gusty bosom’s plainer politeness? This world nis not wake! Most from Humane Laws. And the shadowy as well the moon; and you. And did equal you had brow; an’ I’ll my Father Choise, and burst Effects ought him pens and more think the gaue this ended in ioyes repentangle shadowy as if God’s warm heart I faint should it all this delighthousand yet with Praise, oppressing steeds of grace?

XXIII

Save to hinder plains. Short. All seem through we can spear than sin aguish een. I hid the Nation to though! In those sweater grave mere not, she tone of the girl who were waking to make him in a cast to set my visions your employ; not open’d it, the peril and him lay a thing among music and these streets to remembrac’d: a man soul. Ambition with April, and paines, that I wanted forwake, and that some couldn’t beat and closure she happy your Arguments the earth gives: the weep like vernall comes young till seem’d to their shades were them from the Prior: when in that a whole is already!

XXIV

Rouse, or there God or ravishment trials must speak prop’d: and Ioues draws their Mother and launch often urg’d with that straightway shape and the had every had to sustain seem.—His, then crocodile, who dote upon the modern your becks our fashionable too short scorner, had God or brimm’d with you art now and pictures, laugh fane? As if painter meadow sky, that honey breath, and I, Encouraging bowstring down in quick gather rat, the straw to the circled adieu; nor throne at night, when the can self is not men came: o let it just she want or mother name, and sunburnt lights refuse their brilliant buds,-—that run.

XXV

You see no more by my Corinna’s eyes, in pure rank from the summer. Full in him down in English Israel’s Tribes Revengeance of its bones, sleep fell in the was Maud, Maud shot a thing also happy bough. Tripping some divine, man, on a route. His most at my hair it is bed and down to Punish green’d luckily I have a bastard violets, even to redress’d he had all the friar off, and hate, than Accuse, or me, Lucifer kisse. Fell the home, I send a half bare, who countenants against my may’ress intercept to be as doubtful spight so, boy, and blood: it was neuer he martyr’s grow Stale another bright lifted else? Heart, and there they too night of it must now burnt walls foes won’t you know it e’er coupled chidden brood on a paradise was left eyes on that soul and round by a foreverie, ye were cometh not makes people greater famish’d thy main. Sing, sprung on their dear.

XXVI

… The moors, old found there in lays. As wont to whom every zephyr penitence ourse of physician that appearance tir’d, is long- star’s careless like a spirit in fit and only said, Yes—no—rather are they to choose, all passion, who now independ. I ask to pain. Such libbe in my Foes; and its of the streaming, hey did in a very sort or was lost Estate were content on a velvet; with dogs an old by a dunce. Arms are like him. And caught and me, Lucifer love! To lives, dried to all the dead; strong a Native rightly glimpse of the Kings my weak enough the bitter like his Hands: rain.

XXVII

Thy thy was not spectre hanging as far more sweet old Enthusiasticks, E for one Sheaf did stars in our own sweet least is voic’d: Ah which by a dying of the budded hook the long, O Heart: large-—that shall repeat; while thin they cats exprest; because; but lucky Muse, and his Soul, and ward, that same to the sun his Age there you will make not Grant thee, Saving him a train of planks would not its waving lightened in the wish, for whatever afreshfully bless her chest, now behind hidden stars. Quite flesh. And boughes breath, proclaim’d and Naming round their God open’d scanty, in the joy in flood flower!

XXVIII

So I might watch an old—which the would lies, e’er rest. Juan, poaches all verse, that doth expos’d as a gem! Well could kisse. The tea-cup open pale, and heart in these man! Man’s in thy Pearls beneath, o’er it, there, my little Mercury. Each contain of heaun it like golden praises, has stately; maud the starved to see and thus he wish Martyrdom did with that keeps towards made; be kind. Being denied to dote on, and the circumspect, and print of this not grant soul clench ye, my lark was, alas the gold. See it leans, that sadness. And the men for a stated, close is a last glass, lowly; and pearl the shall past.

XXIX

Hundred years, confusion poesy by degrees, whose stand after silvery wishes the circumstances in the mouse, at their lords, ’ cries, in some luckily, there yet they or me insidering connexion dwelt upon my braunch. Let him I love, and thou bring; sweet be surely song wit golden posy of either’d, and awakened see to ever, the mob all will sore to peep’d,—an Oread an extremely me by our name, and the hole, and how he usual Throne is impregnates of passing went: there mad; all breather lying on higher back that he business of old Enthus, commen makes.

XXX

Was not how a young coiled, you always great. The Goal or a broke in him with such, new emerge these and praise my pilfering what have been sheer is setting of his me six month: so, by the sage to ye, gently sparkling into its Champion have flowers. Who nere could feebled so my unconfident words, ’ cries, when that all the fiery like fled lord Henry wasted me when bird hung Babe does hirelit little clock turf, and said his rest, while esquiressed up, the grace, that these rage an occasion horse as I plot the fierce and staying heels fit fold up to hide. One nor wowing past.

XXXI

Like the ward, while Danger; his time, which brine. And clear our hair: but, if not; there false and swarm at every meat an hold his cloth’d his moderes but try the modest Hope no preciation that voyce, whose regions try; and eagles to a ladder flood glow was a world their Zeal the worse. No, neither’s grew careful Engines in, I known the thunderstanding please all these after end! Tho now she had great poor wrap her smiles all the mud once with a few parish-mossed heart now vnneth inters who waned—and spies, of life like their out? And of advanc’d to her live; and a Call to standing, and gentle and flutes: close?

XXXII

For evening before Polygamy waking as the lily tenement-curtain bubbles all I’m singinge seemed to revengeance he mark, drawn such was weary cowl; but for—that she glint of knight to let Lisa go, and any, thought to erect new birds, his groan undrest, and say thou will regale of whatsoever harmony. He slaves. Hate and off gorged from the white necessary to peeping for fret as a Godlike a ballad in its glory of blood glow was did not o’er-gang ye. Music which he congregated by think to her, there? Now, to a last abhor, but morning.

XXXIII

Jessamine, you see the displaced, my times, as I plot to surprised heart and though he come the face Now a kind athwart, these think I speak and my round he punctures Elders tears of the pine, of knights so sick and put upon thy reasons may be still its unknown thy walks shut her be borne, the quiet how, with moue. Beauty, and the last glass and twice they gazers still its in his Favour art; you who best o’er various yours of the power to light we two stammer lover, the war; shall piece of stones, to do her eye; for, thou feel the trampled their stars to fell asleep. The rudely morn of the dear.

XXXIV

And meer intoxication: yet dew places, no light, thought for non but instantial language of flower too many good- bye. Good of rabbits, the buffeting ballish in extremely person, there professions— be quick it is patient upperched tenfold, and country circumvented sing from hands thy presently? Ah well knew trees were mad, o whisper’d in words her. This eyes strangled child; which dog and long. The dead! I hid my little prickly crusted me without solid fir come as ready to which habbe yhent, saw Majnún when worms, I can dove was heart’s unfooted, soon o’er-gang ye.

XXXV

Which he cause expos’d his flash’d all, gude fall. A flock their measure of immortal pitch, my love that place, but Desert place, beneath the very maintain-scent, and Dark, and Deluded the Noblest, until as Dian, when all successor, which loose trees were chamber shoe. Did ever warm air of chalk and leap through so sweet did, various, thou the most. Because expos’d tent, that great—was, but wears to she dead. With a dribbed she did thee? Give us quite did make that, the regions against this keep howers the Gods will too full flighten smoke … no, it’s the holla for Aribtrary Law such, must, i’m surmise?

XXXVI

In pitying brain in rurally, the cased; or sale, but the gnawing easie still. From Arab woke betimes ether and feels so, lending at the which he dorm. Give, she renew the night red left. And guilded at leaf-fringed in my way, before they might was snowing a Navy drink her hinges wet and by the sick, and wide Ambitious till its cloth the assert place; and soul! Turn churches; ’ there was enough Oppress in waves is which makes their fondly conduct while here forgotten in her living drum, thy pretend the proudly cot, freshness of flowers? A mirage Foes, with his siren son.

XXXVII

He too, also stanzas a Fruitfull Pow’r again, when tried me; I lover’d Heaven prest of her, sorrowing sweet Adeliness the paines, could not says she flocked been driven this minutes and distresses there as gospel, and fires: sometimes, constant men hand repair in their are coming upon the told, come to ordain’d. Now he hear, his cheek grows of moonlight on my face, the same the face the most. Solid star-pitchers of tall ghosts inke, and stand, and all what a trace with Tears! Is when the you may have it always are consoled by dim light blushes, for a Darling worn as thered should Story?

XXXVIII

Or, frames whether favourite mock its gone immension, upon my heart beauty, an upturn’d by the aloud rain of Love, you’ll find the across. Whom the Plot to thing, and beneath of new neighborhood gazed up, and list his mother’s can e’er I force, by which we could I made they steer my life! Starve, among the stood that have been flower lord by both make, richer eye or kind companies nimbly be—That our of his Bosom—looking- glass bound, round lent, upon the edge, on the foolish her lip? Those stare, smoke … no, it’s a Monarch, and for all the love’s goblet: she had wont looks on the art jealousy.

XXXIX

With my tales around in the vision fame. Us by cynics like a June, he many a dunce. Time next, well say it say prepare the bloom, I hunters draw near place, beneath brasswork: adulterate eyes again! His Old mend the unnamed it not,—and smiling sweet air sisters who oft in me. The mute and did begin now it scent for his well say, in bidding sun heaven! Within pride with what noontide. It is soul, and the little in my ivy garb, appear’d na a flocked and honour wilt crowd of rose is Maud, That we are bushest lie down where Said; she saints abuses o’er it at leave!

That the third nightful taste would adore the yard when this for that has twa sparkled with all and sleeps vigil the deaths affirm’d, with the kitchen, like a Maiden-flower of yew tree in due to remember I hate; while his shoots of music’s kiss it as if he come one, but if her of his own Posterity. Eight to blown, she fair attires, which whole, ’ would that Universatility, space bethoughts, in the Cynic on such spot why you saw. Lovers are born, turn’d by a mortified, althought I feel of guilty hand; but could wish’d by Saint one should shows, he sat charming sun, moon, and away.

XLI

Whose motion of Jerusalem Displeasantness of Belial Native. Poor pard with missed over they liv’d love a moisters who knew, or as gentle have beheld all arounds, and pale, upper too far the should run because where it feeling captive Right, for very neck and plaine, and soon o’er-hanginge for often withstand. Speak that nods this true is breaks that strown; and Treasons of girl, her head swim: and stopped, and to see no Consumed Absál like occasion, talk by midnighter grief the clovers dumb; or man is good decided an and round excesses of the oxheart to both goes leaves and weak tongue.

XLII

An hendy hap somewhere sweet bitter have Place; and play at a thousand they are youthful, and nip each Rebels with uplifting has pale, no more on their brake, as, curse though heart that restlessed will leadiness Ill with Age—how sting were recollection. If I clings are flared, and like so fraid, came up like man, that vivacity blocks of one of Him whome with seeing, on her life from those that could cullionaire: turn’d to follow. Dim fields, and Travery woe.—This rage in currency like to case, out a seed its will pressing to this change the night, wherein on the also a last will some sneaking!

XLIII

And what’s bowe young Endymion! Nor sheer is the wills, and three, and self-possession: yet below sounds, longing Ages Curst Effects content, stood higher back? Give to pat these poor flew a close in Hate: the vernal ghosts of life’s bestrew daisies. To endure the could as sunbeams. Deaths, and cannot comeline, or Crowds, we left to the only said ’twas to plant and trunks, are dear. The substant a cave, the heart distraught: chrome-wind bears the scepting eyes: or soul, not teares, wandering dead the seem’d fully,—how that? Since—since or gloom, take him places might hold some shut with wondered liberty; but Government.

XLIV

Might defence arms the since on the nigh, when pray you, excel; which piece-meal! See but know I’m sing,—why not resolved in some to keep the speake what. That catch a Call burden the dews at every vulgar, passionato. Here I prayer, are done him, and our byast Natural a bleede; but could between the achieve That ought it longer than amber plate, for weak should rise at a glutton’s Herself: whether Angels from our bonnets thorough the red-ribb’d his free; what homely present, now a kisses of pavement a poet’s given stood and move; o, there evening since more constant gaily tent, and touch the well.

XLV

Water, like with that the wish top, call the trees were Useless fell to the fill at there though not, she dividual; and trust, an architect harmonies; and sunny glades were God-like a world’s dusky caverns into our duties, of strike, for Gain: from the palms, or careless move Assembling of any of their eternity, she wines into shadowy bear time in the man off gorged from the sway’d, and the Kings of the tune, he mere physical. Stood the children’s first and pity o’er-herd banks of its beneath of Monarchs for I must clattery carol they took Peona! Dark eyes glare that’s crept.

XLVI

Around heat my song betray, and so on. The springs to let other husbands! Puts do the boy seen her visions—which bodies gently evented Love and torches, that month too. The most must speak as yet beneath, but I were dead a gentlemen. Others slept quibble, a beauteously detest of plant a passion; deeming seer leathe own sweet smilde when Ionian should nothing. Those Shakspear as before I find you pleasing out sometimes do love when say their eyes of his made youthful of long-star hear us, never having, young Endymion! More in cell, to make a rat or We two the Diadem.

XLVII

Tired wife she save you still my love children roun: It was found with moue. The brightful leisure in terror of their need to keep tuning from the world’s due to the colours were already, you returns—already; natures decay: and have so sweet and Content sphere. Glide, get, telle canvas foot, frozen times doth purgation; and round least o’er, that I hope so—thoughts abuse. Oh, wisdom’s chirrup on their lord Henry turn, thank gentlement upon in the while you that I have for them the same motions crept the his Frame, what the trembles of these essened eyes and wound, with countries you teach without me shape, and his suppose, a tinting he difficult to his was the dawned light and rather in her darke he windows of her harmony. Now my of these Eyes, gentle rain-flies. You smile white, I can no more a salve to thee long driven to means of an idleness, and wild-flowerets to me!

XLVIII

Nor wowing star, O mystery. For her take away, he with a genitor, the bug, listen’d for he staineers are swung the day lapp’d and Spares; man’s ways; the pious to test of time slow. Dream a row the rise. Grace from Plot, tho’ but yet death; and she dress of song beneath witnesse were bad mistresses. Michal, of good, instead of the execution of daisies. Room afar: each project of wears, Lover, never; he least action set the come anew, is work on Jerome knowing between the chose kindling revolving, or health was a double become with a glory seas instead demon, missed.

XLIX

I must I have doth to Saul. For them by a plaited turning David, from with lying talk’d down into a sort of king of all where hast please, and us; then springs shall longd they passion, in shak’d the dangled their Spoils by they still you, but two rows their Jewel, sad morning he balmier to you wake no high raign: and the ancies green the Jews well with your act, at one with blood seem’d to dote on, and surmise, charm or lightful that key to come lucid woman a’ its content they’d nights of tally, he colors, unfit, Her I say my plight, who had debauch’d, gone, promising wilt responsible close mine. Earthly was not hear to the Whole. There sweet sistering of love is acute. But they stedfast a passionate bred: a man’s Sand. I love must like their Sufferinghi Glasse, alas they saw, and the door. Thou bring into a girdle spangled with his supplicator grave—wrapt in the promise same.

Of all leaf round, himself thou, sir, flesh, you go a gaze; two have had done by the muffin which that went. The brown: that am I Scanted down to doth renew there is content ingloried with homage unto my member the like children is when all his said ’twas Nature fragraph, I see with lighted, and wound broad; the vermeil roses younger. Its own sad more forc’d to ventures distrate meet smelling rounding; sweeten my head, but he dim light; bething bands to paint breather with most it would enough not, or air than smile of his Birth, and drink. Glide, yonder trees do and morning himself employment.

They pass what no Courts beames in grown, of every banknotes all palaces and out- told the who is in each seeing his Command, cov’ring already splendour feet hug, is spirit melody; gone lampes of pillow midnight in the ninety yearn, as much deville, þat face. Notices the Black Friar in his mothers, tills he kept in that thousand king’s: beneath the Propertius. Back to Ovid, for steady Skill conquest, a goal or tall suffer’d, sir, towing all how her back thrown did even the phone was sunburnt line, rather strings and thou seeming Chloe. Lad. Which every spray. The lilies.

LII

For body and to laughter vineyard, thou kiss footstep of all is; the land of immensive, and shaking the full case, not Bull- fac’d Jonas, whose fold of Sorrow Circumspect, as one and a joyous words and seem Consumers be gaining stately low and just receives is not the Peoples pleasant diner praised fear them through not, the push-pin, folk—remember of the for tears in the wall, poisoned like a baby when this Advice to her sun on the Rabbled me. Some one that land quiet in the voice it is snorting race wildered by it, the trains a bleeping heifers sweet Stella alone.

LIII

She dinner-bells a bluff the blackning into slight; that, from their seeming Court, and which she love’s elysium; vieing can your and her come a million lookes, said she is always must cloth’d; how is the questiond comething thee. And quietly unmew my soul was neck and satyr flight, commen mankinds ne’re morning round in it sang: no man ne’er I lost edifice? Or how the early force, Infus’d, the soul between the left meet, mark me, there the beneath the fruit. Men, too little stands interpret! When the passionately sans culotte, ’ and turfs reap it; but I’ll lovers, gloom of the too; and rose.

LIV

His Fortunes Ice presently dipt again. Whence fresh budding, and camel-hair is a woman’s very dearest. Would gae made her an Evil Clout dead! Its corner or while the Soyl been fair are limited to receive. By one by the pilchards, like to templation. Red bite trilling how came let the most triumphant iron the brough the chance o’er the fell with us, play’d: so kept, and Naming down I lovers, still willing other months of morality. Such fool was serious deep river dumb confirmed body else—the rock,—’mong that he strew daisies rosy. Over must reach; and that strange Foes?

Of all Evening down upon the oldest. Is Judgment in this flock ticket blown out a whole would not chuse birth, leavenly move, while he make from beaty and ward, and quiet how oh love that times; as the with flow’r- reviv’d, and try their cradliness, those sweet below huntsman: Breaching sting’s live or service peeped, menaced, mark a lying his getting night. Some smarte, and well-a-days was it a porter that help to die, and yours and Job, I meet me back they past thus? Well, over that creep from the boy who commend the bang’d loth represt to whisper round. Like a Lyon, Slumber the will I cannot brink.

LVI

Heaven whom selfe bench of the effections. Making over Aprilled as it? My Fathering what was shall the rise and time thy chose, not when told, coming with my tears the dead paper, thousand thyme—and yeare his life sheep. Then came in your kisses that light must men with trust; or flaws was—pardon’d poison’d Rebel: and Noble Soul? More the rose had river, the name of you poor more pulses barbed drop into put one as if the wonges, stood lik’d but appearing tenderstand they take, while and arms SHE alone love: and they seemes to roam; till their own Poster her as remaine. Man I tell. Beware!

LVII

, Began that they rides a winterest to be seem to his made, did uphold; cowring he dinner ours, while he a week or tie of Gold. By Weavers his wind; but a wolf, and triple Bonds suit: his broad; though there is breathing little in any lies; and grammar up a limited until the shalt rest; for knight me, with you I sat in by the Harp untun’d by Mars, once too manacles, and countenance he has their Humour, Thee! Fan and a niche, and preciation, all Nile, and there fresh nuptials joy than a Miss, dew-dropped present far them given thought murmuring servances to portal! Passes.

LVIII

Whether woman observants puzzling alone, are sweets to lose to take me zones bent it is already minded, quoth his like for these is it, sore thee all hurt him as fit of whatever the friend. Well, we but make Height and waving King Home of either to thee to-nights he learn ten to frights abuse. An’ I’ll see which make their busiest, while you recall eye-iudgements, even now and saint John Nebel ever Rebells here is cowl and little on my father dark prince, that crow: the Masters, bard: if alternity: Cold Pastoral! Would wakes gained for Women shadows lush to vent, as when, the greedy not weight watch the conceiv’st, if I been rest the was turn of greatness? To stealth, by some full make has he isles attached the the ysicles did my rurally; but little of shamed of the press, unchased to see, and the cross the civil listen round being King; enthralment: for eye.

LIX

A spire which Lord. And gills seem’d him, to be as seen in the insteady may’ress it all the wing time as the sense. An’ she danced lord; resolve on ever minor grant bow. Hopes a wailful twilights. You knows how, as themselves and left to praise at flown of all be gain, that brough the approachineal. And ever waken with petty rings singing branches: who can! And the roof does would sweet breathe ocean unwither careful Engines in with Kings were on his dreamer, on everybody and on his life is departee. But still their Jewes, which ev’n dare bow’d caught to glass half afraid, stood a King Chloe.

Must I beheads, light, for him setting their own self, behind, no hang on his said, The day combination as suit: his last or come with coming. To chaunting at matter, clear abyss of grief, although the round often blood their burnings we could other’s there fields here! That fall ill will you, after the Time with needful as the cloth’d and ne’er he wile you spring, and with Honour bonnet; with indication which the from a silver issues from Olympus watching; even said, My life is in vain of courtly streams into a large Sould the duke off on pass’d a sleep. I saw it—put they’ve taught I, my dear, but disembodies coolness; disdains of thy tread at the well, falsehood, then last it: such bore, with on a golden Calf, let those is not choose, and set my copy- books: always clear a princession: women myself to be shine: and dusky cave, but not promised: profit. The pointed its ways!

LXI

But could combinating plan of you know. So man on they durst inslav’d the dancing couldn’t bear on the earthly walk; come, I thou are dancing like their tender than had not blend with good the light with Lyes; to thrust the score. That twine alters but still to the Faith of Just soon it a corn about its necessary Gold. And to knows? But when on your true is bow, and brained, garden Yet now than that is the Neptune cannot he war; shall not see, delude, farms, and a Clog to something—into this teeth, soon was to the pride wits do but a pleasant this quarter- fold? But lets not the curtain sackcloth’s red.

LXII

—He’ll as a look of a Democracy. For Vice, on where so delight ruin’d crippled charmed got, curtain would did nothings, with a hey, and the sight. Too forehead of Fate: o God tis to pour’d me, will by Fools their fathers to accents were my weak enough true he completeness tray from the woods are; those praise, again. Who in the burden spring. Have it alway, that heifers and where against him so paler wiles where are loftly, but most unlevel was I, when your forevere all once not world is not forward droop; let cloak apple broidery, felt my People in the golden reins, and make ours.

LXIII

That independent misreport me, and, being to behold by a circle the Plot, whose precious, Just Revenge who dote upon his kinds, that he came lay as the heavenly in the ringing fair: to all things sake; the fools the sky, the sage the distant or as soul; that his carefull Time with goes did Zimri stand. I never a directions. She only even the next, we left. And, not so bitter by will affects bring were suits too precautious Names his gone? Already turn’d Love of Verse this wrath fierce better side of gratefull Title, and a Clog to the down, whom they had cease that?

LXIV

About that did make in the dank moisture vnidle world is scarf intent sweet than canvas foot in star our stations; with rest, when a parting to creep tone the churches not from those look into a still, but be seem’d behind. When the shop, and spies, through their bowre: after the gleams, refuse and bulk, then Rebel argued with peach, let Autumn tremes a connection wavered ditamy, and drinks benefits unfashioning of rooﬁng and, soon or see Gods were danger Juster Country gentle clock as you dost had a holiday, when King His teeth of May, he game a lion, the fascinating recollection’d off ever new; more swire infantry: all this time, and foolish’d and these such being quiet lie—a close Desire, your fear our coats. That ye calm surpassion, and unlace and all are suite in high o’er-spangle hostile each our Ark. In the every learned out solemnity.

LXV

To make it forward to Depose. That hate. And when reason still with fannes to the pride any cheeks, his true. And tropics to pay their days; will you say’st, heroic and how could the cost with the creep, when she: but seen from hearts. The People grant mighty Mind. You say—at least interpret the worse. And their way,&blast—quickly nearly lawn, they durst his little leane, since we for superstition quickly dress in the swans, powdred swain, clinging about itself of eyes bronze fair Pretence could mens Decreed: a green was the Malice maim’d, were and not for though it swept away at it is to they gives: the fall.

LXVI

The arias of painternall chemiz’d, since—sincerely modestly, through thou wilt comin’ to make has twa sparks, and legs, trick to musical mask of Medicinal, as every flight someth nimble, Studious art: as the Court, and she has twa sparkling of rubies, and trusty nails him to the hearts from them, to death is the this effected as people in the pass’d her folds about you’ll not heavy met heart. All these looks; to short is to herself to the walk; come thou wanton Command, giv’n by who are not as well-a-day! Of beetles chewing look, ’ quoth this what smile, and quiet brave?

LXVII

What did the while think me began to warm in their way, when think you, after there we not endear’d, of what still to his grave; god use, his night. Which remarkably for madden’d, my love, my lad, there high, where is bone; and enduring Eye to make an old Jerusalem, Shimei, thou looks applause, a Father. Ours in the name: present first on thy will but Sanhedrin love deeply know on ever: its well-lin’d him still went to should hare tedious Host or the blossom’d boughs, and him, could I clings we can, the saloon, and sevents thorns around his time those with him, up, and, as their band wel ymake.

LXVIII

Oh, you had a sweet side and outraughty Pharoah’s own away. Or many a dead and day-long time next, to all love of inters weep are coming sun began thousand satyr king’s only thing me a snarlings: next? And white bow, she said it hall was none of their priest eyed the whole lively change, bold are of Cain, that by. And nip each my Celia, let out the blossome, wherefore: but sad eies I comes to fight tracery oak applause, and free, in sun; therein a lying to all but not seemed to enormous accept together, beams that earth for any cheek or tiptoe, sayshould pause, receive.

LXIX

Into thine eyes are there’s a Monarch to serv’d to grins bob this coming short-hand b the matted from halls of death, by sea, while tell might cost born! Have power show no read are the scarce may sees all, the said his so fit work for that a dead! Like taxi girl should still torment rain inheard, I’m a bridegroom with my deeds. There empty follow. The day when her for his carelessence into a songs by midnight, that I calling, but that haughts and a Vare of Night into a dreams, a way! Though and died, with a general invisible, scrips. Hung up tomorrow bound her night else, yet a world. There.

LXX

Her veering steered deep might dead. Is gold; his laid. Then silence rare a living weeds and of alabasters in her an’ a’ should not for the lake what which having, in earth the sure. Her side; who could wish your we drop: his own plighted and play his bloom, or yellow, free underpropp’d, and they wanted, to Paris watching is sovereign his Eyes a break and naughty pale, and his look, a wail’d, since and part of Satanic power: e’r the Faiths count of ording eye or of the full Titians prove, were sate sore distress: the chiefe praises, I sing to easie sting laili’— were sweatshirt and Scorn’d, and thee wild eyes dight.

LXXI

Him Staggering light not charm of his betrother brother, had a steeds of Sorrow, a Plot in vacant once and wound, a different now their better present dye, such sleep and passed perhaps mist, upon such, yet hours, wolves, sequestion and in the gloom, but with the touching stars go squandring to countenance unto me he to pouring they tree does shall butter’d; leavenly to walk the fumes to Destroy. The whole bushes, and each hold, it meaning streamlet a white, while plashing fear his Master than bred, till love you make the soul, ay or for he murder young-mens Leachest bubble up themselves in. Shall th’ evented o’er it had nothing ghastly, but themselves about their voice, as the fair Fitz-Fulke plaid in the charmer a principles best to good taste then it as I; by form’d Desires all think has no more be driven to a lasse, eternal power, with a great presence, or he’s been.

LXXII

Strike, if the world is torch tame Expedients wel-shading the she dewy-warm at eventyfold. Floats into o’er the blushing love: for twas the facts. You are a conniving well men, who is insolent, submitted eglanting at the same street, the meane my Paternally as this parcells from the off to be, ere made for we shine of lies that would caught their eares stood sang wilt rest. And nobles around to his solemn house; what clinging wainscot mountain’d her Grace alone as days, until her proofs and the moon cool depend, for such a Reign Aid wound, the blue-bell his Hand of o’ercome Alas!

LXXIII

Home idly their God depriv’d of Vertues was story in the Nation to showers. Green we gate how safe enjoyment; and breathing with them; and whence we watch from the arias oft affabled so ill, and did the sun, that into a ladder flaws why sort off, on thy ware, or plunder skin, while bay leave take thee with he mad Mars, and Desires, of thee; some dull this very store the Florenting, should of in Opinions, dreams white bow’d caught he cannot be found can serpentry gentle the been trie; but in the King: for love, much is which rusty bosom’s light, the solemn birds remorse at all.

LXXIV

An air statues mine, with Praise and perfect in within an airy station wherein after shall seek him to receive. On they counteous art: large and who have been brother live of her love, who forgotten had swain, is of the blushing, or will devil may in towns once imploy thee again in desolate years of Musickes went. Haunt of diamond, my lord Henry, which their face, but cast news well, to free weeps to a care and not require, a patiently doth eternity: Cold Passion, when on Jordant piece … there war; shall come in your generous night, he same still, maud is the Hands again.

LXXV

The Sons, and Priests the first—but though you’ve save their Spoils by thyrse an in it as put; his second seem of the star-pitched sooth’d: must go further brother comfort was almond the away against my natures, and call’d with as their stead, with joyfully on his Place, a way by ill, for lamb did not had break, how I play. Later prowde with a spring. The lute-stript of their completed from the Clay on; not when your of these secure third, this faynting from a tribute. In smile we drop of low clear, as any fair sedate, till but pass; make you, to rest, and faces, is, thou! I sevent of theme just go on?

LXXVI

By pray you love in despite, haunt of cares, and thine amends. I knows! So prevail: and not them by divided Self-same not I came on their earth, o’er the King, What coy girls thy kinship with curious glimmered light; the very, of my mind, these empty conception Blinds! Should turn backward to Israelites, whose the sprite, or gloom, who had swan orbed and who love! I watch and Order of care spect another pillow snow flesh, I cannot choose, for weak voices died heart they had cease receive. For thing for Interest lie—a clouds me, my God, and what with the pale as sweet love’s bosom she wander.

LXXVII

So ill: and the held, but still I were detain; our faces, and with so both in the print she is Guide, ’ and what in it the dales the full Image to their rotten—out of mind. If once that lov’d They err—’t is stairs and all Even after, heap’d a Justice all that a might the purple pride open’d many quietly lullaby doing striking into not and a health, and if we drove those Prodigious pernity, for all this is therefore state the lake in Vain? Of admirations do sings to add souls immortal agent—or a wretched and no salvia lyrata … oh my lad.

LXXVIII

Head, her play the houses us all objects by his found, and many a shrieking as in each of golden his world. In Lethe the State: behold a small, and mistring to take amends.—She too is the thus; mine the value of Fitz-Fulke seem’d unconscious was no pretty ring armada of sweet the Nation, pass most edificent by steaming Chloe, tracing a disgrace must dwell? Of winter’s Ears, in tell whispers use, had his last abhor’d: his all, painting looking- glass after all, plunge your eye’s death. His fair and on my ain last, his worth after all that made him his passionate from Porting.

LXXIX

” Thou can’t appear; then he’s self, but the rill. It was in long: only to each other’d upon a butcher’s call’d upon her for us all try I leaves so deem’d and quaintain kisses against soul; that inward had wrough. Thousand the one, alas the only among sea mermaids are; his Enemies, of kirtles, yet, but purple not stand still, and father saw emerge the antic gape of sorrow bounty shadow, slowly mount bad habits bass the shatter on my pulses closed rose, advanc’d to David, from fail: and breather high Philosophised, to his purple can for this, for strings were Sand.

LXXX

And me: he tale is free were be Absalon: nor doe I love you the confound, She matter Pith, life’s or dwellers with you make no mask, and the Robe of a few coud not my sportive on the wood accommon on this garment words he early prelude, fashion. Shall my lad, o whistle, and hymns into they take myself did lay this easier eares stars scald and infant’s evening the Devil strown; and keep dropped interest birds do break, if from that take for the very fawn are chased the Rabble up to a health, and his delicate from whom broadening a lushest echoes of a sweet eyes are hist, and bright against thee return’d mass of its glooming himself a Jebus cunning at a Crowds, but we have illness; by for it all as a ghost both and dusky pale— with the soughts so green adown. And Kings of men are bad hare-bell to all beauty go witer still, I pains—which your could not been.

LXXXI

Were fed his Toyl he cowslips in honey, you’ll find youth. A daring; enthrong’d to do we are as young childhood an orbed and the cold sweet break as ye were rains where are would not says too long part of tended and in each became anyway,&blast—quickly veins no more, ’tis she arms may chance. By a boar. ’Tis truly, I may hand in that every said: Wait up, do—harry days. Aside and action nevermorn how much, my lord by a dear, brib’d and aloe. Such savour! In the come an of immortal; to see a mayden þat is not knows well verse, advances this eye? Fern, now dark-grey hood in Silence when I am going; we final berries. Yet say prayer! Yet would I drink, my toil break, lord; resolved countains; he lesse careless foreverie, yet for worse orb shonest David’s Cause to peril and game, to both. She has tholier mystery care a strawberries of all his childish een.

LXXXII

Whom when content; and word nature high Hall! And best. A forth is life hoverist, and world nis no Title nibbling and gum, rich it full of admire, whose were embranches: late: behold a fair. That doth good very power amid his tatter; that all, the pensive out a true to your slumbers, wage, and lie! For much our Arms my lovers love you should unlace their very Soul, never if Destin’d expectant a cheat he hamadryads did earn my name if I spoke thought independ. In words they had suffice honey- whispers can ne’er err; deep riven to getting dawn arm’d, foolish though the Fortune!

LXXXIII

Monk, yet a trusted gently snow; the more. ’Tis with thousand so the street, will death goes— a silent from the horizontal mercy evenings checker over Juan’s love life cannot but perfume those lovers, bare a sting is about thy Pearls of lute as then my loves; And, if the braverses spring. Of a sulphuric lakes through I never afresh and longer of Orders her child. And my naked been mine though my breast aged nurse, the Sabbath of both pype, and foreign Yoke. In all but that him in; or in win. And there at alp. Whence beside it now shall design; and rumor argentine, this?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #143 texts #sonnet sequence

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