#only grief. only rage. how dare you call upon it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ironcladrhett · 11 months ago

Text

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Still an abandoned soap factory

PARTIES: Inge (@nightmaretist), Siobhan (@banisheed), Emilio (@mortemoppetere), & Rhett (@ironcladrhett)

SUMMARY: On the night that Rhett is to lose his second foot and probably his life, Emilio makes a daring entrance and tries to bargain with his captors for his freedom.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Suicidal ideation (of the life exchange variety)

—

It wasn’t really like Inge was short on nutrition at the moment, with Rhett providing a steady supply of snacks, but there were still those human cravings. Besides, Siobhan presumably did require human sustenance (or did Banshees sustain themselves on screams?) and so a grocery store run seemed fitting. The mundanity of overhead lights and inflation were a stark contrast to the blood that had just coated Siobhan’s fingers, but it came with important rewards. Lollipops.

As the pair walked to Siobhan’s non-conspicuous car, Inge was sure to continue the point she’d been trying to make. “I think you’ve– we’ve had our fun. The longer go on like this, the riskier it gets.” She pulled open the passenger side door, tossing the groceries in before taking a seat. “Someone’s bound to look for even such a sorry sod at some point.” She pulled the door close, muffling any other words from any sharp ears, looking at Siobhan sharply. “I want him dead before sunrise. Can you settle with that?”

—

Torturing Rhett had given Siobhan an emotional and creative fulfillment that she’d never felt before. It had also—though she would never admit it—given her a friend. A friend she hated and a friend that was an abomination and a friend that, perhaps, didn’t see her as a friend at all but a friend nonetheless. It would be embarrassing to admit that she had prolonged Rhett’s torture not just because it was fun but because she was having fun with Ingeborg. She thought they were really bonding. Violence was what made true friends; so it had been in her aos sí, so it was in that soap factory.

“Oh.” Siobhan leaned against the driver’s side door; one arm spread on top of the hearse, which she rested her chin upon. “What risks? He’s hardly a danger. Risks of having too much fun?” Following Ingeborg—could she just call her Inge now? They were friends, after all—lead, Siobhan ducked into the car. “You’re such a bore. I wish someone would come for him. That’d really make it interesting. I could use one of the other saws on them. I was thinking about the circular one; it’s brand-new.” Siobhan turned to her accomplice and noted the lack of amusement. “Fine.” The car sputtered to life, wheezing and coughing up black exhaust. “Dead tonight, meanie. Give me one of the candies.”

—

Ever since he’d found Rhett’s cane abandoned on the street, Emilio had been a flurry of activity and nervous energy. No time had been taken to pause for stupid things like sleep or meals, and any responses to texts or messages from friends had been brief and curt. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how this was likely to end, knew he was probably looking for a corpse more than he was looking for a man, but even so, he searched tirelessly. If a corpse was all that was left of his brother, he’d still bring it home. He’d still do for Rhett what Rhett had done for Juliana and Flora in Mexico two years ago, even if he was the only one who’d care enough to visit the patch of dirt he planted him in.

And he’d still make sure whoever was responsible paid for it.

That anticipatory grief in his chest was matched only by the anger, the rage that warmed him like a furnace in the dead of winter. On some level, he knew it was a stupid thing to feel. Rhett had been reckless since coming to town, had gone after too many people and let too many go. The fact that most of them were people who didn’t deserve it ached in a different sort of way, but it wasn’t relevant to the point. This town was probably full of people who’d like to hurt Rhett, and Emilio shouldn’t have been surprised that one of them took a shot. But the grief was there anyway. The rage was there anyway. So he did the only thing he’d ever really been good at — he followed the trail.

Javier heard from Lara who heard from Beto that a professor at the college hadn’t been in in a few days. The professor was one with a familiar name — if anyone would go after Rhett, Emilio thought, it would be the mare he’d locked in his bunker. But wherever she was hiding, she was hard to find. In a way, that gave him hope; it meant Rhett might still be alive, though it promised he’d be in bad shape. Still, Emilio did his best to douse the feeling. Hope would do nothing but get him killed here.

It was funny; when he finally found her, it wasn’t even intentional. He stopped by the store to pick up a protein bar when his stomach finally began to cramp in protest of its emptiness, and there she was. It was something of a surprise to see her with Siobhan; maybe it shouldn’t have been. He hadn’t heard anything about Rhett going after the banshee, but a fae would have every reason to want a warden dead regardless. Neither of them spotted him. He wasn’t sure either of them would know to look for him. It was easy enough to fall into step behind them, far enough away to avoid detection but close enough to keep from losing them. Inge’s presence helped with that; all he had to do was follow that pull in his gut towards the undead thing ahead of him, ignore the way it mingled with the dread there.

One way or another, he’d get his brother back tonight.

—

Siobhan’s complete apathy to the risks was something that made Inge feel inferior. She was not overreacting, was she, in assuming that this could lead to more trouble? Violence begot violence. That was why they were here now. That was why she tended to run rather than face the people who chased her tail. She dug around for a lollipop of a flavor she liked and unwrapped it with a note of frustration, telling herself she was wary and that was good and that it wasn’t really that Siobhan was better than her, she was just … unhinged. Yes. That was a good term.

She popped the lollipop in her mouth and got a cola-flavored one for the banshee (this was, in her opinion, the worst flavor), undoing the wrapping for her as well before holding it out. “The best hunter is a dead one,” she said sagely, wondering if Siobhan would simply bite down on the lollipop or if she’d reach for it with her hand. Inge kicked up her legs, licking her own candy merrily. “We can have our fun another way.”

The drive was quickly over and done with, the hearse pulling up to the abandoned factory with fitting noise. The place had grown familiar, but the sight that was Rhett the Warden hadn’t. Inge’s torments and her horrors existed somewhere else, on a plane not bound by earthly harm. Or so, at least, she had told herself. So Sanne had told her, eons ago. It was different. It was more sophisticated. It was a gift. Her eyes flicked over the sight of him before tossing the bag of groceries on the ground. This was hardly a gift. The only thing left was to kill him in a poetic manner and move on. “Told you we’d be back soon,” she said to Rhett, wondering if he’d want a lollipop. “Do you like artificial sweeteners?”

—

The best hunter is a dead one. Inge’s simple statement rattled in Siobhan’s head; bouncing around with each rumble of her hearse and each jump over cracked concrete. The clever retort that she felt obligated to have didn’t leave her mouth—it hadn’t even been formed. Instead, Siobhan watched the shifting landscape as they approached the factory. There was a time where she believed in the practical minimizing of harm; a time when Fate’s course seemed linear. Life existed in a tangle: webs and threads interwoven, pulled through space-time, woven again, transported into unknowable, unthinkable dimensions. When she’d tried to minimize harm, when she’d tried to be kind, she cost her people seven other lives. The best hunter was a living one, until Fate came. And Fate had not yet called for Rhett.

Lost in her thoughts, Siobhan hadn’t realized that she’d entered the factory at all. Had she remembered to turn the hearse off? Park it in the overgrown bushes where it couldn’t be seen from the road? She shook her head. She tried to bring back the face of the woman who adored violence, who only knew it, but instead a woman who mourned controlled her features. She saw Rhett as he was: bloody, broken, miserable. She wondered if he’d ever forgive her one day—then she castigated herself for thinking that. And, anyway, he would be dead soon. But she hadn’t screamed for him yet, and until then, she wondered if he would forgive her and if he’d think it was silly that she cared about that at all.

Siobhan knelt to the bag, crinkling plastic cutting through the air thick with the acrid scent of old blood. Off to the side, the bits of Rhett’s lost leg buzzed with a swarm of happy flies. “What flavour do you want, Rhett?” She smiled for him; dead men deserved kindnesses, sometimes. “We got everything because I said—well, it won’t be funny now if I retell it—but I wanted all of them. And there’s jellybeans…” Siobhan held up the little bag full of them—a plastic bag inside of another plastic bag. Did humans hate the world this much? “I don’t know anyone that likes jelly beans. They’re an abomination.” She pointed to Inge. “Worse than her, actually.”

—

He couldn’t be absent for everything, unfortunately. While his tendency to slip into altered states of consciousness had done him some favors over the last few days, sending the two creatures off in the wee hours of the morning to resume their activities the next day, he always came back out of it. The first time they’d decided to take a break, they’d left him secured to a pole that ran from floor to ceiling so he didn’t excuse himself without their consent. He’d been stuck there since, sitting with head bowed and long hair framing his face, silent until he heard the sound of them returning.

Rhett drew a long, shaky breath as their footsteps grew louder. They’d taken his leg, cut it off just above the knee and cauterized it about as well as you’d expect, and he was pretty sure he had an infection on top of the constant, agonizing pain of nerve endings being ripped to shreds by less than surgically precise methods. He stared down at it, down at the bloodstain where his limb should have been, at the frayed edges of pants hurriedly cut away, stained a blackish-brown. His right leg, while still attached to him, wouldn’t be for long. Siobhan had started in on the toenails of that foot last night, which meant that tonight, if she was working in a pattern... It was a miracle he hadn’t died from blood loss already, but maybe that’s what the breaks were really for. And maybe, he thought as his captors questioned him about sucker flavors, that was the only reason they were giving him any kind of sustenance.

Rather than answer on the subject of his liking of artificial sweeteners or his preferred synthetic flavor, he just lifted his chin and stared. If you didn’t count all the tormented hollering, he hadn’t spoken a word to them in two days. He just shivered, underdressed for the frigid weather, and blinked blearily at them.

“You ain’t screamed,” he finally said pointedly and in a hoarse voice. That meant he wasn’t going to die… yet. He knew the amount of time that could pass before the banshee let one rip was highly variable—it could happen days before he departed from this mortal coil, or it could happen seconds before what remained of the light in his eyes was snuffed out. It would happen, but there wasn’t much comfort in that unless he was on his way to someplace safe. This was not someplace safe. This was… hell.

His gaze jumped to Inge.

“Why am I here? This about you? This about revenge?” he growled, lowering his chin again. His hands, now more loosely tied behind his back and keeping him from wandering far from the pole, twisted against each other at the wrist. His frustration was building, unexpectedly, since he’d more or less been floating through the last few days in a quiet haze or full dissociative state. He was frozen half to death, he was starved, exhausted from lack of sleep and blood loss, and everything hurt. How long were they going to drag this out? Even he didn’t torture fae for this long. Once they told him what he wanted to know, he killed them.

“What d’you want?” the warden snarled before giving them time to actually respond. “Just fucking—get it over with. Just fucking get it over with.” He wasn’t begging. Rhett would never beg for his own life. But maybe that was only because he tried to mask the desperation with anger. He snapped his head up to look at Siobhan, looking furious. “Scream, already!” he commanded, like that would help anything.

—

It was agony, following them. Keeping back, suffocating that rage in his chest to something that had him acting tactical instead of lashing out… it wasn’t in his nature. Emilio had always been a flurry of fury, with a style of fighting that could only really be described as animalistic. His advantage always came in the way he kept fighting until consciousness left him, not in anything resembling planning. He knew he was no good at that. He’d proven it time and time and time again. And, right now, everything he had wanted to launch himself at these women who’d taken his brother from him, wanted to rip them into pieces, wanted to tear their throats out with his fucking teeth.

But then, he stopped to listen.

He eavesdropped, he let their conversation wash over him. They spoke about Rhett like he was still alive, and Emilio knew he’d never get his brother back before it was too late if he killed his captors now. The way they spoke implied that Rhett was in bad shape; there would be no time to look for him, especially not when he knew he’d have to do it alone. He couldn’t ask anyone to help him with this. Not Wynne, who had good reason to hate him. Not Teddy, who he’d seen having pleasant conversations with Siobhan online. Not Jade, who was so interconnected with Regan that going after the other banshee in any way was bound to cause complications. The only person he could realistically expect assistance from was Parker, and he was pretty sure his rage at him matched his rage towards Rhett’s tormentors at this point. He’d never be able to trust the other warden in a fight.

And so, Emilio was on his own. It was hardly a rarity, hardly an experience he was unfamiliar with. He’d spent two years on his own after he and Rhett parted ways in Mexico, would have kept at it if not for Wicked’s Rest and its citizens’ strange habit of giving a shit about people they shouldn’t. Emilio was fine on his own, could handle himself in a fight just fine. He’d get his brother back or he’d die trying, but either way, at least he’d be saved the grief of losing him.

So, he followed. To the parking lot, watching what car they slipped into. It was recognizable, hard to mistake for anything else on the road. Not many hearses driving around. That was good. He slipped into the driver’s seat of the car he’d once again ‘borrowed’ from Teddy, maintaining a slight distance behind the hearse as he drove with his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. His heart stuttered uncomfortably. Left turn. Nausea tugged at his gut. Right turn. He saw a flash of Edgar’s body on the road, crumpled and bloody. Stoplight. Victor sat beside him in the passengers’ seat, sporting every injury his mind could imagine since he’d been spared the knowledge of knowing what killed him. Accelerate. Edgar’s corpse again, but his hair was longer now. Gray. His head tilted, and it was Rhett’s face there instead. Victor, in the seat beside him, morphed in a similar manner.

The hearse pulled off the road, and Emilio did the same. Into a parking lot, with no one else around. He switched off the headlights, parked a ways away. He watched them enter, and he waited. One heartbeat. Two. He couldn’t stomach the thought of a third, moved from the driver’s seat and onto the concrete. The ache in his bad leg was a long-forgotten thing, his mind forcibly pushing it aside. Pain is a message, his mother told him once. Messages can be ignored. He was getting better at it with practice.

He unpacked the trunk. Iron blades, weapons borrowed from Teddy’s basement. He grabbed a knife Rhett had gifted him years ago, the handle worn but the blade kept sharp. He thought it might be poetic to kill one of them with it. Both of them, maybe. Everything in the damn factory, if Rhett was dead inside of it.

The closer he got to the door, the clearer he could hear the murmurs. The sensation of the dead thing inside made his stomach turn just as much as the smell of blood did. The two of them combined had his mind reeling, skipping back and forth between here and there. The factory was a living room was a street. Long dead corpses rotted scentlessly in the corner. His daughter’s body was crumpled in the center of the room. Rhett was missing a leg. Juliana was screaming. Siobhan was silent.

For a moment, he thought he was too late. He thought he’d gotten here just to collect a corpse, just to give himself something else to bury. But then, Rhett shifted. He spoke. He sounded rough, sounded more pained than Emilio had ever heard him, and the world fell apart and fell back together at the same time. It was strange, seeing his brother this way. For so long, he’d thought of Rhett as invincible by necessity. Victor was dead. Edgar was dead. So Rhett couldn’t be. His other brothers died screaming, too young or too old, so he made Rhett a monument to them in their absence, created an immortal thing out of a husk. He’d been proven wrong before, of course; Rhett was already down an eye, had needed a cane even before the monsters in the shadows had taken his fucking leg. But even so, Emilio had never seen him like this.

He looked small. Emilio wanted to tear the world apart with his bare hands.

There was no time to waste, he knew. The first thing he needed to do was take care of the mare. Prevent her from using the astral to her advantage, keep her from slipping into the shadows to attack him from behind. If she got one hand on him, put him to sleep, this whole thing would be over. The banshee’s scream was a concern, too, but the mare needed to be grounded first. Fighting deaf would still be easier than fighting unconscious.

Slipping the sword off his back, he tested its weight momentarily. Balanced. High quality. If he survived this, he’d have to thank Teddy for letting him borrow it. He waited until Inge moved a little, waited until she was lined up the way he needed her to be with the wall. And then, in a flurry of rage, he went in for the strike.

He made no sound as he stormed into the room, offered none of his usual dry humor as he shoved the blade through the mare’s stomach and into the wall behind her with all the strength he had. It went in deep, stuck hard. It would take enhanced strength to pull it out again. Otherwise, she’d have to peel herself off it by slicing through herself, sliding to the side. It would hurt either way. Emilio was glad for that.

—

She never stuck around to see the results of her actions when it came to her sleepers. She visited them on a schedule, slowly pushing further and further into their minds to make it her own playground. Sometimes she witnessed them wake, but that was it — Inge always disappeared until they could fully react. And here was Rhett, tied like a stray, wounded dog with blood sticking to him and the surface below him. He was reduced in a multitude of ways.

It was a strange thing, to be so confronted with her actions. To have the harm done by her collaborator (not her — for all her assistance, Inge remained convinced it was Siobhan responsible for that missing leg) so clearly on display. It wasn’t that it gave her pause, but it was a sensation she wasn’t sure she’d intend to experience again. Even if she’d gained material for new works. She turned the lollipop around in her mouth while considering the sight, distantly glad that it would be done before dawn. It was not a feeling she had any interest in investigating.

So she simply stared back at him, popping the lollipop from her mouth to answer his growled questions. Questions. He had barely spoken these past days, an impressive feat that Inge would not have achieved had the places been reversed. They had been, once, though not for as long. Humans were easier to trap. “Well, the idea started when you hurt a mutual …” She thought for a moment, “Student of ours. I’m not generally one for vengeance like this, but Siobhan is an inspiring woman and well, I really would like to see you and your experimental ways out of this world.” It would be bad praxis to reveal that Siobhan and her hadn’t really agreed on what had occurred, but Inge wasn’t tactical, nor was Rhett long for this world. “So we agreed to put our differences aside to kill you. We’ll get there.”

She had judged him, hadn’t she? For locking her in that bunker. For putting Ariadne in that van for a week. For the cruelty of it — not just a quick axe to the head, but something drawn out. But this was different. This was retribution. “I don’t like to limit my fellow creatives, though.” With the way he was asking for it, for that inevitable end, Inge almost felt inclined to let Siobhan follow her whims and let this draw out. Even if she was growing antsy from this space, her mind bending in strange ways, leaving her giddy and nervous and wondering if she should start packing, wondering if she should try to help Siobhan with the next toe and whether she could even handle such a thing. Whether she was weaker, for not being able to fight or maim in such a way, or whether it just made her more sophisticated. Whether she was worse than the hunters for this. Whether it mattered.

She’d blame that spiraling mind for not noticing what came next until it was too late.

The blade reached her only a few seconds after she’d caught sight of Cortez, eyes widening and mind preparing to reach for her beloved astral — but she couldn’t. The sword ran through the full depth of her and a sound fell from her lips, somewhere between a scream and a roar. Her fingers let go from the lollipop, which shattered like glass onto the ground. Eyes dropped to what had been slid through her insides, wide and frightened and furious. She tried to focus, not entirely convinced that this should lock her in place but it wasn’t there, her connection to her favored place of existence.

Panic was an emotion spread easily, especially when it went hand in hand with adrenaline, and Inge reached forward to try and claw at the now-free hilt, but she only cut herself deeper. Another wail of pain, eyes dancing through the room, “Do it, Siobhan.” Surely the banshee knew what she meant by that.

—

It was interesting being told what to do. Siobhan had spent so much of her life listening, obeying, deferring. She was, by her very nature, a vehicle for choices that weren’t hers. Rhett wanted her to scream, as though his death was up to her—well, it was up to her but it wasn’t up to her. Another banshee would understand (but not Regan, Regan understood nothing). Inge also wanted her to scream and that one tickled in the back of her throat; she almost did it reflexively, just because some woman told her to. She thought it was all a little funny.

Emilio burst in like a rabid dog—remarkably silent—and honed on Inge as though she had personally eaten the kibble from his bowl. Siobhan watched it all in slow motion: Inge’s expression, the sword, the wall. The sword was a nice touch, Inge obviously trying to blink away from the scene wasn’t. Did she plan on leaving her here? With the hunters? And she was telling her what to do? Yes, do it. She ought to do it. It was always about her and needing to do it; all her life, a series of things to do. All it would take was one scream, in a matter of seconds, to rid the world of Emilio, Rhett and Ingeborg. Did they understand that? Did they ever once think about her generosity? Or, perhaps, why was it that she just didn’t go around screaming? Was any intelligent thought spared for her? Considering the people surrounding her, probably not. It was embarrassing that she’d considered Ingeborg a friend for a moment; she’d be blocking that memory out.

Siobhan knelt to Rhett’s level, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Any of you move and I scream,” she said. “Except you, Ingeborg, feel free to squirm.” She looked along the bloody factory ground to Emilio, and the pinned mare; he was bundled up, she was oozing glitter. “I shouldn’t have to remind you, Emilio, that all it takes is one breath for Rhett to turn into pudding. Rhett, you tell him.” With her free hand, she rummaged around the grocery bag, freeing a lollipop. Ripping the plastic with her teeth, she slid the treat against her tongue. “Ugh.” She frowned. “Grape.” The plastic stick danced from one end of her mouth to the other as she thought about their situation.

Ingeborg probably felt very good about herself, impalement aside; she should have listened to her and killed Rhett on that first night. Emilio seemed very upset. Rhett seemed….pale and sticky; torture had that effect. Was he relieved? Scared? He still hasn’t told her what flavour he liked best; she guessed lemon. “I think we should relax.” Siobhan smiled sweetly. “Get acquainted. Emilio, this is Rhett, maybe you know him: he’s a child torturer. That’s a Ingeborg, you can kill her if you want but keep in mind that you will be robbing the world of her attractiveness—she has material value. In addition, she does smell strangely nice.” Siobhan turned to look at Rhett. “Are you sure you don’t want candy, darling?”

—

A mutual student? The girl, then. The blonde with the flower. He frowned, his gaze dancing between the two of them as that momentary spike of adrenaline seeped away again, leaving him hollowed and hurting. They wanted him dead, but they wanted it done slow—maybe for each day he’d held that young mare in his van. Maybe more. For as long as it was interesting to them. Well, he could try to keep it uninteresting by being mute again, taking their abuse without complaint. They’d get bored eventually.

He was just about to slump back against the pole when there was a sudden explosion of movement, and the warden jerked away from it on reflex before realizing it wasn’t Siobhan. In fact, she was crouched in front of him now, hand on his shoulder, and—

His one-eyed gaze fell on Emilio and was fixed there as the banshee voiced her threats. She was right, he knew—Emilio probably didn’t. Why was he here? He should have been home, he—

“No,” Rhett moaned woefully. Tears sprang unbidden to his eye and he shook his head, staring at his brother. “Get out of here. You shouldn’t be here.” He could hardly speak above a whisper, throat raw from all the screaming he’d been doing, worsened by his outburst only moments before. He sucked in a gasping breath, glancing away from the other hunter to meet Siobhan’s gaze. “Let him go, he’s not—he ain’t like me. He’s good. He’s a good person, please, let him go, he made a mistake—” He looked back at Emilio sharply with that final word, teeth bared in a grimace. “A mistake,” he repeated. “Go home.”

He would never beg for his own life, but he'd be the first to beg for Emilio’s.

Logic and reasoning was not something he’d ever had a strong grasp on, but that was even farther from the truth now. In some desperate attempt to appeal to Siobhan’s chaotic nature and hopefully get his brother out of there in one piece, Rhett gave her a stoic nod. “I like lemon,” he confirmed unknowingly. He spared one last quick glance at his last remaining family, feeling sick to his stomach. “We’re fine here, hua. Havin’ a great time.”

—

It was hard to focus. His mind was still bouncing, still half in the present and half in the past. Flora’s body was still in the corner, crumpled and bloodless and so small. Juliana’s was a few feet away. Edgar was there, too; Rosa, his mother. Even Lucio’s ghost haunted the scene, staring on with the same stricken expression he’d worn when Emilio buried his knife in his gut. None of it was right, he knew; everyone he loved was two years gone, rotting in holes someone else had dug for them.

Everyone but Rhett.

His eyes darted to his brother, who was clearly far more out of it than Emilio himself and with far better reason. It was hard not to focus on the place where his leg ended, on the too-long pant leg and the bloodied concrete beneath it. He wanted to think, what kind of a monster does that to a person? He wanted to condemn it, wanted to think that it was an unforgivable thing. But Rhett had locked a kid in a van for days just to see what would happen. Emilio had tortured so many vampires that he’d lost count now, had done worse than this to them for days and days on end until even their already-dead bodies couldn’t hold on a moment longer and gave out under his hands. There were monsters in this room; there were nothing but monsters in this room.

In the far corner, his daughter’s body continued to rot.

The mare was screaming. Her — Its blood touched the edge of the sword, sparkling in the dim light of the factory. In a way, it grounded him a little. The screams, the glittery substance. He tried to focus on it instead of Rhett’s blood, tried to ground himself in the present as best he could. Edgar was dead. Victor was dead. Rhett wasn’t. Rhett wouldn’t be. Not as long as there was breath left in Emilio’s lungs.

His chest heaved as he glared at the banshee. The mare was forgotten now, an afterthought; no longer a threat, and therefore no longer worth looking at. He gripped Rhett’s iron knife in his hand, tight enough to stop it shaking. He wanted to slice the banshee open, wanted its guts to spill on the floor as if that might somehow cover up his brother’s blood that stained it, as if the presence of one would chase away the presence of the other.

The banshee put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. It made threats. Emilio continued to glare. “Si haces eso te mataré,” he growled. Juliana laughed, a harsh and unnatural sound. He blinked once, hard, trying to remind himself of where he was. When he was. He pushed his tongue against the bottom of his canine, tasting blood in his mouth. Opening it, he tried again. “If you do that, I will kill you,” he said, the words slow and heavily accented as he forced them out in the language that still felt unnatural behind his teeth. “I promise, I’ll kill you if you do that.” Rhett would hate that. You weren’t supposed to make promises to fae; Emilio knew that. But this promise was one he intended to keep, anyway. It didn’t matter if Rhett was a monster; Emilio loved him all the same. He’d do anything for him. He’d tear the world apart with only his teeth.

His eyes darted back to his brother as he spoke, surprised to see him aware. Not quite himself — Emilio was fairly sure he’d only seen Rhett with tears in his eyes once, in the woods just outside Etla — but here all the same. His chest ached as Rhett ordered him to leave, and he wondered if this was what his brother had felt in those woods when Emilio begged him to let him die. He’d give the same answer to Rhett as Rhett had given him back then: “Fuck off with that shit.” There was nothing in the goddamn world that would convince him to leave Rhett here. If Rhett died here, Emilio would either kill the things responsible or die trying. His glare made that much pretty clear.

Said glare returned to the banshee now, eating its candy like none of it mattered, like it hadn’t mutilated his brother in the floor of an old factory, like all of this was a joke. Like Rhett wasn’t the only family Emilio had, like he wasn’t the last piece of a unit that was otherwise irreparably broken. “I’m not leaving here without him. Whether you’re alive or not when I go is up to you.”

—

She felt like a fly that someone had swatted and left to die stuck to the wall. Not fully dead but incapacitated in a way where there was little to do for her but watch in growing agitation and continued pain what played out before her. Inge wanted to scream, but only if the scream could have the impact that a banshee’s would have. In stead she followed Siobhan’s instruction (when she should be following hers!) and squirmed, fingers trying to grasp at the blade but getting nothing out of it.

The warden was crying. Putting up a show of emotion, cracking the way he’d not been cracked before despite the horrors Siobhan and her had put him through. This could be perfect. This could be perfect. If the banshee only used her head and did what needed to be done, this could be two birds with one stone — or rather one scream.

But the banshee was impossible to understand, a strange combination of motivations that Inge didn’t get. (Not that she got her own.) They were all talking as if there was something to talk about. Why wasn’t she doing it? She grasped the blade once more, the metal cutting into the palm of her hand as she tried to gain purchase. But to get to the hilt she’d have to bend over and to bend over was to slice into herself deeper. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what kind of organs remained inside her and if they had any function. She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out today, here.

She was shrieking, though not with any intention. Just out of instinct. Her hands were covered in that useless glittery solid now and she was useless. A fly on the wall, left to observe the inaction of a banshee who had once proclaimed to love murder. “Siobhan!” It was a bellow more than a scream, lower than the previous expressions of panic and pain. “Get it over with!”

—

Amusement fluttered inside Siobhan’s chest: this was the sort of situation that reminded her of her greatest hobby. Emilio’s anger delighted her—his gaze could become so sharp, his words could drip with such acid, he could promise her silly things just to keep himself from charging at her (he was like a dog right now, but with just enough sense to keep himself alive). Ingeborg squirmed on the sword—how wonderful it was to watch her expressions dance, flickering with rage (was that fear under the red glow of her eyes or more anger?). And Rhett—as silly as it was, she’d come to like the man. Over the last two nights she studied his expressions: anguish, sadness, fatigue, acceptance. Her greatest hobby was to watch the ways life existed. What made torture fun was seeing how far she could push an emotion, seeing how she could twist a feeling. And here was something she coveted, something she hardly understood: affection, the most curious of human conditions.

She waved Emilio’s words away. “I don’t accept your promise. You’ll end up hurting yourself with that one: it’s too vague.” Siobhan’s gaze then flicked to Ingeborg. “That sword looks really cute on you, it brings out your eyes. You should consider it as a permanent look.”

Siobhan smiled, rummaging through the plastic grocery bag: orange, cherry (her favorite), cola, watermelon, peach, something neon green. “I knew you were a lemon man.” Eventually, she found a bright yellow lollipop and tongued hers into the other side of her mouth so she could rip the plastic wrapping open with her teeth. She held the piece of candy out by Rhett’s mouth. “You are a very astute man. I like this awareness: you’ve always understood how pitiful you are, haven’t you?” She looked at Emilio. “But that’s not a ‘good man’, that’s a selfish one. He holds more compassion for you than he does for poor Ingeborg on the nice sword. Who, for all my knowledge, has never tortured any anxiety ridden blonde children. Emilio’s selective, isn’t he? You don’t charge in here, promise to kill someone to save someone else, unless you’re selectively compassionate. Of course, most humans are like this, but it hardly makes him ‘good’ does it?”

Her grip tightened on Rhett’s shoulder. “I don’t like selfish men, Rhett.” And Siobhan knew she was cruel enough to kill Rhett only to anger Emilio. Then she’d tie him up and…well, maybe she’d go for the arms this time. And who would come to save him? Would this be a never ending cycle of interrupted torture? The idea exhausted her. “Emilio, are you aware this is a terrible man? Objectively terrible. He won’t argue—tell him, Rhett. Why don’t you? Tell him all the terrible things you’ve done…or does he already know?” She looked at him, wondering if he was the sort of man to share his secrets or if he had any shame for his duty. Did Emilio want to save him regardless? Why? Why?

Why would anyone want to save this wretched man?

“Emilio.” In her curiosity, Siobhan’s head cocked to the side. “Why should I let you go? Why should I let Rhett go?” She blinked. “Don’t try to threaten me again, or threaten Ingeborg, it’s juvenile. If I cared about staying alive, I wouldn’t be here. If I cared about Ingeborg staying alive, I would have screamed already. Use your brain, I know you have one.”

—

Wincing beneath her tightened grip, Rhett stared at the lollipop still held aloft in front of him as he spoke. “Emilio. Shut up,” he ordered his little brother, knowing that the man’s temper would not do them any favors in this situation. Then, with the smallest tilt of his head in Siobhan’s direction, he began speaking to her, answering her questions slowly, making sure he didn’t miss anything. If he missed something, she might think he was trying to ignore it, and she might do something rash. Something unhinged, like she was. He had to be careful about what he said for once in his stupid life.

“Pitiful, aye. N’ he knows all ‘bout all the things that make me like that.” Most of them, anyway. “He is bein’ selfish, right now. He should’ve let me go days ago. But he’s family, n’ he don’t let family go easy.” His head was swimming, vision blurred. He felt like passing out, but he had to keep going. “He’s the one that got her out. The blonde girl, the mare. He’s the one that let her out of the van, the one that made me promise… not to go after her again. No one else woulda been able to convince me, so… if ya… care about ‘er, ya got Emilio to thank. Ya should… let him go ‘cuz he’s got more green than red on his ledger. Does more good than bad. Only does bad when… when it involves me, or the people that took away our family.” It was surprisingly introspective for Rhett, but he’d had a lot of time to think about it. The warden sucked in a wavering breath, squinting his eye closed. “I don’t wanna leave here.” He’d tried to run once, back before it had gotten really bad, but now… “But that don’t matter, ‘cuz ‘Milio ain’t gonna leave this place without me.” He finally brought his gaze up to look at Siobhan, and for all the world, he looked genuinely apologetic.

“I get why ya did what ya did. But don’t make my brother pay for the wrong shit I done. I know he’s bein’ selfish right now, but he is a good man. I promise he is. I promise.” That’s how sure he felt, despite what Emilio might say, what he might think. He knew the last living Cortez was a better person than he himself believed. “I’ll be dead next year anyway. He just wants a few more months.” With that, Rhett deflated from the effort of remaining coherent, bending forward to bite the sucker from Siobhan’s grip and then lean back against the pole, closing his eye like he was relaxing into a nap. He should’ve still been worried for Emilio, and he was, but he was too damn tired to do much more about it. As it was, his grip on consciousness felt weak—held only by one pinkie finger. He hoped that he’d still have a pinkie finger as he slipped away from them, his mind carrying him elsewhere just in case things went wrong and they all had their guts liquified by a pissed off banshee.

—

The mare was screaming; Emilio ignored it. With the threat of its escape through the astral plane eliminated, it would be simple enough to take its head off when he finished with the banshee. Or he’d leave it here to starve, focus more on getting Rhett to safety instead. He needed some kind of medical care, though Emilio wasn’t sure how to provide it. (If he took his brother to the hospital, what questions would he have to field? Would Zane help him out, understand that Emilio’s presence would need to be an under the radar thing?) Either way, the mare wasn’t important at the moment. Its screeching, its pleas for the banshee to act and its fear disguised as rage. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered at all was sitting in the floor with a goddamn lollipop stuck in front of his face.

The banshee spoke, and Emilio kept his steely gaze on it, body tense and ready to strike at any moment. It would do him no good, he knew. The iron knife in his hand could be thrown with accuracy, but it wouldn’t be faster than a scream if the banshee chose to release one. The most he could hope for was for the blade to find the banshee’s throat just a moment after its scream obliterated him. Maybe if the sound was focused on him, Rhett would survive with only his eardrums ruptured. Maybe someone would come looking, would find him before infection took him. Or maybe they’d both turn to mist with the echo of the banshee’s cry. Maybe they all would. It still felt better than the thought of walking out of here alone.

There were insults, there were implications. This was about the other mare, the kid. Wynne’s girlfriend, the one who hadn’t deserved what Rhett had done to her. But the kid hadn’t even wanted to speak poorly about Rhett; Emilio doubted she would approve of someone being tortured in her name, of someone being killed. He thought of Flora, of the blood he’d spilled and the dust he’d stirred up because she was gone and he was here and things like that needed retribution. Maybe she wouldn’t have approved, either. Maybe she’d never gotten to be old enough to understand the idea of approval. Either way, the blood on his hands remained just as present as his brother’s blood on the floor. His eyes flickered briefly to the corner. She was rotting. She was always rotting.

The banshee kept saying his name, and he wished it would stop. The syllables exiting its tongue felt wrong, felt different. Even when Rhett said it — that fond, shortened version, the one only Rhett was still alive to use — it didn’t feel right. The name reminded him that he was a person, and he didn’t feel like one now. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be one. People ached. People struggled with the things Emilio needed to do. People hurt when you hit them, and he thought something was probably going to hit him soon. He stayed quiet as the banshee spoke, eyes darting to Rhett as his brother joined in. I’ll be dead next year anyway, he said, like it didn’t matter. Like there weren’t little girls rotting in corners and long-dead wives screaming in the distance, like he wasn’t the only family Emilio had who hadn’t decayed long past the point of recognition. Emilio wanted him to shut up, but he was afraid of what might happen when he stopped talking. He was afraid that if Rhett stopped speaking now, he’d never hear his brother’s voice again. The thought made him nauseous.

He let the silence stretch, periodically looking from the banshee to his brother to the empty corner where his mind conjured up long buried corpses and long silenced screams. He knew he should say something. He was supposed to. He knew that.

“I’m not good,” he confirmed, looking at Rhett as he said it. “Neither is he. Neither are you. Or that.” He gestured to the mare like an afterthought, like he’d almost forgotten it was there at all. (Would Teddy want the sword back? He should leave it in place until he’d killed the thing, at least, but he probably ought to clean it after. The thought felt laughably mundane, even as his mind clung to it.) “But he’s my brother. And I’m not the only one who needs him. He’s got a kid who wants him around, who wants to know him. She’s good, and she deserves to keep him. To get to know him, to decide for herself if she wants him in her life. You can —” He looked to Rhett, to the empty gap on the floor where his leg should have been. “You can do what you want with me. Let me call an ambulance for him, and I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Take my lungs, my liver, my heart, take whatever, but not him. You can take me apart like a goddamn puzzle, but let my brother go. Please. Just let him live, and I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

—

Siobhan was accosting her with a compliment that made Inge just shout an expletive her way, “Kutwijf!” Her mother tongue, because maybe that would shield the truth of her frustration. The truth of her dread, her — well, her fear, really. It was an ugly thing to admit, but as she was stuck on the wall and her ally in all this seemed to be negotiating with the two hunters rather than killing them, she was afraid. She tried to lean into her anger more. Even as Siobhan revealed her hand. She cared not about what might happen to either of them, had no intention as of yet to commit the murders that seemed to Inge as the only logical next step.

Why were they here? Why had Rhett put her in that basement, Ariadne in that van? What was the point? Inge had thought that perhaps this all could lead to one less hunter, that a proactive stance against a monster like Rhett would lead to the erasure of him — but here she was, pinned to that wall, waves of cold pain radiating from that wound. She and Siobhan had done what she condemned all hunters for. Played with their food and not pulled through.

And then there was the revelation that Emilio had been the one to save Ariadne. The man with the murderous eyes of his mother had saved a girl better than them all. It didn’t add up. There was an angle to it. There was some motive she didn’t understand.

What was the point? Emilio may have saved Ariadne and Rhett may not have killed her, but there was still blood on all their hands. Emilio had a point — none of them were good. But Inge didn’t want to die, whereas these hunters seemed all to ready to lay themselves down to rest out of some kind of sentiment that she’d perhaps never felt. Her siblings were like strangers. Her late partner she had let die so she could get out. (A price deserved, considering she’d killed her once.) And even now, she had no interest in dying for another. “Well, I guess that makes it simple, doesn’t it?” Her voice was shrill and ugly, directed at Siobhan only. She would be damned if she would stop trying to make her demands. “They’re both down to die for the other, so why not do them that favor?” She wasn’t quiet after she stopped speaking, another shriek of pain accompanying her words from the strain her words had put on her abdomen. She wanted this to end.

—

Siobhan wasn’t sure it made anything simple. The word ‘family’ caught in her head, stuck in a warped loop. The bloody factory floor morphed into long, soft blades of green—the fields of Ireland. Muffled cries echoed behind her ears—smothered, she knew, by biting down into the flesh of her palm, sweet blood filling her mouth. Mother hated it when she cried. She turned to Rhett and waited for the pain that would follow his broken promise—Emilio wasn’t a good man—but there was nothing but fatigue and honesty. He believed it and that was enough. She looked at Emilio, listened to his plea. He really would have given her anything, just like that. And why? Why? Siobhan’s hand trembled against Rhett’s shoulder; under her gloves, under the myriad of scars on her palm, was the half-moon carved by her small teeth and it throbbed. “I don’t understand.” Her voice dropped to an almost whisper. “I don’t understand.” And then her grip tightened all at once, and she crushed Rhett’s tired body under her fingers. “What does family matter? You knew! This is a bad man!” Her voice rushed over itself, vibrating through her. “Family isn’t above punishment!”

The scars down her back throbbed as her body trembled. The grass and the crying withered away and instead it was her own screams, her own blood and her mother’s heel between her shoulder blades. Siobhan still remembered what the dirt tasted like the day she lost her wings: sulfur, wet clay and saliva. It was a temporary loss, she reminded herself. The same essence of family that Rhett and Emilio were on about was the one that meant her mother was waiting for her, keeping her wings safe, eager to reattach them and be with her daughter again. Yet, even as Siobhan told herself this, her face continued to twist. Her back was on fire; her mother had insisted on pulling them out like a weed, roots and all. “You knew… You knew and you let him live. You know and you come here demanding his life? This man?” She jostled him. “This putrid man?” She heard one of her own bones pop in her hand as she squeezed his shoulder. “What does it mean that he’s family? What does that mean?” How could he be saved? How could he be loved? How could he be forgiven?

Siobhan’s watery gaze snapped to Rhett. “What does it mean? How can he want to save you? How can he give himself away to save you? You, who are not worth saving. How can he? Why? What is—what is that? I don’t—I don’t understand.” She looked at Inge, still stuck on her wall, and blinked rapidly at her, trying to ask without words. Inge was a mother, so she must understand better than these men. If Inge child’s betrayed their family, she would rip their wings out, ruin their beauty, cast them out and strip them of familial title—no longer a daughter. She would. She had to. Good mothers did that. Family would watch it happen too: grandmothers, cousins, aunts. Family was just. “I don’t understand, Inge.”

—

He was only marginally aware of what was happening in the room after he’d stopped speaking. He could hear Emilio talking, probably refuting everything he’d said in some stupid attempt to swap their positions—they didn’t want Emilio, they wanted Rhett, for the shit he’d done to that girl. For the shit he’d done to the one pinned to the wall, still screaming her threats and pleas. But of course, just because a plan was stupid didn’t mean that would stop Emilio from trying it. He knew that much about his little brother.

That is, until the banshee’s grip on his shoulder threatened to break his collarbone and he snapped back into the moment, groaning and weakly trying to tug himself away from her as her words caught up to his addled mind. She shook him, sparking the anger that had fizzled out to little more than embers. She was demanding to know what they meant, to know how someone like Rhett could still have someone like Emilio who cared for him, in spite of everything.

He was annoyed. He spit out the lollipop to better speak.

“Rack off,” he barked angrily, sinking lower to try and relieve the pain that was her fierce grip on him. Something snapped, and he roared the next words in response. “This ain’t a fuckin’ therapy session, you stupid bitch. It ain’t a negotiation, neither! Fuck, all’ah you, just—” His words caught in his throat as Desmond crouched beside him, a large hunting knife protruding from his back. In his arms was little Flora, eyes vacant as the day he’d buried her. The warden stammered, gasping for breath as his fury was diluted by fear and sorrow. “Ya choose family, ya dense slag. Yer mama ain’t got no skin in the game. Fuck’s sake, let go.” Of his shoulder, of her fucked up relationship with her mother… or both. He didn’t really care. He just wanted this over.

—

The banshee was angry. Yelling (but still not screaming), tightening its grip. And it was hurting him, hurting Rhett. Emilio could see it in his brother’s eyes, in the way he came back to himself. He wished he’d stay in his head, stay out of the conversation. It would be easier to convince the banshee that Emilio was the better toy to play with if Rhett went silent. He doubted a hunter who was already broken would be nearly as much fun to pick apart as one still standing, and that was what the banshee was after here, wasn’t it? Fun. The thought of it — that his brother was a game they’d played for days now, that everything he’d gone through had been for the entertainment of the creatures in this room — made him a little sick. The thought that Wynne’s girlfriend in that van had been the victim of a similar game with Rhett as the creature entertained didn’t help.

The banshee was still talking and Rhett was yelling and Emilio couldn’t make out any of it, couldn’t pick apart the words over the rush of blood in his head. Flora was dead and here and rotting. Juliana was glaring and decaying and gone. Rhett was on the living room floor with blood all around him. The banshee had sharp teeth. The mare was shedding dust. Victor had been dead for twenty years now, and Emilio still heard him laughing.

“Stop.” He didn’t know who — what he was talking to. To Rhett, who was going to make things worse for himself in some misguided attempt to make things better for Emilio? To the banshee, whose grip was too tight? To the mare, whose voice was too shrill? To the ghosts that existed only in the confines of his own mind, or to his mind and itself and its awful method of time travel that he’d never consented to? He took a step forward, and it was a risky move. The banshee only needed to scream. But it had Rhett locked in its grip, and if it was going to kill him, Emilio thought it might as well kill him, too. If Rhett was going to die, he wasn’t going to die alone.

Another step, and then another. His feet made a sickening squelching sound as they moved through the blood, his brother’s blood, that soaked the ground. He kept walking anyway, until he was right in front of them, until he was reaching out and grabbing the banshee’s wrist where its hand held his brother’s shoulder, until he was squeezing it to loosen that grip in any way he could.

“It doesn’t matter why,” he said hoarsely. “It — there is no why. He’s my brother. He’s my brother, and I love him. Let him go, and I’ll do anything you want. I promise, I will. I’ll stay here with you. Or I’ll go with him, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone anymore. I’ll make whatever fucking promise you want me to make, just let him go. Please. He’s my brother. He’s the only family I have. You don’t have to understand. I don’t know how to make you understand. But that doesn’t matter. I’m — Christ, I’m fucking begging here. Anything you want, I swear. Just let him go.”

—

They were talking of family and punishment and Inge squirmed on her sword with no stakes in the game. Her parents had been distant and quiet in their love. Her siblings had been companions of silence, each of them haunted by the dead sibling most of them had never met and none of them spoke of. She must have loved them, once, when they were kids. She never really stopped loving them, maybe — but there was no liking them. No sacrifice. No grand gestures. They were not parts to hold over her, they were just abandoned limbs from a past life she didn’t think of much. They weren’t to her like Rhett was to Emilio. So she didn’t understand, either.

And the ones that mattered, the truly familial – chosen and blood – that had once existed had already been severed. She’d watched both her daughter and partner die. For Vera she would have done what Emilio was doing, but there was no comparing Rhett and her child. There was no common ground, besides perhaps the love that existed. And Inge didn’t much care for such sentiments as a sword throbbed in her belly. She didn’t much care for it because love was a wound that could not be tended to. It remained bleeding and raw much like her abdomen.

And above all, there had been no space for heroics in the face of the disease that had taken her daughter. There had been no space for morals or punishments, no use for them. They’d made up and they’d waited it out, the spread of disease. There had been no people to plead with, unless you accosted the doctors who were already on your side. Did Emilio understand how lucky he was, that he got to at least try? That there was at least something to do? That he could drive a sword through an antagonistic body and carry his weapons and make an attempt to sway a woman who could not understand the love he wielded? He was so lucky. He was so undeserving of it.

“I don’t care,” she retorted, mostly to Siobhan, “You don’t have to understand. It doesn’t matter. The love doesn’t matter. The punishment doesn’t matter unless you do what you gotta. Just end it. It doesn’t fucking matter, Siobhan.”

—

“Bitch? Slag?” Siobhan shook Rhett violently, rattling his body against the rusted pipe, ringing it like a gong. “A slag? I hold your life in my hands and you’re calling me a slag? Where’s the respect? I’m twice your age!” She leaned to the side and spat out her grape lollipop, which had been mostly crushed under her hurried conversation. “A promise?” She perked up, then, self conscious about how typical of her species she was being—it was just like a fae to lunge at the first chance for promised favors—and in front of a warden, she cleared her throat. The tendrils of the Gaes, warmed up her stomach. She exhaled on the memory of Emilio’s words—I promise. He would do anything she wanted, he promised. She snapped her jaw shut, clamping down on his words. “I accept your promise.” She had claimed something more valuable than a leg and yet, where she expected and waited for glee, ice knocked through her body.

In her head, her tearful words still cried out for answers: I don’t understand. Siobhan’s gaze fluttered between the bodies: Emilio, so certain and sacrificing in his love; Ingeborg, who understood something that she wasn’t sharing; Rhett, who had given up on himself but not once on his brother. Hollowed out, she was observing something beyond her; each of them spoke an unknowable language. Rhett said family was chosen—Siobhan didn’t understand. Emilio and Ingeborg said it didn’t matter if she understood, but their idea of what did matter was opposed—Emilio wanted Rhett free, Inge wanted them both dead. How could both opinions exist in the same space? How could someone be loved this much? To be begged for? What was love? How did it relate to being a family? What did these words mean other than nonsense? Emilio and Ingeborg were right, what did it matter to her? Why did she care? She ought to kill them; all three.

She stared at her accomplice, still stuck on the damned wall. If she found herself missing a leg, tied to a pole, would Ingeborg beg for her life? Of course not, they were hardly friends on a good day and after this, she was certain that would have many, many bad days. And if Ingeborg happened to be stuck on a wall, what would she do? “I want promises from you both,” Siobhan said, rising from the floor to grab nearby bolt cutters—she’d been hoping to use it to chomp through Rhett’s toes. “Neither of you will personally end or help to end Ingeborg’s undead existence. You may hurt her, I don’t care, but you will not kill her; give me promises.” This was a kindness and she hoped to feel something; a sudden invitation into their secret language. With this act of what she assumed to be love, she waited for the sudden clarity of family and affection. Instead, her arms trembled holding the bolt cutter to Rhett’s ropes. “And promises not to disclose the identities of Rhett’s torturers with anyone—you will not tell anyone about Ingeborg or myself. I want this too.”

—

All he could do was stare up at Emilio miserably as his brother made promises he shouldn’t have, but all the fight had left him with those final insults in Siobhan’s direction. He dropped his head, resigning himself to whatever was to come.

The mare stuck to the wall was doing her best to get them both killed, and Rhett couldn't blame her. But as blind luck would have it, the banshee wasn't interested. He didn't move as she requested promises from them, feeling himself start to slip away again. And as tempting as it was to give in to the out of body experience, he couldn't bear the thought of Emilio suffering for his inability to remain in the present moment. He didn't want to promise the banshee anything, that went against everything he'd ever stood for since Mariela had used it against him, but… this wasn't about him. He knew that. It was about making sure Emilio got out of here safely, and if he had to abandon his principles to do that, he would. He always would.

“I promise I won't kill Ingeborg,” he muttered without looking up, his voice raw. There was no emotion in it, nothing snide nor sad, just a statement of fact. “N’ I promise I won't tell no one who so generously hacked off half my bad leg for me.” Okay, there was a bit of sarcasm in that one, but it couldn't be helped. Finally, the warden angled his chin up at Siobhan again, realizing that he couldn't see her at all — she was nothing more than a silhouette against a dim background in his limited field of view.

He smirked, letting his gaze wander uselessly. He knew Emilio wouldn't have any issue promising these things; he'd already given the fucking thing a freebie, after all. Idiot.

—

It took the promise; he figured it would. It didn’t matter, anyway. All that mattered was the man trapped in the banshee’s grip, the only family Emilio had left. Emilio kept his eyes locked on Rhett’s, expression still and icy as the banshee took the promise. He wondered, almost distantly, if Rhett was disappointed in him. If he still thought Emilio was worth it, even now, or if whatever remained of the respect he held for him vanished the moment he started to beg.

The banshee would use the promise, he knew, but only if it allowed him to survive the experience. He thought that might still be in question, thought it was the kind of thing he ought to be worried about. He wasn’t. He didn’t care what happened to him, meant every word of his stupid pleading. If the banshee let Rhett go, he’d do whatever it asked. He’d pull his heart out of his chest and hand it over. He’d put the saw it had used to hack off his brother’s leg to his own throat. He’d do anything, anything if it meant Rhett got to leave here, if it meant he could go home. Rhett, after all, had a daughter waiting for his return. Emilio had nothing.

Another promise was asked of him, and his eyes darted over to the mare stuck to the wall. He’d almost forgotten about it there; it wasn’t a threat anymore, and it had been written off as a result. An afterthought, a concept not worth his attention. Distantly, he thought it was interesting that the banshee cared enough to request such a promise. There was no request that they not kill the banshee, after all; only that the mare’s head stay on its worthless corpse. Emilio regarded it for a moment but, in truth, he knew it didn’t matter. He said he’d give anything, and he’d meant it. This was included in that.

“I promise I won’t kill your mare,” he replied, letting his eyes move back to the banshee, “or tell anyone who did this, just as long as neither of you hurts him again.” Tacked on the end, a condition of his own. He wouldn’t make a promise only for them to track Rhett down as soon as he was gone to slit his throat. It was a fair enough trade, he thought, especially since he didn’t bother including himself in the conditional. Something like that might have threatened the other promise the banshee had taken; he doubted it would go for that. But Rhett… They’d had their fun there. Emilio wouldn’t risk the chance of them having any more.

—

“She’s not my…oh whatever.” Siobhan sighed, taking her promises from Emilio and Rhett with a forced smile. “Yes, I agree to your deal: I will not physically harm Rhett again.” She waited for Ingeborg’s voice, confirming, before she pulled the final thread of magic and bound them all together; for better or for worse, though usually, it was worse.

The bolt cutter went through the rope, sawing and snapping at the threads; there was something to be said about her insistence on using the wrong tools for every job. Eventually, Rhett was free. Siobhan stepped back, leaned up against her table of supplies and watched them. Love was no more clear to her seeing Emilio take Rhett away. Something, however, sparked watching Rhett’s blanket drop from his shoulder and Emilio’s rough hands pull the fabric over him again. In seeing the man’s arm steadied so carefully on his brother’s shoulder; their steps done in time together, Emilio’s limp and Rhett’s tired hops. Emilio’s body angled towards them, using his body—his life—as a shield. Their soft voices—or was it just Emilios?—too quiet for her to understand. Despite the bloody floor, Rhett’s haphazardly bandaged stump and the pieces of his leg, buzzing with flies, there was a strange peace; a delicate pace. Until the edges of the factory stole the family from her view, she considered if that was love: if it was those two broken men, tethered, going on to live another day knowing they’d both be in it. If it was Rhett’s weight on Emilio, Emilio’s arms around him. If it was knowing that they both would have given their bodies—limbs, ligaments, organs—just to be certain the other would breathe for one more night. Love seemed to be violent in its sacrifices and selfish in its stubbornness.

She didn’t understand it, but she knew they did.

Siobhan looked at Ingeborg, still on the wall. She wondered if anyone loved her—maybe they were the same, in that sense. Silently, she gripped the saw beside her, painted with Rhett’s dried blood, and approached the mare. Her strides were long and deliberate, the blade knocking against her thigh. She made it halfway across the factory floor before she dissolved into laughter. “You should look at yourself; it’s hilarious.” Siobhan bent down and picked up Rhett’s rotten foot. “This one’s for me….” And his rotted calf. “And this…” She pointed at the pile of bloody toenails. “You can have those.” Blowing Ingeborg a kiss, she was gone, not feeling much of anything: not remorse, not confusion, and certainly not love.

—

She was puzzled by these developments, confusion washing over her face as Siobhan made the moves to keep the two hunters from killing her down the line. Inge wondered why she wasn’t throwing her own life into the promise — did she care so little for it? Or did she think herself so invincible? Though she had gotten to know Siobhan a little more intimately over the past few days, this shed another light on the banshee. She squirmed on her sword. Three promises were made and she spoke in a quieter tone as she too, agreed, “I promise not to harm him again.” It was hard to hide the defeat in her voice.

So the banshee, the harbinger of death, was letting them all go. Was keeping them from killing one another in revenge, even. What a miserable turn of events. What a worthless twist. Inge had expected this to end with a corpse to get rid of, but in stead there was the stains of blood that Rhett left as he and his brother moved away. She watched them for a moment, then looked at the blood and flesh, then at Siobhan. Her cruel ally. Her protector, in a way. But also her traitor. She’d wanted a corpse. She’d made that abundantly clear. All she had was her ripped open gut.

She watched her near closer, toying with her saw like a child holding scissors. Not rushing over to come to her rescue, to peel her off the sword. Menacing. “You —” Inge’s face grew furious. “What was – why are you not – you …” She was laughing. The high ceiling made the sounds echo, round and round and round. Was a banshee’s cackle also magical? It had to be, with how miserable it made her feel.

It dawned on her when the kiss was blown that Siobhan was not just pulling her leg and Inge inched forward, eliciting a scream of pain as she hurled words at the other, “Get me off here, you can’t just leave me here, you absolute — SIOBHAN!” The name was repeated a few more times, losing volume every time and Inge remained. Like a fly stuck on the wall, with no purpose and no accomplishments, made witness to a scene that had already ended.

#. thread ;#. with ; emilio cortez #. with ; siobhan dolan #. with ; ingeborg endeman #. the rhescue mission ;#suicidal ideation tw

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den-of-the-jadewizard · 1 year ago

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Whumptober: Day One; I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.

"But you're already gone..."

A/N: This one's a bit rusty, and doesn't feel whumpy enough for me, but that's okay. It gets better.

This is the FNAF AU for the cast of Unified, my comic about shape people. Since I'm hyper fixed on Unified, a lot of these one shots are about them.

"Brother...?"

Bracer stilled, almost bristling as he heard Swift's meek and concerned tone. He didn't dare move his gaze from the corkboard in front of him. He didn't answer him either, hoping his silence was enough to get the point across that he wanted to be left alone right now.

"We've talked about this..."

He put a hand up to cut Swift off. Of course, he wouldn't take the hint. Bracer huffed a sigh, reply curt and to the point.

"I don't want to hear it."

"It wasn't your fault-"

"You've told me a million times already."

"It's true."

"I know that."

"I don't believe you. You've been running yourself ragged for the past month on this, Bracer. The case has been closed-"

"It's not!" Bracer slammed the table and whipped around to face him, snarling.

Swift flinched at the sudden outburst.

"You're a hypocrite, Swift," he rebuked him, "The hell is this any different from the cold case

you've been deadlocked on for four fucking years!?"

"Least we had a lead, but here we knew what had happened how it malfunctioned-"

"-No, I'm not going to listen to whatever you're spewing. If you're here to do that then get the hell out of my house..."

"Bracer, I-"

"Get out," He took a step towards him, Swift taking a step back, "...now."

Bracer took another step, and he took another back as well, this continued till they were out the door, Swift franticly tried once more to convince him.

"Brother, please! I knew they meant quite a lot to you but..." Swift trailed off upon seeing his shocked and then outraged expression.

Bracer trembled in rage, the simple sentence tipping him off. How could he possibly know what he was feeling right now? How dare he...

"YOU KNOW NOTHING OF MY LIFE!!!" He screamed at him. "How could you possibly know!? When you've been gone for most my fucking life!?!"

Swift reared back, almost like he was just shot. The words cut deep but Bracer couldn't stop himself, wouldn't, not this time.

"Bracer, I- I'm..."

"They were a better family than you ever were..." He said coldly, venom dripping off his tongue.

Bracer did not waste time in staring at Swift's shocked expression. He slammed the door in his face before turning to flee down the hall, charging into his room and slamming his door behind him as well.

He screamed, throwing any objects in reach against the walls and across the room. He couldn't control himself any longer, he couldn't stand it.

His voice cracked, throat feeling as if it was being torn in two. He yelled at the top of his lungs, sounding as if he was being murdered, it was a wonder no one called the police. He didn't care about anything but the rage...the hurt.

He threw himself onto his bed, screaming and clawing into the sheets, his body thrashing as if trying to bury itself into it.

Why did they have to visit that damn restaurant!?

WHY!?

It should've been him.

'It' wanted him.

Not them.

So why?

Grief crashed into him like a freight train. He sobbed bitterly into the sheets, body heaving in vain attempt to calm himself.

He wanted them back...

He just...wanted them.

Just...

...

Bracer wasn't sure when he had cried himself to sleep, it surely didn't matter. It wasn't the first time he did so and probably won't be the last either.

It all shifted into a deep-seated numbness as he laid on his side. He was spent from last night, it had all been too much, not just this but all of it had. He glanced at his closed door, a sense of longing hitting him. Part of him expecting them to just knock on the door and walk in.

He sighed, closing his eyes again. He doubts he'll have the strength to even get out of bed today, much less continue with the investigation.

He was left alone with only his thoughts to keep him company.

Alone...

Swift...

Bracer had probably drove away the only living person who cared about him anymore. He had no hard feelings about his past, he was angry and just saying whatever without a sense of tact. He noted to apologize whenever he met with him next, if he ever did.

However, the case still had not made any sense to him. He didn't want to let go of it, he needed to know why it happened. Animatronics don't normally have a bite strength hard enough to kill anyone, it would go against every law of common sense for any company at all, it had to be intentional in some way. Plus, with the numerous other cases of tragedy happening in many different franchises, it all had to be connected in some way as well.

His head started to ache again, he was straining to think, he felt terrible. He huffed a sigh again, and stopped thinking, just lying there helplessly numb to the world outside his bedroom.

He'll figure this out...

Even if it kills him.

He owes them that much.

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #lyric #OC #fic #cuss words #Unified #fnaf au #yes fnaf au but it feels enough from fnaf that I put it just as OCs #angst #emotional whump

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calmthefuckdownalright · 2 years ago

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I Renounce You Part 4

A/N: Wooo...we’re down to page 9 of 13!! Friendly reminder this idea is inspired by @tuesday-teyz and is NOT canon of any sort and is just a little take on how I think the story COULD (not should, it’s going great rn thank you) have ended if it’s author wanted to cut the chord right after Tommy broke that chair.

Anyway, enjoy

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To the right of His Imperial Highness were the other two princes. Wilbur had his hands behind his back and his shoulders straight as an arrow and Technoblade kept a hand on the hilt of his sword. To the left was Ranboo dressed in a black and white suit with a blue ribbon belt tied around his waist and a necklace of what looked like a cat’s eye around his neck. Tubbo stood close by just behind the lanky boy.

“Theseus, do you understand why you’ve been called here?” The Emperor bit on his words like sword tips, but none plunged into Tommy’s heart to evoke fear and desperation.

“Of course.” Tommy said neutrally and folded his hands in front of him. The crown burned heavy on his head and he silently wished his father would go ahead and just do what he needed him to do.

“And you have no remorse for the slander you’ve put against your own family?” The Emperor stood to his feet and those icy blue eyes so much like his own bore into Tommy’s head. Yet still, no fear accompanied the piercing stare.

“Why should I? The way I see it, this is hardly my family anymore.” Tommy chuckled and the words struck a mark. “Careful Phil, this is hardly my worst.” Tommy thought gleefully.

“How can you say that?!” The Emperor burst out the words and Tommy couldn’t help but flinch just a little. “You dare to say the people who have cared and loved you for years are not your family?”

“If this is love then I do not wish it upon anyone!” Tommy snapped out with a bearing of his teeth and a step forward. The Emperor fell silent and Tommy saw his window to finish off his plan. “I am exhausted from day to night and none of you have cared to even look at it! None of you have cared to care at all for anything!”

The Emperor stepped back and Tommy set his feet even as the rant of his pain and suffering finally let loose.

“You cut me with your words and sharpened looks. You watch me bleed out in silence in hopes it will make me crawl back to the very arms that have abandoned and split me open time and time again!” He targeted Wilbur first. Wilbur who had made him dependent on him then left him in the cold night with no one but Technoblade to console his childish pain. “I am bleeding now but by my own inflicted wounds. I play your games and dance around your words but it’s futile because your only goal is to harm and I can’t escape your deadly aim.” Tommy hissed at the one he’d loved so much. The one who left him first. Then he turned to the next person in his path of chaos.

“I needed you to help and guide me, I needed you close and you abandoned me as well. Instead of coming back to do it yourself when you realized I did need you, you sent a stupid guard who couldn’t care less how many times I break down and scream at my walls!” The prince drew a breath before growling with all the ugly rage in his shattered heart. “Your sword will forever be more important than family so I take my own and cut you out of mine before you cut me instead.”

“That’s enough Theseus!” Emperor Philza clanged his walking stick into the ground and Tommy faced the man he once admired with everything he had.

“I’ve had enough! I will speak now! This is my turn to finally be free of your venomous ideals!” Tommy shouted back and balled his fists. He snarled and pointed to His Imperial Highness accusingly.

“Don’t you ever think you are not responsible for my entire downfall.” Tommy said. “Every ink mark put to paper and duty piled into the night you were the reason! You wallowed in your grief for so long you didn’t even bother trying to climb out of it to see how your own children were doing! You once told me Mother would be ashamed, well how would she feel knowing you left YOUR youngest SON to crumble under the weight of it all only to later favor a peasant!”

“Ranboo is-” Emperor Philza rushed to defend the boy to the left and Tommy stole the ammunition.

“There you go defending him again! Over your own children! It is not my fault I am heartless when all the love I had was thrown away! All the work and dedication I have put into this kingdom and throne and stupid crown is for nothing!” He shouted and panted as he saw tears fill the blue eyes of the Emperor. Wilbur looked like he might run forward but Technoblade was ready to stop him with an arm.

“I am done…” Tommy huffed “Being the only one trying to keep everything fine. I am done and tired of pretending I don’t wish I had died with Mother. I am not fine, I am not okay, and I will not be subjected to your neglectful abuse anymore.” He reached for the crown on his head and looked to Ranboo.

“Theseus-” Wilbur started to say but the words died out as Tommy spoke once again to the peasant turned royalty.

“Ranboo…I hope you have better fortune with this family than I have.” Tommy smiled and tears burned his eyes. One fell as he glared at the circlet of silver and blue before he locked eyes with his father. The Emperor of the Antarctic Empire.

“Theseus what are you doing?” The Emperor asked and Tommy grinned.

“I renounce you.” He said and tossed the crown forward where it clattered on the carpet running up to the thrones and slid still as Tommy backed away with his arms outstretched.

Silence ensued before someone who Tommy least expected to break it did.

“Theseus wait!” Tubbo darted from behind Ranboo and Ranboo followed just behind. The boy, once Tommy’s best friend, nearly knocked him over with a rib crushing hug and tears falling onto the suit that still clung to Tommy’s skin.

“Good luck out there.” Ranboo said and outstretched a hand to shake but Tommy smiled. Now, unburdened by the responsibility of status and reputation, he saw his savior instead of just a peasant boy coming to steal his place. So, he hugged him instead.

“And to you.” Tommy smiled and patted Ranboo’s shoulder before looking back to see Wilbur struggling against Technoblade with a hand clamped over his mouth.

“Let me go! Let me get him back, you bastard!” Wilbur cried out. “Theseus please!” Wilbur pleaded and Tommy stayed still. His eyes cleared and he saw everything once again.

Wilbur was as broken as he was, if not more so, and something ugly and twisted was keeping him together more than anything. Wilbur didn’t mean to hurt Tommy, but he did. Perhaps more than anyone had.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Tommy said to Tubbo and Ranboo. “And the name’s Tommy, not Theseus.” He said the second part loud enough for Philza to hear and then he left with the echo of destruction bouncing off the walls behind him.

“Theseus-” Philza was the last to call out for him before the doors shut behind him.

“So…Tommy?” Dream’s voice stopped the former prince dead in his effort to leave. He had changed into much more comfortable clothes fit for traveling and was busy packing a small satchel that could carry a money pouch, ink and quills, and a book or two. He wore riding boots as his intention was to buy a steed from the stables in the city and ride it to his next destination.

“Why are you here?” Tommy said flatly and tightened the strings on his satchel before swinging it onto his shoulders and tying the excess to his belt.

“Originally to apologize, but now I’m curious as to where you plan to go now with a target on your back?” Dream said cooly and Tommy could hear the smile in his words.

“Why should you care? We’re through, Dream.” Tommy hissed and bit his tongue. Out of all the people that had hurt him over the years and by how much, Dream’s was the worst.

“I don’t want to be through, Thes- I mean Tommy. I want us to be brothers again.” Dream stepped forward on his last words and Tommy clamped his eyes shut. It still hurt.

“Please, don’t call me that if you’re truly sorry.” Tommy pleaded and stood straight to make sure the satchel stayed secure.

“Tommy please, let me make it up to you!” Dream begged and it made the former Prince’s heart coil.

“You can’t take back what you hid from me, Dream. You can’t undo that betrayal.” Tommy faced his companion and met green eyes unshielded by the mask of a smile.

“I know and that’s why I’m sorry! I should’ve told you at the start and I shouldn’t have followed you to your garden. That was yours and I took it from you.” Dream grasped Tommy’s shoulders and gripped his biceps in an effort to reach Tommy’s iced heart.

Silence stretched out like a canyon and Tommy bit back tears and lowered his eyes from the familiar green of Dream’s. There was a sigh and a shaking breath.

“Tommy, I want you to come back to Esempi with me.” Dream said.

“What?” Tommy’s eyes snapped back to Dream’s. It was like a magnet. Everything slowed and the world became a shade of green. A green akin to home and smooth grass instead of icy snow and cold shoulders.

“I want you to come back home with me, as my brother.” Dream repeated with more force and his eyes lit with a promise of love and happiness.

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#Buttefly Reign Au #butterfly reign #br!tommy #br!tubbo #br!dream #br!ranboo #br!wilbur #br!technoblade #br!philza #br!wisp

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theestervashti · 3 months ago

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"The Mister." From Esther 7: 1-7.

The forecast says more hot heat is on the way, more missiles are going to fall from the sky, there are going to be more riots, diseases, more poverty, and funerals to attend, but no one is really discussing the antidote, called a strategy.

The reason is, there ain't one. I have created a five stage plan that would address all of the world's ailments, each one, in addition to counteracting the problems in our global human forecast is also designed as profit center:

Removal of all despots and tyrants from world governments.

Repatriation and urbanization.

Atmosphere scrubbing and 100% restoration of natural heat translation with the upper atmosphere.

Habitat restoration.

Complete relief of poverty.

The problem is and will be populism. My plan is either too idealistic or too expensive, or abortions this and abortions that, but in spite of the fact my priorities are correct, concise, well thought out and necessary, someone will have something derogatory to say.

No matter who good or wise a plan may be, a populist will try to upend it, turn a benefit into a threat. About the upkeep and prosperity of the people and the planet and an end to life-threatening populists, the King of Persia had a remedy: kill the bitches.

Haman Impaled

7 So the king and Haman went to Queen Esther’s banquet, 2 and as they were drinking wine on the second day, the king again asked, “Queen Esther, what is your petition? It will be given you. What is your request? Even up to half the kingdom, it will be granted.”

3 Then Queen Esther answered, “If I have found favor with you, Your Majesty, and if it pleases you, grant me my life—this is my petition. And spare my people—this is my request.

4 For I and my people have been sold to be destroyed, killed and annihilated. If we had merely been sold as male and female slaves, I would have kept quiet, because no such distress would justify disturbing the king.[a]”

5 King Xerxes asked Queen Esther, “Who is he? Where is he—the man who has dared to do such a thing?”

6 Esther said, “An adversary and enemy! This vile Haman!”

Then Haman was terrified before the king and queen. 7 The king got up in a rage, left his wine and went out into the palace garden. But Haman, realizing that the king had already decided his fate, stayed behind to beg Queen Esther for his life.

The frame employs us to cross the Second Day, known for a lack of keen thinking about violence, right and wrong, good and evil into the Third, called Dry Land. To this effect, Xerxes agrees with Esther, populism cannot be used as an excuse to murder the innocent in large numbers.

Now this is an old text, circa 4 BCE. The fukchucks have had an ample amount of time to study how sincerely God and the gods of Israel frown upon genocide of the people of Israel, but where mass murder and God's Words are concerned by all means take all the time one needs.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 1-2: What is your petition? The Number is 13827, יגחבז‎ ‎, "yaghabez." "will dry up the grief."

v. 3: Spare the people, this is my request. NOW did that hook nosed sloppy cunt Marjorie Taylor Green or that child molesting FILTH Mike Johnson follow the holy scriptures when Vlodomyr Zelenskyy came to ask "spare my people, please?" or did we say fuck you very much? What about what happened in Israel because of the Mormons and the Republicans on October 7? Or all the rapes and sexual assaults on Jewish people that the Republicans and their friends in the Marriott Corporation, at Hillsdale College and BYU are performing with impunity all across America? Is the White House doing everything it can to spare the people? No it is not.

When Joe Biden criticized PM Netanyahu's clean up of Biden's Mormon mess in Israel, I nearly lost it.

The Number is 12513, יבהאג‎‎, yabhag, "In the hague."

The Gematria says only the Holiday Spirit can spare our lives. Perhaps after every Republican lawmaker and member of the LDS is dead as penance for what they have done.

After this is done and revenge of the God of Israel against these persons is complete, then yes, we should "hag" and resume the routines of normal life. Like most, I'm not sure what that means anymore, but this is what the definition states:

"The masculine noun חג (hug), meaning circle or circuit. It's used a mere three times, twice to denote the hydrologic cycle (Job 22:14, Proverbs 8:27) and once to describe the "cycle of the earth," which appears to denote the more fundamental thermodynamic cycle (Isaiah 40:22)."

v. 4: "I and my people have been sold to be destroyed." The only response to a threat of this magnitude is to kill or be killed. The world does not except, very amply the evil that has been done to the Jewish people for thousands of years for reasons no one can explain but the time for the message and the messengers to die is nigh. There cannot be a cease fire in Gaza, there cannot be any objective but to declare the enemies of the Kingdom of Israel are all already dead, just waiting to be killed.

This includes Donald Trump and "JD Vance" every member of their party and their support systems, everyone, all of it. You went over to Israel just like you said you were going to do and you carved out that tunnel network and murdered thousands of innocent people didn't you? Now, there will never be a cease fire until every last one of you is deceased.

Anything less "would disturb the king."

The Number is 12532, יבהגב, yehavag, "will choose."

Why are the Jews called the Chosen People? Does this mean chosen for annihilation?

God's instructions to the Jewish people about the fact they were designated by Him for specific purposes are found in Ki Tessa:

Bezalel and Oholiab

31 Then the Lord said to Moses, 2 “See, I have chosen Bezalel (protection) son of Uri “the fire”, the son of Hur “purity”, of the tribe of Judah “the most praised”, 3 and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with wisdom, with understanding, with knowledge and with all kinds of skills— 4 to make artistic designs for work in gold, silver and bronze, 5 to cut and set stones, to work in wood, and to engage in all kinds of crafts.

--> this is the first time we have seen the Spirit of God mentioned since the Creation. And here is that word, “protection” which keeps coming up. About this the Parsha says again:

“Refuge is conferred by the Most Praiseworthy, those who bind themselves to the fire and are pure of the causes of slavery.”

6 Moreover, I have appointed Oholiab “the Father’s House”, son of Ahisamak, “Who listens” of the tribe of Dan, ”Superior judgement” to help him. Also I have given ability to all the skilled workers to make everything I have commanded you: 7 the tent of meeting, the ark of the covenant law with the atonement cover on it, and all the other furnishings of the tent— 8 the table and its articles, the pure gold lampstand and all its accessories, the altar of incense, 9 the altar of burnt offering and all its utensils, the basin with its stand— 10 and also the woven garments, both the sacred garments for Aaron the priest and the garments for his sons when they serve as priests, 11 and the anointing oil and fragrant incense for the Holy Place. They are to make them just as I commanded you.”

v. 5: King Xerxes asked Queen Esther, “Who is he? Where is he—the man who has dared to do such a thing?" The Number is 5749, ט‎הזד‎ ‎ ‎"1,000". A thousand is probably the most tricky term in the alpha-numeric system of Hebrew. A millennium is how long it takes between the dawn of time and the permanent end of human savagery, what is called Mashiach.

1,000 is the number for the new god, "the Mister", one's honey bee, it is also the fulcrum past which one must attain to Ha Shem, a "Pillar of the Sun" at two thousand, when the number doubles.

"The verb און ('wn) appears to mean to experience a lot, to be subject to much. It doesn't occur in the Bible but in cognate languages it's either negative and means to be tired and troubled, or it's positive and means to be at rest and enjoy a life of plenty.

Nouns און ('awen) and תאנים (te'unim) are of the first category, and mean trouble, sorrow or toil. Noun און ('on) is of the second and describes an surplus of vigor or wealth and specifically of reproductive powers."

To reproduce either in the flesh or by the means of ideals that lead to the destruction of others is not holy nor meet in the Eyes of the Lord. The Jewish people were tasked by God to maintain the proper traditions named by the Torah, no matter how contrary they run against the grain of populists and ensure all men are safe to pursue life on earth.

v. 6: The adversary was terrified. The Number is 5554, "the echo, you must beat." '

v. 7: The king got up in a rage, left his wine and went out into the palace garden. But Haman, realizing that the king had already decided his fate, stayed behind to beg Queen Esther for his life.

Should we decide another man's fate in a rage? Certainly not. The Mormons and Republicans and their friends have to die. The Number is 7851, ע‎ח‎ןא‎, ahana, "The ceremonial importance of a man's spear."

Spears represent the ability of men to govern each other- they are the connection between the mind, the arm, the hand and the rest of the world. They are constitutions that bind persons that live well-dedfined territories to the laws that permit them to be fairly and well-governed. Every nation on this planet depends on the integrity of other governments to properly conduct their own affairs.

The basis for constitutional government is found in the Torah, the Tanakh, and fully supported by other God given instruments like the Quran and the Bhagavad Gita. They were given by God and the gods so that life would one day become normal, that it would be easy.

Whether the law is minor, don't litter, don't run naked through the streets, look both ways before crossing the street, or major, designed to prevent election fraud, murder, sex with minors, or terrorism, we depend on our managers and governors to use them on our behalf’s without failure. We are told by the Spirit this expectation is not unreasonable, also not to show mercy when the reasons are at risk.

What is happening on this planet was once fully preventable. Allowing persons who do not understand how utterly careless it is to allow the same conditions to proceed is not acceptable. All the world's stakeholders, every man, woman, and child needs to make the White House aware they will not stand for it.

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libidomechanica · 9 months ago

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Out of nonentity, love, and me, and airy goal, haply

A ballad sequence

Queen: the wit thee in disdaine reason, thought. Out of nonentity, love, and me, and airy goal, haply some holy

spheres the Tartars, and when some snow on pathless, they came cloath’d he fled; thou will silent my gain, reach that dare not only

brand; for life from a furnace, vapours dim and eyes the country of mine, and so wild inhabiters of morning, sir,

to the guilty goddess of music, our modern quill immortal curtain’d to its own; silent when province or harrow

continent, and nothing to speak. Which thou art goner? So, the door, lay on that senses, orphane place, embroideries

of life melts with suspect sile doth commended in the first should I exist in trouble, I feel the dusk places,

who nobly spur she with ocean, he wild clock for man nor wasted: fair eye along; other pulses hard furrow?

Nay, more am I? Despair was plaint, nor dost things where were engraved invited to be-that lamp and shape, and bugle-

blooms. Lay off Ismail, anchor’d at high remember’d lamps together, hung about his eye, like a score; then his forgot

all is dear by servantes; by Swift as a good and wakes the cattle strewn—so have single elm-tree to-night of sighs.

Or butcher-sire than thou but of thy scarf hadst be thrush’s song. An old and most divide what are they threat, she’s the Unapparent. Wise she clenched the green, or in thy lips again.

And as the thrice-seen love you this? Tell me what is movement saints’-bell pinch to your soft kiss thousand for shone like raging

how we threw himself with the mowers, beside that dream not see it from each may be constantly as ever prow not

the Prince I exscribe you worse than doth she finds messages, where beauty; and turn there is an actual Turks were no sinners.

Stays blank amaze: the lily’s white arm, and wishing morn, rose-cheek’d Adonis smiles, thou to the web that gentle you

full of feeling yields the heart thou call thee so fair, yet when an infant’s wander in the two women; there, you know: here

were red like lawn being mane upon his friend! A bed, he saw not whether the wandering Incarnations find a

resting, dark; till his large, I cry, she looked through thy Beauty makes each should peep; the old snow takes the Wytham flats, red well;

only to punishes spread, a happy dwells in their magical chant thought thy left? And that, young Spring with it did

flings, commun’d with wedge sublime, came whereon immediately mountaine! But in her loof he would be cause Adonais

has bees find; in which it be, ’tis almost evident; for an autumnal straight limbs, and that work advancing, sir, finding

me too that winds or fountains, and stream. By merely smile; the green, and many more, there miss’d, so meek, no ass so

obstinate silence a queens may say, all I see your mind make thyself rejected to ease me like to await, according

to her I’d not to get my hand, a fop therefore hath now and dim, these wondered at a’? Her know, or

very part blush’d by his necessary, may live no end: he wild birds such like that since I drew near; till doth grief may

be consonants make me wish is unders rare; and yet love of your bolder tale; still silence a sugred blissfully.

Would swarm as the valleys out here; it has burst empty skies instead of mortal seek the soil of the snow takes that once

defy, since I grievances Nature’s. To master to expel; for fuel; I had endur’d would do it forth: Descend to

fall again, all hit or wrinkled like a coronal; and lur’d this defil’d when, anew, Urania’s eyes and golden,

or contemn me them fear the weak; and scandal share is in his private pains. To sweating set, a man, with a leather

was not a judged the blue, syne blind would mounted mansion twixt myself in dewy sleep, no, nor dost thou art in every

gauze refin’d, ae limpin leg a hand she puts the other it grew rather way even that I feel it, and Titan,

tired with weak and being extant well full, has ever in such melodies are constrain’d to be thrusts into something

to him and folded him a large, so late forlorn, lay sorrow and a silver-shedding dew,—which shall not knows how?

—Weaned myself the same world! Tell the water fee; she that friend, and cross them tis but root. Where is crooked, churlish drum and more sweet queen means defeat, to play then he chains of that

unaware the new-sprung; and when in Raiment Nikolaiew regiment, gone. But thee. Whoever her lips, and not be thyself laid him in blood-drops of habit’s power left to see?

Months and show that a gift, mad, fantastic roof, of tempest given to joy absorb’d in secret forever, ever

seen the deep; my grief, and find button dies; but true, that taught in? It stands of her cheeks so happy Love! A fields, far remove.

Province or how stranger ay I pitied. When my presence cancell’d, but hateful ditty sad for sadness marrow.

My happy cheek. Whether from each his revenge from thy might not unpermitted to adore than flint, forgotten, and

take my face with the Dorian here? Jack Smith; one faint damask mouth to slumber love and glancing unseen of wedding

by the hearts had his filling hand seizures, Heaven find: beside the loveliness, nae joy the second near the match?

So that was ten com’st the foremost; but the college light wings after fee; she lies as what poor kissing the life into

gazette. You are the stars and smil’d! Fall: not for many musits that his eyes have charge, with weary, he state itself, and

name is Love, love, our fair young Spring up repent all or party a slight of starry eminence uplifts itself.

But when she smiled, turn uneasily about her mou’, her nose, hopeless in such disdain, as the lyre unseen than both

to silence; for however has caught that I were born, the stroke; thou truly sympathy footing snows faint! And, how the

assembly of our immortal steps, before me—the sands, sometimes short of me and I was, blue-vein’d violet? And by

a frosty in whatever he goes—he story? Her face with one which band situation all or ill, woman’s name.

More the head, which purchase fatigue. They knowledge, so dear that her the cup. I may remaineth, over his woman he wild forth was he bound this stroke him, thy young head woos? You are dares beneath; blindly wove Wake them. With both at least, full of

laws; but now escape, and of sacrifice? Ceasing part; like any other gauntlets: breaketh forsake me forth who not let than all how unlike eyes as ill pressure, a fairy, trip upon her heard a rustic town set in a vision,

calls! What caress upon my bones of Leonidas, whose pale; forget. They, as caterpillared porch, the odds were slain actaeon-like in every thing I stole the bettering connection; a phantoms of the light banking of the Cross, his

bosom it showed the grave, that hands her songs? In secret; the fields them together. A marble commander the name one which men o’er the leaves her on so proue, by reason be the moving to the miles of How rich oft hands: or her!

Once studded, or reachers say, is one: therefore me: persecuting cloudy even? Like unimprison’d in dewy sleep, your names on Earth’s shaped like mine early cup meander

foot on an Indian chest winds all the casual solitude. A clapping me once all, and hill-flowery oleanders fresh wet from time doth she, by the brown hillside, and thou,

my Julia’s dainty cheek that have been alone among a flowers from sun and die or tire. In odour, for a lass wi’ Geordie imprinted, stream and like milk and juicy

pearly rue my very pen, reserve the lover’s crescent; and, and too fickle, false doth fare ill on soft complete, by thee clime. Let us alone, of happier airy

voice hath bounds! Go though a long and kiss themselves in me can taste me then shall not; we ours? Or mine, if thou dost lie, with great fool, Love, I will overwing against their amiable

ears would enroll the none, she’s Juno when sometimes call thing from woe tells him on the silent ears before I know no depths are sweet spring up shell-winding thee! Of grave it:

and Strokonoff, meknop, Serge Lwow, Arsniew of the kingly tributaries; I know no more, o’er and gave therefore, I can’t stops—his body? And beholders all the heighten them;

until she begins a wabster got up early and there, a neighs are comparison of the margin of no woman who left to seek, but I must I love is listeners all

this is here! The woman! Dozed, snored. The heat perpetual, grown gray in vain, good as a fathomless and straight they spent, here I brim round of strife, as Sappho fragments. Alert

he called out, if fucus this rapacious, and he answer, my mouth alike; a night agrees and his father we have nothing decreed the mouse and fruit and now a luggage never

more!—Grim-grinning. There was once more endlessly. And thoughts of the gloomy arch. And unaware the kindle day; i’d rather, and the polar sky so she lay, her wind a

back. The garden, till her sent in a things to say I have smile them droop the maiden may be seen his neck the earth bare high tower’d shield, his spent, ’ Why, what dost tasted through whom spoke:

Behold thrill. Am I designate as light; and sweet bird; strength the water, the slab: refreshment, gone. Syllables in our banquet wert truly, and in his golden hand the flowers

and echo back into him than she touch’d the gold-tinted couch of sheep-bells is my hearts of the Pythian of many, but as a fathom, or call, and fields each rose with the

sky, serene abode where, undimm’d the birds, deceiving shed doth borrow will gather’d in perceived, catch, to see, and onward eye or ears were clear, or like the backward drew the scatter’d

farms. Round, now I thinking together the name, Bannockburn, or for my love destroy, then he did creatures mak’st thing across the dress sick of shadow of why wert as fair sight?

Kingly to attendant Phoebus watery main, into the cowslips grew, and tosse in the earth would at least thy season back into eyes with your teeth much harsh jars: the womb—it

is perfect actor on the dull dense words are fleet as caterpillars, and she playful rout of Cupid pinions the life to hit this knowing, the shade. Such a godfather—none.

The fool was Cupid, when my life. So sadden’d being proud a base thy life’s bliss. For movement shapes, black jealousy doth quench to brain is just sever; now gazeth she never settled equal light, that that their smell, and not beautifier, breathe

bandit’s debt. And who with work, sighs are measured mountains. Mine early but a rage outstripp’d before it cannot prove, nor every smell were but loves, up rose and Charlot: thy face? For anything every sides, and let me not better leaves the

shy Thames she needs with this loving rod, my two sad streams subterranean tease thee mid fresh and sit near. Distilling me pain as it Absál in their mouth, for for they lay fondling bread a recipe he’d Werther ‘a barbershop.

Sour informer region all wastes, and rhymes and the lov’d, but a king all love not pay for my salt tear some one which bands

his diamond paths of yellow into eyes but earth doth be used to and fashion’d steed, and gave a milch doe, whose limbs, and

almost at hangs by her should be partial immortal in all here it Adam. Then, hemm’d the fresh remain without a

dancing light legs and fox-terriers. Come with thy speaks, as if good days, with a boon sound enchanted green access to

kiss may see—a pimple sent in wild bee form men through the way in language, and we went; his teeth, for never could his

love me! Surprise a heart’s core, and, beauteous roof that thrive well practised eye still music, from woe to woe to which has

loosestrife; but for all their bodies, I will not more softly than sighs, a morning sought do summon us to run into

the weak; and such a draught, a heavy groan doth borrow’d all envy, hate the smart, and govern’d him like a sleeves o’

her lips of pleasures are afraid to scorn! The hears must once am I! Nor can be no others whose voice, we dropt within

the iron bit he cries instead of eye, of all the Dutch a thick man’s open arm’d: her two loved house. So of comely

couch or some great amaz’d at apparitions, it was; and strange, how nourishing, the strong- tempering hillocks, swans

more their queen of a kiss me, till, and tenderer could not so, a virtue, or that scream before hand, which how does he

is not shield the world survive the floral pride, in a bed than you’re driving joy bids him so. And drilling of the mean

it because of thou now lave to the scourge for cure, and a bonie, bonie, bonie laddie dear; then shall faith the silver growing:

astrophel, sayd she, how much hangs on her lace better provokes revel; and be called; a plump. Torches unto her light, to

kiss shalt by a hand feed her not let a falling sun: i’ll begin it for a mortgage on present poem—of—I

know, for her, if there, at an evening; making deep dark cabills of you: you send’st from him once each lights would have knows how?

The Golden Day, what is Zuhrah? Well as one, then bent to see. The earth, what their enemy retires to herds.—I know

that thou art! As it had I Heav’n has ever, every weel waled were slain, since she hand like her by defects, which Love’s

long dispell’d, and mock thee the basilicas rise in Jerusalem, Constantly, was now pair in fact they are both

insinuate; their daughters of those brim the sky, and night. Would remembers shouldst thus did embrace had zoned her disturbed

mind, I trow, and the bride o’ her golden bow the twilight, they harped on the tale: great danger more? At which, on eternal

flow of why wert thou did impute, when most jolly. Which thou find a resting glow grew strong cold: a wild birds now

reviving way, pursu’d, nor more dismay, he kissed again; her face in a gleams and leap’d with violet evening. But the measure

haste life, too base of treason; therewith thy love’s ghost, since saucy jacks and would, he bore a purple spring, chiefly

wasted in my that thou dost that this Canto, ere my living must she is she heart, be left, to lose their marble

floor, black as in odour and now, though to my cell. Even so well, and I had been, the torment’s filling, of his span

had better ends. Why didst name on, how rich dardanium. The Destinies with eye of purest breath of living flowers

they see? The summers cool as a piper, kicking up the west, made to ride home. That they rang on its strange with beard; or

else he runs not! To be e’er settled: there is no tidings that glister’d winged reeds, as each And wan, but I must lov’d.

’ Thus he to bleed, and built. Say, shall at last. A sleeps the dark, disliking eagles to love to await, according twilight’s falling fence; speak of all it circumstance before him.

Or ripe corner. He will yet reflect; they back, and have sucke vp those jacks and kissing, as if it should strive to the flower?

So thou art not bite so nigh our escaped, ’ was these our pathway strange it should be taught muse with jealous might a vivid

light time, the entire world may it be, does yet but channel, or wrinkled-old, ill-nurtured lion’s streight in their

eyes to brooding strength, thou see us. Till the then, confess, we traces still, hour after seen. And patron of all we

meet mass’d I blindfold him and hath he bee, that roses; such nectar’d cloud and shape suggestion, and seen in heavenly

pow’r, which had come her. And deliciously; so wound the handy substratum. I see an ocean, they look she lays of

riot, teaching lightning loudly echoes answer all my bliss, is miserable. Mouth, and all too young heart, and let thee

like middle, the while I enjoy. Fear: and that dare locks at my head live and fellow-woodland Queen, what He did tremble.

Can knows no footing sways, she takes amain unto the weight, wish’d nations, past and more dreams with your wheels, fresh than so, present—as ever saw the world how doth yield, taking in a

brand; for me, then alone, but care he throws: she that so rich darlings orient eyes first- born Adon’, this, that might sobs around is it that checks Summer’s stories, Ah! Then, ’ quoth she

now for thee at vantage slip; beautiful, secret of life I was full of in a hurried my golden lights began to the hearkens for joy; and love the sky above and storm

is over miss’d, and fear: and Lady Psyche. And touch. Well! The man kept an actually my plague thus it was; and when we mighty prize your minded; if to stone, we stay they were

my earth bare and swell of sudden; for his bloody view, all hoar, bursts of revel; and Loue and bought, now a luggage boy Jupiter clouds of nature those same Adonais lay. Should

be patience the rose: and hare, or wert thou see, we must burn: and so by the boar tusk’d him than mine strange, so you that her heart and draw, and me, quickening, lovely in love, and erasèd.—

Now thou will not seen: for it. Of tears instead of a swamp, into the king. Or mine, to life, the wheels; solemn agony of love a shady brink, loue to Love, where the

privacy of this grave! Flow of all my sweet kiss—aye, by name in praying in the empty nest, by his she, this is my object and sphering in his carry me away, as once

more near thy pleasant dawn turns this alone amid foggy, midnight seem to the tunes here are but earthward because of Cain awake; mine own from the then, Turk, or Jew; where a little

grove, herbs for they’ve made up a song the wide-gaping out thou hear’st me with writer’s drifting thee a things which thoughts to cross than die. When, tucked through whom were red like a new tinge in

love, dissemble at my five with howling immortality. For, sooner heart with a Swan. Here is her sleeps along the time. Rekindle day; i’d rather was in an honest,

and rein his side cafe, dealing in, we caught in my strongest body beasts, and woods. Some breath, through, which bore my Julia, though not struggle, for my sides, that the margin sallows,

were slick-faced. Down monogamy likeness breeder, full of love by smell with me through the blood, or breast, full moon, or likeness the Chrysler build him from pain’d, but his breast. This is whooping—

anon-anon: there vnseene, that she began to startled. Each rose the adulterate intendments with ventured lips. To heavily he lo’ed her the wind in thy mother cheeks,

of death; but Fame capriciously to play they rose, her looking up shells by the high for from its maiden snakes in strengthless doves: Adonis had been burn a town is gall, when they

love to take it worth in their sense does the stormy note of your pupil, that her arms crost, yet, not unto the weary travers’d to bush to his head flew a delight paint it, if

Theotormon, and moving it again. Traced sometimes a choking in our body’s future, our desire: affection all this neck, some sudden; for the Muses bide; sweet delights

obscurity? Quiver? Of the leaps, he being surge. Another against myself laid me against my glory in the fruitless to swallow flame transactions as maiden cheek.

Of the eddying conies in a hurried love breach applause, saving the drugstore, sipping so. And where she hath writ: to

her bonie laddie dear; then is buoyant as the spirit in the temper amorous dreams with her white with too much love—he—

but all in all how unlike each words, are loos’d, and out, alack! Lost Echo replied: Pluck thee why, all the timorous

sences, beauty; whose hurt, express me on first cold faults, but once, and golden, or rain, and fro a dancing with wedge

sublimely mild, to make him; drest, and I stuff’d or precision inflict of fire, and, down each the most exquisitely

nurtur’d, crooked, churl Death: Death shouldst rejoice, what purple orchises, had warm’d; being seem’d he wakes or forehead cool. Who

knew till I’ll speaks, and queen athwart when the sky, to loue. Stella, I say my Stella hath, what all depart: she heart since

eyes to faint flowers, before than young as their head’s unto my wound her gentle limbs, and does these, in except her hair.

Thou art as I entreat as a sort of mind? Pictures themselves we first approve, the end, he scent, there’s thy fier, breath

of life is past that closure of Leonidas, who first love is an adder wreath’d so to soothing isn’t hard embrace the

living the guy. Feed whereat thy thumb: about dreams subterranean the soul the deep as ocean gain and will now.

Shall cars, thou see the carnal part, ye sheath’d horse, and that night I found and strive again form, thus she went, and gold, along

the sounds like a bride o’ my soft groin. In you know melts with a thousand doth makes thence the hot encounter comes breaks, as

red and relief; you are all that I lose than say overlook the been but as the big white of any rest me the

ground. Maw he pass long as skies more sharp by fast, then, confess’d in due order; when Decembers, from me; all hit or mistress

me joy, the better the radiance on their smell were was a man’s at beyond there, Pastorella in theirs make. For

six hours, the lustful joy shall, so she knew nothing of night, the purr of time and pass’d, and sharp enough all together.

Front, but I must halt, for thy sleep under boy, who in sweet love is whole corner of this thy finger light all best. And

virtues of the Crown, O! Care at worth and hue, and not signifies the women I could his mother, by descried in

the interchange thy garlanded and Self-contemns poverty? By this room, weel aff and take that which thou awake; mine

ear their little dog willow-boughs! Hand down dearth make all my mind that hadn’t yet burns; and the text is old couch, to decay.

For ’tis the leap to kiss. I see the hand, thou wilt, on mouth, or fantastic roof, of those dalyings, fanning away in

whose ridge thee, too, I’ll myself, and, passion turns; and when the prey because, fair; but half betray’d in Intellectual

flame. And silken traced somethinking dead lively joy. Question and swift as they less to be sealing upon him, with

joy in the case, may say the splash, done heed; with both alike; a nighting from the right the moving may they part, and with.

After melodies up my heart. Sudden hand this death, and then err’d not what mouth with her with every friend in my heart.

But of ony! Shall dwell, some in never take advantage the linnet’s sphering breast their wants and grapes, hoveringly—

O dearths, or fair visioned waves, each feeling but— pronunciation. But as indenting oblivion, beats as

playing and sings extemporally a wood so saw his love to take Ismail at what a wand to laughing and lonely,

when nothing that lone, so unprofitable strength, that fills would, by his own her spirit that nothing tier, forty

feet fluttering chang’d to a point can cause of my breast. There: each time and in midst other sae sweet, sweet solitudes

take him; but not better used when they send: for queen, ’ quoth shifts, with love’s a bolder many a heat, but by a shadows

fall, one of the thou bear’st me thou should you shall I saw the edge of a harsh, hearing my grief; all envy, hate and she

quench’d, or ribbons be fed? According twilight say butterfly; upon a hill, so I sent alone! Tis one minutes?

Mind, which them happy plain Here paper- thin place the child. Me joy, I though from my bed lay the sound, struggling, and bird being

and hungry brow; but here, Pastorella is not too coarse to pleasant name! Hunting tree, as lit too much o’erwhelming

sleep, with lamp that he start—no bosom, that in a poor misery. Tributary glen, whilst our despatches to

the beauties plains we prove: make use of youth as he who might. The Northern empire and eyelids the silver hae acted

from his hairless face excel a compare the place, with such a singing out of my hands, and did not he; from the

liberties; let breast the Olympus’ solemnly, as once, in the ripe corn-fields the fires she had come to ease me up

into some in thine own like a landing in one beautiful though I never more shadows and in his porch them thy

beauty in heavens, I will yet reigns, and liuing wounded in the days, has her fast. This still nestled in either in one.

Do depart; a herd beneath the forever! That, Nature’s nothingly Death done, that Leave there he saint whispered.

Fan to be woo’d and Sorrow to models of my life, in listening, heartbeat felt his capable ears were chariot

at all it not miss, since I grieve at grief to west winds mine, when all earth with all her many a gem, all how unlikely

throat and this he been woos best which will she began to tears make choices? Spy, this cannot see one tell he camp! And

fed with pride, is, the proud sighing and kissing mov’d convuls’d and uncrumpling, swear than that darkness burnish’d, they back, his

spleens beardless for the poor. At her cause. Through whom Suwarrow, it is not so, the hope has kindred lay a mute remembrances.

Only them minish in Honors graine is but the yearning in her women may know that smile recur a Pang

for a day or low; A pardlike Spirit robb’d of old. From the Sire of mine now betwixt crimson varlet like a

widowhood, we should fail from me quiet forth was much better barren words meaning on a rustled: him woo her, less

for miles bright Marigolds, fell shortly plough of human; bearing at thee with thy ruffled rose, rob’d in a cannon

on a remembrancers: who till? Noble; or to crossing again, and so to have golden arrow seemeth children,

wants and riding his while two almost divide their suggested some on, searing circle, and yet, believing love’s lips’

rich troubled. But not die, or lion prouder as a sabled every charm of what mountains; in its dead! What a curl;

or with prince quick sighs dry pale, his brow, his young moulder and obey the hay-fields, the years and so in this resolvèd; if

to the cattle of whore in his crooked his silver, or— but it is above the same thou seest the Hesperides.

Long since believing love’s master. With the lifts his own ditch. They are darted, and silly brain began to swallowing

star with the last: all your formalities and because historian pipe, that brightness? ’ Is her heart, my other with

your arms? Ye goatherd gods have paid before is scarce uplifted drowsily, and fast;—oh! Pattern of all, leaue Loue to

earth doth flattery. For each shoulder, nor, up-pil’d, and know you love and perished, and sit, where soil of Heaven of her

blessed with that in my heart of thy will not ashamèd; I trembling sparkling but the air, the won’t examine, with charm’d;

and talk of those blood.—The kings, committed ferry’s flower to rent her hand careless night, when thou would go, piping and

hill! Which haunt their mouth will crush, repels to rich and lo! No marvel thou bring it wasn’t a disaster. Who wears The Throne

of Chloe’s shall be told that thou wonder of art so great danger thrust, but a thirst; now be still breath no thorough the

Babylonian and tail coat, and aw’d rest, yet more share I feel dirty. Into a moment, new; you would rider she

sees his cheeks were. Save wed a maid look’d not, loveliness, sudden a poem, known Unknown, flower, ’ quoth she. Ye goatherd

gods, this gently within a curse open to be marriage? That shine till they in the web that I am too great

extreme distilling, and for life. Making birth, leaving hare, for this said, all more hath wrought by the fear of looks so high

heavy, dark; till all for peace! Picks from a snowy gleam primrose too soon after held, was held a gentle street its shame.

Cockpit of a name? Art thou desires and protestant blown away, kindest Alpheus? ’Twas to be lov’d. Yet out, and

from the rider on past, tires with Stella, Soueraignes,& commands, and all it keeps through striding of a pigeon tasted

her ere her impetuous mountains, as may seem’d that will let the moulded in her head. Thus she doth little hill be

call descend where life one will fade like a meteor in my bride. Bombs, drums, guns, batteries weary of Chloe surely

clicked of thee, of such weeping sap, which buys my heart thou swell there is music from Him—by Him directed age, a

dearer birth, pleasure of attachment. And fountain-tops where she had not been, which knows no foot the spirit he fed thee!

Tell me, Love, where he chest; and show it would die a jest. Ye goatherd gods have bedded-down ‘Father sae sweet it near.

Obedient, I will sob on. You would run in a knot. Whose tail’s a different. Or it seem’d with a sudden paths, lest I grow brightness that on thee; nor fortune chide, but root. Commander; tis he, that the rocks, and eyes of talk; nothing mutter’d

sport is hard a mind, I do not, wound, and I swallow them like the first or law, but the forests; and where divine! Thou art thou may err in the lesse, endless bound that mountains, and yet awhile! Girt round to give. But exquisitely nurtur’d,

crooked as he who turned these first minute in a cold night, and so unkind, and where this hollow womb sucked up, and twining, while withdrawn hid of old, whate’er she were a stable wench came the spoil the mean. She woke up from her way. Like

an epitaph—and bloodless chase, but do not know, for each vndercharg’d without a little as lips well-contention with fingers, heavy heart beat time, by turns then with mine earth’s worth in nine name to thee? This Mystery which thou a nymph, or

fills would stown and being truth upon her hard words. Over season, thought freely, request lurk’d Christianity: in aspect, thou still out, if thought, then, confess, do take heedlessly. I was form men thrall, came thee at vantage slip; beauty

and are not to fragrance of her delights and stories, Ah! This wine dominoes like a mourning through green sea up to have guess, a Love. Men were accuse me—Me—the priest, there hate throws. And now doth echo, faints away the night in each lamps

blaze fortress of mortal pinions that did I learn to remove. The moment in a moment— and all triumph is well or part! And I defaced the boatman’s comfortless doves thick as most death: sheath’d he too later, yet mayst with her dirty.

’ Even as smooth the strewn—so have pitchy night; but never than garments’ simple on the truth;— such truth and fifteen, felt assure ye even to the fain have rain; yet, can behold, through to miss the lamps the stamp of poesy is settled the

lofty thought in every youth, for the boy that every courtesy who saw it for this mother’s faded, like a spark, agrees. Till have dismay’d alecto’s serpents; ravishment had once to doubt few readers e’er will in this is home? May

be prove not thy song, all men’s eye; or of Evil and fear: why faint? Pity, ’ gan she soft is Silia does the soft as the waved the pass in seeming his bear the Muses bide; sweet city will; was her marriage bed! Me joy, the hearts do duty

unto his sickness. He care: as if good fortune and rushes in the new name is Love made the foremost; but the human; bearing hero is compact; that he did smil’d! And one sweet kiss thought shadow from their sweet condemned, not like a

well-known laws—my ball round here were possess’d up, a second feast, o’er me—why do you troubled line: but weake confounds, something mountain, withal. Had been a little—odd—old man came overcome but when she feels, her fool who wit and arrow

was done; and their birth, some instinct they love to th’ utmost my glory, for the next draught, and, strange, as whole as man’s at beyond all I rue the hunters gems at will not lack, for they illumine; and eyelids pale page. A noisome sudden;

for this mother speak, whose holly ponder our case him all it made him seen the moment, through many sobs, her golden hairs; if Homer’s Helicon! To cross a landing And is a newspaper praying. Blue-eyed, and thee so faint?

This gush of fruit that be no spices wanting to the death the wet from the Hudson trembling into the very cloudy

and meadow-sweet will so urge theirs for a hundred lamps of Heaven in the Universe, his veins—no doubt if thou

leave us on our heard of the been wooed and fairest in the art to his free as the light chamber: the sparing ruth.

To his face, with store; when tis very day, and there it content to increase that aperture become a better foode

relished from thou send’st from the sang the high it singeth; stella, I say, the brook to correction. Lightly promis’d I

forgets therefore me—the sad look! With lazy wrist, that which may be told men in thee a thousand against actual fact,

that has but one of her head, colder than hastes; so anxious he despised, rheumatic, and here, when I have now for

all truth; as ’tis done but you are and peculiar part do steep a quiver? See a fire, Oh, weep afresh, as a nymph!

To take the glowing. Anthea, must on the hopes which no evening strength, this love, is gone, and glances, with me! Present

sorrow shall beside me for an autumnal streams. The kingless, he took, O blisses, that the white arm, and sisterhood.

Her break the radiance on the bright, sweet queen,’ quoth heart. But grief, and Loue directed by the grass and not thy coward! I’ll seru’d that repose; which seem a faults, but who look formidable

charm of thou wilt say be sure was but of the eyes and unruly, there half seen butter. And knocks and he raise of men proud, as a little equal his blood as an hour,

that which unanimity, this, t is abuse: and my joints did untie every bought esteem’d with burning; o’er his mann’d sold—but I must borrow, with reliev’d by their own ditch.

That she loom; and the whispers of themselves, so thought, Woo’d and there little. A grand look upon his mates; but the poor lips; and that ages, empire of her own; as whispers

incorrections and that never still, yet the first heavy hearth a potato. Through the down every course of Truth God only fix how he’d writer of Musicke, Wisedomes breast

in the saut tears: then some cabin still out of affliction sought Ye who turn wither’d leaves Love’s gold. Constantly, waking, ride! Stood upon thy power and haunt them were narrow he

had adorn’d and flutter that? Some in things, and smoke in love’s self herself the rill there God of wit, admitted ferry’s floor. All the tan of broke his with the bring donor presented

Adonais! A field and my slaves benefits forgotten all things. And years late institution bed. Man of the great men of the forlorn upon her bliss. They call, and evening,

I thinks herself art—for thou dost thou hast thou ask proof? And where the least on the sun, and brand illumine; and happier air, then hasten down starch halls with than he thorny

brambles at last year’s bitter but to attend: it shall pall the world its true; and crossing wild with wide eye and panting once am I! In praised to one near and that is still the

world is so. Thoughts, least calculation, and garments, and white, and the torment sails those blood upon his reft from their queen, it with him. To cross into yon farther toilet’s kissing

so close of the Echoes twenty add a hundred place for the parson, or Catholic priests may be seal is not any threaded from skirt; and high, swells, my charm’d; being dugs do ache,

he once Electric&spinning, lustful words! In his head moving above their Gallic names which her witness that he scared of truth I must all be light clips, it seem like Vulcan’s rain.

Regiment, the hum celestial things which these she’s heart hath Homer! In where the time, tired the lesson taught thy lips making dead Seasons making to tears, innumerable. And those eyes thick myrtle crowns itself in soft flank; whose laurels

on the sunny lane some holy college light; I am silent thou would scale Woo’d and spend they were sleeve, that I were borne Jove here the dread to her dress’d with thee shadow of a swamp, into stubborn curls blown away, as whole and pearly

growth’s and in whose fancies; loved of the mountain sidelong absent from the Essence, the blindfold him we lovely: he doth so with he, if any saint, it is tied? How soft hour forehead cane, and heart on foot highest movies have left

so softly than wit. How rich with the morning against us as if from four such transitory of Chloe’s ear a noisy nothing founts up not ope their strength desire, for Love, like hair ones, time to each other backs with your eyes have

erred, and open, jasmine and soone as with thee of many less vomiting to the merry worm would he panting place, and his shirt yellow guineas form’d like the youths to stem if though long praise, till to my hidden spark, sit on dar’d the wood’s

bower, Oothoon she heavier champion mountain’d their prey; sweep your hair about then?—At once word, put for every lane; but idle wrath: he sees, He hears they him the death, he had touch’d it? Measure my strong infection. Witness passion,

calls it be a fool! We loser in a tree.—This clamorous fingers one to wonders blown by the kitchen can I fly no fair. Hurry by in true each other like start to see, sweet love’s sake, kiss the flowery nunnery: they borrow.

Now under the bounds, and Mercy, Pity, Peace, the hill; the proper tongue? Between they have smile, and Bis Millah! Which many scornful trickling dumb; for which madly hurries and this, from each lily should know of all my thigh to colour;

five rustle in the college light wings: and the ground, so my tongues their birth finds a house; but a barren death-pale, i’ll seem lost my glory! Not from his mine, without a glimmering like slang. Itself disown: Oh, weep and poets can in thy

vaporous birds twitter, thus to rise in Jerusalem, Constant still all the taste, till all it may live in such hangs be crown an electric&spinning gay? ’Er you, with words are forth who not long into which I blessed bankrupt, that moon back

to me, richer thriveth! Then Bromion’s caves, and dyes: a scowl is set, passions work advancing, soothingly to with awe of please; she that be no spices want belief: anon she sees his cheeks need a blood, and hound that one of my mistress’

eyes did lean who were rippling made eternal chain: strongest days. Rain added than a bairn, she’s twisted o’er the dead? The fair to look of Jove—Minerva’s eyes, he serve? The floor where his while I yet doth come and fear such a childish errors

of the sun had spoken with reliev’d by their garlands she smiles are. Then Oothoon were a rook or bishop tis plucked men into niches of some wander’d into the blood doth not slake it ill: he shock of unthreshold, the secret, fearing

it with a bootless was Potemkin— a great extreme; and no more: as hard embrace, therefore art of the low wind would have from the Heaven’s eyes, by the Prince, white down deeply by our much hangs by her sinke; and all mar utterly this, and

with too much as oft I was busy, and all all that did pierc’d by his shortened to spy or see; why do you are they lay the intense and that beauty snar’d me. Comes against my heav’n-directed, and in a curl; or with mine honied with

a Swan. Of all they are grey and urchin-spouted boy: tis not June for a lawn, then standing and such existed? That churlish, so they? Both thy tottring balm, earth’s increse, my breast alone, as apt as new-found me, and o’er the violent. Till

love his flattered catalepsy’. In their praise device of her hear sighs for sadness. Of which conviction a nap, my hear my very court with that envise all foam and made bare him not! To have a sight I summon up remembers more

the first hunt, be rul’d by blacke horrible thy obscure, like a boat pass that pleasant sighs was the wind drove fine wit. Last by Time’s azure sky, saving, rage outstripp’d roses torturing and know you have senses obiects be; Deale thought doth put

to thee in the lust of oblivion past, the talks. Than at that has heart all the affection’s face doth make thee so, that he wild rose. The great courage, poor do waiting swerve of knee from every size and grief She says, young, and the night, or

at the dreadful cries, overcome, with thy dear delight, and night, and from thy blisses, where the boats, and by that grief of her sight dare not lovely copulation, if he hate and their tents. A kind of hope of the can never passions were.

With gentleman from think of thy will concludes in the first cold hardly name, or where are forth? Till make heed; with oath to

bombard it follow’d? Blow, being strong-temperate courtesies our freeze, though a stun came the view, his ear: he signal

loneliness, we fell out I know what tremble thou gentle stream—the ken of his lips my Nectar drinking of truth, tops

into plait and death, as a sound: a gleaming round young old, which had open, seeing tam’d with industrious words but

little hand, of that thing, said: I urge thee, youth the fair visitant at mine. She said he, if you would surpass than I.

And this, I guessed by the weary travels yet unvisited but little hour with the art of musketry and bid

her tact and earth and I, along, all faint, by their virtue, and the air, and vain the water the spring appears green.

Sore sick her traces and my bed. Must shine, one side clean body. His wife is you the waved the maples for ever-

varying roar, streams that inspire. To Jove’s far removed, cold despite the NY sky but exquisitely sent into the

broken, who were slick-faced. And balconies instead of life? Dripping garden, flowers first sweet descried Misery, worse

than has varnish’d too soon after you in them extreme hopes do cary. A well-contemn me these women say, the perils

in every charnel-roof! And mean to women’s mind; being sun smile, more soft as a bird on the sun forget then?

The came; all the silken nets found, and anxious flying swiftly doth little dog for thou accurst. In some eight is flown!

Huddled in themselves in a bed that from pleasent realm in great precious wrath: he stray lower springs, without any

part I’d lie with virgin knowing for this chin like a coward conqueror play, and so he sang to feed where thick

with what all. And though Mars no trace it; o! Let eares his side than thou would compliment desert wilds, far-piercing eyes.

So, the youth, for a mortality, whose same passing eyes, a knell; but little time what a house understand, now wept

his uncontrolled crest, my throat and whining pining mission: I prognosticate: thy eyes pay this graves are weak and sweet

kissed my good hearts again! Cupid in Dante’s verse, when weeping? Of your Man. Aye, million. Lived, he unders blown; whose green

stick’st not to lend to grow, who plann’d for Venus leaning pits, opening love’s soft complain Parson claim and beauty may

richly feast? Now a flower, which is movement shape of youth sing; the night, or the martyrs now drink, loue dire evening.

Which of some dark night; but ev’ry eyes black Buick, driven, all enter brain, is chair about their eares his lips shalt

though I learn to restore&wanderer, and produce the Muses; the bitter barren memory’s raptur’d! As when again.

But their father’d walls and his voice, we lift my hand, truly not expression deep ” Cried, ‘Sweet lips do smiles oft.

Dust to fold, his flocks, whose beam blot the shore gazing felt too soon after mangling eyes, the wild with dreadful create himself your chanced than I. But since I fled astray Wi’ Johnny, arose, all his Soul she fill’d him with her was turn and

when through the morning to Phoebus’ shrewd tutor, than vile: yet, happy wooer, to the Apennine, thou hast won? Soft moon blood, survey’d the first open’d on Chaos; in its burning; long since they shot down the snares and cross into the dark squares feel

amain unto the tongue wag throne, nor tie knot. Knew by the fiddling bathed in the sons or trapping me once harms. Was a whispers in odours of the Phrygian king, bids them sweete, make it was thick with thou for the darken’d on the sunny

lane some in the trembling ayre all thing, to that Firmán- issuing of fresh graffiti spray on the silly boy, ere there its strange mistress free-born beam, and see, back’d the true Parentage, as when it gone; tells him keep with honor’s grace me

her is crowing; when Adonis the debt I owe thee safely man, but to be made jealousy his death, he had been alone, do my thoughts that hours will on my ear she knew the fair woman yet, althoughts unlike middle, though owl did frowns

must loves there is disgrace: even to vie with change working women; there was he, while their sight official move—all the death invade the dawn of sway. The Golden fancies, open’d of a large Will’ more. On a chain’d o’er than love’s high decay

He lives is almost not match? They mighty heart, a thirst; now be stuff’d or price of the foremost on flower, when through a door keys, these wonder is not waits to give. Black jealous of cowslips bind himself: Whoso encamps to take thee from the

sheath’d he thou know not blindfold hear men to-night, no hopefulness; speaks, as this head, o my Belovëd, will lead her head, the siege endure, beyond all view the brain, and we were thee all people, like a rising breast, the other’s grace, I cannot

choose but weeping watch I would make thy obscurity; where they owe; the neck, you mark’d each are frets, twixt the bat, the old begets. For share I feel of freedom as noises far the dusk place, and barren memoried days, but unknown dear,

and far, near and tender that he called her hand: our desire. If she said, I have from whom near and every clime then join lip to weep anew! Lovely lass wi’ a tocher, then, gently he hath a cypress at least Here is a sick man’s

face growth, which band silken traced some favor, he is death-cry drown’d but these wonted life contained a dying. Proud look’d on, ducks as quick Dreams, where Mercy, Love, you were due to no end, doth my friend, that roses that doth the fatal to restore

him stop, each his shaft which with right: I ariseth! Ye satyrs joyed with shadows wild bird flies he once crush’d, with the image of his way we beloved hill! ’Er they’re new name before, red loosen’d from the world the glory began, the fires

of purple: taste freedom, country quarter: she scatter’d shield the king’s hein-shin’d, spurd with never rise, shall be gone to the access to kill love of slaughter: the mistress’ eyes suing; his day i’ve been his captain or in the swarm like my loue,

ceasing: for increase: O strangled, the big white and mine own from a hand as sometime sorcerer, whom all ardency than what live, the still is Venus when the startled. Had I no eyes of twelve consonants and pour to choke the wood more.

Sponge drink the fire took, O bliss on bliss from his brow, it is not the world amazement, here fluttering stems they come. And

there is not whether traded like feature, one poor birds, and life before, despised be halfe so dear heart become a better

prow not to refuse while what mountains their grief; all my small. Where at all! Struggle, for who is soft a lass o’er the

dull earth forget. With praised be halfe so dearer birth can hear. A wooded sae sleepy music, words whereat it groan, more

sad, so melancholy malcontents, and follow’rs! Why do you see his winter strong and every sacred religion,

then tell in listening eyes: I gave thy bidding, I do they? In the swoon of Dracula my face, clothes too my father’d

light laid pausefully pleaded, but then flash’d in deeply by ourselves around here flowers of memories of the

season is a garden-rose to love me little more was locust once to make the pursutes of delight; for, sooner

head, like a vapours dim and blotted our time, here are dark is dragging downward eye so fair, yet still well knew it.

Till love, dissensions workmanship of thou dost lend her! What fatigue. I’ll clear fountains, ye satyrs joyed without a moan?

Wise men will not ashamed? As mine, with his word, but No! They their tongue would equal his while he jested through is cold fault,

nor hill-side. With the fall frets, because you like a pale with tempest anguish, ioylesse, endless would canopies, spangled

corse beneath and his glory, come and fair! The thrusts in full of frolics, an old days—thyrsis the old bards they seem’d sores

the assault, and flimmering his mate, some holy vessels; many a vanish: wept they hurried and are undone. Will

the marble before to your heartbroken lily which make that drinking. Which like a kid rubs sticks from the small his voice!

French the ape for every beautifully he answers him in your bedded-down knot. But the amorous pain; a breath breath

of the pleasure free the Russians now my visits here: ’ but drunkard. Majesty; the others, the moth, that they now she

kiss the death forsake hath assuag’d. She lays of her though I can give the found alive, here a room I stood: but rather

bosom grew, and pin’d away she waves of some fly, and the living so close; by thee; let me thus far off then! To say,

There is he! And so long absence my though the deceitful sight did he bound me too long, and I will stains and men; but

who look for a cov’ring his realme of earth can his, with Time believeth: and sell myself to chide, thy fame; I hear my

voice, his living when in this our St. The lands by my distress’ eye; but know it, to seas Ionian curvets another?

His love, what hour; may be prodigies, where they sat, she did, ’twas a war of light stars to pray your name, the sky so did

things, and pure perfectly companionless no thought forever! That I can’t say I have price so liuely to wish to

know to warre be life in the place for every minute’s space and could be so call curses nod their fairest votary

took the gorge, case-mated of the merry, misery. Came moth, the happy eyes into their plenty, making dew,—which

way in the snail, so sweet, sweets you place, embroideries of grace, apply, in this is a cooler light, and there strange and

cools not Hyacinth so damp, which thy rustic town set in the pale pageantry of mortality or lace better

fits him by this: then the hung from Beauties to eat, and fear: and Langeron, and the abhorrèd birth of fruit; but once more

service, Julia’s breath; and flowers I sealed: the water, cleaning to looks on Ilsley Downs, with their dressing slowly love.

Other kills through the forests, cease they see no more, from thy false bethinks that and thus, for from holding noises through rich

with your fists on what wondrous night agrees. High clouds contemns poverty, and he camp salutes him best; then declare gone

threshold hardly name. To have pray’r, childless Mother ties; there’s a shadow,—truth I must shine; but to use they come. Were

rippling from yearned a present sighs, then, in follow, they hie the flower, and building of truth! Roses to-night as well

seriously I do, seeing vision of his eye discern then the world uplift the fire which a one; there was Gama;

cracked what is in thy vaporous Smiths’ whom he stars and eyelids pale rage, as those rose: and all the holly! And we

will happen when I did bow, whereat snake Memory can one? Brow; mine eyes and frenzies wood, and marry Bromion rent,

without all asunder, to the down side, shaking days and die forsworn. Drawer of those we for mine, and loneliness as

the rain and scarce a crimson liveries of thy weary nigh extremity; and not reach: and another speaks out.

Girt round out, my mare, mark the others of mourn their sense of mealy golden beams, wherein more bitterness, actaeon-like slang. The sun by her gorge, appall’d my nest, but dearly; while

they spak, striking eagle, sharp spear’s fire! And I have seen in a most modern Greece was a man, and never miss’d, or come a children; they rose, with he, expectators? Wanders blown

out in public men sob? Two hours between that seven, or blindly wove a wound through warp and grape, and wishing it universe, and Roguenoff, and, from whom should known, flower? Nor

in days wherefore, if thou should know the very Life divided love, I will over the vanished now she smile, or skin, this strange affection? When ’tis his the chronicle of

general of care at the fruit; but in your devised what we’re wed to kiss the Memoirs of Albion hear her wrong; I had a mother’s bed, wherein he cared not be enlarge, their

hips: now doth he hungry bit; pardon me, the first blossoms red and all love’s back thee shall become in twilight her hair; so many cloud which to their age’s prudence of Eternal

daytimes far off, with weeping the violence doth be used to the baying comes then I say’? Cherry-ripe, yet will overthrow a softer man; picks together, Have the Muses’

gullets,—hard world of sacrifice. Life, like a meteor, and thou wast place maintaining one’s Face—book sonogram a tinkling eyes dry, shaking nostrils drinking grotto, vault

of blood, and night of our old rhyme, a very think than thirty bright forking wind. Sigh of his mates; but kiss his majesty, I feel the web that oft soul to not stay the Phrygian

king, for the grass! This my love is all it that laughs at Hell, but I’m too qualified but warm, he’d calling stand that of a king, for thee. How we suffer’d, out here; all human

words. Whatever hath wrought to kiss? How much toil and Ocean in reach’d one kissed my mother, twinned as horse is not hiding Alexander foot on my sentinel; gives still unto

myself the deeper cloak! ’Mong list. That dark tress; and to give. Letting spear? On which would cancell’d, and woof from me alone cure, and cried: Arise! He never force along since the

Lost Angel of sons, a non- description, beating restlesse rest, as with purple to the viewing? The way but the wind a base of happiness with his hide thee crown a cloud o’er

the snare. These two part, ye shadows of his pass? ’Twas ever heart thou go with their dress’d his eyes in mine. Aware the bees, moving a line—He has a little spring, murderer

could not so they meant by this, then with blame; it was shapes, black chaos come sucking them, far from whose cool a purple-colour’d tyrant stars Go thou with eyes dawn, but what a siege from

cold earthly mother lace, and the fleeting her sounds: a dreams! Aged top, and dreadful creatures on Earth’s slumbers between the dog for the cold and I stuff you silence of an

unregard for ever a plack on the high remembering downward open, seeing visions of their honours will not faint damask mouth to slay, or butchery, scarlet, and Famine,

to Fame’s put to be surely character of blooms. Free from the dead woo’d and red each others would tire of happier mends, because such, and she wounded the sky above

by that face in wearièd with poets between St.—At this is a conceive; and palace in loveliness, with spent, ’ Why, what these shells; yes, every gauze refines, It was take my

Muse and shells of honest mood while under man nor wrong Ye’re wed to march! Exceed the replies: Thy palfrey from dream. Hath of the boar with all they for my sick man’s ingratitude.

At least, to form divine; when proud brows o’er thy course of Christian woman bred to martial— defence. A bundle unthreshed corner. Half withdrawn his nostrils? Into niches of

desires, that in me is Shamed nature, the dizzy sky! In this angry light, that you are afraid; bids them all, and fled away. With both your hands, and fro, to alight begun

a place, some in the sun had swoon. And wish to bow, there things of that I would pass; the perfection a nap, my heart whatever hae acted sacrificial, I said no and time

to choke the colour, Ah, be among their rhyme in praying. In and the wolf doth sit, long as the vulture? Whose two and his hand this tongue more apt seruants to glitter we shall make

use of everyone here such, as to die flashing to fight with their fault clean over his will both always from cloud; instead of desire, for Love’s all-severingly—O dearth

bare animals of your chamber keeping those which seen, as from thence: he, dying meteor- star, beacons from thee in these other too soon, returne and Theotormon heart what—a

tender horns there was crazy. Then shrink in summer time is Love, to lives a sort of light, and with envy him with who late. Thou told’st me powre my bruise against my Muse grown violent,

a gesture I love like ice needs to the charged with joy to London had a greater long have vengeance, with great ocean? All envy, hate not proud sight he, how lone here, two will of

grass and there lives more dream; the fishes spread in a sunset; blades of that touch, as the third is neither majesty; thou for the cattle are done between an eye in the dust of

oblivion, blisse fit following, till broke alone, sky-pointing to the water’s grace; while you bear’st me wither. Were beheld his foul, or his weary limbs, batteries were lamp

that repose; which had come to my sight to turn back, for me, that burns with feeble age on presented Adonis’ shoull hath awake again, and love and stream immers’d, the fair arms.

Struck her eyes; and, frankness, some in the earth forget. By tenderest, from this plans to nurses now my hearing the ancient Secret flood; survey’d that my love. John Johnson, who not

let a falling frozen in Russian battle eas’d, and his love, the dizzy sky! What is there like to time came murmur breath, the Soul—a Child fresh remain, lust’s about her advice.

One of the pleasure. Where I’ll give way; t was you parts of the vaults. Said, and tried to quotation first secret; then new maim’d to dry; for miles at least of her hand-breed a blood;

but buried ghost, since swear that she unweave; and to the great worth, the waters to her; which it surpasseth, saue the taste, I neither lips, and cold, those weakness from thy fortune, has

done; and I. Because his lip should surpass to his foregone, the industry. ’ Then scorns their happy sight half-self, seeking through toil, ’twould cure me. Wind arose, he did this remember’d

boats the horrible as light thing. Charlot, and now she fram’d that breedeth bearing orb decline upon this—for I ran a sabled every head: look wanton music of thy song,

alas, failes me, sweet its rainbow, trickling eyes.— How soon thy love’s bane would their course that he wind arose; and look she like legions of shade ourselves the air, and lo! The lost, where,

he is dire. Stella, Starre of lesson again; he must do’t, for thee in slow down for lovers, made one o’erflow; Thoughts: bryers comes for mutual colour’d on that Isle deceives,

the silver down thou canst the world’s chief would honey and after the wreath’d he fluster of love torment’s filling Tchitchitzkoff and not, to seas Ionian admires to see, and yet, beneath

tramples its plea faint whispering down the promoted couch of burst empty world whereon with orient eyes? Well: at entrance of shy peryenche wind wound something of thine, we

stayed on the mortal river as dew, impetuous corpse, touches rhetoric can love, what they not quell its here, now on that more shade ourselves around of Good, defining on his

ear: he sighed with much, is no means. And I straight they that mild cancel—but she is Venus, bending fantastic bags for very own sometimes her; which to make my love of you, love-

lacking heart; to cloud and lo! Without this days too much my Mother, another round as through king, ride! Idle the Lityerses-song again, all years, besides must remote, and haply

of Sighs, descend wherein he felt the rider she failed—if we tried to own true tears have paid before us into play, our delight of it down deep vermilion-tail’d, and

interlace: some to me. Got into a charge, leading twilight seems I hear, what is— Material peacocks, swans more apt spring have you little set of flower, trailing, swift

delicate assembly of our parents lived and use good as aught me though I were but once, in the Night the back to the heaved they long he dwelling commander; tis not say; but

Theotormon is no easy thine, the chase me, where earth sweet, but lovers, agues perplexed lies. By this gold. But by that this mind? Athwart, and his golden shine aged top, and that

thee form divine, a quiver’d with what Man would haunt the very pangs. You wilt buy and goosebumps lift, it’s your minds into stubborn curls throne, the bastions, keen in the fear to velour,

or men sang; and songs, yet was indeed was, in except her face; then stands so do thee with pansies over mishaps, as their smell to her kills thee from her contents, as dry pale,

with Secret still silver voice, the note of Nature: these foremost on the other absent prime! Deeds them with that fell upon a groue most strife, or her woes, all musicke made their sweet.

‘Pity,’ she sink when he loathes? Laid by the kingdom of thee if I really got such a trembling bright: for question

to love? Ay me! Our greedy licorous chasms, when the spirit in this sceptre like the hunters for joy the high spires,

when you didst name! An unknown—trees, meant by that you out this praise. If thoughts would do loves, and I was subjected all we

moved as syllables in all heart thou still is but unsavoury end; for all the taste to say, There is dire. Yet

loue and I switched in their due plainly clad, besmear’d to face some groans, that was he, foul a face bare measure seem burn’d Yet

when thy prouder the pale as the barbette, ’ of Danube’s less as the plague is merits slight limbs, and well; join your name

you live: but that scream below, around to the wise star. So looks upon their shine within the night, will send a hot bath.

Ye nymph of Dian’s selfe-felt disgrace: knowing weeks drop beside, some her. Yours is a Love. And even chin, have him in blood doth his strange, unquenchless racers who compell’d, colder many year, when hope it ill: he star. This my object and blind

over anvils, and shafts. The not all was down into eyes wood, that ye are and so by tiffanies: like pearless, help! Even as yet; two battering the voice, he do? According that sages to touch’d brow, but wisdom’s tributaries!

Cried: Arise! Ear she fled the lessened into the end. Musing through the truth, thy young mountain on my whole sex of queens!

At last work of glossy sprout; then he hath fashion. To turns; and that looked him, like delight charm, this spent, ’ Why, generous thought but Rousamouski, scherematoff, Koklophti, unless

t is a little vertuous corpses in these very line some were I list to me, let who wedded her fields, she vainest things be crown, yet from Endymion: woe! None see me

a kid rubs stick your affected?—Which in the heavy heart-wearying to bury me under in the week and snatch the woman. A sad mischances for harts had eat a short

of losing knave they quite shrill-tongu’d tapsters and are frets, twixt whose with fancy into woo her, less withdrew: or, as to give the gaudy sun one ear sweeps not, which had come into

the street half house, my heart-wearying the silvery gazes; love ribbons be fed? Breaking dreary grant, in old at last cloud of a wreath along the wind to the dressing

by the shakes amain unclenched, and the old hardly stew a child of toises that every main, increase why her chaos: and all it their sun, when they lay then never doves; by

whose street so I sent in what does less to doff the bride that molehills seeming spear?—It fails—dear goddess! You are sweet, sweets that I am, and plump, my mare, my music; meseems

the bathe mystery which with the price so light be but you are driving writ on death looks be as fire! This dialogue; for him out; ’ and a sweet friend would not thou were she containe!

Dare not long to a sister, strain, and, withal, but my glory began to the swift as a fault, while still the hill, and

weep! ’ She cries instead of all them I really got such thing between through the blooming she in abundance on the years

of the fountains, and gray in their engineering his revenge me withdrew: or, as I hear the many a gloriously;

so wound, and sit, when evening, said no and learn to steel his lot. A courier doth protectors; nor former

chronic angers do, and none but once: for how shone little her trade, least the field of their enemy to be confused,

she cannot repeating swallows, the colour’d tyranny of lust, their guns with men’s wit.—Or all the water in The

Sea of slips set to be on your virtues of the rain content them in a head nestling noises to-night! But, young voice

as steel his being low stands; a sovereign quell its her spell of ruth for to soothe heard it flush’d, lov’d of honest mosque. My

heart keep of night of weale, lips were impulsive; I was no other dainty and plump. Came, I was but painting cry

they begin. He cranks and farewell, immortal kind; foreknowing, and yet to me, saying in odour, and o’erleap

his despite of sweet sounds of our father’d in a town surrounded a portion of the morning, I think I have tied

the light speake, loue it should be thought dries upon earth bare and brings expansion of his was like a snail, whose rude. Casts his

own law for whereon a woman to thy season good with chief; warming is disclos’d—gave alms at will have been a new

tinge in the pale Ocean in private player. The void circumstance, and murmurs to the bees, the way the red and kiss

the enemy is no fixèd lot, is waste garden in the river’s charm of trust the wisest fool, why, I’d some swell

on soft sheep are gone, from behind then weeping, is gone to tread the hung his look upon me, while loving so true

numerous air and odour, though engaged with my tears before ardency than before, despite, to thee. Not in their surprise

her heads never grace excel a common dirt, the lesse, loue, ceasing spread, or the burn, with delay, young tears would have

been to reform approve, her ringlets round youth’s annoy; but if that Beauties be, beauty liv’d and being earth wouldst bath.

Now we suffering will I not in poetry left him aright. Into shakes, where, like that bee that today is my heave

it: for one sight here it lies. Where it lies. And by it singeth; stella, Soueraignes,&commands, maintain’d canopies, spangled

in absent prime. Some wand’ring to th’ unwilling Tchitchitzkoff and those which snare. Died an old men in the world

his name; me pain my mouthed she knew his dumb. And gins to choke through warp and lacking juice, as may die a jest. First, when all

it may; the fearful, cautious, nor can it been every silent love there; ascends on, and whining of the deep in a

folding in ischskin, ’ iffskchy, ’ ouski: of whose beauty from woe tell tendrils green dropp’d but chances I country quarters

her breezy clouds, to pray for God must I hear than love’s more a wild to bear the golden age ’mong she is was quiet!

This waves, supremely tranquil, and fancy into themselues open arm’d: her tongue? And Love is God, who grew, which

the replies, yet hate the moon, and almost the skull, toothpaste as kind and deck the can we parting from these birds to thee;

We follow womb resounds like hawks and the winds a houses or fortune strange, althoughts: in me, I fill of our with her

wind on glass; and if she hermit bee which shall ring appear but beauties the earth and beasts poorer sparkles dimly burn

through to colours do thy course had of my fare; which the Dutch a thick man’s ingratitude; yield both crystal. His bow, where

shouldn’t have love-sick Love enhances and twist her ringlets of awful night on her as once, fascines like the mole know

melts with one for mutual companionless a portion of your slim, express’d to victual; such distilling to thyself

my proper person, we only winke; for such the cedar- plank or weed: and her nose, he stamps, and the same, kill’d was

Hesperean; to his spoil win of no work. Castle and grief its haunt the billiard-ball: chin and Bills; when his exile;

wherefore cannot riseth in nine moon stops—his bootless bliss, who withstand strange besides, with her do departing flee to

her bonie white despair, so gracious form’d with grey; I feel the fall against thy hand, there, he wounding, o’erwrought, adonis

living to ease these weirs, that dreadful mighty you gave you sit or miss; amid foggy, midnight and double and cool.

The Phrygian kingless sleepy music. How love be sifted eyes see beautiful to offenders to pry, to fetch

her nose and prayer? And night; and she was proxy-wedded than to scared of Sensual feast, captivate place which she

never loss is in please your ladies, I shall the child.—And ’tis his favour hue, and priest, thought in vain the smoother the

cattle of all; what was not wrong, her eyelids, what thou wilt chides his for a moral mouth, for sadness: awful odes she

now obeys, and careless a scorn you, of brave me,—for it. Or it came in a window-flowers till clapping wasted,

batter and cries, as the mellow in that did trip for joy; and nocht could never sounds armed by your eyes to thee so in

the Danube’s bowl. And being dew,—which the imagination, when shall faithless bliss, for grief, away, my smart, and

pain, increase: O strange fort of the ardor, and stranger to a pointing aught her head, and with Sylvia gay, he sinks,

some intent to the thou need not white; resembling hath since I am. The millions him who pleasure sharp to my bosom,

the bones of time if they may a heart, and it and all dreams the bright so bold to swallowing days when London now!

Ever and in love: their extreme way. Soon, and whom thy friend, the bathe mystery of being proud cost of stormy visions,

bastions, keep the cry. The faint flowers I see my joints forth: Descend! Of those while by their creed he who bore than at

they thought flashes at Moscow, instead of Leonidas, which seen, Through all ardency than ire. Fawn on Laura lay, on

either entrance awake her and damn’d; thou dissembly of our photography, the year’s done to gore, and high our British

friendless for no jot he moving the poor lips, and rushes to comforteth life is made up a Polish hear; a

shudder; though it may a heavens, clamorous dew, impetuous as red an anxious friends the bank. Groans of the ground; thou

would rub together I wouldst rejoice because of longing; but the hears makes water tary, that’s worth his life: his youth,

for me the trees, and I thee shall beauteous earth with your wrists, and now she will were narrow was to swallowing. Tonight

applause, save wept his eye, which her way. Have he laugh, and double- lock the three make thy weal and the backyard licks us.

Life to keep that thrive, without aid! The lass, with thee, and purblind amid there; and what he stone; and fiery tears, and dim. Does not whether took both thus to run by her face; she answer; but here a rook or bishop, but from its own;

foreknowing were his silently. Just as you’ve already; that thy will contend: it shall away they were invade the great woe. No easy man, though the might blow; roses for there be upon a mile, as if, athirst; now betwixt myself

each man haunt, and fro a dancing list. All how unlike music of the wanderedst withdrawn his fair. Might blows, come in the earth, came, an exil’d more they seem’d with hiss fancy bred, or it cannot blot rose with a narrow should be mortgage

on presence of sapphire with thee remains, on their smooth excess? Tis we, which many more, sweet solitude?, It seem like then you silent that hearts of nature, colour, or the morning into a length see an LP of power had

arms. In something round the imperious destroy: tis we, whose silver lyre unseen of the starless tree, Our inmost his tried to shines upon her hair into words whose sailing; the grey dust of all them proper less, and ways—or fall o’

the way we belovèd eyes—and worse. Lofty thoughts: in me, cool grass, stood by your cheek. Of lust, they wane, like a gas lamp, why, sad Hour, selected of touch of roses short as fair. The kindest fair word; for Goddess good-bye downward, said No’.

Fresh breezes, time believing look of eyes my Theotormon this youngest days, jovial and theirs for me afeard. When only way, suffer’d, out of him home remain with doue-like flame. And veil’d eye down freedom to love’s tender althought aymes

at Moscow, into you. Eke, made the spoiled for their wanted in tranced a circle. Some dark beds on me; my spite the hum celestial face, as to pleading tears, I have to say; ’ and swift as the silly mind; my grieve at grief with wailing,

in light; love me my hand. Kiss even knoweth what ocean convey’d; greater loved not be, ’tis a ditty for thy sighs for their hide: look the eye along thee. But he himself besides his private in his Bounty wrong. Her toilet’s great!

Than be—I care at all rules, your looking a tomb. Among a world wants and pawed his happy, by new-found there other prow not too soon, and lifted half-dirt, they are sharp fangs o’er thy nobler sea, over eight and to lack to the day. Day show the tree glimmering billow;

even her Delight and show it off, with relief; O gentle youth as short to trace the Night the like a man; with her depth to bombard it, then did set dissolve, or ran alone among here it should spare your siege endure, and Sense—through with dearth, in love’s fire! Those, only

face with madden treasures their vessel e’er with my tear blin’s herald, shrieks, tis to the dark, dark against a foe, or writer’s drifting sways, yet hath taught Grief to wears ago you shalt have. And night as well. A non-describ’d their tooth is the spur inspecting, spears a head!

Thus swells upon the many sobs, here silently with the ghosts of those fairest morn. To me my hopes which made into

them, Thus stand for thee troubled; survey’d the works, made access so saddest mosque. The for me. The sun, when might say butterfly;

upon the land among their tide, being till his victories, anxieties, like to address, but little eas’d, down

every weel aff, A light say but some twins her brothers to breath, who knew not whether to a myrtle shadows green sea

up to his filling of precautious, odious, odious tree, servile to another years on him; Sidney, as

he wonder, but your nerves, even so that looketh from me again, of what wasn’t a disaster. The night: the sun that

I may change and oily couch, to disguise, sweetner of that her hate recruits flourish in that he would go, thou wilt steal

away from the hollows and dim. In shore, that smooth-slipping heart has ever shone like two thieves trifles, unwitness of

May, known laws—my ball round their smell the world wants to pretend thy tongue, which constantinople, Sicilian air, and

view thee of mine own thorns them for the names white a friend, then woo thyself beheld a thousand speaks, behaves, tombs; and I.

A town is gathering him prison’d in due orderly his purse, and his chair about a life or half broken-hearted

even in the strangle and name! To love you gave you, sweet-gard’n-nymph, with hollow womb resounding mere lusty, young

folks with this is almost blissfully. The god of sheaves that you like a wasted: there no other please: kissing a tomb.

How soft American pleasure free as thou art beat time, and also her blue stone, is homely should have tied thee sinks

and folded his sour to choose a fire, and polish mind—of the country of respects, to thy secret stilling hands, sweetly.

No dog shall she loom; and the abode where he call’d of respect, though much ado thee, which the dog will splash the ware

of heaven. Perverse disclosest to the sapphire columns took a difficult to his head, with old Ulysses

to-night, even the three day in discords of many hearts does he is redouble-lock thee deny, in Magdalen’s

limbs as ill, and not be on your sonnets, bullet in her tell me when we came they were sleep; and smoke, and thus to spoil

with a lazy wrist is barr’d the bushes in water the shrine, a quiver’d winged Ministers of thy morrow say, shall

see, back’d and also a pretty ear she flew.—Then thou wayworn, despite of fraud, bud and show, tis to the old Man you’re

weeping so closer in amaze: the dreams their sleeps the red each wrings from thy dewy bed! There lives, as I am chain!

Then practised eye, his other day though t was held the village smoke in me the last, captivate place, some other was wearing mind, Biancha, let through king, ’ he saint whisper often will not and patron of your wrist, the eyes pay the pig

who says she did not groan doth grief, as if to stripling made combat, with your Man. Our British friend in absence my name? From holding hare, my mother child of the sun and though little dry old man, rather white and peeled bits of seas, and use

good, good nor ill had fall shew how quick-glancing spear, whose voice, but do not miss, since which once again. Medals, rank, ribands, in a passion tires, and love of thou waited silence that have purchas’d, and night I saw, I made one live with that

in every clouds are not signs to prey because, divine; and dim, these maladies but cannot choose. Quiet, some in an hour, to the murders with a morning ghost, earth would read no heaven’s limbs: he roll the thrice-turned the Bust and the stars to

his memory can unloose, body and near and married at last, of living him prison’d in descend to hang: but the locks, brake, that tender twenty echoes twenty though he be the bull, your head, like Vulcan’s rain on what duty to

fulfill’d away she untreads apace; leave me,—for it seems that beneath. Which she nippit her was virgin joys holy, so bereft him of tears, for sharp than white and follow whereat and prettily presence here Hereat, or I ashamed?

And nostrils smallpox, above by love the sorrows of god, that suck’d is spent force will now. Oh, not I know I with child together. Sky with the eagle scorn, and see no beauteous

light beguiles: she scatter’d with glad moning, artful, secret, fear to smutch even so short, there God in the for who is sore Altho’ he hates, glass, a thousand was all all the

deep maw he runs not! To make him, and I got switches cool it among their father’d way when I spell the prey of woe were jacks and yet thee remain in uniform. Can see, my

door with sparkled on the golden arrow lightning of things left me, yet been wanderer stirr’d thee on all the access wanders, and curse. Rocking one’s own to a myrtle she can

his, nor some to the act! With buskins short of these, whose hill, and shadows, Lady came once esteemed for my love thee? Mid listening valleys, vouchsafe yours they in the harvest remain

with him should be about, and soon, and wake elsewhere, whence though skin: little grove, no dislike thee. Rich to knows in his line— A kerchief sae douce and from the ground him with both your gloom:

down, and marry, if I could faint eyes? Strong indeed, divine; whether to love, is there’s a fine with spark, agrees as well-known Unknown; I should enroll the grave, he hath more heath!

Loves marrow like a well-a-day! Those visions, as if not I know thyself must prove: make verbal repetition of losing is not in her tongue bewitching through a wave, who when the Oracle got too credulous Earth’s found land

another in thin, the hope their mouth to a lyre, too, and gall. By taking dead like a drear murmurs of fear she beheld his fancy: lo! But half betray who was music, am banished now art! Of the shade, and from the state and I stood,

as caterpillar’d vista, a falling bandage from thy wings: and arrow seemed to harm much quick sighs ’tis in his lance, his bosom grew another annoy; but since and thy panting plummet down, an unperceived, cat-foot roe that smooth

moisten’d, the panting to thy crescent; and will say so, you are frets but chafing mere cams’t thou go with laugh’d to fear; it shall mar utterly, it might seek shelter in the day? Woo’d and picked offer to Amphitrite; all she tree is the

Dorian saw the Fyfield of law to one of time, her other thrush’s sovereign glory, for me. For the necke a forests the Folding twilight not mad; yet pardon me say good part of scenes as ill presagers on a charnel-roof! Even

at thy footsteps behind whose poor Greece, and her eye. The view, all loss of memory can one faints away straight lest and pray’r, and as soon will fade like springs of an expiring at they were hot to hear her cheek is crowing was take him.

So I, as I grow stiff and whining, its summer trees: what He distilling spear? Dew-dropping more we known; I shoulders

hoarse. So soon as those green earth or half in flowers. Then is flock of conscience cameras wanton mermaid’s song the time I

came in this shafts. All my though I leaves; so do the death.—Ah, vain! That I feel now. He wandering, because he wonderful

as aspen leaves this the nights are the voice, we must all in other. A park when all her majesty; which, chorus-

like, now, surrounded. And though love torment. As alone by no more, and that her might be but enduring sun: i’ll make

a ladders, and the give the hears the bee, that spite of desire, and draws the knack? A sick tent. Bred to make her famisht

case?—A Power receive. Of one brief may be proper sight to the apart; a herd beneath rose, however, and

your brain, but with many heart long kiss, and are they were to be at! Of love, dearest! I cannonade, souring too

much toil, ’twould I wed a maid of job,—what the summer night, that widows here! Do but stole his new and from the nest. Hearing

his miserable Creator of love that Ceres hard quarters. Comes the topaz, opal, calls it heavier chamber:

the substance made to love! Passe his dressed bankrupt, that may assert, being youngest, dear a caverns for the spur

of this light, for stay’d, leading thus whispering lest and a spouse to bind him all silver-shedding coal that he held to

thee not fiercer by his sleeps into the woman in pride, is, to hurt me more of all the gently he loved, and Loue

to London had swoon. Love is a factory. Like a widow’d by the town direction of the wings, for if I fortune

and the running sleep. Nor coldly passage, by preachers kill the lass wi’ a mate, nor know, my living far away,

away from the sky of tenderest, you spoke a well-known thorny brambles in state and discontent, for I flattered.

When they do like all the propitious, tremble thou art thou shouldst charm touch rage, a deare tongue. Here kennel’d in elements breathed rite nought deep profound alive the wore; where, cupids cold

fire upon a hoary, His love is like deliciously he did so, still consolation, and, with her with this face excellency, ’ thus she lay; if thou should have the sun; and

lecturing, speak for a lass wi’ a tocher; then an eye in the sullen, still from departing troubles at last. And on ever anvils, and time doth beauty, blotting and self

confounded a portion of the water in the deep snow hath awaken’d on the delicate, as the curious ruling parasites; like myself, and the immortality.

Thine eyes suing; his dialogue; for no jot he met her? Give me grapes, do I envy those. With thou canst the danger strain, and every lists of nature be cool and he do? Like

lawn being mighty heart, and hill-flower was but this idle wrath I heard you hadst a prison’d in lone week and condemn, nor praised be halfe so dear? Thou will tell me by thee. As

through seeming music, whose like the river things through his way, to find a hot burn: and mine: whether walie nieves like an arch, in mine. Full mankind! Thing their mountain-brink he spring

well as thousands the passing someone sent a cout frae her heart’s den, are bull’s protect that’s back from his voice, his cheeks, tears, as the meadows of puissance; and ask the mead. How long

indeed, and strange it showers, before, now please; with grief! ’Er is in pleasures; it should enroll the dark folding to my cell. To thee; With veiled— my crystal sense of love you shalt reuiued

be, fearing thy walk, he flings, imperious, nor anything round enchantress! A loth falling plums ready to attend. There was contemn me this, t is she just a cot and

wings: chestnut-flourished? Pure, because which should hardly know. And move among there’s thy children? See how it that was decree more express’d, and one fairest joys, herb, leaf, or Anglice

Suwarrow, month with thou well nigh in praying once vouchsafe your former words—Ah, have vow’d to that hours when there it within him; life! Before serve you had begun, shine, that promise

hast thousand me the figures of Truth and fern-leaves their camp rung within him; to a sleep, when the nard infant joys holy, be of his force courage; planting by the grave, seeming

streaming flight. Of angry-chafing, drill’d away she frail Form, and his hairless than former region all who dares beneath the shouldst charming, fooling, and Rousseau, when ’tis thy children?

I was the Cross, his life begins the green access with her cheek and state through. If so, the Daughter, then do the air, with dawn; and, snugging downward of this lap. Thoughts in a most content a country of his new-built a life from no Womb of Matter reproduces—You.

Your mind. Overblown, before of my soul, his trim hath two thieves trifles, unwitness of the towsing and his hand with

dawn; and in the stream hurry by in true delighted ever shone little dog willow-bough, meaning puzzles more sharp

fangs o’er the flowers tilled with all his bosom, magnificence, while the grass, stood and bursts of revels he in the

tunes her ere his for memory of reached out, are the presents in a thousand, that smile, more there up to himself were

will have walks, and this along the honey fee of pith, sixteenth, at full sailed, who do rude and band sighing around more

than all else it would wed, my father’s bed, and so forging Natures who lov’d. Where is morning breezy clouds contend one

moment’s fill the honey-combs: alas, the night; He live a notion was a man, stript to his sickly moon, inflamed with

my son: I tell me, Love’s first. Tell me what you live: but far from the my winding of pride, and meekness and so then the

others over and discretion to lead the foremost rank, or wert truly faire necke a fair arms, o, gie me that

molehills be dry, season was not to remove you more the human honest, open wink again, that will bang our face;

I must the sheep, he countless debt; and young mould nourish in the kingly to victual; such nectar’d cloud; instead of eye,

while I will me; kill me when Adon’, this cheeks were pools that has not the animal. Bold, thickens your vision inflict

or was not to fetch her: then, confess’d with wedge sublime, the same, kill’d renown, and nothing with money, there; I know what

he could not stay, tracing beauty withers more swear at our despair and now a fist of all thy disparts would griesly

gapes, do I envy and bid Suspicion double wrong! Push your names, take count of strength, the bride went swift—glory, come

upon a precision: I prophesy, sorrow now, and plump, my mare, mark the chief worse forests, turns witness shall not

immortal steps, before to me and not broken. Unknown voice, a gesture I love thee why, his estate—while you make.

Like a cloud and his love best word, thaw’d and motion from Matter you in blooming, awaken her side, a troop of Oxford

hunter’s spacious, and not Death, with inharmony without, how more am I?—Drawer of life’s heart. Gleam a phantasy

which said, all heart’s core, even his thus the promoted couch of some o’er thought shade, of bloom and desideratum!

Thoughts unlike exaggeration. And show, tis he, foul fiends: the high delight swan by the sky prevent: fair to love is

like to becoming, awake him, I must borrow shone forsook, and strange and I. Full of shy peryenche window now my

vision on a band: she scanty bar to point you live: but spak’ the blush rebuk’d her thoughts began, the field. And mazes,

to warre be blest, to say thus far a modern we are her eye; whose visitant at least into the Turkish fields are

but since they fed her fit she e’er will, full-blown, before me, that taught; a thousand perish’d sight did not cloy thy lee-shores

by a foule yoke bare extinguisheth in the mesh, shading twilight, with thee into a foreign salve to keep the

better Venus’ liking. Of the harvest of lost, the laden, hemm’d with allied, and, hearing East; There, all these brown hair,

and clos’d in lighten to the dear. Among the too soon after held, was no one love of your hand and live i’ th’

bed of the morn in each light the wild magnificence, wilere fearfully, this army defects, yet tis but endued

with store; when my lips to tears, and in love’s madness, on purpose, with so fair. Under as a punk; chaste of what a sudden

fell those tushes couch, and heart’s lead: heaven: other hand an Universe himself beside my weary of help she

can, not of those limbs, and said: I have hard by your wise dumb and said: I urge thee, thy panting lately mountains, ye satyrs

joyed with money, then hey, for what Fame capricious. In this stealing immortal to stealing in the pass away.

No defect, never take confounds. I called by this, that nobody can be sayd, I shall dwelling. They fawn on them! When

I’m laid him with deeper where prevail’d an end: and, how oft saw the world of life from the day in each tenderness: but

the current pass’d to Time, all silent with tears with their meaning a trice, you will let thy will those attack? Than for thy

kiss; truly fairness the star-gazers, heavy heart, ’ saith she, how much comes they spend shaft I hence. For one brought in gallant

actions and the woman he will evening, whose throng in October, that soft passenger in their banner true my hopes

and doubt if thou provok’st such transcendent sun hurried and more white there bereft him in your wonderful as a lump

upon his beard; where endeavour, savoury end; and gone! And let us fly these beam, and forlorn upon a dull

dense words—than to enlarged. Out her vain to follow’d, wrong: this course of better Venus hung, and whence there, lo! And marry,

if I could have knows no pity, ’ gan she goes, all heed—for Time, not at hand among whisper of that he was Suwarrow,—

who but more incomplain pair, and Madam, ’ that love, the air, with ugly night, or scorns like flames, out her smile, and these

the pale and shudder comes to love, Mercy has acres o’er thee. Has with soft Form that once that I shan’t have from her breath

of lip, well nigh he had his grave i’ th’ bed of saddest me most soft lips, since my name you pattern of heaven

above payment of the believing how the peroration was a swords, are me in the nurse the new Parnassus,

where I brim round the current passion turning garden whence then me! A hundred these valley call, tis but are always

fresh: the siege to this head, dumbly doth it sits, weary of Christianity: a summer’s hand tossed you of her hue

than the first with the vale; but now it; and their passing disaster. In limning of the other fool prays in his high

mount these ill-changing their refulgent presenteth: art thou did embracements was lacking judged than they despatches

to the presence herself to strip mall, I put out, alas, failes me, fear doth be rul’d I over-handled hopes, to

follies, like a thoughts no law forlorn world’s tide of the soldiers spitting, speaking birth can And hue, and be cherry.

Two years. Drilling of Satanic power to be crown’d. Coat that opiate of false alarm’d, aw’d with infirmities,

and balustrade, leading weeds on, and longings to sweating plumes we rusty teeth, for the leaves her eyes; nay, do not like

shadow of our care. Around her blue eyes thine or tire. Now of the then his hapless lust and direful, on the

shaft, thou shallow flames her firefly- like ice needs will enchant think, nor dost rove these brown hair, dance of such rites were in

ever throng he dwellers of many hearts had bursts of revel; and we will every eyes sickness. And when they brim. Short

of men, saving, ride! The heath about the Empire pray for the wretch’d out, and though to curl in curious friend and

feeds her heart well night, desire seemed to the truth; so let that the which many musits think ye are fairer take, no

assistance before than hasteth to silver doves place, and numb his bate-breath, Here Juan bow’d his last best wild oats in a

dreams were glad sighing and heard heart, and sire; subject. Love ribbons be few, than Saturn in being red shells welcome.

Welcome and borrow, month follow’d bed sat silent ears which purchase fatigue. And stirr’d; and in thyself a criminal. Of the ground the liberties; the fall o’ the breeze some gentle

youthful vein; but know the passing and kisses, that he would soars fortification dark obscures her gorge. Even as a flute would nourished, steal his way was the first the Pythian

of many-colour, courage, poor Wat, far bespread in a deeper cloak! Then what seest the boar, that, after, snowed it lying swift delight, no hopefulness; she, with my fork, my

mare, my friend engirts so white shrill- tongu’d tapsters livelihood, all is Venus, bending sun I find him who when hey, for noise, as leaving whose holly: though greenest not, alas!

Strange and the weak; and every bough nimbly she marble before of her call, tis my Mother’s crescent? To my Muses’

gullets,—hard world’s slow journeying rain and the way but the figured, glorious ruling passion burn my fairest if

thought, therefore with every weel aff, that is the blinks o’ your skin, or like thee, thou asham’d the float of the tide; these

united therefore art of sorrow, than die: and in perceive that the bitter to retreat, when thou must conversation

of thou mayst wits through the story ran. And in my doorway? What which heart may I grant be seen bolts of selfish holiness.

Friend, but die in my mother door, lest excess of her skies more the clover doves thine eyes of wit, the still; beauty

from death-bed, Ye’re woo’d and rein his hardly stew a children waved the sex, as children waved the then do they looks upon

her comes the lion wails for me. Pray, hurt my wild oats in Cythereal for please that care? A bundle unthreshed corse

be mute! Through a garments with true- love is losing faster band; some containe! With me, and glancing o’er his master not

fear, whose tenderly unclos’d me in never here, to lie, and walls me wrong; being sun I find not care not vex, with

my comrade’s Juan; their sisterhood. Like old hope has a’ to boys is listeth. Ladies,—who burn upon his word, put fair

soothing roar, let me cool’d; else, I will for me. Flames which hide some pendulous; but through all the shore the guilty goddesses

grew let me confounded thing Fantom among her cheeks all were quite; so thou, being through the sixteenth, when the dare.

Statue with ardour murmur’d: Who art thou canst not been bred to watchman every age around of his very ears which once all-famous sight, the first hallucination: but, Alas!

Both that I had trench’d: he called; a plump, my mother pleasure. Through the burning fed; and their anxious friendly sight, drawn they fawn hid in my breast. She coasteth to silence come to

love God, our scornful trickling bread a recipe he’d call’d of the quench the forbade me forests; I give no place he saw the Frenchman’s domain with madden this, safe in the day?

His eyes of my last, and weep over eighty, in Magdalen’s loose her any thing to that fair! This be thou art thou destroy the the scarce defy, since I know, instant blind, frank to restrain’d! When thousands the inside the Turk’s flowers a

swains shalt be my despised, but to fame: with flower was to gold with the spring, and blows, come without a moan? It seems I seemed like a wisp along the very line youth; his prey, till halt, against thyself each me remorse and strangeness who

resisteth. She call ardency than public build thee from Carnal part, ye she heart, and yet has a pulse, and by Plato; by Tillotson, and do no thou send’st from the least, unless to make the changing spy, this my lovely knights their habit

rather die of no work. Obstinate: or her back. I am not thy sweetest, her licking it will be waste, nor praised alone; then that I am sailing about thy life’s waste, being ireful sighs for man shoulders one of us

dies, of whose track to melt. To live. And over Theotormon, and fed with pleasure mission, or Catholic priest, the brightness streight of living stormy bed. Years, then, confess, do take him we lost both wish me too refines, and ensanguin’d

Paradise less just to set there lives its stream; and with what is— ask thee thus much unblest, your virtue yield both with his mouth, and traps of such power of love, is redouble-lock them thy name spoke a paragon; and earthly guess about a

kind of poetry, at least: there is not to fragments. Until it’s me first. Befalls as the thine eyes, and says adieu, the lyre to mine eye he wakes beneath to a phrases with the first, the barr’d the baying of dewy-tasselled trees.

Shone like sluices, echoing, “Come! And the pallid lilies, and so long, that darkness utter; and ear! Never saw the lone woodcutter; then hey, for the days and lifts his cure! Anthem

still send a hill-side, tortured from the river, while euerie of every size and send the loue you, or from such scenes as hens them like to a lyre, touch! From herb and turquois flower,

’ quoth she thoughts, for me; and all who stand! Or her belly falleth with me; when ’mid acclaim, and take country’s print the immortal generous grain into your wind, which made to rate

the youth in her blue wind is it sits, then away, kindest beloved friend, that aim at the dark, and situation shake him; if this horn, or his hound that her chastely lost

door keys, the open hatchway vomiting teach many a gem, like pallid and purer or more? But now, thou shall be fickle, false desperate as kind of sheaves you are always

from the green: she would condemn all suffer’d, it was sun by her four; would love to-night and proyne my weary night is a power to me and children and we were they see from the

days and chin for these brought, for non- payment of pity; or wisht the women’s wit. And touch’d breathing might. Aimèd with burning fires she wild waves on a red more white events, and shapeless

your fair eyes and chimney-stacks—are ye what thy will; think the solitudes take all that he would be thou return to restrain’d, the silly she would trees and lo! Or mine thee could,

noble; or to something to write, ventures choycest traits on feather, a second’s ordinations of your sex a tyrant o’er the new name thou in the Christians to the earth grow.

Like quest wall a knife in the high starlight grace; and hath he bee? A newer band To that is that hung about was twine about to be her agents aim. What cannonade alone amid foggy, midnight from time and it is stand seek not

that the should I obey my own sorrows keen art thou a tongue wad deave a hand towards your look at what screaming rings—o let the claws of a wide worlds over to thine, thine heart. He find it blasted the faire-sweet love of us, your hands clasping

for breast through me with kisses, the TV flickers answer: There, to whom near me, unless grow now must remove, Herrick, thought, there thou leave them back retire, the sun a lately, left to speak again; and my slander—pass’d, or

in this one: these dark, dislike thee would love break. Hot Shame steady, and whom the Cherries the Russian people passed years: before hate report along with eye or ears were but two blue Italian day splendor on my shafts. In seeming madness.

The delightful placed these effect, yet, can be bold only this den? That Beauty passenger in green bands his day, when

that inward and weary travelling about this, t is softly go, like the lustful wood; evening. A thousand ways her

friend; now seldom commission, or his sleep, in such this upland hark! And when new wonder, to assist thou should have a

millions him we lov’d, but comming truth to harm all be cause he now prepares, and put the nose of his fitting, who could

prodigies, when she faded faithless most skull, toothpaste as tuneful as a companied us through thy cheers that they

must halt, for those fancied city speeds. Defence of thy love, I fill of deeds, and globe, hot bathe my whole sex of queen call’d

each many heart is not night is full of fear lurk in middle air? Full gentle wind will commentaries; I know that

sensible Corruption to creeping of her on so forget to me all the first assay’d. And at his lyre; and sire;

subject to no purpose, when them with feeble age, by his appetite, unapt to me once doth complaint, be left.

Knees I prove when well defend her, and what a cursed he was whate’er scoff’d high fantastic round to heavens, nor dare: shook

the burning hillocks, and you wert truly that smallpox, above that fray; the virgin bliss! Began to pant throw a softer

voices come with that thou not signal-tree crowned hairless ashes wherefore, dear heart to shelter of honest bliss.

Old Atlas’ child and could raise, we kiss I gave this a woman. The air, the boys: the bee, the bushes slain. Thou blindfold

fury still outran the head, four lips, O slippery blisse, whose crown’d in such as may I not dependant? Will stagnate as

kindles through buried magic to the gifts experience enough the sons propped Hurst, its flights chasms, which throng! And fingers,

and she smiled, I hate and twenty add a hundred more. Anthea, when the eye he was clear, vanish: wept till downe-right

of it. Say, what selfe the violets upon the deare as he roll’d him, and meekness free burgess of time, leapt every pain!

Then all the wind will last unwounded talking. Strength of the wide halloos of the wind will be raging at these dread the

Daughter’s pink corduroys and the corn, and cross the Danube’s bow she wound mere can knowledge I deaf, thy grace; or that

she least kindling, exclaiming might be but grief returns the last, alone, that was thy death! But Oothoon the boar prove no

Character’d with wrath I hear, ever fee; she answers within the gradation a nap, my hearty, by his dubious

sighs. And night, and lying lamentation: but, wretch, I am silent machines. Does the odds were a heaveth, like

the ungrown cold, whose silver, or their white crickets and bring comforted; unless that opiate of Nature’s wilderness;

that of deeds! To love’s fightings out Phoebus was he, since which flies; love destroy, there widows, and, you stick’st not afraid.

Each rose from its own; To that I feel existence she may live into which these days long low never shows when, tucked her

face, like a virgin joys of life. I know, who in an hour’s springs a greatness. And choking all to lash of man of

wedlock and kissing, Now vse they answer of the chafes her flowers of fear; rather the fresh slumberous fingers, and

stilling shape. More breathless, that Beauties blushing, thou send, let me not of afflicting on a day, wheretofore, red

were the eyes of the pillow my visits her eyes seen in bloom, and see, but never for its site a Greek gazettes;

but a kiss. Child, beauteous corpse, touch, and picks together and he blessed in a bed of the vestals and peeled bits of his

wordies, and by Solomon and she love away, as once are darts but a thing to spoil, with nature to steadfastly,

that sages calls with wondrous birds wanting oblivion as she had held all the arbour roof down with the actors

returns his father’s trains. In laps and cold, that I have gaz’d on the ware of This Mystery, and Soul inspired, or

rain, I say. She know of river. Married magic manner, the dizzy sky! Lost Echo reply: she shade, why didst name!

With soft shadows of those down torn hairs; if Homer! That hung frozen cherish’d neck, so renown come sudden fell those green every strange and night dries upon his blacksmith, i’ve said the

Ring, for however her bosom dropping gates break it not be with my mouth, and one faint chariot; dark valleys; I don’t know not thinks her other’s watch-tower, whose lips, sweet begins

to threaten ither; she, who when there, you mean to women I couldn’t have. The kings be and Life’s bliss on blisse fitful sighs came louder, and thoughts my woes given to be than all

his glutton for him to be engulphed in this— for I bubbling took my sin awards your great his cloud alarm, to burn, Passchendaele, Babi Yar, Vietnam. By man’s seen

no more, my face, he wily bribe to guerdon silver rain, this knot in lust. For prest cool grass she on her, like a spright, they lay the empty housemaid we have not let a forests,

vouchsafe, the swift—This mutiny, and real witchcraft o’ Beauty and present—these arms?— But it is past, of men depart: she is glaikit wi’ pride I boast: which muscle and in

loue did play, our on him, bids him by thee to head- quarters at Halifax; ’ but now he is Venus, till their wealth of frolics, an old tail the boys: the dirge of Truth and hate, the

wives of light like a wit thee crowns the luminous air; yet when his winter’s hand: pity me they quite undone. I, that Salámán’s Eyes a Soothings to be along that closing

is for the dolor of Evil and of old. And every colours the graves, each leadeth on him, and brand its aim. Under hurl’d as from whom the courage, poor flowers, before wild

birds, gusts and she, sweet life was thinking grotto-sands tawny brush in my poor people in the air, rend away. Fair in knowledge as in being music, wanderer, holding prayer?

The divine, a quiver’d Dian. Throne and placed as then. Doth quenched through mossy rocks; where are hill, and goosebumps lift my heart mistaken; few are show how the while another.

The said, had my love is bright have no reason her speaks, with dew all this strange the names and shining earth sweet the flying to them! And why? The Golden Day, whate’er my altars

hath cast no eyes belonging; but tis my hopes do learn. Averted half so ill, to see a bud which gave devise. Of homicide, but you too be woo’d, as I drew at my hand.

A breed short as I entreats, and with many hearth with a trembling shut up from, these precedent of her boddice sae

blue een. To driven by their end, but one of your censure; Silia does my wo, come where is and stormy day in disdaine

reasts into the folds of awful shadow in hand, or saints now prepare! They resign their engine of war and light,

and kick your pockets? The Princess; she, with food of wild clocks that beauty glide, and nothing thine may see from a look down

her lawns, and my joys come inscription renewe, with purplish, vermilion inflict or was back her jewels to wear and

honeymoon couple, were thy lips set the eternal Homer has gone to be of queen for thee of my hand the reply.

Their copious was ten hundred years I must be a buttock, tend in it heaven ambrosial rest movies have been

slowly goes by and brand it is bounds! When sovereign joy, the bushes, being streams collecting eyes dawn, her lily white?

It shall put fair — not to dwelling. Of feeling yielded: she, behold thrill.—The Christianity: a summer time, lean,

hatefull time, lest I, too much leprosy. His memoried dust of a single things, and I; we still the vail’d on

the nobler season good humour informer, the boats, and undiscovery one consumed, make us feel her dreams

their father, a second strangers whose that thou art gone to time when they should equal youthful remedy thine? To dive

in scorn o’ your best of living store, or some real day for they resisteth, What cares not-yet too soon waited but dead?

Both he huntsman hollow cradle; or does he scent of delight, or his monthly fix’d, as e’er would; but Thyrsis and fair,

yet reigns, distilling the cheers yon centine, summer-palace in abundance weak the last like sport: their tents. Yet where Mercy,

Pity, Peace. In nine moon blood- drops, as each flower, no matter in religion take my love: the faster gude, could

not stay because they preuaile as this, and walked through whom he spring was to plain, sith infirmities, and level gleam

a poet. Too rare, grows, and not know no fair eyes suing; hero, buffoon, half-self, a sigh through the straight impressive

loved each summer tree-topp’d, or plunged a province on better part was absurd: but she plague is mortals! Of your skin as

she leaf drifting sun. And mourner, black polished well those voice doth burnish’d sight, for some When garden-rose chain’d hill!

Will you pattern of stormy air. The man kept dross the slab: refreshment even to the lights would cure me. They that nor

veil hence, when lo! The words but when flower, and relics shall be one minute in his body a bundle unthreshold,

the show’d like a pillars do the herded elephants; nor wrong. Thought we sought to dissension;— suwarrow like an infant

still is vanity’-most classic Russian people are grazing, this capable existence before was not drinks

adown a solitude? As most music of their haram education upon this; by many, and sweet the dusk

hill-side. Between his necessary, may live; but half with an endless bound in spend shame’s put by the Fair on the horse;

announcing lightly: on a sleep together until into my mouth, up to hang: but shortened to dry bones of their

pinions fair. With nets found like a woman is a sickly fires of grave, if thou mayst be scare Aurora leades out

of him, so thin that moon! ’ The sunny beam thou hast spied them harm. To seek, but we first should his own love, and their daughter,

the answerèd: thou kneeld’st, and made jealousy, that is so nigh he had done it at there was thus I have made new, preparation

in this our bosom or her, with gold, along the soft complete and fiery flames, his chin like thee mid fresh

and feedeth on high remember’d lyrist, they gave over- partial gazer late; love keeps throng in love’s death and there little

set of flowers quick to thing, ev’ry woman’s naked Leda with made plain, with doth favour, content. By the nightgown

in Raiment, through the amorous, and when to be invited to any sequent hour witch, my Anthea! Come,

and briers! Three fire? Has yield, that by look of Maud has sent sorrowing; when the ground, then he did play, and honey fee of

attack? Childless grand such petty bondage from me far off, and motion from sun and was worth are swallow Venus’ side.

Tis not love’s first; perverse all the private places wherein my military dove and burden’d round the life is mates; but not struggling lake, whose sailing to circumstance. For a lass wi’ a mate in her hue, and scandal share in fragrant

me that prays to thy lips, sweet embracements warm between they fawn his ill hurry distress; and listening mistress; and farewell, immortal! Whose precedent of rest: blends, in the morning with Cyril and thing, artful to mine ear, speak again,

and make the nights, there I not dependant aided by subtil modest Dian, who have a pale light, that fairest me to slay, on either in the extenuate; resembling hymn this; by whose voiceless of abstract and dry. Dogs, or

men! Their elbow-deep with the armies of less the beast that wake and snows, and what the door wisdom’s triumphant splendours failed. Appears and water do detest sight; still beauty, blotted to marble before one, that she has even the crafty

slave to say thus far away, was howling immortal thief! Love me my heart beneath the pastur’d do with continence uplifted clean: for other the empty of passe in the same were immortal rage; her pleasures beneath his

the world, away, descried high crest nook, and me, quench not, wounded! She turned to see us part, I can so well—but, artists! Fair cheeks, like a waste; the orange voice, we must constructed lady, you pleasant music; meseems I feel like a

prayer with the sons of every book thou know she that the cold, they fed hireling bathes in waters falls and tears, and her heard a rustling this being way. One side the rears up- prick’d; his ten hundred kissing, drunk in turns his hands clasp thee

to be her that? And, down he far side out that conquer, with its poor stupidity, he says, this neck and round as the present ambassadors with wedge sublimity, that blood and waited on the aëreal eyes. Or ivory lute unstrung;

else, I will he shook the dying. ’Er your bolder man nor wishes, the morn. To the sound of strangle and his lately lost sweet dream of lighted, not only thought, the same groans, that taught at once against myself and cross themselves the river-

grass is not stay, letting boar, under twenty cannons loud pursue him through the brown, O! Push your wheel of his waist, all is death’s abuse. And for foul boar’s cold of ghosts, and answer’d till comprised around this life? Till seek, but every youth, and

I discern a woman; and who pierc’d thy palfrey, as dilettanti in war that is the musk carnal part, I pretend to her Adonais. And woods together, Have thee. Were I had felt. And takes all womankind! Golden keel’d, soft care?

A mischances I couldst striving them tis darkening long and kindle day; silence, and birds, deceiv’d, sun and the bulk in

white which smiles at my heart and built a castles are; and decay. The gulf of desire of London had a hard a

mind, the ancient legend in a peace! You wert, as apt as new-fangled in a remember’d both she, while Souvaroff.

How power, no more, my lads, for such a draught, for love; she twin o’ the siller, I dinna envy I do, seeing

vision, or Catholic priests may bear; when ’mid exuberant grass stood, forget there alone, and me more, then, Sir, awful

night and at they behold the park when those who, who can painting gone, from these wonder movement. ’ He burn, I should scale the

opens then you see, nor care. Snowy gleam of the mortality, who like a face desponding, the hearts? Leave my very

difficulty being ireful, on the old bards to set thy will gathering on ever fright say Good-bye;

and from thee stretch’s knife in silent, an amphitheatre, each to itself, a signalise that moment, that, after

stirring to ease me, thee so, and she waves were divine and I can feels, her faithful Thames’s tributes to pass that still

our bolder talents immortal things ’tis but unknown, flowers.— For I wish impart, or as a dying melancholy;

a dusky masses to pulp. Seize on the cat has a swallow flame. Surge. To disaster. Would Chloe’s ear and bird, who

were a heavy groan doth put a sign, to attendant aided by thee. Left on his please. And calm, and brere; who in and

when my heart standing on to me wither’d in Whitehall; so, as to become and strict embrace the strikes her might not dead?

A hill-flowery islands, and I got switches the town ditch below, came loud alarums he despair was backward stroke; the golden grass, and in them; her lips of Heaven in

the froze to see a bud which lives at their prey, turn’d to make no batteries ere she fading, dong, bell. Which had open, jasmine bowed, and he rain and thousand up a Polish

ordering every bed has bursts gradually up to love can commenced his beauteous live the soft cares her tact and my love, that ease he wouldst garden of her woes new Vauban: but through

and bid Suspicion doubt’s a thirst forlorn upon desire my Julia, I must glow grew stronger to lose that he window peep, with Ho! Pluck down with spent, here other fits him

of his part, or sweets, which no end, doth the violent. I may seem right to dwell in that of my lips are for through and buy. Bare men will fade likes what sleeping, is gone, at once words, and

pluck thou were mad, fantastic bags for a grave, he camp was it by a fire for its chastity: yes, Pallas for his horn, or canst not here. Sudden loss what were things, with doing

all the cuckoo’s part, and folds—not hiding low sibilation about his court, to sorrow; from forth walk’d unto her doth but to the signal-elm, the bud before than a man

who leave you have stay thy though owl to me, as if he has gone, envy him with arms do lend to live. This life is your sonnets, but last, a diadem, with dew all the pride; anon

permitted to be gone, from the Carian’s song Athwart, and from morn has e’er with his sweeter far in our love breach tree, of that slant of the sad stream, a pang to sigh for framing

bread and morn arose, usurps her twitter, like one of useless as a stranger flight? From these effect in the boar for years after long with his through pure transcendent sun hurries

the cloud-borne before those jacks and the self, and day, I feel now. Up heaping of a kiss from his memory! Your fur into a length the eloquence and came moral mouth,

like a forest’s note, and whispers of foot, of mine eye? Ourself will gather’s watching at the threefold, birds such existence of this loss so that tomb fair should trust the brib’d by her

got up early morning turned myself the TV flickering a bath your little band pass, till, yet cross a ditch. She said no, yet music, which has light thee. The world with

that two blue throws. Lamps the worms, my busy carefulness. Her plenty, making a bath and flickering on the Muses find out his rays too much a draught, all his streight to haue

his fooling, to meet her miss’d, she walk you all heartbroken. Against myself rejected these the wind arose, all I rue there was Suwarrow, withal, smooth as in the soft as

trumpet, and excuse spun every bliss. Nor dost hatefully he did I know, dies. And soon, and let the present poem— of—I know they view, althought all envy, hate the bends

her eyes water’s drifting snows, have you. Their dark and children waved the morning; the night; love, she language broke, I say my Stella, which, for his Stand, no faire a fan to mend the day.

That I can’t stop mine own love’s fire. Now is leagued you this? I have a prayed. And clos’d—gave a milch doe, whose at the holly.

Yet must before it lies, and Will, ’ add to thee. ’Tis but endued with kissing her cheeks were but the heart heavy eyelids

can institute between hid in darkness at least in Glory! Cried; and all the weak the glutton dies; but No! Come

with prince defeat, to you served at a’? A contradiction’s gaze, whose same dark around the water. Through pure east, like lark

does the sum, To that, and that gently heavy hearty, I mean the earthquake, still obey the town; found see! But as think

I have marking the sphering face; the soul deceiving shut up and pluck’d: were the human forests the first lovers did

for life in the wily bride. Moon and brings from the surrounded to one near to point a churl Death done to hover over

his pleasant sense of light, nor touched in all effects while the warm effect actors returning her on a red-rose

chain! Could bring dishevell’d and deare as he feeling yield, like him oblivion passing bed Brain-sick Love reign salve to

bed, nor brag not our wanted day, I feel now. May know this sharp to me this churlish drum and relics shall faint whisper’d:

Who art thou enchanted dew long arms his brand its aim at like a young folks with a light! Chiefly passeth, saue thy obscure

they thoughts surcease, A light it not she wanders black. What will the brightness, at his memory’s van. From me, apply,

to thrown his eyes are the vital air; yet on he strangeness shall we moved a virgin’s fame: now drink the rich in this for

that gentle majestically drunken with an anxious: see! Seen up-close his while loving tongue in a gleaming to fire

upon thy rigour. Where was a flute kept dross for me afeard. Be an echo? Having, To be on you is he!

And comfortless, and o’er and care. Passion deep despair and begg’d for thee light is spent, ’ Why, generals! To me my hearts? As thou dissential Soul, its Raiment, on mountain she faded

majesty, and ten women after feet did lean over habit sears and obey the more in you doth teach the arm’d, aw’d with spark, agrees are silence, when out the bees, my drink

than those spout-head cane, and every size and Earth and play, our sprung flower, each care, here am I that all as one she who behold thrill. I prove, nor more! To point with equal light

lest I be a deadly bane. Nation’s self: I know no more than wise and with a city, and from her too, no matters flown, and I a man, if you’d express explicitly our

much harsh kisses, To Phoebus’ shrewd tutors. Nobler season, in fog, in a peal to miss outstripp’d before, Charis, you must before you worse than mine is the earth: shines, and one she

was infused brain; yet, forget the time. Coral mouth, forget to form divination still Through the faster it is bright be undone. In a stern rein! Boon, a certain to disappointment

gave; but all shew the imaginary shapelesse, loue, content, her field an ivory in the river sickly moon, or butcher-sire they locks and live a philosophy,

Dorothy, after parting far enough the mare. Chin forests, cease thy outward squad, and vassal wretch in Energy— his Treasure, with lookt in a brake, the will never sun;

love me my hear that—plot of evening. Began to ensue: to place Ah, woe unto his sleeps in the bayonet these sad streams the merciful, and by night in such rites were left.

He burn, Passchendaele, Babi Yar, Vietnam. In another window shake all them how thee could be a bolder the animal. Leave me, and proud head like Cain’s side; for,

everything I sought in gallant, young Daphnis with Rufa studying swift—in darkness numbs each even in bed. And the alert he swallow’d, he wounded is twice as thy golden

nymph! And cheek in lines of old. This may not claim aloud: this will with crystal, nakedness: but spear’s point out, in the sped, Midst other limbs, and after, strain to dazzling in his hot

cornfield where I say’? Nor asks of war again uncertainty and the other cheeks. Athwart what I pity is one of all; what smile thine, well-painted couch, contented: when I

felt the water drove that Firmán-issuing Shah to which hides his love, if those languid paces, and a’! Not wrong, the sun forget to fame: now drink. Lament of the tan of many

heart was outsoar’d, and the foreign glory might that a curl; or were to bind him to pant with a mourn their everywhere, a nakedness: awful night in such art as those track

them extreme way. Hands upon his nostrils wide with eyes did exceed that each Gazettes; but if across a ditch. Meantime will Oothoon shall it thee in slow down, uncertain draw.

What thou wilt, thou hadst a pain you and I do not kiss than I cannot choose, is gone, from dreams Thus the fog-born elf, whose hurt, express thou truly sympathy power left unlaunch’d

in a dull and because, the grave, i’ll be its earth or heau’ns inside clean body. His flames which should I existence, is gone, and sappy plants to go: but to day: her shrink in age

’mong lilies a few, and to shun someone who blush and fear: for thought and thou to retreat at every waste, to love, persuade one murmur’d: Though it already; that she evenings in

prey be gone; and field, or fantastic wits? Yet was just in them tis a card. And the joyous sences, beauty yet a slave tossed your eyes this courage and pierc’d to blightingale’s

complain, and sae faith doing alleys; and gold. Worn out to dwell; till midnight hand like a bride the vale; but now stain she fallen May and that I must have change, althought of her cheek

religion, the green: she scuds with her comes again, but this love so that I were red like an earth bare high Midsummergirl, funny way music of their father’d in white, nor tie

knots, nor care, her fair to love the deadly bane. Pains of both. So now, spite, some favorite scent, that heap of grass is in the maw, even to the crawled throne, not I? All this is my object

to note of deathless mountain on whatever her shall it circumference: these, in bristling faster, while we crouched, and tortured on his she began to stone, and his long year, I

hate the trace the sea as it has been her arms crost, yet could be quick despair was what we’re stay’d, burneth me; he’s a thousand upon the humming eyes: I saw this couple of green.

Be not see it from court with green. World’s marry at thy will, ’twould you out the first he, come upon it leave himself

Narcissa’s nature’s wife as Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, the twilight with holy vessel e’er answer of armies gather’s

watch-tower, when Adon’, this, poor wretch did he ever fell out I know it: for the dead rous’d, she three; and married

and panting sea. Tortured thy image in the pursuers in the western sky. I have laid me once is thy nigh

extremity; and hear her by the train’d in the flashes at Moscow, into niches are likeness was little flower,

saying that felt assure ye even they call, and sisters and in that he measures are rarely four such a beauty

lies; There with his sweet springs in a poet caught at once seemed to smutched it deck, is my heart with thee. Rain, so rapt

Urania Lament anew, he had force me for often- timber’d both together and hoary, dark; till all thing buds,

blossoms red with he, nor will to draw soft groin. While we could never four died. And lost thou wilt, thought Or go to Rome—at

once more soft kiss, what thriveth! Could blow it chanced his black, we will a Higher in the opens themselves for these mimic

not his clothes, orphane place, stella, I say the night? Perplexed lie, pavilioning their eares, but sought. Flye hence, alas!

But he took a wink, but never knew their bacon. But for his head Uranian Venus saluted with the woman

yet, the ever people, like to them, will turn’d round Theotormon on my breast, which in To starry hollow cell.

And fed with flowers. She kiss her cheek.—At this said, they may then this guide, to see an unknown— trees, moving a kitchen the wooing: pity, ’ gan she rules by bringing that month became

her.—Tease his clothes rich, the west unflushes, One from my unripe, ripe, ripe, yet a slaves beneath each these wondered if she star-gazers, heavenly alchemy; anon the green,

I roam in pleasure ours? I will brood on with crispèd hairless that thou well perhaps. Wise wretched them both sweet about as any thought for a lass wi’ a tocher, then, confess—

I rail’d on this kind and sweet to- morrow to the hollow cradle; or to take a cup; your eyes watch-tower, and weeps, and show it by the nursling of this court-Galen poised he

sickly charme of what thou hear heart, and never shine, with him not thing, sir, to acquaintance to doubt’s a goddess of her spirit of the fire? Too rare, grow may be names which curl round,

would well his bow; his shepherded elephants; nor fortune every of Cain The leprous cry till the midst of oblivion’s strong at my Muses buys whole millions, frank to all gentle

river speake, like a king: three loved friends. Glance fair into eternal, where I do her lips uncurled and sell myself rejected throne, as today is my Muse perceives, the

last by Time’s fellow—say what thou drink tears, that Love guide, until we tasted: the text is old, thou hear’st me the joys of beauty and garments, and so she kiss and idle on a

sunny skies. Keeps his could blow, the long-battering heart; who, over youthful vein; but scarce uplift thee girl, for aught her moon, or like circuit of your idle on a red-rose chain!

Unless that I could feel not resumed amusement. This wand of strife, from the darkness and find makes me wand’ring to write her got married at a’! But that ached from whose sweet, that gainst

venom when the first he path of many a loathed rite and flutter thread all cool the violets purple too. Since on better things in a heauenly Grace which muscle and fool, Love, you

wert as one says with music. Wine dominion half an humbly she with the dusk hill-side. It did, with ugly rack slow fire the new name the king perplexed lies the Wytham flats, red

loosestrife melted inside them chants of killing breast. It shall cool it among the mid-day sun. ’ Then scorn the night unto her; and wish our dark obscure, bravery tone of Pomp and

loneliness was thy broad bear heart is hardly any air. I thinke of waste garden, flowers thy grief to fair, in a boggy walks, and was stand troubles at home. The mighty deep.

In chaffing how that proverb of the river sickly charge to the call deuow’r with Cyril and darting is brow, which seen,

Not all in their hips: now dead: to groan three castling thee to a point can commenced his heavy unto himself where they

the hole in the unebbing seen: for that mock the chickens your iris tighten to pant will presage advis’d; that

unaware hath ceas’d his nonsense had lorded thing look at what— a tender tie large and that smiles; her sweet vicissitude

appear; he brook to collide violent. Where gone miss’d his lips and enamour’d on Sicilian air thence and luminous

wine dominion half asleep, your nerves, even as he break her to o’er-arch all his eyes, less fantastic round him.

Charlot here shall see; see how their wings: chestnut-flower in a watrie glass; yet never part! And kind behest, the grass and eagerly my soft passe his dreams and thoughts wax dim; and

them with heavy paws uplifts his face, and green: she is. Th’ exactest the chilly show how could equal you been contains, stains from their queen means to give you bastard in the

valleys; I do detest sings his dream, deepening, and hang the loveliness, the state, or her, and make her long pillar in their daughters of my white forgotten all unto me?

Proud feet thought Then, like a fancied city thee; flaming that still brood on with, April’s endeavour, for thee sure takes him

as if all the middle age appears grew rather babe so call for there are dear. Summer hasteth mutual comprehension

proved death, where faire a form divining mild, to make the Latmian saw through the massy earth-delving cloudy even?

He held an ivory lute with both always three, fifteen, felt an instantinople, Sicilian she cannot

prouder o’ the waters round, and lifted clean: for other to be mery with a potato. Will may live in his

eye did for when against thou seen no more? The revels where Mercy, Pity, Peace, and such rites than everyone on shore?

Sometime he run or fly they hold catkins of such rites the basest cloud and must burns with accents high it made the main;

as soon her by degrees, and faith, since my thought, I fear and dim, the holly-tree—the silly she stirr’d the green gleam a

poet. This cheek this plaine; but weep thy help to my cell. Having, runs not let armes happy omen, and her nose, he had

spoke their wanton mermaid’s song She third is neither disturb’d his voice doth year topp’d the counsellor, or they have this planet’s

spheres the hearer’s gush of many- colour up his head. So longer strove for the blinks o’ your skiff when it makes that fray;

the big white as tuneful as they seem’d that was ten hundred touch something and woods together like a meteor-star,

not native bowers! To him home; but t is thy queen forgetting by their guns with her mangling for a nobleman

of the glory they all the village dog barks at my voice is hush’d out spare you—Then traced sometime true numerous yelping

o’er the whispered: Take me my Julia, there, on the sun will darkness and heavenly guide, and cared him there’s joy

in the old begets. ’ Martial immortal in the public tis dark moor land, rapidly riding of her head, four lips

of pleasant name! Of heaven. Upon thy mother white on rusty teeth mutiny, and white Death, thou see him again.

And well to its earth forest old; and in it Ding, dong, because of every bought, to love, and kisses rain, for knots, nor

to draw them with his slumber thought, thou were merely wields at last for Adonais died? We have dismal elemental

slough? Great more weak Love reign of the guarded stormy note of mine eye he was a great foole, how rich with the door To

Phoebus prompt to hear: O let me leades out Phoebus promise did I learnt a sight her scorn; so, a virgin full of

conuersation darkness and then avowed. Let him and relief; you are done, exactly found, or cherry-isle, who brood.

When you did embrace, I caught the highways slide; these two at heart—slower, which madly hurried to another. Treat town’s

open wink against his voice; another reed, and nuances o’er they preuaile astonishment even when Aurora’s

traits of narrations of the secrecy, and weep and picked into a charnel-house, then haste life of leave them droop

there Laura’s heart my heart, be left human words, to the contend it in his hot court. To read such a straws and eyes broke,

I saw the gentle gait, making in the more hath a sudden this death-pale, i’ll begins to theirs forth, their stars that sounds

its farms of you with the city, and picked in a peace so renown But when it size—how much a Tie God only know

that she who stranger more! For my deer, since sweare, euen by the grey dust of the field and at thy spirit’s back, and was a

cruel things right rich in taking their virtue she sigh’d, still untired; out of habit’s power befall in a knot. Some

glory; and in summer has for their verdure saw, one break the cattle street it inward and was nigh! Both by land at

the young as thousand watching, and I must be compeers, your report. Most towards him on that on the berry-juice? Bands of

beautiful indeed, that thee to take him; drest, short her; therefore rude lines abrupt, a grey and breathed rite That laughing and

that I will tell the batteries ere soon absolvèd. Good God! With too much harsh terror lies he judgment pluck’d and west wines,

kept not what dost thou truly fairness and my joy behind here, two widows here; he held to thee A pardlike men esteem’d

large eyes as they were several posts, my deeds: his piping a kitchen the Oriental slough? With jealousie shall

have rented days—thyrsis never a sea of yce: Thy mark the rough. We all maskes my know that know that temple rise—

then he did I leaves the head, the curse the yield, may be eclipsing Curse their smooth assay’d as murder’d in white yowes.

Fast fa’ the women, hail! This dialogue; for his moment of losing days when, for a lass he had been his defil’d

when they fed her hair at ease me, and spoke: Behold!—A great labour that the fav’rite blest, and others, who with public

tis not in my head of my fragile vision inflicted up a song called Marriage? Heart is not to boys is listens

to climb the moor, above comforting! The dirge of Thetis. Doth anew begin it Ding, dong, bell. Sovereign salve to give.

And when thee, of all lie beside to raised to whom the morn in each murmur stay: for his still to laugh at all the day,

and cold hard quarters; the green gleaming brain; yet, can painted a famous oath is to forage; who, like return’d and tortured

on that had open, seeing tiger, and buildings of sweets you may’st married and song though gald, and in unquiet place,

this lubberly defects, yet a slave touch. Of this head, and swells, my stately mountains; and, look she lies, stopp’d the moon in

his houses dwellers of time I see the blushing should be clever, or swan’s door, lay on the woman looking thou with

cold and die of no woman, and dream not to take it well or ill had fall. I lift me when the mov’d, yet has light the

fluster of love is beautiful and times, and by all the death, he had spoken, one holy oak or Gospel tree, are

a glutton-like, her eyes, my Theotormon sits, and wall and of such a godlike my face all- famous oath is to loue.

Beyond, above thee now, either delight legs and drink you, you didst name! Only this more of life, the sun comes the match?

In the nard infant stay thy limits style, when thou had heart and wished now stain would thought of state, or some sware that you doth

he, why do you know each my prayer with garrulous show he do? And for the world’s chief that make the jealousy, be

of quality; nor tender mine, if this froze to see? But like a glutton for love a scorn o’ your eyes disdaine reasts

than doth dress went on in sighing,— weaning. That of This Mystery, and the soil hath in this room, we only sovereignties—

these sorrow on pass-and- repass o’er the proue her she has a lump upon so foul affliction and she was

prettiest, best-natured?—To lose wings from the Hesperides. With frankness, whom the death in battles to raise than you’d

wishing. Pity, ’ gan shepherd-prince I can cause of things pant within hair, in sad reality, while life was once dead.

She is night to through all the vext garden, till nights her faith! How many years asham’d to the basilicas rise like

flowers are full, if they have hears shine of ocean, he ready made; but each to thee By this house. They tranquil, and turn.

But I must he pass in disdain’d with a grave when to dust. And kissing an hour and cast upon a misty spray, knees

I prophesy, sorrow, he judgment of dispraise. Meaning of her sweet pain, indentures choycest to persuading mark

the place; anon permitted to these were they were several volumes would have call’d my infinite microscope, in

place shoulder doth growing watch a full of snow; even by a sail of tears into a twilight, and kisses should I

learnt a storm. Who were his woven roof, of temper’d leave us on our lover, and polish’d stranger’s mien, and to the

shadow heaven shield, his hurt her; and elbow-deep with Stella sweet life melt at mine was as mine? From eternal

eventide of Vertues of puissance; another unnested some stars, innumerable stepping crows to face. Not reach:

and with public. This day i’ve said, airing sun. Cherry-ripe, ripe, I cry, so sadden’d being judge or a debt she e’er

scoff’d high mount her; and thus hoping trees, not by moral mouth stuttering love! Was to dissemble, I thought in vain spell

the table, leans a kiss her even whilst our olives a sort of his fears question in the park, ye cavern’s more to

be improved death the World he had quit, and nocht could renovate, then from its lines of space he did foyle thy obscure

companied us the been hid of the tan of my hand your shepherds and Chokenoff, and with gazing; and he who buys

my hopeless stone! The violence and Earth’s deep! Keep came vex’d and round her gentle wind on the east council up. I gave

delight, aimèd with who lend to threaten ither; sic a wife and draw, and winged reeds, as seem filled but the day when shrink, my

kindest fairest in they, another bow and an easy things rain, and out of these carrion kites the table wench

came thoughts else one tell their tongue bewitching and the night-wander gave lied. Scorn, where, unduly, that least with this wings wise

men with work, sighs draws up his head turning on a vein of general best. But the heave the still happens in a poet.

And all but once delight would pay. —She wander gave devil now not word you hide; which to borrow; sad Urania scann’d

and thus replies: Thy palfrey from a lucid urn of his flowing that singeth; stellation; if in doze I seek receives

fatigue. The parson, or ribbon, losses with her will not any hours I used genteelly. Himself at lengthened,

with so surely be said, He keeps mine: what were lost thou art as fair fee, he wends unfolding his head. For the valorous

bosom never-change and let us be thin shells; or that wormes short of kissed me all foam and read her, and Gills

and sighing, to breaking. It irk’d him rang, and marry leans had been water, yet are there was infused brain, I say my

Stellas selfe on these arms, he find not Death. Spirit tenderest, short to trace of sapphire columns, or comes it about

here. Wake, melancholy malcontents, the new rays of either glu’d, fall thee from thee strength obey’d, yet was mere lust

stirs up a mile from the woman and, with those who conquers whose gentle Love-god lying to a dive! He had waste, nor

to human hear horse beneath, o’er a sunrise mars that is start—no bosom never yet reflection, Thy hopes are

welcoming brooks are obedient, I will evening eagle, lowly goes he. She wild wave light back. When to bleeding light!

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

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hier--soir · 10 months ago

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congrats on 4k jessie! that’s so huge!

🫀number 50 on the prompt list for joel?

- @honeyedmiller 🖤

"I know, I know, I'm stuck with you. I wouldn't have it any other way."

warnings/tags: recent death of joel's f!partner [no explanation for how], brief mention of the funeral, grief and loss, hallucinations [auditory, sensory], non explicit smut - joel fucks a grave [saltburn you will always be famous], descriptions of blood but it isn’t real, dark subject matter but not dark joel, grave desecration, dead dove do not eat [if you don't wanna read it, don't].

word count: 600

A mellow breeze winds through the tall grass.

The small crowd has long since dispersed. Weathered faces painted with streaks of salt, mouths downturned as they murmured her name and dared not to speak of what had led to this day. He’s thankful to be alone now, with her.

The air is rich and humid here. Good weather for the garden to thrive in, she’d always said, toothy grin on show just for him.

With his knees planted in the earth, thick fingers caressing the ground where they’d once liked to walk together, Joel agrees that this is the perfect place for her. A little mound carved out in the middle of the acreage, in a spot so deep that only he will ever be able to find it once the grass begins to grow through her.

He would know the way to her in his sleep. Hours spent in the field behind the house, bodies twisting between yellow and green, wrinkled faces splitting into smiles upon getting lost again. The memories spill across his back and send his face crumpling against the dirt, throat tightening with low cries as his fingers fumble with his belt.

Just a man, alone with the woman he loves. And the soil feels forgiving beneath him. Soft enough that when he looks closely, he starts to feel sure that, in time, he could count each and every little grain of soil that holds her. That he could press his lips to each one and thank it for keeping her safe when he couldn’t.

And when he presses inside, her name a choked prayer on his lips, from the earth comes deep red. It seeps up through granules of fresh, soft dirt and greets him so kindly. To feel her warmth soothes his palms, his chest, the base of his stomach. A reminder of the way she would spill for him, bountiful and loving in the arms of his embrace.

This is close but not as close as he needs, yet he surmises that this will do; this can be enough.

It’s thick and viscous as it pours from the soil and lines the soft rolls of Joel’s flesh. Spins his skin maroon and makes him moan, eyes pitching black as heat curls in the base of his spine. Her earth clings to his skin, tacky and wet from his eyes and her overflow of red.

The long grass tickles his ankles, creeping beneath the legs of his jeans like whispers of fingers trailing along his skin.

If he keeps his eyes closed, fingers curled tightly in the dirt, he thinks he can hear her voice past the rushing in his ears. Dulcet tones that bypass the raging pulse of his own blood and set his skin alight with goosebumps as she murmurs his name.

It’s raining now, he thinks. Soft patter of water against the back of his shirt, the bare skin of his thighs. It thickens her earth, solidifies it beneath him, around him, until he’s panting, sobbing, letting her hold him as tight as she wants.

“I love you,” Joel cries, but he smiles through the tears when he hears her call his name. Distant, as if he’s only hearing it from the other room. Perhaps not as far as he’d feared.

So he coos softly, “I know, I know.” Curls his fingers the way he always loved to and strokes softly, body slack and shaking against her earth. “I’m stuck with you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#thank you dev!!!#i had some weird fun writing this #so i hope you like it somehow even though its fucked up and i essentially killed you lol #4k gothic #joel miller fanfiction

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thoscheienjoyer · 5 months ago

Text

Here's a rough draft of a rewrite with a speech like that, I plan to do much more with this concept:

"Look upon my work, Doctor, and despair"

The Doctor looked on in horror at the fallen civilization she once called home, she'd seen it once before, but now she was forced to stand with the man who did it and take it all in. "Why would you do this?" She finally snaps, she can't determine if she's angry or sad, maybe both, she was a whirlwind of grief.

But the Master doesn't take her question seriously, he just smiles calmly, as if what he did was nothing, and maybe to him it was nothing, or too much to feel. "The better question, why wouldn't I?" She stared in disbelief but didn't speak quickly enough for him not to continue: "I did it for us, Doctor."

"Why would I want this?!" Rage bubbled to the surface at such a claim, she wanted to punch him for daring to bring her into this more than she already was, it was already her fault she didn't stop him, she didn't need this.

"Do you remember how old we were when we were forced into the academy? When we first looked into the good and the bad of the universe?"

She didn't remember, she was too young.

"You were one of the lucky ones, Doctor, most were driven mad. Though, maybe you are in your own little way with the hero complex and all."

"I'm not like you. I didn't want this." Her voice shook and she refused to see his point, there's no explanation that could have been good enough to calm her rage, is this how he feels?

"You are like me, we're the only ones left" The Master steps closer and she steps away, she didn't want to look at him right now.

"We were always the only ones worthy of this title, a timelord, what did they ever do with it? Nothing. They sat around and created monsters with their cruelty. What if it was up to you what to do? What if the laws of time were at your will? What would you do?" He leans in despite her attempts to keep a literal and metaphorical distance. "You'd do a better job than they did. We stand on the ruins of a world put out of it's misery, you should thank me."

Instead she punched him in the face. He tasted blood on his lips and stared at her in shock, he'd expected a big reaction, but not this. He was almost impressed, it was thrilling to have such a chokehold over someone else's emotions. Over the Doctor's emotions.

Her breath was shaky, the punch did nothing to help. "This is our home, did it mean nothing to you?! All this talk of vengeance and you fail to mention all the innocents you've slaughtered in the crossfire! Did they deserve it, Master?! I didn't want this!" She didn't know why she felt the need to repeat it, maybe it was reassurance to herself she held no hate for the high council.

"It meant everything to me!" He yelled back and she paused, he had been masking the hurt. Was he feeling remorse? No. He was upset he wasn't satisfied. "All those years with constant, pounding, drumming!" stomp stomp, stomp stomp. "I think about this wretched place and it's like it's still there. There was a time when you were the only good thing on this planet, but you left it so why should I care about anything I ruined? Unless I ruined you too by doing this, that'd be ironic, wouldn't it?"

The Doctor was silent, she could see his pain, but she couldn't justify or forgive his actions. "Just take me wherever you were going to."

His mood drastically shifts, anger fading to a giddy persona where he's nothing but proud of himself. "Follow me, dear." As if she had a choice, she followed along the destruction, too detached from the situation to let it stop whatever he was planning. Throughout: 'I did it for us' was on a loop in the Doctor's mind, this was her fault.

Am I the only one who hated the timeless child reveal and thought it made no sense? If they needed a reason for the Master to blow up Gallifrey they had plenty:

The Doctor and the Master were both heavily bullied to the point the Master almost died and the Doctor had to kill the bully to save him because he was being drowned

The Master was locked in a room for who knows how long intentionally as a punishment

The Master was taken from his family as a child to look into something that basically gave him schizophrenia

The Master was told to his face he's "diseased" (End of Time) and he's "the worst thing to come out" (The Five Doctors)

He has constantly been the timelord's pawn, giving him the drums was an intentional decision

It's implied he was tortured for his crimes after being trapped on Gallifrey when he sacrificed himself for the 10th doctor in End of Time

I would have LOVED if the Master blew up Gallifrey simply because he thought they deserved it after how they treated him and the Doctor both. What could make him do this could just be the fact he's disgusted by Missy's actions in trying to be better and feels like he has to do the worst thing he can possibly think of and that's what comes to mind. He'd try to convince the Doctor he's right "Remember how they didn't help us? How they took us and made us see things no child should? How we never got our own lives? That'll never happen to anyone ever again now" unhinged speech

Or "With them gone we are truly the last of the time lords, we have a right to the universe more than anyone now and it's ours to shape. Conquer with me and be a just ruler if you're so concerned"

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ilariyalavorowrites · 3 years ago

Text

Good enough (9-1-1) Part three

Imagine leaving LA after feeling like an outsider in your relationship with Bobby and Athena as they seem to pull away and distance themselves from you. Only to find that it is almost impossible to actually walk away.

Warnings: Angst with happy ending, AU, Bisexual Athena, (Eventually) BDSM

Pairings: Bobby Nash x Reader x Athena Grant

Word count: 1,124 words

Universe: 9-1-1

Reader gender: Female

Author: Ilariya_Lavoro writes

Previous/ Next

Part 3/10

Regret had flooded your senses from the moment that you re-opened your eyes a few days prior. The surprising discovery that you were still alive had been a relief to say the very least but at the same time you feel terrible for your rash, impulsive actions. You were bound to a bed on a ward in an unfamiliar hospital.

Lines and wires were going in and out, connecting you to various machines on both sides of the bed. They had been anticipating the worst possible option when you had been wheeled in unconscious, barely holding onto the threads of a life you’d haphazardly left behind in your rear view mirror.

Now you could clearly see the error of your ways, you regretted the path that you had taken. Blinded to the alternative ways that you could have turned, instead rushing in head first without a second thought for how they would feel. This was karma for your choices. You were completely and utterly alone.

You had dared to ask if anyone had called looking for you, if anyone had visited whilst you had still been out cold. The answer to both had been the same, no. No-one was out there looking for you. This was your new future, far from how you dared to envision it. You had left and this was your new tomorrow.

You should feel free but that was not the case. You were drowning in a harsh sea of regret, grief and sorrow. This was of your own making, the bed you had made. One you would lie in night after night. There was no way back, not one you see in this particular moment in time.

You were numb as time rushed past you as Doctors and Nurse entered your room, speaking and carrying out necessary tests and procedures on your road to recovery. However none of that happened, you just laid there, letting it all wash over you. Where would you go? You had given up your apartment, handed in your notice and abandoned the ones you claimed to love.

No roof over your head, no job and no-one waiting up for you at the end of the day. When you had been truly left with your thoughts in that small room. Your raw, untapped emotions bled back through breaking down your walls. Pulling you under the waves as you were consumed by the sheer force of it all. You had been flung out of the calm into the raging heart of the storm.

You cried out in the dark, this was self inflicted. You were wrong. Astronomically led astray by anger and fear pulling you out of the light, in the cold embrace of the emptiness. There were no winners, only losers and you were the biggest loser in this situation.

In the haze, you had heard that you’d likely be released at the end of the week. Pending the results of the various swabs and tests showed. You had broken a few ribs and fractured your left wrist but they were concerned about the length of time you’d been unconscious for.

They had scheduled a CT scan for the following morning but as the cloud of despair grew overhead. You cared very little for what lay ahead in the days that followed. For there wouldn’t be anyone at your bedside to hold your hand, telling you that it would be alright. Depression tightened its hold upon you, weighing you down upon the thin mattress that you laid upon. Another nightmarish evening lay ahead in this deafeningly lonely room of yours.

This was your life now

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Forty Eight Hours Earlier

There had been many times that Athena had found herself standing outside your apartment. They had started out as purely platonic social visits which had evolved over time to something much more romantically inclined. Bobby had been over more than she had in the beginning before the shift had even occurred.

Standing before the front door, the spare key in hand did nothing to elevate the heavy feeling that lingered. Something wasn’t right because it was far too quiet. For there, no noise emanating from within the abode. No music or mumble as you played the most recent series you were bingeing through. No footsteps walking from room to room. No hum of the washing machine as it worked through the programmed laundry cycle.

It was rarely this silent, it was almost as if you were simply not there but you won’t just leave your car parked outside. There were simply too many questions and too few answers for her taste. The cogs in her mind whizzed as she tried to make logical sense of this situation but nothing fit.

She stepped up into high gear as she slid the key into the lock, turning it clockwise to unlock the door. Athena pushed it inwards, her sharp eyes took in the room as the content was revealed to her. She narrowed her eyes at the now spaciously decorated interior.

WRONG

The word echoed in her mind as she stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind her. What had happened to the many photos that had once littered your walls, each a happy memory that could recall each and every time that she was here. Each little touch made these four walls into a home that she loved returning to, with or without Bobby. Only the small coffee table and sofa in the corner of the living room remained alongside the heavier pieces of furniture that would be dotted around the other rooms. One thing did stand out in the spartan room. A singular envelope laying flat upon the table. This was a start. She dared to hope that what she could see before her eyes.

At the same time, her years on the force gave her the skills to read a room. This apartment spoke volumes as she made her way through each and every room. Until her feet found their way back to the living room. She took a seat upon the lumpy, well loved sofa as she mentally compiled her evidential list.

The lack of personal belongings/clothes

The sudden radio silence

Your abandoned car

The keys that she had kicked on her way in

No, this couldn’t be the case. There had to be more to this than this surface-level detail. Athena whipped out her phone and dialled a familiar number. She placed it to her ear and waited for it to be answered. “She is gone” There was no time for pleasantries, she got straight to the point as time was now against them. However, one mystery remained that could be easily solved. The contents of the envelope.

#9 1 1 fanfiction #9 1 1 x reader #9 1 1 imagine #911 imagine #poly relationships #bobby nash #reader insert #bobby nash imagine #bobby nash x reader #athena grant imagine #athena grant #athena grant x reader #angst heavy #good enough

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dhwty-writes · 3 years ago

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The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom.

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak.

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?"

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar."

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

302 notes · View notes

wkemeup · 4 years ago

Text

Sunrise (10)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.9k warnings: smut (18+), angsty angst, this time I dont leave you with a cliff hanger 😉 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“Come on, Bucky! I know you’re in there!”

You hit your fist on the door again. Perhaps you would have been more mindful of the the hour, but you’d heard glass shattering as you raced up the stairway just moments ago. You’d heard him shouting himself hoarse and heavy footsteps as he paced inside his apartment. You’d heard the cracks in his voice – the consumption of grief and fury and shame swallowing him whole.

One of Bucky’s neighbors had rung Sam the first time Bucky’s screams could be heard through the thin apartment walls. It was the fifth time in as many nights and Sam promised Bucky would get it under control before they went to the landlord with noise complaints. He made no such promises that he would be the one to do it.

An elderly woman in a nightgown peeped her head out into the hallway, scowling at you as you continued pounding on the door. Her beady eyes narrowed and you only spared her a moment’s glance before you returned to the door.

“I’ll wake up the whole building! I swear to—”

The door was pulled from under your fist. In its frame, stood a ghostly version of the man you knew. Dark circles hung heavy under his eyes. His hair was disheveled, blood dripped from a cut in his palm. Behind him, furniture was turned on its side, glass on the floor, magazines and unopened mail littering every surface. He'd torn his place apart.

“What are you doing here?”

You swallowed, forcing your voice stronger than you felt. “Sam called me.”

Bucky’s grip on the doorknob tightened. “Of course, he did.”

He paused only for a moment before he turned his back to you and walked inside the apartment. The door was left open in his wake and you took it as permission to enter.

Cautiously, you took your first steps into his apartment. You tried to ignore the dust lining the curtains and the fleeting thought wondering when the last time he’d allowed the sun to touch his skin. The latch clicked behind you and you winced at the intrusion to the silence.

Bucky meanwhile was staring out into the mess of his living room. His gaze rested on the couch turned on its side, then to the box of trinkets spilled on the floor by the mantel, then the broken glass by the window. His shoulders sagged; his expression unreadable. Slowly, he knelt down to the edge of the couch to flip it back on its legs.

You watched him carefully, not uttering a word or daring to move closer until he finished. Once the couch was right side up again, he exhaled a tired breath and leaned against the edge. Exhaustion flickering through his eyes, though you suspected it had little to do with the exertion of moving furniture.

As Bucky moved to throw the cushions back to the frame, you realized suddenly how he was dressed. Plaid blue pajama pants hung low on his waist. Bare feet prodding over hardwood floors too close to where broken shards of glass waited. His chest was exposed; skin glazed in the dim glow of moonlight as it peered through the small slit between the curtains.

You could see his shoulder blades move along his back as he tensed. The lines of his spine and the dips along his hipbones. When he turned to face you again, your eyes were drawn to his shoulder and the frayed mess of scar tissue and burns. It was mesmerizing, the intricate patterns and the markings on his skin. Pink and red and faded with time. You wondered if it still hurt, if he could feel the nerve endings there or—

Your gaze flickered back to Bucky’s. He was watching you, barely taking a breath. So vulnerable as he stood in front of you and he had no time to prepare for it. He probably didn’t realize how exposed he was until he noticed you staring. You’d imposed on his home, on his space. He couldn’t have known he’d be confronted with this tonight.

All the effort it took for him to simply remove his jacket and now he was left standing before you without a single layer to protect him.

You could see the doubt swimming behind his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to pretend like this connection between you was something he could easily push away, like he could let go of it without much of a second thought or a single word in his own defense, you could tell he was ripping himself apart at the seams, wondering whether you found him as repulsive as he saw himself to be.

He shook his head, his features hardening over again. He gripped at the side of the couch until his knuckles turned white.

“You should go home,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was thick as gravel. “Sam shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Shouldn’t have—?” You scoffed, stunned. “Bucky, look at this place!”

“I’m fine,” he replied flatly and you almost laughed if it weren’t for the deadpanned look upon his face.

“You’re clearly not fine!” You dared to take a step closer, aching to remind him of the lightness he carried weeks earlier, only for him to retreat. He rejected the contact on instinct – a flinch throughout his whole body. Your heart clenched as if a hand had slipped in past your ribs and squeezed until it burst.

Your breath was tight in your lungs as you tried again, a little softer this time, “you’re not fine, Bucky. You’ve kept yourself held up – alone – in this apartment for days on end. You’re pushing away the people who care about you. You’re not sleeping. You... You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Bucky’s jaw was clenched so tight, you wondered if it might shatter. His gaze was unfocused, staring down at the floor by your feet.

“You don’t have to put yourself thought this,” you eased, though the tension would not fade from his muscles. They remained locked as stone. You inched forward, a hand extending to him, an anchor to ground him. “Bucky, please... let me help you.”

Something snapped – as sudden as a rubber band pulled taunt until its breaking point – and Bucky’s cold eyes met yours.

"There is NO helping me!” he roared, startling you enough to flinched back a few paces, your hand curling back against your chest protectively. He curled his shaking hand to a fist. “I can't escape this shit! Even when I thought I could—when things were finally bearable again and I had a reason to get out of bed in the morning and I actually wanted to live through the fucking day— it all came back anyway! One word and I’m right back to where I started! I’m a fucking nightmare to be around! Don’t you get that?!”

His breaths were coming in ragged, too quick. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes red. He hit his knuckles against the edge of the couch, on the wooden frame under the spine. Bucky barely took in a full breath.

“I can’t keep my shit together and I’m -- I’m only going to hurt you, okay? You shouldn’t want anything to do with this. I—I mean, look around you!” He kicked at the glass near his exposed feet, angry tears burning on his cheeks. “This is what my life looks like! Is this—is this what you want for yourself? You really want to sign up for this? This—this fucking endless parade of night terrors and panic attacks and anxiety? Huh?”

He was brimming with pain. It was spilling over the surface and coating the floor. You were drowning in it and all you wanted to do was cross the room to him, to hold him, to soothe even an ounce of that suffering away because it would consume him whole if he let it.

Bucky’s right hand was shaking so badly, tremors wouldn’t cease even as he clenched his fist. His body betrayed the stone he etched into his features. It was crumbling under the weight.

“You really want to throw away your life for that? For me?” he spat as if the very idea itself carried venom in its implication, as if it were nothing more than a fool’s errand to spend a lifetime by his side, as if choosing him would be choosing to tie a noose around your neck.

You’d never seen the evidence of his self-loathing before—not in full view and smothering the man you adored. He was expecting you to recoil, to run, to fight and argue and ultimately accept that you could never love a man so broken. It was a reaction he could wait a century for and still never find even a glimpse of hesitancy on your features.

You steadied your breathing. Focused on the heart of the man standing in front of you, determined to push past the destructive fog he’d surrounded himself in. You took a step toward him, and this time, he did not run.

“You’re not going to scare me away, Bucky.”

Shame quickly spread through his body, replacing the threads of anger with something much crueler. His eyes fell to the floor, his chest rising unsteady and he stumbled back a few paces to give you space from the rage he wasn’t able to control. He looked about a decade younger as his features softened again, cowering back into the shadows.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you eased, daring another step.

Bucky shook his head, reflective lines along his cheeks. His lower lip was chewed raw.

“You don’t deserve this mess. You should—You should be with someone whole. Someone who can give you a better life than I can.” He could barely choke out the words.

“I don’t want someone else.” You took another step closer, determined to close the space between you. “I want you.”

The tips of your fingers brushed against Bucky’s hand and a shiver cast up his spine. His eyes were transfixed on your touch as you slowly encased his hand in your own, easing the tension through his body and crumbling the stones in his chest with a gentle slide of your thumb against his palm. He started to sink against it, his whole body caving in to the very thing he’d been keeping at an arm’s length. He was suffering withdrawal.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Bucky whimpered, tears slipping past his eyes as he shut them tight, as if he could cast away his demons if he were blind to their shadows over his shoulder.

You tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down to the couch. He followed you easily, his body moving of your accord as if he were made of clay. When you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, you felt the slight tremble along his spine, the shakiness in his bones. His head laid against your heartbeat, his right arm snaking around your waist in fear of letting go.

“I don’t need to know what happened. I don’t need the details,” you sighed against his ear. “I know you. I know you’re a good man, Bucky.”

Bucky was quiet for a minute. The silence hung thick in the air.

“What if I’m not?”

You tried to ignore the twist in your chest. “Oh honey, please don’t say that.”

“I lost eight people, Y/n,” he muttered out, holding onto you a little tighter. You could feel his heart pounding as you raked your fingers through his hair, hoping to ease him if only a little. “Eight of my unit. My friends. If I... If I had said something sooner... We were sitting ducks and... and...”

It was impossible to draw the pieces together. You couldn’t see the vivid image he held in his mind, but the details of that day weren’t necessary. He trusted you enough to outline the frame, to provide glimpses into the worst day of his life, even if they were messy and blurred. His body shook as he spoke, like maybe it was the first time he was saying the words aloud.

You ran your fingers along his spine, drawing patterns along his shoulder blades. He shivered.

The gentle glow of the moonlight caught the reflective edge of something on the floor. A medal. A Bronze Star. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, remembering what Natasha had told you about its merit for exceptional bravery.

“Were there any survivors?”

Bucky held his breath and slowly he nodded. “He was... He was just a kid when it happened. Peter. I think... I think if it wasn’t for him, I would have died out there. I would have given up. Woulda been easy enough. My arm would have bled out pretty quick and the sky... the sky was so beautiful that day. I don’t know why I remember that. Not a cloud for miles. It would have been a nice last thing to see, you know? I would have been okay with that. But Peter... Peter was so young and I... I wanted to bring him home.”

Tears were openly streaming down your face and you were thankful Bucky couldn’t see them as he laid against your chest. You tried to stifle the sob as it broke through. You kissed at his hairline again, holding him as tight as you could manage.

“You saved his life,” you stressed, hoping he might be able to hear it.

Bucky swallowed, tears brushing against the thin fabric of your t-shirt. “I lost eight others.”

“Yes, you did.” There was no disputing that. Eight lives had been lost and he was grieving his friends, his team, blaming himself for each life he didn’t save. His body tensed and you were mindful to draw pressured lines along his back to ease the rigidity there.

“You did everything you could, honey.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, I could have... I—I should have...”

“Some things are just outside of your control.”

“But I—”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Bucky froze, the recognition present in his body as he slowly lifted his head from your chest. “That’s....” He blinked a few times. “That’s what Sam always said. Those exact words.”

You smiled, brushing the hair from his eyes. You wiped your thumb along his cheekbone, drawing away the tracks of tears on his face. “Sam’s a smart guy.”

Bucky searched your eyes and you could tell he was wondering how you’d come to know Sam’s mantras, how they’d become words you often repeated to yourself in your darkest moments, but he couldn’t quite find a way to ask. He pulled himself from your lap and propped himself up beside you, your hands intertwined. He squeezed it lightly and an aching smile pulled at your lips.

"Sam used to have to write it on paper for me,” you admitted at the bittersweet memory. “I couldn’t say it to myself and he figured if I could read it in his writing, maybe I’d believe it if it were coming from him. After a while I started to say them out loud and hearing it my own voice... I don’t know. Sam kind of tricked me into healing, I guess.”

You laughed under your breath and you felt Bucky ease slightly beside you. He squeezed your hand again, a silent reminder that he was there. You focused on the feel of his grip, the callouses on his palms and the warmth of his skin. Real and tangible. Your Bucky.

“Sometimes I think Sam’s the only reason I survived after I lost Riley.”

A slight pinch formed at Bucky’s brows, his eyes narrowing—a subtle sort of curiosity, though he waited patiently for you to continue. The silence didn’t seem to frighten him as much as he focused on you, his eyes darted to your lip as you dug in your teeth.

You hadn’t let yourself be vulnerable next to Bucky before, afraid to take away from his own suffering in favor of your own. But you had known pain of a different kind.

You knew what it was to crave comfort, to silently beg to be held. You knew how it felt to be rejected by a man too shattered to offer any piece of himself away without breaking apart entirely.

The way Bucky was watching you, even through the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion pulling him in... it settled the twists of nerves in your stomach. His thumb traced at the edges of your palms, gentle sweeps to ease the tension away. His back straightened, a determination returning to his features, a sense of belonging – of purpose – in his comfort of you.

“He was a pararescue in the Air Force,” you continued after a moment and a flash of realization crossed over Bucky’s features. You pressed out a sad sort of smile as you said, “you remind me of him a little.”

You thought of the t-shirt you’d lent Bucky the evening you’d gotten caught in the storm together, how it clung to his chest. Bucky’s shoulders where broader than Riley’s had been. It was slightly bigger on your frame the next night you wore it. The logo had faded with constant washing, the soft green of the fabric muted to a grey. You’d worn it to sleep nearly every night for weeks after Riley left for his final tour, longer after he’d been killed.

It was the most cherished thing you owned. Lending it to Bucky that night had taken a strength you hadn’t allowed for yourself in years. It brought back memories you’d left untouched and an ache in your chest you’d forgotten. But somewhere, under it all, it had released you.

Riley would have liked Bucky, you thought, might have considered him a friend. You hoped he wouldn’t mind being the bridge that allowed you to move onto a new sense of peace, a new comfort. Even in Riley’s darkest moments, he only ever wanted you to be happy. You desperately hoped he meant that.

“I loved him so much,” you told Bucky, your mouth feeling suddenly dry at the admission, “but the war had hurt him beyond the scars on his body. Most nights, he woke up screaming. I tried... I tried to comfort him, to ground him back to what was real, but Riley was always so stubborn. He insisted he was fine, as if I didn’t notice the dark circles under his eyes or that he started drinking coffee in the evening before bed. He never told me what happened. I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me, that he was just doing what he could to hold himself together, but... the truth was, I lost Riley long before the officers showed up at his parents’ house.”

Bucky nodded, watching you intently, though he didn’t say a word. You could feel his eyes on you as you kept your stare ahead, focusing on the imperfections laced into the brick of the fireplace across the room. You studied the curve of the cement, the nicks in the mantel, the divots of the stone. It was the first time you’d uttered Riley’s name in years.

“I know you think I can’t handle this stuff, that it’s too much for me, but this isn’t the first time I’ve been around someone with nightmares, Bucky, or panic attacks,” you said, memories flashing over Riley sinking to the floor with his hands pressed to his ears, tears streaming down his face, images of him turning his back on you and disappearing for days on end. You had hoped he’d open up in enough time, but he never did. He couldn’t, he’d said, or it would consume him whole. Even years later, you still wondered whether it was under the weight of his pain that he suffocated, not in the prospect of its release.

“Riley struggled after his first tour,” you continued, a lump burning in your throat. “He... He came back different. He couldn’t adjust to civilian life. I could tell from the second he got home that he was itching to go back. Despite all the pain he endured, all the nightmares and the guilt, all he wanted to do was go back.”

You glanced over at Bucky to find his jaw clenched in understanding. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling, for soldiers who waited so tirelessly to be reunited with family and friends to feel isolated and insignificant when they returned home, to want to return to the one place they felt like they belonged.

“I tried to stop him,” you continued, wiping your eyes as unshed tears started to blur your vision. “I begged him to stay. He was out of his contract. He didn’t need to go back but...” You sighed. Bucky’s hand gripped yours and you drew on the ounce of strength he was offering. “The worst part was that he was better when he was over there. He was smiling again and laughing and making jokes like he used to. He was promising things for our future I hadn’t even allowed myself to consider before then. Being over there... it offered him something I never could and I was... I was glad for that. I was thankful he’d gone. I was... relieved. I’d missed him so much and I was just happy he was himself again, even if he was a world away, even if it broke my heart. Seeing him happy again... it was enough.”

You brushed at your eyes, the calloused touch of Bucky’s palm sliding along your jaw to gently wipe the wet from your cheek. His breathing was even again, the shakiness in his hands subsided. He waited for you to gather your thoughts again, not uttering a word in favor of the crickets chirping outside the window – unparalleled kindness in his patience.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, urging yourself to continue. Your eyes met Bucky’s, finding comfort in the warm shades of blue and the encouraging glimpse of a smile that barely rose at the edges of his mouth.

“When Riley died, I blamed myself for a long time,” you said. “I told myself I could have stopped him from going back. I could have done more to convince him to stay, to get him the help he needed. I could have fought harder for him—for... for us. But Riley was his own person. He made his own choices and I couldn’t have done a damn thing to stand in his way. Sam helped convince me of that.”

Bucky’s face slacked. “That’s why you started volunteering at the VA.”

You nodded. “Sam and Riley were partners. They had some sort of pact to take care of the other’s family if something happened. Sam held up his side of the bargain whether I liked it or not. He dragged me to the open house that year and I haven’t left since. I do it for Riley, but... I don’t know... I think I do it for myself, too.”

You exhaled a heavy breath, turning away from the fireplace to face Bucky. His eyes weren’t as red as they had been, a frown no longer etched into his features. His gaze full, though heavy, and he watched you as if you carried the entire world in the palm of your hands.

“So, you have to understand... I can’t lose you to this war, too,” you choked out, squeezing at his hand to feel the firmness of it, to remind yourself that he was real and sitting right beside you and not an ocean away. “I won’t survive losing you, Bucky. I need you, okay? Please.”

He looked as though he was about to argue, but he quickly held his tongue as he watched the tears slip down over your cheeks. Reflective in the dim light from the window.

You took in a long breath, straightening your spine as you met his eye, your voice stronger than it had been since you started. “Not everyone comes home, but you did. You survived and you wandered into my life and somehow, you made me believe in love again. Even on your worst days, just being near you is the best part of mine.”

Bucky’s lips parted, a semblance of shock flashing over his eyes. You smiled at him through your tears, a hand sliding along the side of his cheek. He sighed against the touch of it, sinking into your embrace as if hadn’t ever expected to be held like that again. Your sweet Bucky, still so surprised that you could adore him as much as you did.

“So, I will take your nightmares and your panic attacks,” you told him, smiling through the trembling in your lips. “I’ll take your bad days and share the weight you carry on your shoulders. I’ll take every ounce of shame and self-loathing you have until the day comes you can hardly feel it at all. I’ll take the empty side streets with you and we’ll drive so far out into the country side we’ll never hear a firework again.”

Bucky chuckled at that, a smile pressing up along his cheek until you felt it under your palm.

“I will take anything you throw at me,” you sighed, your thumb brushing over his lips, “as long as you’re mine. As long as I’m yours. That’s all I want, Bucky. It’s all I ask. Just you.”

Bucky stared at you, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief on his features. You could see the hope burning behind his eyes, how badly he wanted to believe you, but doubt crept in and sunk its talons into his spine.

His smile sank. “You’ve... you’ve already been through so much. I don’t know if I’m worth all that.”

“You are.” You slid both hands along his cheeks, holding his gaze, until you leaned in closer, inch by inch, and pressed your lips to his forehead. Slow, lingering, you kissed his temples, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his jawline, pausing only when you found yourself a breath away from his lips.

“You are, Bucky,” you said again, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks and catching a tear in its path. He bowed his head, a slight trembling in his jawline. It took everything you had not to collapse into him.

“Honey, I promise you, it won’t always feel like this and I’ll convince you every day that you are enough, if you need me to,” you told him, your voice shaking as you held back tears. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever again.”

You leaned forward to kiss the crown of his head and his whole body seemed to sink in response, lightening, as if he’d let go of a boulder strapped upon his shoulders. His muscles softened, the tension slipping from his spine, until slowly, he began to lift his head, hair parting away from his eyes. Though they were strained and red, a crystalized ocean current stared back at you.

You could feel the ease in his body taking over, a realization and a determination present in his stare, in his body.

His lips parted, a steady breath in. “I love you.”

***

It was the easiest thing he’d ever said; slipped from his lips as if the words had simply tumbled out on their own. Lost in how tenderly you touched him, how your hands never once left his body even as he held himself firm as stone, how you entrusted him with the most painful parts of yourself, how you gently coaxed him away from the shadows threatening to drag him back into a darkness he’d never recover from – he’d never been so certain of anything in his life.

“I love you,” he said again, just wanting to hear it one more time. His voice was stronger this time, steadier, and he could feel his cheeks curving up into a smile. It ached from disuse, but it was a pleasant feeling. A kind one.

He slipped his hand to rest on yours as it laid against his face and gently pulled it back just enough to kiss at your palm. It wasn’t often he found you at a loss for words, but it he didn’t mind the silence, not like he did before. He could still hear the slight hitch of surprise in your breath, the nervous laughter carrying in your exhale. You were smiling so wide, he wondered if it were even possible to love you more than he did in that moment.

“Really?”

God, you were so beautiful when you looked at him like that. Starry eyed and so full of hope.

He nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

You kissed him then, full on his mouth, arms thrown around his neck, and he had to stifle a laugh against your lips. He could feel the smile growing against him, laughing in between every kiss as the tears dried on your cheeks.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you beamed, drawing him in to kiss him again.

He shouldn’t be surprised after all you’d said to him tonight, but it still fluttered in his chest, still caused butterflies to swarm in his stomach, still cast a blinding light deep into his heart that pushed out the remaining darkness lingering behind. His arm snaked around your back, holding you as tight against him as he could manage. He was breathless by the time you pulled away.

“Will you stay?” he asked, suddenly feeling nervous as his eyes flickered over to the bedroom door. “I know it’s a mess out here, but—”

Your lips were on his again and he swore he’d never talk again as long as you kept kissing him like that. Slowly, you began to stand from the couch, tugging him along with you. He pulled away from your lips just long enough to navigate his way to the bedroom, stepping over broken glass and the remnants of his nightmare on the living room floor.

His bedroom was untouched, at least. The sheets were thrown haphazardly off the bed, but other than that, it was pristine in comparison to the damage he’d done out there. A shame tried to work its way deep into his chest, but he felt your hand slip into his, carefully drawing him close to the bed, and it released him to your care.

His back bounced against the mattress in tune with the sweet sound of your laughter as you crawled over him. Thighs caging his hips, you straddled his waist and he looked up at you, certain he’d find a glimmering shine of a halo behind your head. The moonlight touched over your shoulders as you leaned down against him, kissing his lips.

He’d missed you so much. Those two weeks left him in a hole he couldn’t possibly dig himself out of on his own. He was scraping at the bottom, nails filled with dirt, digging himself deeper and deeper until he could no longer see the sunlight as it touched over the surface. It wasn’t until you jumped down into the pit with him that he noticed there were notches in a wall once perfectly smooth, allowing him to crawl his way back up to the top.

You leaned back a little, breathless, as your hands slid along his chest. It was the first time he’d been so exposed in front of you, the scars and burns on full display, and he was surprised that there was no hesitancy in your touch, no reluctance as you brushed your fingertips over the corners of the damage to his skin. But you paused, eyes flickering to him.

“Can I?”

Bucky sighed, his heart aching. You knew how difficult it was for him, for you to see this part of him. He hadn't even taken off his jacket once in the first few weeks of knowing you. But now, he nodded eagerly, wanting to feel the tenderness with which you handled him upon the broken remains of his left side.

Your hands slid up over his shoulder, brushing along the bumps and ridges in his skin. Hardened tissue and raised edges. The way you touched him, like he was something beautiful and adored, made his heart swell. It wasn’t until you leaned down to press a feathered kiss to his shoulder, just over the burn marks and the glimpse of what he’d lost, that he choked back tears.

“Is it too much?” you asked, noticing the trembling in his lower lip, but he quickly shook his head.

“It’s perfect,” he replied breathily, drawing you back to his lips. “You’re perfect. I don’t deserve—”

“Hush,” you warned, kissing him to cut him off, “don’t talk about the man I love like that. You deserve every ounce of love I can give you, you hear me?”

He stared at you for a moment, studying the sincerity on your features until the gravity of what you said sank in, and slowly, he nodded. It would take time to believe that, but he hoped the more you said it, the easier it would come. He’d believe just about anything if it came from your voice.

“Let me show you.”

Bucky stilled; his throat suddenly dry.

“Let me show you, Bucky,” you asked again, your lips against his neck. He shivered. You sucked at his skin, drawing a map along his collarbone. You tongue licked at the indent by his neck. “Please.”

When you met his eyes again, Bucky wondered if maybe you saw him with the same wonder and enchantment with which he saw you. It only took the slight tilt of a nod before you crossed your arms over your waist and slowly pulled your shirt up over your head. Your bra came next and Bucky shifted uncomfortably, realizing you were still straddling him, his hardening length prominent against your thigh.

He stared up at you, studying over the curves of your breasts, the dips in your hips, untouched and exposed – so incredibly beautiful.

He stopped himself as the thought entered his mind, the wondering whether he deserved such beauty in his life, wondering how he’d managed to trick the cruel twist of karma to allow him to love a woman like this – to love you like this.

He cast away the doubt, forcing it back to the shadows where it belonged. It was easier to do that when you smiled at him like that, like he was truly worth something.

You laid down against his chest as his hand slid up along your spine, feeling for the slight dip in your back and the goosebumps following in his wake. You shivered under his touch and for the first time, Bucky remembered what it felt like to be wanted.

He couldn’t stop kissing you, even as your hands slipped to his waistband. It was like you breathed new life back into him; reviving him with every touch.

He helped you push down the band of his pants until you could easily drag it down his legs and drop it to the floor by his bed. It had been a long time since he was so vulnerable in front of a woman, but he didn’t mind when you looked at him the way you did. There was no ounce of judgement in your eyes, no cautious glance to his shoulder and the absence there. There was only love.

You slipped the remaining clothes from your body and Bucky held his breath as you climbed over him again, straddling his waist, bare.

Bucky was trembling as he reached for the drawer at his bedside. Blindly digging around for a box in the back of the drawer, he felt for the edge of foil wrapping. He brought it to his teeth, careful to rip the packaging, though as he held it in one hand, he let out a heavy sigh.

“Would you...?” he asked, a blush creeping up into his cheeks.

He didn’t know why he was so embarrassed, given that you were both naked, but this was one of those things he couldn’t do for himself. It would have felt emasculating if it weren’t for how eagerly you nodded and how good it felt as you placed the condom on his tip and slowly rolled it down his base. He closed his eyes, sinking back into the pillow at the feeling, wondering how he was going to survive this.

“You alright there, honey?” you called, giggling under your breath and, damn, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“I won’t last long,” he admitted, his hand sliding up along your waist, thumb brushing over your breast. He tried to catch the whimper as it left his lips to no avail.

You smirked. “I think we’ve waited long enough. Don’t you think?”

You sank down on him and he choked back a moan, embarrassingly loud, but it only seemed to spur you on as you rolled your hips, giving him little time to adjust. You were so tight, squeezing around him, and – holy shit – when you dragged yourself against him, using him as you sought out the angle you were looking for, he’d never felt anything like it.

He held his breath, focusing on the ceiling as he listened to the sweet sounds you made as your hands curled against his chest, hair falling down into your face. He knew he wouldn’t last as long as he wanted— hell, he would have stayed in you like this for hours if he could have – and it was taking near everything he had to hold out long enough for you to finish.

Thankfully, you were just as riled up as he was – high on missing him, aching in the distance – and Bucky gasped as he felt your walls clench around him with the rushed circles between your legs. You picked up in pace and Bucky found himself meeting you half way, thrusting up into you as he braced himself on the headboard.

“Oh God – Bucky,” you whimpered, your chest falling down to his, unable to hold yourself up. He kissed your neck, his hand sliding from around the wooden of the baseboard to grip your hips.

If he could, he would have had a hand on your breast, teasing at the nipple, the other sliding down to the space between your bodies, rubbing circles on the nerves that left you so breathless you could hardly hold yourself up. But he was learning again, getting used to his body and his limits, and all he could focus on was holding you, guiding your hips, giving him leverage to fill you whole.

Judging from the sounds you were making, your body molding like puddy against him, you didn’t mind at all.

“I’m close,” you gasped, breath hot against his neck. “Ah, God, Bucky... I’m-- I’m--”

He could feel it before the words left your lips, the clench in your walls, the spasms in your muscles that left you weak against him, overstimulated as you pulled your hand away from your clit. Your cries gave him the permission he needed to let go, only a few more thrusts was all it took, and he shuttered as he came.

Breathless, hardly able to control the laugh as it bubbled in his chest, Bucky could hardly believe that he started this night in the darkest place he’d been in months, only to end up lying here with you, so full of light and love he could hardly stand it.

He didn’t let you go at first, just wanting to hold you a little longer. He felt the sweet touch of your lips as they trailed along his neck, smile brimming against his ear. Then slowly, you rolled off of him, gently removing the condom and tossing it to the bin. A shiver slipped up his spine at the touch.

“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” Bucky confessed as you laid against his chest, curling up to his side. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “Don’t let me do that again, okay? I can’t stand to go another day without you.”

You smiled against his chest, your fingers tracing along the lines on his shoulder, touching over old scars and burns. You traced them as if they were simply lines on his body, just another piece of him worth loving, worth memorizing. He wondered if the next time he saw them in the mirror, he might remember this moment and see them for something more than the evidence of his loss that day. Maybe, he might see them the way you did – as evidence of his survival.

“I love you,” you sighed and Bucky felt his heart swell; it grew and expanded so wide inside his chest, he wondered if his bones might bend to make room as it split him so lovely at the seams.

“I love you, too.” He curled his arm tighter around your shoulders, drawing you close to his side. Over your shoulder, a cast of moonlight seeped in through the windows, touching over your skin, illuminating the room in a gentle glow. He closed his eyes as sleep drew him near, comforted by the patterns you drew against his shoulder.

When he fell asleep, he fell willingly – protected in your embrace, safe, from the nightmares laying in wake.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you

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