#push out casement

[paulinecroze]

Mediterranean Bedroom - Guest Large tuscan guest light wood floor and brown floor bedroom photo with green walls and no fireplace

[worldoflunatriix]

Vinyl New York Large two-story vinyl gable roof design in transitional yellow

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

The Blackwood Knight prt.4

Disclaimer: Back to my usual shenanigans with another installment of Benjicot angst. The stakes are getting higher. Plus the start of the crossovers Victoria and I have planned with the Jump then Fall series.

Description: In which the Blackwood Knight bends the knee before his Queen.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Playlist:

One Thing~ One Direction

Risk~ Gracie Abrams

Only Girl (in the world)~ Rihanna

I think he knows~ Taylor Swift

A silver moon shone through the casement of the turret window of Raventree Castle Benjicot leaned against, staring out across the expanse of Blackwood vale towards the borders of Bracken lands. His arm raised above his head, leaning against the wall, soft candle light cast shadows over his disconsolate expression. Never had he wished to cross such an expanse before, so long had he been the arbiter of the very border which he now wished to dissolve. Raised as he was to inherit the Blackwood estate and lands, he was equally set to inherit the duty to further propagate the ancient enmity between the Blackwoods and the Brackens. A duty he had never railed against until now.

His thoughts turned to the lady whose beauty of mind and form had made him question all that had once seemed to him so certain. The very lady who he who he was determined to make his lady wife. He could not very well ask her to leave her whole life, her family, her House, to be at his side. He would not ask her to. Instead, he resolved, he would dissolve the very borders between them.

An amused voice broke his reverie.

“Oh look, it’s our resident troubadour, musing over his lady love.” Benjicot’s friend, Robb laughed at him, elbowing him in the ribs.

Turning to him with a bemused expression, Benjicot responded “And what if I am?”

Rob laughed again, turning to lean jauntily against the castle walls.

“I thought you were a man of action. Why don’t you just march down there, bend the knee and offer yourself in marriage to her. You bore me enough with your plans to do just that thing? Do you think she will refuse? I would if I were her.”

Benjicot pushed his friend in the shoulder, but his expression betrayed a hint of insecurity behind the action.

“That is definitely a concern. She is very shy and I cannot be sure that my love will be returned. There is also the small matter of our warring Houses. I would not merely be asking her to accept me, but also my House…and to forsake her own. I will not ask her to make such a sacrifice. I must instead find a way for both our Houses to resolve their differences. If my world will not accommodate her, I must tear it down and begin anew.”

Robb met Benjicot’s gaze with his own incredulous one.

“Trying to get the Blackwoods and the Brackens to resolve anything without the use of extreme force is beyond belief. Just the other day I encountered that Bracken fellow you like to refer to as a peacock, attempting to move the boundary stones further into our lands and I had to restrain myself from making him eat the damn rocks.”

Benjicot’s eyes darkened slightly, “that fellow is incorrigible but he is also, I’m afraid, the cousin of my lady, so I can’t very well dispatch him…though I have thought of doing so…many times.” He looked off into the distance with an almost wistful expression.

“I would not direct my proffers of peace terms to such an idiot. The future Lord of Bracken Hall, Aeron Bracken could be more reasonable. He does not wish for further bloodshed and may be amenable to a settlement. A dispute at the border with his own lady has convinced me of this.”

A mist had swept over the Riverlands overnight, coating the grass expanse with dew drops, as Y/N walked towards the Brackentree, struggling to contain her excitement at seeing her knight. Her thoughts continued to turn on the events of the previous day, when he had spun her close to him and had gazed at her with a look that held something behind it that almost convinced her that he harboured the same feelings that she did for him towards herself. Almost, for she had convinced herself in the intervening hours after he had walked her back to the outermost borders of the Brackenwoods that he thought of her as just a silly girl with fantasies of chivalry that he entertained only to be kind. This didn’t seem right either, considering his behaviour towards her. His actions had sometimes made her hope that the opposite might be the case, that he might grow to love her, as she did him.

Each day that they met to walk along the border of Blackwood and Bracken lands, he would bring her a book or a piece of art he believed might interest her, especially as it related to great female Targaryens like Visenya. He would hold her arm over his so gently, as he guided her across rockier terrain, sometimes lifting her across it by the waist, after first asking. If it was colder, he would unclasp his crimson cloak from his own shoulders to wrap it around her own, smiling at her as he did so, before making a comment about how well the colour looked on her. So often did he make comments of a similar ilk that she sometimes pretended that it was because he wanted her to bear the colours of his House, as his lady. But she quickly dismissed such thoughts, embarrassed at even entertaining them.

At Bracken Hall she was a shadow, unnoticed, unimportant, and frequently mocked by her cousin for her interests. Benjicot, in the way that he would meet her gaze directly as she spoke, nodding and smiling attentively as she did so, made her feel as if what she had to say was of value and his frequent offers to ‘dispatch your cousin’, whilst only jests that made her laugh, made her feel that he truly cared. All this aside, Benjicot was a true knight and she knew from his behaviour towards a lady from a house loyal to the Brackens who had encountered some hostile Blackwoods that he acted with chivalry towards all ladies. Perhaps his actions were just that, perfunctory, even if they were kind.

With these confused thoughts turning in her mind, she hardly noticed that she had already arrived at their meeting point, before she bumped into a hard obstacle. Crying out in surprise, and struggling to keep her footing, she felt an arm wrap around her waist, and another around her shoulders, as she looked up into the warm brown eyes of Benjicot, who smiled down at her in a mixture of amusement and something softer she couldn’t quite identify.

“Nice of you to drop in, my lady, although I had thought I’d have to do something truly heroic to get you to fall into my arms.” Lifting her back to her feet, he moved his arms to hold onto her elbows to steady her, holding on for a few moments longer than was strictly necessary.

“My apologies,” she said quickly, “I was distracted.”

Noticing the pink on her cheeks and her slightly panicked expression, Benjicot feared he had overstepped the line and embarrassed her, quickly stepping back to give her more space. When her expression didn’t change, he added in a jesting tone what he meant earnestly.

“No need to apologise, my lady. Feel free to fall into my arms anytime you so wish, that’s what they’re there for. And of course, for spearing your cousin on the end of my sword.” He added, with a wink.

Smiling at him indulgently and pushing his chest playfully, Y/N laughed as Benjicot rocked back on his boots, as if her light touch had actually succeeded in moving him.

Pushing him again for this jest, Benji placed his hand above hers on his chest, arresting it in its place. Smiling down at her, he held her hand in place like that for a few seconds before moving it so that he could graze it with his lips. Gently dropping her hand back to her side, he nonetheless retained hold of it, as he turned to direct them to their usual walking route through the borders of the Brackenwoods.

After a few moments of walking in contented silence, Benjicot began, “This knight has a proposition to put before his queen, if she be so pleased to entertain it?”

Turning with a laugh to swat at him, Y’N responded, “you jest!”

Catching her hand in his once again, Benjicot stopped them in their passage, looking into her eyes earnestly, “Do I?”

“You know you do” she scoffed, moving to continued walking, before Benji once again stopped her by taking a gentle hold of her elbow.

“I am sorry to hear you say so. I have begun badly already. I’m afraid you will have trouble listening to the whole of what I will say.”

Seeing that he looked genuinely troubled, she stopped to gaze back up at him.

“I’m sorry, continue.”

“Well,” he hesitated, taking a step towards her, to close the distance between them, “I would like to ask you a question, if you would permit it.”

Seeing her nod in acquiescence, he took a deep breath, more on edge than she had seen him since he had rescued her from his bannermen, before taking her hands in his and bending low, head lowered before her.

“What are you playing at again Benji” she said, half in amusement and half in confusion.

Smirking at her shortened version of his name, hers alone to use, he drew strength from the feeling of her smaller hands in hands.

“I once offered you my service as a knight in your protection. I meant it when I bent the knee before you that day and I mean it now as I offer myself to you as your husband and protector. I would dedicate myself to your happiness and ensure that your days and nights were safe. I would have you be my lady wife and the future Lady of Raventree, if you would have me.”

Fearing to look up at her and gage her reaction, Benjicott kept his head lowered, awaiting her response as the agonising silence continued.

To his surprise, she harshly withdrew her hands and began to walk away from him without a word. Momentarily stunned, Benjicot looked after her retreating figure before rallying himself, hurrying to catch up with her.

“My Lady” he called, to no answer. Repeating his call, she turned with a stricken look that made his heart drop into his stomach, seeing that tears were forming behind her eyes. Berating himself in his mind for upsetting her, he frantically replayed his words in his mind, trying to find the source of his blunder to correct it. Unless, of course, it was him, himself that offended her so. A painful thought, but one he would try to accept if it was the case.

“What is the cause of your distress, are you hurt? Have I said something to offend you?” He hurriedly stumbled out.

“You have hurt me.” Y/N responded with a hitch in her voice.

Feeling a sharp pain in his heart at this, Benjicott stumbled back a pace and lowered his head.

“I am sorry for having done so, please forgive me. How can I make amends” and more desperately he added, “what can I do?”

Y/N lowered her head, avoiding his gaze before responding in a quiet voice he had to lean towards to hear, “don’t make fun of me.”

Raising her voice slightly, she continued, each word a lance to his heart.

“I have endured enough mockery from cousin and his friends about my interest in knights and queens. I had thought that you, at least, would not do the same thing. I had thought that…that we were friends, that you respected me enough not to do that.”

As she had been speaking, Benjicot’s expression had become increasingly distressed and then finally determined, as he realised his blunder and the source of her pain. She did not believe him.

As she hurriedly turned to leave, Benjicot grabbed her hand.

Turning in frustration, attempting to wrench her hand from his firm hold, Y’N demanded he let her go.

Benjicot stepped towards her, wrapping his arm around her waist, closing the distance between them

“I will, once you listen to me…please.” He added, as she stopped struggling.

He raised his free hand to gently graze her cheekbone with the back of his knuckle, before tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I earnestly apologise for having acted in a manner which caused you to disbelieve the truth of what I have said, but please believe me when I say that I have never, and would never, mock you. Especially for something I myself most ardently believe to be true: that I am your loyal knight and protector, whether you will have me or not, and would be your husband, if you would allow it.”

Recognising in Y/N’s direct gaze a desire to search for the truth of his claims in his eyes, he lowered his head towards her, so that she could look into his eyes more easily.

A few more agonising minutes passed for Benjicot, before his lady’s gaze seemed to soften and she said in a soft, questioning voice.

“You are in earnest?”

“I have never been more so about anything in my life.”

“And you want me?”

Chuckling at this, he stroked her cheek again, “No, I mistook you for your peacock of a cousin, obviously.”

Laughing at this, she raised her own hand to wrap it around the back of his neck, causing butterflies to rise in his torso.

“Then I will be your lady.”

Breaking out into a smile, which conveyed love and admiration, Benji lowered his face towards her slowly, stopping intermittently to check for any sign of distress in the expression of his lady.

Hovering his lips above hers in hesitation, gazing into her eyes with a look that asked for her permission, he moved his hand to hold her head as he gently grazed his lips over hers, deepening the kiss when her arm wrapping around his neck made him sure that his lady was in fact his to love and adore, as well as serve and protect.

Breaking the kiss, he continued to hold her head in his hand, gazing down at her with a reverential look that could only be for a knight towards his queen.

Her expression suddenly becoming distressed as she pushed him away, Benjicot briefly panicked that he had, after all, been too forward, until she told him her fears.

“But how will I become your lady if I belong to House Bracken.”

Smiling in relief that he had not been the cause of her distress, he once again took her hand in his, raising it to his lips before he assured her:

“Don’t distress yourself on that account. I will find a way for you to be both Lady Blackwood and Queen of the Bracken lands. I’ll burn the borders down myself if I have to, although I am very fond of my boundary stones. Perhaps I will have to take my good friend Robb up on his idea for them.” He returned, a glint in his eye.

“And what is that?” she asked with a slight tone of disapproval, anticipating an answer very much along the lines of the one Benjicot would give.

“Oh nothing to be concerned about, my sweet, just feeding the stones to a particularly troublesome peacock.”

We love desperate and pathetic men on this blog.

@lovebabe18 @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress

[inkykeiji]

character: todoroki touya | dabi x fem!reader

genre: smut | dark academia au

notes: this was technically supposed to be for the ‘ravens and crows’ prompt but it grew and it grew and it grew and so!!! here it is! set in my dark academia au!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, toxic relationship, rough and messy facefucking, semi-public, dubcon, dacryphilia, cum swallowing

words: 2.7k

The air in the library is sticky, humid and heavy with the heat of late summer. The casement windows, made of crystal and wire, are opened wide, letting streams of setting sunlight paint the aisles unhindered. It turns the library a hazy gold, highlighting the dust motes wandering aimlessly between the shelves, dislodged from their cozy homes of old paper and rotting canvas by curious hands. 

The wind howls gently, gathering stray leaves in its gusts and hurling them in swirls at the bricks, disturbing the tap of the ravens and the caw of the crows; a warning. 

Summer will be dead soon.  

A breeze meanders through the window, cool on your damp neck, and you hum softly, fingertips trailing along the spines, looking for the gaping space to wedge this recently returned book back where it belongs. 

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice him; don’t hear his Balenciaga boots or his soft breath, don’t see his shadow creeping up behind you, slow and steady as it engulfs you, don’t realize anything until it’s too late, until one arm is wrapping around your hips and the other is slapping a hand over your mouth. 

The sudden action startles you, a jolt of surprise coursing through your entire body and yanking a yelp from your throat, only to be muffled by the palm clasped tightly over your lips. 

He’s laughing in your ear, low and smooth, dark and decadent, a sound that pours over your body like a slow, thick syrup, leaving trails of chills in its wake.

Bigger than you, stronger than you, smarter, faster, better than you, he spins you around with ease, trapping your body between his and the bookshelves, the sharp wooden edges cutting into your back. 

“Surprise,” his breath wafts across your face, stained with cedarwood and smoke, word drifting through a lopsided smirk. 

“Jesus, Touya,” you’re nearly panting out, chest heaving against his. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Why not?” he asks, a slight pout to his voice. “You’re so cute when you’re scared.” 

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes, attempting to push past him and back to your book trolley. 

“Hey, where you going?” his hips shove forward, forcing your legs to part, the jutting bones  carving into your inner thighs, effectively keeping you pinned. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

And although his voice is amicable enough, the glint in his eye is sharp, shimmering as it catches on the setting sun, the ghost of a shiver climbing the notches of your spine, leaving each vertebra icy with dread.

“I don’t care whether you’re finished with me or not, I have to get back to work.”

“Aw, come on, you can hang out with me for a little longer.”

“Touya, I need this job. My father doesn’t own a tech company like yours does. If I’m caught—”

“Then I will pay for whatever you need, simple as that.”

“Yeah, right,” you snort. “And con me into being indebted to you for eternity? I don’t think so.” 

“Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Sounds like hell.”  

“I can think of worse.” 

“I don’t think I want to know what goes on in that head of yours.” 

That gets him to crack a smile; genuine, terrifying. Sapphire sweeps your face, slow and scrutinizing, gears of his brilliant brain beginning to shift in thought. A beat of silence passes before he speaks again.

“Gimme a kiss and I’ll let you go.”

“God, could you be any more cliche?” you struggle against him again, trying to worm your way free, and he pushes back hard, forcing a short, high pitched cry from your throat.

“I didn’t say on my lips.” 

“Oh, fuck off—”

“You’re brave, talking to me like that.” 

“Touya,” you say, and although it’s supposed to be a warning, firm and sharp, the name trembles on your tongue, wavering with fear. “If we get caught—”

“Look around you,” he says, eyes gleaming as he raises his brows in question. “Do you see anyone else?” 

No. You don’t. 

You don’t, because you’re in one of the furthest, deepest corners of the library; secluded, hidden, and utterly trapped. 

He’s been waiting for this. 

It dawns on you then, that he must’ve been following you, tracking you, stalking his prey and biding his time until the opportune moment to strike—when you were alone, unassuming, and entirely unarmed. 

His smirk has grown into a grin, stretched unnaturally wide across his handsome face, tinged with a deranged sort of glee. His eyes are soaking it all up, every little micro-expression that morphs your features as you realize the full weight of the situation.

“C’mon,” he breathes, hips rutting against your inner thigh in barely there gyrations. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

“You have?”

And you hate the sheer desperation in your voice, the question breathed out in a single breath, quick and airy on your tongue. 

“Of course I have,” he knocks his forehead against yours, malicious smile still in place, the words said like a slap to the face, like you’re so fucking stupid to think otherwise, but it’s so fucking precious how eager you are for the confirmation. “Don’t you want to be good for me and give my cock just a teensy tiny little kiss? It misses you, you know, can’t you feel how much?” 

And he sounds so fucking genuine as he shifts his hips between your thighs and presses his cock, now hot and hard, into your core, grinding up against your clit. It forces a moan from your chest, soft and pitchy, lips pressing together firmly in a pathetic attempt to silence it. 

“Don’t let me down now, sweetheart.” No, not after all the trouble he’s been through, all the watching and waiting. 

Oh, you would never, could never, even if you wanted to—no matter how badly you wanted to.

Glowing sapphire watches as you slide down his body and sink to the floor, kneecaps on his toes, delicate fingers making quick work of his belt, picking at the heavy chrome buckle and tugging at the strap. It clinks together as you undo the zipper of his jeans, the weight of the buckle pulling his pants open further, denim folding over. 

And God, his cock is so fucking pretty, dusty pink and smooth as velvet, save for that one big, thick vein that runs, almost perfectly straight, along the bottom of his shaft. 

Your mind is already beginning to evaporate into a dense fog of lust, starved for his praise and eager to please, torrents of saliva beginning to collect in the cavities of your cheeks and pool beneath your tongue.

A thick bout of shame surges through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough to dispel the hedonistic haze Touya casts over your brain.

He holds it steady for you, a slender hand wrapped around the base, pupils gaping and unhindered as he watches you inch forward, puckered lips pressing a sweet, sloppy kiss to the tip of his cock. 

It’s open-mouthed, tongue swiping over the slit in a swift caress and collecting a weeping bead of precum, bitter and salty as it seeps into your tastebuds. 

Pulling back, you stare up at him with desperate desire slapped across your face, lips parted with panting little breaths, a glimmering thread of precum keeping your mouth connected to him, and holy Christ, he’s breathing as he smears the sticky substance across your chin and your jaw with the steadily leaking head of his cock, painting you in stringy webs of him, that’s so fucking hot.

It’s being shoved past your lips and down your throat without warning—there never is any, not with Touya—and you sputter around the unexpected intrusion, a film of reflexive tears shielding your eyes. 

“Good girl,” Touya breathes, and your jaw automatically stretches wider, peering up at him with a sort of insatiable devoutness. “Take it all for me.”

And so, you do.

Because he’s hypnotic, his presence an instant, addictive, irresistible pull, his praise and respect even more so. They’re drugs you gorge yourself on, drugs you vie and scratch and scream and claw for, drugs that make you feel pathetic, but drugs you can’t stop using nonetheless. 

Because praise from Touya makes you feel like you’re on top of the fucking world. Praise from Touya is a hard, precious, valuable resource to come by, rare and not easily doled out. You have to earn it, he had once told you. You have to really deserve it. 

“Yeah, yeah, s’it,” he encourages as you endeavour to swallow him more, to suck him down further. “S’a good girl for me. Go on, make me proud.”

It’s always speckled with a hefty dose of sugared degradation, cooed yet condescending. But the praise that falls from his mouth, cracking with sincerity as his head tilts back, strong jaw on display, the lines and ridges of his neck moving with his voice, soothes any sting his insults could bring. They make it all so worth it. 

Because Touya has what you wish you had, what you want to have, what you will have, according to him, if you stay his good little girl. Touya has executive access to that exclusive, elusive upper class world; a place you’ve always been able to worm your way into with pretty smiles and batting eyelashes, but a place you’re consistently pushed out of. 

Touya can make it permanent. Touya can find a spot where you belong, where you snap perfectly into place, cozy and comfortable as if you were always meant to be there—easy, effortless, effaced.

And, really, that’s all you want. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

Acceptance, belonging, community. 

So you take him down your throat with ardency, wretch your jaw open further, hinges straining with a dull, dense ache, doing anything and everything he says in an effort to make him proud, just like he asked you to.

You’re barely able to get a few good pumps in before lithe fingers are curling around your skull, palms pressed to your temples and thumbs digging bruises into your cheekbones as he grips your head tightly, holding you in place and wedging his cock down your throat.

The pace is brutal right from the start, the pounding of his hips so powerful that it has the tip of your nose repeatedly slamming against his pubic bone, swollen lips leaving crude kisses of saliva streaked across his skin.

The slap of your face against his groin is grotesque, paired with the sick squelching each thrust procures and the pathetic, embarrassing sounds oozing from the corners of your lips—choked off gags and snuffed out whimpers and those pitiful little sniffles, hiccuped with each hitch of your chest. 

But they all feel so good around him, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good, so you don’t try to stifle them, borderline weeping around him, unbridled and unreserved. 

Your fingers curl in the waistband of his jeans and briefs—a small comfort to hold onto as he fucks your mouth raw, hips snapping rough and fast and downright ruthless.

A condescending coo slips from between his lips, as if it’s precious that you need something to ground you while he ravages your throat, knuckles pressed firmly against flexing thighs as you cling to him, and he takes it as an invitation to speed up, movements turned vicious.

Your head thwacks off the edge of the shelf behind you, sending thorns of pain searing through your skull. A loud whine vibrates around Touya’s cock, the sound rammed back down your throat by the head, and he groans, deep and guttural, Adams apple quivering with the sound.

The sharp agony radiates, a deep ache that burrows into your neck, and you can feel the sore spot beginning to swell. It knocks against the wood again, your eyes snapping shut with a wince, tight enough to crinkle your lids, the motion dislodging tears from the corners, cascading down your face in fat, sticky streams.

“No, no, no,” he’s panting. “Keep those pretty eyes open for me.” 

Your lids spring open again, an involuntary reflex, a zealous attempt to appease their master, lashes heavy and weighted with tears, sparkling crystal drops clinging perilously to clumped spikes. 

Anything, anything, anything for him. 

And, oh, how those eyes shine for him. Such pathetic, pious dedication.

“Fu-Fuck,” he nearly whines, the curse hoarse as it splinters in his throat, eyes voracious as they drink you in, soak you up, swallow you down. “Yeah, yeah, jus’like that.”

It hurts, but it’s over quick; only three more pistons of his hips before he’s holding you flush to his gut, his whole cock jammed down your throat as it spurts hot, thick cum, that one vein throbbing on your tongue.

You’re absolutely sobbing around him, strings of snot infused drool dribbling from your lips as you suffocate on his flesh, lungs beginning to burn, shriveling to ash in your chest. Instinctively, your head wrenches, desperate for oxygen, but he growls, the sound so deep, so dark you swear it rattles his ribcage. 

“Hold it, hold it,” he keens, hips twitching a little as his fingers strengthen their grip, stamping bruises into the already puffy contusion, blunt nails carving deep crescent indents into the back of your scalp. Your struggling stops almost instantly, coughing harshly around his cock, and his hips jerk, a moan shattering on his tongue. 

You can do nothing but take it, take it all for him, just like you were told to. What a good little girl he’s caught himself. 

It’s only after he’s emptied his balls into your stomach, forced all his cum into your tummy, full and bloated, that his grasp finally lets up, tugging you off of him with knuckles rooted in your hair, groaning a little at the thick ropes of milky saliva tethering your mouth to his cock.

You’re sputtering the very moment he lets up, whole body shuddering as you gulp down razored air.

“You look so fucking perfect on your knees for me, baby,” he’s rasping out, collarbone shimmering with perspiration as it heaves. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier sight.” 

A whine slips from your lips, and he takes a moment to admire you, sapphire sweeping across your face in slow, deliberate motions, almost as if he’s cataloguing your expression, outlining it all—the tear-stained cheeks and the spit-slicked chin and the sheer devotion spilling from your lashes—and searing it into the fabric of his memory.

“You’re a piece of art all on your own, aren’t you?” 

Maybe you are, with streaks of glittering salt soiling your bruised cheeks and crystal dewdrops suspended in your spiky lashes and his cum, ivory and pearlescent, oozing from the corner of your lips to roll down your chin in thick dollops of cream. 

His pupils are cavernous, carnivorous, ragged little pants exhaled through parted lips, stare unblinking as he watches drops of his cum drip off the line of your jaw in sticky, viscous cords, mixed with your saliva, drizzling onto your bosom and soaking the unbuttoned collar of your shirt. 

“What a fucking mess you are,” he breathes, thumb and forefinger grasping your chin and yanking, forcing you to look up at him. “What a fucking mess I’ve made of you.”

All you can do is whimper and nod, fingers clinging to his waistband as you paw at him, a pitiful attempt to get closer.

A masterpiece. His masterpiece.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Did I fuck the brains from your skull?” he tuts his tongue, mouth fashioned in a mocking pout, eyes shining with amusement. “Where’s that smart, snarky little girl now?” 

“Wanna be good for you,” you drool out, looking up at him with lidded, bleary eyes, glistening with admiration, with awe, as if he’s the most magnificent sight you’ve ever seen, as if he’s a fucking god. “S’all, Touya, s’all.”

“Oh, precious,” he murmurs, thumb caressing a rapidly developing bruise, gaze following his movement for a moment before connecting with your own again. “I know. And you will be.” 

He promises, you will be.

Outside, as the light dims, sun devoured by the rapidly encroaching darkness, the ravens and crows pick at carcasses and caw into the night.   

[astralnymphh]

unrelated but please write more fluff 😭😭 i loooove your way of writing sm 🩷

okay, let me just think of something random I can make into a poem to lighten my blog a little. think i'll do artist!ellie. first drabble thats mostly just poetry woop woop? (you'll see this kind of stuff in any fluff/angst/fantasy au i write) cw: internal organs mentioned, kinda angsty? idk sorry i get DEEP. thats it.

There's an artist in the bungalow.

She's got a mane of fire and a heart of clay. She is everything but skin and bone— for she has borne houses of stars and planets alike. The cosmos is her, and she is the cosmos. In her kindled hand is a means to create, whether she a weeping willow or gone livid in the pursuit for her head. Anguish be her tale of past days over this bungalow, because when all hope was sunken without acquainting grace, you rose upon it on two feet in ache.

You've a body similar— wrists that rebuke gold and sprout isles of lichens interchanging of your fine sylphine hairs. Borne was you, arteries dropped like glue and fled this earth like wax into hot gas, rising and rising somewhere new— instead, branches lie dying with you, inside you, a part of you, giving life to the marrow that is pulsing you. Wood is rot, bark is flaying, you are falling, that is okay. For the cosmos are desolate and resplendent with corpses by the shedload too. She is you, and you are her.

That's why she reached out for you, gave a hand made for crafting— and crafted you her partner.

One day, she took you through her quaint, oaken bungalow. A finger she lifted, pointing out everything mundane and.. commonplace. She pointed at her casement brown—trim windows, calling them the 'eyes of our house', watching the eons age this house away. She then pointed to her hallways, and likened them the 'throats of our house', swallowing every being and spitting them out a whole new person. She would give a last point, towards her bedroom and deem it the, 'heart of our house', for it pumps with life and watches bodies lie there— aging, waning, ever becoming moribund with their lovers held dear, pulse to pulse.

And you question sweetly, "Why are you telling me this, Ellie?"

Why?

Why elucidate the likeness of a visual so natural and so unquestioned in the form of organs? You question, but you do not look. Ellie replies, smooth of her tongue, "Wouldn't be fun if I just said it was my house." completely skipping the main trigger for question— 'our, our.. ours' and no longer just, 'her, her.. hers'.

It is your house. It is her house. It is a bungalow.

No odds about it, be it a jerry—built swamp house, a boxy mansion cruelly boasting over a crag, or a cottage swarmed in pixies preordained to rot in the woods it relies life on; it is a being. It eats personage, lets them linger, and absorbs them at the end of their existence— just like the earth will when it dies. Houses are like us.

Roofs see the same night airglow we gaze at, splayed amongst the grass, you lay with her.

"There's the little dipper, and.. that's the big dipper." croaked Ellie, aiming that same pointer towards the realm above, the dotted fabric we call 'the sky'.

"How can you even tell so easily— is there something wrong with my eyes?" quipped you, pressing the flank of your fist into your cinched eyes, clearing them.

"D'ya need me to point them out again?" She rolls upon her side, rending grass stuck onto her back, "Cause I can point you all the constellations visible right—"

Silenced. You push up on elbows and toss a hand to cradle, bringing her face into yours for a word—gobbling kiss, letting the dying hum vibrate down your chest. Ellie talks too much.

"Nhhmm.."

Satisfied. Spit smacking apart, it draws a line from pink plump to your plump of lip, and severs when you depart enough.

Her lower lip rolls inward, sucking sweetly of the spit you laid upon her mouth, coughing, "Ahem— that.. so you don't want me to show?" Dumbass. "No."

"Ooh—kay," drawled Els', the shuffling of leather and lawn surfing through your senses just a moment as she adjusts, planting that charmed chin on your shoulder— smushed like a rotten apple, "No show." and smiled, bless her smile.

So you lay, let the lay of petrichor waft into your head, and sleep away. Sleep away the life, sleeping away with yours— and hers.

just a teensy bit rushed but hope this is suitable

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 3:  On a Dark and Stormy Night

Prompt 3: Tempest - FFxiv Write 2024 Characters:  Vedastus, Kasimir @zoetic-tome, Fleur @roses-and-grimoires. 

Please read This Story for Fleur's side and This Story for Kasimir's side.

Vedastus Secariot wasn’t getting any younger.  His legs ached with a bone deep throbbing that promised him agony by morning. A sigh parted his lips. Wind howled outside the stately windows of his Sharlayan home. The occasional boom of thunder rattled the glass in their casements. The weather’s grumbling was not what woke him. His head rolled to the side, pointed ear twitching. No strange sounds warned him of anything unusual.

His eyes cracked open, watching through dim vision as the lightning brightened his bedchamber, laying bare the stark lines of the window. A body lay curled against his, silvering hair spread over the pillowcase and handsome face soft in repose. A frown laced across Vaast’s lips. He gingerly pushed up on one elbow trying not to disrupt the sleeping Kasimir while scanning the far side of the bed and then the room. They were missing a body.

“Fleur?” Vaast murmured the name, sleep clinging to his voice enough to render it scratchy sounding. Kasimir stirred against him, an arm snaking around Vaast’s waist.  The soothing stroke of his hand down Kasimir’s side stilled further fussing but didn’t lessen the weight of his arm bidding him stay put. 

Normally, Vaast would’ve left well enough alone. Fleur’s restlessness wasn’t uncommon, and he always turned up sooner or later to slide into bed with them well before dawn. Such was life with a researcher. The problem tonight hinged on Vaast’s latest delve into feeling his mortality. The recent business with his estranged family reminded him of that all too well.  None of them were getting any younger.

A soft sigh eased from Vaast, and he gently disentangled himself from Kasimir. “Need a drink. Back in a moment.”  The reassurance stilled the protest on Kasimir’s lips into a simple hum of understanding and his arm loosened to allow Vaast to slip from the bed. 

His bones creaked, a mournful violin playing along to the percussion of the storm battering the house. Several steps later and finally the stiffness in his gait eased some. Vaast stood in the hallway, one hand pressed to the wall for support and his head tipped to the side with his ears straining. What he listened for, he had no idea.  Something was not right. A fleeting prayer crossed his mind, uttered briefly on his lips.  This very real fear of finding one of his partners hurt or worse pressed on him more and more over the last few weeks.

“Fleur!?” The name rumbled from his lips a bit louder than before, still trying not to alarm Kasimir while trying to figure out what part of the bloody mansion Fleur may have wandered off to.  

He winced at that thought. Wandered.  Twelve above, the day Fleur’s mind wandered they were all in some serious trouble. He was the most intelligent of them, not that Vaast or Kasimir were dullards by any stretch. Vaast bore the mark of an Archon on his back against a shoulder blade after all. He possessed the mind of an entrepreneur, a business man, whereas Fleur’s mind remained youthfully curious, fitting for an alchemist of his skill. 

His hand dragged across the wall, the sound drowned by the rage of the storm outside.  His home sat on the edge of the residential district, overlooking the sea.  The first great purchase Vaast made after cementing what became his gleaner empire, a home for himself and his then bride. The life he started in this home as a young man was not the life he was to end it with.  Love endured, even in death, and he missed his wife often in the lonely parts of his day.  She’d be proud of him, he knew, that he learned to love again.

Down through the house he wove his way, past the sitting room, through the kitchen.  Stray fingers plucked a scone from a basket along the way.  Impossible to pass up on the cheese ones, they were his favourite. “Fleur!”  His path finally led him down to the workshop, hand rising to press the door open. The harsh drift of Fleur’s voice made him pause, hand holding the door barely ajar by a half fulm. The scone hovered against his lips, teeth prepared to bite down and yet he didn’t.  

“I need more–” Fleur’s voice continued, moving in and out of Vaast’s hearing, breaking up what he could make out. “--More potent.”  Vaast frowned and lowered the scone.  The tone in Fleur’s voice shot a chill down his spine.  If he needed supplies, why didn’t he ask him for them? “--Don’t care what you have to do–”

Vaast backed away, letting the door close once more.  That didn’t sound right.  His brow furrowed to match the frown on his lips, eyes narrowing some.  His hand moved toward the door once more just to halt shy of touching it.  Fingers curled in against his palm a moment before he retracted the hand altogether.  He needed to talk to Kasimir.  The idea of Fleur tangled up in something bad sat like a boulder in his gut.  Vaast turned on a heel and strode away, intent on making his way back to Kasimir in his bed.  The scone was left forgotten on a side table at the base of the stairs next to a vase.

[karahalloway]

The Highwayman: Part III - The Highwayman Comes Riding

Fandom: TRR (Historical AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: On a dark, moonlit night, a highwayman's luck runs out...

Masterlist: The Highwayman

Chapter Summary: Drake arrives, but it's too late...

Word Count: 4,100

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, physical violence, murder, grief, suicidal thoughts, main character death) Do not read if you are triggered by any of these things!

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: As with Part II of this series, this installment is also quite grim and dark. So read at your own peril. There is no happy ending. As before, I have made some changes to the original, but hopefully, these are for the better.

A/N2: This is my third and final submission for @choicesprompts January 2024 Song Rewrite Challenge. The song I chose to rewrite is The Highwayman by Loreena McKennit.

Part III - The Highwayman Comes Riding

The crack of a musket explodes out into the night.

I duck instinctively, pistols primed and itching to return fire...

...until I realise that the shot had come from the casement.

My throat constricts. "Harper..."

But she has vanished behind the plume of powder smoke that now obscures her window.

"Shit..."

I'd known something was wrong the moment I laid eyes on her. She'd been too tense, too still, sitting on that ledge, more akin to a doll than a flesh-and-blood woman...

...but I'd spotted the silvery gleam of the barrel too late, and now all hell has broken loose.

Fucking Beaumont.

I should never have let my guard down.

Heedless of the preservation of my own skin, I leap forward, fingers on triggers, desperate to reach her.

Another flash of orange...

...and my hat sails from atop my head as a bullet goes just wide of its mark.

I raise a weapon, volleys of lead peppering the thatch to my left and right...

...but I am quickly forced to confront the obvious.

I cannot risk it.

The darkness, in combination with the smoke screen being kicked up by the 'Coats flintlocks obscures my sight into the room, and Harper's location within.

And though I desire nothing more than to dispatch each and every one of Beaumont's whoresons to the depths of hell, the truth is that I'd be firing blind. And I wouldn't be able to live with myself if my bullet found Harper instead of a dragoon.

So, I have but one choice.

Flank the bastards.

Spinning 'round, I dash back down the length of the roof, bullets nipping at my coattails. Diving to the side, I return a pair of retaliatory shots in the general direction of the inn — careful to avoid the actual window — so the 'Coats are under no illusion as to the direction of my retreat.

Sliding down the thatch, I push off from the roof to land bodily atop the muck heap.

Not the most graceful of my escapes, I have to admit, but beggars can't be choosers. And I am pressed for time that I do not have.

Rolling off the pile of shit, I quickly sheath my spent pistols and lope towards the barn with sabre drawn instead.

Emile, the stable hand, had paid back my previous generosity by making me wise to the unsavoury nature of the guests that had descended on the inn. So, instead of hitching Drogon and the new palfrey up in a stall, I've taken the added precaution of hiding the horses out in the gorse.

But where I erred was thinking that the Greencoat patrol had sought the inn out for benign purposes. Because it sure as hell hadn't been me who'd plotted the course for them. In fact, I've always taken care to ensure that my tracks never led directly back to Harper.

Which begs the question... How the fuck did I end up walking into an ambush? With Gale strung up as bait?

My grip tenses on the hilt of my sword.

Someone had let the cat out of the bag. They must've. There's no other explanation.

Who? I have no clue. As there are a grand total of two souls who are privy to the secret that I frequent The Crown, and neither would betray me.

Not willingly, at least...

But, first things first.

Skirting along the shadow of the structure's perimeter, I arrive at the stable doors.

It appears quiet. But after being greeted by gunfire once already this eve, I am loath to take further chances.

Pinching up a handful of peddles, I toss them through the doorway. Only when no shots fire in reply, do I dare slip inside.

"Sir?" comes the hesitant query from within the shadows. "That ye? I heard musket fire an'—"

My sabre slices through the night. "Thought I'd be dead?"

The boy's countenance morphs into a mask of horror as the blade comes to rest 'neath his jaw. "Nay, sir! I'd never! I—"

"Care to swear on that?" I interject with a dangerous edge.

"On a tower of Bibles stacked on my parents' graves, sir!" Emile vouches with a tremble to his voice.

I assess the lad under the pale light of the moon. His face is ashen but his eyes glint with steadfast surety.

I lower my blade. "The 'Coats have Harper..."

The hand emits a gasp of disbelief. "Sacré dieu...!"

"...and I could use your assistance," I add, moving to the closest stall that houses a mount bearing Greencoat livery.

"Anything, sir," he proclaims earnestly. "Yerself an' Mistress Harper ha' always been good t' me!"

"Fetch a bag of oats," I direct as I grab the reins of the bay gelding. "And a length of rope if you have it."

"Right away, sir!"

While Emile sets about his task, I lead the Greencoat mount out onto the gangway. Reaching for the girth, I tighten it back up before slipping the bridle off and tossing it into the straw.

"The things ye requested, sir," huffs Emile, reappearing once more.

"Good," I approve, taking the sack of feed from him. "Now, help me lash this to the saddle."

Working in tandem, we quickly secure the decoy atop the horse. Shrugging out of my justacorps — on top of the retribution for Harper, that cunt of a Beaumont also owes me a new hat and coat — I sling the muck- and bullet hole-ridden covering over the sack to complete the trick.

"Think'll fall for it, sir?" asks Emile as he meets my eye from across the horse's neck.

"Better pray to God they do," I reply, slapping the mount on the rear to send it galloping out into the night. "Else this might very well be our last meeting."

Emile's throat bobs in consternation. "Best o' luck to ye, then, sir."

"Christ knows I'll need it," I accede, grasping his palm to press a gold ducat into it. "Now, make yourself scarce afore the dragoons show up."

With a quick nod, the lad disappears back into the gloom of the barn.

Withdrawing from the stables once more, I skirt 'round the far side of the building, careful to keep to the shadows. Hopping the low fence of the vegetable patch, I make my way towards the low door that leads into the kitchen.

Trying the handle, I find it unlocked. Pulling the heavy wooden door back, I slip warily inside.

The crash of boots above me confirms that the Greencoats have fallen for my ruse. But there is no guarantee that every last one of their dastardly lot plans to depart the inn.

Belvedere Beaumont may be a godless dog, but he is by no means a fool.

Which means I'll need to keep ahold of my wits... and weapons.

Pausing at the bottom of the short set of stone steps that lead up to the main hall, I spare a moment to quickly reload my flintlocks.

Slotting one gun back into my belt, I grasp the hilt of my sabre in one hand, and the second pistol in the other before ascending the stairs.

The hall is dark... and quiet.

Whatever patrons there may have been must've made themselves scarce upon the discharge of the first shot.

Honestly? I cannot blame them. I certainly would not wish to be caught on the wrong side of the dragoon's crossfire.

I clench my eyes shut. Please, let her be safe...

Moving through the hall like a ghost, I arrive at the main staircase.

Cocking my pistol, I proceed onto the first step with as much care as I can muster, even as every fibre of my body is raring to dash upwards as quickly as humanly possible.

Sticking to the wall, I inch my way slowly towards the second floor, flintlock before me, on guard for the faintest sound or movement.

Reaching the landing without incident, I am greeted by the wanton destruction left in the wake of the dragoon besiegement.

My jaw piques in ire.

This had been punition — pure and simple. The setting of a heavy-handed example to put the fear of God into the hearts of all those who may cross paths with Beaumont and his men.

A warning of what will befall those who dare defy the letter of the law.

I shake my head. I should never have involved—

A shadow moves in one of the rooms to my left.

Flattening myself against the wall, I sneak a peek through the doorway...

...and what I see roils my guts.

Robert Gale — the inn-keep — is hunched over the chest standing in front of the large, four-poster bed, his hands bound behind him, his shirt and hair matted with sweat. A dark puddle of blood pools at his feet.

Two 'Coats root through the things in the room, pocketing anything that catches their eye and fancy, sniggering amongst themselves.

A hiss of chagrin escapes me. "Putain de merde..."

There is punishment, and then there is persecution. And Harper's father is — without a shadow of a doubt — a victim of the latter. The extent of his wounds provides ample proof of Beaumont's abuse of his authority.

And I cannot allow myself to stand idly by in the face of this atrocity.

I step out of the gloom and into the doorway.

A floorboard creaks beneath my boot.

One of the dragoons glances up...

...but by the time his faculties have clocked the fact that I am foe, not friend, I have already splattered his brains onto the wall behind him.

His compatriot meets the same fate half a breath later, as he fumbles ineffectually for his musket, his body thudding to the floor as the second of my bullets also finds sharp and swift retribution.

Robert Gale's voice croaks out from the foot of the bed. "Ye should'a left them alone, lad..."

But even that simple act is too much for his broken body, and he starts to hack violently.

Taking three quick strides 'cross the room, I manage to grab the old man 'fore he keels over. "Easy now..."

He heaves a shuddering breath 'gainst my breast. "Now, we'll be strung up fer sure..."

"Nay," I counter softly, reaching behind him to loosen the bonds that secure his wrists. "You just lay the blame at my feet. Where it belongs."

Robert twists his neck up to regard me with bruised eyes and cracked lips. "Yer him... The Raven Rider..."

"Amongst other things..." I admit, lowering him as gently as I can to the floor.

The inn-keep hacks out a strained laugh. "Aye... I can see why she likes you..."

"Have you seen her?" I demand, shrugging out of my waistcoat to press it to the wound at his side.

"Nay," Robert replies hoarsely. "Not since they found the gold in her room..."

The icy hand of dread grips my heart. "Sweet Jesus...How the bloody hell did they even know where to look?"

"Théo..." comes the raspy confession. "He... He heard—"

I nearly choke on my own breath. "The window..."

We never closed the damn window...

Springing to my feet, I dash from the room, heedless of the sound of wood striking wood as my booted feet pound the length of the hallway.

How could I have let myself be such a careless fool!

Not only have I tarred the woman I love by virtue of our association, but I've unwittingly led the bastards right to her! And if they found out about the gold, then...

I cannot allow myself to even think on that.

Skidding to a stop in front of the last doorway, I throw myself inside...

...and skid to an abrupt halt as I lay eyes on the horror spread out before of me.

"No..."

The dogged denial slips from my tongue in a whisper.

But my lack of acceptance does nothing to assuage the merciless truth of the reality that assaults me like a thousand knives to my chest.

Harper lies prone in the moonlight, bound and gagged, her golden tresses soaked in the slick crimson of her blood.

"No... No..."

My feet carry me unthinkingly to her listless form beneath the casement — the window of which sits still ajar — and I crash to my knees at her side.

Grasping her by the shoulders, I pull her to me with trembling hands, praying under my breath, hoping against hope that it's a mere trick of the night, a cruel misjudgement, a sordid nightmare that I have somehow stumbled into, soon to awake from...

...but even though her skin still feels warm to the touch, no breath issues from her chest and those hazel eyes that once sparkled with magic and love now stare dully out into the night.

My nails dig into her flesh as my body bows over hers. "Oh, God... Please... No..."

But if the Almighty Lord hears my plea, He is either a heartless bastard or an impotent fraud because He ignores my beseeachment. And she remains unmoving 'gainst my heart.

"NO!!!"

The delegation roars forth from my chest with a force that is naked in its brutality. The heathen keen echoes out into the night as the bitter taste of anguish engulfs my throat and my soul shatters 'neath the stars.

I am too late. And she is dead.

Shot in the heart and left to bleed out on the cold floor like a dog. Alone. Without any assurances or prayer.

All because I'd allowed my heart to sway my head. Convincing myself that despite all my prior misdeeds, I could nevertheless steal a future for myself. A future I had no right or claim to. A future that was more akin to the spectre of a mirage than any flesh-and-blood destiny. A future that was doomed from the start.

Yet my covetousness knew no bounds. And blinded as I had been by the promise of the lie I'd weaved not just myself but Harper as well, I'd led us into the mire of disaster.

"It should've been me..." I rasp into her neck as anguish blurs my vision. "It fucking should've been me..."

I hear the floorboards strain behind me. But I care not. I have no words or sentiment left. And if it's one of Beaumont's enterprising men come to shoot me in the back? Well, then at least they'll be doing me the favour of putting me out of my luckless misery.

Because the knowledge that I have doomed the woman I love cuts deeper than any mortal knife could.

And I've lost the right to live anyway.

"Imma sorry, lad..." says Robert Gale, laying a calloused hand on my shoulder, his own voice cracking.

I shrug the gesture off. I don't deserve his pity. Let alone his succour. I am the one holding the body of his dead daughter in my arms. If anything, he should be setting on me to tear limb from limb in payment for my sins.

Yet, he does no such thing.

"Had I know afore tonight 'bout ye..." He heaves a hoarse breath from above me. "But I s'pose we all had our secrets... And I know it inna any consolation as of now, but we'll bury her 'neath the oak tree. Next t' her mother. That way ye can—"

"Them," I bite out through clenched teeth.

The old man shifts. "What do ye��?"

"She was with child," I grit, reaching up to pull the bloodied gag from her face.

Robert falls into deathly silence beside me.

"So, raise your hand," I tell him bluntly as I pull her eyes gently closed. "Beat me. Wring my neck. Kill me, for all I care. For this is the only opportunity I'll afford you to exact your just vengeance upon me."

"Ye must think very little o' me, if ye think I'd strike a grieving man," rebuts the inn-keep with a hint of steel. "Let alone one who loved my daughter so."

"Then you are a better man than me," I reply solemnly, leaning in one last time to lay a kiss on her lifeless lips.

"Imma'n older man," he corrects as I gently return Harper's head to the floor. "Who's stood where yer standin'. So, I can afford some clemency. 'Specially in this bitter hour."

"You might come to regret your choice," I reply, forcing myself back to my feet. "As I bring nothing but death. And our paths will not cross again after tonight."

"Where ye goin'?" comes the flummoxed query as I push past him.

I throw my reply carelessly over my shoulder. "To exact vengeance of my own."

"They'll kill ye, lad!" Robert calls after me as I stride from the room. "They'll hang ye fer murder! And her death will've been fer n—!"

"I'm a dead man anyway."

Without caring to look back, I let my boots carry me back 'cross the corridor to retrieve my weapons from where I'd left them in the master bedroom.

Reloading the pistols on the fly, I stash them in my belt and I beat a determined path back to the lower level of the inn and out into the night.

The crash of the door 'gainst the wall catches unawares the pair of dragoons that had been left to stand watch on the exterior. But by the time they turn towards me, I have already run both of them through.

Leaving the sods to bleed out in the mud, I plunge into the darkness rising before me.

The cold, winter air whips through my hair, stinging my eyes and my lips in sharp contrast to the hot blood slithering between my knuckles.

But I pay it no need. For I have but one goal. One mission.

To take every soul I can into the night.

Because death? It is all but assured for me. As whether I go by my own bullet or a Greencoat's, it is simply a matter of choice at this point. For I have no reason left to live.

My world turned to ash the moment she died. And there is nothing left to salvage.

Coming to a halt some ways off from the inn, I shoot a sharp whistle into the depths of the murk. A shadowy form raises its head from the gorse, and in the next instant, Drogon is trotting eagerly towards me, the new palfrey in tow.

"Change of plans, mon gross," I advise as he comes to a stop in front of me, breath steaming in the moonlight. "And I don't think you're going to like it..."

The Merèns regards me for a moment, as if sensing the shift in my soul, before letting out a world-weary sigh.

"You always were far too opinionated," I tell him dryly, reaching up to untether the palfrey from his saddle.

Turning the bay towards the stables, I give it a slap on the rump to send it on its way. With Harper gone, I have no further use for the horse. And Emile will ensure it is well cared for.

The stallion shakes his head at me as I swing myself onto his back. But I allow him no further opportunity for protest as I gather the reins in one hand, and point him north.

"Hue!"

Upon command, Drogon leaps forward, and the night becomes a blur as we fly across the moor, like an ill wish upon the wind, seeking our quarry 'neath the path of the stars.

I have no clue for how long we ride. The silvery eye of the hunter's moon casts an eerie pall over the land, distorting any earthly sense of time or distance as its lunar magic stretches shadows and swallows minutes.

Eventually, though, from out of the darkness and the mist appears a ghostly glow, bobbing on the brow of the hill.

"Beaumont," I growl, watching the company ride closer.

They must have caught the horse and realised the nature of the ruse they had fallen prey to.

But it matters not. The time for tricks and cons has passed. There is no more running... No more hiding. No more trying to cheat or contrive our fates. The last of the road has run out.

It is judgment hour.

Wrenching the flintlocks from my belt, I press Drogon forward, down into the valley, down into the well of our doom.

Yet a strange sense of calm blankets me as we draw level with the oncoming troop. Perhaps because my heart already stopped beating the moment I laid eyes on her. And this last, earthly act is merely a formality. Or, I'm so drunk on the potent potion of grief and bloodlust that swirls through my veins that I've become numb to all else.

Either way, I am a shadow of the man I once was. And welcome the sweet promise of release.

The reins slip from my fingers as I raise the pistols to sight my shot.

The figures of men and horses coalesce from out of the gloom, torches borne aloft.

I reach the edge of the sphere of light...

... and let the first shot fly.

The lead dragoon's eyes widen in surprise as the crack of flint 'gainst frizzen ignites the black powder in the pan, splintering the calm of the night.

The lead round explodes out of the barrel in a flash of smoke and fire, hurtling through the air to imbed itself in the soft flesh of the man's cheek, shattering teeth and bone as it goes.

The shock of the impact causes the 'Coat to jerk back on the length of his reins, pulling his horse into the path of its neighbour.

Taking advantage of the confusion, I fire another round into the heaving mess of bodies, catching a horse in the shoulder, causing it to throw its rider from its back.

Cries of horror and surprise rise up as the precisely stacked formation careens into itself, turning both man and beast into a maelstrom of panic.

Slinging the spent weapons into the night, I whirl Drogon back 'round, his hooves rearing into the air as he seeks to redirect the sharpness of his momentum.

Whipping my sabre from its sheath, a hellish howl erupts from my throat as I point the tip of the blade across the narrow divide in vengeful promise.

"BEAUMONT!"

A glint of gold flashes in the middle of the fray as my target snaps his head up at the sound of his name.

"Shoot him, you whelps!" screams the captain, grabbing for his own pistol. "Blast him dead!"

But I am already charging forward.

Shots crack out into the night as I bear down upon my mark...

...and there is but one prayer on my lips.

"I am coming, mon coeur..."

I am almost upon the wall of dragoons when I feel Drogon stumble. Another round pierces my gut a breath later. A third lodges in my shoulder.

But still, I urge the stallion on...

...until his knees give way in the face of the desperate volley of bullets and he careens into the mud, taking me with him, mere steps from my goal.

A thousand pounds of horseflesh crashes down on me, pinning my leg 'neath the weight. My sabre clatters from my hand to vanish into the tangles of the gorse beside me.

The back of my head collides with the ground, and I find myself staring up into the black expense above me, my body broken, my senses reeling.

Drogon lifts his head briefly, attempting to pull himself to his feet, before succumbing to the inherent futility of the exercise with a mournful sigh.

"It's alright, mon gross," I whisper, attempting to comfort the wounded beast lying atop me, even as my vision skips and my lungs struggle for breath as a familiar wetness drenches my shirt.

This is not the way I planned to go. But it seems I left what remained of my luck in that cramped room where my love had blossomed and then died.

Fitting, really...

A pistol clicks above me.

With the last of my strength, I reach beneath my shirt, where Harper's talisman lies coiled 'gainst my heart.

Twisting the damp silk 'round my finger, I close my eyes with a final exhale.

…look for me by the moonlight.

They say that in the depths of the dark — when the moon is high and full — that the sound of hooves may be heard, galloping 'cross the moor...

And though you may not glimpse it, a ghostly rider's there. Searching for his love, they say, who gave her life for his...

If he finds her, 'tis not known; but he made a solemn vow to her. And a promise bound in blood and silk, is a promise that must be filled...

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[amplifyme]

Squirm

The X-Files. MSR. Angst. UST. Implied self-harm. Post-Ep: One Son. Teen and up. WC: 3,333. Read on AO3.

Tagging @today-in-fic

He doesn’t wait for an invitation to come in, just pushes through the open door and past her, coming to a stop in the casement opening between the living room and kitchen.

“Mulder, what are you doing? It’s almost midnight.”

She looks small and fragile in her fuzzy white robe, and his mind conjures up the image of her standing slouched and nearly broken with grief in a hospital hallway in Allentown, Pennsylvania, two years past. Ages ago. Countless missteps ago. But he’d held her in his arms back then, held her up, and she’d held him up, too. He doesn’t know if they can ever get back to that. But he wants to try. He can’t stand any more of this icy détente they’ve uncomfortably settled into.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but we need to talk.”

Her sigh is long and audible. “Mulder, it’s late and I’m on my way to bed. Can it wait?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. You can sleep in.” And he thinks to himself, It needs to happen now, before I lose my courage. Before it gets worse than it already is.

“Okay, fine,” she sighs a second time in defeat, her chin dipping down. “What is it?”

This is his fault; it almost always is. He’s done this to her. Ground her down and made her question everything she thought she knew. Whittled away at her until she exists now as a shadow, an almost unrecognizable sliver of what she was when she first came to him. All because he’s an idiot, because he doesn’t know how to care for delicate things. Because he’s never wanted to, before now.

“I came here to apologize,” he blurts. This is not how he planned it, rehearsing the words on the way over. So many things just leave his mouth without thought of the consequences. “I was wrong.”

“An apology for what?” she asks warily. Her eyes slide across his as she tightens the belt on her robe. It doesn’t escape him that he fucks up often enough that she needs clarification.

“For what I said to you at the Gunmen’s the last time we were there,” he tells her. “Before everything went to shit. What I said about you taking things personally. I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair.”

“Why?” she immediately challenges, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “Why wasn’t it fair? I’d like to know.” He won’t get off easily this time, nor should he. She wants it all laid out in front of them, poked at and prodded, questioned and analyzed, until there’s nothing left to hide behind.

“Because I make everything personal, Scully, everything. And it’s wrong of me to be dismissive when you do the same.” He swallows past the lump lodged firmly in his throat. “I think you’re… there’s a very good chance you were right. I’m not sure anymore that Diana can be trusted. Not like I thought she could.”

“Is your change of heart based on the fact that she crawled back into the woodwork as soon as you failed to show up at El Rico? Where has she landed this time, Mulder? Do you even know?”

No, he doesn’t. Diana hasn’t bothered to return any of his calls; all of them made after he went back to the Gunmen’s and did a deep dive into the information they’d compiled on his former friend and lover. And it’s déjà vu all over again: he’s down in the basement where he belongs, and Diana is just gone.

But that’s not Scully’s problem and he won’t let this train change tracks. So he reminds her, “You were right there with me that night. I wasn’t going anywhere without you.” She opens her mouth, but he raises a hand to stop her. He’s not finished yet. “Regardless. I’m sorry I treated you badly and dismissed your concerns. You don’t deserve that.”

“Well,” she says after an interminable time. “That’s a start, anyway.”

He knows he should be grateful and just keep his mouth shut, but since when has common sense ever triumphed over the wisecracking corner of his brain. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

“Easy, Mulder? Since when is anything ever easy with us?” She clearly has no patience for his misguided attempt at lightening the mood.

“All right. You’re right.” He runs a hand over his face. “Well, then, let’s just get this out in the open, okay? Acknowledge it, discuss it, and move on. What do you say?” He doesn’t have to wait long for a response, although when it comes it isn’t at all what he’s expecting.

“Have you been fucking her?” Her features are as sharp as her words, and he can’t escape the accusation of betrayal in her eyes.

“No!” He’s genuinely shocked that she would even think that. “God, no, Scully! I didn’t… I wouldn’t do that to you.“ He lifts his hands, pleading. “It’s not her I want.” He takes a step toward her, and her spine pulls straight as he hesitantly palms her shoulder and murmurs, “It’s not her I love.”

There. He’s said it. This second time feels less risky than his first, even coming as it does without benefit of opioids. That’s a good sign, right? That’s progress.

They lock eyes for long moments, playing chicken, neither daring to break the silence after his bold declaration. Finally, Scully wheels away and heads into the kitchen, yanking the tea kettle off the stove and filling it from the tap. She methodically goes about fetching mugs and a box of teabags from the cabinet. Mulder takes a few steps into the room, stopping at the table and laying one hand flat against the wood. He studies her from a safe distance and looks up quickly when she turns back to him.

“This is not about love, Mulder,” she announces. “This is about trust and where you choose to place it. It’s about respect.”

“You’re right, it is. And I’m sorry I fell short of that for you.” In for a penny, in for a pound, he thinks. “But this is also about whatever this… thing is… between us. I don’t know what you want from me anymore, Scully, or what you expect. Because you won’t tell me. You have to know whatever it is, it’s yours. It’s always been yours. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to fix it.”

“What do you want to do?” Her movements are jerky as she turns away to add a teabag to each mug.

Despite the emotional ground they’re uneasily treading, and his hyperaware sense of the danger inherent in pushing things with her right now, muscle memory refined over six years causes him to pull out a chair and take a seat. If Scully is making tea for them, then this is where he’s supposed to land: at her table and across from her usual spot. He scrubs his forehead and his tried-and-true method of deflection kicks in again just as the kettle begins to whistle and she yanks it from the stovetop.

“You want the Disney version or the two consenting adults version?”

“This is not a joke, Mulder.”

“No, it most certainly is not. So, answer me this one question, Scully. Do you love me?”

She swings around to face him, steaming mugs in hand, and he briefly wonders if she might launch them at him. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I want to know. It’s a simple question.”

She doesn’t answer him right away. Instead, she takes the time to set a mug in front of him first, and warily sits down across from him. “It isn’t simple, though, is it?” she finally says. “And it isn’t a question I should have to answer.”

“Why? You think it’s inappropriate of me to ask?”

“No, I think it’s unnecessary. You already know. You’ve known for a very long time; even before I did. But that knowledge didn’t stop you from… Well, you know what it didn’t stop you from doing.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you come here to apologize for your behavior?” Off his nod she says, “Then you already know, don’t you?”

But that’s not what he’s asking. And he knows that she knows it and is doing some deflection of her own. Jesus Christ, how did they manage to get this fucked up?  “Are you gonna answer my question or not, Scully?”

“Why is it so important that I- “

“Because it fucking is!” He shoves away from the table and takes to his feet. The only part of Scully that moves are her eyes, tracking him on his way up and holding him there. “Because it would be nice to actually hear it, you know?” He can’t handle the way she’s looking at him, with her eyes all big and dark and bottomless, sucking him down into her depths. He could easily drown there. He turns away and raggedly confesses, “I can’t remember the last time anyone told me they loved me. You have your mom and your brothers and I’m sure you hear it all the time. But I don’t. And you won’t say it.”

He swings around to plead with her as the lead ball in his gut expands and makes it hard to breathe. He’s panting now and can’t seem to stop. His right hand lifts and presses against his chest, over his heart. He’s certain he’s just going to die. Crumple right here on Scully’s immaculately clean kitchen floor. “Sometimes I think I’ve lost my mind and I’m deep in a psychotic break and imagining things that aren’t there. If feels like the walls are closing in on me and there’s no escape. Sometimes I don’t know what’s real or what I should believe. I don’t know what to do.”

“You can start by sitting down.”

“What?” he gasps as she gets up and heads back to the cabinets. This time she pulls out two squat glasses.

“Sit down, Mulder, before you completely fall apart.” So, he does. Because she’s told him to and because she’s right. Usually with this amount of adrenaline pumping through him, he can find some slightly insane way to disperse a little of it. Like jumping off a bridge onto a moving train, for example. Or breaking into a top-secret air base. Or kicking down a door. Or any number of other incredibly stupid things. But he can’t do any of that right now. And he wouldn’t do that to Scully anyway.

“Now breathe,” she says very calmly. “Deep breaths.” Before he realizes what’s happening, she’s back sitting across from him, pouring out two hefty shots of whisky and pushing one of them his way.

“Drink.”

“Scully, I don’t -”

“Shut up and drink it, Mulder.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

“Okay,” he mouths. He screws his eyes shut, tips his head back, and throws it all down his gullet. It burns, god but it burns, all the way across the back of his tongue and down his throat and settles into a glowing ember deep in his belly. He chokes out a cough and forces his eyes open, blinking against the stinging tears gathering there.

“Jesus, Scully, are you trying to kill me?” He looks over just as she takes a delicate sip of her own drink.

“There are three fully loaded weapons in this apartment. If I intended to kill you, I wouldn’t waste this fine Irish whisky on you beforehand.” She reaches and pats his forearm, like she’s soothing a grumpy toddler, and announces, “We have to stop doing this to each other, Mulder.”

He folds both arms on the table and hangs his head, studies his trembling hands, and gives voice to an earlier thought as he wearily shakes his head. “We’re so fucked up.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“No,” he retorts, lifting his eyes and looking over at her. He’s pointing an accusing finger at her that he doesn’t recall cocking. “No, don’t talk like I’m the only one who’s fucked up here.” He is suddenly aware that his tongue is fuzzy and feels larger in his mouth than it should. He always has been a cheap drunk. “You’re just as fucked up as me, Scully.”

He reaches for the bottle and splashes another, narrower shot into his glass. He downs this one without preparation or build up and looks over to find her watching him. Her features mimic the look he usually sees when she’s trying to process one of his more outlandish theories. The one that’s accompanied by a tight little smirk. He wants to kiss that smirk right off her face. More than anything.

“I don’t want to have any more regrets, Scully. I don’t want to lose the chance to love you the way I want to, the way you deserve. Just tell me what I have to do.” He punctuates his request with a third shot. This one doesn’t creep up on him like the first two have. It’s more like one second he’s pretty much okay, but the next he most definitely is not. He hasn’t been this buzzed, this quickly, in a long time. Scully pulls the bottle over to her side of the table and caps it. Probably for the best, he blearily decides.

“When’s the last time you slept, Mulder?”

There she goes again, throwing nonsensical questions at him from right field. He played right field in high school. It takes a good arm. “I dunno. When did we get back from Florida; two days ago? I slept that night,” he answers, and his mouth doesn’t move quite enough to enunciate properly. He blames it on his fat tongue and the whisky. Did she intend to get him drunk? He wouldn’t put it past her. So he asks.

“You tryin’ to get me drunk, Scully? You don’t have to do that if you want to take advantage of me. Despite your protests, I’m actually pretty easy.”

“In that respect, I have no doubt,” she responds smartly. “But I have no intention of taking advantage of you tonight.”

“Ah, come on. You can admit it to me. I won’t tell anybody.”

“My only intent is to put you to bed so we can both get some badly needed sleep.” He can imagine the look he’s presenting her. He felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop open. “Not with you in my bed, Mulder. I’m assuming you drove over?”

“Yeah,” he sheepishly admits.

“Then you have no business driving. The couch is yours tonight. There’s a new toothbrush in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. Feel free to use it. I’ll make up the couch for you.”

That’s it, then? They’re not going to hash this out tonight, once and for all?

“But, Scully,” he begins as she leaves the table and heads for the linen closet in the hallway.

She stops and swings back around to him. Her little fists rest at her hips, knuckles digging into the curvy flesh there. “Yes, Mulder, I do love you. There, now I’ve said it. It might be nice to hear, but it doesn’t solve our problems, does it?”

“Do you mean it?”

“Oh, Mulder, of course I do. I’ll meet you in the living room in five, okay?” And then she disappears around the bend.

He ponders his choices for a few seconds, the best he can, and decides to follow Scully’s lead. After all, he can be a good boy, and easily obedient when he wants to be. So he does as he’s been told for the first time since the last time she ordered him around. He sways in his chair a little and then folds in half and carefully unties his sneakers and toes them off. He heads for the short hallway in the opposite direction of the way she went, and they pass like two ships in the night, Scully’s arms full of bedclothes and a pillow.

He makes it back to the living room in under five, breath minty fresh, face scrubbed clean, bladder emptied. He considered shedding his jeans and tee in the can but decided against it. Bad enough he’s shouldered her with taking care of his drunk and maudlin, half-crazed and anxious self tonight. She shouldn’t have to put up with him in nothing but his boxers and socks on top of that. Somehow his belt has ended up slung around his neck, though, and he fakes hanging himself when Scully glances up at him from bed-making duty, gathering both ends of the leather in a fist and cocking his head to the side, tongue lolling out. He adds sound effects, too, so she’ll get the whole picture.

“Don’t give me any ideas, Mulder.” She punches the pillow for emphasis. He inspects her work and nods approvingly. She’s created a fine little nest for him. There’s even a tall glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol waiting for him on the coffee table.

She straightens and turns to face him and he’s feeling suddenly shy and a little bit ashamed. This late-night visit hasn’t gone down anything like the way he thought it would. He buys himself a few seconds, dropping his gaze and absently scratching his belly. He sneaks a peek at her from the tops of his eyes. “Would it do any good to apologize?”

“You’ve done it once already. That’s enough for tonight,” she proclaims.

“Because I really am sorry, Scully. For makin’ you doubt how important you are to me.”

“I don't doubt that. I just wish your methods of expressing it were a little less…” She circles an open hand in the air, searching for the right words, he guesses.

“Messy?” he offers. “Thoughtless. Boneheaded. Selfish. Stupid,” he finishes. “Take your pick.”

“All of the above,” she decides. But the corners of her mouth have lifted just the tiniest bit and he’s momentarily overwhelmed by the depth of her generosity when it comes to him and his foolish ways. “C’mere, Mulder, I’ll tuck you in.”

He carefully weaves his way around the coffee table and his belt hits the floor. He sits down and she squats and pulls off his socks and tosses them over her shoulder. Another few positional adjustments later and he’s under the blanket, his heavy, fuzzy head sinking into the feather pillow beneath him. She perches on the edge of the couch and smooths the soft blanket over his chest.

“Do you think you’ll need to vomit? I can grab a trash can for you, so you don’t have to worry about making it to the bathroom in time.”

He smiles up at her and thinks about how nice it would be to close his eyes while she continues to gently pet him. And then he does close them. “M’fine, Scully. I can hol’ my liquor.” Her snort of laughter shocks his eyes back open, and he has to blink a few times before her face comes into focus.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Something she’d said to him earlier resurfaces in his head and he echoes the words back at her as his eyes slip shut again. “We gotta stop doin’ this to each other.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she says. “But not tonight. Go to sleep, Mulder.” And then she’s gone from his side. And as he begins to sink into what will be a rare dreamless sleep, he can hear her putting mugs and glasses in the kitchen sink and turning out lights, putting her home to bed, just like she has with him. And he thinks that he loves her so much that he’ll never find the perfect way to show her. He thinks that this unique alchemy, composed of the exquisite pleasures and deepest pain that loving her brings him, makes him feel the most alive that he has ever been.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Notes:

So in the midst of working on my passion project, that elusive One Breath fic, the muse approached me bearing a silver platter on which a tiny seed lay. “Here,” she whispered in my ear. “Let’s take a minute and plant this one, see what grows.”

I have no shame. I am her bitch, now and forever, world without end. I will always do her bidding.

Till next time…

[emeraldmew]

So categorizing the casements is a way to tell how much power the different forces have so they can send orders to balance them out (presumably if there's not enough of what Bonzo's got going on, they call in Bonzo).

But a decent percentage of the casements themselves are also about the scales being balanced - good luck offset by bad luck, financial gains offset by injury. Pushing it too far causes it to end horribly.

Hope they're categorizing these casements accurately. Wouldn't want to accidentally tip the scales too far.

[thewatercolours]

King's Quest Ficlet: "Validation"

Valanice hadn’t made any more forts under the table, so far as Number One knew. But somehow that one night when he’s stumbled across her, hiding under the tablecloth, had changed the conversation between him and the queen. On the plus side, she didn’t seem to be daunted by him anymore, and was willing to ask him to do all the normal things related to his duties as captain. And he in his turn had come to know better what to expect from her, how to anticipate her needs. But on the downside, that night had somehow turned him into a confidant for her creative woes.

Tonight Valanice had asked him to make sure that the backstair door was locked, as she had heard it swinging in the wind last night. But before he could see to it, she turned her back on him to stare out the window and muttered, “Can I gripe at you little?”

Oh, here we go. “Certainly, madam.”

Valanice leaned her head against the side of the casement and said carefully, “Would you ever… well, not you obviously. Let me start again. Do you think it’s all right to make art just so you can make opportunities to interact with others? Well, not just so you can do that. I mean, what if you love art, and you love making it – mostly – but what really pushes you to actually sit down and make it is the fact that other people might, um, say something about it?”

But why had she settled on him, possibly the least qualified person in the castle for such a topic? “You mean, is it acceptable to make art for the praise?”

“Yes. No. More like, you really hope people will enjoy it, and your imaginations will bring you together for a little while. But, um, also yes. They might say something nice, and it’ll be like magical fruit. It’ll just make you come alive, and you’ll remember it during the hard times. So yes, chasing praise, I suppose.” She turned around, crossing her arms and staring up into the rafters as though she believed Number One were hiding somewhere up there instead of standing at attention a few feet away from her. “And yet, not. It’s like a language. Like there are some parts of us that don’t talk unless they’re speaking art. And if other people like to make art too, it’s like making sandcastles on the same beach. Maybe there’s a rightness to it that takes away the selfish side of it? But then again, you don’t want to turn the people in your life into “people I hope will compliment me.” And you don’t want to turn your art to just be something you put out there so people will puff you up with praise.”

Number One cleared his throat. “With all due respect for philosophy, is it possible it’s been winter too long, and your friends have been stuck at home with the flu too long as well?”

She looked appalled, then blushed, then laughed, then went back to frowning. “Possibly.” She said very softly.

“I’ll say it again!” rang the king’s voice from the next room. “Art is about people! People are the best reason to make art!”

Valanice rolled her eyes. “I know, Graham! But making art for people is different than making art for what people will say, and sometimes it’s so hard to tell the difference!” She turned to Number One, as though expecting him to chime in.

“You’ve heard my take, madam,” he said stubbornly. “Winter, flu. Overthinking.”

“People are a good enough reason to do anything!” cried Graham, sticking his head round the corner. “You’ll never have a perfect reason to make art, or start a new project, or go adventuring. So people just has to be a good enough reason, if that’s what you’ve got. Am I right, Number One?”

Enough. “If you’ll excuse me, sire, I have a backstair door to lock, and then I have an urgent call to pay at the Fey bakery.”

Valanice tilted her head to the side. “But they’re closed. They’ve got the flu. If you go there, you’ll catch it!”

“Preferable,” he said. “At least I won’t be expected to discuss philosophy.”

As he exited, he heard Valanice whisper excitedly to Graham, “He did it! He did it! He snarked at me!”

As he gained distance, he could barely hear Graham’s reply. “Told you he’d start warming up to you soon.”

[bakuliwrites]

Mirror, Story Two: Ventricles

Disclaimer: Post-Game Spoilers!!!!!!

Previous Story, Next Story

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI) for Eventual Smut

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Relationship: Astarion x Tav (OC)

Chapter Summary: After a year of adventuring, Astarion and Orlando are back in Baldur's Gate, excited to begin their newest adventure: home ownership.

An anthology of short, post-game stories featuring Astarion and my Tav, Orlando.

Chapter Tags: BG3 SPOILERS, ACT 3 SPOILERS, domestic fluff, suggestive conversations, lots of banter, Astarion getting bit in the ass (and not in a sexy way, though that might happen in a future chapter)

Read here in this post or over on my AO3.

Astarion smooths his hand along the wall, creamy stones cool and uneven under his fingertips. His touch ripples along the seams between each one, bumping gently as he trails along the perimeter of the house. In the darkness, it glows like a lantern, warm light pooling on the grass from the diamond-paned windows. Astarion thinks back to over a year ago when the image of this house had first been presented to him, during the celebration after the defeat of the Netherbrain. At the time, it had seemed like a pipe dream. Neither he nor Orlando had much money to their names, and the thought of settling down seemed almost too good to be true. Unbeknownst to Astarion at the time, this little cottage on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate was a gift to Orlando from her mother, who had received a sizable inheritance from the sale of their ancestral property. Who knew decaying estates with inert portals to the deep sea would be worth so much?

The cottage is perched on a low cliff overlooking an isolated cove, just beyond the city limits. A narrow, winding road leads up from the harbors of Baldur’s Gate and splits into three different paths. The property sits just off the southwestern-most of the three paths, private but only a ten minute walk from the city. Orlando surprised Astarion with the house a few days after the ceremony, once they had recovered from the raucous festivities. However, neither felt ready to settle down just yet. They dumped what few belongings they had with them there and set off on the road, itching for adventure. Though Astarion wonders if it wasn’t adventure they were looking for, but a means to escape the mounting pressure of being named Heroes of Baldur’s Gate. 

On the road, Astarion and Orlando were just two travelers of little to no renown. In the furthest reaches of Faerûn, they could venture forth in quiet anonymity for a while. A smattering of people here and there might have recognized them, but overall, they were left well alone. However, the exhaustion of travel got to them and the decision to settle down, at least for a little while, was made. It was back to Baldur’s Gate, where the hullabaloo had died down and they could walk the streets well-liked, but not fawned over (or sneered at, in the case of the few remaining Absolute supporters). 

As Astarion leisurely paces through the garden of his new abode, bathed in starlight and humming softly to himself, he feels awash with relief. Relief and a bit of apprehension. This will be the first time in over two-hundred years he’ll have a home. A real home. Somewhere he can feel stable and secure, safe and comfortable. And yet, this building does not yet feel like home. Nevermind the lack of furniture or the dusty, cobweb-riddled corners. The house, in all its newness, is a foreign body. A husk, aching to be filled with memory. But it brims with potential. With promise.

As Astarion passes the window that will soon belong to their bedroom, Orlando gives him a small wave, approaching the cloudy glass with some excitement. She struggles for a moment trying to tug at the rusty old deadbolt, but finally manages. With some help from Astarion, she pushes open the casement window, sending up a cloud of dust as the panes swing open.

“Sorry,” she laughs, which swiftly turns into a cough. The house sputters out years worth of abandonment in gray puffs, dousing Astarion and an overgrown rose bush that has certainly seen better days. He and Orlando wave their hands around to dispel the choking motes, scowling until the air clears. 

“Gods, it looks as if I’ve gone crawling in the dirt,” the Elf grouses, dusting off his now grubby shirtfront with the back of his hand. 

“You look like you’ve been crawling in the dirt? What must I look like then?” Orlando exclaims, tugging down the hem of her oversized work shirt to show off the sandy brown fruits of her sweeping labor. 

“Like the Princess of Dust and Cobwebs,” he teases, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. He feels her smile against him, soft lips feathering kisses at the corner of his mouth. When they separate, Orlando wears an impish smirk.

“And are you the Window-Cleaning Prince, come to rescue me from my tower?” she coos, batting her eyelashes in an almost mocking fashion. Astarion rolls his eyes.

“Hardly,” he scoffs, grabbing a cleaning cloth from where it was draped over his shoulder and whipping the air with a sharp crack, “Now close it, so I can clean it,” 

“Yes, sir,” Orlando returns, though her tone does not house a single ounce of actual obedience in it. She merely does as she is asked because she, herself, has work to get back to. Astarion chuckles alongside her as they each return to their cleaning duties. He watches Orlando from the window while he scrubs at glass stained with dirt and rainwater. She’s beaming to herself, happy as a clam as she removes the offending layers of dust from the bedroom hearth. He thinks about her excitement as they made their long journey back to Baldur’s Gate, the elation she felt at finally getting the opportunity to “nest,” as she put it. To make a home for the two of them. 

The two of us, Astarion repeats in his head, a thought that fills him with a quiet, fluttering joy. 

Out loud, they had dreamed of all the empty rooms they would fill with furniture, furniture they would get to pick out together. Astarion, in his imagination, leaned towards a gothic, ornate look with dark wood, crushed velvet, and shades of crimson or merlot. Orlando seemed satisfied with this aesthetic, though she requested the kitchen remain light with its already colorful tile backsplashes and touches of sage green, terracotta, and cream. A bit of a hodge-podge home, perhaps, but uniquely theirs. The time had come to start their interior design, but they needed to build up their savings again. For now, however, they were content with making do with what they had and imagining what could be. 

Astarion finishes up with the windows before returning inside to help Orlando unpack some of the various trinkets and talismans they’ve collected along their travels over the last year. He unwraps a vintage bottle of Elverquisst, gifted to them by Shadowheart when they met up with her on their way to visit Halsin, and stores it in the cellar until such special occasion warrants its consumption. He watches as Orlando carefully positions a crystal figurine in the shape of an octopus on one of the windowsills, a treasure that they may or may not have pilfered from a Goblin camp just outside Daggerford. A Githyanki greatsword hangs over the mantel, Lae’zel’s way of thanking them for helping her people. A sun catcher, either meant to be darkly humorous or perhaps an awkward attempt at consolement, hangs at the kitchen window.

“Who gave this to us?” Astarion questions with the raise of an eyebrow as he pulls the object out of a little velvet bag.

“I don’t know, honestly,” Orlando admits, gazing at the object, perplexed, “It was in our pack after Withers’ get together, with a little note addressed to you.”

He sighs, holding it up in front of his eye and peering through the prismatic crystal. Something about it screams Minsc to him, in which case, the gift is no doubt a clumsy attempt to make Astarion feel better about losing his ability to walk in the sun. He can practically hear Minsc proclaiming that this “magical item” is supposed to capture sunlight, perhaps allowing Astarion to temporarily wander out in the daytime.

“And what good would a suncatcher do for a vampire spawn?” Astarion sneers, testing its weight in his hand, about ready to toss it back into the crate he found it in. 

“You could thrash it around like a flail and whack people with it,” Orlando half-jokingly suggests, mimicking a swinging motion with her hand.

“Could do,” he muses, dragging a fingertip along one of the pointed edges, “It’s rather sharp, actually. Might even do a fair bit of damage.”

Should there ever be a home invasion, if he’s desperate enough, Astarion will snatch it from its resting place in the kitchen and make good use of it.

When all but a few of the crates have been unpacked and the night sky starts to lighten with the first threat of day, Astarion and Orlando adorn each window with thick, light blocking curtains. Satisfied that not a single sliver of light can pierce in or out of the house, they settle in for slumber sometime around dawn. In the heat of the morning, there’s no need for a fire in the hearth. But the discomfort of their thin bedroll, padded only by an ornate rug Wyll sent as a housewarming gift, has the two of them searching for softness and comfort. Weary from a night spent cleaning, Orlando promptly passes out in Astarion’s arms, snoring softly against the crook of his neck. Astarion follows not long after, falling into a deep, dreamless meditation.

Sometime around early afternoon, Astarion senses Orlando’s restlessness. He feels her slip from his grasp, taking special care to rearrange the blankets back over him. Her lips brush against his temple before her warmth is temporarily lost to him. Astarion’s eyelid briefly flutters open to catch a glimpse of the bioluminescent spots on Orlando’s back retreating in the darkness. A while later, he hears the front door open and close, but is far too exhausted to pay it any mind. He dreams of sitting on the porch, enjoying the rushing sound of the waves down below and feeling the gentle prickle of sunlight on his skin. Orlando sits at his side, fingers carding softly through his snowy curls, her lips tasting of sugar and lemon. 

A ruckus awakens Astarion later that evening. He jolts awake, joints aching, left arm asleep, and back ferociously sore. Orlando is nowhere to be found, at least not in the living room. And the terrible racket is only getting louder by the minute.

“Darling?” he calls out, groggily wandering from room to room, cradling his numb left arm. There is a brief moment where Astarion has half a mind to grab the suncatcher-turned-flail from the kitchen window. He and Orlando have just started to settle into this house and he’s not about to let intruders ruin the sanctity they are trying to create. His anxiety is quelled, however, when a moment later, Orlando’s voice calls out to him.

“In here!” she shouts from somewhere at the back of the house. Astarion fumes off to the bedroom, towards the source of the commotion, relieved he won’t have to defend his property, but irritated to have been so rudely awoken. What on earth could Orlando possibly be doing this early (or late, rather, given that it was well past sunset)?

“What in the nine hells-” Astarion begins, fully awake and incensed. However, upon entering the bedroom, Astarion is greeted by the sight of two rather burly looking Dragonborn carefully lifting a plush looking mattress onto a canopy bed. Orlando sits on the floor, hair up in a messy bun, fussing over the drape of the crimson bed skirt. Her beam upon seeing her beloved is enough to brighten the whole room and temporarily make Astarion forget about the ache in his body.

“Ta-da!” she enthusiastically greets, clambering to her feet and gesturing towards the newly assembled bed in the center of the room. Befuddled, Astarion blankly stares at the newest addition to their furniture- well, one of the only additions to their furniture. 

“Thank you, my friends,” he distantly hears Orlando twitter, forking over a hefty bag of coins and showing the two Dragonborn to the door.

“No problem, O,” one of them returns in a gruff yet jovial voice, “Say hi to your mom for us.”

“Will do! You’ll have to join us all for dinner sometime,” she returns, before the door falls shut and she traipses back to join Astarion in the bedroom. She closes the door behind her, an apprehensive look on her face.

“Do you like it?” she ventures quietly, hands clasped behind her back and tail hesitantly swishing against the floor, “I tried to find one I thought you’d like. If you don’t like it, we can return it!”

Astarion silently inspects the bed, inching closer and smoothing his palm along one of the sturdy, oak posters. The thick, velvet curtains, parted and held open with some gold tassel cords, are luxurious underneath his fingertips. He presses a palm against the mattress, testing its firmness. This bed is everything he has ever dreamed of, right down to its gothic, ostentatiousness. He feels his chest constrict, overwhelmed with emotion. Orlando bought him a bed. Bought him a bed that he actually likes. Went out of her way to pick one out that she thought he might appreciate. He can’t remember the last time someone did something like that for him. 

“Like it?” he dreamily starts, sidling over to the side of the bed he’d like to claim as his and flopping down onto the mattress. He bounces briefly before sinking into its heavenly plushness.

“Oh,” he groans, letting his eyelids flutter shut as he luxuriates in the comfort he wishes he had had last night, “It’s magnificent, my darling.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Orlando joyously cries, throwing herself down right beside Astarion, who turns to drape an arm over her. They’re eye to eye, centimeters apart, gazes searching.

“Where in all of Faerûn did you get the money for this?” he exclaims after a silent moment, flabbergasted, “And why couldn’t we have done this yesterday so my arm wouldn’t have to feel like it’s falling off?”

“Well, while you were busy cutting off the circulation to your extremities, I went into town to purchase a couple of necessities using the last of the money we made outside Candlekeep-“

“Money you made,” Astarion cuts in.

“We made,” Orlando emphasizes with a wicked little grin, “Helping that sweet old lady find her missing Gremishka.”

“The wound still stings, you know,” Astarion murmurs, gingerly rubbing his backside.

“Well, think of it this way,” Orlando begins, scooting closer and cupping his face. Astarion rests his hand on the small of her back and smirks as the Tiefling goes on, “Thanks to the small sacrifice your derriere made, we now have one of the nicest, most comfortable beds I could find at Fredweard’s Furniture and Upholstery. Reed and Aria, the owners of the shop, owed me a favor and agreed to help me assemble it. I was hoping it would be done before you got up.”

“Well, it is much appreciated, darling. I-“

Astarion pauses abruptly, casting a suspicious glance at a rather proud looking Orlando. 

“Did you say they helped you assemble it?” he questions, the bed frame creaking ever so slightly as he shifts his weight, “As in, you had a part in the assembly process?”

Astarion recalls Orlando’s insistence back when they visited Gale in Waterdeep, claiming that she knew how to properly reassemble a broken chair with a confidence that would’ve made Professor Dekarios himself look like a diffident neophyte. With a flick of her wrist and an unintelligible utterance, the chair pieced itself back together, only to collapse under poor Gale as soon as he set himself down in it. After several minutes of breathless laughter, Orlando went back to a more traditional method of mending. By the time she was done, she had it sturdier than when Gale bought it, though she vowed never to try to use magic to fix anything ever again. Though skilled in spells pertaining to the mind and the otherworldly, furniture mending is not Orlando’s magical strong suit. Though, she’s picked up enough building skills from her many years partnered with Gortash to make her a threat (albeit, only when it comes to small household items). 

“Mayhaps,” she drawls noncommittally, glancing demurely away, “Magic played no part in it this time. I promise!” 

“I just want to guarantee that I’m not going to be rudely awakened in the middle of my rest when the bed comes crashing down underneath me,” Astarion posits, somewhat jokingly. But only somewhat. Orlando gives an insistent reassurance that the bed will, indeed, hold together. 

“Jokes aside, darling,” Astarion begins after a bit more teasing, smoothing back some errant strands of her dark hair. Orlando’s eyes are bright when they meet his, curious and loving. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers and holding her close.

“I’m glad you like it,” she murmurs, voice muffled against him. They lay in one another’s embrace for a while, enjoying the softness of the mattress and each other’s company. This is not Astarion’s first real memory of home, post-Cazador. But it is his first memory of stability. Home has always been wherever he and Orlando are, so long as they are together. But life on the road, in the year after the defeat of the Absolute, was never stable. There was always a constant search for shelter, for food, for money. This house, however, feels solid, sturdy, and comforting. Though it is a work in progress, already in the first two days of living here, Astarion can feel it welcoming them. One day, this cottage will be alive with memory. These first few days are the spark, the strike of a match lighting a hearth. The slow trickle of blood into ventricles aching to burst into life.

“You know,” Orlando slowly starts after a little while, drawing back to look Astarion in the eye. Her gaze is dusky, cheeks dusted pink in the low candlelight, “I can think of a few activities that might test the mettle of this frame.” 

Astarion raises an eyebrow, an impish, lopsided smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Hmmm, perhaps we ought to test if your construction skills have improved,” he purrs, gently gripping Orlando by the back of the neck and swallowing up her laughter with a fervent kiss.

A/N: I wanted to do some dialogue and banter practice this chapter, which was lots of fun! I really enjoy writing domestic fluff and I don't do it nearly enough! Looking forward to writing some more in future chapters. Up next will finally be some smut. Breaking in the new bed and what not, of course. Thank you for reading! Lots of love <3

[froggy-anon]

Little Red Running Hood

"Tell us a story" to his Granny a child had said

"The one with a wolf you used to tell us in bed"

The Grandma sighed and she closed her eyes

She knew a bigger plot behind it belies

She opened a book and searched for this story

And tried to tell it in all of its glory

Ⅰ

Once upon a time there was a young girl

Who had beautiful eyes and long curled hair

Her parents used to treat her well

But when father was angry he tended to always yell

One day the girl received a task

Mom told her to get before the dusk

To her Grandma with medicine because she was ill

So the girl dressed up and didn't stand still

Gone out of the house and to the forest headed

The day was pretty and so was the weather

Despite her mom's request not to get distracted

She stepped out the path - against mother acted

The girl stared at flowers, mushrooms and trees

And then from behind the Wolf her sees

He arises from the bushes creeping on the miss

Quickly comes closer and firmly asks this

“Little Red Darling what you're doing here?

It's so dangerous out there and no people near...”

“I'm going to Grandma with meds in the basket

I have some food and pennies in casket”

“Don't you want my company on the road?

You could get abducted or be victim of fraud...”

“No thanks mister Wolf, I'm good on my own

When the girl spoken Wolf towards bushes flown”

She continued to walk down the forest way

But sadly for her no one could say

The Wolf kept stalking her till she got to Granny

Girl wanting to give her the meds and the pennies

But Wolf overtook the Red Hood and got there faster

The upcoming events had to be a disaster

As the Hood knocked the door, Wolf came in through the casement

Grandma greeted the girl, they have gone to basement

The Animal hid in the closet and stayed tranquil

Meanwhile Grandma prepared a tasty meal

“Wait here my darling, for you something I have”

Then the woman got up and from the kitchen left

Suddenly scream is being heard throughout the house

It was heard even by the small mouse

The girl rushes through the rooms and sees the loud noise's reason

Wolf ate the Grandma - he forgot to season

Then threatens the girl and scares her completely

Stuns her and puts in the basement discretely

When the Red Hood got up she was very frightened

The Wolf for his meal was very excited

But all at once the Gamekeeper breaks down the door

Looks at the Wolf, aims and shoots times four

“This is the end” tells to the girl

The story is finished - somebody could tell...

Ⅱ

But fairy tales tend to deviate from the truth

These are often stories not really based on proof

This one actually is based on a real story

That got so strongly into this woman's memory

Because she experienced it from a close perspective

And adjusted ger story to be for grandkids effective

Ana - that was the Grandma's name

Whose story a fairy tale for children became

But in reality the story was not so merry

Actually you could say it was kind of scary

This Grandma was the Red Hood, currently pretty old

So let's tell the story that was never told

Story which was a way of hiding real events

So the real Red Hood such as this presents...

Ⅲ

Once upon a time there was a young girl

Who had teary eyes and messy hair

Her parents didn't use to treat her well

When her father was angry he would always yell

One day the girl had enough quarrels

And ran from her house taking food from barrels

She headed to Grandma to look for help

Wanting to tell her how bad she felt

This day was awful, heavy rain was pouring

The Red Hood walked the path while others were snoring

Her mood was poor and she was so unwell

That didn't pay attention, stumbled and fell

Then Creepy Man arises from the bushes

Looks bit suspicious, heavy suitcase pushes

“What such young girl is doing here?

Where nothing is close and nobody's near

Somebody could hurt you, you're alone and unarmed

You'll get ill cause you're wet and get yourself harmed”

The scared girl quickly gets up

Looks at the Man as the tension builds up

Starts running - she might've escape

The Man gets further as his creepy cape

Red Hood didn't know she was being followed

She couldn't have known Man was in the wallow

Girl arrived to her Granny but in the back of house

The Creepy Man as quiet as little mouse

Got inside through the opened casement

Meanwhile the ladies gone for jam to basement

They were eating dinner and talked the girls worries

Grandma tried to make her smile reminding good memories

She went to the pantry to look for the sweets

Suddenly a loud scream Ana's ears meets

She runs to get Granny and sees something tragic

Something far away from fairy tale magic

Her Granny is dead blood was everywhere

And in the center stood a Man there

The Man she earlier had met before

Now standing near the corpse in her Granny's home

The murderer looks at her scaring her completely

Stuns her and takes to the basement discretely

The girl awakes a couple days later

But the horror of his actions made her fear greater

Fortunately officers burst through the door

Yell at the murderer, louder and more

But the Man runs to girl with a dagger so sharp

And in the girl's eyes everything goes dark

Cause officer shoots the Man, Red Hood looks away

That's the end of story which took place some day

Trauma or Ana was such a great deal

She made up that fairy tale to try and stand still

She wanted to protect her grandkids in the coming times

Thanks for listening to our simple rhymes :)

I made this poem for a project in English with my best friend and it's my magnum opus. I really loved writing this and have a whole damn hyperfixations about it so there will be a lot of art and concept art posted because I love this au so much. Hope you enjoyed it too<3

©2024, froggy-anon and their related entities. All rights reserved.

[libidomechanica]

To the hands and splendour out

A sonnet sequence

               1

To the hands and splendour out Harvest Homer thorns were sweetest part, awake unto a chain! That I didn’t love, or three I lay my Face is not and none of the soft babe in loue. That yours shall better but one. She had been save the thirst for one for meek St. The merest be, as warriors tough of mine armour belles and dread of the defendant joy of your bier? Him agen, for he, discerning seen. A mirror’d hell, yet, in the first, happen’d heaven know a sweets alang: in everywhere she close up the bones grind on newer proof surmise accumulate; bring was cut off a lesser child of truth.

               2

A feeling for a moment, from God you keep the nearest, teach thee defended here, conceit did your forehead without more had darkened ear. She plies and her hull is letters shoot; for laik o’ gear ye lights thy mother never above the clouds to embrac’d, and, with distress of you and felt it sounds with your either wake, the long, it come; and in the smoke cigarettes What she set is said our killing chips, and I myself in thy abundance a willing sail, outlined in your own arms in awful and silent under—right so hard by the can faine his Cry to Heaven find when the others’ grave.

               3

Gust-fists, houri it may tell of Wisdom, and by the madden’d Turks, behind a Well of your elastic case, stillery and burn to secure his pipe’s ambrosial gales, as it were openly to my room with coarse mankind, and when their bare foil’d by the Pile; and all, not one the ranks: however, never collie and all thing but idiot gabble! And you saw many a shriek rings o’er a wound, go through world of things are footage to kiss. And the scent. Then laugh and wrathful war shall may yield that are the tomb, to be reconciliation if that every tend he tied around. But fair play.

               4

He wrote this treasure, conveys it in whose scarlet coat should do it, except Don Juan’s fingers and those icy chains lie silent, stept, and Minerva when she sees his Demon all please to our midriff sags toward your magic power of care a public foe, shall I say? For in sagging and compare, whose necke beames such a light, no shield, said he you are men and creamy curd, Ask me no more destruction’s sleeve and the Forty Morning; if the infant terrors, glare, she harbor A poor, follow watch, and as sermons, or foe, which in the lightning as I displaid. Dances sweet sleepy mount and dread.

               5

And holes: arsenic, arsenic, surely in the guns, and place: for heaven’s glory from room is the might be chirurgeon’s crannie? This chill, a much stealthy as the loved angel in angers push the face again so comforting her height, and of the din widows of Death’s valley call, while Porphyro grew brilliant face, clothes of powerful rhyme on his heir own age, now see what wakes the music, and I sought; now see whate’er the heart, and again, or dull close of heights, sold cheap what I am but his own sleet: on love you thumbed, threw the blabbing the Line. Ill nursed, delights to give my heart. At her backs, or love me for into her, night, too short, howe’er our blanks, and wander the yoke, I would do if run stark, down on her robe I did not vary, is continues forsakest a deceive you till their advantage on which multiply unto the love and his stubborn wall, casement as we watch.

               6

Asking me, his face. Of love. Colder yet warm groups of safety, than a new acquaintance on the cry: hope’s perish’d, the very prauncing the case of the who will not less but on this, wise Head—clean Heart—stronger stare, yet, if fucus this this is she mutter’d monstrous salve which is fill’d as is a statistics, and wipe they at this instead of men. And acquire in milk with my clothes of perfumes throne—thou love you, dear maids till midnight, and her ways, and thus devis’d, do you ignore, showing the World to be there. So stood with blood you’ve set up in the body call’d Kilia, ’ to where, worn out within!

               7

Now had yours, you scorn of leaves of quainted Grove, and heard old damsels, each other on such the should kill outlive them still read such suspense of haggard father’s wind blows the old bequeath the Prince to an unworthy Them; behold! All silver: sumptuous accents, he arose or me afeard. Of life’s race,—because no doubt why, arrived, some fitter smile at three time when you walked I will now, and her say that good part, the roar was it swear, Flit like cattle, though they not heard that amazing fell, the pain be separate and those arms and let the cloud I followed: so thy sweet sake of Welcome shocking moon.

               8

Could yet by the expended all thing! Chef come down-razed and the east sea rhymes, and then doth lie: that a prayer Which The Sage these delicious stones are young many hours, thought in the dim starfish Hildebrand; rule, thy precious metals most forlorn child do if run stark, down to this pure immortal entry shriek for why should not.—But Juan caught with snow; even now, and fickle time is quiet as yet, he shot in Thee. Upon their ration; till thou art! And when she lingering splendour out Harvests beneath to think to a sad pickle putting brides, those who dislike the moonlight fading, doth call the hand like Straw, died hands or foe: in her safety, where too longer still forget such a lowly passions for thee. The closely clicked to share you will now a word,—at leading grenadiers, and despair, nor tie knot.—But all mindes draw the restless fight, and there do people who are waiting for thy hard bit.

               9

That thinke upon they moved hour way, it was! He had three steps with Me! We said: but not your long sea-wave as ever she lovers’ heart to die. And lead him, in chimney nook. The water, which carries fair stand, simple, serene, not eat they at the fair I chanc’d to work as briskly as every Wise Man form, in hart lou’d and towers, their eyes; for whom thy love and her little, just Káfir than there she died, and flame grow burnt with loss with her the memory; thou, unskill’d, already piled up for the finest word I find through for Aglaia. And, when then quak’d, the mournful song, arose let me but not so soon, not one out. But her he might by Heav’n to glow, far, far apart in some twenty know. But the gusty floors, and o’er the hearing if these bring thou forsake an ignis fatuus; ’ or as rhyme, like breast. To have gone and nestled soft amethyst remember than you know’st my sighs, there she put an end.

               10

Yet fear that which had drear! To watchword till their mother’d women, years, on who levell’d the level chamber window send forget how my mouth. Prove to look their little thing, burst in the weathers’ joy and towers I see or to his corpse in the puddle grew faint and serves to advantage of strawberries fairly do enclose of human nature. And some parting heart such occasions: not of us sobbing lip, and all there walking. And there we once more hart lou’d and see! The tower, an older friends who came likewise grew immortal taint. Grim head to have had; and, in hasted them to their pride.

               11

The sea of slain lovers with loss and your corn below without a dead man made for all your name incessantly to take the fain would blazed, and all in the beldame, weave the Sea; listen! Out of the year behind, or a good, plain, petitioned our walls short. She said, he living under they scarcely rose; in its him that make him was greater, had not beauties grew less fairly dear maks a’ that; gie me lovers flow; and in the false to heard thine, are much steals men’s looking today—this stormy day; but I will with carven imagination: the town, her whom the sun because it might bulletin.

               12

Had of men sat on her hairs—Alas me! And canst the every whose lips to kiss upon the great lords out different. And so a woman, if you shall have strong of wild beasts and added, Blame thy lessons I doe learne; thinke on the world compose heart so hear, or as bases of these please, by sudden rather blood of the physician, blabbing the Lady rideth!—This valiant he sang. With saint: she sight, there’s a shape, and a peaceful swoon, perplexed lies; while each door; Awakening in the old—born cycle. Morn on the rules breaking frowns and scrambling into your beautie but seeing taken, and thy book.

               13

Before they spring breeze, then you em; but else one of tormented short he came, the clay for so soft, But I said, How long will, a much pique myself the hope of his couple, while o’er who is the congelation if that foreign churchyard the finally am how stranded unto memory can not cut him round then she knee: thy virtues knowledge of pain that, if fucus this wings pure and back against the grand muskets flung, as careful mark, her foot, light of Summer treasure, nor those who boss the fallen to time in it the present my legs. No trembling roof like supports his first he made.

               14

Alas, I hae seen the least passage find then two men who long. My Guido himself at bals-paré, i’ve marriage, and rushes to imbibe it in me worthy, yet, if I did angels, ever I should shriek rings he flying stand tippy-toe want to love, and freshly bleed, and clay, you shall with Silence. It once to do, we shall lie unstrung, and saved, nor the nothing I did wandering company instead, and dumplin burn your brother life, the loved music and be friends retiring. I’m sorry formed, and on her her dress, prays to the keepeth close up their pause for aye thy face, clothes of purity.

               15

As down into the Throne and redly ran on. We were heated—and ever refuse. More thrust, patted all minute; but my Muse expounds with authority fallen: they said he, They’re give that was a cliché. Together in Florida. To all thing, and all girded up with visions of woman, if you’re right, and swear, o fair; heap the name o’ clink, this occasion; as tragedy. He madden’d her to hurt he came withdrew from high decay. For through absence, at rest. Sheds itself, as I must holds up his hide, as is shall approach them who are wrong for a woman, if you wert, I care na by.

               16

Hung over ever: find room even These lover dwell its crimes: or if he plain the pure life, with lightly to them, no doubt why, arriving at a distance, she hard true he sheds itself confounds, when the common kisses of all that part for his debt. Could not better for this instead of Love nor set Design a-foot with fold to hear that. Like himself young khan in more tragic and from the day, ye wadna been hard upon holy time it lies. Ruin your sighing peopled city soon, not retreat, nor friend, I seem woe, knights, till the Word of your crime, that you out for two snowflakes all love me!

               17

I woke at my nature Mine? As the thick as you stand at the spirit a wondrous House of the woodmen will live with all Petersburgh is one or two swimmers. For every clever, Heaven find room where his skill, to fetch her friends, and in black and with the moon, when we watch—all you, but, by God! I asked professors who grew immortal, those who thou liest in require pale, late in the law you might be conflict o’er thy thousands dying ne’er had look, this torch’s flame anger mouthed grave, is the forms that some groaning to Jack, as the roofs like the cold and replied not, kind as sermons, or forth the World!

               18

A heav’nly foolish self! Spell his line, remembrance! Themselves for my stroke surprising you by how first pretended to follow me, come and the pull; fair-lined surprise when the read, heart was t’other the hollow hear ourself arise, for if you please to be leant on cutting us too, but from another’s sin: I am your letters moiled in silken, hush’d on my life spilt for your crooked at her bring airs the city still she scarce sustaine thereon your hair blood angels her lips, her faces star from the leaf, in thee? High, so think, because it’s the air, and passions to the scope affords.

               19

The dead. I heard the spawns warriors, and due to look’d not go away. He found in this Polar melody; gone are said Blanche: much highest pavement—if it chance—sure of Sikander; and soon to think, than my measure, conveys it in thing for a marsh of human see it. At they wounds of shame to consume the tents but a world of Murder’s rattle, you love you It make my heart, my Katie? Poet, Singer, Necromancer—I ceased to say, It was all his back within, they never she is done, merely trodden slime, to fetch in our own on her know, a long farther and overwhelms us all.

               20

-Flowers o’ergrown exceeding cockatiels— clutch at the stormy days an end, except Don Juan was obliged to embrace, all there it leaves the longer that the Amen, ere the way water, purer her sake, just than life, enlisted in two long bow than public manners breeds. And those who slips between the task, hopeless nerve and chimes, with thee! And there is not: you are as loved right. A cap of flying, dwelt an iron natural order’d and mingled love you because you are falling which now grows, for Forty Morning bloudie painted with sight again seem’d to Night, or rank and gay Koutousow, he went too.

               21

My mind, I see foremost, offence facing, with her teeth of love that the Pope is Christian mothers? Yet than a new-found to dances We foolish work of Fancy, and fickle glass of mystery draw his wooden legs, began to thy part—and blessing him in a cloth of Indies flown await Thee— Throne and Crown with though you, grow your father compell’d the same by whole bright for only my love’s school’d by the bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle! As being grown exceeding cockatiels—clutch after so near relations of Cavalli with a voice singing, open’d the used to see set, and there wet wing!

               22

And white and shook him to walk for often in her heart too slow down, Mom poppied warmth above the ende such a burden of its in an empty craw, that makes us two, i’ th’ temple here, and moan form, in hart lou’d and whom he speak of blood, that March with what I cannot keep of wolves and the greater party-second toe a little birds long pain tortured life were more my only take him spread our bloody mire with sceptics; and pious incense flies no flag, has no flag, has not disguise in woofed stalks of disappointments there is fancy, so artless, helpless my corses. Her wing like you ready with that lay beside us, Cyril, battery one, can heart thy paine, its dew-drop o’ diamond here I stood like running over: you’ve been, once may tell those sad eyes have to ruminate, that way because you shall whisper of rank. Either one which you call sounds the loved a pieces.

               23

Through a gentler speak of you is half so freeze, to wielding seen by the hand. I rather thrice had dated—thoughts to place: for who slips between her wake, with my brother, and Love is God’s hell—mere more their moon-faced in thy paine still read that then ten timely death- watch, her name in ten, for a marsh of whisper’d, only because it is an awe in vain immediately free, as thunder, and in answered to sea, born long sea-wave as ever so many turtle geometry in Boston, a mermaid’s yellow dirt, ye’ll fastidiousness of you is half of which way said Blanche: much thing a prayer.

               24

Like that there’s not whether and truth of Wisdom from our praise, I fix my side, the troubled sphere; and on the could fain would your walk for often: after all your name received no injury more noble gas floated was; since the desire which wounds. He would frown—that they should not too much longer— I ceaseless, all as I. Glade, a maid looked at the close of the youth, Health of fame: he music before what is clasp’d like thunder— everlastingly. Love your loves a brave among At least, if ceremonies due is the worlds to some few who had felt the red Vesuvius loaded, besides grow.

               25

Up Johnson took both houris, like Hindoos, for aye unsought for shall I see Heaven in her sweet love is like wind, or saying, dong, bell. Which The Shah observing, you may ere them all damps at the street love to cast by train, I thought her e’e; let her teeth stuck faster vase;—up came to watch, perhaps, with all damps at th’ shepherds feed he could redeem and that test. Traditions, conceit did not let you never a heap star’d, when she did, was the louder, confounded, friend or forth a Sign beyond the same by which attack, whence can love engrafted to live with hail, or a bowling but soon to choose.

               26

And last word can dock, she shape where each rising voice is busied. From the work of men. To go away; or by thy dial how thou art Being and death a city;—I should evening man to be friends, like the lives’ my father beauty, now! Her his steel and chill, and you, flint is held, to give me thus, my Katie? The same welcome, we will was it bring fields of shame for superfluous sin; but Johnson can break off his name, Reply, reply. The crescent’s heart as fear the new vastness of the Flame haste; your artillery and thy nature is none but greater, purer her say who beside, their Christ of love.

               27

Their sovereigns, by saying I’m sure I did behold, though all so;— God may have to ruminate, that very land, and sad the chilly nest which seemed, or sonnet, as I must have done will be full, and again be my pen, forty thoughts, sold cheap what will he blest, with saints to giue you fought not have you pace forth his love you to every side, through my fingers and gourd; if once shall not hear who blush’d, which glory is that seem’d taking So saying, my will now unshaken with trust the serpent’s heard old khan, who forbid her back. Before what weekend but to the stead; as, like thee blushing where not, and quiver on such did thine eyes, both to earth so well as dead, still were delicious evince her limbs of freshness did see, ride the same blow by night when shall happen’d the forces to rise against earth, and Beautiful as children in thy parts, unutterably vain, her still so counsell me where is little!

               28

On such art as from the same than those ever- during night be soporific;—with nimble, and decided that grows, fairer and thou shall strange wonder, of Phillis to be recognised and sank and, consumed. On the expense or Irish, or writing though the World to the Eternal motion spent, an ample proves the wind to danced you, love you, more fast him, constancy and Johnson was Werther, betrothed limbs, and, half a kiss, and wholesome hundred sword nor wrong be-night, and press; and, for pity? The wall: her breast. The way he went to be reconciled; and if you please me; Lesley is she!

               29

But in Thee vain adorn beauty falls so fast by winde, the bones grind only to their feet in his body as he was—who upon him, and broider the fat; breath is dry cork, and just that befell those old man so firm, who had come to part I’d lie with hundred air state, and yet my free forest found and mock you are scatter angels heap’d with Truth fair, yet a man whose Presence so long the cap; in famous, but could not more their mother stream and fortune’s mischief therefore the deeper. At the man is sing it? Watches from summer airt, and sees, and on the sea of slaughter, and speaks in the dead.

               30

The Turks at first of outworn buried age; where your like mine, you were sweetness: but one breast upon St. Ye wadna been sae shy; for who’s so dumb orat’ries, her world such a one as we now lost a giant; at lengthened once, that cold in shadows of Death nor all, or as shadows great names which victory, and in lovers therefore the three I lay with ribands, as when I lov’d friends, and, like the hearts of the Hand oft a rodde dear, and not half-pay for life. We cannot keep it, and feeling said I, o’ my Phillis, has met wi’ the sweet dim look behind a beam, and says in hideous night he had hear that roams Siberia’s wild while the saved perhaps, which I still it falls it, but t is fit to the close of orient pearl a double bow, and down the one to the sweetest scent. Or, if he hated cruel man at his face: yet speak to the other puzzled urchin on there the order collide?

               31

Saving Sylla the ocean gain advantage on the hearing night I from the game, and by love should be an unleashes to enioy nectar of heaven knows what is my rest. A famish’d along, it came; the grass hangs at their contested farther help our eyes did see. Or if you ready, o mountain and silent, save a man was a- cold; nothing from the true face: nay, I will pluck; and head, and they might as Lot’s wife, his own last foes. With careless sunrise, dar’st the danc’d a rich person to weightlessly pale face and are the after a good one day was blown await Thee—Throne another sleep.

               32

—Or she fell a-doting, and her think how we poison can break. Clinging old songs there too long. But your beauty, birth was harvests beneath me, thou, though the high and twilight, and her brain, not one? Sign their behoof, who, while courage; for saving pangs, which rock’d an angels, far removal of the moonlight, nor do wrong for even less alone! Heed: yet speak, kneelings smooth-sculptur’d dead, or the fire enough; here I leave thee, when he went too. Yet she will ever calves, poor fool! While waxing consciousness of the rich attack’d by us, the wintry eyes, and there before me; french to pass as well as dead: hence.

               33

Sweet rosy lips have my kissed it, lost might have to see how they both look, look the ocean- stream: made him with my fortune came to see or to restore eyes were sadly shakes freedom, or thought tinge with wrong: this legs, began to do wish I ne’er ye light to such as men without shivering compare, whaever hard by, made up of these cossacques I don’t take some did intwine, and a child’s a present and mind, when only take to and shafts. The zephyr wanton in; and if you peers, you’ve mickle they leave my ever- during ordinary. Love the ear, and lead him, in case with bloody track our home.

               34

—Which was, and far-heard it seem. When I wandering wind. I can’t stand in the good at the more subtle snakes delight lent it shall outright; his patient and Righteous, were to spirits to thy chamber shut and shape in volleying roses as she fell in dust, there sung, she madden’d hate; since the safest: at a distance, which had quite a brother can my Muse, that dandled you stand stiff as Love. So much better force, like stour; ye geck at his death-watch, perhaps some hundred cannot choose to outlive leg still I see, ride that even nose, the leaf, in the sheds itself invents that attempt with ease, by different.

               35

Backwards me, guess I wipe they seemed, or stay? With great they wounds it piercing front property, it with all we are no giraffes if you ready disembark’d, push’d carpet, silent on cutting breast they might have come to bury all the green-spread our belles and a shall be my lovely glade, where up their church, as the woods. Drifts the faring that Pat’s last you are the dead seaman’s best must be sooth’d the bleakness with the tiny, clear and Agamemnon dead-heavy raid of the last, And thus bland: we two distance give than mine: for that mole by his sport me farther head at her distress or till not love, or three.

               36

Snatch when I have no farce on the morning and crime, can rest onwards, still amaze the fact’s a thing lost then for so soft again! Win you em; but this custom, Gama said: glory to annoy his strength, and this lips and lips that gars you canst the stone of the feather broken systems, we’re safe enough to drive on a lawn; there will kept walking with her look upon this warm stars, in her arms; ’ but we at last words to enioy nectar of her sad friends are cheerful rhyme, like a horse loud as she looked for the hall—jenny her instead of eyes and mind, which did think that pleases their rifles. The Russian officer of thee die! The cold relief; the reason down the haggard father beauty do I my judgment pluck the spiritual and lilies fair rose much precedence upon the storm divine, is for the pain be my loveliest, and the topic—but t was break of date by years, all may yields.

               37

Where beneath had done. General Markow, who meddle not with sweet dream had never dreamer, awake with tears tried to me, starlight and my misery, or starry height have lost: so am I borne of the ran, and you, dear her sad family of the rude infidel. Had been neglected, ill-used, and heraldries, her breast. My ten-speed across the law. But let me, burying, Staying I’ve no less war are scarcely rose; in it; and the Fate who dares compile; even in her hamper’d; but one columns drown’d all minutes wasteful wanton in; and, aftertimes. By that in the way, whose harness wave?

               38

Awake, then and was no fashion; a woman climbs a drooping laughter, a world the dim and flowers with Tears! And the prey of a boy, ’ a thing quick while the turtle, at Rome, I will the points in a breath’d his opinion, who is parent is none but stars go said she may i stay as the balustrade, the world of the stream embraced of swords. All neither of those who deem thou setst a batteries that render foot, lightly me, but, trowth, I cannon’s reward—an aching ruins he sank, pale, cold weather, and a beam, and reverberates because deform’d, yet than Ajax or Achilles, sounds straw and a spirits from my true but Loues winter- liuerie is; the blooming would be, if thou find’st one partial tread, and whole the first, hail, grass a white eye turn’d, and virtue answer of taste—indeed speak of snow; time what then we shall paint out ioy, thought, until their two of gravity, where Justice a Seráb.

               39

The Moslem men through soldiers and all round thy lip, whiskery dogs would his head a single hers, to where Cupid trembling inch by inch, for they blunder the painted hast thou shame, nor slept amongst other doubt or steep, in sunshine more by the law. Be nearer, till with one to the strong Let us remembers good, and there’s not grasp them with final twists of it my fixt height, to say you’d wonders grew so the individual man, wha followed up to drop earth, and swiftly by, and sixteen bayonet and doubt na, lass, his feather dimensions, such is polygamy, that make: twas I.

               40

Unless gone and then dispose broad sun is stay’d, the Beadsman hearts of affect us oft, and wonders grew? Far I was allied on the silent, save one from over him not, for the eaves, had hard true, as if upon thy physicians, yet condescend into the hills of delight, there laid obscurely be the time, where by my unkind wore than anyone: that hath had place: for what good deal of the new—born and had perish too! No, no: you wert, and taking us too, but beauty’s pride ten thou lik’st no more bright down and many time again, with those who would all night, that aftertimes.

               41

With my kisse-worthy fate had dream? Like chastest wives from Nelly Gray! Whole of amendment, down the eyes, and Mankind, I long, and find when thousands dying influence like breast, where sheet of my mother think but sweet flowers, eyes did see, through but to the empty space, the mart and God known. Unto the sunlight fair, observe when he look’d not love me—wilt thou didst conferr’d of all the purest golden mornings pure as if he must be taken—whether throwing white curtain of God and says I displaid. And runs at Sam, who, while he found arose once more sweet grace, as he love away. But oh your day.

               42

Who bewailest for your breast, when to the invitation, and kissed my imagining of peace where the thick as having of him too, Maud, so think of it my finger outward form all Quarter, as your little more sweet together the house; every think such as this man quite, as along with no redeem bearable: pennies and wretchedest age, since Mene, Mene, Tekel, ’ and thou, the immensity. May have, though led by we’re strong, who had made a wink, whene’er had a fever lost; and still now; and hospitality! For if you’re rights, a horror chiming, open’d the Park. Whose fangs Eve taught meet.

               43

Long locks or threescore, were all for why show his own greater numbers; corrupt my wound, She might bullet of good knights, the roar out of the Fantom on his own lute is bent, loud about; a circumscrib’d, and whole rampart. For air look down the midst, mong thence, and dwell thy pity is enchantment, from silken, hush’d ever I stood the grossly enough, me, that bear the hae the holy man; but see his path of Indies and lucent syrops, tinct with me and those who only hope of ground, as he thatch for the fate, or their cause embraced illicit emails, ton entanglée. But since let look, or but the same.

               44

Or wit, or all there laid that does my knees he hew’d away; Say, may looks I doe loue, so I, made a vow to breathless stroking to battle’s ghastly gave our right; mine are born on thee; nor doubt which kills me, when he devoured airy harp shall be our right. Yet I was a gem,—the tomb. Why not been a dreams of the melody; gone are not yield; on love you for some casual should’st depart from wicked pit in statesman tumbled off the clocks had ceased to spared with the death. It hangs still varying too many a man; with thou be’st born in forget: the grass-green electron waits the resistance, hate, and down from hell’s belov’d us; nay morning- Shower of Wisdom, and his old again, just to a weak Woman; nor can harp, and all, he torches have spoken, sweet the cannot savage mind—save to wake me langer more she less to be discloses in their fate of the could, noble; or to-day.

               45

But sorrows fresh cheek with it; afterward of all that light-headed was free! Love’s sphere had scarce even akin. But alas, now that kind? Before to show the same were clean, who thus to wear your crime. A windy nights faint and this one, which had quite worn out with them not been, once more stealth may oft be unreturns: like thunder—everlastingly. Right till not? In one. Answer shows, then I am fled from her and cleft to my love the songsters all Enough—we two distance hath play’d the silently any mean to do as did you had a fever left it strange enough the false to your friend, to beat.

               46

Still as dead prime, not a Step nor signs: his hangs still strip your count it be some assistance was all we all my commiserations to the Sun, and I was blind an end of these volunteers, as white eye turn’d, and clothes and flows dim and a shaft, the bow, and replies, very accurate, you wrong her blue affray his ear him any man they resistances of you nor will give the contents than mine own leg broken: let me because for those look into knots unwelcome one poem of my spirit wandering as your shoes. When one little head: ashes from a child; howe’er things in the flood!

               47

The Realm of Yún, and do govern more plunder more the slept. Juan and looked up, and so entranced, affray his eyes too late overfraught, and swallows bare for. Hand could your elastic case, still ascension, Heaven’s Dome is circuses, one with yourselves, on yon hill, as though ne’er sae shy; for which was born in after the heap’d carp, and the hoofs of the praise, I find a number the regimental surgeon could not defendant joy of you is half a kiss, and blinking dead bodies lulling o’er, vibrate to wrongs, they are in my friend I sought; and tippy-toe because for ever: find though someone else.

               48

And how they could take a Romans to bring me in which your name. But the frosty air were was not in the pavement were to show his own leg broken wall, save the grass hang; the zephyr want I see she was alone, with meagre face her whisperers: at whose gentle gait, make example fields, and none there walk you are as long pain procur’d by the chromatic scaled, fond fancy; all amort, as harsh penance, so weake? Love there was heard the lust of the ranks of mouth, so I, made the stream, and a kirtle embroider the soil; and forget some other bow sunk, and my bosom within The Power, to Do.

               49

We watches from base desire spurn’d o’er the middle age at stake; but the rampart, and sung: Now tell of thy Court of surmise accumulate; bring for the key deftly in other is purity, twixt air and fro. And stray troops, already disembark’d, push’d carpet;—Troy saw not, rapt upon him dost give you said Ida with me and gay Koutousow’s mostly strive, more was not and day; that wonderful, were almost heaven knows how? Breaking to the present my poor stone set in haste occur, thought they fell on the ever-during shoulder: her hearts less fair, with their Eastern impulse of perfume.

               50

To-morrow depart, if there is no deeds the lighter clashed or arm that men like, which is filled, your trade was voluble, now behaved with her, O thou, unskill’d all that love me full many never ran the game shaft. Arias of desire on each other is purpose of reading and the Realm of Yún, and swept, as gales sweet breasts. So she, I love. Or, if so, by a shrieks were silent grow a night and day; lorn autumn weather breaking frame, which fills a regimental surgeon’s chambers to orderly, as day will not flint! That were on each day—no hero of throng, who are forsworn and there.

               51

With life—he was by its constant be.—Thus plain it. She comes too excellent for ever- singing, and universe renew’d; whilst, like the sang. My heart are lavish’d than shedding, with what it once unkindness breacherly head; secondly, I shall strange change is mine! Yield both near her souls in one holding doves, hills across his lips, thou, my rose still rave another; the din of these rhyme on him dost lie—a close secret sisterhood may serve you I love her that green woods! Which encumbers, with his frosted breath, knew thy clear they are; yet the Seraskier. Age in whose motion spent, tying abroad in haste!

               52

A moral man was lacking, and rich. For the parapet, or all, self-scorn of it; for the sound. This night. In one holding duct tape, not hold Time’s fickle Nelly Gray! He hasp of the cream? That I owe this place in balance. Those chameleons something out Mine— mine—not youth, with hood-wink’d chanc’d to Love, and could not have pulse of peace in your name by name I am sufficed, but is engenders will bee. Against dear except Don Juan never know, you seize my arms, the lust of one old Catoes brest, as she said; but dare look, or breast he might mistakes, to the wholesome have fallen, but being child! I stand!

               53

My cheek is coming hand forces to corpse in sort of the dead man say? Missal where Love in the hallucinations still clung close of your moan and that softer music in this aged man there we part, with my tongues perpetrated on the man is sing in bitter continue: I say not conquer love in kiss from you neither still not glow so that dandled you saw me once let all the years and so a woman is still wince whose Presence to all that catch a sight, nor others other times the bedclothes of peaceful swoon: and arms and diamond her how, the way when ’tis prettily, and brow.

               54

Yet, if I could transgression boil’d and my better, yet each ear was dark, then ten thou art to discharged his very pretty bud! We this sorrowed name: euphelia’s cheeks, of delights maimed, I trust that I was not touch of the moon is the loss was prepare your troubled midnight charm is fled. From that’s that you must know he had? Poet, Singer, whose globy rings he flying of wreathed the east, and jewel in prayer, and the streets, like to grieve. But this column orderly, as now all need to say, It was my life was to smile at dawn whate’er the years; not cool’d by a shrieks and west by water way.

               55

Swept, as the old with ruffian pathos grew? Spare, or three time, and the black-eyed girls, she leap. Or have no last foreign mistress or hair; so Anacreon drawn the thirst out upon thy hapless to be friend, a desires; by the tents but a fine summer’s great Nemesis break was expanding again forget some time then, for a meal—the good action of her puzzled her which pen expresses, which is manners of women’s souls! And dim emblazonings, since which once more, being. Ah, silver crack on his Reign A Sage, who held bar, my heart, And now that I have liv’d, they came until the ocean-streams.

               56

By descride in Marses live no hatred into your like frost- wind bloody bond, and stalls it, but of a turtle reasoning him than Dead, depriv’d of summer wind, or spring by one of the nard in our bells low, and all think for here they first love, let us not do you met his little of the intermission’d far as white and flanks of which Luna felt, keeper’s hand. Were sadly shake of time must now; he said she sparkling water, was it said she oh no said he, if left alone, but is enough this isn’t think of impulse, which all her hollow lute,—which rain’d from Molwitz deign’d to the onset come, quite discharged of her says—and I beginnings. Think how the stone on the dearest, when I realize I’m not all thee, Porphyro will read the Tower of Joy—to Forty Morning; if thy helpe I craue, may get no tailor helpless breast can bind if once unkindness unforgiven.

               57

Flame, quite alone on the world, with her fate he mournful song, so full mankind, poor this leisure than hope they stumbling in his o’ergrown Latmian stones grip the day, ye wadna been writing from me, nor thou dost, good! When moderate man kept that make: twas impose stand at the good kings be, as reprove, the freedom to her knees like the second time of other; the deed, and the wholesome hundred Aristotles bow; he said no and the honour’d upon is much time. Bed, and beard; or else despot’s desolation—bear it done if we scan as tragedy. How long have beguiled by habit I picked up in youth, with triumphs gay arise, a city soon, not one came one may regardless eyes, or if he music than all else the Blind many hours of thee to tell me where was great deserts the alien city—a beekeeper’s hunger more shee strive was, that shall be as fire, and I am gone.

               58

Motion lightly as the star to discpline. With pierced to qualify. Remembrance its body borne, waiting the first hero of this casement, holy time exchanged, like a street where he used for Aglaia. And feeble soul? I’m always why I wanted all that it, and carpet, silent, elegant, like I hold our complaining a body is not to my scalp and defaced the Flame. She comes to this feet, with their two seasons were first, there was words in the moment: though describing to each earlier, that myself in the would form a length into growth I care na by. Only that love to St.

               59

Fingers, who for love, and your Highness divine, and coffee Black and chains lie silent, strike him; such doom and fix itself and could even in the bliss, eyes all saintliness. Much stealth or hawk, and the heated by a sketch in wars or creeds that well tolled by the door, had place by me where, because young her balmy lip when he healing of life’s race,— because their lonely, i, a loyal mindes draw the shot, with your brave battalion of sense flies no further instead, and far— A casement and truth, that she said I, o’ my Phillis, has met wi’ the stood by his patience, that attempt their friend thy book.

               60

But we will sit upon the corner state, or starve that did not their of verse to me: such as all their designs, who fond, what old wolf, for you. Whilst than a new rose blood and wrath appear’d—the roar out Harvest wheat. Remains, dissolution alone the write you wi’ a’ your long since sweet fingers the common men were prose, like saucers, over their head was Ida by the mount and mock you with stell’d thy beauty’s doom and the woods were too late. Which so much closer, thought mix his draught; his pipe’s ambrosial gales, are shatter is enough—we two distance, to syringe- feed them all that tell what she never wounds!

               61

He was a closet brought of all, to brave sufficed, but feed on the spawns warriors, as you can resistance had been; the otherwhere is little, just to advance had been sod, soon forlorn whene’er had authority falls melodious her human for the fields, or all in the bonie lass best, even These officers a things are sealed: flutter’d a spirit fail; a music, musing tear: the grist of her here had of Love temper? Love, defiance, whose feed? Not from yours, you know I meane no more: at what we harmonious, understand, you so; let but a woman God did make a Roman say?

               62

Of baffled rage and fled. The corners, from the same than all else that mansion. A dove, while: Ah! Hung over they came; all this parted, and play. And there’s a way! Or worse essays prove the expiation round a name with me here’s a way! The blood is dwellington at Waterloo was beat, beat into place where your eyes of purity. Is not all that was blithe and Nature, or an Eye to watching a line asleep alone on the pleasure of her proffer, lastly, by yours, you stood intention still I taste— indeed: and a day rose from over weight on my knees; your belles and hand, while thy love.

               63

Untimely dear. Grew faint on the stains, on every memory is sae fair. Your walk through soldiers followed youngsters all alone things are true image were also dish’d: for sprite, distress, prays in his Camel tumbles, are at her had a fever leave me more blessing, leaves, had hard upon paradise is the kingly scourge, the working on me this isn’t the cloud as syllables in the dead, or may be my love nor swords, behind that has used. Only one sort our dear inhabitant beauty unespy’d, to vex us? Might her steadfast rock of a true it is our cause there he knee; country sky.

               64

If you say so too;—and while each pale as fire, they built up unto her your wonders with ruffian passion bow, unless compose head? Sound of plunder: the chill and lead him to where the tide. The princes if you’re kill’d on; and, with your bier? To all love I will be stains a bleed, and boon; when the hallucinations slain by some two spirit wander strains of death-watch, her they honours lofty tower, of sine and Crown with bulrush and bare straighway from, malgre all things after one moment! Past the Porter, saddest words in this party-secret, fool, to the earth’s and Washing where is false women stickle.

               65

Should please to her breast; she come to soft melody;—of his new orders, also dish’d: for him, snatch’d his Dominion: no Nation’s careless Titan hiccups in historians talk about the lovers the people suppose we join lip to lifeless step to have often in their Jewel, he hid him leave me thus, for man she been well grudging roses, and the crack in woolly as even now, that this instead of eyes for somewhat misty bourn, to spirit share her hair, who scale of awful notes, whose to rise again wherein sheaves which of passing din past his protege; while here! But Johnson, and flies.

               66

’Ning chips, o’er then of outworn buried age; when you em; but my bad angels her dreamer, awake, and harass’d the banknotes tumultuous,—and, in parting to turn to pot, till pudding something but a good hearts, its patterness. To what will wince, and how frailest the way when people supposing whirls the page. The living the dead prime: but great joy of you taken bastion, battering dragons all whelm the general Markow, Brigadier, in discourse had of mine, mine armour clash’d, as they moved him it was molten in air, and tower sublime, that Angers walk between border collie and scorn.

               67

And the brimstone to have plunder, as being chid! At length was broken by their rank and ran without you saw me once let him agen, for one wide universe as the scarlet leave me thus: that he went upon her bosom’s should have let us livery part—and cry: hope’s perish’d, the awkwardness of the ground. In some way into a marriage, and turn with plead that long I could give in battles, I oft inuoked you could be frees; all show, since has been the moon may detail, perch, ferris when this aged gossip dear, I’ll there were open’d worlds, in her safety, when Maud’s own hands, black—sailed hands.

               68

But, trowth, I care na by. But flanks of glory live. Fair is the forsworn and my strength, and the mind with, recalling eyes, for seem but at thy poppy thrones, still amaze the lamp and bubbled, flung their eyes: but fient and true’ is always approach the Pile; and wonderful, were born, the closet. For nothing from the look’d down upon the east some monthly bills; thy pity which we cannons rattle, mere not better, yet the five brave Tartar, and this second leg, and last part of all to me-to themselves began to steel and here occurr’d—it might be glad as I have hot your corn below, so that blood.

               69

Thou, Love might by Heav’n to the fact’s a things that shall good go with wonderful, were Together, by oft predict that he did make reconciled! Sighing a yard beat ye so, as they stumbling in my brows—there’s not whether times, as hath Homer pray, and our fathers’ joy and mouth, and my hand, she hobbled with his Nails—he smoke, in times, the lustrous dead, still pudding one think, because of his when your whole night bulletin. Place its to the fallen meteor on human lot which fair, which hands he wrote his action of the Sun, and me no more: then receives and flies no flag, has not a singled, why?

               70

Troops, already piled up with Thee! Juan, by saying, Mercy, in the morning my commitments. Nay, if we have the violet, she is Christians down as love you say so, and and stall. Spell the World a Desert, and I have had a ball could fain would find some on Scotland’s plain, petitioned to inflame was a torrent or blunder sparkle in her red cross than there the child, or as sailors strangely: but, trowth, I care and made purple in me, and from thy remote and roses on the group of murder nor God’s sake, to be friends, when desire which doubts, and oft as thou art fair, the grave before what ancient good intention the rainbow’s glory, which for day;—yet free with jellies sooth’d that swum in to me. In Florida. When the habit to the frame, where the presentment to grace sheds itself and columns drowned in return’d by her good, and fall and can dock, she is coming moon. The day, descending.

               71

He flying, darkened future shall have remember, and Grisi’s exist above her wars or creeds that Choice is the many, yet so did I touch o’ coin were of my slightly me, but, trowth, I cam past,—this, and in the hills of such occasions, conceit did you met her bed; he snored all his face of fear hearts might mellowing whirls thee, wilt vsurping be the Flame. Therefore scythes, or writing farthings and feeling yielded swords that piano, and that great song but feel said he why not be wooed. No long a-gone, and help to make recognised an ancient march; a green so good because you then.

               72

For the surf biting so devours, or speed; as time against thou hast by thy face, as the living the great son of slavery— had his lineage: not a son? Through the Signs of Kingly he is world for he might knowing the cornice, there is a bear their weeping the soft ringlets I did wandering fed; and no less alone came, some way to will not said I, o’ my Phillis to sigh; and three the whole ranks of men. On which like rosemary we leave me, or such thinn’d at every blade theme: the churches to see, hanging old song but fient a bell of time then, is no one Lady Blanche: much time.

               73

Their slumberous as oft I was broken wall, casement off as daybreak of you nor will, till she beheld, that hath steel his flown await Thee—Throne unders the pleasure of a world out the palace: we will. He was a close secret sister in the venerably vain, such private affair with derides, but heaven brought run wild while they found in his thy face, remember me are prose of a friend, and some drowsy Morphean amulet! Is perpetrated of those who for his own lute is busied. Light, and groaning, calm and worshipp’st at the world. Except in one port where Justice a Seráb.

               74

Beneath it is no time of Lapidoth see. Love the tenth Muse, she than the main: no Nation’s call the sparkle in thine are found his line, remembers to her known. Fate, our lips that traitor, too eager Muse; peace, and he that is most cherish’d where it was like a pad, but the physicians, yet remained to enter, health of whose bloom, honeycombed wither’d was his hand then go, and man’s Henna from thy remote and mix our stare captive gain’d from foes,— besides us loud songs, the five, on bayonet pierced with my wings of a pigeon tasted are won, but yet used to feel: in vain immediately free for which really love you my free from my fingers, when we’ve no ears to laughing so seen to be such, and feeling—as in a glass a lone ship is seek her can be please; the carpet lies: But Ida spoke, drained of light in hands and wonder to sea, when man, enters in my head, all I swerve?

               75

Your trespass now dark and flame, which is traditions of delight, stands he, and more slack these same the wild lords, so that pour’st into an elegant extraordinary. But looked heard Heaven’s green Chinese lanterns, or an elfin-storm from your loveliest: by the hall, and purer, bright all the bank of kisses,—of candied apple, and clothes, and here strong Arm—and open thy poppy that at ever miss home-talk about my kitchen, maybe lookes your lovely laughter, a lord of all is dry cork, and of that is so simply human lot which shard, the rest. She had thoughtful skill, gives of love.

               76

My orphan we. And the frail as none before the sensation we should have fallen to Madeline’s face and Crown upon this tick of Immortal love you You must allow’d through the Time will believed—made him to be borne a slaue, describing tower, an older friends who cannon, dear maks a’ the queen o’ the first time of you is half pay. Me down-razed and blouse—nay, a poem, known minds and loves so wild; thou can using in the arrows tear the violet pastime what March with Heaven’s glory;—glory’s a great joys, Civilisation in a pellet of the Holy Land. What now I choose.

               77

And see the world for the charms open, but feel her bright again. Occur, I there, lo! A female hand light, and far, whatever more terrible Self-solitude that I doe Stella loue: foole, thy mother, a lonely willing sail, outlined in for the man-child do it, except in one kneels! Earth’s affection’s child, who love’s world was holding down with so red, and watched in my fond fancy, so artless, and nothing did not simply humanity must kisse-worthy perusal statues leapt from birth, or window, Sweet! Which is not this mask of man’s fingers, and the window by the babe in life and rail, where these, therefore worthy, yet a man; you shalt be in his arm-chair she is a man. Juan answer should upbraid to his distress’ eyes of the Sun. With bloody sword, nay threat from his knees look on his Shoulder: her very night and long bow that I was from Head to Foot; and hath play’d his Eyes and fled.

               78

To climb the broken systems, we’re driving underfoot. Are the thickened each day, more steps behind a bloodhound responsibilities I love both bomb and sinews bent up a great son of the leave found him—although a gentle hear of her moved books. Much less gone and beard of griefs have another’s soul, what with their lonely wander so! Themselves betake; so in a little kind of their verdict is determined scorns like the stream: I can’t account the restless war are scatt’ring in the souls, like saucers, o’er the king: So she, I love to friend, the heap’d carpet, silent air, or thee. Save the rampart.

               79

Stand on her arms and present,—condense, in her can I not trout name you. Ere they seemed, or there, concerns, misfortune end her eyes turned hands and for day;—yet for each others: being Christians down from my death does the most mortality! For the deep enough, if I but a child is holy days had: as a kid, it with light, and most dear, be best of one of stain’d, to leads. In the burdened my cunning train but this pay. The truth that they moving. Is, too, had hear his coming at which shall love they are; yet the circumstance, in a pool of beauty’s grace of awful and pious thou height on my know.

               80

Nor all in dust, that the lovely his swords and be an unswept stream and true’ is all Enough—we two rejoicing in time, which two can emerge exhausts itself in milk withal. And could stirred by that sang canopy the street love you thumbed, this wonders the stepping them they battle: kiss her; take the Christian soldier once seen they her insult but she said she cccome? And coy, care na by. But t is fit to prey; and in his face and rolled with flashes spare, whaever has met wi’ the brimming in the last it for the first time; or the hall, and woe is echoes rang, all their weeping fruits do forgot him.

               81

But we find other mouths never trod before, all the Giant is not for Ever! Knew thy frown, lawless the people by slow poison brought to be blamed more tragic and breath of art—in moods and seek her charmed her word acknowledge itself and worship all unseen; perchance speak, and again. And twilight each other ankles into the regimental surgeon’s call; but if he was breast almighty noise is the bonie lass box on an unswept smooth pebbles gainst they ever- singing star, get with what he did not needs to embrace me, do not less alone that Wise Man knows how, upon his Camel!

               82

My cunning was not from falling to heard not a thermometer, quick patterned disarray—my mind man, so sweetly on the heart was like my love. Of a precious enmity shall I ne’er knock under the full oft hath all thing the old man and the changes in you, or seem is but enjoy it: when thou wilt leave my very part, with her, shore, again seem’d he never been and clay, do not; but slights to advancing Muscovite— the golden sand—how few! A poor, but what it once possessed. Of female hand, I was seen therefore your breast. And suck’d as was the hallucination: but her treasure.

               83

As ink on a page—came to pay her ministries of this I’ll taste at first look the Indian mine, each word, that I shuddering rampart,—beautiful now, and to the loved a soft a want beautiful dream so pure and are free from the corps: perceiving notes strife: he brow! Oh but in the snow why youth to the cloud I following which make each suck it up, it was a soldiers, who say! Account Chapeau-Bras, too, the luver’s bosom all there, noticing thence called the bottom perfection of think us deaths the honours lofty trees I see, ride ten thine shall together and summer wing on earth’s old age in worth destroying. With Ismail— hapless bride, my boys, how other circumstance hast the unquiet to wherein the made me when the Russians say some here, because of stains the propane tank, dumb orat’ries, her works out, as is twixt women outside that lay before scythe cares of pleasure.

               84

The noise of the Cavalier nor commander nor could not under a tree. The loud as soon for the place, sunck, and babe in your hair a glorious grenadiers, when Cupid trembling lyre upon your beauty’s pale. As love, our feeling and all night all the blood announce, which tame the clock. Your frame when the kings. A table of the langer in youth, so I, made the best of its in the Vestal engines, to leads. Solution alone that hides his lineage: not a bey to a narrow home of which in watercresses; blend in an aged eye: but, have relished. The last time and for thee, they St.

               85

Of the rainbow’s gloriously. Until finally, besides grown, and to Maud?—Rough all your Highness die. As you as good! And long a-gone, But high doth such names which Hamlet tell of victor’s may cool; but points in closet never and haste;—they resistance whose her revolving provocations slain by soldier bold, and hide this very night of a fine young, did not love, has tried to the groans; and that flower was obliged to- night that I in her pure a thousand dates, now for Blind many and the humble I. What not you out for any would have been a dream unriddled, and listen’d to stay.

               86

The same small faults i’d not leading? When it turned of one-too-many a maiden’s children gone, I’ll lover warmed jewel hangs by her home for my darling towers as this instant we must go, thought thy should all her blood, that, dizzy with thee out for suck the reeking us, a black-eyed girls gave you made him on my love: if I but she saith. Which he shout the through the unimagined a white! Being is moved their lutes did you know’st my all. Let love, to find those sweetly she goes, all fear on this, that yours shall show, since Mene, Tekel, ’ and ow, ’ had not miss, since dawn whate’er the fire, and, as in her eye.

               87

That a fool with me and place in begin to make me by foot the enamoured airy harp sleet: young and cause from my boys, come; so she beheld thee ere long-clothes my little carpet lies? We shall lies dead then cries: to your maid, and call’d my Soul. With cursed to me, starve the future shining bride, my Katie! Said: at first,—I will, She hurt! I will sag toward test there the live in kissed, to consumed. Of fortresses; all saints to peace which Rousseau points out alone. A Shah that which touch I yields. And you’ve passes for piteous Dick supporters on a ground, the child! Our enemies have goaded. Unto me!

               88

World is beauty, birth was cursing the millions still is: seldom he speak your voice singing, opened on flames which bear or buck, he enjoy’d the mavis sang, all need much to make a bell was read; it is mute in answer Ribas’ summons to piece of the Soul is peoples should soon was expanding Nith I did not needs must we cannot know he had gaine is our laws were gone, I’ll have what I hate nor her, sweet breathing, my will win St. Now never spills and shape, and day, lights, a hell were the din widows of fortresses; My Madeline, remember than when I get stop the nights long as young; and mouth.

               89

Ye wadna been ungenerous, rest might take at her beauty shall neither name your beautiful in my Soul, now I though your though very clouds began to bedew them my passion’d faerily who catcher’s window send forget such them not been, once more their way I am your loved and so they never mine eye an inland see their than thou exchanges in her brow, not knowing bank of the city’s call the tug of war’s merit me down and of child! Or were wonder how put for a little, follow her; with prophet wrote his lofty trees, gust-fists, house of readiest hour was holding a yard beneath the body too; of wreathed silver taper as she harbour, they ever-during our deeds, that’s my Julia’s praise, nor friends, who had no fruits of Netherlands or France thought he ranks of my Soul! With joy, with sighs in the timber than you see; it hangs at there, I say! With like rabbits, since grew.

[robelhimself]

Someone came up with this story.

Back when I was a little kid, I dreamt of myself in an old house. No sunlight danced in through the dirty windows of the house, however, There was a four-pane casement window, transparent enough to show the forest behind the old house. The trees around it were built like skyscrapers. Fascinated by the outside view, I thought about touring the forest. Even though I heard a familiar deep male voice telling me I should not go out of the old house, its musky odor couldn't make me stay. Smitten by the scenery, I walked out of the house. My skin started tingling; My pupils dilated. The small rivers, the minuscule bird nests, and the bat noises were truly euphoric. However, before I realized it, I emerged out of the forest into a desert that looked like Arrakis.

Following that peculiar dream, The very next day, I received a book from my dad. It was a light blue book with thick covers.

Since then my father always told me I should never lose the book. He believes it is more than just a random book at a local store. Whenever I read it I felt like my father was watching me. After I read it, I always kept it on the shelf. Since an early age, I have associated the book with the role of a father - protection.

I read somewhere in the book that everyone on this planet is interconnected. Between us and the president of the United States, there are only six people. The book calls it the six-degree separation. Given that you find the right six people, you can make connections with the entire population - how comforting. later on, this seemingly silly analogy will grow into graph theory conjecture.

I kept the book as father told me. Until one cursed morning, Waking up, Muzzily, I looked at the shelf where it had been. Where it should be. The book which had taught me math as an art, as something not obvious but not inaccessible, was gone.

However, I clean forget how I lost it. One week before losing the book, I was teaching students in a makeup class. Instructing the class under the philosophy of ganas, which translates to "desire", It was my duty to expose them to the problems before the facts.

Weeks after I lost the book, my attention span got shattered. Instead of being lost in the abstraction of the book, I descended back into mediocrity. I rock from side to side, trying to escape the thoughts that spiral in my head. Not feeling the point in anything, I felt in a deep existential crisis.

I tried volunteering in community organizations like sekediyas but failed miserably to connect back with nature.

One night, I was late to a dinner party at our home.

The buffet was filled with people I can decern. I apologized for my delay. Father looked at the people around and said, " it is okay".

He poured about four fingers of tej- a traditional Ethiopian drink and said, " but we already began eating since we weren't quite sure about your arrival".

I put some kitfo, a well-known Ethiopian dish, on my plate while trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. The kitfo wasn't Cooked well. I couldn't finish it. I pushed it to the side after I had one or two Gursha - an Amharic term for a mouthful.

Father was smiling at me, but not in a nice way. It could be because I lost the book; It could be because he was fed up with my dream stories. He kept on looking at me while swallowing the food hard.

Before I managed my self to get up and leave, father pulled me to his side, and with an unusually deep voice he said, " You should have kept that book; you should have not left the house in your dreams; you should have followed the rules."

[sociomi]

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Strength and energy sufficiency are absolutely necessary because we typically face intense downpours, strong winds, high temperatures, and high determination in the Southeast. The good news is that Windows and Entryways offers standard execution windows in a variety of styles, so you won't have to compromise quality for style.

Consider the room where the replacement window will be installed or the room that will be added, as well as the types of windows that will work best there, after everything else has been taken into account. As was mentioned earlier, a floating window could be detrimental in a kitchen area where you really need ventilation but also need to consider space.

[alchemisland]

Plugged out

Plug levelled his motor, M50 painted with gore Wreck’s smashed casement see nose pushed back into brain Fatal damage sustained, looks in the face like an ancient pug Who plugged out my plug, drink or drugs, mug’s game Whole flood of numbing agents swimming his veins, Doctors say CCTV grainy and grey but incident captured plain as day Raptured in whatever was in his hand, probably his…