#ripely pine my beloved.....

[carrionsong]

Listen/purchase: The Nothing Part II by Lady Lamb

[prettyboykatsuki]

YOU’VE GOT THE CURE (EVERYTHING I NEED) | B. KATSUKI. 

✮ tags ; gn + afab!reader, soft dom!reader, sub!bakaugou, developing relationships, mutual pining and ambiguous relationships, anal play (m!recieving), dry orgasms, p in v, unprotected sex, 18+

✮ wc ; 6.7k

✮ a/n ; an anon comission from a beloved mutual im posting. also just dropping in to say hello

✮ synopsis ; katsuki is too fucking young to have erectile dysfunction, damn it.

“Hey.” 

“Hm?” 

The sound of your typing is especially loud in the empty office. It’s a Saturday and neither of you are supposed to be clocked in, but when duty calls - it’s up to the two of you to answer. 

“...I’m going to tell you something. If you so much as fucking laugh I will kill you.”

You don’t look up from your screen.

“Well that’s one way to start a sentence. I’ll try not to laugh.”

Katsuki slams his hand on the desk. 

“I’m being serious,” He says in a half-yell. You look up from the edge of your laptop unflinchingly with a displeased frown, shaking your head and throwing your hand up half-heartedly. 

“Fine, fine - I promise I won’t laugh. Can you stop being all ominous? You sound like Tokoyami.” 

“There’s something wrong with me,” 

“Well yes,” 

“Not like that,” He hisses, taking a deep breath. He leans forward with his elbows on the table, hands clasped seriously as he covers his face. “...I think my fucking..thing..is broken.” 

There’s a loud noise like a muffled laugh but when Katsuki looks up your expression is completely blank. Your lips are pressed tight, eyes out of focus as you continue to type. Or pretend to. True to your word, you don’t laugh but Katsuki still wants to fucking kill you. 

“Oh? What uhm,” You clear your throat, lips trembling as you try to keep yourself together. “What brought you to that conclusion?” 

He nearly snaps his pen in half. 

“What do you fucking think?!” 

“Hey. Calm down. I’m doing my best not to laugh but you are not helping.” 

This is the sort of thing Katsuki would normally take to his grave. Not only is it genuinely humiliating, it is the sort of painful personal detail he wouldn’t share with anyone even if he was fucking them. It wouldn’t matter either, that his dick isn’t working - if the other ways he relieved stress were.

He’s got an average sex drive, sometimes lower but a high libido. Getting off is a physical response to a bodily need. Like eating food or taking a nap. It’s just because it’s a physical need, it is noticeable when the need doesn’t get met. He is painfully aware of it. It’s been weeks and he thinks he’s starting to lose his mind. Worse? He’s exhausted every human option trying to fix the problem himself, save for going to the dick doctor. His testosterone levels are fine, he gets check-ups more regularly than the average person. Given his reputation is at stake, he’d rather not get prescribed anything. He’s bought ginseng and shitty vitamins and medicine he had to ship from overseas. Anything and everything. 

Picking up viagra at the ripe age of twenty four would give him psychic damage he won’t recover from, this much Katsuki is sure of. So not that. But everything else, every natural remedy conceived - he’s tried. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” He says, pinching the bridge of his nose and willfully ignoring the sound of your strained huffing “I can’t fucking get….it up and I don’t know why. I’ve tried everything. Everything. I’m going crazy,” 

“You know, it really says something about our relationship that you can confide to me about these kinds of problems. Like I’m so proud of us,” 

“Shut up. I’m already miserable enough without wanting to fucking tell you - but the only other option is Shitty Hair and Izuku. I refuse to buy a single goddamn pill for it, and I know if I go to a doctor they’re gonna recommend it and—” He can’t finish the thought. It’s a little too sincere for the kind of conversation you’re having. 

You’re a tactless person, so of course - you don’t bother with going along with the mood. Instead you smile like the evil bastard you are. 

“And…?” 

“You little—” He sighs rubbing his palms over his hands “And because I can trust you to be the least horrible option.” 

“So you acknowledge my valiant efforts as your underling and assistant and know you’d be nowhere without me?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Aw, you’re sweet,” You say, promptly ignoring him “But yeah, I mean - no judgement. I would ask if you’ve had anything major happen but I unfortunately already know that’s not really the case.”

Yes. You, of all people, would know that no major changes have happened in Katsuki’s external life that would make it hard for his dick to function. You spend so much time together. Minus the time he spends working and catching villains in the world - you’re practically glued to his side. You’re in charge of all of his affairs, his schedule, all other personal things. Katsuki is naturally neurotic, but you handle all of it with grace and care. You know everything about him, which is why he is asking you about this problem. 

(Does it border on unprofessional? Of course it does. But your relationship to each other degraded that border a long time ago. You’ve already slept in his bed and met all of his friends. And kissed him, but that’s irrelevant for now) 

“I need solutions,” Katsuki offers, totally and utterly defeated by the situation at hand. “I’ve done everything. Taken every goddamn herb, done every meditation. Nothing is working. Nothing. I’m going to go fucking crazy.” 

“Do you think just sleeping with someone would help? I know you don’t want to ask any of your friends, but maybe an escort? We can do it discreetly.” 

“Fuck no. If it were that easy I would’ve done it.” 

You pause. Katsuki can see the focus on your face and doesn’t know if it makes him feel better or worse. After an elongated period of silence, you perk up a little. You lock eyes with him and Katsuki briefly regrets bringing the whole conversation up in the first place. 

“Hate to ask,” You say, though there’s not enough embarrassment on your face to make anything of that statement. “But uh, have you tried getting off with other things. Like something that isn’t your dick.” 

He feels a flush creeping up his skin. “What the fuck are you talking about!”

“This is an important question,” You emphasize, an expression so alarmingly calm Katsuki doesn’t know if it makes him feel better or worse. “Cause if the answer is no, then that’s basically the best solution.” 

“How the fuck is that the best solution? Are you insane?” 

“Don’t be such a prude, Mr. Dynamight. You’ve bottomed before. It’s not that different. Have you ever tried it on your own?” 

“I fucking hate you.” He replies, closing his eyes and frowning. “No I haven’t. Why the hell would I do something so embarrassing.” 

“I know you’re super anal retentive - no pun intended there actually, but can you relax a little? It’s a good solution if nothing else is working. Your dick might be broken but an orgasm is an orgasm.” 

“Remind me to never ask you for shit again,” 

“I’d love that. Just keep me on payroll. Anyway,” You go back to typing. “I think that should be your first move,”

“How the—are you seriously telling me I should go fuck myself to solve my problem?” 

You giggle. “Well it sounds bad when you put it like that. But I guess yeah. I can help pick out some sex toys, maybe, do a little research. If you don’t want to do it in your apartment, there might be a love hotel,” 

A blush creeps up against the back of his neck. He covers his face with his hands. 

“I’m begging you to shut the fuck up. There’s no,” Another wave of humiliation sets in “There’s no way this is how I’m going about this. Like. Fucking none.” 

“The only other option is the good old fashioned doctors appointment, then. Which we can squeeze in over telehealth I think - since you got a check-up pretty recently. Want me to do that instead,” 

“Fuck, no. I just,” He groans, feeling the stress make his eye twitch “Fuck.” 

There’s a bit of silence and a little typing, like you’ve decided to leave him to his thoughts. Which he doesn’t blame you for, because all things fucking considered - there’s not really any more options. He’s a smart man and even he is fucking stumped. He’s going to have to give into something, eventually. He knows that, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. 

As soon as he gets close to giving up, you sit up straighter and give a deep long sigh. 

“Hey,” You scratch the side of your face awkwardly. “Do you want me to help you….?” 

He stares at you. “With what.” 

“With your dick being broken,” 

“What?!” 

“Don’t yell anymore, you’re giving me a headache,” You express, rubbing your temples. “Look. You need to get off, and you’re probably going to have to use your ass to do it. You don’t want to do it by yourself, and you don’t want to do it with a friend or escort. You’d prefer not going to the doctor's office or taking any pills. I’m offering - I’m not really your friend per se and you trust me enough to ask about it.” 

He hates more than anything that you have a point. 

“You can’t be fucking serious right now.”

“Hey. If you want your dick to stay broken for a while until you figure it out, do you. I’m just saying. Offering solutions is what you pay me for,” 

He pulls back a little. 

“...Are you fine with that?” 

“Oh banging you? Is that what you’re worried about?” He winces at the direct and crass way you speak. “I like you plenty and you’ve got a pretty face. I’m down if you are,” 

“I can’t believe I’m considering this.” 

“Really? I totally can,” You snicker, and he really, really considers firing you. “It’s not the first time we’ve crossed boundaries with each other. Just consider it, okay? Before you actually blow a fuse.” 

He leans back in his chair and groans. 

“Fuck. Yeah, whatever.” 

__ 

It’s another week before Katsuki takes you up on your offer. 

Miraculous it took that long, given the amount he suffered stubbornly trying to fix the problem on his own. The lengths he went too are too embarrassing to even disclose or recount but it very quickly became clear that this was not an issue that was going to magically disappear - no matter how hard he tried. 

Against his better judgment and after a long, cold shower trying to talk himself out of reality - Katsuki sent you a one line text. 

Fine. Come Saturday. 

The only thing he could say without dying of complete fucking shame. He’s grateful that’s the time you decided to have some tact. 

(Not a lot, since the text back you sent was a peach emoji and a thumbs up. But whatever, he’ll take what he can get.) 

It’s Saturday now, and he’s clean. All of him. He’s clean, and just wearing his boxers - sitting on his couch. You’ll be here very soon, and he can’t believe he’s saying this, but he’s nervous. 

You did mention you were fine with it. He believes that because there’s been long standing tension between you two for god knows how long he’s not entirely blind too. You sleep at his place sometimes and spend all day with him, and then there was that one time you two kissed (very sober) during New Years. You don’t bring it up because you know he can’t deal with it. Yet he’s comforted by the fact you at least want it (because you’ve said so), and that you’re willing to do this despite the ambiguity in your relationship. 

He knows that is inevitably going to come up today. But he really wants to fucking cum. And if it’s with you, then it’s fine. If his head was a little clearer, he would probably reject this whole thing based on his own emotional disparity. God fucking knows he is not in any place to deal with any of that. His heart barely gets by in the office and now you were going to fuck him. 

Is he stupid? 

Usually no, but because there’s a soft dick and tight balls where his brain used to be, currently yes. Everything put together, it’s a recipe for disaster. He considers telling you to fuck off and forget all this happens. 

But then he thinks about the prospect of your hands and your voice and it’s enough to at least get his heart pumping, though his dick still refuses to cooperate.

More than anything, he does trust you. Shitty, smug little fucker you can be sometimes - there’s not a single person who goes out of their way for him. More than just your job, sometimes it feels like every little thing you do is for his sake. Everything you don’t ask of him, every secret you keep. You push him where he needs to go and encourage him to take risks in his career without imposing on him. 

He blushes again, laying on his couch. He was nervous before but it’s not any better. Maybe he’s not so much of a dumbass as he is a total fucking masochistic. Is the level of overthinking the shit Izuku goes through? No wonder he’s like that all the time. 

He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears the doorbell ring. 

He answers the door shirtless and finds you on the other side. You have a cardboard box and the most nonchalant expression he’s ever seen. Normally it would annoy him, but right now he’s kind of comforted by it. You look at him with a flat smile. 

“Hey sexy,” You say with no intonation. “Can I come in?” 

He gives you a look of disdain. “Don’t ever say that shit to me again. But come in,” 

You laugh quietly as he steps aside. You don’t have much with you other than the ominous box and your bag. 

“You look like you’ve showered,” You say, taking your shoes off and putting on the house slippers he keeps for you. You don’t even look at him as you go towards his bedroom upstairs. He follows you with mild (faux) annoyance.“What a shame.” 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“I wanted to get a little romantical and help you clean up but you’ve taken that from me. I’m a little hurt.” 

“You’re such a dumbass. As if I’d let you do that,” 

“Don’t be such a spoilsport. I’m gonna be playing in your ass today anyway.” 

“Not the same thing.” 

“Tomato, to-mah-to,” You say with a wave of your hands. When you finally get upstairs, you look over your shoulder. Katsuki gets the message quickly enough, helping you with the door. You give him a little smile and let yourself in, dropping the box on the edge of his king sized mattress. 

He stands in the doorway for a short while, glancing at you before coming in. You put your bag somewhere on the floor before getting back to the box you’ve brought over. He can guess what’s in it, but he stands with you to open it anyways.

Predictably,  the thing is full of sex toys. The first question he wants to ask is how much you spent on all of it, but he bites his tongue. 

You look at him and do a little jazz hands gesture. “Tah-dah.” 

He gives you a displeased look, but you’re well used to this sort of thing from him. There isn’t actually a whole lot in the box. The theatrics of you bring it upstairs were more likely just you fucking with him for the sake of the bit.  He frowns. Typical. 

You do have some new things in the box. A few expensive look gadgets, like a pair of quirk canceling handcuffs (decorated with leopard print fur) and something that looks like it goes around his neck. The sex toys that are in there are noticeably high quality. You definitely used his dime to pay for this. 

“Handcuffs? Seriously?” 

“You’re too much of a control freak and I like not having my hands blown to bits,” You say, shaking your head. “We should establish some ground rules and stuff now.” 

“Haah? The fuck are you gonna do that we need rules.”

“I’m not just gonna jump scare you with dominating you. But that is what I’m doing.  What we’re doing.” You give him a more serious look, that makes him feel more shy than he cares to admit.  “You get what I’m saying? You have to trust me a little, okay?” 

He makes a petulant face at you. “I already trust you dipshit,” 

“This and that are different,” You say, shaking your head. He refrains from disagreeing with you a second time. They’re really not, but he has no desire to explain that. “I’m gonna touch you and be a little strict. Are you okay with that?” 

“I don’t care.” 

“That’s not an answer,” 

He grits. “I want to cum. And I…trust you or whatever. I already agreed to this. If it’s pissing me off, I’ll just kick you offa me. Anyway, ‘s fine.” 

“If you kick me I’m suing you for battery. We can have a safeword. I’m not going to duct tape your mouth and I’m gonna talk you through most of it - but just incase.” You say. He pauses, taken aback by how… delicately you’re treating him. He doesn’t know if he should be pissed about it or not. “Any word is fine. We can use the stoplight system too if you want.”

“Stoplight?” 

“Red for stop, yellow for slow, green for go.” 

“That’s fine. Easy to remember.” 

“Okay,” You nod to yourself, tucking the promise to memory before looking at him more seriously. “Are you okay with intimacy?” 

He stares at you. 

“The fuck…?” 

“Kissing and hand-holding and all that other stuff.” 

“Is it necessary?” 

“Strictly speaking, no,” You look at him knowingly this time. He’s taken aback, but you’re always like this. You look through him, not at him. “Are you okay with it?” 

The implication is there. Do you want it? is the question that goes unasked. Too direct for his tastes. He feels heat spread through his body, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“Yeah…’m fine with it.” 

Your smile is more genuine this time around. He turns away from you a little. 

“Okay. That’s everything out of the way. I’m gonna cuff your arms,” You say. It all feels a little sudden. He figures you’d mean business, but still - he’s not all that prepared. He’s had a week to mentally prepared but that feels like nothing compared to now.  There’s an authority to the way you talk now he isn’t sure he’s going to get used too. “Repeat your safewords to me when you turn around.” 

He frowns but listens. He puts his hands together in front of him, waiting for you to cuff him, shyness making him hot. 

“Uh. Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go.” 

“Good boy,” You say so smoothly it almost rolls off of him. The cuffs go around his wrists, and Katsuki can feel the familiar sensation of losing his quirk. Now it’s just the both of you. “I’m expecting a little pushback, but generally - you’re to listen to me. Clear?” 

“God, fuck - yeah clear,” Katsuki says, feeling ticklish all of a sudden. “All this shitty foreplay is making me feel weird.” 

You wrap your arm around his midriff in a sudden movement, making him twitch. He can feel your cheek pressed against his chest as your hands hover over his waistband. He takes in a sharp inhale. 

“It’s good that you’re feeling anything.” You say, breath just barely above a whisper. “Gonna take this off,” 

He just nods, silently. It’s still on soft, but something is happening in his gut at least. You help him take his boxers down. You’ve probably seen him naked before, more than once. You two being attached at the hip was no joke. This time there’s this lingering anticipation that’s there, and that changes things. 

He steps out of his boxers. He’s naked and you’re clothed and his head feels like it’s spinning. Your hand guides him to the edge of the bed. He sits and watches you, but you don’t undress. 

The first kiss (second kiss) that you exchange with Katsuki is pleasant. You bend down to do it. It’s a chaste way to meet his lips, weirdly soothing while his stomach is starting to tie in knots. It’s a little surprising how..comfortable it is. Your mouth is soft, your lips taste a little like chapstick and you smell nice. You pull away to kiss the corner of his mouth, trailing down his jaw. 

Your thumbs draw over the shell of his ear, rubbing the lobe tender. You’re so different. The contrast in your normal personality is a little too much for him to reconcile with easily, but you brush over these things well enough. He looks away when you meet his eyes. 

“Do you wanna lay down or kneel?” 

His throat is tight. “...Don’t care.” 

You laugh a little to yourself, another kiss. “Lay down then. It’d probably be easier if you put your ass up but knowing you, I doubt it.” 

He blushes, annoyed that he’s so obviously predictable to you. 

The sheets are soft where he lays. You don’t join him on the bed at first. He just waits there cuffed as you shuffle around for things - lubes and toys and pillows. When you do return to him, you pat his side and slide a pillow underneath his back. He quickly regrets laying down, because god the position is fucking exposing. 

You get between his legs and settle there comfortably. A hand rests on his bare thigh, rubbing your thumb into smooth, muscled skin. His breath is hitched. You lean down and kiss his hip. Still no dice on the erection, but you don’t seem discouraged. 

You flip the lube open and let it pour onto your fingertips. It’s pink lube. This is mildly irritating, but saying anything will feed into your satisfaction so Katsuki bites his tongue. He watches it as you warm it in your hands, patting his leg with your clean hand. 

“Legs up,” You instruct. “And deep breath. Try not to tense.” 

“Just goin’ for it, huh?”

You don’t reply to that, but you do smile. 

It’s not his first rodeo. His second or third, but certainly not his first - but he’s never had it done for a reason like this. There was an exchange prior, that someone was putting something in him for their pleasure too. This isn’t for that. This is just for him, with your skilled hands and your oddly gentle tendencies that he doesn’t see any other time. That proves to be too much, makes his belly feel honeyed with lust. 

The warm, thick sensation of lubed fingers presses against the tight rim of muscle. He breathes and unclenches. Tries not to think too hard about anything. He’s desperate, too desperate. At this point, it’s hard to be prideful. Your hands are noticeably daintier than the ones he’s had in him prior. It’s…weirdly nice. Makes the process easier somehow. He’s reminded that you’re just you, and that makes him more nervous. 

“That’s it, baby,”  You hum, so soft it’s startling. The way the blood starts to rush in that familiar way nearly makes him sick. Oh, fuck. No way. “Oh?” 

No way. No fucking way. No way that’s what does him in. 

You pause. He takes in a deep breath, ready to say anything to defend himself. Humiliation spreads through his whole body. He can feel how hard he’s starting to burn, like the blood in his body is struggling to keep up with the desire and pump of his heart. His chest and face start to flush a familiar rose as he grits his teeth and closes his eyes. 

Weeks. Weeks and weeks of trying to figure this out. And it was you calling him baby, of all things, to get him at half-mast. 

He’s too afraid to open his eyes, but forces himself too. He’s expecting a smug laugh or sarcastic jab but instead you just look surprised. You stare at him, unblinking. He’s so startled he stares back. 

“Do you wanna…keep going?” 

He gets hard. Fuck. 

“S-shit,” He says, wishing he could cover his face with his hands properly. “Yeah,” 

He can’t read your expression at all. Annoying. You don’t brush over it though - but you don’t force him to acknowledge it either. Maybe you’re just focused on the fact he finally has something to work with and don’t want to ruin it by making him talk about his feelings. 

“Baby,” You say again, smooth and deliberate. There’s that twitch again, something pooling in his gut. He starts to feel nervous. You’re doing the same as before, stretching him and teasing the rim - getting him ready for something else. “You like bein’ my baby, Katsuki?” 

He opens his mouth, only to close it again. He tries to choke some word about, telling you go fuck yourself - but he always ends up looking at your face. Your lashes on your cheek. Soft touches and even softer words. He stops knowing what he wants at some point.

“Ugh,” His voice grows thicker. “Don’t ask me that,” 

(If he were more apt at honesty, he could admit to you that he just wants you. In whatever way. Sometimes you get like this, when you’re not screwing around - and you’re so good to him that it hurts. He likes your sarcasm and dryness. 

But he likes too when you’re this sweet on him too - even if that feels shameful as fuck. That feels like it’s crossing so many more lines that you’re usual self. He knows that better than anyone. It is crossing more lines than usual. 

He can’t help but think about it anyway.)

You laugh a little. His eyes go lidded as you continue to work him open. It’s a slow process. You circle his hole with your thumb each time before pushing in. You get one finger in without effort. The second one takes a little more. Another heaved breath and unclenching of his muscles. 

He hasn’t felt the sensation of something entering him in so long. He can’t remember when the last time was. He’s antsy as you pump your fingers in and out, stretching him slowly. You find the bottle with your free hand, flicking it open with your teeth and pouring lube onto him directly before you keep going. 

“That feel okay?” You mumbles

“Y-yeah. Feels fine,” He huffs, closing his eyes “Feels…good,” 

“It’ll feel better soon. Just need to,” You curve the two fingers inside of him up. They search and search and search until—

There. Shit, there. 

“Oh, shit,” He gasps, arching himself up as you rub it. You smile at him, pleased. “Fuck,” 

You whistle. Katsuki can feel his cock throb properly now, up at full attention. You don’t touch him though. Your other hand grips his thigh for support as you focus your wrist and energy on curling your fingers against his prostate. His stomach flutters, waist tightening.

He’s been fucked before, damn it, but this is different. This is controlled and concentrated. Your fingers are perfect in their motion, pinpoint pleasure making him break out into a feverishness. You’re annoyingly good at this. His whole nervous system feels like it’s being unraveled so slowly. Pulled apart like the slices of a fruit, something for you to pick off and eat.

His head feels like it’s full of cotton, tongue too big for his mouth. Thoughts clouded and inhibition lowered. Real pleasure. He hasn’t felt that in what has to be more than a month now. It’s overwhelming. He’s sensitive and muddy and acting stupidly - he’s well aware. It’s an out of body experience being so unwound in general but this after everything is overstimulating. 

God it feels good. How can anything feel this fucking good? 

His breathing is erratic, heart pumping trying to keep up with it. Euphoric little pricks start at his abdomen and shoot off through his whole body. Like the splintering ends of a falling star. 

He’s never had any orgasm that feels like it needs every muscle in his body to pump through him. It starts in his center and spreads out, melts him slowly. Usually the feeling of needing to cum is passing - just building pleasure until the orgasm hits and the high relaxes. His cock is leaking now with every little press along his insides. Little white dribbles of pre-cum sliding down his shift all the way down to his ass. He doesn’t want to think about how he looks, so he focuses on how it feels. 

“Fuck, that feels so good,” His voice almost gives. “Shit, I’m gonna cum if you don’t slow down.”

“You can cum if you want to, Katsuki,” As if to drive the point home by massaging his inner thigh, neglecting his cock “Guess you’re pretty sensitive inside, hm? Gonna make you cum like a girl,” 

His blush deepens.. 

“Haah, fuck - fuck I’m not sensitive. It’s just, hng. Been a while,” 

“Don’t be a liar or I won’t let you cum,” You tease. 

His eyes shoot wide, brows touching his hairline.  “Fuck, d-don’t you dare. .” 

You have the nerve to laugh at him. All things considered, maybe you’ve earned. “Just teasing. I’m awful but not that awful. “ 

“You’re not awful, fuck - just really,” He throws his head back against the sheets. “Need to cum, really need to—” 

“Gonna cum without even touching your cock,” You say, half-amused. He shudders when the realization dawns on him.“You’re so sweet.” 

He’s drooling. The strength goes out in his jaw as the feeling just builds and builds and builds. It goes on like it’ll never topple. 

When it does, it doesn’t feel so much like a rope unsnapping as much as it feels like everything is being pulled from under him. Like the loss of gravity. His abdomen goes tight, the anticipation of it making it impossible to breathe. So close, so close, so close. His brain feels shut off, mindlessly humping along air to capitalize on everything. You’re encouraging only eggs him on further. He lets out a garbled little noise, choking. His voice rasps as electricity flows through him. 

And he cums, there’s an orgasm - but nothing comes out. He cums so hard but his balls still feel so tight and full. It feels good but he’s still so fucking hard. It snaps him awake as his eyes open, and you’re staring at his cock a little awestruck. 

“Oh, poor baby,” You say - not exactly mocking him but not exactly being kind either. Katsuki stares at you lost and hazy. “A dry orgasm after all of that. That’s just cruel. 

He heaves. “What the….how am I supposed to?” 

His dick aches. Fuck he almost wants to cry. 

Your hand wraps around the base of his shaft in a sudden movement, making him hiss. He almost cusses you out. Sensitive, too sensitive. You put your thumb over the tip of his cock, more pre-cum leaking from it as you. You look mesmerized as it dribbles against your thumb

A long pause. 

“Hey,” Your expression is  serious. “Do you wanna fuck me?” 

“What?” 

“I’m really turned on right now, shit. I was planning on just helping you but, you didn’t cum yet and I’m...,” You’re looking at him so directly. His heart pounds. “You can say no,” 

Of course he wants to fuck you. That’s what he wants to say. He doesn’t know where he’d find the fucking gall. 

“....’s sensitive,” He says instead, flushing with embarrassment. You brighten up. “Just… give me a minute,” 

“I will but first,” You rummage through your items and pull out a plug. His eyes widen. “It’ll feel good, I promise.” 

He grumbles, but doesn’t reject you. You have some kind of miracle in you - so he feels more inclined to just give in to whatever you say. You look eager to do it. He doesn’t know how he feels about that. 

It’s easy enough to put the plug in when he’s already all soft. He’s still sensitive and swollen. He hisses as the cool metal of the plug slides into softened hole, before settling. You give him a little tap on his which he glares at you for. Your only response is laughter. 

There’s nothing to talk about while Katsuki watches you undress. You don’t take it all off - just your bottoms. It’s not that he has nothing on his mind. Just that… seeing you like that isn’t making him any less hard. He just… looks at you. Dumbly. You slide your shorts off in one go and your underwear along with it, and you’re all on display. 

It’s pretty. Your pussy is really pretty. A horrifyingly embarrassing thing for him to think but it’s true. There’s a fine layer of hair on your mound that he likes. You’re dripping wet like you said you were, and that doesn’t make the situation any easier. You give him a little smug grin as you settle over his lap. He stares at you completely absent-minded, flushed. 

“Like what you see?” You tease. He’s too struck to lie to you. 

“Yeah,” He rasps. He’s out of his mind right now. He blames it on his dick. “I wish I could take these fuckin’ cuffs off.” 

You look at him a little surprised. “You don’t like being cuffed and restrained?” 

His ears feel hot, heat prickling up his skin. “Didn’t say that just,” He groans even trying to say it. “...Wanna touch you,” 

He trails off. You use your hand to turn his face back to you, cupping his jaw as you bend forward to kiss him. He stares at you wide-eyed, making a noise of surprise. This kiss is different from all the others. Deeper, with more feeling. He gets into it, lifting his head to kiss you back. 

When you pull away, you’re all fluttered lashes and adoration. 

“After I drain your dick dry,” You say with a confidence that astounds him. “I’ll take them off and let you fuck me proper. But you have to tell me you want that, first. Do you wanna fuck me, baby?” 

“Shit. Y-yeah,” He nods, feeling absolutely swept up in your pace. 

“Say it.” 

“I wanna fuck you, dammit,” He stutters through the last of his sentence. “Don’t make me beg, my dick is going to blow off if you keep torturing me.” 

You laugh good naturedly and he feels a little proud that he made you laugh. The thought that he’s beyond whipped wipes the smile off his face completely, but whatever. 

You pull back, sitting up as you examine his cock. You hold it up to you, weighing your options. 

“I’m too horny to open myself up. I’m just gonna sit on it, ‘kay? Don’t buck your hips up,” 

He opens his mouth to protest, but the words die in his mouth. The warm, wet heat of your cunt is immediately overstimulating. He groans so gutterally it startles him. Like it’s punched out of him. This is the only pressure his hard cock has gotten in months and it’s making him feel like he’s on fire. 

You don’t give him a chance to cover. You lean over him as you maneuver his cock to your entrance with all disregard for his sanity. You hiss as the tip finds the spot. Fuck you’re wet. Your insides are so soft, so sticky - but you’re still so damn tight. 

As you promised you go slowly. It doesn’t help him losing his mind. Worsened by the fact he can see you on top of him, all bated breaths and shaky moans. There must be a dull pain, but you only give him a smile as you get the first inch. 

“You’re big,” You say breathlessly. His cock twitches to life. “Feels fucking good. Shit, that’s amazing. Haha, I can feel you so deep already.” 

“Please stop talking, before I, haah,” 

“Don’t cum yet,” You demand, lowering yourself further and further until you’ve bottomed out. Katsuki feels fucking crazy. “Let me get my fill first.” 

“Ngh, easier said than fucking done,” 

You just laugh. “Try your hardest, Mr. Hero. Show off your endurance, hm?” 

He groans as you start to move. You really don’t regard him at all. You lean over him with one hand and use your other to tease and toy with your clit as you ride his cock with reckless abandon. The room is quick to fill with noise - the sound of skin slapping skin, the skin sticking where your hips meet his thighs. 

 You’re moaning in little broken waves. He’s not going to last if he listens to you anymore. 

He’s biting the inside of his cheek trying not to cum, but you don’t make it easy. You’re riding him with so much force, using him. Your pussy is so tight it’s gripping him, sucking him dry. A vice-like grip, sticky and pliant over the hard curve of his cock. Everytime you bounce and throw your ass a little harder onto him, he can feel you. Feel himself and  how deep he is. His hands tighten into fists where they’re cuffed in front of him. 

He’s never been… used like this. But he doesn’t hate it the way you disregard him to chase your own pleasure while being so generally mindful of his own. You take and take and take but you make it feel so good. 

It’s not helped by the plug in his ass, brushing against his prostate every single time you move. Makes him jolt. Every fiber and nerve in his body is wound as tight as it can possibly go. All of his strength, sanity, and focus he has left in him is trying not to cum, not to buck his hips up and rut into you like a stupid animal no matter how much he wants too. 

He can feel you start to cum before you even tell him. Your walls pulse with need and your movement starts to get slower. The grip you have holding you up weakens slightly. 

“Gonna cum. Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum,” You say with a pant. You open your eyes and look down on him “Cum with me, okay? Don’t hold it in,” 

The words alone trigger a reaction. But with everything else, it’s like Katsuki explodes. Weeks worth of tension in his body, in his muscles, in his everything  - burst at the seams. You cum and he follows you nearly in succession. The hard pulsing of your swollen cunt suck around him like a vice and he goes practically limp feeling his dick finally drain. 

He cums and he can’t stop cumming. Pumps out so much white hot seed his head starts to cloud. He fucks up into you, sloppy and dumb. Chasing his high as he pours every ounce of his load into your pussy without so much as a modicum of shame. A month of dryness overwritten by the most intense orgasm he’s ever had in his fucking life. He doesn't know how long he stays there, painting your walls with his spend. It just goes on forever, longer than he’s ever experienced. 

He has his eyes closed as he goes limp. Fucking hell. 

It takes him a while to go soft again. When he finally does and returns to consciousness, he’s still nestled inside you. You give him a smile when his eyes finally open, leaning forward to kiss his hairline. 

“Still all there?” 

His voice is hoarse like he’s been screaming. “I feel like I fucking died,” 

You giggle. 

“So… no?” 

“Kind of. Barely. What the fuck is up with you.” He says laying his head back, sweat dripping down his back. “Shit.” 

“Did you like it?” 

He gives you an unimpressed look as you laugh. 

“I’m glad.” You say softly. You’re warm. God he’s down bad. “We have a lot to talk about later. You should take a little break for now.” 

He nods in agreement to both things before pausing. “For now..?” 

“You thought we were done?” You say with a tilted head. He gapes. “I thought you knew I was more ruthless than that.” 

He groans. 

“You’re insane.” 

You chuckle, leaning down to kiss him. 

“You love me.” 

He lets you kiss him some more and doesn’t bother denying it. 

[quinloki]

Aaaaaaa our self ships?!?!?

I ship with Buggy and Shanks, because how could I not be head over heels for them? And I just love the height difference, me 5'5, Buggy 6'3, Shanks 6'6.... They're giants compared to the tiny powerhouse that is my s/i.

And Addie Santine, my most beloved s/i. She's free spirited, doing what she wants when she wants, who grew up with a whole lot of trauma before heading out to become a pirate at the ripe old age of 12. And as an adult is infamous, known as the Siren for being able to lure men (and certain women) with seduction and flirtation for her own personal goals. But also not to be taken lightly because she's known for a reason, and feared as dangerous and will go from being fun loving to willing to attack at a pin drop if someone presses her buttons (much more often occurring in my ship with Buggy).

With Buggy the two of them met with her saving his life (because he's Buggy) from another crew that was getting close to killing him wanting to join his crew, because with the two of their reputations they could stand to get whatever they wanted. And I mean, hot, deadly pirate lady wants to join him? Buggy's in. They don't get together for a while though once she has, instead they're pining for each other (completely obvious to everyone else) with Addie due to her past trauma with relationships and men, and Buggy thinking they couldn't possibly be interested in him with his rock bottom self esteem. But once they do my god, they're the Destruction Duo. And Addie? Don't you dare lay a hand on the clown.

And Shanks? Dashing, handsome, kind hearted Shanks? The two of them are instantly attracted to each other and often run into each other, flirting outrageously and having a deep respect for each other despite their differing views on handling conflict, with Shanks understanding Addie does what she does for her survival, and the fact that she's a much more reasonable person when she's around him. He loves her for her wildness, her love for freedom and that under the coldness and violence she's loving and kind. And Addie fell for him because he's the first person who was able to see her for who she is, and when she realises she likes being soft and gentler because he helps her be the person she wants to be. Though it still takes a whole lot of time with the flirting building up for Addie to accept her feelings for him and the fact that he returns them thinking that she doesn't deserve it because of the things she's done. But once they do get together omg, power couple!

Thank you for sharing! I love the subtle differences between how things go with Buggy vs how they go with Shanks. I love the gremlin vibes and the flirting and the explosions XD

Sometimes we just need someone to actually SEE us and that's enough for us to start to see ourselves, and there's a vibe of that in this I really like. ^_^ And like, YOU get to be the pirate, a little scourge of the high seas, for yourself, as a treat \o/

It's fantastic! I read this a couple times before I could even reply to it cause you just painted such a great picture =3 the passion's there!

Do you have anything written or drawn for Addie? I'd love to read up on her or see her ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Tell me about your self-ships!

[libidomechanica]

One to find our heart, too soft to be, and talked “with”

His sheet of sorrow through the weights and seemed like and     use Thy work: amend what flaps and feel the hill, and sends a spark from afar—what comes my     husband or his theme—he seldom come

back to your shoes is heart stay, as you read my Cupids     dart an image with four garages and years …. The cause, for tea and skill, and see, back’d     by tiffanie or cobweb lawn. Fit you

loved the Lord of well-tuned sound, were so black and gold     with aching heaved the pine, and still so early, the circular argument, too sore, and     yours years, half broken board her surely

tapping a contumelious lips in threshing-time,     by new-built rick. One to find our heart, too soft to be, and talked with the sun, seeking their     use: I own they elsewhere they, my soul

I’ll pour into again. Darts, O beloved where     my God. Old Lambro’s call longueurs’ we’ve not the old church with skin stretch my limbs stream without     layer on layer of featherless

heads and fear, to doubt, her vogue has found in a sunset;     blades of grass of winter’s wreckage. Let vs homeward: for night her writhing, sae wyling.     Yet some prizes; he had addresses,

made quite so lewdly bent. The time, the name, the     Sculptor’s Cup he poison behind his hand. On mountain-brink he sprang, and shortly after,     a most adore. In our two loves theirs,

forsooth, and many idle flitting phantasies,     traverse of same, and dropping orb were given, warranted oft abused the day of gold     for either of the Mind, with an answer.

This is not, to put fair truth by. In spire and     to weare? ’Er; but all, though it scar’d, it did not sweete? Here she stands; but she, and Primroses,     and such liars, and next, when joyous

tears: alas!—Even a rag like to a second     whisp’rings all because I can’t recur.— Devoid of God do go, are very time show ripe     ears with heath, when Damsines I gether,

we will go with you. They are a boat, and here     you that assail and better understand my own meaning of themes like bread and wakened     by youth, and now to see him whose

rays shone her graven stone ice-cold whate’er our household     savour. If Thou—then Where are though the Eyes take delight returning Sappho love or     be tied to sires, forsooth, would creep; when

exquisite the Simoom sweeps the end of the golden     tresses. Give thyself dost give invent, whose lips did mee addresses from your rudenesse     doe not you did loue-ditties peepe;

nay more fools; he cheats us from the sun’s, and changes,     but following fennel, run to see him who watch, as we walk into the greene, o     seemly sight, and it will seek what the

faces of the connection would wither’d to the     brown hair sprent with democracy; ’ or Wordsworth’s last quarto, by the sweetness only due     to the wild game on me, but like two

beings passions are in its Face looking from every     man, of eve serenely lie round their vocation pursuer, with his lead horse, not     Corydon, hath conquering Beauty

for what you call wisdom’s change my selfe contempt with     me—he will surely nothing, or would punishes the world, not quite hearts to fail: what need’st     thou with me—he will be false to see.

[mostlymalena]

September 25th 2023 1:45am

Thought I should start writing on my laptop during this flight since writing is not an option at the time.

I have a million thoughts, actually most likely an unfathomable amount of thoughts.

I am not sure how to describe unearthly feelings with such humanly words.

A lot happened on my trip. I realized that I am meant to be in Argentina and so I will continue the plans to move there. My family completed me. Filled a void I thought would go unnoticed and unexplained. A pain and grief that only they have known and one only they can share with me. 

Their humor and their personalities made so much sense. I am their missing puzzle piece and they mine. 

I need to know more about this part of me. It was lost and I have the map now.

I always come to this conclusion in writing where i cannot gather my thoughts as it turns out I am a hunter and not good one. My thoughts cannot be gathered like ripe fruit in the summer. It is prey and the kind that is afraid of anything so then hides from everything.

P and I are in the midst of getting back together??? I still fantasize about a one true breathtaking love like those i read in a book. One where I am adored and I adore. One where I am worshipped but I too, have made them my religion. One where it grows so big I have to grow bigger to accommodate.

Is P that? Was he and he can be again? I do not know. He wants to try to go to couples therapy. I suggested he try and find his own therapist first bc his fear of never being good enough is eating all the hope I feed us. 

I wish I could skip the uncomfortable part of life that is coming up.

Saying goodbye to my beautiful and polished life in wilmington. I knew that once life settled into this perfectness and I realized it was settled that the next part would rear its head. 

Rear it did. Moving to Argentina is a blazing forest fire and I am an old dried pine.

Who am I but a relic of my mother.

Who am I but a mother.

Will I feel the love I know I deserve and wait feverishly for it with every turning moon on this god forsaken spinning planet?

Will i write and write and spill my thoughts onto pixels and paper and die and realize this was all for naught?

Well no I will not. 

Will I meet my match. I am not yet 25, I hope I look back on this and laugh will a heart so full of love i cannot help but think my younger self a fool.

Is it coming? 

When does an author decide to stop writing? Especially when it comes to the terms of one’s own thoughts they are documenting in real time?

I wonder if this is loud - me typing on my computer. I tore all of my beloved nails off so at least the clicking cannot be too loud..

I just checked and the sound is no where near as loud as the plane

I worry about my state of mind when i return home. Nothing seems real and i want my thoughts to stay my own. I wish to sit in the park and lay a while.

I will regret not sleeping but I could not  bc look at what (and there is more i bet) was on my mind.

[tsarinatorment]

Camp Half-Blood Beads

@mavie-wisegirl​ asked about the stories behind my bead designs in this post; there’s a lot of them so I elected to answer in a separate post rather than make that one obscenely long.

To reiterate from the original post, by all means ask questions about these, yes you may use these designs as long as you credit me, no you may not use any of the ocs listed in the original post.

Yes, I’m listing these by year.  Yes, I know Rick’s gone on record saying the books are not set in any particular year, but if I didn’t assign years to these I would have gone actually insane trying to work out which kids were around when, so have some semi-arbitrary years for my own sanity.

I’ll include the canon beads just for completeness but I won’t go into any detail about them because, well, they’re canon!

A lot of these are early-days vague ideas that still need concreting; if anyone has any theories/ideas that tie in with them, I’m all ears!

I’ve preambled enough, I think, so here they are, starting with the oldest I’ve made so far (there will be three more, but I haven’t worked out those designs yet):

1995 - Half-Eaten Strawberry The strawberry fields suffered a major catastrophe; something kept eating the fruit before it was ripe, leaving them unable to sell any and provoking a camp-wide endeavour to find and stop whatever was responsible!

*****

1996 - White Rose A quest was issued by Aphrodite, sending a trio of campers out to find a particular flower she had her eye on, but was heavily guarded (of course), so she enlisted demigods to do it instead of doing it herself.

*****

1997 - Panpipes The satyrs are a much-beloved and hard-working part of Camp Half-Blood, so when the tables turned and they ended up the ones in need, the demigods rallied around their friends and protectors.

*****

1998 - Grapes The Maenads discovered that Dionysus had been banished from Olympus and that he might be found at Camp Half-Blood.  The god, of course, promptly made himself scarce, leaving the campers to deflect his rabid followers before they destroyed the camp.

*****

1999 - Eye and Tooth Most demigods are at least aware of the existence of the Grey Sisters, but that didn’t make their sudden visit to Camp Half-Blood any more welcome.

*****

2000 - Chariot The last year chariot races were held before their reinstation by Tantalus, a beloved camp activity suddenly turned on its head and forbidden after a disastrous race which killed several demigods and mutilated even more (referenced canon event with no canon timeframe).

*****

2001 - Thalia’s Pine Canon.

*****

2002 - Centaur in a Dress The Party Ponies came for a visit and gave the campers one hell of a summer they won’t be forgetting in a while (canon bead design).

*****

2003 - Burning Trireme The camp decided to replace the chariot races with a seemingly less-fatal boat race instead.  Unfortunately, while not fatal, the nymphs took great offence when the boats and attacks launched at the boats started polluting their river and had their revenge.  The boat races will not be returning (canon bead design).

*****

2004 - Golden Apple Luke’s quest (canon event that happened that year).

*****

2005 - Silver Bow The Hunters of Artemis visited camp and stayed for a while.  Unfortunately, they didn’t mix well with the pranksters of Cabin Eleven, and things got very out of control (referenced canon event with no canon timeframe).

*****

2006 - Trident Canon.

*****

2007 - Golden Fleece Canon.

*****

2008 - Labyrinth Canon.

*****

2009 - Empire State Building Canon.

*****

2010 - Greco-Roman Union The events of HOO (considering adding the Athena Parthenon to this design)

*****

2011 - The Sun The events of TOA

*****

2012 - Skull and Halo The events of TSATS (likely to actually occur in the same year as TOA and therefore not have its own bead, but I had OCs from this year in need of something for their camp necklace so this is a placeholder design for now).

[ellocentipede]

Arcana Wildcraft's Hel's Belles Collection

The brilliant, kind, and generally lovely Julia of Arcana Wildcraft has created a truly special collection of scents inspired by several revered goddesses and figures of the Norse pantheon, cheekily name Hel’s Belles. It’s a beautiful and dynamic collection, showcasing a wide variety of scents that is sure to offer something suitable for all tastes.

Freyja

Scent description: Beautiful Freyja welcomed the souls of fallen Viking warriors to the afterlife. Golden amber, delicate sea water, astringent white grapefruit, dream poppyseed, and a hint of hemlock spruce.

Freyja has been a beloved scent of mine for years, and I’m so glad that it was rereleased with this collection. Simply put, this is a wonderful and realistic grapefruit blend. Often in perfumes, grapefruit is sugared, but here it is tart and realistic, with lots of zest. This is a cleanness to this scent—with a hint of salt and freshness from the sea water. The sea breeze carries the scent of fresh, delicate fir needles. This scent seems to glow, which may be the effects of the amber, which also brings a hint of sweetness. Freyja is truly gorgeous and is a must-try.

Frigg

Scent description: As beloved queen of the Norse pantheon, Frigg sees into all of the nine worlds and presides over magical powers, motherhood, and marriage. Black tonka bean, raw cashmere wool, French bakery vanilla, soft warm skin, confectionery sugar, and sweet almond.

Frigg smells like warm, clean wool and fluffy, gently-sweetened cream. It’s an atmospheric blend that evokes the cozy feeling of lying in fluffy, clean bed (with a down comforter!) in a busy cottage in winter. The cottage is bustling with baking and laundry, and warmed by the glow of a central hearth. Frigg dries down to a softly-sweetened cream and warm, clean skin. This is so very comforting, but also elegant.

Eir

Scent description: As a healer and guardian deity, Eir's areas of expertise are shamanic rituals, medicine, herbs, and childbirth. A sheer veil of gentle Roman chamomile tea, wild lavender buds, vanilla bean, warm flannel, ivory patchouli, and fresh coconut milk infused with petals of tuberose and magnolia.

Ahhh Eir is so stunning and soothing! I’ve been wearing this one a lot. This is a sweet, mellow, lavender-forward scent with the gentlest, milkiest tuberose and creamy, natural magnolia. The florals here are not harsh, but are sweet, creamy, and heady, just like the real thing. There’s some wild grassiness in the background, likely from the chamomile. This is lunar in feel, and one that I will reach for often!

Lofn

Scent description: The gentle patron of comfort, sweetness, fun, and forbidden love. A single dewy rose rests on a bed of bright violet blossoms, silky velvet, purple iris petals, orris root, apple peel, the arc of a rainbow, and wild berry nectar.

This collection is so stunning that it’s hard to pick a favorite, but Lofn may be my favorite of the bunch! This smells like the best kind of berries—realistic, tart, and a little sweet. These could be blackberries, raspberries, or huckleberries. It smells sparkly and glittery—like a rainbow through a cloud with purple flecks of glitter. The violets are so beautiful and complement the berries so well—they’re a little sweet, a little earth, and soft and pillowy. With wear I begin to smell the rose, and it’s a velvety, deep red rose that gives this scent some serious oomph and elegance. My notes ask: “best thing I’ve ever smelled?” That about sums it up!

Idun

Scent description: The goddess of youth, spring, and renewal. Idun's magical apples keep the entire pantheon looking great and feeling young. Crisp pears and ripe pink apples dripping with juice, loamy black earth warmed by the sun, sacred lotus, young rosemary, fresh green clover, and a primeval forest of conifers: pine, spruce, and fir.

Idun is the scent of a sun-dappled, dew-speckled orchard of ripe apples and juicy pears. These fruits are utterly natural, and make for a simple scent that also somehow manages to paint the complex picture of the orchard in its entirety—fruit, trees, sunlight, dew, soil. This will be a great blend for the transition from summer to fall, and I imagine that it will be much beloved.

Sjöfn

Scent description: A compassionate matron goddess who encourages lovers and brings harmony to all affectionate relationships. Chilled lemon cakes drizzled with vanilla icing, a profusion of hyacinth, lilac, and gardenia petals, creamy sandalwood, a soft pile of pillows, and a touch of carrot seed.

Sjöfn is the scent of my dream life! Sjöfn is the scent of warm, sweet lemon poundcake with a confectioner’s sugar glaze. There’s a gentle and magical clean linen scent and a breezy whisper of flowers. This is a comforting and beautiful blend, as if Julia bottled the scent of a late spring afternoon in a thatched cottage with the doors and windows flung open to welcome the fresh breeze, with clean sheets fluttering on the line, and freshly baked lemon cake on the table. By the end of the day Sjöfn settled into the scent of a moist lemon poundcake decorated with sugared flowers.

Nott

Scent description: For the feminine embodiment of night, a stunning amber accord (holy labdanum resin, midnight Madagascar vanilla, and sweet benzoin) is carefully aged, then sparked with rich black cardamom, a shot of vintage patchouli, and a dark trail of incense.

Nott is rich, slinky, dark, shimmering and resinous. This is the perfume equivalent of wearing swishing velvet robes on your way to a secret meeting in the moonlight. The patchouli in this blend is A+. It’s rich, smooth, dry, and is the perfect complement to the sticky sweetness of the benzoin and labdanum.

Rán

Scent description: The merciless goddess of the sea and the drowned dead. Underground caves filled with incense, tendrils of briny seaweed, slivers of amber emerging from salt-soaked earth, ocean-crashed rock, and damp blonde woods.

When I first opened the bottle of Rán I was greeted with a blast of fragrant seaweed. When applied to the skin, it is truly a stunning blend! Aquatic blends are one of the many areas in which Julia truly excels as a perfumer, and Rán is another beautiful example of that. There is a true sense of brine here, but it is natural and not overwhelming. This blend manages to be dark and atmospheric (think stone cliffs by the seaside), but also pretty and elegant. The amber note is rich and stunning, and I suspect that the incense used may be lightly floral. This is just gorgeous.

Valkyrie

Scent description: Odin's handmaidens who plunge bravely into battle and guide the glorious dead to an afterlife in Fólkvangr or Valhalla. A carpet of velvety green mosses with battered leather armor and a stout wooden shield. The sacred incense of the dead. Translucent tree resin and dry cedar heartwood.

Valkyrie, to my nose, smells of ships and old forests. It smells ancient and fragrant—there are precious woods, with hints of moss and salt—like a ship bearing a cargo of sandalwood. This scent is cozy, elegant, natural, and adventurous! In time I smell the smooth, soft, brown leather, which makes the blend smell even more expensive.

Arcana Wildcraft's expertly crafted perfumes may be perused and purchased at https://arcanawildcraft.com/

[alister312]

Duo Bingo: Style haha

if i had to choose a #2 ship (gregstophe being #1)... i might be Them

i love them <3: Literally just said, they are probably my #2 SP ship. I love the build up, I love the acceptance of co-dependency, the pining, the history, the casual affection... what DOESN’T Style fulfill?? There’s a reason they’re (i think) the #2 ship within the fandom as a whole. It’s all about two people who mean the world to one another but don’t think that the other feels that way... even once they’re dating. They both have such self image issues so they project what little confidence they do have on one another <3

romantically/platonically: You really can’t separate these two categories when it comes to them. Like most best friends to lovers tropes, their friendship is ESSENTIAL to the romance. It is incredibly complex-- they have this super best friendship that dictates everything and deepens any feelings, and yet it is precisely that friendship that gets in the way of furthering said feelings. Or any doubts on the other’s true feelings. They have a wordless language from years of being friends but this wordlessness leads constant miscommunications and misinterpretations once the intent is no longer platonic but they don’t realize they need to SAY that to one another. Stan and Kyle just have this bond that is so infinite that not even they know how to deal with it. The COVID specials really fed us that idea in particular.

FLUFF: Once they finally figure their damn selves out, it’s so much about the fluff. Like, they are guys being dudes incarnate. Despite the fact that I think both of them dream big, ultimately, they are more comfortable with being comfortable. They encourage one another to dream, but at the end of the day, they know they’re just gonna be homeowners in South Park with some kids and be perfectly happy with that. They just have more fun with each other because of how well they know one another. Even if they don’t always agree, they’ve learned how to compromise and they know all of each other’s boundaries.

Better in fanfic: The only reason I say this is simply bc in fanfic they can kiss while I know that is never going to happen in canon. That, or I’ve just been reading too much fic about them lately (especially hollycomb) in order to try and spark inspiration for the one I’m writing about them currently

[emoji]: A look into me reading and re-reading The Scenic Route... I’ll forever hold that fic near and dear. Not only is it peak Style, I think it’s also peak Bunny and Candy, which are some of my other faves. The only other Style fics I remember loving as much were Faith and Lex Talionis, but I haven’t re-read either in a long time. Mostly bc I remember Faith having an incredibly sad ending and I’m scared, and then ofc Lex Talionis no longer exists.

they can fix each other: Both of these boys need so much fixing... and it’s literally canon that only the other one can do it. I think Stan is scared of change but Kyle is scared of never changing which makes for any interesting dynamic of showing one another that there is good in the other side. And not just that, but they both have the tendency to say “This is fine” while everything is burning and I think they are the only two who can really get a sense of urgency through one another’s thick stupid skulls

ANGST: What is a good Style fic if there isn’t pining angst?? Or uncertainty about their own selves in comparison of the other?? Not to mention alcoholic Stan and anxiety-ridden Kyle my beloved tropes... they’re just ripe for so much character exploration and growth through one another. They break each other unintentionally and then must fix each other intentionally. Also-- if they’re ever separated, the pain of having lost someone they projected their will to live and care on?? UGH. I love Style angst. (btw not to plug but there’s some style angst coming up in the next chapter of JB coming out tomorrow)

[ariparri]

Aahh it's here, it's finally here TwT

This story was written by cursedautumn on Instagram as her part of a story/art trade.

Woke up today to see that she was able to finish it and I just love it ToT

I just adore this ship so much and I'm happy the first kiss scenario exists through a story!

The original scenario has Veruca a bit more shy when asking for another kiss before Diego just smothers her and starts calling her cute. But this, this was perfect!!

And I think that last bit of the story may be a nod to Avis, Veruca's great grandmother, due to her patronus/symbolism being a blue butterfly. If it is, that's just so cute!

The June evening of that year was absolutely perfect for a date: the sky was clear, dark blue and starry, and on the horizon there was a strip of sun so bright ruby color that it was painful to look at it. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and wood, and the flower beds flanking the Westside Park paths were filled with scarlet roses, yellow tulips, and white peonies-in short, a beautiful profusion of flowers. In the twilight, the gazebo, festooned with glittering garlands and lit with candles, looked like a real magic house, and Veruca, who came here to meet Diego, marveled at the beauty and romantic atmosphere of this place. Diego had a way of surprising her, even though this was probably their tenth date. By the way, they never kissed, and he was still eager to give her a real holiday every time. Romantic!

"Do you like it?" Diego asked coquettishly, adjusting the collar of his snow-white shirt. Veruca nodded confidently. "I told you, this is a great place for a date!"

"And you were right as always!" she laughed. They began to pull out of a wicker round basket the provisions they had brought with them for the date: a bottle of rose wine, expensive cheese, a mind-blowing scented baguette with a thin crisp crust, glasses, a bunch of ripe grapes and a bag of cherries, chocolates and napkins. "I think there are more garlands here than there are stars in the sky."

"And the brightest star is right here, right next to me," he said. Veruca smiled: her boyfriend offered a few standard, but very pleasant, compliments. Diego took one of the cherries in his mouth and took a big bite. A drop of juice rolled down his chin and was about to fall on his shirt, but he caught it and wiped it with his finger so that Veruca blushed involuntarily and turned away, pretending to be very busy looking at the wine in the bottle.

She and Diego had been dating for quite some time, and she couldn't even remember exactly when it all started. Their relationship flowed like a river: from date to date, hugs, dancing, talking — but so far without kissing or anything more daring. It seemed strange to Veruca that she, a grown-up girl, didn't kiss her boyfriend, but given the circumstances, she could be forgiven for that. And then, what's the point of a relationship if you have to force yourself into it? Diego didn't force her. He just waited. Veruca understood what he wanted, and she often found herself wanting to finally expand the horizons of possibilities. But she just didn't feel ready for it yet. Maybe it will happen today, maybe tomorrow, maybe next month. Veruca didn't make a wish. She had learned to expect anything from herself.

Although, frankly, she liked Diego not only in platonic terms. As a man, he was remarkable, but his merits were not limited to this. He was a rare beauty: dark, fit, muscular, with long, thick hair the color of bitter chocolate and pleasant dark eyes. When he undressed, smiled, ruffled his hair, Veruca was ready to devour him with her eyes, and inside she had a burning desire to kiss him. However, she held back. Controlled herself.

"Well, let's get started!" Diego said solemnly, picking up the wine bottle and carefully uncorking it. Veruca followed his strong, beautiful hands with her eyes. "Shall we start with a baguette with cheese? I'm starving."

They sat down at a table in the gazebo next to each other. The sun had set, and Westside Park was plunged into a romantic haze. They unwrapped the thin paper that served as the packaging for the baguette. Dark cherries and transparent grapes glittered enticingly on their round, glittering sides. Diego poured the wine into the glasses — the liquid sparkling and fresh as a morning lake.

There was silence for a while. Veruca sipped her wine. It was sweet, with hints of apricot, not too cloying or tart. Her throat burned pleasantly. It wasn't that she was getting drunk very quickly, but tonight the wine was particularly relaxing, and she quickly stopped thinking, stopped worrying, and leaned her elbows on the table with an exhalation. Diego didn't say a word, but his eyes said more: he looked at her with love and adoration. With each passing second, Veruca felt lighter and lighter, and wanted to laugh, jump up, and dance. She stared at his handsome face, at his broad shoulders, at his dark gold hair…

"Hey, honey!" Diego snapped his fingers in front of her face and smiled. "What are you thinking, mmm?" Veruca smiled and caught his hand. "Nothing, really."

"How's the wine?" he asked, rolling a seductive smile on his lips. Veruca shrugged, pretending to be only mildly impressed.: "Very pleasant. Light. I love that kind of thing."

"I know," Diego grinned, and moved closer to her. Veruca took a slice of bread and took a bite; it was fresh, crisp, and delicious. "Damn, this wine is crazy! I got it from a distant relative of mine, who works for Limmiani wine products."

"Oh, you're related to a Limmiani worker?" Veruca asked in a flirtatious tone. "I'm definitely not going to leave you now!"

They laughed as they sipped their wine and ate crusty bread, tender cheese, juicy, honey-sweet grapes and cherries, and hard but fast-melting chocolate. The sky overhead shimmered and glowed with cold bluish stars. It got a little cold. Veruca shivered, she forgot her coat at home. Diego noticed this and immediately asked her to take his jacket; she accepted the offer and did not regret it at all — the fabric was soft and warm, it smelled pleasantly of perfume and flowers. They sat there for half an hour, enjoying each other's relatively intimate physical company, until Diego asked her to dance.

"Dance? Here?" Veruca laughed, feeling a little light. It was already dark and not so warm. "That's nice, but I'm not sure I can waltz in my heels."

"Then take them off," Diego suggested. "The grass is soft, there are no insects here. There's nothing to be afraid of."

Veruca hesitated a little, but finally obeyed and kicked off her shoes. She put her bare feet on the ground. The grass was still warm, warmed by the afternoon sun, and very soft, like Wilhelmina's blue velvet dress, which she loved to wear on winter visits and of which she was insanely proud. For a second, Veruca thought she was going to fall, but she managed to stay on her feet and held out her arms to Diego.…

And at that moment, music began to pour out of nowhere. Pleasant, clear as a bird's song, it shimmered and flowed like a stream — a real delight for the ears! She relaxed, and she and Diego began a romantic dance in Westside Park, under the stars and trees.

Their dance was somewhat awkward, a little drunk, but pleasant and somehow natural, as if it wasn't some kind of surprise. Numerous golden lights blurred in Veruca's eyes. The scent of flowers, honey, and just-begun summer filled her lungs like fresh sweet wine filled a crystal glass. Veruca remembered the time she and Diego had been to the Hogwarts summer festival. It smelled like summer there, too. Memories intertwined with the melody, and suddenly it dawned on her — the same music played at the disco when they won the title of the best couple of the festival! Veruca wanted to laugh, but she didn't: she didn't want to ruin such a tender and romantic moment. Diego even remembered the music they had danced to when they were only sixteen or seventeen. Did he cherish everything connected with it so much that even the music from the festival was imprinted in his memory?..

Veruca's heart ached with love and tenderness. She rested her head on Diego's shoulder. He stroked her back with his hand. The rough palms touched the soft, exposed skin of her back; it was like a tickle, like a butterfly sitting on her back, and then it fluttered up, flapped its wings, and flew away.

She was frightened, excited, and attracted by their closeness. Veruca knew better than to be afraid of Diego, and she trusted him. No, perhaps it was not he who frightened her, but the unknown, the unknown romantic expanses. She was standing right on the edge of the abyss, ready to throw herself into it. The fear was gone. Veruca wanted to do something urgently, so that they would be even closer than they were now.

Even closer. Impossibly close.

The dance was not enough.

Breathing, too.

Veruca couldn't wait any longer. She lifted her head and met Diego's warm gaze. He was looking at her, waiting for something. His hands on her body felt like living, open fire.

Veruca cupped his face in her hands, raised herself on her toes, and pressed her lips to his. And Diego returned the kiss, holding her even tighter.

Veruca froze, feeling her hands grow cold, her head burn; her lips burned as his hot and sensual mouth pressed against hers, and she went limp and soft, her heart ached sweetly in her chest and fluttered with wonder and happiness. The smell of Diego enveloped her — the smell of hot chocolate, perfume and apricot wine, his warm hands, his shirt and smooth hair. They kissed timidly, carefully, as if they might hurt each other. It was... nice. Very much so. She had never been kissed before (the cheek doesn't count), and the kiss with Diego Caplan, her beloved man, was unexpected and completely beautiful. Everything around them — the gazebo, the darkness and cool wind, the wine and food left and the music — didn't matter, because Diego was there, and she was kissing him on the lips for the first time.

Finally, they pulled away. Veruca suddenly felt weak, vulnerable, and at the same time liberated. She did it! She kissed him! She kissed Diego Caplan on the lips herself, and he answered her! She was filled with a sweet delight in herself.

Diego smiled in surprise; he seemed equally shocked and delighted. Veruca heard his voice close to her ear: "What was that, Miss McQuaid?"

"Don't you understand, Mr. Caplan?" Veruca was not left in debt. Then she lowered her voice. "I think the second time you will understand for sure."

"Oh," Diego said knowingly. His eyes flashed. "Would you like to repeat it? I'd love to, believe me."

Veruca was flushed. Merlin, she had to be so drunk to pay compliments that gave a head start to Diego Caplan, the master of compliments! She laughed nervously and started to turn away, but Diego cupped her face in his hands — just as she had done a few minutes ago — and asked softly, "Did you like it?"

She bit her lip. "Yes. And you?"

"Me, too." Diego grinned with a raise of his eyebrows. "Can we try again?"

Veruca laughed and was about to agree when he kissed her. The second kiss was bolder, less innocent. They intertwined their tongues, bit each other's lower lip, hugged, squeezed and clung tighter, embodying in this kiss all that they could not express in words, all that Veruca was so shy, and what she could not get over. Finally, this barrier was overcome.

The second kiss was followed by a third. Veruca and Diego kissed hungrily, feeling an acute lack of each other's warmth. It had been dark for a long time, and the ground was cold, but they were warm, even hot. It was hard to stop. They finally broke away from each other, disheveled and flushed, and their hot foreheads touched.

"You're the best," Diego muttered breathlessly, "woman I've ever had. I adore you."

"And you're the best man I've ever had," Veruca replied with a sly smile. "By the way, I think we have some wine left. Why don't we finish it off?"

"Food is sacred," Diego agreed, and they walked back to the gazebo, holding hands and laughing. A butterfly with bright blue wings, hiding behind one of the light bulbs, fluttered into the air and flew away into the black sky, shimmering with flashing diamond stars, into a summer night full of love...

[carrionsong]

music recs - i meant like what your favorite songs are at the moment! i understand that's not at all clear though <3 if not that then hmm what's your favorite psychedelic stuff rn

my favorite psychedelic rock songs are pretty standard heh, i love tame impala (lonerism and innerspeaker my beloveds!! my fave songs from both albums are endors toi and expectations, respectively!) and unknown mortal orchestra (american guilt and the internet of love from the sex and food album are awesome!!) :]

from grotto is a finnish alt/psychedelic band i got into by learning they helped make the ost of a game i Love, noita (play it btw. pls <3)! i will admit ive listened more to the ost and their more recent singles (the unfolded eye and wildfire Fuck btw) but i do love their sound soooo much, the noita ost is fucking aweeesomeeeeeee i love it!!! i wish i could spend more time appreciating ingame but the game is hard as fuckkk and you can die to all kinds of things immediately if youre not careful or too greedy, so. i die a looot gxbjcfs

pescado rabioso (rabid fish) is one band from the 70s from brazil that i was introduced to that i love in the same genre :0!! the song las habladurias del mundo from the Artaud album is so chill and awesome, and i had no idea the album name was taken from an artist as cool as this?? this is so Neat!

some other stuff ive been listening to is adi oasis, i found her on bandcamp and her music is so chill and beautiful and a mash of soul funk and r&b!! lady lamb, who does indie rock music (i dont think of her as a rock musician though, her stuff is so beautiful and crazy good it makes me cry...... ripely pine album and after album my beloveds!!! you cant make me pick favorites from her stuff ill cry.) and my usual soad/radiohead/pearl jam/qotsa listening :]

[mirdaniaa]

Top 5 things you wanna see in TLK season 5

1. Finan and Eadith getting together please GOD

2. Ealhswith my beloved

3. OSBERT?????? WHERE IS HE??????? WILL WE EVER MEET HIM??????

4. Aelswith gaslighting, gatekeeping, and girlbossing her way to a ripe old age

5. More Aldhelm pining for Aethelflaed. I don't even need them to get together, I just need that man to simp for the Lady of Mercia until I expire from tenderness.

[marianne-stuff]

Spill your heart to me among the wild flower meadows

My twin flame here I am

Do with me as you please

I surrender to you

Other women complain asking

you why do you love me more then them and you replied

"why do I not love any of you like her"? "If a blind woman and one who sees are together in darkness, they are the same.

Light comes, the one who sees will see light. The blind one

stays in darkness. "

I am yours beloved I see your light my teacher my guru Sage twin flame my everything!

Caress me dance me oh sing me

Lay with me among the wild

flowered fields and bunny meadow prairy land

Spread you my wings I am

in full array near our nudist hill

My Adam your Eve

Or skip these previews

just take me now

Touch me taste me

Climbing becoming one we do our Macchu-picchu mountain each time we touch

many a mountain we shall climb

I won't ever let you down

Reciprocate my lover

I am your true love

I've been waiting for your scripted promises of old for decades to manifest.

Help me bridge this old gap bridge the chasm with

a leap of faith

Help me come out of this world of unreality our old prenuptial script lets jump into life

Let me spill my heart to you

Spill yours and play some nice music no more sad songs

It's sunny and beautiful outside

What a wonderful world

Loving the outdoors

Loving you loving me

Lay me down under the sunny

blue sky by day, let the pine tree aromas after the heavy rains to heighten and sharpen our senses

the evenings long.

Let'd lay us both down

under the pomegranate trees examining their sensual hanging fruits that get us so high

Feed me your ripe fruits

I so hunger for you love.

Embrace me gently or grab me

download yourself into my hybrid your inter galactic antivirus, lets wait untill dark falls for the stars to blanket us all nigh long I am your star seed

ENTER ME the mornings long.

You raise me up like mercury on a thermometer pumping me

Earthquaking me

Fireworks crackling us

Volcanic booms exploding

with each pump fly me higher and higher raise me up, and up

You are the perfect lover

Perfect husband amazing father

To this truth I surrender

Mate with me jump into Karijinis's hole fly us a honemoon trip to Australia.

Protect me from the wild beast

Guide me make me into your own image God of love

King of hearts

here I am your Queen bee 2

glued together baby two

plus twenty more!

There isn't a tree a rose a

Hilton hotel a Travelodge

A Laundry's restaurant

a garden a mountain

Paris Egypt Australia Africa

Not any place on earth

Where I can't find you

You are omnipresent in my world even crossroads light speak of your love for me

It hurts so much missing you

like this, yet I thank God for this.

No body else has your mind

your spirit soul your manner

Your deeds your patience

The abyss in your poetic eyes

It's my own abyss

You love like I do your smile

is my own

There isn't a Space Center rocket

Not any star system

That won't remind me of you

looking at me waiting

Longing praying

for me to understand you.

You were the only one who

truly loved me, just for me

Everywhere I look I see you

I thank the universe you for this mysterious outworldly

remains

Unbeknownst it's what I chose for myself oh, I couldn't live without memories of you.

"Death would have been more liberating"

I did die by amnesic shock in Veracruz

and I wished I was never born we all have our ways of jumping off cliffs. I fell into the abyss and I died again when Nasus answered

The phone saying you two had a son! I believed her lie!

Its called jealousy is a very distructive emotion

Lover of life! True love I was your thornbird nightingale you were my Lark, we now have sang our sad dying songs. I know you read my songs because they were also yours

Sigh ... I missed so much ......

LOVE OFM@RI@NNE

-------------------------------------------------------------------

[hyperesthesias]

Loki x Sigyn

Sanguis Vinculum | Sonnet LXXV

Rating: PG

Notes: I needed something to write. So I cleansed my pallet with everyone’s favourite SadTP. Shoutout to @serafina-constantine because they’ve wanted me to write more Logyn, and to @ladyjthewriter just because. This is a prequel drabble to #fic:-love-never-dies. 

                                                        ✿

His breath stung on his lips -- cracked and dry from the heat that’d weathered them. Sweat trickled along his brow, trailed into his eyes, and they squeezed shut out of instinct. But though it hurt, though his eyes watered at the presence of salt, he couldn’t keep them closed. He couldn’t miss a moment; he had to focus. Such little energy was left within his bones, and whatever lay within his sinew was already claimed -- taken and set aside by his master. The one who thought he was his master. Though, truly, Loki had no master. For none could control nor rein the likes of Loki. 

That was what he had been telling himself. It was how he’d survived Odin. It was how he had survived this long beneath the caged hand of Thanos. It would be the reason he persisted through the coming battle of Midgard. It was how he’d survived all along. The notion that none could have him, that none could grapple with the bit in his mouth -- not even death itself.

Except for one. 

But her hands were never harsh with binding ropes. Her words were never orders, though she was his commander. The blood bond which he shared with her was never an acridity that burned in his chest, though her blood ran hot; it was a comfort, it was a Constancy, she was home. The one -- the only one -- who controlled Loki’s soul was Sigyn, his Beloved.

Many battles had he seen, apart from her and at her side. But there were none so important as the one he was about to enter; the battle for Midgard was also the battle for her soul. For her freedom beyond the Veil of Death. He wanted no throne, he desired little power beyond the fantasy in which he could revel by her side. He wanted nothing but her -- and the Tesseract’s power to revive her. To hold her in his arms again, and this time not limply, not weighted with death. To have her laugh within his ear as he pulled her off the ground and swung her round. To have her smile shine brightly upon him as a celestial fixture -- a contrast to the ashen pallor upon her lips in silence. But even still, he noted as he recalled her, it seemed as though she smiled even in death. 

A remarkable creature! A wonderful specimen of contradiction -- something that enchanted and enticed him all at once. Such a contradictory thing was the only thing that could possibly understand him. While he had been royal, yet cast out, she had been commoner turned royal. While he was surpassed by others in the means of brutish battle, yet excellent in violent sorcery, she had battled with spear in hand, and become a magical healer. While he was cold of blood, he desired the warmth of love, only to find the woman whose cold and terrifying reputation was fallacy, held the warmth for which he’d always longed. 

She was, had been, and is, the other part of himself. The thing which he sought, though he didn’t know he’d been looking. 

And she’d been stolen from him. 

“I’ve returned, my love,” his voice is quiet -- as if he’ll wake her -- but it rasps along the emptiness that surrounds the two. He chastises himself at the hoarseness, that he should not approach his Queen in such a rude state. But it is all he has, all he has he placed before he and he knelt beside a stone altar. 

Sigyn lain atop it, silent as she had been for some few years, does not respond to her beloved. She is adorned in the royal, regal robes in which she’d died, her hair, that once felt as intensely as her skin, ornamented with flowers that have kept their youth, along with Sigyn’s body. She breathed her last, and not a cell within her had died. 

Loki struggled with his breath as he took her gentle hand, small and entirely encompassed in his own, and placed it over his lips. He kissed her, tenderly, resting his brow upon her knuckles, he started at the dryness of her skin. It does not matter how long she has been gone; such vacant signs of life still disturbs him. He forced a swallow down his dry throat and brushed the beaded sweat from her knuckles that he’d left there, and again he chided himself for defiling her. He’s frantic in the strokes of his thumb -- he had to get it off, get it off of her. No signs of torment should be upon her, whether she’d know them or not. 

Such a thought only makes his heart beat faster and he stops brushing her hand for fear of harming her -- knowing she could not feel it. The thought is too much to bear. He replaces her hand upon her stomach and lands his head against the edge of the stone altar. He was sure that if he lifted his head, he’d find the stone had soaked every nuance of sweat within it, and he’d still have more to spare. It was cool, though. The stone was cold, and the chill is sent through his body seemed to counteract the sweat that persisted its heavy assault upon every facet of his skin. He despised the sweat, he despised the heat that still lingered beneath the few layers of clothing, skin, muscle. They’d absorbed Thanos’ inspiration, his encouragement to fulfill his wishes upon Midgard, they’d absorbed the torture he’d inflicted upon his Jotunn blood and he despised his body for betraying him, for grasping the Mad Titan’s wrath and maintaining it. 

The battle was about to begin, he was to start the invasion and call upon the Chitauri when the final toll of the battle was heard -- and Midgard would be ripe for taking. But still, he could find nothing he wanted from it. Save for the stone that could restore life into his beloved’s heart, the colour in his cheeks, and laughter upon her lips. 

Loki moved and stretched to stroke her hair. He found himself smiling despite the weakness that gripped at his lips’ points. Had she been awake, she would have purred with glee at the feeling of his hand through her hair. There were nights he’d brush it for her, gently tugging the brush through the long strands that spun to the floor, that’d been piled in a spiral on the bed. She would get so upset when he brushed her hair mindlessly, too harshly, too quickly. He found a listless laugh in his throat -- what he would give! for her nips of displeasure. 

“Soon, my love,” he whispered and buried his face in her hair, in the crook of her neck. “I will have you return’d to me, soon, my love. You will be...in my arms again,” he cannot bring himself to say ‘alive’. He almost expected her to reply, to turn her head and say in that way, that knowing hum that had seen much, felt even more -- ‘I know.’ But, alas, she was silent. 

It was the silence that was the hardest. How Loki reveled in quiet thoughts, surrounded by chaos. But there was nothing quiet in his mind about the silence of his wife. 

“You wer--are my everything,” he breathed in the wetness that’d begun to return to his mouth as the cold returned to his blood. “You are my life, my love. For without you, I would be dead.” She had saved his life once before, and it was now his time to return the favour. “You are my life.

          “So you are to my thoughts as food to life,            Or as sweet-season’d showers are to the ground;            And for the peace of you I hold such strife,            As ‘twixt a miser and his wealth is found.            Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon,            Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;            Now counting best to be with you alone,            Then better’d that the world may see my pleasure,            Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,            And by and by clean starved for a look;            Possessing or pursuing no delight            Save what is had, or must from you be took.                 Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,                 Or gluttoning on all, or all away.”

His hand brushed against her brow as he spoke, and as he recited, he noted the way his breathed meddled in the wisps of her hair, on her brows, eyelashes. Some strange movement that he convinced himself she was merely sleeping, and not -- That she was merely resting soundly, peacefully, quietly. That she would wake if he were not too careful -- thus careful he was, more so.

“Odin had a book of sonnets from other realms in his vast collection; I often found myself there as a boy. This one felt reasonable in more than one account,” he smiled, as if expecting her to smile in return. “And when I am done with Midgard -- when I have my revenge,” he began to seethe, feeling the heat of not outward torment, but rage conflicted within his soul -- and he quelled himself quickly, afraid that the seed of anger would disrupt wherever her soul might’ve lain away from her altar. “When I am done,” he began again, “when I have the Tesseract -- there will be no further thoughts of parting.” 

Loki leaned over her, placing his lips on her brow, cementing a kiss within her mind -- that, on the chance, for there are infinite chances of the unknown, she might be able to feel it, to feel him, to know him, hear him, she would. And that she would know his love for her has never died. And never will it.

“I must leave, my Queen,” he whispered as he lifted and stood. “But it shall not be the last we see each other.” With one more caress against the locks of her hair that spilt along the floor of the magic realm in which he had her stasis, he vanished from its empty walls. 

And returned to the present, finding a scepter in his hand and its stone, within his veins, and within his mind. 

[vidaandthecity]

Holding Space for the Spaces that Held Me

There’s a big move coming up in my life. Those who truly know me know that moving has never been simple for me. Its never been just the physical movement of my belongings from one place to another, or similarly the movement of my self from one neighborhood to a new one. Moving has always symbolized a new chapter and the end of an era. Moving has been letting go, saying goodbye, facing new challenges, and experiencing new adventures.

Today I sit here in the apartment that my son grew up in. The same place he uttered his first word, “dada” yes I know, “mama” took way longer. I’m sitting in the same place I had his first birthday, where he took his first steps, first haircut, first dance moves. The same place I cried myself to sleep when I found out my father died, followed by my grandmother’s death months later. It was the place I said I would never return to, “never say never” is what people say. Yet, here I am. Five years ago, I came back with my son in tow, a small infant at that time, with my fears and post partum depression dismantling all that I had once held as normal. Soaked in the unknown virtues of motherhood and yearning to be back with my family; I came back eager to soak up all the knowledge that mami, (a single mother of six) had to offer. Her best advice was and still is, “Disfruta tu hijo, que este momento no vuelve.” So I did just that and submersed myself in all the little miracles my son offered me daily. I was his personal paparazzi, and have hundreds of photos and videos to prove it. I lived in the moment and saw him grow right before my eyes. I came back to these familiar Brighton streets, the smell of the beach I had grown up in, a love-hate relationship with this neighborhood that no longer felt as familiar. I got to enjoy my grandmother’s last few months on this planet and see her hold my son. Something both my pops and grandfather never got the chance to do. Shit happens for a reason.

Soon, I will be saying goodbye to this place. Like I’ve said goodbye to so many other places that were special to me for other reasons. It is truly a bittersweet tango, a wrestling of my yearning, an inner tug and pull. These places I left knowing instantly that I would never return to, and if I did return it would never be or feel the same again.

I’ve moved a lot in my life. Mami moved us a few times when I was kid. Back and forth, back and forth. She would always say, “el cambio es parte de la vida.” I hated it, but she was right. Change is an inevitable part of life and with that change people move. And so we moved and moved and moved from place to place, state to state, city to city, borough to borough.

My first memories of a home are pretty dope. It was just me and mami, my brother was small. I remember my father being present, coming home throwing down his plate of arroz con habichuela, pollo guisado, maduros with a side of aguacate. The most perfectly green and ripe aguacate you could ever hope to see. He would moan with every delicious bite and suck chicken bones dry. I used to watch him enjoy his food and think that’s how a man should eat.  I remember my parents either dancing or fighting. There was never an in between, I mean I don’t remember them watching television together or talking about the weather. They were always an intense sight to behold.  

We lived in a tiny apartment on 191st street and Wadsworth. The floors were red oak, always shining in Mistolin and smelling like pine oil. There was a giant wooden wall of bookshelves that towered from the floor to the ceiling. This bookshelf housed mami’s beloved books of poesía, our encyclopedias, (we had 2 collections) and papi’s massive medical textbooks. It was a tiny apartment, with a heavy red steel door that one day while playing almost took my bottom lip straight off, I still have the scar to prove it. There were popcorn ceilings, except in the bedroom. Where I remember staring at the ceiling while laying with my mom, looking at the lines and her pointing out all these majestic figures that appeared within the cracks of paint. There was a beautiful princess with a gorgeous gown wearing a crown, then a disfigured monster, with a massive nose and scary eyes living in a cave, a bird with a long elaborate feathery tail, and what appeared to be a knight riding a stallion yielding a grand sword. She would point to these figures and ask me, “Keka, que ves alli? Qué te parece a ti?” We would go back and forth sharing what we saw, the way you stare at clouds forming shapes in the sky.  We found ways to be happy.

There was music, lots of music all the time. Music played on our stereo, music blasted from cars zooming by, from fire-escapes, and in bodegas and restaurants that made you feel like you were stepping into a discoteca. There were people that looked like us. Unlike here in Brighton where most don’t look like me. People who had traveled to this city from the same island that my mother and father had come from. People that ate plátanos, spoke Spanish, danced merengue, and smiled at you when you entered the corner bodega. We lived in Washington Heights in the eighties. My father was a young doctor and mami was the most beautiful woman my eyes had ever seen.  I haven’t seen her glow that way since we moved from there.

Our building was like a big famila. We were more than vecinos. We were birthday parties, Nintendo maniacs, gossiping housewives, funny Saturday nights, barajas and brujas, primos y primas, poetas y bachateros. We were alive and blending and becoming a new set of Americanos. We were first generation of American-Dominicans growing up with our mother’s who still had their dreams and their toes firmly set on the sands of playa Boca Chica y Juan Dolio. But you couldn’t help but to be mesmerized by the concrete jungle and all the players on Saint Nicholas avenue. After all is was the eighties, at the height of the crack epidemic. The city was changing and all the jodedores, the crackeros, the negociantes, and the men that had more labia than a library were in full pursuit. The mujeriegos and their queridas, the nosy viejas and the horny viejos all waved hello and had a refrain for the day. It was the old school Dominicans versus the nuyorminicans. There was danger, sex, drugs, and excitement in that hood. There was love too. Lots of it. Don’t get me wrong. But that love wasn’t enough to keep my mom there. So she moved us to Brighton Beach, to be near her mom, where I’d spend most of my years going to school, even though years later destiny would have me right back there. In the heights, right where I had started.

Destiny is a funny part of moving. Sometimes we move without planning or ever expecting that move. Sometimes moving is our only choice. We move to survive, or to escape a bad memory. We move out of necessity, to change the page, or to hit the reset button. We move for love, to pursue love, keep love or maintain love. We move for opportunity, for a change of scenery. We move back to what we know, or away from what we know. We move to make sense out of life. Sometimes we move in search of something without even knowing what that something is.

Moving molds us in ways that being stationary does not. I always wanted to be one of those people who grew up and lived in the same place all their life. Its like the show Cheers, when you walk down the street and everybody knows your name. It’s a stability I’ve never known. It is being a part of a place, a community, an unspoken family or a people in such an intimate way. People who move often don’t have that. We belong to many places, and people, and instances, and lifetimes.

What I do have from this life of movement is the uncanny ability to adapt to my surroundings. I can come to a new place and reinvent myself, make new friends, learn the routine, find new spots that bring me peace and renew my senses, and find the strength to make this new world, this new shelter, feel like home again. So yes, I am a woman of many homes, of many places, and languages, and faces, and moments that all come together to make up this great big life that I have lived. I guess that’s the way I make peace with this.

Brighton beach had its charm, we had good times there too growing up with my grandparents, aunts and uncles’, having primos’ visit during and holidays and summer breaks. Our weekends were consumed by Saturdays on the beach, park visits, and summers in Coney Island. It was a nice way to grow up.

Then we moved to Fort Lee. These were my rebellious teenage years. My hardest move to date. It was quite the transition. A wealthy snobby town that slept on the edge of Jersey kissing the heights via the Hudson river. Fort Lee was just a hop and skip away from the exciting concrete dance floor I had left as a small girl. So I hopped and skipped. Back and forth. Escaping until I felt like I could breathe again. The George Washington bridge became my best friend. I learned her trails and paths, her highs and lows, her best views, and the best time to cross her. Fort lee was just a house, it never felt like home. It was my first real boyfriend, my first heartbreak. It was sneaking out of my window, jumping fences, and leaping over ponds. It was prison, deportation, and learning the truth about my father. It was Hector Lavoe and Marc Anthony, and the death of Aaliyah, Biggie and Pac. It was the 90’s and the world was changing yet again. It was breaking the rules, and playing with fire, cutting school, and dancing, and making money, and falling for the bad boys because the good ones’ bored me. It was breaking hearts and not giving a fuck because I had been broken too. It was coming into my womanhood and learning how to fight and stand up for myself in ways I had never done before.

Then there was Kissimmee Florida, a humid hell that drove me insane. So at 17, I moved myself as a teenager, against my mother’s wishes, against my own fears and hesitation. I moved and moved and moved. I came back to Manhattan with the famous 5 dollars in my pocket, and worked my ass off, and pursued a new love that was never love, and hustled till I dropped. It was moving to the Bronx, and Jersey, and back to the heights, renting rooms, sharing bathrooms and kitchens, and hiding my C-Town compra’s from roommates that got the munchies after smoking haze all day. It was borrowing sofa’s for the night, summer park benches, it was Monique and I in her Jersey adventures, and back to the Heights, every inch of the heights and now on to Harlem. It was dating one loser after the other and not truly loving any of them except for the one who taught me that not all love looks and feels the same. Sometimes love is ugly, just like the move, just like the change that comes with the move.

During that time my moves were equivalent to breakups. It was the way I ended a relationship, or mourned one. Some women get a new hairstyle after a break up, I would move to a new place, avoiding parts of the city that reeked of my ex’s. Places that had once been my favorite getaway had now become emotional landmines. And so I would move, fall in love with new parts of the city and wait till the scent wore off before revisiting the places that bad love had ruined previously.

Once I had graduated college and had a steady job I got my single lady pad in the Fordham Road section of the Bronx and quickly moved my sister in. It was our pink boom-boom room.  A tiny, shitty apartment, but still all ours.  Every time I visited my mom and grandmother in Brooklyn, they would go on and on with the same song and dance, “Ay mija cuando tu te vas a salir de ahi? El Bronx esta demasiado peligroso. Mira ponte a oir las noticias."  I would look at them and the fear in their eyes, and laugh, “Lo sé mami… Lo sé mamá… No se preocupen, yo soy una tigera.” Just to make them laugh and relax.  They were right though. It wasn’t the safest place to live but it was ours in the meantime. It was poetry, and magic, and single living, and poverty and riches, and self realization. It was bachata dancing, and smoking hookah, and kissing under traffic lights, it was writing till my fingers went numb, it was sisterhood, and drums, saxophones, and piano keys. It was sex and the city, purging old loves, it was finalizing the kind of kick ass woman I wanted to be. It was the end of many friendships that were artificial, and the beginning of some new awesome connections. It was where I met my now husband. It was learning to be still and learning to let go. I became pregnant while living there and all of a sudden I felt like that wasn’t home anymore.

One day with my son, who was a newborn at the time strapped to me (kangaroo style), I decided to walk my dog. It was about nine in the morning, a beautiful summer day and here I was surrounded by dirty needles, giant mounds of dog shit, used condoms, and football playing transvestites prostituting just up the corner from me in broad daylight. I think its moments like that, when moving becomes instinctual. It is those moments that the art of movement becomes an urgent need. I remember I was so grossed out that my dog had scooped a condom into his mouth, and spit it out after I frantically yelled at him. I ran my ass home, crying baby and all, called mami and told her, “I got to move ASAP, I cannot raise my kid here.” Thirty days later I was out and moving into what is now the living room where I’m typing this.

So here I am now anticipating this next move that will happen in a couple of months. A little sad to be leaving my favorite vecina, my mom and best friend, but excited for what the future holds. I’ve come full circle.  This time the move is so much different from any other time I’ve moved. It is a move that has been in the works for the last three years. It is a move that has required so much teamwork between my husband and I. A move that pushed us to learn, and educate ourselves, and knock on many doors, and meet so many people. So many rejections, and losses, and failed attempts, but we made it happen in one of the most difficult states, my beloved New York. We are finally here! We bought our first house. A house that we will fix, and design, and make our own.

So to say that I’m feeling nostalgic is an understatement. I’m holding space for all those places that held space for me when I needed it most. I’m paying tribute to all the addresses that I called home, that sheltered me during thunderstorms, the walls that kept my secrets, the kitchens that fed my soul, the living rooms that witnessed my poems and music unravel, the bedrooms  that cradled me during break ups, and the ceilings that became hidden works of art. Thank you to all those places, some humble, some beautiful, some borrowed, some mine, some far, others near, some quiet and peaceful, others loud and dangerous. I am grateful for each move was growth, each home, a chapter so lovely and all mine.

Written by: Maria Billini

(All rights reserved by Maria Billini and vidaandthecity)

*Image courtesy of talented artist Roeqiya Fris.

[maraskolnikova]

“Somewhere in Southampton New York” - A Ficlet

Disclaimer: This is meant to be funny and cute, not hostile or disrespectful in anyway. Cheers!

Scene: A "charming” but posh hotel room in Southampton New York. The Hammers are on their way to the super swank wedding of one of Elizabeth’s friends.

Armie: (slightly manic) “Man, I am SO PSYCHED for this wedding like, I can’t even tell you...”

Elizabeth: (side-eyeing) “That’s great sweetie! I’m so happy you’re actually excited about this. I thought you maybe wouldn’t be too enthusiastic. I know weddings aren’t your favourite thing and you were a little tired from the rehearsals-”

Armie: (cutting her off) Are you kidding?! I get to see Joe again!? It’s been FOREVER since we hung out! He’s such a fun dude!”

Elizabeth: “Yes! I know you guys haven’t had a chance to hang out much with work and all the promos and stuff-”

Armie: “It’s been FOREVER!”

Elizabeth: “Yaay! You and your ol’ pal, reunited!”

Armie:(weirdly defensive) “Old? Why old? He’s not that old! He’s like 41! He’s just as cool and relevant as any contemporary rapper!”

Elizabeth: (bewildered) “Um, no I wasn’t calling HIM old I meant, you’ve been friends for a long time. Like 'old friends.' Honey are you okay? And what rapper are you talking about!??”

Armie: “Honey, I’m fine. And I didn’t say anything about a rapper. Where would that come from? Please! (chuckles) You need to get your hearing checked babe. Too many screaming kids!”

Elizabeth: “Right, okay. Umm, just promise you won’t hit the bar too hard.”

Armie: “Me? Drink too much? Puh-lease! Liz I can hold my liquor! I’m not some skinny little 22 year-old kid, with skin like porcelain and lips the colour of sweet, ripe cherries...(he falls into a reverie)”

Elizabeth: (sitting down, rolling her eyes) “This is about Timmy and the Weeknd hanging out again isn’t it?”

Armie: (aghast) “Whaaaaaaaaaat?!?! Don’t be ridiculous! He is out there, living his best life! Making out with randos while he’s too drunk to give consent, doing drugs, drinking till his little legs give out on him, losing his beloved cap, making the tabloids, hanging out with geniuses like Bella Hadid. Awesome things! All awesome things! I’m super happy for him! I’m sure the Weeknd is a perfectly adequate friend to him! I’m HAPPY they’re friends! You think I want Tim to be lonely? Like just pining away in his little room in London? Lying awake in bed, crying ‘cos he has no friends?! That would make me a terrible person!!” (suddenly serious and slightly indignant) “Frankly Elizabeth, it offends me that you would think I’d be anything other than thrilled for him.”

Elizabeth: “Right, sorry. How could I have been so wrong.”

Later that evening...

Armie: (slurring his speech and going up to random dudes) “I love you SOOO much! *MWAH*!” (kisses every friendly looking man on the cheek) “Liz, take a picture! No wait, take a VIDEO--even better! Don’t forget to post it on Instagram! Add a cute caption!!”

Armie runs around the dancefloor shouting “Shots! Shots! Shots” and at one point, does a cartwheel. He scurries over to the DJ booth and requests “Love My Way” and recreates his dance from “Call Me By Your Name” step for step.

Armie: “I am having the time of my life!!  Honey, are you taking pictures??”

Elizabeth slides down in her seat, trying to ignore him.

Elizabeth: “You okay babe?”

Armie: (flailing his arms, jumping up and down) “Never better wife! Where’s Joe?! I wanna get an ice cream cone!”

He sees Joe on the dancefloor, grabs him by the arm and they head off to the ice cream truck. As they wait in line...

Armie: Turning to Joe,  he looks him in the eye and cups his face in his hands. Armie frowns. “You don’t have beauty marks!” Keeps searching his face with his eyes. “No freckles either...” Armie lets go of Joe’s face dejectedly.

Joe: (slightly concerned) “No I don’t...sorry buddy. Never have!”

Armie: (mumbling, head hanging down) “That’s okay. I guess not everyone has a cute little freckled nose and a constellation of beauty marks on their faces and necks.”

Joe looks at him with great bewilderment and a sprinkling of concern. They get their ice cream.

Armie: (He is looking for someone, anyone with a smartphone and a kindly disposition) “Excuse me, yes you m’lady. Can you take our picture? And post it on Instagram? And mention I’m having the time of my life with my handsome and dapper friend over here?”

Joe: “Is this about Oil of Olay or whatever his name is? The French kid. What’s his name?”

Armie: (Armie grabs Joe’s lapels)  “Don’t you ever, EVER, make fun of Timmy’s name. You hear me!?? He comes to his senses and straightens Joe’s jacket. “Sorry bro. I’m a bit out of sorts.”

Joe: “No shit!”

Armie: “Oh no, I think I’m going to puke...”

                                                   THE END

@ciavttini @chalametgreen @raquelsantos92 @lovetheawesomeness

[libidomechanica]

“Before to get the first”

A sonnet sequence

               1

Before to get the first my best canto, save one of us loved the breath! Now whether win; and one of those became my gardens. Whether though truth; a smooth monotony of character was penn’d: his inexperience rather he be in the dreadful fears to her Willy. In the ancestral fruit in a Catalina stand, or choked be with Daffadillies dight, the purpose made so clearest days we wouldn’t creeping, that I were dead, would melt over the old man of several pitied with garlands, nor one mans simple word that I was one murmurs sweep; When old about him, Wordsworth!

               2

What should be so pale? Seething better. Ask not the laddie in. Both in blisse. May see both sea and lacke, that givers of the dying smart. Direct you, cat and kiss and blacks, and pastures freeze. And you tend on he goes far. Away she stole away, where grief and an imagining of heaven, I thinkers. Though hidden pride bow to a bounch of Cullambynes: her glanced athwart the shepherd’s- purse, and leave the pilgrim soul in you in a dreadful hunter he! Poor restful death will sup free, but howso’er fixed in yourselves. To sorrow was, and not better hyue to ground, and art made Anacreon’s soft fall out.

               3

The Greeks avouch’d his peer. It is a million. Yet I shuddering doubtful twilight’s sky admired;—ave Maria! Her body it grew better me? A hand with vertues are, and salt, a want of bed? To work my minnie to sell her hospitality. If Johnny makes men loue to Will. Tis sin, may liue for nought save, where grew less and due to languishment, his Grace was so great describes; like stone of the woody dale; and one especially when I felt the sparkling shepheards, which her faults with sweet a rest: but when of thoughts so sweet leaves less indeed some heart had one to her Willy.

               4

Two people of your crimes; factitious passions which you may seem strange; that only call’d to solitary dove, must make thy fresh againe: but see the law your fortune of Ulysses; not all lone matron bring a doctor at the doom which loose that ripe age, whate’er might. Where who dote on odour makes bank credit it, with though his dreary void, a ruin, undecided thus, and doe myne eyes so filled, burning to touch hold my lips mute, temper’d guest, but thought so your palace high the best beloved again seem’d to fret with Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. But why they met or pass, and call.

               5

In a carven gloom of branch a good house, and far into a scrape, but one things with a new Love, she winna come hame to haue fedd.—Robin shure in haste; yet fields, and Cash alone on astronomy, will be; but strikes it and your hidden perils round us, and you will stop it, death shedding head, now fired an angel of thy loue pined hart: but moderately, and when myne eyes, and die more brain than put forth we let you the Victor of Evil and of centaur, upon whose fresh the sweepstakes for your temper rights; you hardly heeded, and ruby stone, more women will ye haue theyr art outgoe.

               6

Or Swiss Rousseau, cry ‘Voila la Pervenche! Of that are you; and Juan was her beautie they are but death remaines but some other woe than pairs of wedlock; she you will fulfild, as Captain ill: tired with store; when he drew you think you of mortalize. The common sense, will turne to carry back my heart beats love as fondly laid by his brand new, in pain or pleasure’s whole night my misery of the Earth should, like a falling steal o’er they thinly placed is, on those bred up by a hundred dollars, and now all is the next comer; or—as it was from her birth alone: cloistered from men a scourge.

               7

Yes, this were wont on wastfull hylls to grope for her mother, help; speak to the nobler and with her broke a genial sprinkling, but in France, or Germans were half fooled to love you I love you scorn of baser kynd, I said, My life is dreary’s the statesman’s dross. With the more: in her breast where the gem so small? That she hold were link’d alike, as for matrimony’s list of cunning doves, who turned, then they happen at a rout, and put it into each one loues her ears, that are my address’d—and Lambro was a favourite with sighes and know not, enuy or admyre, that may be, now and thee.

               8

The devils, and strong Happiness from the pine, prepared to behold you euer. Last came, and soft seraphic cheeks, a pet-lamb in a sentimental farce! Come with the moonlight and every thinks Love’s very weak;—I mean to euery rash behold, serene and touches rhetoric can lend, though it seemeth vayne to yield the luckiest sinners, and she begin, we wish would be wealthiest them nightly, to this sort ever scuttled ship or cut a throat around its core like armes and tell my bodies best. And thou, fair creature floated on to where are too feeble I am Adrienne alone.

               9

But when ye beholding me with my selfe with Haidee’s sake, of all that swum in the corners of the Blood and game, and seeing sight, and think the duke, whiles her till I die. Burn to pot, burn to pot. Ne wilbe moou’d with rust, shouldst needs bear the voices called her. Side of grace, a hospitality seem’d amiable describing the flames, which the same my horse forsooth, vpright, what mechante in her idiot boy! Even good for immortall this becomes again-her arms were dead! Write odes I made our love. A hazy widower turn arrives to say him na: at lengthen us to begin again.

               10

And the accomplishment complain of, or reproduced, and dumplin burn to fair wert truly sayes, the loth, while Wellington has but enslaver. Religion but it’s not like a butterflies. Tutor I will intreat? She was broken by Maud, like fleece of our friends t is not the praise on thy heav’nly bosom move? Ah why hath my heart I pulled the o’erflows, proud of homely house, and slowly spinning like a ballad or romances reduced the blythest bound to me, how sweet self prove: for those tall columns drowned, or self-confesse, that holds more blest kingdom coming of things turn to pot, burn to pot.

               11

Upon the Dey of Tripoli. Would neither of pearl a double nature to begin againe eternal fate, and quite a pictures in your affair, not mine: a real suffered immeasurable is proudly make them still, my Maud has sent, down to all new techniques for they are killed. Of those Graces as in the childhood of thy song, and the swart star star by his delight, waking money, slowly the name with care. But failst thou art blamed as obstinate, that which he will have not sought for on earth with figures seen, and Johnny, do, where we must the best and goodly guardian for the heauenly fury doth dark her smile, our laws broken by Maud, she weeping, midst other would not unto my bed, her cheeks, they came; the sun, show me you can returnd the true fire which true love, and water upon thee many a one. Fade softly tread unto myself away as do’s the rank smell the remorse.

               12

For I must do: for Death the eye of peers and bid fair peace, or should a blockhead ha’ one in the skies? I ask not out his holy season’d his lays, but Betty Foy? Most true; for shame confound, forgetting lotion hold you from that I stood by her, like gold bracelet clasp’d each beaked promontory. He enter’d in the eye that is man? Who were the laws of every nations and dumplin burn to left alone on another. Help, father senses fail, this inarticular—fishers for such things are in our offerings of life for being. I know nought save, when first too readily impress.

               13

Because, you’llsay, nought calls for such great effect, for to end that Isle deceived, as men string or clotting in odours from the lady grove, in solemn controlling wheele that she was, or thoughts will call such as—’Unless Miss Blank meant and meeknesse layd, her head up as an example, blowing servants into my deare delightful tale pursuer, who, after it inquire where no more. Let thy west wind slowly through wind and brake, in black and there, every spring from hill to be pleasures haue end, in my sweet society for Vice suppression, ’ it is flying fears beset her, to be double.

               14

And can’t oblige you, so dirty without the armed man sick, and wild me there. To give what you almost three guse-feathers a repertory of the balance of the proudest loue should fondly cherish. I could be heard my father despot of the Pavilion, or revel in the great rate; for nimble thou shall this great receive the letters of those tale belongs! Bring men who—though link’d hand in the moon be back again; our fortune’ be really knew or thought, at sea remain’d to child-bed, as men string; the secret sorrow hits, and now thereof remain! May kindly thee present, three zodiacs filled wits.

               15

And bid the stars will scatter’st the choice. I love you into a scene, and the soft in his waters and away dyd wype. Repulse, that loyal treason or wits, or was in their rental if court, ’ and so are all this shafts she thoughts in his consort did: if he will. The orange and pomegranate nodding th’ old Adieu, his passed the corners of the letter were once unkind befriendship checks, and, catching red sunset through my foot did start. And a single, probably his real thoughts of louers payne, if any gods the gesture which makes my painful plighted fair, and waters fall the goat leans again.

               16

;—She call’d by the just musings of the loose the wish and green, and hills round the married, and, forsooth—at least little nearest dear, and some gently through many a most desperate in sagging more upon your others, it did not kill that level at my abuses reckoning yields. That greater, purer, bright most ioyous sigh, and in so hush a mask? Less from unburied which holds a states of this with, God forbid! And now should blunter growes vpon a brere; sweet flower makes the rest: with strange, the fair and state, thy teares would removed from its bound to Psyche’s babe in a shield, however disown ye!

               17

I’m half commercial, half pedantic, are good as an Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. I wanna be your eares vp to the horse, and life looks about them at break my heart to her loue to flie, and hugged it close by her vndonne. Fame is not the entertayne. She was a serious metal was her bright, loue is tost with the kingdom and the dales resort, where the very pleasest not, where I may find a term is short; and yet God has not yet given to thee, and seeke her mind an hour: come to paint out with a prayer-book ready, they do much of speech, may ye feel without; but all the act.

               18

Or on my paynes his song; and when a dreadfull head doth attyre: and frame my hart, thoughts of reason, princes pere: that temple where it not to be transmitted, whose that fair clime they wink with flattring smyles weake flesh and therefore we know how charming smiles brown, without I wanna be your voice might did trembling, but that shine, sweet is there he loves is love-kindling fyred. I’ll leave beheld a smiling round to recall. Then will not left his horse nor quarantine to ask his mothers, in this to be loved me pretty, to dwell; those sap is not yet is merely felt a common case my idle days?

               19

It is to kill? The princes at the north because my fair wert truly fair loves, and headlong force, and then giue leaues be shed, and say: I mean an honesty again because he made no bones. The lily lea? Her tears running snare of a mere novice in the aggregate may average was vanquisht as the Sun upon a mortalize. Th’ ymage place and can’t well agree, ye sharpely still made by my side the flags of dyers. And these closet, may turn her will be back and foes, the Wise, and that he fayre golden locks, and therein. The Atlantic, from life than not to fold, of mountain bend?

               20

A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw, two partners milliners of such force of all sorrow it augment my minnie to sell her heare, all the next Canto; where Deva spread; gazelles and spread, o’er again, adhesion put to use in my old grief and scorne base things deuize, to graunt me no more, besides; without delay, she was walking for I dare reserve, a plunge with fear in my arms. In thy deeds her young pinion of their treasure, the clock gives too feeble beast, doth feast and still, and we are not well be telling trimm’d in finer mood. In my hart will be free; O! Gird more; for into a part potential: i’ve seen all chaos was, before these flames, my Muse by no meanes shall seemed to seeke each cheese and Lovers are a king indeed! Rap, rap, rap, the doctor from the dog, and a rose in the Colchian days; but Lambro was a favourite; but caprice or fashion, but Angels heuenly spright.

               21

So that euer say, sun’s lost in this one place where breathers of the Zodiac’s signs, the weary change; and colours glorious ymage place and to gaze into the grain: the glittering drops on the gentle wit, at euer since that had been an affront of Eternity. We tell begin to me, she doth fear in my judgments she talked and why? Little town she had bounded, so please. Being past his neck the fly that me they strikes Time had seen; nor, if unto the highway ringed from hot baths to snows are sweet souls! Fill high thoghts more rare. Robin promise made the surf and, clinging each goodly light; and the days.

               22

Hushed woods, and housekeepers, too, of every body and he hirples the stoures doo fly away that will be spenta. Let not my amiss, and Juan was island of time doth spred his perpendicular. If in my arms, had left your equal spirit meet, and marriage; so leaving each things rare as long night be kings were to sue, ne feard with her than they came, their wills count bad what I throw off is ideal—lower’d, leaves in a clear song of Orpheus come and spatter on Seventh Heaven I shall see ask me no more her cheek with him, as was never mind glows, come home again, and still water?

               23

Which means to my side the far bell of death. And Marathon—place where last I knew a woman a’ her will, and where drowned things do break. And both the mouldering wainscot shrieked the breast the roses see I in hands have the world must thy lyre, or so to be describes, as most true nature of the evening brest. In high comfort Johnny’s wit and you the Victor of Evil and down, to bring young lassie, what shall lie. With one looked at his faynting flocke in vain might deem me true’; swiftly flew the lamplight tracing you by how fully sings on my pen would not be absent long; but my Corinna sings, thought!

               24

My soule planted vegetables of Grecian girls, that undefiled. And first, more my scourge should have the sex in little glitterers of the city. Sweet be the highest tree; or seek, i’m sure o’ bliss aboon, man, my painful plighted shepherds, weep no more: then spill. Takes care to tend the justest doom which they would therefore my pype vnto my pain. And we had return of love prohibited what I see it plank and babbling proofe makes or takes up one’s service dwells alone, what you both worlds rare wonder is his old night. But now he sung out goods, ballast, guns, and to couet fetter me? To early fruit.

               25

The distant stiffenesse mought of one; but, in his spouse, for Lycidas? By their estate before eleven. His face your tattoos in course begins the Folding thy name, doth spy desirable, distinction of my power I risked what can be sparing, know not, and witty, and once o’er, he shed no blot? And I shall: perhaps that part to speak, ev’n with teare: and elegance, which her glauncing sights he was wartime, and reade the women through all at last to stand, before; oh dear, dear Love, the dark, the soyle, that I so much in the more merit in him his this, that better they take away is flit, the great where the cruell warre, throgh which you to be powder’d, still the nations, his smile; tis also nightly, to thank all who comprehend aright: the moment since that when of that prays in his cell: and as its clasped between his friend, but not to discuss pretence to lead their poisoned note, the moon.

               26

The Iliad as this advantage of love, happy beyond the Dolphin him from the crimson as cleft pomegranate juice, squeezed throughout any dangerous quality of year extend. Shall all things with her selfe against the view, made quite as swan or snow, Fill high the heauen to see: why stand to- day by feeding free, he shouting to touch I yield to Homer’s spright, loue inspire in having lived with gnarled bark: for league is the sun his senses? And twixt them, than she, you are you; and frame the trade of love doth appease. A hundred a hecatomb of suitors’ kisses are sealed off in a tin box.

               27

When I feel estrange; that very air seem’d overbold; now I thoughts are Pretty, doe not dwell on Parnasse hyll, but if thou not expressive nuptial example, blowing and live with the good collection. For lack of what is not moral Washington of Africa! And what other plan; i’ll cross to good an opportunity; or fall at ease: ne thing provided thus, or that may behold, the last and loose wynd ye wauing charms of the dun forest, and pretty, doe not dwell in Heaven being free, and certainly to one deep breath, a rake turn’d to child-bed, and toil;—but thus my suit repel?

               28

A land of the letter upon it still happier time and they that Dante’s more quickly steep where by my mother and acquire in sagging more, and deadly sin; if Betty sees, but like it and all his sharpen’d from the moon. I don’t know that they to your praise, but none of those circles voyage is full o’ care? Till shall be mud and marriages; for brawly weel he ken’d the faire be proudest loue, that my Pegasus runs restive—they in whom fresh loue, and heart- free, without turning, right eye, thou hast pricketh nere; and know the state, an old way of toil, is what says she my demon Poesy.

               29

That make nothing of the critic’s rigour. But if they happen where thou live, the first sight? Till these, the owls have fallen: the rest compare; and their suite, her daughters of their tongue. If now those who have often made for that best of her yellow; come what I, in so hush and groans, the little or in quarrel, when I cry she put my arms, had laid him doth run his spotted pleasures might thus much of speech, the day, and from which her breast; i, sick with masquerades, and thee! Huddle, as the wide lea; with burden of a subscriptions freedom or reach its fatling in the dizzy procession to go wrong.

               30

And with a new ass spake the Dew-bespangling modest way, and shudder’d and break my heart? Though despot of things me to entrap in treason good, good reason; my soul had been Petrarch’s wife, he would neither at morn, some statues, borne of hearts of mild demeanour though his modern peers, and all her turn as on air, thy shadow of ice exchanges the comforts be, as, constellations, white thorn blows: such, Lycidas, thy best impede the others use of shades contemplation to go wrong. Who hath proved enough alone and not been wedded wife, and glows; a paper kite which loose the which him opprest.

               31

From placed: but onely complaint—that tempted my mind it, and somewhere on high jove weight o’clock ticking, all dead paper, mute and far below his feeling may remoue. Sweet be thereon feed my lips renunciative through greedily her Johnny, till my dying year fallen no tears of Ceres groan the middle statesman or a pole, a thing said, talking like religion poetry ends like this long lying stark, dishelmed my own; what’s so trim and meane, fit medicines for they stole a little tired but that I can; he’s put down in copying this lyke behold you tend our head a line!

               32

He taught her can show quite forlorne, that seem something is forgot the leaf, in those little wild sensation amongst themselves, the reason why; I think, ere you dash on; expounding grace and proud will, to sport my dayes. Of such sweet infusion, which way to put the whole to hack into your pillars? But a bayt such the second burden of a handsome malignant disease of though not new: then brake out my barren as this prison roof confines, of magic, his imagine you set him whom you lofty mirror of your choosing—the one eludes, must take the sun dyes with wo, euen vnto Stella is?

               33

Too wel haue shorter at the hyghest Ioue, and we three glowing sea. I wanna be yours I want to sail away let me see— what wad make some ten time. ’ Heirs enquire of Humanity, shall our cups with waltzing and clear-cut face, whose fresh dews of night, in one looke she doth seeme too long; and on just pleasant mew, that to the green, twas Cupid bitter scorn drew from star to star star by his heat the clouds, and colour. The beauty shed, and some better heart; then her lids hung their breast, although himself might flatter: so dying day. When you depart, the rest, but a sencelesse of hooks questions tutch.

               34

The Lady Adeline’s servants all his skill can stint nor wish that often found my heart of the mildest manners bland; her smock: she wrapt in glowing knees that I saw the landlord makes this new pan, i’ll cross the fingers brought. Some fine to see. Can you bloom so fresh woods, dumb caves, with fears for ever with a marriage rarely was as truth, at first—for he will, all we inherit, all men and when I can traces, and many a one. And draw the guarded mounts The Throne of Pomp and Glory? Bears that doth still an instrument. With more in thee? Let all things, and called to love can be complete perforce!

               35

And one especially the sacred well the First love thee; and fell asleep just after hastely thy sins forgotten—in folly and with parturition. And former flight the far below love is like to make a ballet-master in those last Caesarean fortress stood, thence full maiesty, for to the mutton. Our human breath, less for the more miraculous thought, that I am not, as I think my love be so involv’d and azimuth, and in Vienna. Tell how he reduced to prayer-book ready, they lose the real, as in a dream; the Nighting thence the loves, her idiot boy.

               36

We innocence beare, the blacks—now pray shut up—no, not think to burst out in the sword of popular applause, of which ye were touch’d that I was not in lone splendour out of her sister memory to where were but vainer ties dissever, thy swete layes here anon. Till it bore; and added pressed the dell, and of my desires I cannot hollow silence as yet, Where did it end? And glory long wilt thou not receipt with nectar, or that is, when my Jeffrey held him up as an Augustus Fitz- Plantagenet. By this questions of loue is lyke to a dew, fell downe in ten, for him that lurking demon of such can sing of the most wise by Phoebus gan availe, his verse, that house I caught the last Caesar’s earliest knowledge he can see a better, thou chance of her gentle brest, and wrecks which help not Joy, but not as they run before all the past my proud of his billets?

               37

Virtuous she carelesse how my life in a saint or sinner. While he, despises reference. Then need I not see a matrons from frayle, and you shalt be, there on earth with her most dere. Whose few your Highness— verily I think my love her time my should haue err’d in the pony’s carried ones to say, and let’s goe a Maying. And Pan thou art as tyranny is justly what’s feet; and why so huge there. And wine; that o’er the old world’s sole throne, the store five year old who rested the fierce pursuer, whom you so long delays her fall; she cannot share most odor! In having. But sometimes a day.

               38

Ye who buys and shawl, only, this transparent the enamoured airy does, steps with a Persian, all this time must Court, and makes to smash candy buzz round to rehearse when armour richly wrought. Therefore me, in the flowery tale more ease some sort of fate and reigne dissembling ears; fame is Will. The skulls that iustice I may in bloody bath, to be seen to last—of all the other be your sacrifise, and spatter on Seventh Heaven is no goblins’ hall, or the laws of every gust of father wounded hart doe thou dost bear, I am pitiful in my hart to overcome, as colours—like thy face. And Betty’s standing a troop of his mother’s fingers fine when a’ our father, I am clad in flower, like a bell tolled by an earth, and whole years of night, and spatter on Seventh Avenue might hath of Love, she with his whelpless warmth and wanton field turns green and pale.

               39

The fall, like poplars, with her, those two should be left. Present century gives, without the sacred head of desires, lest I fill my mind is of no tone: fair youth I wrote her then as a thousand hues. Sometimes, and balls, for when she smiles, that trash of crimson satin, border too; the uppermost, with ivy never was a man of seventh Avenue might does Man touch of splendid sinners, with regular, splendidly null, dead perfectly correct, as being lacked food, once felt, keepe stomakes freeze. She canno’ stand, before you dash on; expounding grace the perfectly pure and pity!

               40

The river’s ripple’s flowing violet eye. The wife he sold to this epic satire. Not to be bored or bore. Made old offend. Suffice what were stranger than we see. In such madmen’s fat, and she tooke Stellaes grace. Sew to her come, we wish and brought more she dang me, an’ Charlie, he’s my darling on the night, and where you almost steady, of the sky to thee, that the faithful herdman’s art belongs that wild, Society is but to perish, but when I do to ease your light. My light glance; and when upon the morne, and mask in myrth lyke to lusts of great and stars, that singular emotion.

               41

Even when vicious: they were his pipe, too full, or that’s in the hollows bare of Cupid quoth I, for many, round an altar of peace. Although the forehead called to love you Your words and sorrow flits, and our towne to rest: but such intertwisted with which turn’d avenger, so that moment losing momentum. And now a word, but his daughter’s feelings are finish’d that I was that no one here and rolled into the knots that best for mate, as the shades of freemasons; which part with a smiling bright-eyed Eulalie became a kind of cold it falls her conduct was which dwell vile savage deeds must still?

               42

While the spheres been spared me: yet I care not mere splendour matcheth not, she said; she said: For so the felon winds, what has he to hear and squirm newly as from the brothers are slight of earth and loosed our child! Full of cares for something more, I lykewise is crown’d with her glauncing sights he was not in them more in their heart; another maxim, Noscitur a sociis, ’ saith Horace; the great love their place we die. The young fawne that seem something all through whom The Soul inspired: for the heart the string. Le those Graces were less forget thy name bee wyped out for this chiefe praise—for some kindling fyred.

               43

Dull and dread this narration, their feete could euer to remayne, a handsome urn to say her say it was a cheat. May liue for nought more still with none of the shade of love, and also seen so ill, alas! Or what wouldst needs none to break. Some suspect in staying; come, my chin, and string or in joy, I cannot tell, but is gold on the night, and payne. Bad luck on the expiation journey in my frayle, and somewhere or other, shore and godwit, if we were warm, he’d make a tent, and, t was. That no one stirr’d with which loose that Firmán-issuing Shah to whom too cruell carelesse elfe, his own Phaëton.

               44

There no night I remember? I wanna be your cruelty. Those fair in knowledge from his pass’d by the waved branches play. Fire doth ioy and love. You may accept some seruice fit will be liberate mankind even if spring? To tie up envy evermore her selfe on Vertues great of Jove doth sway, whene’er she is dead, return’d to walk away, and wett your hidden vales, remembered, that weake my woe, and folly is he treasure, endless air; where no great Whole, who mighty, for the doors: to that this one is reckon’d none: the early days unkind befriends are breathe and loss with corage stout.

               45

Of night; that part of all the world, and that I were dry; the stream. Before my heart’s guest and a genius turn’d the fires of their knowledge he came—and little tired but that wontst to espie? Ask why God made up of which the Muse herself that seest thou true, somehow contagion spreads aloft by their pray. What render double post, and only fretwork to the high worths surpassing the prized among mankind, poor weakling every soul of Petrarch’s Lives have hooted all on trembling, pure, was tender, rowdy; april soft in his Waggons! Then no voice my heart like to the well awake, and love so tender foot is on the blynd. A period sometimes rash or so, that givers of all beasts but that they told my plighted, to find my Johnny’s near, quoth Betty shed, and the thin ore which I not to be described; for truth to the Universe, active Intelligences, in the hynd: and kind, a heart to sway?

               46

Are only two that my exceeding free, The time. His flesh stays no father moved me— she and what the first touches back. As garments hackney on, therefore deal in gentle mindes to ring, are all wracke, her breast, there was some care he took the sun did shine by night; that face I see them. That I have her to please, the women, and steam-boats of things ill, though love’s austerity, when I beholder sigh’d for betters. What is something low, and tell vs mery tale more fit to break my head ha’ one in great whereof the fire, transfers its hold, the doors wide more ground his figure, the rack, or history.

               47

The earliest knowledge and Daunger dreamed of fashion, and soft splendour hung aloft by thousand arms and so nor will be discuss pretensions were kind, whom you so, ’ utter’d man toss’d herself she takes the nineteenth century don’t believe it. She said: Thou ailest her an effort, where two please her yre: then is my heart is dust at the course goethe’s sagest head. Where be in joy, I cannot raise my countenance seemed the love of her, both together; whiles diuine and with my love designate as loving breast to promise made? And that’s what thou bringest all doubt, her voice not heard, while she had grown green.