#rough winds do shake the darling buds of may but thy eternal summer shall not fade

[hairmetal666]

The note shows up in Eddie's mailbox cubby on Valentine's Day.

It's nothing fancy, loopy cursive handwriting on lined paper:

"I know this is probably silly but I can't go another day without saying it, and today seems appropriate for this kind of confession. Seeing you in the morning is the best part of my day. You're so gorgeous it leaves me breathless. I hope you don't mind if I don't leave my name. Just wanted you to know that you're beautiful."

His eyes fill with tears that he blinks back, a goofy smile stretching his mouth wide.

"You good there, Munson?" Robin Buckley asks.

"Oh, yup, yeah, all good." He laughs. "Just got one of those 'you're my favorite teacher Mr. Munson!' notes."

He squeezes the letter to his chest before slipping it in his pocket.

---

The worst thing about Eddie's new job is that someway, somehow, Steve-fucking-Harrington works here too. PE teacher, JV basketball coach, of-fucking-course. Once a douchebag jock, always a douchebag jock. What makes it all worse is that he's still the prettiest guy Eddie's ever seen.

---

The first week of March, there's a commotion in the hallway that has him rushing out of his room, ready to breakup a fight. He finds Harrington already there, holding Dustin Henderson and Will Byers by their shoulders. Troy Walsh and James Dante stand across from them, wearing matching snarls.

Of course Harrington is picking on little nerd kids; he knew it. But before he steps forwards to break it up, Steve speaks, voice low and angry. "You want to tell me what happened here, Troy?"

"Byers tripped. He really should watch where he's going," Troy says. James laughs.

Steve's glare goes even more icy, more disdainful (it's so fucking hot, Eddie hates it). "You want to take that again? And try being honest this time, or you're suspend from the team."

Troy splutters for long enough that Eddie finally notices Will's stricken face, the sketchpad and snapped colored pencils littering the linoleum.

"I saw you take those things from Will, and unfortunately, I'll have to call your parents and you will be responsible for purchasing a new sketchbook and pencils. You're also benched for the next four games."

The boys shout, but when Steve raises a hand they quiet immediately. "You want to complain more, or do you want it to be five games?"

"No, sir," they answer before scampering off.

Harrington faces Dustin and Will. "You boys okay?" he asks them.

"We're good, Mr. H," Dustin answers.

"Glad to hear it." Steve begins collecting Will's ruined belongings, stops to study one of the drawings.

"This is really good, Will."

Will flushes. "Thanks. It's my character for dnd,"

"Dnd? That's that game that El and Max are always talking about? With the character sheets and the dice?"

"Yeah!" says Dustin. "You know it?"

Steve's smile is a little bashful, and it tugs at Eddie's heart in a way he has to ignore. "Not much. Just from what the girls have said. You want to tell me about it?"

"Really?" Their eyes light up.

"Really. You can stop by the gym during lunch. Only if you want to, though."

"Cool," says Dustin.

He pats them both on the shoulder, and they hurry away, leaving Steve and Eddie suddenly alone.

Eddie should head back to his class, hasn't been needed in this situation at all, really, but before he can disappear, Steve spots him and his eyes widen.

"You need something, Munson?" Steve's cheeks go a faint pink.

He shakes his head, feels wrong-footed. "Uh, that was really cool what you did just there."

"They're really good kids," Steve says. "I know them a little. Used to babysit El Hopper." He slides his hands into the pockets of his khakis and, seriously, fuck Harrington for looking like that in a pair of Dockers.

"Babysitter, Harrington? Never thought I'd see the day. Or that you'd be the one defending a bunch of nerds," Eddie says. He means it teasing, but Steve's face warps into a frown.

"Y--yeah, I guess. I mean. I'm trying not to be that guy anymore, and Robin's really helped--"

"Shit, man, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant, at all--"

"--I feel terrible about all that shit I pulled back in school. That King Steve stuff? I was awful and you didn't deserve--"

"Steve!" Eddie cuts him off. "I forgive you. For everything." He looks down at his shoes. "For all I didn't want to believe it, you really have changed."

They're both pink faced now, avoiding each other's eyes. "Thanks," Steve says. "I should get going, but--for the future-- I really wouldn't mind--um--trying to be friends."

The grin that passes across Eddie's face is huge. "Yeah, Harrington, I'd like that."

Eddie has to run to make it to his classroom on time. He passes Dustin and Will and the rest of their gaggle of friends, rushing them along, but forgets all about it as he steps in front of his third period juniors.

---

He and Steve are...friendly now. They chat, they joke, they share smiles that have Eddie's heart beating too fast even though it's not like that. Turns out Steve is kind and funny (a little bit of a bitch too, but in a way that ties Eddie's stomach in knots), and a hell of a teacher.

---

His freshman are in small groups, peer-reviewing an essays, when Max Mayfield catches his eye. She's one of his favorite students and absolute trouble.

"What's up, Mayfield." He asks.

"Are you friends with Mr. Harrington?" She asks.

He chuckles. "Sure, Max, we're friendly enough. Why?"

She narrows her eyes, like she knows he's not being totally honest. "Oh, nothing. He just talks about you all the time."

He's blushing horribly and Max, and all of her friends, smirk up at him. "He does?" He chokes out.

"Mmhmm," Lucas Sinclair says. "Says he thinks you're really cool."

"Definitely one of the best teachers here," Mike Wheeler adds.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Okay, very funny, guys. How're your essays going?"

They answer, but before Eddie goes to help another group, Will says, "he really does like you, Mr. Munson. A lot."

El nods earnestly up at him. "It is true," she says. "I know him."

"Thanks, kids. I'll keep that in mind." He gives them a smile, tries not to let their words get to him. When he reaches the next group, though, he notices his hands are shaking.

---

Gifts start turning up in Eddie's cubby. It starts with a bag of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from his favorite bakery. There's a small note that says "from your secret admirer," on the packaging. Every two weeks or so, something new shows up in his little mailbox; a woven friendship bracelet, a yellow rose, Hershey kisses, a delicately painted dnd figure that gives Eddie a small crisis because it's his own bard character, an Iron Maiden cassette, a bag of dice that almost brings him to genuine tears.

Eventually, he gets another note. This one is typed and reads: "I would love to have coffee with you 11am this Saturday at the Cafe on Main Street."

---

He walks into the cafe at 10:50am, wearing his favorite pair of ripped black jeans and a burgundy button-down, his hair pulled into a loose bun. He doesn't recognize anyone there.

Eddie gets in line, studies the menu, and the little bell above the door rings. He whips towards the sound to find none other than Steve Harrington in little wire rim glasses, a butter colored sweater, and jeans the man must have painted on, Jesus Christ. Honestly, the whole thing is enough to give Eddie a coronary (and to, embarrassingly, chub up in his own tight jeans).

"Steve?" He asks. He's overwhelmed with the (stupid, stupid) hope that it's been Harrington all along. "What are you doing here?"

"Henderson asked me to meet him. He around?"

"Uh, no?" Eddie feels heat creeping up his throat.

Steve shakes his head, as though he expected as much. "You alone? We could grab drink."

"I can't believe this." Eddie hides his face in his hands, knows it's gone horrifyingly crimson.

"What's wrong?"

"My secret admirer told me to be here now, so we could meet," Eddie's misery slices through his words. "I'm such an idiot."

"I--your--what?" Steve stammers.

He gathers himself enough to look Steve in his hazel eyes and ask, "I'm assuming it wasn't you leaving notes and gifts for me at work?"

And he expects Steve to say no. To laugh and ask why he'd ever do something like that, but instead, instead he flushes a deep red. "O-only one note."

"What?"

"I, uh," Steve clears his throat. "I left you a note. On Valentine's Day. I--we weren't friends yet, and I wanted you to know how much I liked you. It's --uh--it's pretty silly, huh? Robin's--"

"Steve," Eddie interrupts. He's going to tell Steve that he reads the note often enough that he has parts memorized; that it's the kindest thing anyone has done for him, but what he says instead is, "Dustin Henderson told you to meet him here at 11?"

"Yeah. Said he had something to show me."

Eddie remembers running into Will and Dustin and their friends that day in the hall, the weird conversation in class, the dice and the miniature. Something must click for Steve at the same time because his mouth drops, blush getting somehow deeper.

"Oh my god. Henderson! I'm gonna kill him. They figured out I had a crush on you."

"They WHAT?" Eddie says, loud enough that several looks are aimed their way.

"I'm so, so sorry, Eddie. Holy shit, this is so humiliating. You have to believe me, I had no idea they were doing this. God, I'm really starting to think it is possible to die from embarrassment."

"You have a crush on me," Eddie says instead of any of the dozens of helpful things he could say.

"Um. Yes?"

Eddie takes a deep breath, straightens his spine, and asks, "You wanna have coffee with me?"

"I'd really like that." Steve's return smile is so beautiful, it makes Eddie weak.

---

Eddie Munson is making out with Steve Harrington in the backseat of Steve's BMW. He and Steve spent the day together. They've kissed for so long that the sun has set, both of their lips are swollen, their skin red from stubble, and Eddie is nowhere near ready for the night to end.

Steve breaks away, gently pulling their mouths apart, but arms still tight around Eddie. "Hey, what kind of gifts were they giving you anyway? The kids?"

"Oh," Eddie blushes. "Uh, cookies, a dnd mini, lots of candy, a set of dice."

"Oh my god," Steve says, he pulls a little more away. "Oh my god, I'm going to kill her, Jesus Christ."

"Who are are you killing, sweetheart?"

Steve groans. "Robin. She was helping them. We found a set of dice at this little bookstore and she told me to get them for you, and--" he breaks off with a helpless, frustrated noise.

Eddie doesn't mean to, but he starts to giggle.

"It's not funny!" Steve says.

That only makes Eddie laugh harder. "Your best friend," he squeaks. "And a group of literal children set us up. That's hilarious, Harrington."

Steve's mouth drops and for a second Eddie thinks he'll be upset, but then he's giggling too, his whole face crumpling into it.

Steve pulls Eddie close once the laughter subsides, his eyes trained on Eddie's lips.

"We could pretend we didn't get together," Eddie manages to say.

"What, like, make them think they failed?"

"Yeah. We could tell them I got stood up, but you and I hung out. Had a bro day."

Steve giggles again, and it's the best sound Eddie's ever heard. "I'm absolutely on board with this plan, but you should definitely kiss me some more."

"Oh, yeah?" Eddie asks, his voice low. "And what'll I get out of it?"

"Why don't you get over here and see."

As if Eddie could turn down an invite that enticing. He slides a hand behind Steve's head, drawing him in, and they're kissing like they never stopped. It only been a few hours, but Eddie knows--without a doubt--he's already head over heels.

[jayden-killer]

SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A SUMMER'S DAY?

previous part here.

summary: That's it. That's the moment when you decide to open the famous letter Loki wrote to you before sacrificing himself into becoming the God of Stories.

warnings: lots of angst, heheheh.

author's note: my biggest apologies!! I didn't mean to procrastinate this one, but I also had 0 ideas on how to write it (((￣へ￣井). I tried my best. Also, bonus point, as an english literature student, i had to add Shakespeare's Sonnet 18. >:)

taglist (people who wanted the letter, its hereee!!): @eviebuggg @tea-kovsky-pot @sititran

☆

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

***

My dear,

Putting what I’m feeling on paper now is complicated for me.

Certain emotions have no explanation.

The TVA will collapse. I have seen into the future, and have gone back in time indecipherable times to put a point to this story, however my attempts have always been in vain. Only when hope was about to leave my body, I understood.

I understood my glorious purpose, I understood that there would be no other solution but one: sacrifice.

It will lead to the birth of a new, better timeline, however, not everything is pink and flowers. I already know there will be consequences for what we’ve built hard, you and I. Breaking a love pact that we promised to honor in spite of everything.

Which I will break.

The bitterness in my mouth assails me. The pen trembles in the palm of my hand; my eyes are swollen with tears...

To me, you are like an early morning sun ray on what is to be a sunny summer morning.

To me, you are like sea waves, crashing on rocks with determination, yet delicate in their touch.

To me, you are like the melody of a harp, melodious, cordial.

You are what still feeds the beating of my heart at such a difficult time as this.

You are what I call "Love of my life".

What a wonder, love itself. Before you, I never knew love. You, my other half, enchanted me with your magic. You gave me all of you.

It wouldn’t be fair of me not to return the favor.

I shall never forget your angelic voice, your shining eyes, the sweetness of your lips, your kind touches, the brightest smile in the Nine Realms, making the major gods invidious.

Do not shed more tears than you have already shed.

I will not be physically with you, sleeping in your arms on your comfortable sofa, enjoying the warmth of your body.

I shall watch over you every single day of my existence. Time won't separate us, not even in the slightest.

I'll always look up to you,

I'll always protect you.

Our souls are connected even beyond time itself.

My beautiful wife.

With much love,

𝐿𝑜𝓀𝒾.

[a-ramblinrose]

JOMP BPC || August 3 || Summer:

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

[loveisafriendshipsettomusic]

“Sonnet 18” by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee

[dlatl98]

I don't know why when a professor of English literature depicts a fairy monarch, he induced Sonnet 18 of Shakespeare …..

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

   So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

.....Of course, this is just a cliché. But the theme of this Sonnette is to suggest his destiny, which became the intersection of Half Elf, considering that it was a weak victory of love and arts for eternity and mortal, leaving mortality.

Or you can just encourage readers to read Shakespeare Sonnet. The professors I experienced liked to forcibly recommend people to read their studies. Shakespeare's Sonnet is interesting. Beautiful, it is fun to guess about the characters ……

[souslesetoilesavectoi]

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

Shakespeare - Sonnet 18

Reblogs help way more than likes!

Lighting free version under cut

Now I’m going to sleep because it’s 9 am—

[thelongingsofelle]

you were my summer

this is an old piece from 2021 that i finally decided to post. it is a reflection on sonnet 18 by william shakespeare.

shall i compare thee to a summer's day? the words left my lips as i felt your arms pull me close and hold me gently.

thou art more lovely and temperate. i felt your fingers run over my arms, barely touching but telling me everything you feel.

rough winds do shake the darling buds of may, and summer's lease hath all too short a date. my voice wavered as i finished the line, distracted by the feeling of your lips on my skin. your kisses were like the wind, gentle yet powerful.

sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimm'd. the sunlight from the window caught your face, and it almost made me jealous. you were beautiful.

and every fair from fair sometimes declines, by chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd. time waits for no one, that much i knew. but in that moment, laying in your arms, time came to a still, and it was just you and me.

but thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fait thou ow'st. my eyes travelled over your features, taking in your beauty. your eyes, ever sparkling with joy. your lips, always full of love. the freckles scattered across your collarbone, the same ones that i loved to worship in the late hours of the night. i felt almost selfish, for i am the only one who you will allow to love you like this.

nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, when in eternal lines to time thou grow'st. you were ethereal, untouchable. even death could have never hurt you.

so long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee. if i were an artist, i would have painted you a million times and more, so that you are never forgotten.

but as i pulled you closer to me, and felt your heart beating in unison with mine, i realised that i need not be an artist, or a poet. my body had learnt yours with ease, every contour and dip memorised. and as we lay together, bodies pressed against each other, i looked into your loving eyes, and i knew then that you were my everything. you were more beautiful than light itself.

you were my summer.

reblog, like and comment if you liked it! asks are always open <3

[cvlutos]

“To You”

| Repost: 03.06.2022 | 0.5K | PG |

Riddle Rosehearts X GN!Reader

| Characters 18+ | Fluff | Poems | Confessions | Etc | Proceed with Caution, Dearest.

My Dearest Rose,

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:”

The beginning of a poem that we learned in my English studies class, by the poet Shakespeare. I am familiar with his genius, yet I do fully not understand the purpose of poems or any literature that forms from creativity. My mother believes that they’re useless, irrelevant, for those who have not the knowledge to form more important works. Who lacks the ability to write articles, journals, facts over feelings? And I, for the longest, agreed with her. What do fictional stories, poems, haikus, and what purpose do they serve? They’re not like math, nor science. They’re fake, turn those away from a better and more important career and future.

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:”

Yet, when you feel something so strong. Something that takes the air from your lungs, that leaves your mind jumbled and confused. That has you second guessing every thought and feeling. That feels you with something that rivals the sun. Something that articles, journals, and facts over feelings can’t explain. Until you read a poem--

“Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his golden complexion dimm’d;”

That explains everything. That understands the shaking of my limbs when I am around you. That explains the cause of my beating heart, that seems to squeeze and constrict upon seeing you. Every nerve feels a lit, as if I was within the burning fireplace, and not gazing upon it with a cup of tea. As if every book, every word, spells out every letter of your name, everything that I could possibly love.

“And every fair and fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;”

They are life. They explain the human mind, the feelings, emotions, wants and desires, the haves and have-nots. They make this burning love understandable. As if I am losing my mind, going mad from wanting you and not having you. (As ill-intentioned as that sounds, I mean that in not a harmful nor forceful way.)

“But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;”

As if stand lost within an ever-changing rose maze, as if my world seems to be within constant rotation, you make the world still, your hands even if nonexistent pull me—guide me towards the exit. You plant my feet to the solid ground, yet my mind seems alive with daydreams.

“Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:”

With hope. Words that explain my longing, my frustrations, my desire to be perfect within your eyes, my everything—it forms poems. Elegantly written stories that no matter how long I deny it, it shall not leave me. It cannot leave me. For as long as you exist, you bring life to me.

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Sincerely,

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

ⓒ 2023 love-thanatopsis — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited

[minisugakoobies]

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

-William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18

[onenakedfarmer]

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE "Sonnet 18"

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

[maslimanny]

Sonnet 18 BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

[junipersmunkey]

CHERRY WINE

REMUS LUPIN

Summary: Remus follows his crush into the room on requirement

Remus lupin one shot, hozier, fluff, angst, Remus being in love, he falls first and harder, just fun little romanticizing

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.

    So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Remus nimbled on his already abused fingertips. The orange beams of light hitting him in the golden affair of the day. The outside corridors inhabited by a group of boys settled on the ledges on the piazza of Hogwarts. I should say this to her, write her something. No. A grind of his teeth and locked tight fist. Bitter trepidation of his mind, battles with the perturbation of his heart.

Anastasia on the other hand was not spending her Thursday contemplating and romanticizing sonnets. She was livid and drawn with a vexed attitude. Storming her way through the open-aired corridor with a miffed expression and shoulders pulled close to her body.

“Is it that time of the month Fox?” Sirius teased watching her come down the hall towards the four boys. Anastasia snapped her head in the direction of the cocky boy she hadn't noticed before. Halting her journey in front of the four and pointing her finger in the direction of the insolent teen.

“I am gonna take a knife and gut you like a fish. Huh, did you here that I fucking gut you and those bloody Hufflepuffs.” And with that threatening comment she continued her driven route into the school.

Anastasia had offered her help to the overwhelmed Lily the week before. The redhead had been juggling taking extra classes, doing all of the prefect duties because of her less than contributive partner, and with the head boy and girl of that year who had put all the tasks on the younger ones. She was troubled beyond belief. In one of her agitated rants to the girls she had mentioned having to plan a mural that the first year Gryffindors were meant to paint along with the other houses. Anastasia had kindly taken the task from Lily.

She was only now regretting it on today of all days. A day she just wanted to get through to keep herself busy to ward off the forlorn thoughts warping her mind. The Hufflepuff prefects had taken all of the yellow paint provided to Gryffindor for the mural. Now she was left to figure out how to help the eleven year olds paint a red lion next to the already finished house murals and then face Lily’s wrath when she sees it.

“Is it weird that kind of did something to me, got a full semi right now.” Sirius asked, watching his friends turn to him with disgusted expressions.

Remus took himself off the perched position of the railing standing tall, using the thin poetry book and smacking Sirius in the head, not bothering to hold on to it. Letting the book fall onto the flinched boy's chest. He rushed off in the direction of Anastasia.

“What, so I'm the bad guy? I can't help that. It's a natural bodily reaction.” Sirius yelled out only to be ignored by Remus. Throwing his hands up and turning to James. “Am I the bad guy Prongs?”

“I still don’t know how you get girls.” James said, shaking head in disbelief and continuing on in his quidditch playthroughs.

-

The alarm and hesitation in Remus’s head was loud. He didn’t know what he was doing chasing after her, he didn’t know what he would do when he would find her. Though flexing his hands and legs staggering with his natural reaction of returning, retreating had sent in, he continued on. Telling himself he would just see if she was all right, that was all. And so he followed in suit only catching up to see her slipping through an unfamiliar door.

Anastasia’s back to the door, her body sitting in the middle of a huge trampoline inside a room equal in size to the great hall. The room was decorated in detailed architecture similar to Hogwarts' large pillars, only more embellished with lions, eagles, badgers, and snakes carved into the stone, surrounding them were rock flowers and pictures of nature. The windows, only shown on one side of the walls built with stained glass hues of reds, oranges, and blues dancing on Anastasia’s billowy white shirt. The windows painted stories of wizards Merlin and Arthur. Tales of the sacred 28 and the founders of Hogwarts.

It was a beautiful and confusing sight, one that needed to be breathed in, looked at through the microscope of a photo but Remus was only given a moment before the sight grew in beauty, her face.

“Lupin?”

“I um.” He let his confusion grow. A trampoline in Hogwarts? “I just wanted to see if you were all right.” His whispers could be heard through the silence and echo of the empty room.

Anastasia watched him, if Remus had been any closer he would have seen the surprise in her eyes. “I’m just a little miffed is all.”

He flexed his hands. “I could beat up Sirius.” He smiled. I made her laugh. Her giggles ricochet through the room into his ears.

“No, no. Sirius’s comments though stupid isn’t really the cause for my….” Her mouth opened and closed and a shrug was her answer. Depression felt dramatic, anger wasn’t the right word and frustration she crude in the subject of her feelings.

Remus nodded he understood the strife of choosing the words to describe the complexity of your feeling layers and all. There was a pause in their stares, maybe a moment to think or just to observe.

“Come here.” She whispered and so he did, moving to climb onto the trampoline. “Nooo take off your shoes first.” And he did, fumbled with the laces of the muggle sneakers placing them next to her toppled over ones and a straight line.

Anastasia leaned over stretching her arm out to help him on, though he didn’t need it. Maybe it was her way of telling him to sit closer not wanting to say it, to speak her want of his proximity into words.

They sat in silence, legs crossed. The silence was not deafening for Remus; it was more comforting the room, her presence surprisingly and the domestic feeling of it all. For Anastasia it compelled her to think to speak once more. 

“It's my fathers birthday today.” She was surprised herself she admitted it. It sounded so normal without context, a positive connotation of the words that depressed her greatly.

“Oh.” Remus was confused again. Did she miss him alot or something? 

“How are your parents?” Was this the reply he should have given he didn’t know but judging by the fast movement of Anastasia head turning to look at him it was not.

“My parents are dead, Lupin.” She said it in a way as if she felt bad for him and not herself, like she was not the victim but the bearer of bad news. Oh something.

“I’m so sor-” He looked horrified but she cut him off before he could say the words she had heard far too many times.

“It's alright. I just… thought everyone knew. Especially you.” Of course Anastasia had assumed he knew, she had seen him the day of, hell he had been a house down from it. Remus lowered his head in guilt. 

He remembered her parents well, his own stories of Anastasia’s father and him. A man he had seen in all his dazzling glory and  a shiny picture of him etched into his mind. Her mother a scary woman in her natural intimidation only to reveal her kind nature. He remembers looking at the couple and imagining himself having that kind of love, no burden son to take care of, or unspoken problems, just pure love.

“It’s kind of nice to know that's not what everyone thinks of me.” Anastasia whispered. It was nice, she knew the pitiful stares and the apologies.

 

She remembers her first year well, her scars much more striking. She remembers her eleven year old self theorizing all the possibilities into why Remus didn’t want to be her friend anymore, at first it was because he had boy friends now and was embarrassed, and then it was that he no longer recognized her because of the scars now but that was quickly ruled out in her name have been called in the hat ceremony. And then she settled on that he had known what had happened that night and feared her.

Anastasia stood up beckoning him up and holding out her hands which he took kindly. Anastasia started first but with their bound hands Remus followed in suit. The sight was childish for the tall teen and the grown girl. Flying in the air and a plunge into the fluid fabric. The room was loud now, heaving breaths, metal springs contracting, giggles from the two when they would fall into each other or slip with the smoothness of their socks, and the loudest of all their heartbeats. 

The jumping continued for how long the two didn’t know but thought of self doubt and fear of the unknown had fled. And grave thoughts of past and frustration of minuscule problems were breathed out through laughter.

And now the panting was loud. The fast rising and falling of chests layed next to one another in the now dim room, the lighting gave only blue hues on their faces. The catching of breath gave them time to indulge in the ceiling. It was painted similar to the ones of Italian churches. Angles, demons, harpies, serpents, gods and lovers.

“I found this room second year.” A pause. “I was crying and it showed me a trampoline.” There was a joking manner in her tone about how silly a trampoline is what a crying girl needs. Remus understood now too caught up to realize this was the Room of Requirements.

Her words held a serious thought in them. “You shouldn’t go exploring this room though. There's things that will just make you sad and tell lies.” She recalled her second year well also how she would sneak into this room for another reason then the play of the trampoline but an object that held her victim as well.

“I’ve only ever read about it.” Remus whispered so close to her ear.

Anastasia smiled at his words. “Well of course you have the bestest of friends, you don’t need a silly room.”

Remus didn’t understand what she had meant. “Don’t you have Lily, Mary, Marlene, Alice even?”

Anastasia pursed her lips for a moment. How was she to word this? It felt rude to the girls and the impact they have on her. “I adore the girl but we don’t talk about anything serious or at least I don’t….” He turned to look at her now, her side profile close to his own. Remus could feel the stray strands of her hair underneath his turned cheek.

“Well who do you talk to?” Remus hadn’t given himself the time to think before he spoke; his words were not meant to call her out, only curiosity plaguing his intent.

“Suppose there's a reason why this room is always open to me.” The paradox in her words was strong.

It was funny the door had stayed open for Remus as if it knew he was required in Anastasia’s need in her moment of weakness. 

The October day was one remembered by Remus well. It gave him humility to the romanticized idea he had of Anastasia in his mind. And though this a test to his feeling for her it only had them grow the once roots of their childhood and the stems of his unseen pinning and observations had now grown leaves and parts for buds of new stories. Rather than scare him of her reality not so prim and perfect but now - pure.

And when he entered his room that night with his curtains drawn he wrote her a poem addressed to her with hope that in time he would give it to her.

Her eyes and words are so icy

Oh but she burns like rum on a fire

Hot and fast and angry as she can be

I walk my days on a wire

It looks ugly but its clean 

Oh mama, dont fuss over me

 The way she tells I’m hers and she is mine

Open hand or closed fist would be fine

The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

Her fight and fury is Fiery

Oh, but she loves like sleep to the freezing

Sweet and right and merciful

I’m all but washed in the tide of her breathing

And it’s worth it, it’s divine.

GO READ SEVEN (R.L)

IF YOU LIKED IT. This is just a chapter from my fanfiction so read Seven (R.L) by freddiemercuyscat on Wattpad <—— linked

[ask-dreamtalia]

BBY WORLD!!!

Son, does the name Vanya mean anything to you?

M!A Chapter Zero (10/10)

I mean it is short hand for Ivan, so it's more of a informal nickname. But if you mean what I think of when I hear the name? I... Oh, I have something similar to this let me get out my sketchbook. ... mm.... Not that one, not that one.... Ah! I found it. Ah-Ahem...

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st, Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Hm~ You've been rereading the Shakespeare Sonnets I see.

AAAAH

[poems-from-around-the-world]

Sonnet 18 - William Shakespeare - UK

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

   So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

[riointhedark]

@victorywithremy sometime during the swap It wasn't common to see Rio out during the day, but without the ability to see in the dark, there was no benefit of him staying up. Even the excuse of having to do a watch was struck down since he was drunk. So for the first time since coming to Camp Rio sleep through the night. The voices and visions had settled but he could still feel them building in the back of his mind waiting for the chance to move take over his mind and sink him into a hole of insanity he might not crawl back from. Lucky for Rio had found a way to distract himself from the lingering madness. Reciting. First, he was walking around muttering under his breath about what he had to do for the day but as he checked off his list he turned to other things. Mainly Shakespeare. Normal he wouldn't know these words but since the god of acting had helped countless performers remember them they slipped off his tongue with ease. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date. the words echoed against the trees as he zig-zagged through them. His feet are still slightly off balance. His movements are still heavy and awkward at times. His words slightly slurred since he was still under the divine influence. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, He paused to lean against a tree. The last of his steps were too fast and they made him dizzy. His back rested against the bark looking at the sky. Closing his eyes to bask in the warmth of the sun. The only thing Rio is grateful for with this swap is that he is finally warm. But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st, Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

When he opens his eyes and is greeted by a familiar face he smiles. It's wide and playful as his focus shits on Remy. Pan and Dinoyus meeting in the words even if not Ender and Greyits still a little poetic. " If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss" The words leave his lips with a drunken charisma borrowed directly from Ender as he looks at him. "Enjoying a run in the forest?"

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18.