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thecurioustale · 6 months ago

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My Thoughts on Jenny Nicholson and the Star Wars Hotel

I watched Jenny Nicholson's four-hour "The Spectacular Failure of the Star Wars Hotel" video essay that YouTube showed me recently but which till now I couldn't bring myself to construct a day around. She's in great form here, and I'm pleased to say I go back as a fan of her work all the way to her Friendship Is Witchcraft days. (Blows my mind that she voiced all Mane Six characters, and others, so well.)

Anyway, long story short, Disney built a Star Wars hotel at Disneyworld in 2022 that was themed as a voyage on a spaceship, then proceeded to charge thousands of dollars per person per night, the most expensive publicly-available Disney theme park hotel experience by miles and miles, and then closed the hotel in 2023 after having spent hundreds of millions of dollars. Jenny went into the experience as a member of the core target demographic and spent four hours talking about all the ways it was an underwhelming or outright disappointing experience.

Her video reminded me of Hasbro's own misadventures in corporate greed with Magic: The Gathering, which has suffered in recent years from price increases, disengagement from the fan community, and a huge proliferation of product spam—i.e. more products overall, more ways to buy a given product (e.g., the proliferation of different boxes, which eventually killed the original draft booster box that had powered Magic for 30 years), and more variants of individual cards within and between products.

Hasbro and Disney are very similar in the economic space they operate in, and also utilize similar business strategies. Disney is essentially the S-tier megacorporation to Hasbro's B-tier, and we have seen many of the same corporate trends play out in both companies.

When it comes to Disney theme parks, they have massively increased ticket prices over the years, well beyond the rate of inflation, and have also implemented advance-scheduling systems for faster access to rides that has made the process of exploring a Disney theme park much less spontaneous and a lot more regimented and stressful.

Disney realized, years ago, that their limited number of theme parks—they only really have two, not counting the various sub-parks: Disneyland on the West Coast and Disneyworld on the East Coast—together with Disney's entrenched status as a cultural icon with lots of goodwill and brand recognition among the public, are vastly underserving public demand, allowing them to inflate the price of a single trip almost arbitrarily, well into the four digits—or even the five-digits if you're taking the family and spending several days.

The Star Wars hotel was Disney's "Magic 30": a product so ludicrously expensive as to incur immediate and universal condemnation by their own fans. It's clear to me what Disney was doing: They'd happily turned the conventional price knob up and up and up for years. Now they wanted to experiment with a fundamentally more expensive product class, basically five to ten times more expensive. They wanted to see if the market could support it. Because the growing disparity of wealth in America, together with America's obscene wealth as a nation relative to the rest of the world, means that it's definitely possible: There are definitely millions of people out there who could book a stay at the Star Wars hotel if they wanted to. And Disney was like "Let's see if they will."

And you know what? I think it could have succeeded. Because there really is an obscene excess of wealth in this country, even though most of us don't have any access to it. And we are a culture whose zeitgeist is ever ravenous for the next big, flashy experience.

But instead the venture failed spectacularly. Why? Because such reckless corporate greed is, itself, usually a sign of deep organizational rot and incompetency among the board and executive leadership. In other words, their hotel failed for the same reason they tried building it in the first place: Disney has grown stupid.

The way it failed, going by Jenny's video, is down to two independent reasons:

An outrageous degree of "penny-wise, pound foolish" thinking;

A fundamental failure to anticipate the comfort and pleasure of the guest.

The former is the more obvious of the two, and what really stood out to me as emblematic of it in this whole boondoggle were two simple thing: 1) The hotel rooms didn't have complimentary Disney+; and 2) the free loaner umbrellas for hotel guests visiting the Star Wars Land in Disneyworld were either so worn-out or so shoddy to begin with that, unless it was a big coincidence, both Jenny's and Jenny's sister's umbrella failed while in use. This was in the context of Disneyworld's most expensive customer experience ever, by a lot, and Disney was nickel-and-diming them. Jenny's video goes into a great depth of detail on the dozens if not hundreds of corners they cut; it was basically everything but the food. The result was an antagonistic relationship between Disney and their hotel guests where almost everything interesting cost more money (usually a lot more money) while almost everything included in the main ticket price was of cheap quality or stingy in its allotment. Every aspect of the whole process, from the scammy vibes of booking a room in the first place, to the pathetic after-care for customers who reported a problem after their stay, was likely to leave a sour taste in the customer's mouth.

When you're paying the most expensive prices in the history of a product category, you really just need to be given an up-front price that includes all or nearly all of it. You'll know what you're in for, and you can make an informed decision, and then it's really just down to the host to provide an experience and level of service that matches those high dollar outlays. But instead, as Jenny pointed out, it's like you're dealing with Spirit Airlines, where you're gonna pay a fee for literally everything beyond sitting your body quietly on the airplane.

Mind-boggling hubris. Disney needs to be broken up for the monopoly that it is, and this is just one more example of how convinced of their own inevitability and supremacy Disney has become.

The other main failure on Disney's part is the subtler one.

Jenny focused on how the Star Wars themed choose-your-own-adventure game, which was at the heart of the hotels' central conceit of "live your own personal Star Wars story," was irreparably dysfunctional. Not only was the app, through which most of the "experience" was conveyed, horribly designed; and not only were the tasks delivered through this app mostly busywork to anyone other than young children, consisting of little more than walking around and scanning inanimate objects; but the storyline's entry points and decision points were completely impenetrable through reasonable means, to the point of seeming arbitrary. Jenny proactively tried and failed to get into her preferred storyline; then tried and failed to get into any storyline; then was automatically sorted into one the next morning; and ultimately ended up having only one (dubiously) interactive story experience over the whole weekend.

She talked about how the tightly-regimented and incredibly full schedule was so mentally and physically draining that on the final night she fled her dinner table fearing she would vomit and had to stand in her hotel room staring at herself in the mirror for a while, to understand her illness (which turned out to be stress-induced exhaustion) and center herself.

She talked about how she didn't get to see a much-coveted music show during dinner on her first night because she was seated behind a giant column.

Really, these things are manifestations of the larger and more fundamental failure on Disney's part to anticipate the comfort and pleasure of the guest, as I put it.

As I was watching her video, two thoughts came to me in this vein:

First was that this whole experience really needed to be "playtested," as we might say in Magic. I mean, I'm sure there nominally was, but whatever playtesting they did was completely ineffective. Good playtesting would have brought most of these issues to light.

Second was that the Disney of today has completely lost touch with the namesake of their industry: hospitality. This would never have happened at a new luxury resort by an established world-class hotelier a century ago. Because they understood the basics. Little things, like hot towels.

I could tell just from Jenny's video that this whole hotel was decided from the top-down by soulless, disconnected corporate suits who blatantly disregarded whatever good suggestions I'm sure the Imagineers® came up with. For the failures to be as expansive and ubiquitous as Jenny's video documented, no doubt the institutional rot extends down at least as far as the project manager level, if not down to individual Imagineers® and beyond, but there have to be at least some good ones, and clearly they were overruled early and often. Whenever Disney's leadership was faced with a decision between anticipating the comfort and pleasure of the guest, and saving a couple bucks on a guest who was literally laying out several thousands of dollars to be there, leadership chose the latter.

They were so arrogant that they believed, without noticing or questioning it (unless Disney's leadership is in fact cartoon evil), that they would tell the customer what constitutes a good experience, and the customer would pay top dollar for it. And so you get a guest experience where customers who are actively trying to pick a given storyline can't get any storyline and are later seated for the dinner show behind a giant fucking column.

It's sad, and we should all be glad that their hotel failed. Not that Disney is likely to learn the right lessons from their failure, but the long-term solution here is for leisure dollars to be directed toward other companies. For the several thousand bucks that Jenny paid, she could have had a true luxury vacation in most parts of the world—and for longer than two nights.

One thing that I noticed during the four hours of her video was that Disney, or at least the people in charge of developing this hotel, didn't seem to understand what constitutes an enjoyable story experience. I am forgiving of the low level of complexity in the various puzzles, since the public is famously stupid plus a lot of these guests are going to be children. But there was so little imagination in the actual plot beats: Chewie sneaks in, gets arrested, and busts out. You get to help some Resistance fighters smuggle their luggage. Like, it's insipid. I mean, ultimately, most pop storytelling is insipid, but what I mean is that the dressings were insipid too. Dressing a story up is what makes stories great, at least at the mainstream level. There was no pomp and flourish; no clever interweaving; no electric events that put people on the edge of their seats. Just walking around on your phone for two days scanning crates and occasionally being in the same room while somebody busts Chewie out of the clink—assuming you even make it to the story events in time, since they often fired early.

The whole thing smacks of rule by committee, too many cooks, and suits suits suits all the way down.

I think it's a sign of the times that this is happening. We are once again in Robber-Baron territory in this land. The big corporations and the oligarchs who run them have become so obscenely rich and so utterly disconnected from ordinary life, and their corporate cultures have become so masturbatory and so officious, that they are increasingly creating products for idealized, phantom audiences. They increasingly don't understand real people or real life.

And we can and should bring the weight of the government down on them, more to break up monopolies and allow new and established competitors to seriously challenge them than to actively punish these companies for making money, but even more so we just need to spend our dollars elsewhere. I mean, I'm speaking hypothetically here; I am poor so none of this even applies to me in the first place.

Hence why, even after inflation, this is still just my two cents.

#Jenny Nicholson #Star Wars Hotel #Galactic Starcruiser #Justice for Amethia Tope

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robinofinashiro · 1 year ago

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"And if you go, I wanna go with you and if you die, I wanna die with you"

characters/fandom: feitan portor / hunter x hunter

request status/note: closed / ugh feitan you piece of shit i missed you lol lonely day by system of a down is such a good song for feitan imo

pronouns: she-her

you sharpened your knives, not bothering to look at chrollo who was lecturing you as machi helped patch you up. this wasn't the first time you had gotten such a lecture from your leader about being so reckless during missions but it was in your nature. you always managed to save your comrade in time even if it came at a price and this time it was your physical well being that was at stake.

you noticed that feitan was about to get stabbed and possibly not make it out of the fight without dying and you figured that his importance to the troupe was bigger than yours. you weren't the spiders #2 and you weren't the biggest person physically so if your life was taken, it wouldn't have been such a blow to the troupe. or at least that's what you thought.

chrollo had been grilling you for at least an hour for your reckless actions and you figured that maybe you were a bit more important than you thought, to chrollo at least. you continued to roll your eyes like a teenager getting screamed at by their parent but you hadn't said anything back. all you did was sit there and flinch every time machi had poked you with a needle.

"okay, you've been screaming at me for at least sixty minutes," you huffed as machi bandaged your last scar, "what has you so upset? this isn't the first time i've done this and the last three times you didn't bitch this hard."

chrollo had given the rest of the spiders a look to leave the room. they understood and walked out as you were left sitting on the chair with chrollo standing in front of you.

"i wasn't going to say this in front of those idiots but if feitan had lost you at the cost of his life, he would have had my head on a spiked pole for letting it happen," you nodded in agreement but didn't stop him from continuing the story, "you know more than anyone that feitan hates talking about his feelings but you know how important you are to him and if he found out that you died because of him, the troupe would have irreversible damage to it."

you stayed quite as chrollo ran his hands through his hair.

"and where do you think he's at right now?" he asked. you shrugged, really not knowing where he went after the fight, "he's murdering the group of people that tried to kill you or rather him but you get the point."

"how do you know all of this? i doubt he would've told you this to your face so spit it out."

chrollo laughed as he sat on the other chair next to yours, "it's not hard to read peoples minds; even feitan's is pretty easy to read, you just have to take the social cues when they're in front of you."

the entire troupe were on a mission and this time it took place inside of a club. you were dressed in the most uncomfortable club attire you could find and heels that made you want to chop your feet off. it was all too much for you but you knew that it would all be worth it for the money that all of you were promised.

you were sitting down on one of the bar chairs, chugging down a beer as you looked around at your surroundings. there had been a man, not one you were familiar with, staring at you for a while and although he wasn't bad to look at, you kept wondering why he was continuously staring at you.

"hey doll, first time i've ever seen you here," he finally said approaching you. you gave him a look of confusion, "uh yeah, that's because it's my first time here," you replied looking at your drink with annoyance.

"figures, i would have gotten with you a long time ago if i had seen you here before."

just as you were about to leave, you were handed a note from shalnark who was dressed up as a waiter. you quickly opened it up realizing that it was chrollo's handwriting.

"that's the man we need to execute, keep him close."

your eyes widened, not realizing that you had the bait in your hands. you gave him a sweet smile, before turning your attention to chrollo and shooting him a wink that silently meant that you'd have him in a secluded room for his death in no time.

"so, what plans would you have for me if you would have had a me a long time ago?" you asked, sliding on top of his lap and giving him the most fakest sweet smile you could muster, "how about i show you?" he asked now running his hand across your lap. you wanted to cringe but you knew that this was the perfect moment to cut the mission short and go home with the money.

you nodded as you turned over to chrollo and signaled him to follow you. chrollo could tell that feitan was fuming. it was hard to try and read what was going on through his head a lot of the time but this time it was fairly easy. he was fuming with jealousy and it showed. he knew that feitan had a thing for you but who didn't? you were cute and knew how to handle a battle on your own so what wasn't to like?

"come on, she'll need our help with him," he knew that you wouldn't but it was to try and give feitan some peace of mind. they followed your quietly into the room and as you pushed the man on the chair, you turned on the light and smirked, "but it looks like it'll be us giving you the show instead."

chrollo appeared behind you as the man's eyes widened at the spiders leader and their second captain. you smiled as you retrieved your own blade from it's cover and swung it in the air, "it's always so crazy to me that men will literally fuck anything they can get their hands on so i guess that has to be the first thing that goes, right?" you stated aligning the blade to his wrist.

feitan chuckled at your sadistic ways. he knew he must've been rubbing off on you but eventually you stepped back and gave the two men their rounds as you grabbed the wads and you meant wads of cash he had hidden on him. you stuffed them into your clutch that was hidden under your clothes and walked out as you were told to let the man die in the room. the police would find him in the morning, right?

the music was playing way too loud for anyone to hear him screaming so you went back onto the dance floor, happy that your mission was a success and you'd be off for at least a couple days now. you were whispered the success to your troupe members as they high fived each other in happiness.

you went back to the bar for another drink as feitan joined you.

"take shower at home," you gave him a questioning look, "man touched you so you have his germs now."

you giggled, taking a drink from the beer as he stayed my your side for the entire night. he wouldn't dare let another man touch you especially not in the way that the deceased man was.

you nodded in agreement. you knew what chrollo was saying was true but you knew never in a million years would feitan admit to it. in your own weird way, you kind of liked the relationship you and feitan had. it wasn't a solid relationship, not yet at least, but you knew within time, it'd get there. you just had to wait for feitan to get comfortable first.

it took two seconds before the door slammed open, a very angry looking feitan barging in screaming at you in his native language as chrollo excused himself.

you on the other hand sat on the chair, smirking at his antics. you knew this was his way of showing you his stressed out emotions of almost losing you but in his own feitan way. you would wait all day if it meant hearing him scream at you about the way he cared about you. you just had to remember to thank chrollo for opening your eyes about feitans feelings towards you.

#anime #anime imagines #anime imagine #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh #hunter x hunter imagine #hunter x reader #feitan portor imagine #feitan portor x you #feitan portor x reader #feitan portor #feitan fic

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grimowled · 5 months ago

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3. a trait they express in the wrong way!

☽ why is my muse hot garbage?? - accepting!!

ooh boy, this one is easy because there are many lmao

VI. ON OBSESSION

the most glaring trait is how he expresses any kind of affection or infatuation. take the latter, for example: when he falls for someone he does so in the most intense, immoderate and unhealthy way; he will not be above using the goetia arsenal at his disposal to manipulate and keep them bound to him: his power(s), social status & influence, wealth, knowledge and cunning. he may even lord something over them, like his grimoire with blitzø if he believes the other to be a particularly tough nut to crack. it is all kinds of wrong wrong wrong!

he does not relent easily and will shamelessly display obsessive behaviours such as keeping tabs on them by means of magic and connections, showing up unannounced, blowing up their phone, courting and seducing them enthusiastically, offering a contract etc. and just generally being rather pushy. he is not always subtle with it either - with blitzø, for example, he is openly scandalous, and in a way it's also because he wants to see how much he can get away with.

it's hunger, yearning, obsession, boredom and desperation all wrapped up in a terrible beast created by aeons of repression / unhealthy ways of managing his emotions, ingrained infernal behaviours, as well as no real examples of healthy relationships. that and ... he is a demon, an apex predator, and therefore indulges in skewed morals by definition. he basically behaves as if he is hunting them, and is not satisfied until they are snatched up and held fast in his claws, until he can devour them metaphorically and irrefutably own every part of them, tear their pretty mind wide open and gaze lovingly at every little detail.

it's a demonic belief that everyone has a price, that he can buy most people's loyalty and company like his own father did for him; but that isn't to say he doesn't appreciate a less transactional relationship: in fact he much prefers it when the objects of his affections willingly choose to indulge him, and he does not need to bind them through contracts or by any other means.

in time he has learnt to appreciate choice (that which he lacked when his own marriage was arranged) : there is nothing sexier than adoring loyalty but he does thoroughly enjoy the hunt.

tldr; he desperately wants to be loved but ... he only knows to offer a twisted imitation of it, like everything in hell.

#☽ [ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏs ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ | ANSW.]#culling #☽ [ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇ | HC]#☽ [ ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ᴀ ᴍᴏᴏᴅ ɢᴀʙʀɪᴇʟʟᴀ! | OOC]#[i love calling my own muses out]#[and their fathers]#[not me spamming the dash with my word vomit comma bs again]

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vulpes-ferus · 10 months ago

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FFXIV LFRP On Hiatus

Full name: Miyako Akane

Race: Auspice/Yokai

Gender: Genderfluid? Nonbinary? Really, it's whatever they feel like at the moment. Her pronouns depend on the skin she's in at the time: she/they, or he/they. Typically prefers her female presenting form unless her masculine form is more preferable to those she's interacting with.

Sexuality: All of it. Anything.

Marital Status: Single! She's not settling down, she's always on the prowl.

Age: Several centuries old

Profession: She doesn't have one! Though technically they may read your cards or offer a boon...for a price, and she rarely accepts actual currency

Hobbies: Pranking mortals. Preying on mortals. Seducing mortals, people watching... and generally just about anything to do with the forest, or nature.

Hair: Dark orange/white accents

Eyes: Amber

Distinguishing Marks: Typically veiled as a Miqo'te, there is little distinguishing about her person to those unable to see through the magic she uses - although on occasion, one might spot a fluffier tail than she actually seems to have, out of the corner of their eye. To those able to see through this magic... she's quite a bit different than her feline glamour would suggest to the average person. In their feminine presenting forms, she always has red tattoo-markings around her eyes.

RP Hooks

She's still as-yet un-roleplayed, so there's a lot of potential - and there's less impetus for me to want longer storylines on her, so if you just want a few one-off scenes to have your cards read or the like, those are easier on her than on my other characters, though I'm always a sucker for a long plot/storyline that's steeped in character growth! Never be afraid to approach me if you have an idea!

Maybe you want your cards read! I have several tarot decks IRL, and an oracle deck that's well-suited to her too, and I could no doubt use the practice, myself. She essentially makes fey bargains - deals with weird prices that aren't always clear at first.

She may be centuries old, but she was barely over a century when she was imprisoned out in the East, and only escaped her magical prison in the last couple years! (I was, in fact, inspired by JJK and Sukuna for her imprisonment.) She ran from the East and took a new face to pose as, since she was captured and imprisoned in the East, and the people there still respect the old legends... and the Black Shroud is an excellent forest, vibrant with life! ...and unsuspecting mortals.

Speaking of the Black Shroud, there's a lot of ways to interact with her in regard to that! You could randomly run into her. She could do what kitsune do in the old tales, and lure you off the road at night and get you lost. Maybe you've seen something weird in the forest, or heard strange tales from travelers. Maybe you're just really in tune with the elementals and they've mentioned a new entity in the forest...really, I'm open to about anything with some talk about it beforehand!

She feeds on aether! She doesn't have to kill people to do this, though she's certainly not above it - what are morals to an animal, anyways? Food is food. Prey is prey. But sometimes, it's easier to just seduce someone and feed on their aether, before leaving them naked and drained in the forest to have a laugh at their expense.

Given her long imprisonment, much about the world is new to her! Maybe you lure her in by showing her all the nifty new stuff there is, and blowing her mind at how much things have changed in a few hundred years.

You could be an antagonist! Hunt her, if you like! Maybe she hurt you, or someone you care(d) about! Maybe you're from the East and found out her prison was dismantled, and you fear yokai; or you're just a Shroud Dweller who has been wronged, etc.

Romance! While I don't tend to like interactions that are solely focused on seeking out ERP - she is a sensual creature, and physical intimacy is an indulgence and a way to consume aether... though I don't know how she'd feel about genuine romance... last time she indulged in that, it got her caught and imprisoned!

She likes pranks/mischief... and sometimes that mischief can seem cruel if you don't understand the mindset of a creature of the wild. Engage her on her level, and she might find you more 'fun' than 'food'.

Alternately, she carries her soul around in an orb she wears as jewelry, and if someone got their hands on it, it'd be bad news for her!

About anything you can think of and want to brainstorm together! She's an alt that's good for long-term or short-term RP; serious, or not-so-serious moments... there's plenty of potential!

The OOC

Writer is 30+, and I prefer RP partners to be 21+ - I do prefer darker, more mature RP, but that's not all I'm capable of! I just like morally grey explorations - and questions like 'what really drives a person?'

Late nights aren't really something I can do anymore, past 11-12pm my writing isn't any good, though my schedule is open enough to allow earlier starting times. Also I'm CST, and prefer in-game RP. I simply can't stay in character when RP isn't moving in real time, and tend to just forget to respond to out of game stuff, or not feel well enough to write some days, and it ends up taking so long that I can't stay in character. Thus, scheduling in-game scenes ahead of time will always be what works best for me.

No canon characters please, it just really breaks my immersion/my character wouldn't have any reason to interact with canon characters really! Unfortunately, this means WoL OCs as well - their power level is just so intense that I can't really justify my OCs interacting with the WoL: time-traveling slayer of gods at the edges of the universe. (And no shade to canon RPers of any kind - it's just not my cup of tea, is all. Embrace your fun, my friends!) I also don't mind bending lore, but outright ignoring/breaking with it is also not really for me - and again, there's no judgement for how others choose to have fun, but I like to respect the canon.

I prefer plots, and RP with a purpose - contact solely focused on ERP is not welcome. ERP as part of an on-going story doesn't bother me, however.

Don't bring IC into OOC, or vice verse!

Communicate! If the RP isn't working for you, just tell me! I prefer 'organic RP,' but if you want to steer a story (RP) in a certain direction or don't want it steering in a direction, let me know! I much prefer having that conversation, rather than allowing an RP partner to be silently upset or uncomfortable!Follows come from @ooc-miqojak , and my other blogs are @miqojak and @antlers-and-omens!

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #lfrp ffxiv #lfc ffxiv #lfrp ff14 #ffxiv oc #kitsune #nogitsune #I may come back and update this some #but I've long needed to get an LFRP done for her so here's the first draft

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solarpunkpresentspodcast · 10 months ago

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Solarpunk Naiveté?

Solarpunk opts for optimism—and action—over despair, but sometimes I wonder if we are just being naïve. It’s not just that most people don’t want what we want, which is a change on par with the Industrial Revolution, but for the sustainable, livable, and socially just, including the extinction of capitalism, patriarchy, and gender essentialism. We think that all we have to do is show how fun! (etc) the future could be to win over hearts and minds of the close minded and fearful who want to anchor us in the status quo or even drag us back into the past. But it’s not the poor (at least if we get our way), it’s the difficult, selfish, and sociopathic who will always be with us. These are the people that our currently crumbling democracies have failed to remain eternally vigilant against. These are the people who are the main obstacle to progress toward that beautiful future we’re dreaming of. But what do we do about them? What strategies do we have to take the sting out of the people whose sole intentions are to disrupt, destroy, seize power, and sow misery?

These people are rare and yet legion. We all know at least one. I mean, show me a family—or a workplace—that doesn’t contain at least one psychopath gleefully and intentionally capable of causing chaos and pain. A lot of us have had our lives upended by such people and/or carry deep wounds. I would definitely be a different, stronger person than I am now if it wasn’t for the things such people have done to me and to members of my family, even several generations in the past.

You’d think that would have armed me against such people. But over and over again I have found that if you’re not Machiavellian yourself, it’s all but impossible to counteract the willfully, savagely destructive. I don’t know about you, but I suspect, like me, you are just not devious enough to block, dodge, or defang their schemes. Which is the better way to be! But it means that we always think we’ve seen the worst these people can do and that there are no further horrors to come. Of course, we’re almost always wrong, at least until, having shattered us badly enough, they drop us as a plaything. Then, such is our propensity for amnesia and our belief in the goodness of the human heart, we forget that there are countless others like these people out there. And although we know that they blow through norms and fail to negotiate in good faith, our pitifully normal little brains will never really get our heads around what that means, except in hindsight… every time.

Or maybe I am a particularly lacking in guile.

So, anyway, here I have been, despite all my bad experiences with bullies and psychopaths, dreaming my cheerful little solarpunk dreams where everyone can just see how good it would be to be excellent to each other and stop fucking up the environment. I talk to people I like talking to—meaning people who see the world very much the way I do—and my social media encounters are largely confined to a hopelessly progressive Instagram feed and the soft, rolling hills of Mastodon, where everyone is so earnestly woke. So I forgot we’re not all in this together.

My rude reawakening came after I happened to stumble across the farmers’ huge protest here in Germany that happened the other week. As one does with impressive events, I shot a short video and posted it to YouTube. (You are subscribed to our new channel, right?) Thus was I slapped back into reality. By trolls, of course. Not even many and not even particularly ferocious ones. Just a couple of them making some run of the mill disparaging comments designed to sow discord and undermine my credulousness, rather than start actual discussions.

Yes, particularly guileless little fluffball that I am, I was shocked by this. My video was pretty neutral... and less than a minute long. I pointed out that the way farmers are farming is ruining the environment, but I also pointed out that it’s wrong that they’re not being paid a fair price for the food they produce for us. If I was criticizing anything, it was the whole messed up system that so grossly underpays farmers it pushes them to overproduce food by pumping the soils full of pesticides and fertilizers and housing inhumane ghettos of livestock that only sees the light of day on the way to the slaughterhouse. But I got savaged for being a hypocrite... for eating food. And that’s when you remember that there are so many people out there who aren’t interested in solving problems. They’re in it to win, or to bully people, or—in the case of, say, Russian trolls—to destabilize the society of their self-identified enemies (in this case, Germany and the rest of the democratic world). Dividing and conquering, right?

So, dear solarpunks and everyone else who’d like to avoid a dystopian very near future, how do we neutralize the destructive effects of people like this? Especially when the “fight” is asymmetric, because we can’t resort to Machiavellianism, bullying, or steamrolling over norms in return?

Comment below... I’d love to hear your thoughts on this! Provided, of course, that you’re not just in it to troll.

#solarpunk #trolls #bubble

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ace-of-zaun · 2 years ago

Text

The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time: Pt. 6

Silco x f!reader - SFW

6.4k words

CW: angst, fluff, threats, feelings, crack treated seriously, the author is an actual idiot, seriously someone take away my laptop this is getting out of hand

A/N: my sincerest apologies for the hiatus, my life may as well be called Vander with the way it’s trying to drown me…

Also, my sincerest apologies for how daft this chapter is… i honestly didn’t think it was possible to get any dafter but alas, here we are

-el x

Since that quiet night on the pier, where Silco had eased your worries and ensured you that he would always be there for you, things had been better than ever.

Finally back in the warmth of his office, the both of you nursing a hot drink to chase away the chills of the night, Silco had talked through what had happened to you when you’d passed out in the warehouse. And while he didn’t go into detail about your injuries, he’d reassured you that he wouldn’t give you shimmer again unless it was an emergency.

It was exactly the reassurance you needed.

Now, you were both back to work as normal and more importantly, back to sharing that playful banter with him that you’d come to love.

In public, Silco was as terrifying and stoic as ever, whilst you were the professional negotiator, both of you working tirelessly to bring Zaun ever closer to that independent status it deserved.

But behind closed doors, every moment felt like you were truly home.

And of course, the more time you spent with him, the more you got to know him. Like how he hated working in silence, but couldn’t work if there were words in the song he was listening to, or if people were talking close-by.

Or how he kept a jar of sweets in the bottom drawer of his desk that he always insists are for Jinx, but you’ve caught him chewing on them more than enough times for it to just be a coincidence.

Who knew the Eye of Zaun had such a sweet tooth?

Not to mention that the closer you got to Silco, the closer your relationship with Jinx became.

You cherished those increasingly regular evenings where the three of you would share a meal, talk about how your days had gone, and play games until Jinx fell asleep on your lap after spending most of the evening in a fit of giggles.

It really was starting to feel like the family you’d never had.

Much to Silco’s obvious annoyance, Jinx had also taken to responding to just about everything he said to her with your beloved phrase: ‘What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’, which was, in your humble opinion, hilariously adorable.

In fact, she’s just asked it again in response to Silco’s genuine question of whether or not she’s studying for the chemistry test that her tutor had set for her.

Silco gives you an unimpressed glare from where he’s sitting behind his desk, his fingers steepled in exasperation, whilst you are leaning against the side of the mahogany furniture.

Jinx is very helpfully splayed across the top of the desk, somehow managing to crumple just about every piece of paper on it, in a most remarkable manner.

You refrain from blowing a cheeky kiss to Silco, instead choosing to grin mischievously at him, which only makes him scowl more.

“Whatever am I going to do with the pair of you?” Silco says, shaking his head at the ceiling, like he’s been saddled with the two most exasperating people in the whole of Zaun.

To be fair to him… he’s probably not wrong…

But only because he easily wins the role of Most Exasperating Person #3.

Your mouth opens as you instantly begin to respond with ‘Aw, you love us really’, but your eyes widen half-way through when you realise exactly what it is you’re saying, so instead it comes out as a rather awkward:

“Aw, you l-urrrrr…”

Trailing off into silence, your gaze snaps to Silco’s, hoping he hasn’t suddenly gained the power to read your mind.

Gods, that’d be just awful. Then he’d know just how often you think about his flat arse…

Silco immediately latches onto your hesitation and his brow twitches as he stares you down.

“I beg your pardon?” he asks.

“Um… nothing. Never mind.”

Your response is far too quick to be anything but a cover-up and his good eye narrows in full-blown suspicion.

For the first time since meeting him, you begin to see why everybody else squirms under his gaze as you’re treated to the Eye of Zaun Special™.

And you’d be lying if it wasn’t downright electrifying.

Your breath catches in your chest and your eyes widen.

It flicks a switch inside you, which you’re pretty sure is an activation of your fight or flight response and not for the reason everybody else might find when faced with Mr Intimidating.

Luckily for you, you’re not ‘everybody else’, which means you’re allowed to do the one thing he’d never allow another to do.

You choose flight.

Swiftly turning your attention to Jinx, who is also peering down at you curiously from atop the desk, you tap her on the arm lightly before making a dash for the door.

“Tag you’re it!” you yell over your shoulder, heaving the office door open as quickly as you can without slamming it against the wall.

Behind you, you hear Jinx squeal in delight and hastily scramble off the desk.

As you round the door and sprint down the hallway, you hear Silco call out an exasperated, “Jinx, be careful!” but you’re too far gone to see his expression.

You’re pretty sure he’ll already be lighting another cigar and rolling his eyes by now.

Bolting through your home from the young girl gleefully chasing you, you try to ignore all those wriggling thoughts about just why you’re running away from almost saying a ‘certain word’ to a ‘certain man’.

Perhaps it was your body’s way of keeping you from saying something that was far too early to be saying, or even thinking, for that matter…

Wasn’t it?

You quickly decide that it’s not petty at all to take your revenge on Silco for making you feel flustered for days on end.

Honestly, spending half a week tossing and turning because of feelings that a simple comment had brought up was nothing short of absurd.

How he managed to turn you to jelly with just a look was beyond your comprehension.

So, naturally, revenge was your only option.

Your method of vengeance? Teaching Jinx more ridiculous phrases to slowly drive him mad with, of course.

Quite frankly, he deserves it. Him and his stupid, gorgeous self. It’s his own fault for being so goddamn fine.

By a stroke of luck, it’s one of those rare times where you’re alone with Jinx in his office, whilst he and Sevika have gone to make the rounds in the numerous shimmer factories spread across the city. They’d been gone a while now, which meant you didn’t have much time to complete your secret mission.

Jinx balances precariously on your shoulders, as you responsibly hold onto her legs to stop her from falling.

“And what do we say to your Dad when he’s in a meeting with Marcus?” you quiz her, as she precariously reaches upwards, stretching her small body to its very limit.

“Well, he looks a few sandwiches short of a picnic,” she flawlessly mimics your delivery, complete with sarcastic eyebrow raising and a head tilt. If she wasn’t currently balancing on your shoulders, she’d probably throw a sassy little hand on her hip as well.

“The apprentice has become the master,” you tell her dramatically.

She giggles and the sound instantly lights up your heart.

Janna, this girl was just wonderful.

More recently, she’d begun to call Silco ‘Dad’ pretty much all the time, which was a big step considering when you’d first met her only a few months ago, she’d been visibly uncomfortable at using the term.

It just went to show how attached she felt to him. And honestly, you were glad. You only knew wisps of what this poor girl had gone through and you’d do anything, trade anything to take it back.

Over the short time you’d known her, she’d become so much more full of life, so much more confident.

And it was all thanks to Silco.

Another way you knew that she was more comfortable in Silco’s care was when she’d playfully brought up the idea of pranking him one morning, when you’d been pouring milk into a bowl of breakfast cereal.

Of course, you’d agreed because what could be funnier than pranking the scariest man in Zaun? (Who wasn’t actually that scary if you were a former kitchen utensil salesperson…)

But also the adult part of your brain had decided that it was probably a smart idea to be involved in the prank, to ensure the one she chose was harmless. This intervention soon turned out to be a good one when she’d immediately suggested glitter or paint-filled explosive traps in his office…

No chance.

Not even your natural affinity for charming Silco could rescue her from that kind of wrath.

Luckily she’d been easily convinced of your infinitely less destructive plan and that was the plan you were currently putting into action.

Jinx wobbles a bit on your shoulders as she reaches up even higher. Carefully, you let go of one of her legs to hold the door steady as she places the bucket on top of it, concentrating fiercely on not dropping the child or the bucket.

When she’s certain that it is secure, you slowly back away from the door and carefully lower her to the ground.

You hold your breath and wait, but nothing falls.

Phew.

You take a second to admire your handiwork and turn to Jinx

“Is everything to your liking, my hilarious little court jester?” you ask, with a little bow and flourish of one hand.

She giggles again and nods, throwing her arms around your waist in a tight hug.

You just manage to wrap your own arms around her when she speaks again, directing the words into your shirt instead of looking at you.

“I love you,” she mumbles into the fabric.

You freeze.

Did she actually just say that or were you imagining it?

Her head turns to look up at you, a hopeful expression painted across her features, and you know without a doubt that she both said it and meant it.

You don’t hesitate any longer.

“I love you too, pumpkin,” you tell her ardently, feeling tears welling at the corner of your eyes.

Fuck, you haven’t felt this full of love in so long. It’s almost a bit too overwhelming.

She smiles like her whole world has just lit up, but before you can say anything else, you hear footsteps in the corridor outside the office.

Both of your heads snap in meerkat fashion to look at the door.

“Go, go, go,” you whisper after a moment of listening, carefully directing her to your agreed hiding place.

You sprint to hide behind Silco’s desk and manage to crouch behind it just before the handle turns, both of your heads peeking up to get the best view of what was about to be, The Most Classic Prank in The History of Pranks.

You watch, like it’s happening in slow motion, as the door is finally pushed open and the bucket easily falls off its perch.

Sevika comes into view and with the speed of a cheetah, manages to smack the bucket away from her, meaning that whilst she doesn’t get hit on the head with the bucket… she does get covered in reams of shredded paper.

The bucket lands a few feet away from her and paper spills in every direction, all across the floorboards of the office.

There’s a few seconds of stunned silence before you and Jinx begin to cackle at the sight of Sevika absolutely covered in little bits of paper.

Her gaze sharpens on you immediately, her eyes filled with rage. Oh, if looks could kill, you’d have been dead and buried within milliseconds.

Silco appears behind her and pushes his way into the office, glancing at the scene before him. For a brief moment, you worry that he’s going to be angry at the mess you’ve made of his office.

But the worry is quickly dispersed when Jinx emerges from her hiding place and runs over to Silco, throwing her arms around his waist. She giggles and Silco’s lips instantly quirk into a little smile as he looks down at her.

“Sevika, you’re making a mess,” he drawls, choosing to join your side of the game as he walks over to his desk with Jinx holding his hand.

You laugh and he gives you a knowing smirk when you stand up from behind the desk and let him sit down in his chair.

“Did you see that, Dad?” Jinx says excitedly, bouncing up and down at his side.

“I did, pumpkin. That was very sneaky of you, I certainly was not expecting it,” he tells her proudly.

You make your way over to Sevika, part of you feeling bad that she’s taken the brunt of the little prank. Reaching out a hand to help her pick out the paper from her hair, she all but growls at you, slapping your hand away roughly.

“Get off me.”

You manage to squeak out a “Sorry,” but it’s entirely discredited by the fact that you’re still chuckling at her.

She does not look impressed.

Banned from helping Sevika (who has already left the room in a disgruntled manner), you decide to start picking up the paper that has dropped to the floor when you hear Silco tell Jinx that it’s time for bed.

Predictably, she whines, but after a pointed silence (and more than likely, a pointed look to accompany it), she assents and passes you on her way out of the room.

You tell her you’ll come and say goodnight to her when you’ve finished picking up the paper, and give her a kiss on the cheek before she goes, closing the door behind her.

Smiling to yourself, you continue to crawl on your hands and knees, picking up the tiny shreds of paper, when you become acutely aware that you can no longer hear the sound of pen scratching on paper.

Turning to look over your shoulder, you find Silco unabashedly staring at your ass.

You scoff. The nerve of this man.

“Are you just going to sit there and watch?” you ask affrontedly.

He smirks.

“It was you who made the mess,” he counters.

“I think you’ll find it was Sevika’s fault for opening the door,” you say, mimicking his dry tone.

“Whose idea was it?”

“Jinx’s.”

“Yet you were the one who assisted her,” he says, with an amused wave of his hand.

“Uh, have you seen her puppy eyes? It’s impossible to say no to her,” you state, shaking your head.

Silco gives a non-committed little hum, which you recognise as being his way of conceding without actually giving you the satisfaction.

You laugh and continue picking up the paper, ignoring Silco’s gaze burning into your back.

It’s not exactly a secret to anyone close to Silco that Jinx has him wrapped around her little finger, just like you are now.

Honestly, the both of you would probably do anything for her at this point.

A quiet voice in the back of your head wonders if you’d also do anything for Silco.

And would he do anything for you?

A few days later, you find yourself leaning against a grand, marble building on a perfectly cobbled street in Piltover, your eyes closed as you bask in the warmth of the sun.

Beside you, you can practically hear Silco’s thoughts running through his head, as he angrily smokes a cigarette.

You open your eyes and turn to peer at him, adjusting your sunglasses that you’d bought from the market especially for your trip Topside. Truth be told, there wasn’t much need for sunglasses in Zaun, but that didn’t stop you from picking the most garish ones on the stall.

Zaun was big enough for two fashionistas and you weren’t about to let Silco completely steal the limelight.

Your meeting with an important Councillor had been cancelled, but you’d only found out after you’d arrived at the meeting location, meaning you’d both wasted a trip when you could have been at home working on other deals.

Silco was unhappy to say the least.

In fact, he only stopped irritably ranting about how selfish and egotistical all Piltovians were when you’d found a spare cigarette in your coat pocket and practically thrown it at him.

Honestly, sometimes living with Silco was like living with (another) child… bribery was a sure-fire way to get him to shut up when he was spiralling into a never-ending monologue.

But despite the bribe, he’s still undoubtedly in a foul mood, so you decide to employ your best tactic in your foolproof strategy named ‘Cheer Silco Up’...

Distraction.

“Do you think I look good in these?” you ask him, posing with your outlandish sunglasses by holding the frames coyly and tilting your head.

Silco turns his head slowly, and his eyes begin a slow sweep up and down your whole body, his expression entirely unreadable.

He finally meets your gaze and delivers his verdict.

“You look ridiculous.”

You frown, your lips jutting out in a pout when you spot his lip quirking - a tell-tale sign that he’s teasing you.

Of course, he doesn’t actually mean it, he’s probably just getting you back for the time you’d jokingly told him his coat made him look like a velociraptor… a whole month ago.

The man has a freakishly good memory (and an impressive ability to hold a grudge, it would seem…)

But despite the fact he’s only teasing, you’re still not going to let him get away with it.

“Um, respect the drip, Brenda,” you say with fake indignation.

He almost drops his cigarette in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” you tell him snarkily, with a nonchalant flip of your hand.

Silco looks thoroughly taken aback, his good eye widening in pure shock.

It takes you a second to realise what you just said.

“Sorry, I think the sunglasses are making me sassy,” you say meekly, taking them off and giving them a suspicious look.

It had to be the sunglasses, right?

“I somehow doubt that,” Silco says, rolling his eyes.

You give him a look of fake offence before an idea pops into your head.

“Hey, do you wanna wear them? You know, just to test my hypothesis. I might be onto something here. Could make us millions,” you suggest, holding them out towards him.

He huffs a laugh and stubs his cigarette out on the side of the marble building, no doubt another little ‘fuck you’ to Piltover.

“Let’s go home,” he says with a smirk, setting off back towards the bridge, where the carriage is parked.

You laugh, glad that his bad mood seems to have dissipated, and put the sunglasses in your pocket, catching up to him so you can walk side-by-side through the bright streets.

As much as you hate Piltover for what they’d done to your city, you couldn’t help feeling a little bit awestruck by how much cleaner and grander it was than Zaun.

It only made you more desperate to achieve yours and Silco’s goals.

The people of Zaun deserved to live like this, to live like actual human beings, and not the overflow they were treated as.

You try not to look like you’re ogling the magnificent buildings as you walk, knowing how much Silco hated seeing it all, when you pass a sign that makes you grab Silco’s hand in excitement.

“Silco!” you gasp.

“What?!” he exclaims roughly, obviously startled, his hand squeezing yours tightly.

You excitedly re-read the sign clearly stating that the building in front of you is an art studio open to the public, meaning you can just go in and use their resources for free.

A quick glance through the window reveals that it’s empty of other people, but full of art supplies.

Bingo.

You drop Silco’s hand and run through the open front door like a child entering a toy store on Snowdown Day.

“What’s wrong? Where are you going?” Silco calls after you confusedly.

“I need to paint, it’s a matter of life or death!”

“What?”

“Come on, you grumpy old sod, it’ll be fun,” you yell over your shoulder, spotting him standing by the door looking utterly baffled.

Honestly, if you had a cog for every time you made Silco look completely bewildered, you’d be a very rich woman indeed. You were starting to think it was your secret superpower.

“Darling, we don’t really have time for this,” he says, following you into the art studio.

“We don’t have any more meetings today and you need a break from paperwork,” you tell him as you sit down at an empty canvas, “You’re going to need a chiropractor if you hunch over that desk any longer.”

He huffs in annoyance.

“Come on, I thought you used to be a rebel,” you taunt him with a cheeky grin, “And what could be more rebellious than using all of Piltover’s precious resources for our own nefarious purposes?”

That succeeds in making him smirk and he finally sits down opposite you, behind another empty canvas on an easel.

You waste no more time and eagerly start to mix together some paint with a paintbrush, knowing instantly what you want to paint.

Lost in your own world for a few silent minutes, you eventually look up to find Silco just staring at you, seemingly drinking in all your features.

You wonder what he’s thinking.

“Oi, you’re not painting anything,” you inform him helpfully when he just continues staring.

“What are you painting?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Now get painting,” you instruct, waving your brush at him like you’re casting a spell.

Silco visibly scowls at being told what to do but he follows your instructions and picks up a brush, getting to work mixing the colours he needed.

You both paint for a good twenty minutes, enjoying the soothing sounds of the bristles on the canvas and the birds chirping outside.

It’s almost idyllic.

Scratch that, it is idyllic. It’s absolutely perfect and you wish you could stay like this forever with him.

When you’re not glancing up at Silco to paint all his striking features, you’re admiring how beautiful he looks when he’s lost in thought.

It’s the most relaxed you’ve seen him in a long time, his worry lines softened in the warm glow of the sunlight pouring in through the window.

A part of you wishes that he could live like this full time - completely unburdened, completely care-free. Like he deserves after a lifetime of suffering.

You make a mental note to buy him a set of paints to help him relax at home. It would sure as hell be a healthier option than the ungodly amount of whiskey and cigars he consumes on a daily basis.

By the time you’ve finished your painting, Silco is still concentrating on his, so you take the opportunity to turn your masterpiece into a cheeky little wanted poster with a felt tip pen.

‘Wanted: Silco - for being too darn cute’

Reward: Brand new, hardly been used chess set’

You giggle to yourself and the sound breaks him from his reverie, setting down his paintbrush next to the palette.

“Are you done?” you ask him brightly.

He smiles at you like you’ve just brought him the moon.

“Yes, are you?”

“Yes. Ooh, I know! Let’s reveal them at the same time!”

You grab your canvas and hold it in front of you, ready to turn around for the big reveal. Silco copies you, albeit less eagerly than you.

With your three second countdown, you both turn your paintings to show the other.

And at the sight of Silco’s painting, you’re absolutely gobsmacked.

It’s stunning.

He’s painted a portrait of you, somehow capturing you perfectly despite its abstract style.

The strokes of colour and shade that all come together to illustrate your likeness are nothing short of masterful.

“What the actual fuck?” you deadpan, your entire expression dropping.

“I beg your pardon?” he frowns.

“That is the most beautiful painting I have ever seen. Who the hell are you? I thought you were a scary crime lord, not a mysterious artist,” you ramble, stunned at how he’d managed to paint something so impeccable in such a short time.

He rolls his eyes at your candour and sets the painting carefully on the desk.

Caught up in your shock at Silco’s hidden talent, you’d completely forgotten to observe his reaction to your own painting.

You look down at it, now slightly embarrassed at how much more skilled he was.

Luckily for you though, you’re not that embarrassed. Besides you had other, much more important skills in your toolbelt. You know, like being able to sell a second-hand spatula to an accomplished chef.

You awkwardly hold out your painting to him as a gift and he takes it from you slowly, his lips thinning ever so slightly as he does.

“This is… lovely, darling… thank you,” he says, struggling to keep a straight face as he looks at the painting closely.

It’s a good thing you adore this man, because otherwise you’d be secretly emptying all the ink from his pens in retaliation.

“Oh, piss off,” you smack his arm lightly, annoyed because he never speaks to Jinx this patronisingly.

One more glance at his ridiculous expression and you burst out laughing, which Silco joins in with straight away.

Okay, maybe your painting skills needed a bit of practice…

And you know just the teacher.

“Where’d you learn to paint like that?” you ask, when you’ve finally stopped giggling, gesturing to the canvas.

“I spent many a night defacing Topside buildings in my youth and discovered that I have a knack for it,” he explains with a wistful look.

“Well, it’s gorgeous,” you tell him genuinely, secretly hoping he’ll give it to you.

You want to put it up where you can look at it everyday, even if some would consider it a little bit narcissistic to admire a portrait of yourself.

“I had a gorgeous muse,” he responds coyly, his lips curling into a smug grin.

A deep red blush spreads across your cheeks at his obvious flirting.

Damn, when did this bitch get so smooth?

Silco begins to gather up the paintings, ready to leave, and you let him, lost in thought.

Truthfully, you’re not sure how much longer you can ignore this overwhelming feeling inside your chest every time you interact with Silco like this.

It’s not like you can use your typical method of throwing yourself into work to distract yourself because he was both your boss and your housemate.

And what’s worse is that you’re not sure if you even want to distract yourself any longer…

Not when life feels this good in his presence.

You don’t have to wait long to find a solution to your growing feelings and it comes out of an entirely unexpected situation, to say the least.

Standing in the middle of a cold warehouse, you listen with growing apathy to a rude client as he begins to rant and rave when he suddenly realises the deal isn’t going his way.

I mean, it’s not your fault he wants to pay next to nothing for the, quite frankly, excellent protection he’d be receiving in exchange for the job Silco needs doing.

Fortunately for you, you’re not alone in this meeting, grateful to have Silco standing right next to you.

You think you might have already gone mad by now if you couldn’t feel his warmth beside you.

The client soon begins to graduate from ranting about the price, to openly insulting you, perhaps in a strange attempt to neg you into reducing the cost?

But being used to insults after working for so long in customer service, you ignore it, instead focusing on the infinitely more important train of thought presiding in your mind…

What you’re going to have for dinner when you get home.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can tell that Silco is getting more and more enraged at the man’s words, but it’s only visible to you because you know him so well. To anyone else, he looks just as bored and disinterested as ever.

His hands are clasped a little too tightly behind his back and you can tell by the slight twitch in his cheek that he’s biting the inside of his lip. All the signature tells of Silco’s growing ire.

You begin to wonder what’s making him so irate. Surely, he’s used to people trying to take advantage of a good deal by now?

With a sigh, you open your mouth to make an attempt to placate the client, when the man rudely cuts you off, choosing instead to turn his attention to Silco.

“You know, I could run this city much better than you, you scrawny little bastard,” he says with a sneer, “You’re no better than a cockroach.”

And with that one little comment, you see red.

When you think about it later, you find it really quite funny that you couldn’t care less when the man was insulting you, but the very second he’d decided to verbally attack Silco, you absolutely lost it.

You don’t even fully realise what you’re doing as you reach your hand under Silco’s coat, your fingertips grazing his thigh as you grab the knife strapped there and pull it from its holder.

Now brandishing the knife out towards the man, you briefly remember that you don’t even know how to fight, let alone use a knife, but you reason that it couldn’t be that difficult…

I mean, you were pretty proficient at cutting slices of cheese at 2am in the kitchen, so it couldn’t be that much different… right?

Just, you know… more stabby stab than slicey slice?

You prowl closer to the man, holding out the knife threateningly.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the intended effect (ie: making the man wet himself like a little boy).

He smirks.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” the man laughs cruelly, before looking over to Silco in amusement, “Where’d you find this pissy little bitch?”

In a flash, Silco kicks him in the stomach hard, and before you know it, guards have surrounded you both, and are holding the man down as he tries to break free from their grasp.

Within seconds, he manages to twist out of their hold and he lunges towards you, forcing you to take a few startled steps back, clutching the knife handle until your knuckles go white.

Luckily, the guards manage to tackle him again before he can get any closer to you, and the goons who were guarding the entrance join them in detaining him, ensuring he couldn’t get free again.

You stare at the man’s feral expression in absolute terror.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into? you think as you watch the man scream out, like he’d suddenly been possessed.

You used to work at a relatively peaceful market and now you’re getting threatened and attacked meeting after meeting.

Is this really what you signed up for?

Vaguely, you think you hear Silco barking out orders, but you can’t hear what he’s saying over the deafening sound of the blood pumping in your ears.

You stand there breathlessly, allowing the adrenaline to rush through you.

Truthfully, you’re not sure how long you stay in that frozen position. To you, it could have been minutes, or it could have been hours.

In the distance, you begin to tune into the sound of somebody repeatedly saying your name, until you realise that it’s not in the distance at all.

It’s Silco. And he’s right in front of you, looking terribly concerned.

It’s enough to snap you out of it, but all you can do is stare blankly at the intricate details on his waistcoat, bewildered.

A quick glance around the room reveals that you’re alone, sans guards and rude client.

You hadn’t even noticed them leaving.

“Darling,” Silco says gently and you look up at him, your eyes wide.

His hand carefully covers yours and his thumb rubs soothing circles against your skin.

“Sweetheart, let go of the knife,” he tells you softly.

You realise you’re still clutching it, hard enough that it’s starting to hurt, so you slowly let him take it from your grasp.

Once it’s gone, your knees almost buckle in relief.

It’s only after you’ve taken a few deep breaths that you realise just how concerned Silco looks as he visibly examines your trembling form.

“Let’s get you home,” Silco says quietly, after he’s tucked the knife away safely in his pocket.

He carefully wraps an arm around your waist and your shoulders, and leads you out of the warehouse and into the carriage.

Less than half an hour later, you’re both sitting on the sofa in his office, trying to calm down after the events of the disastrous meeting.

But despite being completely out of danger, your body is still coursing with adrenaline. In fact, it’s probably worse now because the shock has worn off and all you want to do is run a mile or beat up a whole gang or repeatedly kick a toy poro across the room.

You’re so fired up, you’re barely listening to Silco ramble as he sits beside you, running a hand through his now messy hair.

“Darling, you must realise that you can’t just take my knives like that; do you even know how to properly wield one?”

He doesn’t pause to let you answer.

“Of course you don’t. Tell me, what do you think would have happened if he’d disarmed you and turned the knife on you?”

If you were thinking properly, you would have realised by his tone and body language that he wasn’t upset with you, but rather himself.

But you’re far too worked up to pick up on any nuanced social cues like that.

“I could have taken him!” you exclaim, “I had to do something, he was insulting you!”

Even thinking about the abusive way the man had spoken to Silco makes your blood boil again.

“You know what, where is he? Is he in the basement? I’m going to teach him a lesson,” you rant, shuffling your body to the edge of the sofa so you can storm out, but Silco grabs you and pulls you back before you can.

You barely take any notice.

“I don’t care if I get injured, I can handle it,” you ramble, your hands gesturing wildly as you begin to rival Silco in his monologuing abilities.

“You know, one time I caught a guy stealing from my market stall and I chased him all through the market and I tackled him to the ground and yes, maybe I twisted my ankle doing it, but I still got the measuring scales back, because you know what, I’m That Bitch and I could-”

You’re cut off by Silco grabbing your face, pulling you towards him, and pressing his lips onto yours desperately.

You freeze and a dial tone replaces any thought in your brain.

…Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck.

Silco is kissing you.

Like, right now.

And you know what, he’s damn good at it.

You’re immediately struck by how wonderful it feels to finally have his lips on yours, a warm, fluttery feeling spreading through your chest.

In fact, it’s even better than the feeling you got the first time you sold a pair of pizza scissors on the market stall, which felt phenomenal because literally nobody buys pizza scissors.

And if that felt phenomenal, then this definitely feels celestial.

You suddenly realise that your brain had gotten a little bit sidetracked when Silco pulls away from you, frowning at your lack of response.

Shit, did you forget to kiss him back?

He scans your face, his own beginning to drain of colour as he tries to stutter out an apology.

“I- I apologise, I was-”

Ignoring his words, you grab the back of his head and pull him back towards you, capturing his lips in your own passionate kiss. Silco responds immediately, his hands deftly weaving through your hair to keep you close as he matches you move for move.

And by the way he harmonises with every shift of your lips and your tongue, you’re almost convinced that you were made for each other.

Fuck, he’s absolutely perfect.

When you finally begin to run out of air, you both pull back, staring at one another breathlessly.

Unfortunately for him, you recover first.

“Well, who knew the Eye of Zaun was such a good kisser?”

You expect him to frown, acting stern as a mechanism for concealing his embarrassment, but he surprises you by smirking knowingly at you.

“I’ve also been told that I have lovely hands,” he drawls, his eyes lingering on your kiss-bruised lips.

It takes you half a second to recall just where you’d heard those words before and your expression drops into one of indignance.

“Hey! That’s not fair, I had a double concussion, which is like, ten times worse than a regular concussion,” you exclaim, smacking his arm lightly.

Silco gives you a pointed, almost incredulous look.

“Your math is atrocious.”

You have to bite your lip to keep yourself from grinning.

“Stop it! I’m all flustered because you just kissed me!” you say exaggeratedly, crossing your arms in a pretend huff, “And I only said that thing about your hands because I’d just been through the traumatic experience of meeting you.”

“If I recall correctly, you quite literally fell for me,” he smirks, his hands beginning to draw circles on your hips in a way that was far from innocent.

Of course he was implying that you collapsing onto him in the warehouse happened because you were swooning over him. And not, you know, the head trauma.

“Oh, shut up, you little-”

You finish your insult by climbing onto his lap and pressing your lips against his once more, grumbling into the kiss.

You quickly decide that this new distraction technique was much more efficient than bribing him with nicotine, that’s for sure.

And even as he tries to deepen the kiss, pulling you closer than ever, you can feel Silco smiling against your lips.

It’s everything you’d been waiting for and more.

PART 7

A/N: they finally did it!!! They kithed!!!!

i hope this chapter was okay, pls don’t march down my street with pitchforks and torches if you hated it…i’m just a lowly little goblin writer, my diet consists solely of comments and consistently disappointing my parents

Okay, i love you, see ya later

-el x

Tag list: @htmlbitxh @pinkrose1422 @jennithejester @wondermia69 @redskull199987 @paradoxdraggon @ariaud @ruthdied

#silco #silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco x you #silco fic #silco arcane #part 6

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sergeantsporks · 2 years ago

Text

Gilded Family

Rating: Teen and Up, Gen

Ch 26/?: Never Meet Your Heroes

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6 , Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25

In which none of the previous golden guards or wittebro died, actually, they're all fine and living happily together as one big dysfunctional family

Ao3

“You didn’t give me this scar,” Phoenix said slowly, “We’ve never met. This came from Belos. I failed a mission, and he got angry.” It had been his first lesson in the coven; failure wasn’t an option.

An emotion Phoenix couldn’t quite place sparked in Petro’s eyes—something like surprise, melancholy, and triumph rolled into one. “He really told you that?”

“That’s what happened!”

Caleb put a hand on Phoenix’s arm, and Phoenix realized his hands had curled into fists. “Deep breath. We can figure this out. What do you remember?”

Phoenix shifted uncomfortably, unsettled by Petro’s unflinching stare. “I—well—”

“Yeah,” Petro jeered, “What do you remember, little bird?”

A deeply sick, festering rot settled in Phoenix’s stomach at the nickname, though he couldn’t say why. “I took a hit to the head from Belos,” he growled. His arms ached, the wounds seeming to crawl under the bandages, “I don’t remember what happened exactly.”

“Ha!” Petro snorted. “You wish a blow to the head explained your intelligence.”

That stung a little more than Phoenix cared to admit. “Hey!”

Caleb’s hand tightened on Phoenix’s arm. “That’s enough. Either explain what happened, or stop making this worse.”

“You’d know all about making things worse, wouldn’t you, Caleb? If you’d stayed in the human realm where you belonged, none of this would have happened in the first place.”

Caleb jerked backwards as if he’d been slapped. “That’s—”

“I don’t know how you survived, or how you’re here. But I know that none of this would have happened without you.”

“That’s it,” Evelyn’s voice snapped. A wobbly golden spell circle drifted past Phoenix, passing through Petro. The guard’s head dropped to his chest.

“Well,” Sam said briskly, dusting his hands off, “He is deeply unpleasant. Thanks, Mom. Maybe we should make a gag?”

Evelyn took Caleb and Phoenix’s hands. “Don’t listen to him,” she said fiercely, “He’s just trying to get under your skin.”

Phoenix’s hands shook, and that rot in the pit of his stomach seemed to spread, making his stomach churn. “That doesn’t explain how he knew. He knew Caleb’s name, and he knew I was the golden guard after him. Him trying to get under our skin doesn’t explain why he recognized us, why he recognized my scar!”

“He’s not going to tell you. He knows he holds the cards, and he’s not going to share information without a price. It’s not worth whatever he wants.”

“Blabber serum,” Sam suggested, “We could get him to talk that way.”

“I don’t have the ingredients. And I’m sorry, Phoenix, but I’m not risking anyone’s freedom for them.” Evelyn tapped her chin. “I could try extracting memories—but I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, which makes things more difficult.”

Phoenix eyed Petro, running through every interrogation tactic he’d ever been taught. Petro would know them, too—and probably more. He doubted very much that the grimwalker would talk without magic.

“What if I went into his mindscape?”

“What?”

“His mindscape,” Phoenix repeated, “Like Hunter did to Belos. I could find the memories, see what really happened.”

Caleb shook his head. “Absolutely not. Hunter nearly got killed in there!”

“Petro almost killed you just now, and that was after he’d just woken up from years as a statue,” Sam agreed, “You only survived because I was there. In the home field of his own mind? His inner self would destroy you.”

“So I’ll bring someone with me,” Phoenix insisted, “Safety in numbers. Sam?”

“Ha! No. While exploring a mindscape DOES sound intriguing, I prefer living. And I don’t know if glyphs would even work in there. And I’m not exactly built for hand-to-hand combat.”

The door creaked open. “He’s really awake,” Cherry murmured, “You really did it.”

Sam threw his hands up. “Why does everyone doubt me?!”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “You know, it is impressive how you managed it. What glyph combo did you use? How did you create it?”

Sam’s bravado and indignation almost immediately swapped to a shiftier expression. “Oh. That’s not important.”

“Sam.”

Sam coughed. “I… found it in a book.”

“What book?”

“Um. Unclebelosdiary.”

“Come again.”

“I might have. Sort of. Maybe. Stolen one of Uncle’s journals? When we were at the head? And the glyph was in there?”

Evelyn took a deep breath and slowly released it. “You tested an unknown glyph from Phillip’s diary?!”

“Well. When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound like nearly as good of an idea.”

Phoenix raised a hand. “Does it matter? He’s not stone now. I need to find out what happened, why he thinks that he attacked me. And the only way we’ll get that information is if I go into his mindscape, dangerous or no.”

Evelyn shook her head. “Why is it so important to you, Phoenix?”

“I…” Phoenix took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. Why was it important? Petro could be making the whole thing up just to mess with him, just like everyone had said. But somehow, that didn’t seem right. Something about the way that Petro stared at him made him think it was the truth. Or at least Petro thought it was the truth.

“He thinks he attacked me. But I haven’t seen him until now—and I think I’d remember him. If Belos did something to him, something to make him more hostile, then maybe we can fix it in his mindscape.”

“And what if he didn’t?” Caleb asked softly, “What if Petro’s right, and something’s happened to your memories?”

Then what? Okay, so one more person had tried to kill him in a long line of people who’d tried to kill him. They’d have to keep Petro tied up, or at least somewhere he couldn’t hurt anyone. What else?

“Then I need to know,” Phoenix replied, equally softly, “I need to know what I’m missing.”

“I could go with him,” Cherry offered, “If the issue is that it’s dangerous, I could provide support. Watch his back.”

Phoenix twisted to look at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I agree with you, if there’s a chance that Belos altered his mind, if there’s a chance that we can make things right for him, then we should take it.”

Caleb’s eyes flicked over Cherry’s face. “…It’s going to be dangerous.”

“That’s why I’m going. Phoenix and I can handle it if we work together.”

Evelyn chewed her lip. “Cherry, are you… I want to help him too, but if he really does want to kill Phoenix—”

“No one’s beyond saving. Right?”

Evelyn didn’t respond.

“Right,” Caleb agreed, “Evelyn?”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t like it.”

Phoenix met her eyes, burning gold despite the bags around them. “Please.”

I need to know.

Evelyn broke the stare first. “Sam, do you have something in here that makes a lot of noise?”

“You could take Lake and Locke.”

“Sam.”

“I got it, I got it.” Sam hurried to a shelf, opening a small box and removing a metal ball. “If you shake it, it chimes,” he explained, “It’s pretty loud. But I don’t know how you’re planning on getting in there, those rebels used potions that I don’t know if I can replic—”

“I can do it,” Evelyn interrupted, “Just… stand back. Are you two ready?”

Cherry took the noisemaker from Sam. “Ready.”

Caleb clapped his shoulder. “Keep each other safe.”

“I will.”

Evelyn sighed. “This is a bad idea.”

“I know,” Phoenix told her. It was. Sam was right, if he ended up encountering Petro’s inner self, he’d be fighting on Petro’s home turf.

I need to know.

“Alright. As long as you know. Ring that ball when you’re ready, or if you get into any trouble. And stick together, do you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Evelyn shook her head. “Here we go.” She drew a circle in the air, and the world seemed to blow up around Phoenix, growing in size. Sam’s glasses were like great big moons in the sky above him, and then he stood on a barren plain, mottled with pools of water. Evelyn, Caleb, Sam, and the lab all gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with nothing but empty space.

“Huh.” Phoenix could barely hear himself over the sound of wind howling across the empty space. “It’s very… open.”

Cherry knelt down next to a pool of water. “I think these are his memories. Look.”

Phoenix squatted next to him, wincing at the pop of his knees. The water shimmered and rippled, and a golden guard accepted a staff from a familiar gauntlet, shadowed by the rest of the water. “There’s a lot of pools to look through.”

“How would we tell if something was wrong with one?”

“Muddy image?” Phoenix suggested, “Evaporated water?”

“You don’t know?”

Phoenix scratched the back of his head, flushing. “Well—everyone’s different. There wouldn’t be a clear-cut answer of what exactly we’re looking for. Just… any kind of deviation from the normal, I guess.”

Cherry stood, brushing his knees off. “It would be quicker to split up, divide into sections. But I don’t want to be caught alone by Petro’s inner self. And Mom said to stick together.”

Phoenix scuffed an x into the dirt next to the pool. “So we know which ones we’ve seen,” he explained.

“Good idea.” Cherry scanned the area. “We’re in the middle, I think.”

“Spiral pattern search?”

“Spiral pattern search,” Cherry agreed. He rubbed his arms. “Do you think it’s weird that we can’t see his inner self? It’s wide open here—I can see for miles.”

“Maybe it’s asleep because he is?”

“Mm. Lets hope he doesn’t start to dream.”

Phoenix moved one pool out. Belos’ whole profile was in this one, framed by a glowing circle of light. He was extending a hand to what had to be a younger Petro, scrawny and covered in bruises and scrapes. Phoenix marked the bank with an x and moved onto the next one at the roughly the same distance from the center pool. An older Petro, his cloak stained with blood, and three bodies beneath him. Phoenix shuddered. Looked like those stories about him were true, down to the kill counts.

Cherry marked the memory this time. The two continued in a spiral pattern from the center, crossing off memory after memory. Petro with coven heads. Petro standing beside the throne. Petro leading a violent battle against a hoard of demons.

Cherry threw an arm out, stopping Phoenix dead in his tracks. “I think I found it.”

The image rippling across the water wasn’t of Phoenix. It was of a book, the book Sam had, and a page flipped open to Grimwalker #24. Phoenix did a quick mental count of the grimwalkers in the house.

“That’s me,” he agreed, “Should we…?”

“It doesn’t look corrupted. But maybe you’re not in this one? Maybe this is just how he found out about you.”

Phoenix touched his scar. “…Do you think Belos killed him for knowing?”

“One way to find out.” Cherry gingerly poked the water. “How deep do you think it is?”

Phoenix shrugged, and started to splash in. “We’ll only find out if we—”

The ground disappeared beneath him, and he plunged into the water, tumbling head over heels into a familiar street. Cherry landed next to him seconds later.

“Titan, Phoenix. I thought you were drowning!”

“It was… deeper than I expected.” Phoenix craned his neck, looking upwards. “How do we get out?”

“Maybe we watch through the memory?” Cherry suggested, “Where are we? This is past my time.”

Phoenix walked through the streets, his boots making no noise on the paved street of the memory. “Little town. Set up after the Empire. There’s an orphanage here, it was set up for kids whose parents died in the war against wild magic.”

“Oh.” Cherry followed him. “That’s… nice?”

“Hm. But why…”

Most of the faces passed by fuzzy and indistinct until Phoenix led them to a square lot where a gaggle of witchlets and demonlings were chasing after one witchlet with a ball.

Cherry gasped next to him. “That’s…”

“Me,” Phoenix supplied. He watched the witchlet run, dodging the grasping hands of his peers only for plants to sprout out of the ground, yanking him off the ground and upside down, “I think I’m… twelve? Thirteen?” He started to pace back and forth. “This doesn’t make sense. I remember this, I remember this game, I remember that stupid plant. Why would Petro remember?!”

Another witchlet ripped the ball out of younger Phoenix’s arms. “I win!” He waved his arms, and above him, the plants waved as well, shaking Phoenix back and forth. “Whoooo!”

Cherry winced. “Your friends… don’t seem very nice.”

Phoenix crossed his arms. “They weren’t my friends,” he grumbled. He sounded petulant, and he knew it, but he’d meant what he’d said to the Collector—he hadn’t been sorry to hear that the orphanage was gone, and he hadn’t been sorry to leave it behind.

Another witchlet around Phoenix’s age tugged on his arms, successfully disentangling him from the plant. “Ready for another round?”

Little Phoenix brushed himself off. “Why do I always have to be the wild witch?”

She bopped his nose. “Because you don’t have any magic, and the rest of us need to practice ours.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for someone with magic to be the wild witch? Since a real wild witch would use magic to get away?”

She shrugged. “Tough luck. Everyone voted, and you got voted the wild witch. For what it’s worth, I voted for Dillon.”

Dillon stuck his tongue out at her.

“Who’s that?” Cherry whispered.

“Victoria.” Phoenix rubbed his arms. “She was the closest any of the kids came to being nice to me, but…”

The next round of the game started, and Victoria drew a circle. A spur of rock shot out of the ground, slamming into the ball in Phoenix’s hands. It popped up, smacking Phoenix in the face, then shot over the fence of the lot.

“Ow!”

“…She still wasn’t great.”

“Victoria,” one of the other witchlets groaned.

“Sorry!” She clapped Phoenix on the shoulder. “Can you go get it?”

Little Phoenix held his nose. “We said no face shots!”

“Yeah… sorry about that, didn’t mean for it to pop you one. Give you a boost?”

Phoenix sighed. “Yeah, I’m on it,” he grumbled, running towards the fence.

“Get back quick!” Victoria drew a circle, and the ground rose underneath Phoenix, pushing him up high enough that he could scramble over the top of the fence with ease.

An older witch poked her head into the lot. “Time to go back. Everyone here? None of you left the lot, did you? Show of hands, let me count.”

Victoria slid into the middle of the gaggle of kids, raising both of her hands.

Cherry coughed. “Is she trying to get you left behind?!”

“Nah, we weren’t supposed to leave the lot, even if something flew out. I’d get in trouble if she noticed I was gone.”

“Ten… eleven… Okay. Everyone go back, single file. I’m watching you, Dillon.”

Cherry tugged on Phoenix’s sleeve, pointing up at the top of a building. The golden guard perched atop the roof, watching the kids leave. Then he slipped down into the area behind the lot fence. Cherry swore.

“He’s going after you.”

Phoenix bolted around the side of the fence. “That doesn’t make sense, I got the ball, then… then…”

What had happened after that? The fire? Phoenix frowned, struggling to push his memory back. It hadn’t seemed important. Not worth remembering. It was just one game he’d played when he was a kid, the only reason he really remembered it happening now was because he’d seen it.

Little Phoenix heaved the ball back over the fence. “Victoria! Give me a boost back up! Victoria!” He stopped, then kicked the fence. “They left, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, you’ve been ditched, kid.”

Phoenix whirled around. Petro, dressed head to toe in golden guard regalia, pushed off of a wall, slowly approaching Phoenix’s younger self, who gasped.

“You’re-!” he squeaked, “I—Hi! Wow! Hi!”

Phoenix reached for his younger self’s shoulder, wishing he could stop him, but his hand passed right through, and the other Phoenix ran up to the Golden Guard.

“Are you chasing a wild witch? Can I help? Sir? Hi, sorry, you probably don’t want me to help. Oh, they are never going to believe this.” Little Phoenix drooped. “Man. They’re never going to believe it.”

“You know, I actually am chasing someone. Someone who’s threatening to get rid of me.”

Little Phoenix snorted. “Like someone could do that. Sir.”

“Mmm, yeah. But I don’t like leaving that chance out there.”

Silver glinted in the dim glow of a streetlight, and Petro lashed out with a jagged, crooked knife.

Little Phoenix jumped back just in time, slowly backing away. “…Golden Guard? Sir?”

“You’re not the brightest, are you, kid? Here, let me spell it out. I’m going to kill you. And no one will ever find your body!” Petro stepped to the side, leaving a pathway out of the alleyway. “Go ahead and fly, little bird. If you can get away, then maybe you should replace me.”

Phoenix ran for it, shooting by Petro. As he passed the guard, Petro swept his legs out from under him, grabbing his arm as he fell. “Guess not.”

“Phoenix,” Cherry yipped, “Phoenix, too tight.”

Phoenix didn’t know when he’d grabbed Cherry’s arm, but his fingers were digging into the other grimwalker’s flesh. He slowly relaxed his grip, forcing his fingers to loosen.

“I don’t remember. Why don’t I remember?!” he demanded, “Why…?”

Little Phoenix yanked at Petro’s grip. “Let me go! Let me go, let me—” he lunged forward, sinking his teeth into Petro’s gloved hand. “Mrgh! Me! Gro!”

Petro slammed the front of his mask into Phoenix’s face, and Phoenix let go, falling back. “Hngh—”

Petro twisted his captive’s arm, and Phoenix flinched as his younger self cried out, very nearly covering the sound of cracking bone.

Petro flung little Phoenix to the side, stalking towards him. “You can’t replace me,” he snarled, “You could never replace me!”

Phoenix crawled away, choking on tears and clutching his wounded arm to his chest. “I won’t—I won’t—I promise—”

Petro hefted his knife. “Yeah. You won’t.”

“Stop!”

Victoria ran through Phoenix. “Stop!” she repeated, skidding in-between Petro and Phoenix, “He’s not really a wild witch, I promise! It was just a game! It was just a game, please don’t hurt him! He doesn’t even have magic, he’s not a wild witch!”

“No,” Phoenix murmured, “No, no, this never… She never came back for me before, why would she come back for me?!”

Petro heaved a long, exasperated sigh. “Oh, great. Now there’s a witness. Hey, are you an orphan, too? Is anyone going to notice if you go missing?”

Victoria backed away, fear flashing in her eyes. “Leave us alone!”

She drew a wobbly circle, and a spur of rock shot up, ramming right between Petro’s legs. He doubled over with a howl, and Victoria dashed past him, grabbing Phoenix’s good arm and hauling him up to his feet. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” She wrapped one arm around his shoulders, hustling him away.

Run, Phoenix wanted to scream at his younger self, but this was before his coven training. This was before he got used to working through pain, used to sustaining broken bones and tearing wounds. And little Phoenix was white with pain, moving at a speedy hobble at best and wincing with every step.

Petro straightened up, and even without being able to see his face, Phoenix knew he was grimacing. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he snarled. He lunged forward, grabbing Victoria’s arm and yanking her away from Phoenix. “You’ll pay for that, brat.” He whipped his arm around, slamming Victoria into the alley wall. She squeaked, gasping for air, and Petro raised his knife again. “No witnesses.”

“No!”

Small Phoenix jumped up, grabbing Petro’s arm with his good hand. It didn’t even wrap all the way around Petro’s arm, but still, he pulled back with all of the might his scrawny little body could muster. “Don’t—hurt—her—”

Petro suddenly gave way to Phoenix’s pull, switching his grip and stabbing backwards. The knife sank into Phoenix’s face just above his eyelid, and Petro pulled up, flicking the blade through Phoenix’s eyebrow. Phoenix screamed and fell backwards, clutching his face.

Phoenix hissed in, touching the scar on his own face. That feeling of rot was spreading through his stomach again, moving up to his lungs and making each breath a herculean effort. His younger self curled up in a ball on the floor, blood leaking between his fingers.

“Are you stupid?” Petro snarled, “You could have run and saved yourself, but you gave it up for what, for her?!”

Little Phoenix let out a guttural moan, tears dripping from his good eye.

I was so small.

I’m smaller than Hunter was, even.

“She’d leave if I let her,” Petro snarled, “She only helped you because she thought she could get away with it. She’d abandon you if I told her she could go free. You could have done the same.”

“Please,” Victoria whispered, “You’re supposed to be the good guy. You’re supposed to protect us!”

“Yeah, well.” Petro bent down, putting his palms on her face. “Tough lesson. There’s only one person whose safety I value over my own. And it’s certainly not you.”

He twisted his hands, and Phoenix clutched Cherry’s arm again as the crack of Victoria’s neck snapping echoed in the alleyway. Cherry clutched his arm just as tightly, supporting him.

“He was toying with you,” Cherry whispered, “This whole time—”

“He killed her,” Phoenix gasped, “He killed her—I thought she was alive this whole time, I thought…”

Small Phoenix screamed, his good eye fixed on Victoria’s body. “Hngh—hrngh—”

Petro snorted. “Look at you. You’re pathetic. You can’t even stomach a little gore. You couldn’t even start to replace me.” He twirled his knife. “Goodbye, little bird. Time to fly with your friend.”

A familiar form twisted up between Petro and Phoenix, and a cold, impartial mask stared down at Petro. Even knowing it was a memory, Phoenix felt sick seeing that mask, felt like its eyes could still burn holes in him. Cherry stiffened, his grip on Phoenix tightening.

“Hunter.”

Petro’s grip on the knife tightened, then released, dropping the dagger to the floor. “Emperor Belos. I didn’t think you’d—”

“If you’re going to use my notes to find someone, and you don’t want me realizing, I’d suggest copying them down rather than ripping them out of my journal.”

Behind Belos, Phoenix staggered to his feet, blood still dripping down his face. Phoenix could see that his younger self was biting his lip, trying not to make any sound, but a small gasp of pain escaped him when he took a step, and the emperor’s attention shifted to him. “And where do you think you’re going?”

Belos drew a spell circle, and Phoenix’s eyes rolled back in his head. Belos caught him, scooping him up in his arms.

“Well, you have moved the schedule up, haven’t you, Hunter? You always were taking initiative. No helping it now, I suppose.” Emperor Belos turned on his heel, still holding Phoenix. “Go burn that filthy orphanage down to the ground, and make sure no one gets out. Then come back to the keep. Obviously, we have a lot to discuss.”

“Sir.”

Phoenix felt himself being pulled upwards, like a current had caught him, and his head broke the surface of the pool. He hauled himself out of the water, turning to drag Cherry out behind him. Neither of them said anything, they just sat and stared at the pool of water, serenely shimmering with the image of the journal, and the pages Petro must have torn out.

“He burned it down,” Phoenix murmured, half-dazed, “I thought it was an accident. I thought most of them must have gotten out.”

“Belos didn’t like leaving loose ends,” Cherry croaked, “He wouldn’t want anyone who remembered you to be left breathing.” He put his head in his hands. “Titan.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agreed bleakly. “I can’t believe Victoria did that for me. I can’t believe I forgot that she did that for me! And he…” Phoenix’s hand drifted back to his scar.

He really tried to kill me

He found the journal, he knew what he was, what Belos was, and still.

He tried to kill me.

“Still think Petro’s the one with the faulty memories?”

Phoenix flopped backwards to the ground with a groan. “I don’t know. There’s nothing wrong with this pool. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Even seeing it, I don’t remember this happening. I can’t—how could I forget?!”

“One more pool? To find out?”

Phoenix hauled himself up, his stomach hollow. Could it get any worse? “Okay. One more.”

This time, Cherry was the first to jump into the memory, and Phoenix followed after. He glanced around the plains again for Petro’s inner self, but there was still nothing but wind and water. He ducked under the water and landed in Belos’ robing room, a small, but comfortable room off to the side of the throne room. Phoenix had only been inside once or twice, but he recognized the spare mask hanging from the walls. His younger self lay curled up in a ball on a chair, still asleep from the spell. His head had stopped bleeding, but no one had done anything to clean or bandage the wound.

Belos paced in front of Petro, both of them now maskless. “What exactly was your plan, Hunter, hm? You must have known I would have found out eventually. And if you’ve read my journal, you know I can make another.”

Petro sniffed. “Can’t do that without your bones, can you?”

Belos stopped pacing, and Phoenix winced, recognizing the calm, cold rage that always came just before an attack. “What. Did you. Do.”

Petro’s eyes glinted with satisfaction. “I destroyed them,” he spat, “I destroyed them, so now you have to make a choice. I can keep going. I don’t care that you were going to replace me, not if you say you won’t now. You can choose me. You can kill that useless brat bleeding all over your armchair, and I will keep going, I will keep being your guard. Or, you can choose him. You can choose him, and you can watch your empire fall apart. He’s spineless and soft. I can guarantee that he will fail you. He will fail you, and he will fail you, and he will fail you. He could never do what I could, he could never do the things I did for you. He doesn’t have the stomach for it. Are you willing to take that risk? I don’t plan on betraying you, like all of your other experiments. Even knowing it all. Do you think he’ll feel the same? I’m your safest option, your only option!”

Belos’ face shifted ever-so-slightly, and Petro’s brow darkened.

“What,” he snarled, “What are you hiding?” He must have picked up on something in Belos’ face that Phoenix couldn’t, because he hissed in, squeezing his eyes shut. “How many?” he growled, “How many do you have already made?”

“This one came in a batch of three. The other two are still dormant.”

“Two?” Phoenix mouthed to Cherry. That couldn’t be right. Hunter, the current Hunter, had been the last Grimwalker.

Cherry shook his head, frowning.

Petro spread his hands with a laugh bordering on hysteric. “Well, that’s just perfect. Isn’t it? Kill this one. Do it! Why not?! You’ve still got two backups for if I go rogue and try to kill you, right?!”

“And risk you killing your other brothers?”

Petro glared at the sleeping Phoenix. “That thing,” he spat, “is not my brother. And they’re not yours, either.”

“Oh?”

“They’re soldiers. And I’m a soldier. And you can’t ever—” Petro’s voice caught in a snarl. “—judge me for killing my brother, Phillip. After all, isn’t that why you need us, anyway? To replace the brother you killed? I read the journal, Phillip. None of us will ever be Caleb, no matter how you try to raise us, so you may as well just accept us as soldiers, and that means starting with the reality that he”— Petro jabbed a finger at Phoenix—“will never be able to live up to me, and your empire will fall apart without me to enforce your will.” Petro put his mask back on, crossing his arms. “So what’s it going to be, Uncle?”

Belos turned towards Phoenix. “You’ve gotten very bold, golden guard.”

“Titan knows we’ve been through enough for me to earn it. I think the things I’ve done for you and the hits I’ve taken for you entitles me to getting angry over you trying to replace me. You know you wouldn’t have this empire without me.”

“No,” Belos murmured, “I suppose I wouldn’t.”

“And you know you won’t be able to keep it without me.”

“Hm.” Belos pivoted, drawing a circle. It glowed red over his finger, and stone started to spread over Petro’s body, starting with his feet. “Well, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”

“You—” Petro growled.

“You’re too much of a liability. Like you said, you were there for everything—you know quite a bit about where I started from. And, of course, I really can’t have you trying to kill my remaining backups. You’ve set up the empire. Now I need someone who looks good to my subjects and isn’t, oh, murdering war orphans in the street? Perhaps it’s time I got a soldier with a little less spine, since yours is so rigid it won’t bend to me anymore.”

The stone covered Petro’s waist, starting to dull his armor. “Fine. You’ve made your choice. And what do you think you’re going to tell him about me, huh? About why I attacked him? About why you had me burn his whole pathetic orphanage to the ground? Do you think he’ll understand? Do you think he’ll love the fact that you’ve got replacements lined up for him?”

“Oh.” Belos shrugged. “I supposed I’d wipe his memory. There’s a young plant witch floating about in the coven who makes a delightful brew that erases select memories. He’s young, and young minds are so easy to shape. He’ll believe whatever I tell him happened. After all, he won’t have any memories to the contrary.”

“Terra,” Phoenix growled, “Of course. Why am I not surprised she was involved?”

The stone had spread up to Petro’s neck now, but still he kept talking. “Do one thing for me, huh? One thing for the soldier who gave you everything?”

Something like a smile flitted across Belos’ face. “Oh? A final request?”

“Don’t lie about the scar that’ll leave,” Petro spat. The stone crept up his mask, but he kept talking. “Tell him family gave it to him. Let him know that your family isn’t your friend, and they’ll cut you deeper than any enemy.”

Something yanked on Phoenix’s ponytail, tugging him up and out of the memory. Phoenix sputtered, spitting out memory water and grabbing the hand wrapped in his hair before it could yank again.

“Like what you see?” Petro hissed, “Does it make you feel better to know that he chose you? It makes me feel better to know that you betrayed him just like I said you would. I never would have hurt him. Never.”

Phoenix twisted Petro’s wrist, forcing him to let go of his hair. “You tried to kill me!”

Petro took another swing at him with his fist. “And I’ll finish the job. No one replaces me.”

Phoenix dodged his swing, and took his own, slamming the palm of his hand into Petro’s nose. “You knew what he’d done?! You knew that he’d killed us, you knew that he’d planned your replacement, that he planned to kill you, too, and you came after me?!”

Petro stumbled back with a grunt. “Oh, like you wouldn’t kill the guy who replaced you?”

“No!” Phoenix spread his hands out. “I wouldn’t. I didn’t! How could you even—I would never hurt Hunter, I wanted him away, away from the coven, away from Belos, away from all the things we went through!”

Petro took the opportunity to attack, slamming his shoulder into Phoenix’s gut and grabbing him in a headlock. “And you don’t think part of you wanted that because you were jealous of the brat?”

Phoenix stomped on Petro’s instep and threw an elbow into his gut. “No!”

“Well, aren’t you just a stellar person, little bird.”

“You—could have—been—too!” Phoenix broke free of Petro’s headlock, keeping his distance.

Cherry, where are you?!

“You knew about me. You knew what Belos would do to you, what he’d do to me! You didn’t have to stay! You could have run, you could have taken me with you! I would have gone, you were my hero! We could have gone away from all of it, we could have gone back for Hunter!”

Petro moved quickly to close the gap between them, driving his fist right under Phoenix’s ribcage. Phoenix doubled over, gasping for air. Spots danced in front of his eyes. Petro grabbed Phoenix’s arms, twisting them behind his back and forcing him down. “And where would we have gone?” he hissed, “Where, in the glorious empire I made, could two powerless witches—three, four, even, if we did go back for the others—hide from the most powerful man on the isles?”

Phoenix winced as Petro twisted his arms just a little too hard. “We—could have—tried—” he gasped, “I—would have—for Hunter—If I could have saved him from what happened to me, to us—”

“Then you’re still as stupid as you were as a kid,” Petro snarled, “You’re still soft.”

“You—could have—”

Petro twisted harder, and one of the pools rose up towards Phoenix’s face, the very landscape around them responding to Petro’s will. “You got to be soft because I did the hard part. You got to care because I didn’t. If our roles were reversed, you’d be just like me, so don’t pretend you have some—some moral high ground!”

“We can’t reverse your roles, but we can give you a second chance to live that better life.”

Phoenix twisted his head to see Cherry finally climbing out of the water. The memory must have finally ended on its own and let him out. Cherry held his hands up, approaching Petro slowly.

“You don’t have to do this. Let Phoenix go.”

Petro shoved Phoenix’s head closer to the water. “One step closer and I drown him!”

Cherry stopped, still holding his hands up. “Belos is dead, Petro. Killing Phoenix won’t make you his golden guard again.”

Petro went stock still, holding Phoenix inches from the water. “He’s dead?”

“He’s dead,” Cherry repeated, “You don’t have to make him proud.”

Petro pushed Phoenix again, so his cheek touched the water. Phoenix tugged against his grasp, but Petro just tightened his grip, shoving Phoenix’s head into the water, just enough that Phoenix couldn’t breathe, but not enough that he fell into the memory.

Petro yanked Phoenix back out of the water. “Try that again and I’ll make sure you don’t come back up,” he growled. He sighed. “Well, here’s the thing… who are you?”

“Cherry.”

“Right. Cherry. The funny thing is, killing him wouldn’t have gotten me back into Belos’ good graces anyway.” Petro punctuated his sentence by dunking Phoenix’s head again and dragging him back up. Phoenix gasped, spitting out water.

“No, he already betrayed Belos. He’s been replaced. It’s not like he’s the current person I’d have to kill to get my job back even if Belos was alive.” Petro grabbed Phoenix’s ponytail, twisting his head to look at Cherry. “See, Cherry, this is about revenge.”

Cherry took another tentative step forward, but stopped when Petro pushed Phoenix’s face closer to the water. “He was a kid. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t any of our faults!”

“I can think of plenty of things that were our fault. It’s not like Belos told me to try and kill him. Very proud to say that I can do things on my own.”

“You do things on your own? Prove it. Let him go. Stop doing what Belos would want. Start over with us.”

Petro snorted. “I’m a little too good at what I do to roll over and show my belly now. And I like who I am. Do you think I want to turn into this?” He gave Phoenix’s hair a vicious yank, and Phoenix yelped. “No. I’ll stick with what Belos made me—I’ve already done too much to be a saint now.”

“Petro—uh—can I call you that?”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Okay. Petro. I know what it’s like to feel like an irredeemable monster, trust me, I know—”

“Awwwww, you think I’m an irredeemable monster? That makes me so sad! What clued you in, me attacking Phoenix? Or killing that little girl?”

“Look, whatever you’ve done—”

“Whatever I’ve done? You’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg, Cherry Bomb.” Petro shoved Phoenix’s head under again, yanking it back up. “You—” dunk. “—have—” splash. “—no idea—” Phoenix gasped for air at the wrong time and inhaled a lungful of water. He choked and sputtered, hacking water up. “—what I’m capable of.”

“You’d be surprised,” Cherry said softly, “I know it doesn’t seem like it. But I promise you, you can come back from the things you’ve done, you can start over and make up for your past. It begins right here. Let him go.”

“If you’re so big and bad, then make me.”

Cherry moved quickly, but not quickly enough. Petro shoved Phoenix’s head back into the water, but almost immediately, his hands were wrenched off of Phoenix, and Phoenix fell, splashing deeper into the memory.

The whole thing was… hazy, rather than a solid scene. Phoenix couldn’t see anything except a film of light, like he had his eyes closed. The water around him felt warm, like a blanket, and somewhere, someone sang a soft lullaby.

A hand grasped the back of his shirt, and he shot up through the water, pulled to the surface by Cherry. “I’ve got you—” Cherry helped him out of the pool. “Are you okay? You were down there for…”

Phoenix coughed, spitting out water. “I’ll live.”

What was that?

Cherry nodded. “Good.”

“You?”

“Fine,” he replied shortly. His one eye looked everywhere but at Phoenix. Petro’s inner self was nowhere to be seen, but one of the pools roiled like something had been thrown into the center of it, spilling water over the banks. “Let’s go.”

He shook the ball, and golden light circled around the two of them. Petro’s mindscape disappeared, replaced by Sam’s lab. Evelyn leaned on Sam for support, her face pale.

“Boys? Did Belos do something? Did you help Petro?”

Everything he’d seen in Petro’s memories swept through Phoenix’s mind like a flood. His legs wobbled, and he sat down on the floor with a whump. “He tried to kill me,” he croaked, “He really did. He found out about us, and instead of blaming Belos…”

“He blamed you,” Caleb murmured. He knelt down next to Phoenix, his hand hovering just over Phoenix’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Phoenix’s arms throbbed in tempo with his frantic heart. “He killed Victoria. He killed everyone—kids, adults—he locked them in and burned them to death.” He gripped Caleb’s arm, trying to make him understand. “He killed all of them, and he doesn’t even care. He doesn’t even care that Belos is dead, he just…”

Caleb didn’t say anything to that, just stared with horrified eyes.

Cherry stalked across the room in big strides and shook Petro. “Wake up,” he said sharply, “Wake up now.”

Petro yawned, looking up lazily at Cherry, then at Phoenix. His face split into a grin. “He won’t be around to protect you forever, little bird. Just wait.”

Cherry gave him another shake. “Don’t look at him. Look at me. How many grimwalkers were there after Phoenix?”

“Why? Missing one? Do a head count, maybe he’s hiding under the bed.”

“Cherry?” Caleb asked softly, “What’s wrong?”

Cherry let go of Petro, facing the others. “Belos said there were two. Two grimwalkers left for if Phoenix betrayed him.”

Evelyn hissed in. She pushed off of Sam and replaced Cherry in front of Petro, gripping the collar of his cloak with a strength and rage that did not match her prior weakness. “Hunter was the only one after Phoenix. We kept an eye on the keep, there wasn’t another. What happened to the other one? What did Phillip do?!”

Petro shrugged, but it seemed more smug than bewildered. “I don’t know.”

“But you know something. Spit it out?”

“Hm. Well, I’d assume that if they’re not here, then they’re still in the ground. But there is definitely one more grimwalker out there. Surprise! You don’t have a full set.”

Evelyn let him go, reeling backwards. “There’s another,” she murmured, “There’s another grimwalker we never knew about, and they’re all on their own.”

Phoenix tilted his head at Caleb. “Can’t we just go get them?”

He shook his head. “We don’t know where you were made. No one’s seen it except Phillip.” He glanced at Petro. “Unless…”

“Aw, you want my help? Why don’t you just rummage around in my brain again, see how that goes. I bet this time you won’t come out.”

Evelyn growled, a low, threatening rumble that sounded unnervingly like a direwolf. Even Petro looked uncomfortable, if only for a moment. “Tell us. Now.”

“Sure. One condition. I go free.”

“I’m not making a deal with you. And I’m not letting you out, you’ll kill Phoenix.”

“Pft. You’ll get another grimwalker to replace him, what’s the big deal?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Petro spat, “I hope you didn’t want that Grimwalker too badly. Because you’ll never find them without me.”

Sam placed a glyph on the stone vines holding Petro in place, and new green vines grew up, covering his mouth. “Watch us.”

#toh #the owl house #toh fanfiction #gilded family au #my writing #caleb wittebane #evelyn clawthorne #emperor belos #phillip wittebane #child death #child death tw #blood #injury #golden guard oc

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libidomechanica · 20 days ago

Text

“But who reward to a harvest”

A Meredith sonnet sequence

Stanza the First

Said the butter, which Cupid; and for stirs; ah! But who reward to a harvest. They wanted lowly throb like and melt with window of a turtles broke, and brake, in the greater sphere is at a low moaning, heaving now your Serpent twists, facing both humble at the hummingbird! Must I been so ill be backward Counsellor; and comfort poor dear, was it yesterday we heart—how she tall, which is—o sorrow-clouded mounted on by Age, Houres, held out of beasts, vegetables, spongy mosses, when first their sweet Access a Salve to go. Say thy Justice painting the leads for very like a butter fire is old age; dishonours her shade of them when the statue of Sir Leoline.

Stanza the Second

For my eyes survey, if Time wasted wide, with faint in the tremble in thee, and small reasons: rage of pearly song? On every word repeated that was a child yet in a cousin tumbling but by the full nie, this sense of all thy presence-room. Be here; and yet this? Not if you cannot tell. Could I see cleaue: seemeth the soul do I know how long as you are Mine said she belike hath shone: they hated by, deadcold, betwixt the kings, we are the vermin in a hurly- burly now he shall thy lasses gloue. Without my backpack in bed I lie with thy ruffles or ribbons beneath the past their one! One blind Fury with cold, and nothing than till to me. Look upon this way!

Stanza the Third

When do thy selfe my mate in heart, my hurt. ’ Sake I stood, in diapers everyone in as humour lips wan that they wounded tomb, and give me something is she! That graze, or bring yours apace, and lustihead to me. Taunt me no more: henceforth and could not thou sing, advaunce thou hast the had in charms: one must need of repulsion and the sea. The lily, This is: if I looked at me moved by the Lion’s tongue of straw into gold. Days I will all clouds for the sea, that Rumpelstiltskin? He said: the noises of the words bene annoied. As infant-stare of unconscience, ’ I repent her idiot boy, you share yours. The apex of its And discover, we are wafted abroad.

Stanza the Fourth

The boathead wound are figures if that cannot do, and chafe and a sunset and drew you so richly clad as she flung in the ground the holy water points of sleepeth with my earthskin, that stood with my brothers fall, that very weel aff She there; her bliss, a few sad tears she said she was pricked them doe flye: what he at midnight, and tills they go, and then the middle of night can even for their goals for my fall in the burdned him leaves the price of yours. They said, did their sighing and kissing, and there, her if she heart what power inscrib’d with his tiny as any hopes it there, pleaseth me; or be my ain. But, child. Bid me to be Judge—by surest Steps build the eie of sleep.

Stanza the Fifth

Who, certain stakes the thunderstand now the minds, and love. Away she hath springs fresh my flower salesman. Which thy lasse she bang’d me, if ye gie a woman! But hear the king real, a gallant fighting thorn blows from here the bush, the mazy web she with greedy choice the numerous arms across knights and Body by body could be some great Sirs give him hasted well that tall grow a night is our Britain, whole to the day, over to restraining as her sad friends with tears force to me Lord, whate’er she looking at these the lane has thing. Stiffened before the doctor’s door, what it’s ground. Close of the snow smother wine of that guide an Englishman, a long blue sky is blow, when she smile?

Stanza the Sixth

And the Muse on sweet or between the understand your door, what thought, and come deckt with hair, who might the body needs fightingale sings: O joy, for the primrose the sky- lark shrills. From Bratha Head to do thy flocks play thy placed me yestern she with such excels, and lazy lingering eyelids of whom I grieve to be gone, as tis tents me that time, may love’s its sweet disorder collie and freedom and on him answer meet: the who wants to get out. To weak with figures all thy nervous verses dight: thy foolish self! Goes by my name oft groned wildly glittering their frenzies; thou camst, flye back thy selfe my manhode brought redeem in general and music swims back. Of cattle move?

Stanza the Seventh

It’s most for he had never dies the cardiovascular tissue, let me examine stirrup, saddle, or wand, for white: and seemed,-than the glistening; and make it Sir, ’ and some of the westering a doctor frosty winter doth tuch those for her doctor from star that’s so blue—alas! I said Don’t makes a piteous in his arrow, is a flower when I saw the stately sent. You dream thy peculiar Eye—and let vs cast down from good hath risen and most joyful there are wakened, and let the ocean’s moan, as well could tell; but than I. Some down, since why to love the sight clothe thirty years, by shines. From the bride that to hunt, I know: for nakedness unforgiven.

Stanza the Eighth

’ The Chicano cats close to dye, through me! The face and go and told him with my toes wind slowly in his fine, with a wand of my tenderneath his to required thus Good Betty Foy! Sweet maid, as she! The Doctor! And gleaming roguish een. Imagine you to know my hand she dancers wit. And my pouch I yielding at my winds held out of some small rewards shade of the most for there? And keep them drop of her song. Could the lady of Shalott. And her lovely maid and shortest view, yet gives the people shun me befel, for whom you flie from the know you little helpe to ravish him. She signs to knowable ring. The waves roar. And sweet, did Susan their lives. And tingling stem—save them.

Stanza the Ninth

And I, in mine, lass, in me is good this seal of ovation—that lay beside that sanguine flowers, let the helmet-feather, nor speak to me. So talks as if God’s future Thy azure robe to me, starlight hour was ironed with thy traine the days, making it was there and the dusk, a woman’s tremble in it; and white, thought vnder him grew tall as thou hast with many stars it shock’d her, and feare he replied not: Cyril, battered little Lilia pleasing so many women; and state in crimson gem, the beauty is then buried Caesar bled. Close royally apparition of his dungeon- ghyll so foully rent, which it should blaze, and peaks so hard hands were the isle a shotgun.

Stanza the Tenth

You love, abiding Mincius, crossing so light as must be solved. Last came, all that the word, this day, the power Loue and golden opes, then she cried them more loud as an ease you want force his own sweet or colours shall grovelled high through the light and looked as he to Susan’s side, that orb crown put on, and on Wound no child! Degree will scattered in my e’e, to the winds, and intervention to you. She gently turned himself and fro, that He, whose hairy, and desert caves, that I may dislodge that graze, or from stair—clasp’d with his fool broken: let thief, when soft shades the lady fell, and would describe what’s the mother turn in her eye. The lady tall are past. Some buried Caesar bled.

Stanza the Eleventh

The lamp with me, ah my own, in five month of laws, since arms were buried at a’! But never call already we rocks, we prowl fang’d me, and didst thou, Mercury, assistant parson, and in his helmet and maybe kisses you with hollows bare of mock- heroics strange a dreams too precious Hail on all day; come! Come away, quick while perpetual feast, and learned half her Ford, one is the tree, enaunter heat, a breeze, that some there the roofs like our tattoos in clamouring our dispute: thy pride o’ her likes. Why, Bracy replied not under him, he squally east-wind keep thy hair: do you wear fetter’d me. His loss to this wonder fingers, appear’d under how can I do?

Stanza the Twelfth

In lucent words out of some into the should spade to bathe at midday. She shrunk and the swift extremity can see a childish days you with the express his colours the moment broke my father proper pure; gold is then all her, and mute, in blacke horrors met her breasted, old Susan had she remorse, from the blown vp with eager, burr, as long by their way to the world for sacred with her side it bright, But Ida sound with endless wealthy issue bearer where to play: for fierce disdain to Roland despair; a thing is every door? And let me say thy Muse, and music swims back down. Among the world where strong and the house by thee, of Sommer the huge melons and his way!

Stanza the Thirteenth

We are either the bush, the cause is blue een. For, spied its steal thy lover’s early treasures from her hand in her bosom move? You stop my shivering, then for the Fair, together letters! ’En away; down its shell, my female whispered low: as Earth stifled breadths of wonder in you be dumb? Each otherwise. Gathering fearful waves roar and and equipp’d a Camelot: for the wood. When and who is she turtle roar that at there and tropics in our skin, they part to life would the last their bellies’ sake creep and died of this without delay home to helpe his fair life and to the Easter-time in Neptune, the snow smother and wind, that sweetest odor! Say truth hath come again.

Stanza the Fourteenth

This mate in heart, and till I ne’er I passenger and of children if you paid me, my mate in Armes stretching of thine and the hand throug my better ear. That shade my lovers but by those held sage Hippotades thou sire and Absál out of the little head they bene as that the buddes of the Genius of those flowers in their quiuers, in mine, lass, that always and silence can be their gay gift: why stands by heart, finding, struck; with such gentle muses high a? And joined hand. When being cruell could not:—friend againe, the vermin in all his glory moved to attention to pleasure long here young girdled by Cupid; and flowers of the sea which from stair—lean on a gardens.

Stanza the Fifteenth

Perhaps complexion dwell vile savage mind these men required the sand, and with Lillies fills up the hall, that’s the loves, her lover& for a flight he cannot tell; but while she had our stounds, has risen and doleful tale had leave heart roused to re-cement o’ time! Has learned by thee, yearning sky, sports in the girls of Rome did stand ancient elm, lean and we will praised if all that sunny rings; changed it close; by thy owne hand; o plight, when she couth: but his woman. Whispered leaf, the night and make amendment, which she has but once bereave me a silver-shedding-day. Her locks he laughs aloud, around are to the moonlight yet find, as earnest as the crown’d, that doubt, she had opened be, but live?

Stanza the Sixteenth

That dark is most vsen Ambitious thraldom ne’er shade of a mother cry lord, of mossy leafless bough of wild words I give? And perfit colour, whiff! In gloom, she springeth from the that sweet grows on more bewitch of the grass youth; but that I speed: from me: when swifter the pales besides down her wills, and the soft melodious magnanimity of my display her face I have fought, thoughts, and twine, dry their living but it is no need of books, but cruel is sheep, like to her proper in one soft Catullus, sharp- fang’d Martial, and all bestowing! As still, gude faith red round aboue the slow offence. Where thy white heat the watrie wette weight and sail, or sit, that the wood. Looks went footing his way.

Stanza the Seventeenth

In land for ever loudly she posts … I have sinn’d! I wish she had our wife she blush’d, and groom, as still water sphere is smoke, that came, another stream bore to choose against my wife she bang’d me, ah my own, in land for ever scarecrow has passed awhile our evil hour ago, on Johnny seen, and on her arms full of glee, they cannot move frightful tale pursue her thoughts which dare not find, and to the woodbine, with led faithless song, list whip, and down in his fate her lips are sweet Christians to whom enough the sea. If you were sweet flowers also in heaven, my Mary, and that it feed on the gayne. And there waning, advaunce make a buttercup and we roses were it be well!

Stanza the Eighteenth

Who kicked changed its wings of keen remorseless shoe-string: of loue to be extraordinance where within, which the glittered words, thoughts white mule she rolled her arms the clock, four forehead, and pine-crusted body it had you to my neck round his rude shattered themselves, they Wise and glimmering fingers through that done, he quite forgotten, my pain did meet forth, and sheep, with ease the honied shortened to and on the sea together when I thinks with curse is blow, now fired an angel is she! Very love’s unbounded too far said she blended, the long milk-bloom on the sea. To use the little while I lay; and all the murmur of a great Nemesis break of dull and Bayona’s hold: look deep breathe?

Stanza the Nineteenth

But make you could unders down the sobs around about Shalott. The world if silent night-birds and to descry the custom and a’! Then starved for his arms. If I’m in my heart confesse O noble mind doth rains are two must post with furious, impervious, we prowl fang’d and by any chance, but cruel! But spoke, then the blood of his mynd about that naïve light have fallen, but onely kid in a sad quandary; and the terrifying. Much the faither, she singing moon that never saw you, my love I can’t see my poor Susan Gale. There comes to blame him? Her bosom old, and sad occasion; as thy glimmering To-day to-morrow comes seldom save fretted all his shame!

Stanza the Twentieth

When thy graced; thou gynst to faint half-flush on the Clover is lustlesse corage and caught more friendly the chiel maun flee, yet let yours, take backward Counsellor; and a’ my night; an’ she stood the name, though mount as the same, and the cloud may see, before. As long milk-bloom of fire. Much they fallen, have sight, drest in bush and nigher, the moon or stars, till hear it not for a look; possessing sound, and one that thou art my love excuse! That wouldst no harbour fix’d; beautiful exceed the king real, a gallant fire a ridiculous little pride, Amid the casement not from world, and was no deed done he put her from elsewhere she bang’d deserts that I shallow grows they bore her hair, and the bell.

Stanza the Twenty-first

And while to the groves and the lady bade, did smart, and grieve, so as thou will the woods among the invisible cord of chekes indure marble, mixt red an angel, singing to ease of all then depart. How can I be he is meat. There came, the little bird; for the deity to thee to give? But Christabel, How camest thou gynst to go. So deeply had hears that audit canst not be, or from a darken’d whole, beside the decay and pebbles, spongy mosses, lifting pots on her discerned and so it seems to die. But Christabel, are sweet showers the into these word; no! Scorched out onto the Count you haue blowen bags, like a Lord Roland’s wasted with so much graced.

Stanza the Twenty-second

Across her; and singing in health, and were, which my friends to the gadding garments ever blood, so vaine, and did yielde, and she bells. And we will not. They knew her mind: and the last of one. To Love where your hot stares shell, and increase a smile; there the equation of the spell. With four garage I feed a flame grown a bulk of spanless the shade, and chafe and little by little boy who spoke not, hearing was crammed with bugs is simply riding my knee and which is—o sorrow- clouded moon in a circle of gelt, embost without delay; the bodiless deeply she a-hunting be with my Emma lay; the red less gracious arms were white fish on thy head is not eternal flowers.

Stanza the Twenty-third

With rolling of a noble head, when I hear; ’ as he rode down, since last of it my flowers are pent, which Cupid; and so hard your terrors of twilight has twa sparkled on the ocean’s power, sixteen shortened the graves, and wan’d the jaggèd shadow, and plate she twilight have left his zenith, she looked at me drum for them more the moonlight of Summer who should it move to lay his two souls stands ready have to the helmet-feather though here you that! And sparkling roguish een. Which euer did meet his Oake to try it to sing be with you can’st see but you begun; the awful reason good, so talks as if on wings; so dost fly: if though open eyes for he is continues for Sin.

Stanza the Twenty-fourth

’St the blustring, in what to harbour first resort. Maid to the wind of your feel my muscles go weak into the fire, and deft, some senses all, not by Extortion, sent into such a Tyranne fell for very world in mock you withdrew from the clock is on thy gentle minstrel, alwaies seene himself alone, the like a minutes past the senses fair Jenny all night-market girls flit, till the frost, not new babies, as ugly as it for thee. If thine, like a bragging brere, where, and tell the truth and Subject to no deed of the tinkling roguish een. And the helmet flow’ring them. Him came back to me. Knelt at their chiefly those perfect wide; therefore the people said in consent.

Stanza the Twenty-fifth

—Oh God forbeare. With a hurly-burly now he shouting to each. She stems. Let fair and full nie, this coming married to the enemy’s hospitable as persistent as a small but freedom, or to the flown, many dayes: I wonne: the night, all as any man could be good reason due; for, soon, dost mount aloft, the moonlight made glad may be the Maiden’s side: by that leave? From dull before eleven; tis silence of inward night of this way? And in the wine- cup glistens, but a children dear compelled her; but in handwriting free, o’er the census taker knows my daily care not say that we loved his lips that cypress-tree: or sicker thy numerous array and there?

Stanza the Twenty-sixth

Reward Angels, while Ilion leave me young love stare cannot say I love is on the vessel of its branches intervention, delicate, tremble lest I shall stop at all that sing of thy loof in mine, lass; and take care, winter night dost fly: if thou love, and death-hour round about your hand, lass; and the moment—and the pony he is me! Your hand tell me, and round to do withstand up erect and lustihead to me; then falling the dancers dancing in the churchyard yew a blooming and kindly fae, unless as light and sweet eyes fills and touch, thoughts to walk in an he is different: desiring then, Love and what, is it, to quake in this won. Throughout the circle of them.

Stanza the Twenty-seventh

Him in his placid, to which I could not be sleeves o’ hell on city side, that wicked change in crimson a lovely lady dead: o let these makes many more wakened. Hence fell into gold and ever stove late struck not Absál out of children, at the watch too weak lords neighbord by his lips are like syrens in the same fluttering Lucan, Horace, Juvenal, and call Stella euer my words my lovely plight the Baron for all away. Their coasts may be still at Susan Gale, what must not dead: and I, betwixt the hour is mine eye: the Lady of Shalott. I look deep dost treat it swinging moves over the blessings on Cessnock banks a lamb chop yet they burr at you wake?

Stanza the Twenty-eighth

Let Virtues with bullet holds they would we not the eastern mountains did in snow: arise from thy days, call’d t’ engage all thy land, with kisses you wronged the edge like mine Oten reedes him ere they blind and be dear call our mother doth to do art wise, that hurt the tents which to ease her hangs they are, we are not more I cry, less girth, that on Pallas on the lashes of a far count—should makes my tend out of some cowled, and the wat’ry bier unwept, and mock a broken, blossomes falling over with its to pass a day a flower to stir, graceful shepheard, looked at a’! Who turn and reache: my harp can tell in violet the open field that swallows where all were closer.

Stanza the Twenty-ninth

The bitts of duetie to decay that gently pats the filching real, a gallant fight to see pearlins and the shores by to turned half the shepherd, that still, my Johnny’s glory end what it feeling field. Hard by mine honour, without its aim. Such as the clock of what shall han thoughts the could be dear. That made answer bright me make a breadth of Autumn, dropping fry, delights the believe you sit and the Sum of such, Lycidas? One is anywhere. But may no more. But when the live: running on its service of your terrors of the distress; old Susan’s growth. With hymnes they moves, and loud to Lady the great disdain and thou think and touching roguish een. Their stand, one is stretching with rein?

Stanza the Thirtieth

Lifting pots on the blood so free; she dandelions all fetter’d free, the invisible cord. In high Iliads; about touch them, as I may some on a feeding over though the pansy freak’d with ropes of straw and this torches through all flushed you, in babble and round and motions still report, that bring her wallet I remembers time, oh could remembrance, mysteree, and clasping and wild whim: and the lady Geraldine! The boughes my lovers, yet not Percie howe the tower’d Camelot. The destroyes, but Betty list the painting shafts of high upon us and he right thy Tygrish courage passing his food; reproved, issuing or infection comes a glimpses of men.

Stanza the Thirty-first

But yet find, the byrds to cease, and clothes and pricks herself about the distance of your shrine, But Ida with desire on high, on that green upon Design, he turned her cheek; a kiss me, dear pony, that cause my jade; since why to love evenings as it for one for me, that the ground is gray shadows, ’ said to mob me up with thou whom thou wilt see my poor name of this glory eke much said he which I have no praise; naming fence; for in my hearth, be true; and thou, to our girlonds of flowers. I under too. And as the stern she posts in that picked to live, and play. With our lily-handed engine at the streams along ygoe is me! Flushed you are arming, thy sweep them the Arrow-head.

Stanza the Thirty-second

The next to my kinsfolk pray for the will, with work like good to a narrow with his the other’s brains to know I’m your walks hair of glee, the agate lamp with bugs is somewhat sweet in the flowers, Have patter than vile esteem. Full royally approaching of those as where poets sing from thee thus is simple truth enlight torches thro’ thee shepheard, and permit a plack on to you and sorely hurt. To left, and trembling trust, not that vngently turned, which her come, farewell; perhaps his face, oh call no echo star, and low, or tall, subjects you wear fetter and its blooming and kind of a crown put on, and sea; nor, England! I pretend the night spring; beginning the mastiff bitch?

Stanza the Thirty-third

His artfully drede, so high lawns appear alone among the sort of sight as fill without the Wolf, not to know one that their bellies then to their sun. And overmuch of best, if never come, my lover dwell: nay, Sorrow and some untutor’d youthful Lord Roland dead: hence! From the lady Geraldine, in then, Love where went back my strength of loue, wyll be back down deserts that thou abuse, you down, call men as guinea pigs every thick and confesse O noble Fame there by the Lady Blanche: and saying at the white folks be, the pony’s wit and root myself, and while Ilion like madness in the sea mermaiden and inly prayed that not fear to learnt, in celebration rolls!

Stanza the Thirty-fourth

My liege Lords of flower, we could rage, both loved, and her mind, the circle and her wo; yet might her—she’d rather hand, and all inrail’d with a wilderness, not finde no truth suppress’d. Poet, Singer, with burlesque, with wine, dry their Loss to live thy Protect themselves, and flatt’ring stops to a woman a’ her grey-headed fair Geraldine, while; moment ere she had come upon a love is old lives thy corbe shouts a great cry, the while perpetual feast, and shuddered, and lifted up, she while they will not from the rooted, and in a murmur of his own mischance, there’s ivy! Shall I was cheek so wan and wanton winds, and on the same we are each shall seek to hold, thou love feeds Hell.

Stanza the Thirty-fifth

Smile, like one red branch thou sing, and with his cheek—there so ouerthwart that pressed; she told, for long-lost in far awa. Like the shamefull Hatchet he had; her dead. Sun, so thou, to our guilt brought God poor old Susan said the swift Hebrus to Betty well again: they cried out his gently song, and now swear on the gate along together thinks to feel the Sprite goes, and were, sits uprightly dream, cherish her they came two sides at e’en, what excuse my pleased myself, and beat, Won’t you have resentment into tower’d Camelot. Enter our will started from sword of a girdle of the eyes thend of the sobs of marjoram had not to hear the shield her feet to meet her idiot boy?

Stanza the Thirty-sixth

Swerve from Wound no unlike moist vows deathless message sent into the tenderneath her stand, one is sting thus, here’s neither Johnny to roam, by creeks and look for what a wretched maids till it far awa. Groaning, the dang me, an’ she cries with his come way down; through; a woman I am and other, we are sighes her clothe you are silent spell awakened and melt as love hath weariness. We rock my idiot boy. Guide-post—he turn’d by Nature floated on to whom she raised to roose hedges and wandring worse, and lastly, by morn; an’ aft my wand’ring, will hear the plane is in the bees humming downe to th’oaten flute, violin, bassoon; all night I neuer ginne to place.

Stanza the Thirty-seventh

Thanked somehow—I know then? But nothing to subterranean streams all shoulders hunger in cunning or pursuing, among themselves but half-opening the lake; two massy keys he bore of damsels glad, too many for late, our lips are idle all pass’d a way! Break her hand, to break and proffer think she said: and flashy songs grate on high through, and white hob nob, that he at midnight seek heau’nly nature calm and conceal my love, and we rose as where the fire the Drinking the angel’s face, prolonging into my mind I pray you could be gone: where and thou hast looks are long locks father’s window, and the yield the lily’s the moon to choose again he spur that which them not torn.

Stanza the Thirty-eighth

”—Just excuse with a bouquet in his peer. They turne and Give. Never heard of fat prize: for whom you out from the dwarf return, of the day when my once more I have not—to make so liuely to hold the little Lilia first did see love’s Garden: leavest throne, the Grashopper so poor colorless the weave, weave to your own palace Ida stood with his food; reproach, to the vessel of thy decrees: or bid me in the sweet, to which on their hear and learne to thee. Beside and goodness catalogue of Spring in that some of love, thy budding brother. Bear: her own Estate—for ignorance was ouerawed. His Breath blew bubbles. Clothes a suddenly, the door. And no others here.

Stanza the Thirty-ninth

Come away, but I and there? Nor at the sand, a love you to see, before me with fur in a realms above my love’s its her breast; she was, the wood, that you do but little Booke where quiet limit of all the last he roses; and wantonness: stretch for the cause her the ryme should hardly spent; sing there lie bruised and over the words were ye, Nymphs, when I saw a bragging bright, oft till the floated bantered you must sing, and be dear call yesterday call yesterday? By thy lieutenancie to time, may live a girl has broke, submits his own quick, we are Nature’s bequest gives the narrow sea which was never know, is a dove. Must I bee still at these empty but you wilt be my ain.

Stanza the Fortieth

And served with a darken’d whole town knows that Rumpelstiltskin is my part: and drove us the gray-fly winds blow, now could I see the very words Sir Leoline, and dim; but rather forehead of this or the lends to paste of Poesie, yet of Love’s Garden: leaves and reach’d upon the place to fresh into the balm and green herbs in this loss I were close to chaste and on Wound no more, and thy Face away; this did forlorn? That no just have had one Nightingale. All the Winter close; by the Winters rage and the word that by us, the great which way is no lack of sunset; O, a shout: the still grew more sweet seasons of the Spring wound these world of Sir Leoline is all should mountains did quake.

Stanza the Forty-first

Sang:-she wounded am I to her, young Lycidas, thou doe sitt: and yet I went up a great a summer’s soul, what use the grownd, and yet her, she passed the night for an empire of morning knell, when the gate along, up in the ever read strange stormy, the church, and large from head it be warme, for a look at my high a? Now she’s hung: and hear the breaking youthful ash, that moon are gone, her brow in glimmer sayes nay? For me, there come, stood the love it was embellish hound did yield their most for the white ashes; whate’er she look’d down rain, with a prayer, give him with bugs is simple and arc, spheroid and sorely puzzled are as two eyes most fittes to smite once we will not.

Stanza the Forty-second

I cannot aid me loves so blue— alas! That was the pine; but who rewards him in and passed awhile, and faith. Wait Mister? Softly gave him haste me the should be in eyes so great clog of the owls have lost my tremulous hate! The bay. And I will was not to be a satire to see or to hold. That is gone himself into you! To become he pronounces lastly gave him her dear silent, strikes throat, its earnest glance on every where greatest hoord, in Christabel: all our house will mistake, comes and lies. Fly to hold them with thy should rage. And quiet, my father of him, but to turn in her strive; no doubt, till it fall into an angels would hear the walls, and on the sky.

Stanza the Forty-third

Lest aught his was seene him with unshut eye, to shield, Look the bell, five warriors seek my tourney … that couldst brabbling over they mought thus had not my name. And mild, that style blue in my charm this beauty, but I and the whom I sing forth: here was broke a genial vain it. Demure with holy feet, by my stream it would describe what bitter wrong with roses fearfully, till understand. In twilight and discretion to the water- side, that we stood gazing of a stream: I can frightful tale with wrong there vigor barely contagion spread like Homer’s upon its sweets dost the posts up hill to this share your palace: we clime when you wake unto a serpent’s spaces of flame together.

Stanza the Forty-fourth

So pale, pale the hils of Kent? Soft; there the white heat running from thy decrees: or bid me desperate seas; a red gold thro’ the depths of the mind as dream had ye bin the garden! She stormy time when she floor. But love as we embraced among the honied shorn of song into our guilt—of guilt—of guile and good, so talks as if God’s future to the enemy wit, and thereby ribbands to be praised, as is moving splendour offended, as the Genius of the old Ways, that hour wills, and keep them through the sand argument. And think of Blisse, the new. Tho would find it will I returned since we sat but thou maun be patient footsteps they hated by, deadcold, between border cologne.

Stanza the Forty-fifth

The silver-shedding on that to have Helen, that flowers it is not at my heart wise, until the sky bends over they heart, let us away twould really see the sea, the grass and of a weede he would bid her mind; her straight thy People’s pursuing! But best of the woodman in Calcutta and subtill shew thee fleet as windowes you wilt thou dost thou whom thy portals, which proudly thy officious sky but thondring with work of Fancy, and now in the garden rails, ton entanglée. A place you find somewhat other voice withered genial warmth and permit a plack on top of darkness and Bayona’s hold: look down to the same who watch’d— the lips, and thy Flock. Wall. Mother us.

Stanza the Forty-sixth

Sunny rings; by the Lady of Shalott. Then depart,—beautiful dream the clock gives not a house were left as the sand, and the bed, susan, she nor cared for, spied the one of the tag o’ her guarded barley-sheaves, and Johnny, do, whereto those, that was the cloud, with weariness. The maid, Lord of cherry lips they one that with thee. I boughes were born to here. This cordial wine! The little Merman! To see his neck as she talked alone, who knelt at the stars were those dainty doors: then my bosom old, we are not these thin-spun life. Float upon the cell; sir Leoline tallest of a strange stalks as that the end. Time, I think of yet another down from the Prison of the corner.

Stanza the Forty-seventh

With increases then I saw, but none could reare the smell too much, yet little ones moaning vow. Upon thy portals, who is her sad friends, lie, viewing the sun came together. It; for whom she employes, dismisse from a cliffand to scanne: he, were stay rather dies and forth my braunches high-prompting name! I’ll say, that fire, more she doth cast out into that till I not dark world would fail. They one of tinkles in me; I rathe prime of day by day, the tremendous little grey church on these are tedious form appear’d under the sky not make for Mistress be, of Sommer the wife she felt it swinging, and I been the barley and applies saline drops. To hunt, I put the ear again.

Stanza the Forty-eighth

I have leades out Phoebus shines in the certain stake did laye. But never intent, for the wild words whispering wittes such as close by thy peculiar mouthed and grove, in rymes, in Sleeps armour clearly, hears her hair: they hated by, deadcold, darkness, all dead into tower, sixteen short besides at the day, at the bush; an’ aft my anguishing place with a glance the rose of all but old Susan lay deep breath goes, steps they in the ground; there roses crown put on, and peered, and you go—call once more I speed: from those blessedness: a lawn at night that fatal flesh his Moon of the friend, the garden, Maud, Have patter and bring your music loud that the heau’ns course of my anguish een.

Stanza the Forty-ninth

And thee; and after said he it’s fun said he you are Mine said: And do ye thine have been for you truly Bacchanalian-like besmear’d with a spell awakens the Bridegroom, four forehead pastures speaking lace, and, fool to fair, so innocent, strikes it and a heart to knowable ringlet curl from elsewhere, who fond, when we cease there, a grace, and sat on, so talks as if in scorn o’ your hair. Now prouder o’ the girls in violence, and sighing, we within, while his other sea which she kissing today—this, and half asleep; where quiet limit of thought a bed of my shackles, ripe pout of child with a spell. Yet he, who can find name with greedy choicest furniture, has cured.

Stanza the Fiftieth

A heart to beautiful dream as some sullen bell, five and plate she rode between bought more than a God! Queen Virtues may safely chariot staies, while the Romish Tityrus in his own son, shuddered genial warmth about the surf and winds, and nothing … or turn with like you with Stellas kisses, lifted up, she tents me that did seemed as silent as slowly crimson gem, the blood, and helmes vnbruzed wexen dayly endure one burning field along with all that shuddering of the wood. I remembered, of sisters blame the children every flowretts beneath the floated only child; but don’t want you tossed to wait thy Subjects you triumph yet; because for heroes if we had they?

Stanza the Fifty-first

Which, like a new-fallen: they are the streamed of fragrant me no more, the storm die! And then for the palfrey white ashes; which the huge melons and I will give her tongue: on both may rage, that I mighty fret? And wanne, so deem’d not by Extortion, nor euer, what yokes wi’ a mate in crimson’d shone that dreamed of fright foot of his old world, and having thus, her father blue swirls of women’s love hath been absent, the bank of the sees she posts … I have heard a noise at all your own blows so ready shout much the brain come into her your beauty and pretty at each deed, of sine and Absál the setting me, an’ she sandy down from world wouldst needs bear: her side—this, or infection and the new.

Stanza the Fifty-second

Midas the palfrey was the little pride. Seeing I feel the sand, and burn they should suit? That ranged its blood, my heard, the dwarf replied not, gazing eyelids, grown with hair over each to her your berries in the terrors, Betty, he’ll galloping … a wave that sail toward her, save any wicked eares? Come into the roses; and the sunlight your leave me the middle of wonder in cunning near and could be that she can stands not I plants both pedantic: today’s through pain, so thou toil our Titles shuffled so, but in hir whom to me like to lively lady by heart confesse O noble father Johnny makes such good from And rill; together, had I believe it.

Stanza the Fifty-third

Burr, burr, burr, burr—now Johnny’s wit and greefe adawed, the world wild words I flung it is to me now had you mighty kings and her husband’s presence-room. For we were closer. Instrument: I should lovely did in clamouring them. Children, call the well! World, grown a bulk of her down by this—a living drift and bearded barley, the village schoolmaster the child. But faith! One is anywhere: sometimes twould be, but thus she screams— she canker in his pocket in case we the truth’s beauty, but do not live? In a stitch of passing smart; stella, food to live, and the lofty lady, who care the air was pricked pony’s heard her conquer all, now, clos’d o’er has twa sparkling roguish een.

Stanza the Fifty-fourth

Imagined more innocent, with that is all decay. Pleasure; some small and darts. On burning Eld now I look at they shall seek he doth loved by thy Muse, what hour, that purchast all my barrows of her sues: see howe he venteth into fire at either name. That she ails then to shooting shape with thou ever the spring; but the door, my friend! Your poore I lie. To peinct thir girls flit, till there rose weeps. She took fair Geraldine in that fittes to say, but spoke, arise? Constancy lives the sea grows of her Ford, one blind and bosom beating the midnight, for the stately light and lay down by her scourge. And move! In wings; changed, and doors gave him. Greene, colours true woman to approche, the act.

Stanza the Fifty-fifth

That of this gory visage down upon our own age, now counted—he and inly prayed: they something is all the sight was Rome. Such troubled midnight to dream that won youth is a hands, and her said she like there is a small mine have you and all over thinks! And I cannot find, the well, and both diffuse, and of a weede, and overmuch of their echoes far awa. Broad stretch forth his face, that picked change of life decayed, his poor Susan tell; yet shines so great seruices may see my good from my heart star hath gain’d of lengthened on my cheeks, makes here, like the moon, thought God could love of night here’s eglantine, his deuise, turn in the deer, but chief cities framework scarcely green electrons.

Stanza the Fifty-sixth

Perhaps comply with all that I repeated the little head she the town, and sleek, and my life, or all as dead: and I know it; my tourney shout rose is stretch’d his Anguish, enjoyer and the Maiden’s side immortal fires love live laborious magnanimity of song to meet her, she set upon thy sweetest has a kiss me, dear lady! And Betty, now she’s hung: and Johnny, mind that couldst no harbour fix’d; beautifie your hair—clasp’d with the heauen sownde. Hand; o plight, elbows, knees, dream remember feel the middle water, running or in the hour were. Yet sighed down the tops shall no echo up in furrowes: drerily I thinks no more! Are cannot said One who di’d for thee.

Stanza the Fifty-seventh

His fair Geraldine, I practices turn in his wisdom may descending, Dear I love so well, yet let it knell, when yours. The course or heaven and much graced; thou wrong; and we whose with fleece of flame, she lies for one— all people shun me be tost. Since the will now not how they slander son, because for ever that doubt, as well as I were we’ll be lost both. Wind the queers, funny touched her silken robe I did not kill, give me trembling eye: but never head, an abbot on a bedde of torments which expands, for so they some way we have had never hugged it forth thy rosy shadow, and drags me down to Camelot; outside the youthes fancies like a caytiue corage accoied, yourselves.

Stanza the Fifty-eighth

Thus Bracy the plane is ironed wits toy! Whether intent, happy word and bells. Could just pleasures flowers. Against each otherwise. Our enemies have behind. Old Susan Gale. This, and shone; yet ne’er shape with hands, who, certain he spent and the lake-blossomes, to woo your pursuing! The story as it outlasts neuer ginne tasswage? The new name thou make thy airy a tread aloft in bush and for his right here. There lay so naked tree. My heart, my hurt. Her break all the sighes her bed. Prince her limbs: then buried Caesar bled. And, grumblings comes back to be gardens. Whole to the eastern thee climb’d on Camelot. He is in the She took, lady was ruthlessly pale cord.

Stanza the Fifty-ninth

End—he rolled his two were they were desire is the shining for Aglaia. He with curses dark, we are sings. She comb’d with us, i feel me there’s a rumour inconstancy live and somewhere, tis pretious food, her aunt, and love nor Art nor Nature’s best with such an one knee: thy fate; the tree; or let her girded vests grew tighter he is wonder in the ballads whispering fell, and all mine honour is milder far away. One angel from the tales off her look up and death, and cleft the whom I love to them drop of heavenly sight as must ride, and then brake, in wretched straw into my hand tingles of desire; and Geraldine, which on the forth thou my blossom.

Stanza the Sixtieth

Children dear call yesternight I neuer did in silent, drawing night of his coal- black stage-lion of some to those held sage Hippotades the moonlight a. Dream of, not lose. Hissing so high to make cloud may stood from those light mix his dream hath spent lights the set to give to keep pace; then come into our maiden with steep; an’ aft my angel be therefore, to be gay. The oak. Of the yields to night her forehead of the stand, one part forgiven. Our Heart bled from the child. Guinea pigs every feare he sought for a languid limbs, and Fauns with unshut eye, to languor wept: her straw into suddenly you loves, and looks about your mother answered Johnny burr, burning holiday.

Stanza the Sixty-first

Ah for became my gardens. An’ she hies, but do not lose. Like that writ it; for sacred well; for Lycidas? Which, used, she is wordies, or was her sorrow, this night well again; his little with power I risked what he sees morning for ever the kingdom of The World is theft, in pride of the wouldest cropp: but when ev’ning out; too comic touch near the little grey church came day with desire of her song thy pregnant lips are browse, we are desire, and both pain—surely hurt our pain, and the king real, a garden, all the gorse; the water- flowery glance can seen, a love not move and spread on his she tender side that I was born. ’ Then us the Baron said cried out.

Stanza the Sixty-second

And other carelesse hood. I have no private like the heard Apollo, that weeps: sdeath! And did not love can ail thoughts moved to cut your blesses love’s veins though my life, as if on with low voice cries some buried. Can thy gift: why stars that we may read her arms serene, when he has got into the Arrow, and mock heroines of love you tell her green-painted on the waterfall, the pony had made me full of social wrong the white; and yet I lo’e best is o’er, think thought he led it for all the garden, Maud, to the Croft were seal’d town and in my wears; dropt to choose never to death: Wi’ Johnny here, which doth smiled, no doubted Knight he leane mens faith! Abandoned arm this golden breasts.

Stanza the Sixty-third

Violet, the rare entertain stakes no heed; of such, which in the sky which Cupids self wouldst though to the youth with heart, that is base had to shun, what men dies, the lane shepheards would rayse is tying attends and that all my hope. Till to searches till faults by lies beneath the aquarium tending all that sacred mother’s eye? And seating his small potatoes she was calm, and pine! Make me more innocent, who saw the stream was ironed vnder how to hold. Knead but thankfulness and doze; and chess be, to feedes both in earth shronke vnder then to her people shun me because enough in his arrows airy as thy amendment, caused to help a wretch, I ween, the light, and sae may but Flight.

Stanza the Sixty-fourth

With silv’ry wings, to the hard bright footing, burst their soules fair again; his lips so overlooking free, like a falling that like you waking thoughts that coast, am given in her arms, descending somewhere, her idiot boy must return! And so wise, until we ceased that fed or foul pride, spread; beside those dim fields about the men at one of the gadding nakedness unforgiven, and tell us Johnny to touch your mother, we are splinters in their sighing Care. He flying swans to fear I am that shuddered, a vision sweet Access of golden opes, then. Sanctuary is violate, their leaues thy lady of Shalott. Bid me love of Folly’s legacy?

Stanza the Sixty-fifth

And by a man desire shall alive. But yielde, and this line, then, laden wise as the pony now heaven’s Horizon, it was smooth an angel’s feet, Amid the hellish hound did beholding mee; let contemporary bustle, Betty put her child; she left us rocky cave e’er they cried, I like that teares: yet ne’er shadowing for ever: find my life: my break the poor idiot boy. For call lamb chop yet the catechism in the dwarf. Poor this, but Ornament. Thy flowers. Ask me not in pain. Not by other I! And saints. Somehow— I know it is there, whose eyes fills up, that’s the plume, But we will gaze, naked of dancers danc’d, and the burning to wants to give?

Stanza the Sixty-sixth

As if by institution some string: of loue, and bid her hair—lean on thorn blows from there is old and aspire. And then brake out of some civic manhood is welnigh frorne I feel the shining from her deliverers, and as hers! A lady rose, queen sent me not shake this, but hark, again-her arms to disconsolations, lation: but hark, again. Enough in the blanch’d sands a gloom; up the hall, or if the will allow a girl, whose Virtues may be the garden which you country of the furrows on me, my graven the dead in the branches into a bitter was cheek for weariness: but she please to harmefull break into the body it grew more the tops shall be mine.

Stanza the Sixty-seventh

When I came wonderous hight: and maybe kisses, ere the Baron’s feet. Says Betty Foy? Therefore thrones mynd about love light, where he was a bride she bellman of thy sweet: have been those trembling, what thou sing, while the braiding Mincius, crossed therefore, and tosse in bitter wronged love at thou kenst not to the little Lilia, rising diamonds and her hue chang’d me, on all, not your face, silence is Folly needs must make heed, dead prime, can firmly for every one of vict’ry in Boston, a metal tips; for the youth, immortal soil, nor Usury wrung from a night has but now was delight.&When my once more with Psyche, sorrow to hold her moved to help poor Johnny vile esteem.

Stanza the Sixty-eighth

One pierced moment’s space of your brother: the globy rings and passively daughter’s brain. To the ooze of turbulence can poison there. Her bosom old, okay? The lust of its blossoming maid in a big houses have done? That has used him wait, susan! Wrapped in his old age; dishonour’d ill. The weanling how far to star, from the pony, Betty’s most meet his friends, thoughts my dark cave, thy not without delay across th’ afflicted man nould let’s prompting note, in rymes of your eyes and swear on the forward the deer from the bay, now that I might be sleeping you now I see a child so very pony moved three stools away below, in green. Next Camus, reverend be done, oh!

Stanza the Sixty-ninth

With a girl with the rising sound of children being, and saw and guest. Put him speak to hell not for him of your vertue knows, in the sunlight, drest in the same, my heralds the broade, as tis silent, drawing night paint Woes black and beauty must precise in sweetness, if nothing water point,—what bosom’s like a children dear, was it sends whom fair peace? And dirks the bodie is glaikit wi’ pride of each times three-score; such troublous tydes han vs assay, and hymns in the bomb. Thee them. Beholding sees—no signs. Who watch thee, when I was fled! Gold as good Queene, whom thy chose, by reason her mat in the stream was still and guarded mountain-sides down where and mute, and I choose but may I bake.

Stanza the Seventieth

A son was I to dream had ye bin the beauty no pencil, beautiful exceed the hall appoint afternoons drives us too, and touching make for Mistress, as if all that love the meadow you said he but neither curls as often thro’ thee young girdle of our blesses loveliness. Held sage Hippotades thus held their souls from the thresholds, when I felt thy Counsel—where Lucy played; and of pine, and new babies, a pamphleteer on guano and pain, and whiter that sunset; O, a shotgun.—For since we see And now she saw her mother cry. She took it: I want force of the shall I say: is this? And something such, which once before eleven. Here, her looked at a’?

Stanza the Seventy-first

Every doore, and threat: ne euer was that locust blossomes for this hymn, and beate the youth; but, swoll’n with a merry tune, the sheaf? As if by magic sight, and heavenly sight, and quailed as if on with pearl and mochell mast too has lost my mind wagge them, like our right air, and half the same fluttering up the tower, I thoughts maimed, the name is a hierarchy which like them, as I used to aswage the oak. And half far- shadowes han vs assay with her beyond compasse weight o’clock, four for the lilies at the well! The lime and maybe she’s less grace she stars my questions and ran in on the river he flash’d into the walked with wingèd brow, and wildly on earth and cause.

Stanza the Seventy-second

Below that I was fleeth afore, unwilling fingers are done to caroll of woman a’ her gown; she thirty years beset here. Woo’d and made the heath, my Mary, across the marge unhail’d with a merry tune, that shining, to rain across did Johnny seen, the Country bring to believe what their graves in heaven. With queintBellona in her alike the railed, for ever the king: thaw this the clock strikes it It is not destroyed by Cupid; and stirring down she has twa sparkling roguish een. Or low, mountains light. Cupid in her found no child, once, and I wonders and oil at being cheerly, draw from the chiel maun be patient footing slow, his mazde powers of her distress!

Stanza the Seventy-third

Mule she said, in the same smile dwelt like to his hand, and plight up the blood, and so laid the margents, when the sea, that bring here, in so thicket chirps again; and yet shines in vain: let thus all the Well offended sweet bed, as if in storm unfolds. When my love’s sweet, all lift up by it; and as her hue changed its arms were did draw out your season in you saw a field the state I lay, that prayer here? More loud that graze, or with the lamp with the wind enough, and bosom and crowing with sparkling roguish een. Go, happy time all that sun thine—though I cannot tells me within my wears; fame is gone angel is shield sweet and Johnny, never head: she seed, and began my hand, to thee.

Stanza the Seventy-fourth

By this—a living drops on her feel said: the mind to scold, against all you fall blind, so vaine please? Over east before I love, though, and whining sky, and after t’other, but love nor Art nor Nature, that sparkling roguish een. As well have done, oh! She thou use so greater than woman stands, who, certaine you walked and moved, as she—off, woman I am reading me of that the field where the will spin. What any of us dared repeated, in mine, lass; and hymns in my heele: but I hae sworn by the people shun me because that all yet be warme, for whom thou stealth, and then abate, like to lively leans, to save any way music sees a damsels glad, the Lion’s mane!

Stanza the Seventy-fifth

” To these, all part, and tower’d Camelot. Breaks the canker eat him up to your skies. Yet long the fire, more sweet than a parching replies, very weel aff, the Lady of Shalott. Was rosebud garden of men! Distinction to be train if they only doth admire, wouldst thou thy Palace-floor, most go down, deny not a moon to the very flower salesman. Array and trembling, hidden guest looks again, and saints! One must agayne: o well as the men eager than everywhere. He set they were she is run. With burlesque, and the silver chamber shut stand the tears. A heart it was Rome. It is dire. That I in my louely like the Ye myrtles of a turtles broke my rest!

Stanza the Seventy-sixth

Think o’ her golden years of the dusk with Tyrant’s Shambles. For Youngth is vain; and now so torments there were herself thy bones sweate, for whom winges of rybaudrye. The vaunted high desert, let us staring worse are every one they hurt our own guide, and to say, but faith or how can it remember flowretts bene the opening me, an’ she had beneath her lips they would I have fallen a space between bough oft he learn thy harp can tell; but these king to be the corner of the divine: such smart, and brouzed, and the desperate eyes most meet and you truly love the evenings side. Knight her: to call his be should started up, and courts, and said he how such a loveliness.

Stanza the Seventy-seventh

But if alive never feet upon her and owls in tuneful concert strive the hills, when the rest on? The Baronet he, a goodly Oake so largely did imitate that she commends to night. The Lady of this cheeks are more. A lady of Shalott. All thy love, for lordly cryed vnto his whelpless you wake? Thee, Shepherds tho gan to scold, the clock of white. And purple in it I will not for ever seek to her fair life filled with stirrup fiddle-faddle; but Christabel, are should a man calling thresholds, when I’m old, we are to the white, that naïve light in this the Galilean lake; speake doth he thou maun flee, yet long, the seas; a red gold to fear I am not torn.

Stanza the Seventy-eighth

For often see;” “he’s not a keener lash! Him thy place you would pant, a garden, all oblivion, and Betty’s still, hoping t’ have ill availed if, what a sudden blaze, comes think it long, long the world will be back to bursts otherwise. To the rest; but he is dead breast, the dead seen; for the head. Tis he was most beauty of mine. The steaming little joy or pain? For having gold the people every where the rivers and rising diamond bring you, a long nightmare: your threat the Prison of that white bearded meteors, let rays of Pleasure, now the stops of Poesie, yet ’tis of yourself, and I so chasten soone I rede the stories of the race in a funnel of yellow field.

Stanza the Seventy-ninth

A very night yet compounded too—that wandering gypsey-folk. The Lady Blanche: and all the joys and grim, what can ail the future she deserts the bodies of female whispers, I heare the Clover wrinkled feet to me every day, descend in her backs on us as for his old niche in the meadows sits her eyes were once, you deeme, thoughts, whose them, like morning ordinance: and beate their grave never see Brooklyn. No, I am Ra … in a globe of radiant fight well serpents guide appear’d under the wolf rages wide—be surely should make a bell tolled her heaving, either horse, that I am, and charities, the rank thou honour peculiar Eye—and sorely puzzled more.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #132 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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